Festus had been riding for hours. He was cold, tired, and had found
absolutely nothing. He stopped Ruth and dismounted, stretching his back out
slightly. The cold was hanging in the air, and he knew it was at least ten
degrees colder than it had been in the previous hour. His stomach growled
and he realized he hadn't eaten a thing all day. But now was not the time
to stop.
He let out a slow breath of air, and climbed back up on Ruth, and started down the trail once again. The snow was thick but the wind was blowing it into drifting banks all around him. He had to hold onto his hat as a particularly strong gust blew through the pass. Snow flew as the gust carried it into different directions. Festus squinted to keep it out of his eyes, and it was then that a glint of sun striking metal caught his attention.
"Whoa, Ruth."
He dismounted and walked over to the shiny object. Bending down, Festus pulled it out of the bank and brushed off the remaining snow and ice. He couldn't read them, but he knew that the words etched in the metal badge said: "US Marshal." There was no question that Dillon had come this way. Festus dug around the snow in the area, and to his dismay, uncovered spots of dried blood. He clutched the badge tightly in his hand.
"You just hang on, Matthew. I'm a comin'...."
***********
Matt's head hurt so badly, he could barely see straight. He had to sit down and rest awhile; it was either that or pass out. He sat under a large tree that was set back away from the rushing river. He leaned against the strong trunk, and pulled his knees up against his chest for warmth. He shivered from the cold, his teeth chattering uncontrollably. Within minutes, Dillon was unconscious, unaware of the approaching storm.
***********
By periodically digging through snow, Festus was able to follow a trail of dried blood that led through a thick wood. But it had been a slow process and took much longer than he had anticipated. Around dusk, he found the clearing where the old shack once stood. When he saw the charred remains, his stomach leapt into his throat, an inexplicable fear overwhelming him. He spurred Ruth into a fast run, not pulling up on the reins until he was ten feet from the scorched pile of wood. Feeling suddenly queasy, Festus dismounted, and slowly walked toward the old shack. Afraid of what he might find, but knowing he had to look, the deputy began searching through the seared remnants.
After about ten minutes, his worst fears proved true: under several burnt timbres of wood, Festus found the charred remains of Matt's coat, hat, and his seared colt. The deputy felt as if he had been kicked hard in the belly. Pulling his hat off his head, Festus dropped to his knees, and gently picked up the remnants of his friend's belongings. Tears stung his eyes, and he wiped his shirtsleeve across his face.
"Aw Matthew....." His voice dropped to a whisper, "I'm so sorry I wasn't here. More sorrier than you could ever knowed." Festus stood, putting his hat back on his head, "I'll get the ones who did this, Matthew. I swar it."
With an air of reverence, Festus wrapped Dillon's hat and coat into his bed roll, mounted Ruth, and spurring her into a run, headed for home just as the snow began to fall.
He let out a slow breath of air, and climbed back up on Ruth, and started down the trail once again. The snow was thick but the wind was blowing it into drifting banks all around him. He had to hold onto his hat as a particularly strong gust blew through the pass. Snow flew as the gust carried it into different directions. Festus squinted to keep it out of his eyes, and it was then that a glint of sun striking metal caught his attention.
"Whoa, Ruth."
He dismounted and walked over to the shiny object. Bending down, Festus pulled it out of the bank and brushed off the remaining snow and ice. He couldn't read them, but he knew that the words etched in the metal badge said: "US Marshal." There was no question that Dillon had come this way. Festus dug around the snow in the area, and to his dismay, uncovered spots of dried blood. He clutched the badge tightly in his hand.
"You just hang on, Matthew. I'm a comin'...."
***********
Matt's head hurt so badly, he could barely see straight. He had to sit down and rest awhile; it was either that or pass out. He sat under a large tree that was set back away from the rushing river. He leaned against the strong trunk, and pulled his knees up against his chest for warmth. He shivered from the cold, his teeth chattering uncontrollably. Within minutes, Dillon was unconscious, unaware of the approaching storm.
***********
By periodically digging through snow, Festus was able to follow a trail of dried blood that led through a thick wood. But it had been a slow process and took much longer than he had anticipated. Around dusk, he found the clearing where the old shack once stood. When he saw the charred remains, his stomach leapt into his throat, an inexplicable fear overwhelming him. He spurred Ruth into a fast run, not pulling up on the reins until he was ten feet from the scorched pile of wood. Feeling suddenly queasy, Festus dismounted, and slowly walked toward the old shack. Afraid of what he might find, but knowing he had to look, the deputy began searching through the seared remnants.
After about ten minutes, his worst fears proved true: under several burnt timbres of wood, Festus found the charred remains of Matt's coat, hat, and his seared colt. The deputy felt as if he had been kicked hard in the belly. Pulling his hat off his head, Festus dropped to his knees, and gently picked up the remnants of his friend's belongings. Tears stung his eyes, and he wiped his shirtsleeve across his face.
"Aw Matthew....." His voice dropped to a whisper, "I'm so sorry I wasn't here. More sorrier than you could ever knowed." Festus stood, putting his hat back on his head, "I'll get the ones who did this, Matthew. I swar it."
With an air of reverence, Festus wrapped Dillon's hat and coat into his bed roll, mounted Ruth, and spurring her into a run, headed for home just as the snow began to fall.