"One has to accept pain as a condition of existence. One has to court doubt and darkness as the cost of knowing. One needs a will stubborn in conflict, but apt always to the total acceptance of every consequence of living and dying."

Morris West

Chapter 11: Staying in the Saddle

The group rode steadily to the southwest until the sun was just above the horizon. They stopped in a small thicket of trees and camped for the night. They'd only ridden for about six hours, and by the time they stopped, Matt was so weak, he was just barely clinging to the saddle and consciousness.

He was grateful when Caleb assisted him in dismounting and helped him over to lean against one of the larger trees. Floyd had quickly come over and yanked his hands in front of him and secured the irons on his wrist. Matt gritted his teeth determined that Floyd not see his pain. Floyd leaned over and hissed, "Just don't forget, I'm still gonna make you dead," before stalking off to help set up camp. On the positive side, Matt had heard that threat so many times, it was sort of losing its impact. He glared at the handcuffs, tried to twist his wrists a little to make them less painful. He examined his right hand. It was swollen and bruised, but, although it was painful, he was able to bend each finger. They hurt, but he could use them.

Matt was finding it increasingly difficult to think. He readjusted the handkerchief he had stuffed into the wound. He'd lost quite a bit of blood on that long ride and he needed to keep what he had left. He hoped he would feel a little stronger after a night's rest.

Despite his exhaustion and weakness, Matt struggled to maintain his tenuous hold on consciousness, knew he had to learn as much as he could about who these men were and their plans for him if he was to have any chance to stay alive. He closed his eyes and focused on the soft conversations surrounding him. He already knew that the oldest man in the group was Cass, and that he was Floyd and Caleb's father. He also appeared to be in charge. The last member of the party was Jeb. Cass had told Jeb to hang back and make sure no one was following them, so there had been little opportunity to learn much about him. He figured Jeb was also one of the brothers. So Floyd didn't have friends, but he did have family.

It was clear that these men didn't much like him, but, with the possible exception of the father, none had the boiling hatred for him that Floyd had. He was used to Texans, and these men weren't much different than the Texans that regularly showed up in Dodge during cattle season. They didn't like Kansas' law, and these particular men had the added information that he was a Texan who'd worn Union blue during the war. But Floyd had a special hate for him, and his father seemed to share that hate. Matt needed to know what was behind it. He had wracked his brain but he couldn't remember ever meeting any of these men before.

He was surprised to see Caleb approach him with a plate of beans and a cup of coffee. Matt looked up, met his gaze. "Aren't you worried about Floyd calling ya out for fraternizing with the enemy?"

"Floyd's a mean one all right. I see he got ya cuffed. The war done it to him. He wasn't always like this. He handed Matt a spoon. If I set this plate here, can you manage to eat?"

"Yeah, thanks, Caleb." The lawman pulled himself a little straighter determined to see what he could get out of this kid. "So do you know why it is Floyd wants me dead. I just don't remember having crossed paths with him."

"Look Dillon, I'm sorry its gotta be this way, but you ruined Floyd and hurt this family bad." He shook his head. I wasn't old enough to fight in the war, and my family ain't never really let me forget that. Because of that, to them, I'll never measure up, but I'm still a Dunbart, so don't look to me for any help."

With those parting words, Caleb left, joining the other men around the fire. Matt continued to listen, hoping to learn something from the few words he was able to pick up from the ongoing conversation. He again heard them discuss trying to sell him. He thought he remembered that from earlier, but his memory was a little foggy. It didn't make a lot of sense to him. He knew he didn't have many friends, and the few friends he did have, didn't have much money. These men ought to know a lawman wasn't likely to have many friends, especially rich friends. Besides, how could these men figure out who his friends were? He guessed it didn't much matter. At least their crazy scheme was temporarily keeping him alive, and as long he was still breathing, he had hopes he could somehow get out of this mess.

The long ride, and the blood loss, left him worn and weak. He wasn't feeling too much like eating, but he forced himself to eat the beans Caleb brought over, washing them down with the coffee. Between the heavy iron cuffs and his injured hand, eating had been a challenge. He knew he needed food to keep up his strength, and there was no telling when he might see his next meal.

He considered trying to escape in the darkness, but Cass had someone on watch all night. Even more problematic, the horses were tied on the far side of the camp, and he would have to somehow get to them undetected. Much as he wanted to get away, he knew he needed to wait for a better opportunity. And there was the added problem of Floyd. He was still determined to get him to Hays and see him hang for the murder of that bank teller. With that last thought, he drifted off into a fevered sleep.

XXXXXXXXXX

Morning came all too soon, the one relief being that it had been Kitty that visited him in his dreams and not the dead. The day promised to be as hot or even hotter than the previous one. Even worse, the hot dry wind continued to blow, and Matt knew it would obliterate all traces of their tracks. They would be expecting him in Hays by this evening, but probably wouldn't do anything until he didn't shown up with Floyd by the scheduled time for the hanging on Tuesday morning.

He knew his friends in Dodge would be waiting for a telegram letting them know he arrived safely in Hays. Kitty would already be worried, and he hated thinking of how she was going to feel tonight when no telegram from him arrived. It would be even worse tomorrow when Chester got a telegram confirming his failure to arrive in Hays in time for the hanging.

Thinking of Kitty just increased his despondency. He warned her he had a short life expectancy, and she'd seen him shot enough times to know that was true. She even saw him near shot dead on Front Street. Of course that was back when they'd just become friends, and he was still doggedly trying to keep his distance.

He couldn't help wonder if she'd even want him if he got back, couldn't really see that he was worth all the anguish he brought to her. He never doubted her love when he was with her. He could feel it and see it, but sometimes out here on the trail, he would wonder how it could be that a woman like her would ever fall in love with a man like him. He took comfort from the key in his pocket and the memory of her, in the window, holding the candle as he rode out of town.

Matt heard Caleb calling for Floyd to come get the cuffs off him and knew the time had come to ride. In his sleep he had curled up, his manacled hands guarding his injury. He straightened now, got himself ready for Floyd. He was pleased that the handkerchief he had stuffed up under his shirt to slow the bleeding, along with the quiet night seemed to have helped, but the fever in his head told him that infection was starting. He was definitely not looking forward to riding. Hell, he wasn't even sure he was going to be able to get on the horse.

Floyd reluctantly came over, and Matt raised his hands making it easier for Floyd to unlock the cuffs, and making sure Floyd had no excuse to jerk him around.

Floyd sneered, "I hope those cuffs were real comfortable, Dillon. If it was up to me, you'd be wearin em all day. You try to enjoy your day now, cause you ain't got many left." With those parting words he had sauntered over to his horse and mounted up. Matt resisted the urge to rub his sore wrists and hand until Floyd had left.

Caleb then showed up and helped him to his feet and then up on Buck. The pain caused by the movement and the physical effort of pulling himself up on Buck nearly caused Matt to pass out, and he could feel the wetness on his skin as the bullet wound started to bleed again. He slipped his hand into his shirt and tried to adjust the handkerchief. At least the bleeding didn't seem too bad. He hoped to hell they were close to their destination, because he didn't figure he was going to be able to ride for long. A wasted hope as it turned out. Caleb handed him a share of jerky and quick drink from the canteen to quench his thirst before they headed out.

Caleb rode alongside him all morning. A time or two, or even more he braced the lawman as he had nearly fallen. Around noon, they stopped briefly to rest and nibble on more jerky. Again Caleb helped him dismount and provided him with a share of the dried meat. Matt forced it down and took a long drink of the provided water. Then it had been back in the saddle. His entire awareness shrunk to not falling off his horse and, eventually to no awareness at all. Caleb stayed close and when he had just about given up, leaned over and whispered, "If you can just hang on for another three hours, you can avoid finishing the trip tied over the saddle like a sack of grain." With that information, Matt tried to pull himself a little straighter. He was determined to make it; he figured finishing up tied over the saddle just might kill him.

He was fortunate that only about another hour passed before Cass called a halt for the night. Even so, Matt was barely conscious. The fact that he was still in the saddle was a testament to his horsemanship, his stubbornness, and some occasional help from Caleb. He knew he had a wide stubborn streak, and a lot of people didn't think it a very positive attribute, but it kept him alive a time or two. Caleb helped him down and forced a little water down his throat and poured some over his head, rousing him somewhat. Floyd predictably saw to handcuffing him.

Matt shook his head, tried to focus. He needed to know more about what they were planning and Cass seemed to be laying out the next steps. He'd already missed some of what the man said, and this was information he would need. He knew this land well, and it was clear to him they had been heading towards Dodge. They came by a different trail, one a little to the north of the one going directly to Hays from Dodge. He knew the prairie around here like the back of his hand and knew they were now only about three hours from Dodge. He wasn't sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing, but it somehow made him feel a little better to know he was close to home.

What he learned by eavesdropping was that Cass was going to leave for Dodge first thing in the morning. The rest of them would all be riding together to a cave Cass thought would be a well-hidden hiding place. Apparently Floyd had camped there for several days before he robbed the bank in Jetmore. Cass had wanted to get there tonight—but he was worried about Floyd being able to find it in the dark. That explained the early stop. He was pretty sure he knew the cave where Cass intended to hide out.

Cass planned to identify a prominent Dodge citizen who seemed to care enough about the missing lawman to pay for his safe return. Matt was desperately trying to make sense of the plan, but he was exhausted, wracked with pain, and feverish. There just wasn't anyone in Dodge with the money and the interest in saving him. He just couldn't quite figure how it would work.

Matt reminded himself that tomorrow would be Tuesday—at least he thought it would be Tuesday. His thinking was increasingly muddled. Tuesday was the day Floyd was scheduled to hang. His last thought as he drifted off to sleep was that the Sheriff in Hays would be missing him when he didn't show up tomorrow. He was certainly already wondering where he was.

To be continued..