The torpid prairie sun dipped low in the sky as Marshal Teaspoon Hunter’s horse trotted down the Pony Express trail leading back to Sweetwater. Tall yellow grass seemed to stretch endlessly out before rider and mount, sometimes flat, sometimes in low undulating hills, which rolled liked the golden sea. The grassland went on for miles in every direction. Occasionally a stand of trees, a misplaced boulder or the gorge of a dried streambed, broke the vast openness. Travelers feared the prairie, and with good reason. There were plenty of stories of men and women becoming disoriented from walking in circles before succumbing to starvation and dehydration while waiting for help to arrive. If getting lost did not do them in, they also were victims of murderous outlaws, wild animals or rampaging Indians. As a seasoned sheriff, Teaspoon did not fear getting lost or dying of thirst. He understood the land, had lived with a couple of the plains tribes for several years in his earlier days, and led a life accustomed to depending on his own survival skills. Not only did he know the direction in which the bustling frontier town of Sweetwater was located, he also knew where to find the closest water if needed, and the best places to camp. Spending another night on the hard ground looked more and more like a reality as Charger continued to slow his pace. The chestnut gelding had stumbled on a particularly rocky spot in the trail a few miles back. Teaspoon had thoroughly examined his horse’s foreleg and hoof, but had not located any serious outward injuries on the horse. He has hoped that since he had discovered no visible injury that Charger would be okay once they got started moving again. However, it appeared the gelding was suffering from a pulled muscle, or possibly a sprained foreleg. “C’mon boy, just a little farther,” Teaspoon coaxed the gelding as they continued on their way. Charger lifted is head and snorted in response to his mater’s words of encouragement. Teaspoon chuckled and patted his mount on the heck as they headed closer to Sweetwater. By the time horse and rider reached the designated location where Teaspoon planned to make camp, Charger was limping in earnest. Teaspoon quickly dismounted, and removed the heavy saddle and blanket from the gelding’s back to relieve the pressure on the horse’s sore limb. Next, he led Charger down to the gurgling stream running through the area, and into the swiftly moving water. He squatted down and used both hands to form a cup in which he gathered some of the icy coolness and splashed it on the gelding’s ailing foreleg. When Teaspoon thought he had enough water on Charger’s leg, Teaspoon led him back up the embankment and hobbled him to graze. He then dug into his saddlebags, retrieved a dented can of ointment, and walked back over to his horse. The animal was content to stay in one place to eat and allowed the marshal to apply some of the ointment onto his foreleg. After he finished tending to his horse, Teaspoon set to work collecting wood for a fire, spreading out his blanket, and doing other things necessary to make camp for the night. Darkness had fallen completely by the time he heated up a can of beans for his supper, and brewed a pot of coffee to drink. He made quick work of eating the beans, and then tossed the can into the fire. He poured himself another cup of coffee, before sitting back against his saddle. It was a clear summer evening with a slight breeze that blew his hair, and cooled down his flushed features. Teaspoon turned his gaze skyward to watch the display of thousands upon thousands of stars showcase their glittering brilliance for his personal viewing pleasure. As he sat sipping his coffee, and enjoying the night sky, something off in the distance caught his attention. He turned his head to look in that direction and was rewarded by what appeared to be the glow of another campfire burning. Teaspoon could not help but wonder whom the campfire belonged to, and what personal story they had to tell. He hoped no one was in trouble and made a mental note to himself to check out the area in the morning before he continued on his way back to Sweetwater. He tossed the remains of his coffee into the fire, stretched out onto the ground, and closed his eyes. Morning would come early enough and he still had a ways to go before he got back to town. The sun was beginning to appear on the horizon when Teaspoon awoke. He got the fire going again, and set the coffee pot to brewing, before he tended to his personal needs. Breakfast consisted of biscuits and some of Rachel’s apple butter. After he ate and drank his fill, Teaspoon doused the fire with the last of the coffee, packed up his gear, refilled his canteen, and saddled Charger. Before mounting the gelding, he examined the foreleg, which troubled the animal the day before. The combination of the icy creek water, salve, and rest appeared to have been all that was needed to fix the problem. Teaspoon mounted Charger and they were soon on their way. Teaspoon remembered the location of where he had seen the glow of the other campfire the night before and was thankful it was in the general direction of Sweetwater. He traveled about a mile when gunshots reached them. Charger’s ears flicked back and he snorted in anticipation of his master’s next command. Teaspoon did not disappoint him. He kneed the gelding to go faster and Charger obeyed without hesitation. They came around a hilly bend in the trail in time to see a man dressed in dark clothing on a black and white paint, riding away from a camp. Another prone figure lay sprawled and unmoving beside a roaring campfire. Teaspoon drew his weapon and began firing at the man on the horse. He set his focus on trying to help the victim, but feared it was already too late. He reined his mount beside the campfire, quickly dismounted, and crouched beside the unmoving figure. The balding head with wisps of white hair, tattered and patched clothing, and scuffed boots identified the victim as male, even before he turned the figure over. Teaspoon was surprised to hear a moan escape from dry lips as he assessed the extent of the man’s injuries. A gut shot exposed the man’s innards, along with another wound to the chest, but given that the man was still breathing, albeit laborious, Teaspoon reckoned the heart had not been damaged. Even as Teaspoon set to work trying to staunch the flow of life’s blood seeping out from the fragile body he held in his arms, he knew it was no use. Already he could hear the death rattle elicited from the man’s mouth. The wounded old man did not have much time left on the earth. “Water,” It took him a moment to realize the man had spoken. Blue eyes flew up to rest on the other man’s grizzled features and locked with pain filled brown ones. “What did you say?” he asked the man. The man licked his lips and uttered the solitary word again, “Water.” Teaspoon eased the man’s head out of his lap, stood up, and went over to where Charger grazed. He removed his canteen from his saddle and moved back to the injured man. He uncorked the canteen and then lifted the man’s head and helped him drink. He thought the man ended up wearing more of the water than he actually drank, but did not mention this observation aloud. “Who…are…you?” “Name’s Teaspoon Hunter. I was on my way back to Sweetwater when I heard the gunfire.” “I’m Jonas,” the wounded man said as a coughing fit consumed him. It shook his whole form, caused pink tinted spittle to run out of his mouth, and wet the sleeve of Teaspoon’s shirt. “Easy, Jonas, Easy,” Teaspoon had only known the man for a few moments, but he felt a kinship with Jonas nevertheless. He hoped when he took his own last breath he would have someone there to look after him and make his journey out of this life and into the next as easy as possible. “Map,” Jonas rasped out. “He took my map.” “No sense worrying about any old map, you aren’t going to need it where you are going.” “Ain’t that the truth,” Jonas smiled wryly up at him, before another coughing spell hit him. Teaspoon helped him to drink some more water and waited to see if Jonas would try to talk again. When a few minutes passed without another word coming from the man, and saw that he had closed his eyes again, Teaspoon believed him to be dead. Just as he was lowering Jonas’s head onto the ground, the injured man took a gasping breath and his eyes flew open. “You have to get my map back.” Jonas choked out. “What’s so all fired important about a map?” Teaspoon queried. “The map leads you to where I hid away some money along time ago.” Pain filled brown eyes met blue eyes and held. “I was an outlaw once…a long, long time ago. The money is from those days. I met my wife soon after and gave up my outlaw ways. I got word recently that my youngest daughter, Darla Parkins and her family, are in desperate need of the money or their going to lose their spread. I was heading to Sweetwater to give it to Darla, and got shot for my efforts.” Teaspoon was quiet for a few moments as he took in the information Jonas shared with him. “Do you know the man who shot you?” “No, but he seemed to know me.” Jonas began coughing again in earnest and the death rattle Teaspoon recognized earlier, became even more pronounced. The injured man’s body shook with the violence of the coughing fit and then went eerily still. Teaspoon needed no other indication to realize that Jonas was no longer among the living. He grabbed a blanket, rolled Jonas’ body into it and strapped across the back of the dun colored mare grazing beside Charger. He spent a few moments putting out the fire, gathering Jonas’ few belongings, before mounting Charger again. He took the other horse’s reins and started toward Sweetwater. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ “Teaspoon should have arrived back from Ft. Laramie last night. You don’t reckon anything is wrong do you?” Lou McCloud asked Jimmy Hickok as the two Pony Express riders sat outside the jail. Jimmy shook his head. “He’s probably just enjoying his time away from his marshaling responsibilities and decided to spend another night out on the prairie. I reckon he’ll be along soon enough.” “I hope you are right.” Lou knew Teaspoon was fully capable of taking care of himself, but the plains was a treacherous area and held all sorts of dangers for anyone traveling across them, regardless of their survival abilities. “Lou, look.” Jimmy’s voice broke through her reverie. Lou glanced over at him and saw him pointing at something down the street. Lou’s eyes followed along the length of his arm and felt relief fill her when she spotted the marshal coming down the street toward their location. Her relief changed to consternation when she realized he was leading a horse behind Charger, and there appeared to be a body lying across the top of the saddle. “What happened, Teaspoon?” Jimmy asked the question they were both thinking as the older man pulled his horse to a stop in front of the jail. “Jonas here got waylaid by an outlaw. Take him to the undertaker’s and see to it that they get him ready for burial. Then I want one of you to head out to the Parkins place and tell them I want to talk to them. Have either of you two seen a man dressed in black, riding a black and white paint come into town within the last couple of hours?” Teaspoon dismounted and tied his horse’s reins to the hitching post while he waited for Lou and Jimmy to respond to the question he had asked. “A fellow fitting that description rode into town about an hour ago. Left his horse at the livery and went over to the Wild Aces Saloon.” Jimmy told him. “Is he the man responsible for sending Jonas to an early grave?” “Yes.” Teaspoon started toward the saloon with Jimmy behind him. Lou watched them go for a moment before taking the reins of the dun colored mare to lead her down the street toward the livery stable. As much as she wanted to follow men, Teaspoon had given them orders and someone needed to carry them out. The marshal cleared the bat wing doors of the Wild Aces saloon a few moments later and peered intently around the smoke clouded interior. He gazed from one table to the other, intently studying the faces of each man, and mentally identified them as citizens of Sweetwater. He replayed the scene in his mind of the shooting earlier that morning, trying to recall each detail of the man he had seen fleeing away from Jonas’ campfire. The man had been wearing black clothing, but not the every day kind that most men wore around town. It had been a dandy’s suit. There was only one man in the entire saloon wearing all black clothing and it was a suit to boot. Teaspoon stalked up to the bar, Jimmy behind him and ready to back his mentor up if the need arose. The older man leaned onto the bar on one side of the fine dressed man, Jimmy on the other. “You wouldn’t happen to ride a black and white paint, would you?” The dandy took a slow sip of his whistle and turned to look at Teaspoon. “What concern of it is yours, about what kind of horse I ride?” “I’d answer the man’s question if I was you.” Jimmy said coolly. “I’m not in the habit of disclosing personal details about myself to total strangers. Now, if you’ll excuse me I’d like to enjoy my drink in quiet.” “We aren’t finished talking yet.” Teaspoon said in a low voice. “You can answer the question here or you can answer it at the jail, your choice.” The dandy let out a sigh and said, “Yes, I ride a black and white paint.” “You are under arrest for the cold-blooded murder of Jonas Parkins. Jimmy, take his gun.” The congenial smile on the dandy’s face faded, replaced with one of anger. “That is absolutely ridiculous! I am innocent of such a dastardly deed and I will not stand for such a fallacious insult!” “You can protest your innocence until you hang from the gallows for all I care,” Teaspoon snarled as he searched the dandy’s coat pockets and retrieved a folded, yellow piece of paper, which he opened. He discovered it to be a crude map that Jonas had described to him. “Let’s go.” Together Teaspoon and Jimmy led the protesting man out of the saloon and over to the jail where they locked him up. A short while later Lou arrived back in town with the Darla Parkins, her husband Trey, and their two small children. As gently as he could, Teaspoon told Darla and her husband of how he came to know her father, and what Jonas had told him about the map. Darla wept in her husband’s arms at the news, but thanked the marshal for being so quick to catch his killer. The Parkins left the jail and headed down to the undertaker’s, leaving Teaspoon, Lou, and Jimmy alone with their prisoner. “You think you two can handle Mr. Innocent there long enough for me to head out to the way station to get something to eat and change clothes?” Teaspoon inquired. “Sure we can.” Jimmy and Lou assured him together. “I’ll be back in a while.” Teaspoon left the jail and untied Charger’s reins from the hitching post. He mounted his horse and headed for the way station on the outskirts of town. He knew that as a law enforcement official he should have kept the map, found the money, and tried to return it back to its rightful owner, but that was about as plausible as finding a needle in a haystack. If there really was money as Jonas had stated, he saw no reason why it could not benefit the Parkins’ family as the old outlaw had intended. Drop me a note and let me know what you thought!