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FOLLOWING THE WELL traveled tracks of wagons across Nevada as they turned north east toward Wyoming, Titus wondered if he’d ever been this far before. So for him the trail seemed new if not interesting.
He wondered about the town he’d been called to service for and though his curiosity was piqued by the strange name, he hoped he wouldn’t have to travel all the way to Sheriff Pike’s front door.
Along the way he stopped at farms asking after the family who had been traveling to Biders Clump to join family in the town.
Some days he’d find a person who would remember the family, other days he couldn’t find any hint of the travelers.
After five days of tracking them, he stopped in a town in Utah to wire the sheriff his lack of news.
Davis,
Tracking the travelers. Made my way to Sandy. No further word. Heading into Wyoming next. Weather holding.
Titus.
“You headin’ north young man?” the telegraph operator asked studying Titus after he’d sent the message.
“Yes sir,” Titus replied. “Lookin’ for some folks that were traveling to Wyoming.”
The telegraph man shook his head. “Weather’s getting rough up that way,” he said. “Best settle in here for a bit, wait till spring, even then winter ain’t always done with us.”
“I appreciate the advice,” Titus said, tugging his hat down, “but I have a job to do, and there are folks out there who might need help.”
The telegraph man shook his head, “Suit yourself, but I’m glad it ain’t me.”
Titus shook the other man’s hand, walked to his horse and picked up the lead of his mule.
“Well fella’s,” he said, “I hope you’re ready for winter.”
Turning his collar up, he pointed his mount north and prayed for the best.
The wind of the nearby mountains tugged at his hat, and he pushed it down tighter over his hair. A frosty nip permeated the breeze promising more cold air and maybe even snow.
Titus had purchased warmer clothes and an extra coat in the little town then checked his stores and loaded up the mule.
As far as he knew the old animal had been with him since the beginning, if only he could remember, where that was.
Perhaps someday he’d meet someone that remember the lanky brown mule, and he’d have his first clue as to where he’d come from, or even where he was meant to go.
For now he’d follow the trail laid out before him and hope for the best. In this case that would be finding the family who had struck out for Wyoming in time to beat winter.
A cold breeze skidded snow across the trail, and Titus turned his collar up against the chill.
He probably should have made camp earlier in the lowlands, but he felt the need to push on.
There was something about hunting for something that drove him. Perhaps it was because he still hadn’t been able to find his own past, or maybe it was just in his nature, but once on the trail it was hard to stop.
He wondered if he’d find the family that had left Nevada only to have gone missing before reaching their destination.
If he did find them what would that mean? Would it be good news? Perhaps they’d run into some difficulty with their wagon or had needed to stop due to illness.
He shivered as snow blew down his collar and prayed that he didn’t find that the worst had happened.
In recent years the Wild West had tamed down a good bit, but there were still dangers on any trail.
Outlaws were common, occasional outbreaks of unrest among the native peoples in some areas could lead to problems, and then there was always the worry of breakdowns, flash floods, or just illness.
Titus hoped that whatever he found would lead to a happier outcome than any of those he’d thought of.
Pulling his horse to a stop he peeled off a glove and reached into his breast pocket for the letter the Sheriff had given him.
He’d read it several times already, but couldn’t shake the feeling that something was missing.
The Bentley family had left Nevada in mid-summer packing all of their belongings into an old covered wagon and headed north.
Mr. Bentley had family in the town of Biders Clump who’d asked them to come to Wyoming and help with the store and farm.
“Mother, father, two sons and a daughter,” Titus intoned, slipping the page back into his pocket. “Surely someone will have seen them.”
He kicked his horse into motion pointing him northward and hoping for the best.
Several hours later, a cold bright night spread its jeweled blanket across the sky as Titus began looking for a likely place to camp out of the wind and drifting snow.
He’d ridden longer than he would have, but he wanted to push into Wyoming before the weather was too bad.
Shuffling carefully along the edge of the trail, he turned his horse toward a small grove of pines, pulled rein and climbed down.
As his boots touched the frosty earth, Titus felt his heel slip and grabbed at his saddle and the horse that stood on firmer ground, but his weight was already down and as he lost his footing he felt himself slipping into nothingness.
The icy shudder and tumbling roll of rock, then the thudding crash of his body hitting bottom was the last thing Titus remembered.
Warm breath and a raspy tickle pulled Titus from the blackness that had taken him, and he tried to raise a hand to push away whatever was tickling his face.
He was cold, cold through to the bone, and his arms wouldn’t work properly, but he pried his eyes open and looked up into the muzzle of his old brown mule.
“Found me did ya?” he mumbled through cracked lips.
The mule huffed softly his warm breath, bringing some feeling back into Titus’s face.
Finally, making his fingers work; he grasped the mules chest strap and pulled himself into a sitting position with a groan.
He couldn’t name a place that didn’t hurt, and the biting cold nipping at his toes and fingers could only mean he’d been out for a while.
Steadying himself with the mule’s breast strap, he managed to grasp a stirrup and stand on numb feet.
A deep ache in his rib cages stole his breath making his head swim as he leaned on the old animal.
After what seemed like hours, he managed to pull himself over the animal’s lumpy packs as the world spun.
Slowly the mule turned down the uneven trail that led to the valley below. The rider didn’t seem to mind and the animals own common sense pushed it toward the low lands.
Behind him the sound of his stablemate’s hooves echoed off of icy stone as the mule plodded onward into the relative shelter of the lowlands.
“Hey, mister are you dead?” a voice broke through the haze of pain and semi conciseness that engulfed Titus.
“If he’s dead, you reckon Pa’ll let me keep his horse?”
“Who says you get the horse, you can have the mule,” another voice broke in, “I’m the oldest; I should get the horse.”
A tussle of some sort broke out and Titus strained to open his eyes catching broken glimpses of two boys pushing each other.
Trying to raise his head Titus groaned, slumping back against the packs.
“Hey, I guess he ain’t dead yet,” One of the boys said. “I’d better go fetch Pa.”
Titus could hear the sound of running feet then caught a glimpse of a small hand reaching up and taking the mule by the halter.
“What’s going on here?” A man’s voice shook Titus awake again. His head was ringing and the voice echoed in his brain.
“We found ‘em Pa,” one of the boys spoke up.
“See I told ya, Pa,” the other chimed in.
Strong hands pressed into Titus’s back and he tried to rise, but the effort only made his head spin and his stomach churn.
“Let’s get him to the mission,” the man said. “You’re ma’ll know what to do for him.”
The strong hand returned holding Titus in place as the mule picked up its pace.
***
“IS HE AWAKE YET?” A woman’s voice drifted through the darkness as Titus fought against the tide of black.
“I think he’s coming around,” Another woman’s voice replied as a cool cloth touched his forehead.
“He was near froze to death,” the first voice said and Titus managed to open his eyes wincing at the light.
“Ma, he’s awake.” Titus shifted his eyes to the side catching a glimpse of a young woman with bright blonde locks falling over her shoulder.
“You move on out ‘the way now Sarah Jane,” the older woman spoke, “let me see to him.”
“Yes ma’am.” The girl said softly.
“Can ya speak?” the older woman took the chair that the younger one had been in only moments ago.
“Yes ma’am.” Titus said his voice gravely.
“Fetch us some water Sarah Jane,” The older woman barked, and the girl who had been hovering in the background jumped to comply.
“Where am I?” Titus asked trying to lift his arm but grimacing with the pain.
“You’re safe,” the older woman said. “Looks like you done took a fall,” she added. “Not surprising being how you’re out traipsing about this time of year.”
Titus tried to focus. He remembered falling, and the mule.
“You dislocated your shoulder.” The woman continued. “Maybe bruised a couple of ribs. What on earth made you start riding these trails at this time of the year?”
The young woman returned holding a glass of water, her dark eyes falling on Titus.
“Here, you drink this,” the older woman said taking the glass and helping him sit up slightly to drink. “We’ll talk later.”
Titus sagged back into the warm bed. “Thank you,” he offered, looking at the older woman then the younger one who smiled.
