Winter had passed and it was spring. Mister reckoned that it had been a year now or more since he had been taken off the streets in his hometown. He hadn't given up hope yet that his family would find him but as the days meandered into weeks and months, he was beginning to loose hope. He had grudgingly accepted his fate and although plagued with boredom and loneliness, he still tried to keep his spirits up.
Near the wall, early on in his captivity, he had drawn a calendar and each week he had written down the things he wanted to do. Back at the ranch, so long ago now it seemed, his partner and he would discuss what needed to be done after dinner. They never wrote a list, they just knew what needed to be done right away and what could wait. There were some chores that he really didn't like doing because to him, they were just plain boring. There was just so much daylight and time in each day but now because he was a prisoner, he had lots of time.
One week, he decided to chop wood and plane it. Some of the bedrooms in the ranch house had uneven floors and so, in his mind's eye, he built new floors. He chuckled as he pretended to work. If this was real, his partner would not believe he was doing this. The next week, he painted the walls . Now, painting was definitely a chore he hated. It was so boring. Yet, he mixed the paint to the color his second mother approved of and painted away most of the days. Due to "prison time" he had all the time in the world to get it done.
One week, he designed an apple orchard near the creek. Pretending to move boulders and dig up trees was hard on his knees but he knew he'd sleep well that night. Another week he made a map of the ranch. One night, while trying to sleep, he had started counting fence posts. He couldn't just sit there, he would loose his mind.
It was night dreams that were the worst. He would dream that he was being rescued, his partner leaning over him saying "I'm here, we've come to take you home", and he would lie there sobbing in relief, only to waken much later still a chained man.
Sometimes, he would yell out loud in frustration or anger, his voice echoing in the empty space, "where are you? Have you forgotten me?" But he never let Peter know any of it. 'It was just a job to him,' thought Mister bitterly. 'It wasn't his life.'
One day, Peter came into the shack with another box. "Mister, I've brought you some old newspapers", he told him." They were just sitting on this table in the hotel. They're from all over, Sheridan, Cheyenne, Denver, Laramie, Boston, Dodge City, " Peter was digging through the box and rattling off the newspaper titles, seemingly not interested in any of them.
"Thank you," Mister said.
It was light enough to read now without a lantern. After Peter left, Mister sipped his water, wishing for the millionth time that it was coffee, and dug out the one newspaper he most wanted to read. On the front page there was a long article one that Mister wondered how Peter had missed.
"Have you seen this man?" A picture of himself was below the headline and the article, written by his friend and partner, described his features; the way he spoke; and the things he was good at. The article ended with a heartfelt plea, "Please if you've seen him or know of his whereabouts, contact Sheriff Cory Laramie, Wyoming."
Tears of joy and sadness clashed and slid down Master's cheeks. He had told Peter that his family would never stop looking for him and he was right. "If that article doesn't reach Peter I don't know what will ," mumbled Jess Harper to himself.