Matt adjusted his coat collar and bid Wilbur Jonas a good evening. He watched the store owner walk away before he turned his attention to the direction of the buffalo hunters. The marshal pursed his lips as his eyes narrowed in thought. With a quick look to the sky and the falling snow, Matt looked down the street in the direction that Doc and Festus had travelled earlier in the day. Matt drew a deep breath trying not to think negative thoughts about his two wayward friends.
Matt was determined to talk with the hunters, even if it was late and they were weary travelers. The marshal strolled up the street looking for the wagon and the three men. After twenty minutes, Matt spotted the wagon, with the horses still in their harnesses tied up at the Bull's Head Saloon. Matt hated the place.
The marshal walked around the wagon to take a look at the wheel that Wilbur Jonas claimed to belong to Doc's buggy. Matt couldn't say for certain with the dim light cast through the filthy window of the saloon, but he also knew full well that the wheel wasn't meant for a heavy wagon. He cast his eyes to the door of the saloon.
Inside the pungent smell of stale tobacco and booze hung in the air. The proprietor of the Bull's Head, Gus Thornton, only cared about making money, not some much on cleanliness, which attracted the likes of the buffalo hunters. Kirkland and Morrison were at a rough wooden table off to the side enjoying their first bottle of whiskey and a well worn deck of cards. "I bet that old coot saw that wheel," Morrison stated as he poured himself another drink.
"So what?" Kirkland scoffed. "We got it from a farmer, remember?" he laughed then swallowed back his drink before refilling his glass.
Matt opened the door and tried not to gag at the putrid smells. He cast his eyes around the room until he spotted the men he was looking for.
Morrison nudged Kirkland with his elbow, "Ain't that the guy we were just talking to?"
Kirkland looked up, "Looks like him," he shrugged and resumed looking at the cards in his grubby hands.
Matt strolled over to the table, "I'd like to talk to you," he stated as he hooked his thumbs over his gun belt.
Morrison slowly looked up, as did Kirkland, "About what?"
"That wagon of yours. Where's you get that back wheel?" Matt asked, straight to the point.
"Who are you?" Kirkland then asked.
"The name's Matt Dillon. I'm the United States Marshal here," Matt watched the two men. Neither of them flinched. "Where's your friend?"
"You sure are full of questions," Morrison half laughed as he again nudged Kirkland with this elbow.
"Maybe, but I want answers to them," Matt growled.
Morrison shrugged, "We needed a wheel, we came across a farm, and the fellow gave it to us," he stated. "And as for poor ol' Patty, he's just not feeling all that well. I think it must be all this cold and snow," Morrison exaggerated his comment by rubbing his upper arms with his hands.
Matt wet his lips; he wasn't buying them for an instance, "I see," he grunted as his eyes narrowed. "Where is this farm?" he then asked.
"Now marshal. How would we remember that? We've travelled all sorts of places," Morrison claimed.
"Okay. Try this. Was it near here? I can't see a farmer giving you a buggy wheel for a heavy wagon like yours," he pushed for an answer.
"It's the only spare one he had," Kirkland quickly answered. "I guess it was maybe fifty miles from here," he added.
"I see," Matt said as he rocked slightly on his heels.
"What's this all about, anyway?" Morrison then asked.
Matt glared at the buffalo hunter, "I think that wheel you have came off a buggy that belongs to a very good friend of mine. He happens to be missing at the moment," Matt growled.
The two men quickly exchanged glances, "Just what are you accusing us of, marshal?" Kirkland counter.
Matt drew a deep breath, "Nothing yet," he said before he turned and left in disgust.
"I told you that old coot saw the wheel," Morrison stated as he swallowed back his drink.
"We've really got nothing to hide. That buggy wasn't going anywhere," Kirkland stated.
"What about that whiskered faced guy?" Morrison asked.
Kirkland shrugged, "What about him? I shot him," he asked before he looked back at his cards.
Festus placed another large piece of wood on the fire and looked over to the doctor. Doc had curled up into the fetal position and held the wool blanket tightly around his neck and shoulders. The hill man could see him shake now and again from the cold. He was doing his best to keep the fire burning.
Festus reached back for the whiskey bottle and took a mouthful. He sighed at the situation he found themselves in, "Doc, I promise on my great aunt Hootie's grave I'll git you out of this," he looked back at the doctor as he set the bottle down. A sad realization came to him a second ago as he placed the log on the fire; they were soon going to be out of wood.
The hill man pushed himself up and moved over to the doctor where he was able to adjust the blanket and the canvas cover over the lean-to to better protect Doc from the elements. Festus swallowed and looked out into the night; the snow was still coming down, but at least in the woods the wind wasn't swirling as bad as it was in the wide open.
Festus looked down at Doc again, and then headed back into the thicket to find more fallen wood for the fire. The hill man didn't know how long he'd have to keep in doing this, he'd hoped that by morning the snow storm would have left up, allowing the two men to travel, but even that thought choked him as he didn't know how well the doctor could travel if he was in fact right about the injury caused by the bullet weeks earlier.
The hill man didn't want to wander too far from the camp site with the depth of the snow and the wind, he knew he could quickly lose his way. Instinctively Festus used his feet to poke around in the deep snow until he found something that felt like a fallen tree limb, and then he'd go in with this hands. This time, he felt he hit the mother load. The hill man dug through the snow and found several sizable limbs. He quickly grabbed one and tugged and it came free. With a look of relief on his face, he trudged back through the snow and placed the limb down. He repeated this until he had exhausted the pile and himself.
Doc was still asleep. Festus piled a few more logs on the fire and hunkered down for what surely would be a long night. The deputy picked up shotgun and rested it across this legs and he then crossed his arms over his chest as he leaned back on a tree he used as part of the lean-to. His eyes were heavy and he was satisfied that the fire was now providing enough heat for him and the doctor that he could get a few hours sleep. Festus yawned and shifted slightly and with a quick look over to the doctor to make sure he was somewhat comfortable, he closed his eyes and drifted into a deep sleep.