Chapter 7

Mist hung low to the ground as Matt and Festus scanned the prairie for any tracks, mindful of the dangerous group they were following.

"Tracks is gettin' hard ta foller, Matthew," Festus said, kneeling by his mule and studying the mire before him. "The rain comin' down the way it is, it's washin' the buggy tracks clean away as well as the horse tracks." He looked up at Dillon, pausing to wipe a shaky hand over his brow.

"Yeah, I know. The mud seems to be sucking the tracks right back into the ground, doesn't it?" he said looking down at his deputy in disgust.

He waited while his friend remounted and handed him his reins, holding on to them for a minute till Festus looked at him questioningly. "You sure you're all right? You look a bit pale."

Festus glowered at Dillon for a moment, then blew a breath out his cheek. "I tolt ya I'm all right, didn't I?"

Keeping an eye on his friend, Dillon nodded slowly as Festus took the reins and headed off down the trail. Looking back over his shoulder, he called, "Are ya comin' or are ya plannin' on stayin' there till the posse catches up with ya?"

Dillon sighed and spurred his big buckskin on to catch up with his deputy, a slight smile on his face.

Hours later, the pair had made little progress. The constant stopping to search for tracks was slowing them down considerably and the rain had increased in tempo over the past few minutes causing both men to take care in their ride. To add to the men's misery, lightning split the sky and thunder echoed over the empty prairie, spooking the already nervous animals. Hail began to clatter from the sky, bouncing off the men's hats which protected their faces but nothing else. The mounts, frightened by the stinging ice pellets danced nervously as the two tried to control them.

Descending a wash, Dillon's horse shied and slipped on the wet, slippery ground and went down, its rider jumping free. Festus spurred his sure footed mount to his friend's side, dismounted and reached out to snag the reins of his horse.

Kneeling in the mud, Festus laid a hand on Dillon's shoulder. "Matthew? Y'all right?"

Finishing the string of curse words he had begun, Dillon looked up into Festus' eyes. "I'm just fine!" he yelled as he slapped the wet ground, sending mud flying. He sat up, his head hanging, then looked up, a look of discouragement marring his features. "We can't continue on, Festus. It's getting too dangerous. We could walk right by them and not even see them. Or we could walk right into their camp and cause Doc and Kitty to be…" He left the thought unfinished as he couldn't bring himself to say what he knew Festus already knew.

Festus slumped down by Dillon's side and shook his head. "Reckon yer right, Matthew. I jist hate ta give up."

"I know. But we're not giving up. We'll find them. Right now we need to find shelter," he said looking about him at the open prairie.

"Tain't much in the way of shelter out here, Matthew. Nary a scrub pine or dead fall anywhere abouts ta make a shelter," he said squinting as the rain hit him in the face and the hail bounced painfully off his already sore head. "Reckon we could go on back ta Jim's? Won't take us as long to get back as it did to git here since we won't be needing to stop for tracks.

"Don't think it makes much difference right now. I hate to backtrack but going back to Jim's makes good sense. Newly might have been able to get the posse together and is at or near the farm by now."

"Hopefully, this rain'll ease up and we can get back at 'er soon," Festus said as he rose and reached a hand down to Dillon. Pulling him to his feet easily, he handed him the reins of his horse. The pair mounted and with a last look over their shoulders at the desolate, drenched prairie, moved off to the Kelly farm and shelter.

A little over an hour later, the pair rode into the Kelly yard, disheartened to find no sign of a posse. Dillon leaned down to Festus, who had already dismounted and was headed slowly for the steps, his hand to his head. "Festus? I'm gonna go back down the trail towards Dodge and see what condition the trail is in. The posse may not have been able to cross Bear Creek with the rain coming down as it has been."

"All right, Matthew. I'll head out with ya," he said walking back to his mount.

"No, you stay here and get warmed up, I won't be long," he said, knowing Festus was hurting but not about to let him know that. "There's no point in both of us going on. I'll be back directly," he said, wheeling his mount as quickly as he could in the muck and cantering down the trail, mud flying as he did so.

Festus shook his head, knowing full well Matthew felt he needed to be coddled and puffed a breath out his mouth as he watched him go. Shaking his head, he headed to the Kelly door to let Jim know they had company for a bit.

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Dillon rode down the trail for a long time, watching about him carefully. The prairie about him was cloaked in a dense fog that obliterated most of the surroundings making it difficult to know where he was exactly. He slowed his horse to a walk and approached Bear Creek, or where he thought Bear Creek should be. Slipping slightly in the mud, he pulled back on the reins as he felt his mount shy. Wind blew tendrils of fog about and in an instant, Dillon saw to his dismay that the creek that had been full but passable was now overflowing and treacherous.

His heart sank as he realized he and Festus were stranded on one side of the creek while the posse was on the other. Even if they found a crossing, which seemed unlikely, there was no way they would be able to follow any sign they could leave: he and Festus were on their own. Sighing, he turned his mount and headed back to the Kelly's, his heart heavy.