Decisions and Desires

Chapter 11

Matt knew he was alone. He couldn't hear voices or sense anyone nearby. With a monumental effort, he raised himself up on his hands and knees to look around. His vision was still blurred, and he shook his head to try to clear it. It didn't help. More troubling was the fact that he couldn't see his horse anywhere. Carefully he lowered himself back to the ground and, as he did so he noticed a canteen lying in the dirt nearby. At least they had left him some water. He reached out and, by stretching his arm as far as possible, was able to touch it with his fingers and drag it towards him. It was less than half full, but a mouthful here and there would certainly help. His head was hurting again and dizziness was overtaking him. He laid back down and surrendered his mind to invading dreams where the image of Ronnie Pickens' face was mixed up with the Tanney gang. Somehow he couldn't figure it all out.

ooo000oo

Dusk had already fallen when Quint got down from his horse to check the trail for what must have been the twentieth time since their last rest stop.

"I'm sure of it now," he mumbled more to himself than Arlo.

"Sure of what?"

"Matt is no longer on that horse." He was squatting down once more studying the patterns in the dust. Arlo leaned over his shoulder to look at the signs Quint was indicating, but couldn't make anything out of the mess of half formed images in the dirt.

"Maybe they have him riding double on one of the other animals."

"It's possible but I can't see anything to indicate that." Quint picked up the reins of his horse and walked on a little further, stopping several times as he followed whatever it was he could see. The tracks had become so blurred that Arlo was unable to identify anything at this point. They walked for about another half mile then the blacksmith stopped.

"I'm certain he's not with them anymore, we need to backtrack and find out what happened."

Both of them had the same fear, but did not voice it aloud.

Grasping the saddle horn, Quint swung up onto the back of his Appaloosa once more and began retracing his steps. An hour later the light was fading, but the blacksmith was once more squatting down looking at tracks in the dirt. Fortunately there had been fewer animals using this part of the trail and only two or three sets of unshod Indian ponies mingled with the tracks he was following.

"This is it," he said at last, straightening up and looking around. "It looks like Matt fell off his horse right here. See the boot tracks, two sets, they are carrying something heavy." He stopped to point to what he was seeing. Both men's eyes scanned the landscape. The boot tracks led east of the trail. There wasn't much cover, but through the darkness they could make out some stunted bushes surrounded by a few grasses growing up from the otherwise barren prairie soil. Quint took off at a run, and Arlo quickly followed.

At first Arlo thought they were too late. The body on the ground looked bruised and beaten. Quint squatted down and felt for a pulse. It was there, not very strong, but at least it was present.

"He's still alive," he announced.

Arlo had thought to grab the canteen from his horse, and now he handed it to Quint who was trying to lift the Marshal's head. Maybe he got him to swallow a sip or two but it didn't seem to have much effect. Quint looked around,

"There's a bottle of whisky in my saddle bag," he said to Arlo.

Arlo brought both the horses closer to where the marshal was lying. He found the whisky and handed it over.

"Come on Matt, try a little of this." Carefully the blacksmith encouraged his friend to take a little of the amber liquid.

Matt coughed and choked on the first mouthful, but the second swallow cleared his head somewhat and he tried to sit up. Quint pushed him back down.

"Take it easy for a minute."

"How come you're here?"

"It's a long story, Matt. Do you remember what happened?"

"I was after the Tanney gang, I think they found me first, not sure." He raised his hand to his head which had started to pound again, and reluctantly admitted to himself that he did not have the strength to stand up and go after the outlaws.

Quint knew what had to be done.

"Arlo, if we build a travois, do you think you can get the marshal back to Dodge?"

"What are you planning to do?"

"Someone needs to go after the people who did this."

"How are you going to find them?"

"As long as they have Matt's horse with them, it won't be difficult."

Quint was not a man given to lengthy conversations and did not elaborate on what he intended to do. He had a quiet confidence in his own ability to handle whatever situation came along. Right now he needed to find some saplings to make a travois but there were none in the immediate area. It was already too dark to go looking, so they made camp for the night.

Next morning Matt seemed more alert. In fact he had it in his mind that he was now able to go after the outlaws himself. Quint was quietly trying to talk him out of the idea, but to little effect. Dillon did manage to sit up but the motion caused his head to spin. He was forced to lay back down. It was then that he noticed his badge was missing which led to a whole new set of concerns.

"I have to get them, Quint, before they kill again. There's been too much killing. I have to stop them." His voice grew weaker and his eyes closed.

"I'll find them, Matt." Quint gently eased his friend back to the ground.

"It's not your job, it's mine. Too many risks."

"Deputize me, then it becomes my job. You can pay me later," he added, thinking that if he could get Dillon to consider this to be an official arrangement he might be more accepting of it.

"Quint, I can't ask you to do this."

"You're not asking, I'm volunteering."

Eventually the blacksmith got his way, but it was well into the morning before the travois was constructed and they were ready to leave. Quint had put his own saddle on the pack horse and secured the travois to it. He figured it would take Arlo at least five days to get home pulling the device, maybe even longer. He might even be able to find the outlaws and catch up with them before they ever reached Dodge City.

Arlo had watched the half Comanche construct the travois. He looked on as the man worked with the knife he always wore on his belt, and was amazed by the speed of his fingers and how quickly and accurately he assembled the structure.

"What are you going to do for a saddle?" he questioned as Asper tested the device.

"I don't really need one. You white men just get lazy."

Quint smiled as he spoke, remembering a time when the white man had been his enemy. Thanks to Matt Dillon he had learned that there was good and bad in all races. Skin color had nothing to do with it, it was the man inside the skin that counted. It had been a hard lesson for him at the time, but one he would never forget. He knew the scars of hate he carried would always be there, but with every day that passed, they got buried a little deeper.

ooo000ooo

The signs were easy to follow. The big buckskin horse left unmistakable tracks in the sand and rock that made up the trail. Quint was able to make better time now that he was traveling alone, and losing forty pounds of saddle made the ride easier for his mount. He figured he would catch up with the outlaws in about two days. It was, in fact, towards dusk on the second night when he heard noises ahead. He could even smell the smoke from their campfire. These white men had no idea how to hide, they might as well be standing up and waving to him.

Meantime, Arlo was headed back towards Dodge leading the pack horse with the travois.

Overall the marshal's condition seemed to be improving, but that night he ran a fever again. Arlo could hear him mumbling. Most of the words were jumbled, but one word he did understand, a name, "Kitty".

TBC