Matt worked quickly, emptying the gun powder from the bullets in his gun
belt into the hole he had made in the old bread. He took more powder and
pressed it into the twine that had been tied to the canteen, fashioning a
fuse. In the blackness of the cellar, Dillon moved toward the old wooden
crate. He stood on it, and then poured water from the canteen on the top
part of the bread. He pressed the wet part of the bread into the wooden
trap door, and it stuck.
Perspiration dripped from Matt's forehead. It was becoming extremely hot from the fire above, and smoke was quickly filling the cellar. He needed to hurry, or he wasn't going to make it out. Coughing spasms shook him, but he inserted one end of the makeshift fuse into the bread, and pulling a match from his vest pocket, he struck it against the wood of the door. Matt lit the fuse, stepped off the crate, and pulling the old crate with him, went to the furthest corner of the cellar, crouching toward the wall. He waited and a few moments later, the trap door blew off, and Matt Dillon looked up toward the inferno above.
For a brief moment, he wondered if he had made the right move, but in the end, he knew his only chance for survival was to get out, even if that meant going through fire. Matt put the crate under the newly made hole in the ceiling of the cellar. He poured the rest of the water in the canteen all over his clothes, wetting his bandana as thoroughly as he could. He placed the bandana over most of his face, and jumped up, gripping the hot floor of the shack. He hoisted himself up, and into the burning interior.
Matt ran through the fire, trying not to react to the flames as they touched him. Holding his hands over his face, he dove through a window, landing with a thump on the hard snow outside. For a long moment, Dillon lay still, coughing up the smoke that had penetrated his lungs. He knew his right arm and leg were slightly singed from running through the fire, but he was happy to still be alive. The early morning wind kicked up, blowing snow over him, and he shivered bitterly as his wet clothing offered no protection against the freezing temperature. Matt knew he didn't have the luxury of waiting around to be rescued; if he remained unprotected out in the cold, he would surely die.
The sky was still dark with the last of the night, and the land silent with snow laden trees. Somewhere far off, he could hear the sounds of rushing water. His best shot would be to follow it downstream. He pulled himself up, and began walking toward the brook just beyond the clearing of trees. Matt hoped that he wouldn't freeze to death before he came upon a town or settlement.
***********
Festus was up before first light, and standing outside the Marshal's Office, coffee in hand. It had finally stopped snowing, but the morning was brutally cold. He finished his coffee, turned and walked back inside the office. He set the cup down, and picked up a shotgun, bed roll, and saddle bag of supplies. He left the office and trudged through the more than two feet of fresh snow, down to the livery. He softly stroked the mule's nose before saddling her.
"Now I knowed it's gonna be cold, Ruth, but we gotta try and find Matthew. He's done got hisself in a heap o' trouble, and it's up to us'n to git him out."
He pet the animal's nose once more, mounted her and headed for the edge of town. Two feet of snow might have fallen, but somewhere underneath it, there had to be a clue to where the scoundrels took the marshal. And if there was anything to follow, Deputy Festus Haggen would find it.
***********
Doc felt old as he ambled into the Long Branch. How many times over the years had he been afraid for Matt? Or for that matter, Festus. As the years passed, it was harder to take; and he could only imagine how difficult it was for Kitty. He found her sitting at their usual table, nursing a cup of coffee. For her sake, he would put on an air of pleasant confidence.
"Good morning, Kitty."
"Hi Doc."
"How are you holdin' up?"
"Okay, I guess."
He sat down across from her, and patted her hand.
"I know this is hard on you, but Festus isn't going to let anything happen to Matt." He looked around and realized there was no sign of the deputy. "And speaking of Festus, have you seen him this morning?"
"No."
"He probably left early to look for Matt. He's a good tracker, Kitty. If anyone can pick up Matt's trail, it's Festus."
She nodded, and silently sipped her coffee. Doc watched as Sam poured him a cup. He ran his hand over his mustache and down over his mouth and chin. Galen Adams wanted to take away her anxiety; he wanted to be able to reassure her that everything was going to be fine. He wanted to be able to say that Festus would come back shortly with Matt, and that there was no cause for worry. But he couldn't. His own heart was nearly paralyzed with fear. And yet, he knew for his own sake, and especially Kitty's, he couldn't give in to it.
He reached across the table and gently took Kitty's hands into his own. Their eyes locked in a silent moment of shared compassion.
His voice was soft and gentle, "While Festus is out there findin' Matt, I think we should keep ourselves busy with raisin' the ransom money."
Kitty's eyes turned cold, "You believe it's going to come to that, don't you."
It was a statement, not a question. Doc let go of her hands, and looked down at the table. He was failing miserably at comforting her. Finally his eyes glanced back up at her.
"What I believe is that we should be prepared for any eventuality."
Her eyes fought off tears, "They'll kill him anyway, Doc, and we both know it. People who do this sort of thing, they--"
She couldn't finish the thought. Kitty covered her mouth with her hand, in an attempt to stifle her cries. Doc moved to the chair next to hers, and put an arm around her shoulders.
"Here now..... let's have none of that. We'll get him back, Kitty."
Her fear was overtaking her, "You don't know that."
Doc felt her anguish land in the pit of his stomach, and he swallowed hard, trying to keep his own feelings in check. He pulled her into his shoulder, gently pressing her head into the crook of his neck. Kitty buried her face into his soft skin, and he rested his chin on her head. Doc sweetly stroked her hair until he felt her take a deep breath, then he wrapped his arms around her back, holding her tightly against him.
"Now you listen to me. Matt Dillon is not so easily done in, and Festus won't stop until he finds him. The odds are in our favor. Let's not forget how many scrapes these boys have come through."
Her breath was soft and warm against his neck, "And someday, their luck is bound to run out."
Doc pressed her into him, closing his eyes. He didn't want to think about anyone's luck running out. He had to try and remain positive, for both their sakes.
Perspiration dripped from Matt's forehead. It was becoming extremely hot from the fire above, and smoke was quickly filling the cellar. He needed to hurry, or he wasn't going to make it out. Coughing spasms shook him, but he inserted one end of the makeshift fuse into the bread, and pulling a match from his vest pocket, he struck it against the wood of the door. Matt lit the fuse, stepped off the crate, and pulling the old crate with him, went to the furthest corner of the cellar, crouching toward the wall. He waited and a few moments later, the trap door blew off, and Matt Dillon looked up toward the inferno above.
For a brief moment, he wondered if he had made the right move, but in the end, he knew his only chance for survival was to get out, even if that meant going through fire. Matt put the crate under the newly made hole in the ceiling of the cellar. He poured the rest of the water in the canteen all over his clothes, wetting his bandana as thoroughly as he could. He placed the bandana over most of his face, and jumped up, gripping the hot floor of the shack. He hoisted himself up, and into the burning interior.
Matt ran through the fire, trying not to react to the flames as they touched him. Holding his hands over his face, he dove through a window, landing with a thump on the hard snow outside. For a long moment, Dillon lay still, coughing up the smoke that had penetrated his lungs. He knew his right arm and leg were slightly singed from running through the fire, but he was happy to still be alive. The early morning wind kicked up, blowing snow over him, and he shivered bitterly as his wet clothing offered no protection against the freezing temperature. Matt knew he didn't have the luxury of waiting around to be rescued; if he remained unprotected out in the cold, he would surely die.
The sky was still dark with the last of the night, and the land silent with snow laden trees. Somewhere far off, he could hear the sounds of rushing water. His best shot would be to follow it downstream. He pulled himself up, and began walking toward the brook just beyond the clearing of trees. Matt hoped that he wouldn't freeze to death before he came upon a town or settlement.
***********
Festus was up before first light, and standing outside the Marshal's Office, coffee in hand. It had finally stopped snowing, but the morning was brutally cold. He finished his coffee, turned and walked back inside the office. He set the cup down, and picked up a shotgun, bed roll, and saddle bag of supplies. He left the office and trudged through the more than two feet of fresh snow, down to the livery. He softly stroked the mule's nose before saddling her.
"Now I knowed it's gonna be cold, Ruth, but we gotta try and find Matthew. He's done got hisself in a heap o' trouble, and it's up to us'n to git him out."
He pet the animal's nose once more, mounted her and headed for the edge of town. Two feet of snow might have fallen, but somewhere underneath it, there had to be a clue to where the scoundrels took the marshal. And if there was anything to follow, Deputy Festus Haggen would find it.
***********
Doc felt old as he ambled into the Long Branch. How many times over the years had he been afraid for Matt? Or for that matter, Festus. As the years passed, it was harder to take; and he could only imagine how difficult it was for Kitty. He found her sitting at their usual table, nursing a cup of coffee. For her sake, he would put on an air of pleasant confidence.
"Good morning, Kitty."
"Hi Doc."
"How are you holdin' up?"
"Okay, I guess."
He sat down across from her, and patted her hand.
"I know this is hard on you, but Festus isn't going to let anything happen to Matt." He looked around and realized there was no sign of the deputy. "And speaking of Festus, have you seen him this morning?"
"No."
"He probably left early to look for Matt. He's a good tracker, Kitty. If anyone can pick up Matt's trail, it's Festus."
She nodded, and silently sipped her coffee. Doc watched as Sam poured him a cup. He ran his hand over his mustache and down over his mouth and chin. Galen Adams wanted to take away her anxiety; he wanted to be able to reassure her that everything was going to be fine. He wanted to be able to say that Festus would come back shortly with Matt, and that there was no cause for worry. But he couldn't. His own heart was nearly paralyzed with fear. And yet, he knew for his own sake, and especially Kitty's, he couldn't give in to it.
He reached across the table and gently took Kitty's hands into his own. Their eyes locked in a silent moment of shared compassion.
His voice was soft and gentle, "While Festus is out there findin' Matt, I think we should keep ourselves busy with raisin' the ransom money."
Kitty's eyes turned cold, "You believe it's going to come to that, don't you."
It was a statement, not a question. Doc let go of her hands, and looked down at the table. He was failing miserably at comforting her. Finally his eyes glanced back up at her.
"What I believe is that we should be prepared for any eventuality."
Her eyes fought off tears, "They'll kill him anyway, Doc, and we both know it. People who do this sort of thing, they--"
She couldn't finish the thought. Kitty covered her mouth with her hand, in an attempt to stifle her cries. Doc moved to the chair next to hers, and put an arm around her shoulders.
"Here now..... let's have none of that. We'll get him back, Kitty."
Her fear was overtaking her, "You don't know that."
Doc felt her anguish land in the pit of his stomach, and he swallowed hard, trying to keep his own feelings in check. He pulled her into his shoulder, gently pressing her head into the crook of his neck. Kitty buried her face into his soft skin, and he rested his chin on her head. Doc sweetly stroked her hair until he felt her take a deep breath, then he wrapped his arms around her back, holding her tightly against him.
"Now you listen to me. Matt Dillon is not so easily done in, and Festus won't stop until he finds him. The odds are in our favor. Let's not forget how many scrapes these boys have come through."
Her breath was soft and warm against his neck, "And someday, their luck is bound to run out."
Doc pressed her into him, closing his eyes. He didn't want to think about anyone's luck running out. He had to try and remain positive, for both their sakes.