Chapter 14 – Here Come Da Judge

Two days passed. Bart's sleep was relatively peaceful, based on the hope that this would all be cleared up soon. By the morning of the third day, however, it appeared the peace was over.

Bret had gone into Little Bend to order some medicine that one of the horses needed and he stopped by the sheriff's office. When he walked in he found Dave talking to a man he'd never seen before, and he heard just enough conversation before he ducked back outside to realize it was the Judge. Warren Collins was somewhere around Bret's age, seemingly solid of build and broad of shoulder. He was about the same height as Bret, with curly brown hair and glasses. He looked like a man that brooked no nonsense.

Bret walked across the street and ducked into the Wells Fargo office. When he saw the judge leave, some fifteen or twenty minutes later, he waited until the streets were clear and then returned to the sheriff's office. "I assume that was the judge."

"Yes, it was," Dave answered with a grim look on his face.

"You don't look real happy about it." The fleeting expression he'd seen on Dave was enough to worry him.

"He's tough. I just hope he's fair. He wants to see all the paperwork I have on the case this afternoon, then he'll decide who he wants to talk to. We're still waiting on any kind of information from Silver Creek, although I understand they've located the sheriff we want to talk to and he's on his way back to town."

"At least that's good," Bret answered.

"We'll see."

When Bret got back to the ranch he stopped at Bart's house and relayed what he'd heard and seen. Bart listened with a poker face, nodded appropriately, and waited until Bret was gone before he said anything to Doralice.

"That doesn't sound good, baby. I guess we just have to wait and see what the judge has to say."

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That night the terrors returned. His sleep was restless, disturbed, sporadic. She rolled over in bed once to find him shivering and moaning, and she pulled him close and wrapped him in her embrace until he settled down. Later he was wet with sweat, and she got out of bed and wet a washcloth, wiping him down over and over.

Everything was peaceful for a while, but around three o'clock he woke her up, screaming out "Travis! Travis Cole!" over and over until she was finally forced to wake him.

"What? Huh?" was all he could get out at first.

"Wake up, honey, wake up!"

"What? What was I doing?" he questioned.

"Yelling out for Travis Cole. I kept shaking you and I couldn't get you to wake up."

"I'm sorry, blue eyes."

"You don't have to apologize to me. I know you can't control what's goin' on. Just try to go back to sleep now and get some rest."

"Okay. I am . . . "

"I know, sorry. Shh."

She held his body and rocked him until she heard him softly snoring. She didn't know how long this could go on. He was suffering recurring nightmares of the time Cole locked him up in jail for no reason, and there was nothing she could do to prevent them, or protect him from them. She knew the judge was going to want to know about the hallucinations, and he wasn't about to explain the terror that overtook him in his sleep. She didn't know what to do to ease his suffering and pain, so she did the only thing she could; hold him close and love him.

XXXXXXX

The morning dawned bright and clear, and Bart woke in a seemingly good mood. Of course, he would never do anything that would deliberately reveal what was going on in his sleep, not unless he was absolutely forced to. Unfortunately, that day might be closer than anyone expected.

Late that afternoon Dave Parker showed up at their front door. "Dave?" Bart questioned when he opened the front door. "Come in."

"He wants to question you, Bart."

"When?"

"Tomorrow at ten o'clock. In the sheriff's office."

"Do you have to come get me?"

"No, he'll let you come in by yourself. He wants you to come alone."

"No, Dave," Doralice quickly put her foot down.

"I told him that you wouldn't let him come alone, Doralice, and he just shrugged his shoulders. I guess he thought it was worth a try."

"We'll be there." Once Dave had ridden off, Bart turned to his wife. "I want to get in around nine o'clock, so we can stop at Smithson's office first."

"Good idea."

"Listen, blue eyes, I ain't gonna sleep tonight, so there's no sense stayin' up here in bed. I'll take a book downstairs and you can get some sleep. I know I've been drivin' you crazy. And I don't want any arguing. Agreed?"

Reluctantly she answered, "Agreed."

That night Doralice lay in bed, wondering just what the judge would ask Bart the next day, until she finally drifted off to sleep. Bart sat downstairs on the settee, covered with the same afghan Doralice had used, reading 'Little Dorrit,' by Chares Dickens. There were numerous people in and out of prison in England, and Bart shuddered every time another one went in.

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