A mother in a small farm house beside a creek on Short Pike in Central Kentucky was also listening. As she lay in the comfort of her bed, she was listening for some sign that her son had come home, safe to her arms. But he did not come. Alone, she knelt in the dark beside her bed, tears in her eyes, and a heavy heart that was filled with love.

She prayed.

Along the creek where Mark had traveled there were new and fresh footprints in the snow beside his. These footprints were much larger and as you could have seen in the snow if you had been there, they did not look human.

The stars twinkled and did their usual flirtations with each other far into the night until they said goodnight to the moon and hello to the morning sun which was not to be seen in this sleepy little community on this Sunday morning in 1960.

Mark was unaware of all that was going on around him or the concerns of those that loved him. He was dead tired and he slept soundly.