Saving Alice Chapter 15

CHAPTER 15

“We got to get a move on,” Chet said. “That sun ain’t waitin’ for nobody. If we don’t see where we is headin’ in the next little piece of time, then we got to wait for mornin’. I seen his horse up around that corner and we best fetch it.”
Matthew had returned to his horse right behind Chet and climbed on once again, finding the action still awkward. He wondered if riding a horse would ever become as natural to himself as it did for Chet. But he doubted it as soon as the question had formed itself in his mind. He supposed one had to be born in the saddle to find any real ease in the saddle. Matthew still had to concentrate on his position in the saddle in order to ward off any pain from his tender backside.
Chet turned his horse and started the short distance for the dead man’s horse. When they reached the bend in the wash around which the horse was concealed, Chet ran across a convergence of the tracks they had been following, though he was having difficulty seeing them in the growing darkness. Turning to look from the direction they had come, he told Matthew, “I’m thinkin’ that there just ain’t no sense in travelin’ no further. Might as well camp here for the night as well as anywheres.”
Matthew’s heart sank at the news. He understood that the day was over, but he had hoped to track a bit longer- they might be close. Instead of complaining he said as more of a statement than a question, “Too hard to see the tracks.”
“That is the long and short of it. If we head after these tracks, we might just miss some odd turn out. The whole time we is on the trail, our horses is messin’ up the trail with their own hoof marks. It’d be a mess to near impossible to back track if we got to.”
Chet swung down to the ground and stood for a moment. “I think we ought to set ourselves up on the other side of the hill. We can have a bit of fire then, and the glow’d be sheltered from up the wash.”
He walked over to the tethered horse and brought it back. “We might as well set up a horse ranch when this is all over the way we keep collectin’ this horse flesh.”
Matthew had stepped from his saddle also and was standing by the head of his horse. When Chet gathered the reins of the horse and started back in the direction they had come to get to the other side of the bend, Matthew followed.
Chet set about unsaddling the horses and hobbling each horse in turn. Matthew had figured out how to undo his horses saddle by watching Chet, but his lack of skill was amplified by the fact that Chet had finished the three other horses by the time Matthew was able to hoist his saddle down from the back of his own horse. But Matthew did not understand the idea of hobbling as he watched Chet start hobbling the first of the four horses.
“What are you doing?”
“This here is called hobblin’. Once it’s all in place then there ain’t no need to be tying up the horse. It can wander a bit and eat what it can for the night.”
“Won’t they just take off?”
Chet gave a soft chuckle and shook his head. “Nope. This here leather strap keeps ‘em from being able to take a full step, so they move about real slow like. In the morning they’ll be right here abouts. Easy as pickin’ mountain huckleberries. Just walk up and get ‘em.”
Chet walked over to Chet’s saddlebag and extracted a hobble for his horse. “Most people that’s out this way always keep one in their bags, along with that wrapped up bit of jerky in the bag.”
At the mention of the dried meat Matthew felt the hunger pains. Chet had given him a few pieces of his own stash through out the day, but never enough to satisfy. Matthew hadn’t known that there was any food on his horse, and he told Chet that he would have eaten a little of it earlier if he had known about it.
“Best to eat just ‘nough to keep the energy up while ridin’. I got a little trail food for us tonight, and some coffee, but I only got one cup atween us.”
Chet started to kick around at some of the larger rocks and shrubs near the base of the hill where they were planning on setting up for the night. Matthew looked on in wonder at the kicking, not sure what to make of it.
“What are you doing?”
“Snakes. Can’t stand ‘em. Just makin’ sure there ain’t none about here.”
“Are there lots of poisoness snakes out here?”
“Rattlers. But any snake ought to be routed. Can’t stand any of ‘em wiggly things.”
Chet instructed Matthew to gather a little wood before all the light was gone. In five minutes Matthew came back with his arms burgeoning with a load of sticks for the fire.
“We ain’t goin’ to have no big fire,” said Chet. “We just want a little heat for the coffee and somethin’ to chase the chill off.”
“Then we should be okay with this,” said Matthew as he dumped his load of wood to the ground.
“Sure. Don’t hurt to have a bit more ‘an needed.”
Chet set about making the fire and soon had his little trail kettle boiling with coffee. The water came from the canteens that were tied to each of the saddles. the two had refilled theirs when they had been at the stream earlier in the day. Chet had made sure that they used what they had sparingly during the ride, and even now he stressed that it is best to drink slowly and let the water get a chance to quench before drinking more.
The men had settled into silence as the evening itself settled into darkness with the coming of the moonless star-speckled sky. Matthew stole glances at his companion who sat now leaning against his saddle with his hat sitting on the saddle’s horn. He saw trouble in Chet’s eyes.
“Chet, thank you for getting involved with all of this.”
Chet was slow to answer before saying, “Ain’t nothin’.”
“It is to me.”
Chet just nodded in response.
“I don’t want to be prying too much here,” pursued Matthew, “there seems to be something bothering you.”
Chet made no attempt to answer as he poured the first cup of coffee and handed it to Matthew. Matthew took it and after taking the sip, he dipped a piece of the hard tack Chet had given him into the cup to soften it up a little.
In his low voice, Chet broke the silence that Matthew was beginning to think would be the course of the night. “If my momma was right, then it’s too late for that little prayer you said?”
“I’m not sure what prayer you may be speaking of,” replied Matthew.
“Back aways with that man I done sent yonder. You done asked God’s mercy for that bastard.” A tone of bitterness had crept into his inflection.
Matthew looked to his companion who was still looking into the flames, and he divined the battle of earlier in the day had never ended in Chet’s mind. He understood that the thrill of victory did not dominate this man. Instead something within was speaking its condemnation.
“You’re right,” Matthew said, “his life has now been written fully. He chose what it would be, what he would do, and how to live. But even Jesus wept over the death of a man. He takes no pleasure in the death of the wicked.”
“God don’t get pleased to put a person in the final destination?” The words were more of a challenge than question.
Matthew wasn’t quick to answer as the fire crackled before them. “Well, I think that depends. For some, those that have put their hope and trust in Jesus, God has great joy to welcome them home. But for those who have rejected Jesus, then, no. God has no happiness to deliver them to their own choice.”
Chet turned to look Matthew in the eye through the dim light of the fire. “Don’t you mean that God just sends him to hell?”
“What I mean, Chet, is that the person makes the choice of his own destination. It’s not God’s choice, it’s a person’s choice. When it is all said and done, God gives a person what he asked for on this earth.”
Chet chewed on this for a moment before returning, “Sometimes a person gets there awful quick like and there ain’t no time, no how to do as you say, ‘put their trust in Jesus’.”
Matthew nodded his head in agreement. “You are right. Life can be very fragile and it can end quit suddenly. God knows that also. You know, in the Bible it says that today is the day of salvation. The best time for someone to get their lives right with their maker is not at the end, but as soon as possible. Today.”
Chet gave a soft chuckle as he shook his head. “Well I just sent a man to hell today. You ever send a man to hell, Son?”
Matthew saw that Chet had just changed the direction of the subject, so he held his tongue for a moment and returned his gaze to the fire. “No Chet, I’ve never killed a man.”
“It feels like hell to be the one doin’ it. Maybe it’s best to just think that I didn’t put him in hell at all. He just died and that’s that- no hell to fear, no heaven to be wishin’ for.”
Matthew wasn’t interested in winning any arguments. If there was anything to win, it was Chet’s soul. He understood that many times the best thing to do is listen, so he resisted the urge to challenge the no-hell-or-heaven comment. The words weren’t the real concern. Matthew supposed that Chet’s struggle was more guilt related.
After a heavy pause Matthew spoke quietly to his companion, “Chet, I know that you did what you had to do. It’ll not be your fault one way or the other where that man has found himself to be now.”
“I know,” came Chet’s response, “I’d rather be sittin’ by this here fire ’an being buzzard bait. Wouldn’t want to change places. But all the same…” He allowed the sentence to hang without being completed.
Time crept on for a moment before Chet started again. “You know what? This ain’t the first bastard I done that to, and I’m givin’ it a thought that it ain’t goin’ to be the last. That’s what festers in my mind, knowin’ that I got to do it all again some day. Then its like the soul of that man sneaks up ahind me and whispers to me.” The light of the fire danced around on Chet’s face as he let his statement sit for a moment.
Matthew waited patiently for the words to continue. “He tells me that hell is waitin’,” Chet said. “He’ll remind me of my momma talkin’ about that man sittin’ in hell and askin’ that beggar Lassers for just a bit of water.”
Matthew discerned he was speaking of Lazarus, but didn’t correct him. Instead he said, “Chet, Jesus doesn’t want that for you. He loves you more than you can ever know.”
“That’s what my momma said.” Chet settled down further against his saddle. “I’m goin’ to get some shut eye.” Chet had brought the conversation to an abrupt end, but he mused on both the encouragement of Matthew and the hauntings of his doom.

Saving Alice Chapter 14

CHAPTER 14

The two men had moved into the ravine, stepping over the rubble of rocks that were making up the floor of the side wash. The narrow gulch climbed rather sharply as it cut its path through the hill. Chet set the pace as they climbed, not wanting his adversaries to catch on to what they were doing. He wanted to get into position as quickly as possible and hopefully surprise them with a few shots from this new angle. If he could get at least one of them, then their odds would be greatly increased.
“Look here, son. We’re goin’ to climb up this bank here and see if we can get an eye on ‘em. What you need to do is try not to knock any rocks loose. That’d make a clatter to raise the dead out here. We want to catch ‘em unawares.”
“Alright, I’ll watch where I’m stepping,” said Matthew.
“Afore we take to a new spot, I’m goin’ to give ‘em somethin’ to think about.” Chet then stuck his hand from around the rock and shot off three quick shots into the general direction of the one rifleman he had seen. He knew he would more than likely hit nothing of consequence; he just wanted to give his attackers a reason to be cautious.
Chet quickly reloaded his gun and then started his climb up the rocky side of the bank. It was steep for the first few feet, but then quickly rounded itself off into a softer slope as they neared the top. Chet dropped to his knees with gun in hand as he crested the hill and saw that they were indeed as high as he wanted to be.
Peering over the top he scanned the scene before him. He found the spot where he had estimated the gunman would be. Frustratingly he saw that the man was no longer in the same position. Slowly his eyes probed the area searching every rock and bush for any sign of his opponents. A movement off to his right caught his eye. One of the gunmen had stepped from behind a rock and cautiously moved to another position. He was heading in the direction Chet and Matthew’s original hiding place, but he was still a ways off. Chet surmised that he must have just started his movements. The gunman must have seen that Chet nor Matthew were offering themselves for targets any longer.
Having found one of the gunmen, Chet quickly searched the rest of the area for the rest of the gunmen, but he couldn’t see where they were they were concealed. Looking further up the wash a movement called for his attention. Just around the bend Chet saw a lone horse swishing its tail as it was tied to a scrub brush. Chet lifted his head a little higher to get a better look, and as he thought through the event of being shot at, he realized that there was only one man doing the shooting.
Scooting back down out of sight, he spoke in hushed tones to Matthew. “There ain’t but one varmint over there tryin’ to get us, and he don’t know yet that we done moved. I want you to stay here. I’m goin’ after him, but I got to get a better position.”
Matthew gave a nod in consent and then, like a whisper, Chet crested the hill and started a descent towards his target. Matthew quietly scooted up to Chet’s old position and looked down into the wash that was now being drawn into the shroud of shadows from the dying day. He could see Chet making his quick progress down the hill, but the location of the other man was lost to his eyes. Suddenly he saw the man moving cautiously from his hiding place.
Chet was surprisingly cutting the distance between him and the gunman very quickly as he adroitly made his way down the steep embankment, using both hands and feet as he lithely moved from rock to rock, and bush to bush. Matthew kept expecting the gunman to hear something from Chet- a kicked stone, a snapped twig, or too heavily placed foot. But Chet, like a cat in its hunt, proved his prowess with each expertly displayed movement. Matthew’s heart jumped as he saw the gunman turn to look behind him, but Chet had anticipated it and had made himself invisible.
Just as the man had reached the rocks where Chet and Matthew had been hiding, Chet had also gotten into his position. The gunman lowered his rifle into a ready position for a quick firing as he readied himself to spring around the rock. With a swift movement he swung himself around to a firing line of sight, only to find the three horses, but no men.
Immediately Chet stepped out into a new position with his revolver in hand. “Don’t make a move,” came the menacing voice of Chet. The gunman froze where he stood, not even moving his head. Chet continued with his instructions, “If you do as I’m tellin’ you, you just might live to see another day. Now then, real slow like, I want you to take that trigger finger off that there gun you been tottin’.”
But the man just stood like a statue, not moving a muscle. He was hesitating between compliance and action. Chet lowered his voice, and in a dangerously calm voice he spoke again, “I ain’t goin’ to count or give you no more warnin’s. I’m just a goin’ to shoot you if your hand don’t move right now.”
The man’s hand slowly opened its grip and ever so slowly released its hold on the rifle’s trigger.
“Why, you just proved to be a very smart man… best choice you could be makin’. Now, with just the same slow movin’, you is goin’ to place that gun down on the ground right where you stand. And don’t be quick about nothin’. You’ll be dead before you can twitch.”
The man did just as he was instructed. With a slow continuous movement he bent to put his rifle down on the ground beside him. Then as he returned to standing upright he turned his body so he could face Chet.
Chet was aware of his every movement, and understood that the threat was not over yet. The man’s six-shooter was still in its holster, and tied down to his thigh. “You still got the teeth of a rattler there on your side,” Chet said holding his gun leveled ominously to the man’s chest. “What your life needs right now, is for that gun to be slowly pulled out and put to ground.”
Just as Chet had finished his last word, the man dove off to the side, but not in the direction of the rocks for cover. Chet had readied himself for just such an action, except he had done so thinking the man would have moved towards the logical safety of the rocks, so his hand reflexively twitched in the opposite direction as he pulled the trigger, sending his bullet uselessly down the wash.
Meanwhile, in the same instant of his dive the gunman had pulled his gun from its holster, and as he was falling to the ground fired a shot at his opponent. The shot was wild and went harmlessly high over Chet’s head. He hit the ground and began rolling with his gun extended towards Chet and firing as fast as his finger could move, but they were desperate shots, not well aimed.
Chet had not remained rooted to his position, he too was now moving, crouched low and away from cover also, parallel with the gunman’s rolling body. A bullet ricocheted off the ground near his feet, sending a spray of pebbles and dirt to pelt his legs. His foot leapt into the air of its own accord to the close call.
Chet’s gun was not silent as it spoke with a flaming tongue. His hand was searching for the right angle to hit his now moving target. The gunman had made himself a small target by getting to the ground, and the rolling body proved a difficult mark to hit. His second shot had hit the ground where the gunman had first landed, but had rolled away from. Chet’s third shot had the same result of hitting the ground just as the man rolled from it. His forth shot went high, as the gunman’s gun had placed that one bullet near Chet’s foot.
Suddenly the gunman rolled up to his knees in order to get a better well-aimed shot. Chet’s gun had still been tracking the low target, and this time his bullet found the gunman’s thigh as it ripped though the flesh and shattered the bone. The man cried out as he took another shot at Chet, again missing. Chet’s final shot was more accurate, as it hit the man squarely in the chest. The man fell backward, landing hard upon his back and his gun falling from his now lifeless hand.
Chet came to a stop and stood with his gun still pointing at the dead man. Every muscle in his body was rigid and ready for action. But none was needed. Slowly he walked toward the motionless body, with its wounded leg bend awkwardly to the side.
Chet stopped his advance at the feet of the slain man and peered down upon the fallen body. The man stared blankly into the dying day’s sky. The look of peace did not rest upon his face, but was instead warped into a grimace of agony.
For Chet, there was no joy in his heart for having won this battle. He had seen many dead men in his time, but the ones that he had sent to their final end put an unspeakable heaviness in his heart- to be the agent of sending someone to heaven or hell was something that was not to be savored. Perhaps it was best to think that life just ended- an eternity one way or the other was too great a responsibility to bear. His childhood teachings upon his mother’s lap or in the small white steeple-topped church proved to be words that haunted him when he saw his hand’s work lay before him. Though he had never done the deed except in self-defense, the idea gnawed upon his soul.
He looked down at his gun that was still ready for action. He gave a shake of his head when he examined the rounds and found that he had spent all of the bullets. “Lost count of ‘em,” he mumbled to himself as he reloaded his gun, which was always his habit after shooting it.
Holstering his gun, he turned to find Matthew now coming down the embankment. “Preacher,” said Chet when Matthew came to his side, “you got any words for him?”
Matthew stood beside Chet. “Have mercy on his soul, Lord.”
Chet stepped past the fallen man and gathered up the gun and stripped the holster from the body. He wrapped the holster upon itself and moved toward the horses, picking up the rifle as he passed it.

Saving Alice Chapter 13

CHAPTER 13

The two men spurred their horses into motion with Chet’s extra horse in tow. Up the wash they traveled in silence with Chet giving Matthew a discerning glance from time to time while Matthew concentrated on keeping his body more erect in the saddle, thus relieving himself from the pain he had been experiencing during his earlier ride. Occasionally he would slump back into his old position resulting in a sharp pain, which in turn reminded him to concentrate on his riding posture. The sores were now a more effective riding instructor than Chet.
Eventually Chet queried Matthew about his comfort. “I’m feeling a lot better as long as I stay sitting up straight.”
“Now then, ain’t that just what I been tellin’ you to do, ‘keep sittin’ up straight’?”
“I know what you’ve been telling me, I just never quite understood it all. But it all seems to coming together now.”
“Sometimes a little pain can do the best kind of teachin’ for a feller,” said Chet in his even tone.
“All the same, thanks for your help. I really don’t think I could have stayed at it for another minute if it weren’t for your cactus stuff.”
“No need for any thanks to be headin’ my way. Any odd fool out here could of done it for you.”
Matthew inwardly winced at the inference that fools were smarter than him, but he let it pass thinking that it was probably true. “All the same, thanks.”
“If you ever find yourself lost out here again,” offered Chet, “you can eat that plant also. Everythin’ about it is okay for eatin’, except the prickles. Not much in the way of flavor in the leaves, but it’ll keep you alive.”
Matthew guessed that the trail must have grown more difficult to follow, for Chet had slowed his pace quite a bit and was taking the time to keep an evaluating eye on the edges of the trail. Even Matthew’s untrained eye could see that there were many more tracks on the ground than the three riders would have left. This track was apparently a commonly used trail.
“How do you know which tracks to follow?” inquired Matthew.
“This trail that we is followin’” Chet spoke in an even voice, ignoring the question for the moment, “sure is wisely placed. Notice that these here tracks is followin’ the actual path of the water run off. Every time there comes some odd sort of rain, it’ll run right on through this here wash and clean away marks that tell of someone’s passin’. True that there’d be some pretty good stretches of time when the marks are left here, but all the same, eventually it’ll all look like there ain’t nobody ever been this way before.
“And there is plenty of places here where someone could step his horse up onto some of these flat rocks and walk right over to the banks of this here wash, and leave nothin’ in the way of a sign that they just done left the trail.”
“Is that what you think they did? Do you think we lost their trail?” Matthew’s voice had betrayed a certain amount of anxiety at the prospect of losing the trail.
“No, I don’t think that way at all. You see those horse marks down here.” Chet asked this after coming to a stop and pointing to the ground between the two of them. But Matthew was unsure of what to see- there were a number of tracks in the pebbled wash and they all seemed to blend together in his eyes.
After admitting to his inability to see which mark Chet was referring to, Chet explained a bit more, “The one’s that’s sittin’ deeper in the ground than the others.”
Matthew’s eyes found what Chet was pointing to. “Yes, I think I see it now. I see a number of them, I think.”
“Well that’d be tellin’ me that that particular horse is carryin’ a bigger weight than the other horses that come this way. Old Jack is a big man, as I heard from others, and he’s carrying your wife, to boot. All that weight goes for makin’ a horse’s feet heavy when they is marking up the ground. It’s been that way ever since we started to follow these tracks. Yes sir, we are on the right track still.”
Having seen what Chet was explaining Matthew understood more fully just how much of a Godsend his guide was. There was no way that his own eyes could have picked out the subtle difference of such things as this. And the trick of finding the tracks again even after the thieves had taken to covering their tracks by traveling in the stream had proven to be ingenious. Furthermore, though he had been completely humiliated to have developed the saddle sores, Chet’s doctoring had proven to be very effective. Then there were the riding instructions that had also made all the difference in the world for him.
Gratefulness welled in Matthew’s chest as this string of thoughts rolled through his mind. Inwardly he prayed a deeply felt prayer of thanks to God for His providence in bringing this man to his aide. He closed his eyes and without moving his lips, Matthew implored the Lord, Help him, Lord to find Alice. Keep her safe. And keep Chet safe.
Noticing the closed eyes of Matthew, “Are you doin’ all right, Son?” asked Chet.
“I’m fine, Chet,” responded Matthew as he opened his eyes. “You just caught me praying.”
“Well, I s’pose prayin’ can’t hurt none.”
Matthew smiled, “No, it won’t.”
“What were you prayin’?”
Looking Chet squarely in the eye Matthew said, “I was prayin’ for you.”
A certain amount of surprise registered in Chet’s eyes. He had suspected that the prayer would have been for Matthew’s wife, but himself? He didn’t know if anyone, besides his mother, had ever prayed for him. He wasn’t sure if he liked this unsolicited prayer for him.
“I was thanking God for you, Chet,” Continued Matthew. “I would be so lost without you, and I know that God has brought you to help me get Alice back. I also was asking God to protect you. I’m sure that chasing these men is not the safest way to spend one’s time.”
Chet didn’t know how to respond to this conversation. So he looked around at the trail and up the wash that they had been traveling. “I’m sure I should be thanin’ you and all for what you been sayin’ to God.” But Chet never did get to saying his thanks, instead, after a moments pause, he said, “We ought to be goin’ if we want to find your Alice before sunfall.” He kicked his horse into motion and led out.
When he was in the lead with his back to Matthew, Chet gave the slightest shake of his head. He was thinking of this preacher and what the day had offered him- the wound on Matthew head, the ulcers on his butt, the loss of his wife, his remarkable helpless… if Matthew was any example of how God protected someone, then he’d stick to his wits and his guns.
Just as this last thought had stepped into his mind, a rabbit that had been hiding under a small scrub brush suddenly bolted from its place in a panic driven flight from the approach of the horses. Chet’s horse reflexively sidestepped, nearly unseating Chet from the saddle. In the same instance he felt the unmistakable swish of wind as a bullet raced past his head and the sound of a rifle’s report reaching his ears in the very next instant.
Without thinking, he wheeled his horse around and kicked his horse into action, yelling to Matthew to move it. Another bullet shot passed him as he desperately tried to make himself and Matthew as hard of a target as he could by moving fast. Matthew’s horse in the meantime had responded to Chet’s horse and was following just as fast, while Matthew bent low against the horse’s neck, and held onto the saddle horn with all his might. They were racing to the side bank of the wash where Chet saw places of concealment if only they could reach it in time. More bullets flew past them, narrowly missing the racing men and horses.
It hadn’t taken but a short moment for the men to reach the safety of the rocks, but Matthew had felt like a lifetime had passed in that desperate flight.
Both men were out of their saddles and huddled with their backs against a rock. The report of the rifle had come to a stop and only the heavy breathing of the three horses could be heard.
“If that crazy rabbit didn’t scare my horse, I’d a been feedin’ the worms right now,” said Chet in a low breathless voice. “I think we been noticed by your friends.”
“Do you know where they are?” asked Matthew.
“I got a sight of gun smoke just up the ways a bit while we was runnin’.”
Chet took the hat off his head and scooted to the side of the rock and peered around the edge of it searching for their adversary. A bullet ricocheted off the rock, as Chet quickly pulled himself back to safety.
“I seen one of ‘em. Same spot I seen him before,” said Chet. “He ain’t but a hundred yards up that a way.”
Looking around at their surroundings, Chet could see that they were in small tributary of the wash. A small ravine that headed off to their right. It wasn’t a deep cut in the hillside, but it offered enough cover for both horse and man. He could also see that just a short ways into it that the floor of this tributary would offer difficult ground for a horse to travel, so he knew that he’d have to leave the horses if they wanted to escape.
But escape wasn’t what he wanted at this point. He wanted a better position for returning a fight. Sitting here behind this rock they were pinned down and had a poor line of sight for returning fire. He knew that they had to get to higher ground and around to the side of their attackers.
“We got to go up this ravine here, and see if we can be gettin’ to better shootin’ position.” After a moments thought, Chet continued, “I can’t leave you here. You’d be a sittin’ duck if they come down this way to get at us. So you got to come too. But keep yourself down and be ready to do just as I tell you.” As an afterthought, Chet gave one more line of instruction, “And whatever you do, keep that gun of yours in the holster till you see me dead and gone. Okay?”
Without protest, Matthew nodded his head in agreement, and the two men moved into the ravine on swift feet.

Saving Alice Chapter 12

CHAPTER 12

It wasn’t long before the two riders came to the first of the low hills. The trail slopped around to the north side of the hill and followed the wide mouth of a wash. The trail was hugging the south side of the wash for a little way, but then crossed over to the north side and then into the center. All the while the sides of the wash were growing taller the further they went.

Matthew could feel that his backside was growing more and more uncomfortable as the day had progressed. Chet had continued to give Matthew tips on riding through out the day. “You need to sit up straight like there was a rod right down through you back… Keep those heels pointed down. You’re ridin’ on the balls of your foot.” But all the words of education had not been enough to stop the growing pain on his posterior. Finally Matthew could take the discomfort no longer.

“Hey Chet,” Matthew called, “I need to stop for a minute.”

“What’s is it?”

“Well, I’m growing a bit too uncomfortable to keep bouncing in this saddle.”

Chet raised an eyebrow. “What kind of uncomfortable are you talkin’ about?”

Matthew dropped from his saddle and stood for a moment and rubbed his buttocks, not answering Chet’s question.

“Are you feelin’ sharp pains?”

“Well, to be honest, it feels like I’m being rubbed about raw.”

Chet looked around for a moment and said nothing as though he was wrestling with an idea. Having made up his mind he looked squarely at Matthew and pronounced, “You need to drop your britches.”

“What?”

Chet cleared his throat, then said, “You need to drop your britches so I can get a look at what you been doin’ to yourself down on the south side of your person.”

Matthew blinked at Chet. “I am not in the custom of parading myself around before people!”

“I believe you, I’m sure. But, if you got yourself some saddle sores, then they need to be treated if you are goin’ to be continuin’. From here on out, they is just gonna be gettin’ worse- worse than that head of yours.”

Matthew stood facing Chet. He made no move to do anything.

Chet leaned his forward and rested his forearms on his saddle horn and said, “You know, Son, I don’t take no pleasure in lookin’ at the bareness of your afterparts. But if you be gettin’ open sores where you be sittin’, then we got to deal with it. Else wise you won’t be riding nowheres for nothin’”

Matthew gave a heavy sigh and decided that there was not much he could do but follow the instructions of Chet. He turned his back to the man who was still in his saddle. Slowly he undid his pants and allowed them to slip down to his thighs.

“You got to lift the tails of your shirt just a bit,” instructed Chet.

As he lifted his shirttail exposing his own tail, Chet gave a soft whistle as the entirety of the area came into view. “You done took the skin right off both sides of your personality- they is about the size of an old Lady Liberty.”

“A what?”

“A silver dollar.”

Matthew could hear Chet chuckle which made him drop his shirt tail and pull his pants back up, but as his did they rubbed across his backside, making him wince in pain.

Chet meanwhile had dropped from his horse and walked off towards the side of the wash. Matthew called after his companion asking where he was going, and Chet just said that he would be right back. Chet had walked around the nearest bank for a moment and than came back with something riding on the end of his long knife. As Chet drew closer Matthew could see that it was some sort of plant with sharp needles sticking out from all over it.

“This here is what we call prickly pear or Indian figs,” explained Chet. He put the large fleshy leaf on the ground and proceeded to strip it of its spines.

“What do you intend to do with it?”

“Well, what I’ll be needin’ you to do is take that shirt of yours and tear the tails right off from the front to the back. This here plant has got the right stuff for puttin’ some healin’ on that backside of yours. I’m goin’ to be makin’ a mushy mess of this stuff and you’ll be needin’ to put it on those there sores of yours. It’ll all start to feel better right away.”

Matthew did what he was told, tearing his shirt into one long thick strip of cloth. Chet had put the cactus leaf on a flat rock and worked it with his knife into a slimy poultice. Taking the cloth from Matthew, Chet scooped up the contents and filled the center of the cloth.

“You got to take just a bit of this and rub it on both of those sores you got, heaven knows I ain’t goin’ to be doin’ it for you. Next, you got to wrap this cloth and wrap yourself up so the stuff stays on the sores. And while you is at it, go ahead and rub a bit of that juice on that neck of yours. You’ve been gettin’ an awful burnin’ from the sun up that a way also.”

Matthew pursed his lips together realizing that he had to expose himself once again in order to apply Chet’s medicine. Putting his pride aside, Matthew took a bit of salve on his fingertips, lowered his pants, reached behind himself, and found the first of the two wounds. Gingerly he applied the sticky stuff to the sore. Instantly the sting was soothed as the salve was applied. When both wounds had been treated and a layer had been applied to his neck, Chet then instructed Matthew to tie the shirttail around himself, taking care to keep the extra salve on the affected area of his bottom.

As Matthew had been going through this process he wondered if this day’s humiliations would ever come to an end. Once again he had been exposed as being completely inept, helpless, vulnerable, bumbling, and made to look the fool. In his dreams about coming to the west he had seen himself as becoming a competent pastor by proclaiming great oratory sermons and dispensing wisdom to those who were lost and confused. He saw himself as a source of comfort to the mournful and distraught. Vision and leadership would flow through the church into the town he served in. And yet here he was being tended to as though he were some rash-ridden toddler.

This final embarrassment triggered a painfully humiliating moment at the home of Alice’s family. Sunday meals had become a weekly ritual at the Wennington’s home, and it hadn’t taken long for him to see that he had developed true feelings for Alice. Matthew was convinced that she had given him more than a few signals of her affections. She had started to attend the Wednesday evening services when she discovered that he would be the regular teacher for that service, she would allow her hand to linger in his when they shook hands after service, and her eyes would hold his longer than was necessary during the Sunday meals. All of this encouraged his own growing love for her.

Being fortified by the growing passion he decided that it was time to approach Mr. Wennington to ask him for his daughter’s hand in marriage. The appropriate time would naturally occur after the Sunday meal.

Upon arrival at their home Matthew had asked Mr. Wennington if the two of them could have a conversation later in the afternoon, after the Sunday meal. Alice’s father had agreed.

Now that the meeting with the father was set, Matthew’s anticipation for the upcoming meeting brought in a wave of nervousness that threatened to drown him. As everyone was being seated for the meal, Matthew pulled out his chair and he inadvertently bumped his fork which then pitched off the table, bumping off his knee, and then bounced under the table. Matthew pushed his chair back away from the table to make way for him to climb under the table to retrieve the utensil. The rest of the family had noticed none of this while they themselves were engaged in getting themselves into their own seats.

“Matthew,” came the sound of Mrs. Wennington when she noticed his feet sticking out from under the table, “do you need some help?”

“No ma’am,” he had said upon rising back to his feet, fork now in hand, “I just bumped this fork from the table, that’s all.”

“Then let me get you a new one,” she offered.

“No, no. I’m fine with this one. Your floors are clean enough to eat off.” He knew he had scored a point with Mrs. Wennington as a smile of appreciation swelled upon her face, but the exchange had distracted Matthew enough to make him forget the location of his chair. Instead of landing on a solid chair as he bent to seat himself, he found thin air as he continued his ungraceful descent to the floor. His legs kicked up in the process and gave a great blow to the bottom of the table causing every thing of the table to bounce with a terrible clash- drinks were spilled causing the liquid to spill over the table and onto the lap of Mr. Wellington. Food bounced out of serving trays, and silverware bounced into the air, making a great deal of it to bounce off the table and clatter all over the floor. Meanwhile, his back had hit the chair, making it slide violently across the floor crashing into the wall, which shook the wall enough to cause the portrait painting of the family to loose itself from its mounts and come crashing down on his head before it finished its fall to the floor.

The incident had cause quit an uproar for the next few moments as everyone jumped to put everything back in order. No real damage was done other than to Matthew’s pride. He wanted to find the nearest hole and climb into it, never to come out into the light of day again. The timing for this unfortunate accident couldn’t have been more detrimental in his own estimation, for the meeting with Mr. Wennington still loomed ahead of him. He wanted desperately to postpone it to a day in which he could distance himself from this day’s performance, but he had already arranged it with Alice’s father. So he ate his meal in distracted, embarrassed silence.

The memory of it all made Matthew shake his head at himself as he finished the task of administering Chet’s remedy.

“Now look here,” Chet said, “you been riding in that saddle of yours all wrong. Avoidin’ the issue you got on your derriere ain’t a matter of buildin’ up calluses and all, no sir. You just been plain riding wrong. You got to keep from sitting back in the saddle- you got to sit up straight. The only time you sit back is when you come to a stop.”

“I don’t know if I can sit in that saddle again,” complained Matthew.

“Oh yes you is. ‘Em sores is goin’ to be teachin’ you how to ride proper like. When you get in that saddle again and it starts to hurt, then all you gots to do is sit up, get your butt off the back of the saddle. You can do it. Fact is, you is goin’ to do it, cause you can’t walk to save your wife, you got to ride. That’s all there is too it.”

A heavy sigh escaped Matthew as he finished buttoning his pants up. His backside was feeling immensely better, but he winced within at the thought of putting it back in harms way. However, he knew that Chet’s words were accurate. He couldn’t go running about the entire territory trying to catch up to his wife on foot. He had to get back in the saddle and learn how to ride correctly.

He eyed his horse warily before returning to its side to remount. And remount he did as delicately as he possibly could. Instantly he felt the pressure of the saddle, and it angered his sores. He rolled himself a little forward off his butt into a more upright position in the saddle. To his surprise, the pain subsided as he found what had to be the correct saddle position.

“I think I can do this,” he said to his instructor.

“Sure you can. Ain’t been but a million other folks that been doin’ it since the dawn of time.”

Saving Alice Chapter 11

CHAPTER 11

The steady sound of the horses’ hooves accompanied them while they rode for a few minutes exchanging no words. Their trip back into the trees to find Tad hadn’t taken more than thirty minutes or so, but coming out from the shade of the trees reminded Matthew just how late in the day it now was. The sun had drifted past its zenith and was making its inevitable fall into the western landscape, and the urgency of the day pressed itself in on him.

Matthew got the impression that they were slogging ahead as though they were traveling through a mud bog. He wanted desperately to reach Alice, and he wanted to reach her now. But the lengthening shadows mocked him with threats of ending the day before they could finish following the trail.

His mind wandered back into the woods that they had just come out of and he mused over the man he had encountered there. He recalled how Tad had been living with the guilt of his ways throughout his life of rough living. Matthew looked down to his hand that was holding on to the saddle horn. Scars on his knuckles reminded him of his own fight with God. Guilt had haunted him during those years, and the greater the guilt, then the harder it was to break free from it. The easy thing to do was to venture further into the mud; after all, once he was dirty, a little more dirt wouldn’t hurt.

A memory of walking through a house that he was burglarizing came to mind. As he was walking through the house he found a mirror hanging above a small table. When he saw his own reflection, he stopped and stared at himself. He vividly remembers the disgust he felt with the person staring back at him. He had picked up a hairbrush that was sitting next to the mirror and smashed the image of himself. But breaking the glass hadn’t healed the way he saw himself.



Chet interrupted Matthew thoughts and motioned him to ride along side of Chet. “You know,” said Chet when Matthew had moved along side of him, “I’ve been thinkin’ about that fella back there and what you did with him.”

Matthew nodded his head during Chet’s pause, but waited for him to continue.

“Well,” continued Chet, “I don’t know that I’d be able to do what you done. I mean forgivin’ him. I tell you, that man twernt worth the spit of chewin’ tobacco. He stole your money and your wife and then he asks you for forgiveness! If I was in your moccasins, I’d a pulled that gun you been trying to shoot me with all day and let him taste one last bullet. I’d of put him in hell right quick!”

“I was awfully tempted to do just that, Chet,” returned Matthew.

“Then why didn’t you?”

Matthew let the question hang between them for a moment while he struggled with how to answer it. “Well, I’m not too perfect myself. I’ve done a great many things that have been… wrong.” He had pause for moment before saying the last word. He earlier thoughts had made that word seem far too inadequate. “But I’ve been forgiven for them. The least I can do is forgive him.”

“But you’re a preacher. You ain’t never been out steeling people’s wives and all.”

Matthew’s mouth turned up at the corners upon this observation of his companion. “You know, I wasn’t born a preacher. The fact is Chet, I was just like that man back there. I stole whatever I wanted, and beat people within inches of death. I was foul mouthed and short tempered. I was, as you put it, not worth spit.”

Chet eyed his young companion with an expression of disbelief. To Chet’s estimation Matthew’s boyish appearance did not have the look of a rough character- perhaps he could have been a thief, but certainly not a successfully violent person. He figured that Matthew was playing the part that many people do who exaggerate their own “fish” stories to look bigger than it really was. Chet had already seen how weak and helpless this “boy” is- he had found him crying, he barely stays on the horse, can’t shoot a gun to save his life, and would be dead inside of a week if left out here on his own.

Instead of challenging Matthew with his doubts, he good manneredly rode quietly beside his young companion and let him talk, but inwardly he was writing off Matthew’s I-used-to-be-bad-myself confession.

“I understand now that the whole time I was being the way I was had more to do with my way of fighting against my own hurts and disappointments of the cards I had dealt in life. I wanted the world to pay for it. So I was lashing out with my fists and mouth.”

A memory tugged at Matthew’s flow of thought as he talked. He allowed his story to follow the direction of the tug. “One day I walked into what I thought was bar. Instead of being a bar, there was a church service going on inside of it. The preacher talked about the love of God and His plan for my life. At first I wanted walk out and find something better to do, but the words of the preacher hit me right between the eyes. He said in a great booming voice, ‘You have a heavenly Father that’s not out to beat you or get you or punish you. No poor sinner, He wants to love you.’”

Matthew looked over to Chet. He had shared this many times with others, and he knew when the listener was hooked, and when the listener was just bidding his time. Chet gave the impression of the latter, but rather than giving up, Matthew finished his story.

“It was at that point that I knew there was a way to find the peace that I truly had been wanting all my life. The preacher invited people forward to be prayed for. I went forward and the preacher prayed for me. I can tell you that it was at that point that I found what I was looking for. The love of God swept into my life and started to heal all the hurts that I was carrying around in my heart and mind.”

“That’s all very interestin’,” offered Chet, “but I’d still have shot him to hell.”

“If it hadn’t of been for God’s love for him, I’m sure that’s what I would have done. But God has better plans than that. God loved him just as much as he loves me… and you, Chet.”

Chet let the conversation’s flow come to an end as the two men now rode in silence while Chet kept his eyes moving from the ground and then to his surroundings. Matthew was doing the same, but he knew that he wasn’t seeing the same things that his new friend was. The day’s episode had taught him so vividly just how lost and helpless he was out here in the west. He shook his head to himself as he remembered telling Alice at one point that things couldn’t be all that difficult out here. After all, he had survived a brutal childhood and life on the streets.

“But things are different out there,” she had said.

“I know that,” he said agreeably, “but we’ll be in a little town somewhere, and I’ve seen it myself that people in small towns are just plain nicer people than in here in Chicago.”

“But it’s also the wilderness. Neither one of us have ever spent anytime in the wilderness.”

“Honey, we aren’t going to be in the wilderness,” he reassured her. “I am going to be a preacher, not a trapper, or gold-digger, or some other such thing. Preachers do their preaching in towns.”

This is some town, he thought to himself as his eyes swept over the landscape that the two of them were riding through. There wasn’t a building to be seen in any direction. Instead he saw the high grass sprinkled with trees and the hills that they were heading towards. In fact he was surprised at how close those hills had become in since they had come out of the tree line.

“This here day has been a costly one for Jack Higgs,” said Chet, breaking the silence. “He done lost four of his men. That’s an awful high price to pay for one job.”

“Its cost me a lot more,” returned Matthew.

Chet glanced at Matthew as they rode along. “Yes, that’d be the truth of it, Son. But I’m strongly thinkin’ that it’ll be a higher fee for that Jack by the end of it all.  Don’t you be worrin’ none. We’ll be gettin’ your Alice back before long.” He paused for a moment before continuing with his encouragement. “You know, the odds are in our favor.”

Matthew looked over to his companion. “What do you mean that we have the favor?”

“Well, it’s like this. He ain’t got but two men left. That means that their number of eyes and ears to be on the guard is pretty low, not to mention the number of available gun fingers. He’s also got a woman that’s mad as a hornet. She’s got to be guarded all the time- why she may try to escape, or get a gun and shoot ‘em, or who knows what.

“Next thing is that he don’t know that we is right behind him. He didn’t figure on you being alive and all. I’d bet he’s a thinkin’ that the soonest that anyone to be pursuin’ him would have to be some odd time on the morrow, if at all. Your old stagecoach ain’t even to town yet, and most people here ‘bouts know that scar he’s wearin’- most likely as not, their ain’t too many men that’s gonna be very thrilled about chasing out after Flash Jack, especially if you ain’t there to make the case. He’ll be guessin’ that most likely it’ll all just be left alone.

“And last of all, he’ll be thinkin’ there ain’t no way that anyone can be knowin’ ‘bout his little cabin in the hollow. Our friend back in the woods didn’t exactly draw us a map or nothin’. But at least he let us know ‘nough in the way of clues that we won’t be wanderin’ around in the dark, so to speak. And I’d bet you my left eyeball that we’d of rode right past where ever this place is without even knowin’ it.”

Matthew considered the words of Chet as they plodded along. He hadn’t seen the circumstances quit in that light, and the explanation of Chet hit its mark in the way of encouragement for Matthew.

“Do you suppose that they are held up in those hills were coming upon?” inquired Matthew.

“Well, these hills stretch a pretty big piece both to the north and south. I’ve spent some time wanderin’ these hills, and I’d be thinkin’ that there is lots of places to get yourself lost in ‘em if that’s your intention. I’m thinkin’ we’ll be findin’ ‘em there.”

Chet suddenly reined his horse to stop as he continued studying the ground.

“Looks like they come this way before” he observed. “They come out of the hills and then turned here and headed that way.” Chet nodded with is head to the north. “They must of circled on up around that way when they had gone after your coach this morning. Didn’t want to leave a trail comin’ and goin’. That Jack is a cunning coyote.”

“Will this make it harder to track him?” queried Matthew.

“These tracks are all mixed up now, that be the truth of it. But I think we ought to be able to make the sense of it all as we go on. More than likely, we are goin’ to be findin’ this sort of thing as we get closer to where they be hidin’. They been comin’ and goin’ for quit a time, so lots will be goin’ in all sorts of directions. Now what we got to do is stay to the main trail. They may turn off, but I’m not thinkin’ that that’ll happen.”

With that explanation, Chet spurred his horse on.

Saving Alice Chapter 10

CHAPTER 10

Matthew walked closer and asked Chet if the man was dead.

“Not yet, but there ain’t much hope for him. He’s got a hole right through his gut. I’m surprised he made it this far. I thought I had heard the sound of a horse pawing at the ground, and then I saw this one laying here with his rifle across his chest. He weren’t movin’ so I walked up and took his rifle and handgun. He ain’t moved a stitch.”

Chet stepped closer and prodded the man’s foot with the toe of his boot. “Hey! Wake up.” The man rolled his head from side to side, but didn’t open his eyes. Chet set aside the guns that he had stripped from the man earlier and then knelt on one knee beside the man, he took that man’s shoulder in one hand while he gently slapped the man’s face. “Walk up you snake. Come on, wake up.” The man’s brown eyes flickered open, but the light in them seemed to come from a great distance. “Man, come on,” encouraged Chet. And still the man struggled to swim up out of the depth his stupor.

Blinking, the man focused on Chet’s face. As a semblance of understanding started to dawn, the man instinctively moved his hand for his holster that was now empty, but the movement lacked conviction.

“Who are you?” the man questioned with a weak voice.

The hat that lay on the ground beside him had left his brown perspired-soaked hair pressed against his head. The skin on his angular face had lost its tanned hue and taken on a deathly paleness.

“Don’t matter who I is, leastwise, not to you. But you’d be doin’ us a good turn if you gave us your name.”

The wounded man began to look around to see who the other “us” of Chet’s question was, and when his eyes made contact with Matthew, Matthew felt a wave of hatred well up in his heart for this man. A vision of Alice being swept away stormed through his mind, and he poured all of the pain of the day on to this man’s guilty shoulders. He hadn’t felt this kind of emotion in years- not since his conversion to Christ. But it was here now, and it was as raw as could be. In his estimation, no amount of pain and suffering was too much for this piece of human trash. His fist started to tremble with the rising rage. Here before him was one of the people responsible for harming his wife.

Recognition slowly dawned with the eyes of the wounded man as he gazed at Matthew. “It’s you… But I saw Jack shoot you…you’re s’posed to be dead.”

“Naw,” interjected Chet, “just bumped him off his horse is all. No real damage.”

Not hearing Chet’s words, the man didn’t take his eyes off Matthew. “You’re the preacher. I tried to tell Jack…” He closed his eyes and swallowed. “I tried to tell him not to steal from no preacher… I tried to tell him.” He swallowed again, and to the amazement of the two men that were with him, a tear fell from the corner of his eye.

“Preacher,” the man looked to Matthew with pleading in his eyes, and there was a burst of renewed strength in his voice, “you gotta forgive me. I don’t know how to say it, but I’m sorry for doin’ to you what we done.” He closed his eyes and slowly shook his head back and forth as he continued. “I knew that God was gonna get me one day for all the bad stuff I been doin’. I knew that God was gonna get me. And now I’m doomed. I can feel the heat of hell mockin’ me. O God…”

The words hit deep in Matthew’s mind and heart. Within himself he told God that there was now way he could forgive this man. Just then one of his favorite scenes from the Bible flashed through his mind. It was of an adulterous woman crumbled at the feet of Jesus as religious leaders demanded for her blood. But profound words of Jesus broke through the dark clouds of judgment, “He who is without sin can cast the first stone.” Matthew’s own sins seemed to parade through his own mind in vivid flashes.

Suddenly, instead of wanting to hurt this man, Matthew wanted to run from him. He didn’t want to forgive; he wanted to hurt. He wanted to kick the man and punch him… pull his gun and… O God, Matthew pleaded within himself, please help me. I don’t have what it takes to forgive him. Give me Your forgiveness for him.

All of this inward battle took place in the shortest of moments. Like a soft summer breeze blowing the heat of the day away, the burning rage began to drift away as God’s inexplicable love flowed into his soul for this man. Matthew saw in his mind’s eye a vision of the cross, and he knew that even here was a person that Jesus had paid for with His infinitely precious blood. In a flash he understood the indescribable value that God had placed on this dying man.

Stepping to the side of the wounded man Matthew searched for words to say. He knelt beside the man and took his hand into his own. “Sir,” started Matthew, “I want you to know that I…” Matthew stopped to clear his throat. “I forgive you.”

The man turned his head, his tear-filled eyes locking on Matthew’s. “But I helped to steal your wife.”

“I know what you did, and I forgive you. I’m no saint myself. I’ve done plenty of bad things also. But I don’t forgive you because I have been just as bad. I forgive you because God forgives you.”

“No. God can’t. I’ve been fightin’ God ever since I ran away from home. My dad was a deacon in our church and I hated all that church stuff. But I knew that God would get me in the end. I even hated what I was becomin’, but I couldn’t stop myself.”

“Listen to me,” said Matthew. “God may have been after you all this time, but it hasn’t been to get you. He wants to give to you- He wants to give you the gift of forgiveness. He wants to give you eternal life. He wants to give you a way to escape hell. He loves you very, very, very much. Do you know how much?” Matthew paused, but not long enough for the dying man to answer. “Well, it was enough to hang on a cross on your behalf. God is deeply in love with you.”

“But He can’t. I been so bad.”

“You may have been bad, but He is better than your worst bad. Hey, if God is all-powerful, then that means that He is powerful enough to forgive you. If He can’t forgive you, then He isn’t God.”

Hearing these words coming from one of his own victims brought hope that perhaps the words of this preacher may be true. “Do you think it’s true?”

“I know it’s true. Jesus paid a high price for you. He loves you, and He forgives you for all of your sins. Sir, I am going to pray for you.” Matthew closed his eyes, and held a little tighter to the man’s cold hand. “Lord, before you is a broken man. You know that in a short time he’ll be standing before you to answer for his life. Would you please pour Your forgiveness out in his life and wash away all the guilt of his sins. You died for him, and then You rose from the dead so that he could have new life through the power of your resurrection. Be the Lord of his life.”

Tears streamed down the wounded man’s cheeks as he closed his eyes once again. Matthew heard the man mumble in a shaky voice, “I’m forgiven.” The voice was weak, but Matthew could see that the despair had melted away from his face, and though the man was dying, he had found new life.

Chet had kept silent through the whole exchange. He was amazed at the scene that had unfolded before him. He knew that if the shoes were on his feet, he would never have what it takes to forgive anyone that hurt his wife. More than likely, Chet figured he’d outright kill him. He wasn’t sure if he ought to respect this young preacher, or despise him for giving in so easily.

“I wasn’t expectin’ a church service out here,” Chet said. “But now that it’s over and all, I was still wantin’ to get a bit of information from you.” The wounded man opened his eyes at the sound of Chet’s voice and pulled his head wearily to face him.

“What’s your name?” asked Chet.

The man seemed to hesitate, but then gave a slight shrug, “Thaddeus Hill. Most just call me Tad.”

“Who are you ridin’ with?”

“The boss is Jack.”

“Jack Higgs, right?”

     "Yah, that's him. He is an evil man. He has always scared me."

"How did you end up not goin' on with ‘em?"

Tad breathed a couple of shallow breaths before continuing. "I'd been fallin' behind ever since we got in the creek. When I saw up a head that they were leavin' the creek, I followed to. But by the time I got here, they were already out of sight. I decided that I would just rest here for a while. But when I got down here on the ground, I figured that I wouldn't be goin' no wheres else."

"Do you know where they was takin’ the lady?"

Tad began to shake his head, "I told Jack that we oughtn't to be playin' with no preacher's wife, but he said that she'd fetch a good stack of coin. He didn't say who from. They were going back to the cabin tonight and head out in the mornin' to sell her to some man he knows. He kept sayin’ that he’d pay nice and pretty for a gal like her."

Chet gave Matthew a quick glance, and then looked back to Tad. "Where might the cabin be?"

He didn't answer the question that was laid before him. His eyes were closed and his head seemed to sag to the side as life was losing the battle to hold on. Chet shook Tad's shoulders, "Come on, where is the cabin?"

Tad's eyes flickered open once again. Shallow breaths came and went. Matthew pleaded with him, "Please, tell us where the cabin is."

"Hard to find. In a hollow back in the hills… There is a stretch of hard stone that don't show the horses tracks. If you keep goin' you pass the entrance. Looks like a cliff wall, but it ain’t. Jack always makes sure that there are tracks on both sides of the rock. You'll miss it if you don't know its there..." The words tailed off as his eyes closed. He was slipping away quickly now.

Chet gave him another shake, but the man didn't respond. Instead his head lolled resolutely to the side. Matthew saw quite unmistakably a deeper chest-filling breath, and then the slow expulsion of the air as it left Tad’s chest for the last time.

"Well, looks like that’s bout all we’ll get from him. He ain’t goin’ to be roused again for nothin’.” Chet straightened himself up to his feet, while Matthew stayed crouched for a moment longer contemplating the strange twist of events. Had they been yet another five minutes to the scene and this man would have died in his guilt. He didn’t understand the meaning of the clues as to the whereabouts of the cabin, but those too would have been lost. He also conjectured within that if they had come but perhaps fifteen minutes earlier, they may have had to fight this man who had obviously armed himself to protect himself from anyone’s approach. They had come at the correct time for saving the man’s soul, and perhaps the information to save his wife.

Chet retrieved the two guns and went over to the horse to look it over for anything useful. Nothing presented itself as helpful for their quest. He returned the rifle to its scabbard that was hung from the saddle. Returning to the now still form of the man, he removed the holster from his waist and while speaking to Matthew. “I don’t rightly know what this fella was talkin’ ‘bout, but maybe it’ll make more sense when we get to where we oughta be findin’ ‘em. How ‘bout we get a move on.”

Matthew stood with Chet and returned to his horse while Chet gathered the dead man’shorse before returning to his own horse. He put the dead man’s wrapped gun and holster into his own saddlebag, tied the reins of the new horse to a strap on
his saddle, and finally mounted his own horse. The two men sat their horses for just a silent moment as they looked to the body that was still propped against the fallen tree. Wordlessly the men swung their horses around and continued in their hunt.