Lost and Found

Chapter Twenty-Five

Sawyer worried he would never make it in time—how could he; he'd been gone almost a month now and had traveled nearly two hundred miles in that time, covering a grueling distance daily that had him apologizing to Jethro every step of the way.

Each stop made his stomach clench in dread. But, if he were to push any further, his favorite mount would most certainly be dead before ever reaching home. And a dead horse would mean he truly would never make it in time, no matter how hard he tried to get there.

'What if it's already too late?' His mind whispered in tortured agony. It could be he was. From what Lillian had told him, Walker was not a man to wait around when something threatened what he wanted or believed he was entitled to it. It made no difference if what he wanted didn't belong to him.

There was no way to judge what extent the man would go to to obtain it or seek revenge against anyone he'd believed had disrespected or wronged him.

Nothing would stop him from seeking out Lillian and exacting his revenge; nothing except a bullet through the brain, Sawyer thought with a growl.

Ever since Lillian told him what occurred, he'd had several dreams where he'd exact his vengeance against the man who abused Lillian in the worst ways.

Knowing that Walker still lived made Sawyer's hands itch to be wrapped around the man's throat, squeezing the very breath out of him.

Not having to deal with the sluggish pace the cattle had dictated on the way out, the pace he set quickly ate up the miles. The only trouble Sawyer ran into, which brought forth every cuss word he knew of and a few he'd invented, happened a week ago when he ran into Indian trouble.

After exchanging fire through a good portion of a day, they retreated when his rifle proved superior to their combined firepower. Since then, the little band trailed him for over forty miles until finally turning back and disappearing over a bluff.

Knowing they were gone was a welcome relief, but they'd cost him almost an extra week's worth of travel since he'd diverted his route, bringing him closer to a settlement, just in case they decided to try anything.

Covered in filth, Sawyer knew he stunk worse than a two-week-old dead fish rolled in cow dung, but he'd worry about that after making sure his family was safe.

Jethro was understandably tired, but he seemed to sense the desperateness of their journey home. Sawyer slowed him to a walk even though fear gripped his heart as the sun dipped lower in the sky, ready to slip behind the mountains within the next hour.

They were so close, and yet he didn't dare push harder. Just a little longer and they'd be there, he kept repeating to himself, knowing there was a real possibility he would be too late.

Paul raced the wagon to Freddie and Charlie's house, thankful Pa had spent the time to teach him how to drive the team even though his fingers were sweaty and ached from gripping the lines so tightly.

Kitty was unusually quiet and sat holding onto the buckboard seat, staring straight ahead, as their destination rose into view.

It seemed to take an eternity for him to haul the team to a stop and scramble down to the ground. He didn't even realize he'd been yelling at the top of his lungs with Kitty's voice echoing his pleas for help until Freddie came running out the door with his shirt untucked and rifle in hand.

Freddie rushed to meet Paul, grabbed him by the shoulder, and asked in alarm, "What's wrong, Paul?"

Paul and Kitty both started crying and pulling at him, urging Freddie toward their wagon. The majority of their words were lost in the chaos of their shouted ramblings.