Part 2 of no title

Here it is, Meleah. Just for you. I tried to answer your questions. For those of you who haven't read the first part of this story, or can't remember it, it was the very first story I posted back in January. Sorry, I have no idea how to link back to that, so I guess you'll just have to go to January and find the story with no title. If anyone comes up with a title for this, I'd love to hear it! It is a little awkward to say, "That story I first posted, you know, the one about those guys and they were in a hurry to get somewhere..." So I assume you are ready for the story. Here it is.

Part 2

The cabin had only one room, lighted on one side by a glowing fire and a few candles. The other side was shrouded in darkness and a rough bed was to be seen in the corner, a still form lying under the bed clothes.
The wind was heard whistling outside around the cabin, and Sally shivered a moment in Ty’s arms.
“I thought you’d never come,” she whispered. “Oh Ty, its been so very long.”
Ty released himself gently from the girl’s hands and returned the gun to its holster before saying anything, and then his tones were low,
“I didn’t intend for it to be this way. How’s Pa?” He glanced over at the bed as he spoke.
“Very weak.”
Ty moved slowly over to the bed and gazed in silence at the thin, rough face of the man who was his father. It had been two years. Two long years since he had left that cabin and joined Carson in a adventurous trek farther west into the Nevada territory. Little did he dream at that time how long it would be before he saw either his father or sister.
The man stirred and called feebly, “Sally.”
“Yes, Pa,” the girl answered quickly, “I’m here. And Pa, Ty is home.”
Slowly the sick, old man opened his eyes. His gaze wandered around the room, coming at last to rest on the rugged, bearded face of his son. “Ty, that you?”
“Yes Sir. I’ve come home.”
“Sally told me you’d come, an’ I didn’t doubt it. . . The Good Lord has been right kind. . . to me an’ I. . . prayed you’d make it home in time. . . to hear. . .” the older man’s feeble voice faded, and his eyes closed once more as he fell asleep, worn out after only a few words.
“That’s how he’s been for days now,” whispered Sally. “He hasn’t the strength to talk for more ‘n a few sentences ‘fore he goes to sleep once more.”
The brother and sister moved softly away from the bed. The girl ,struggling to keep the tears from her eyes, stirred the pot over the fire and then sank drearily onto an old log hewn bench.
Ty, taking off his coat and hat, hung them on a peg near the door. His movements were quiet yet an alertness not seen in his earlier riding, was visible. His keen gaze swept the cabin from one rough log side to the other taking in each small detail. His quick ear was the first to catch the sound of his companion’s footsteps in the snow before they reached the cabin. With the opening of the door, a blast of frigid, snow laden wind entered nearly blewing Carson into the room and snuffing the candles’ flickering flames. Ty hurriedly pushed the door shut, slipping the latch over it to secure it from the wind.
“Tain’t much feed fer the horses, but I reckon the storm ain’t gonna last too long.” Carson spoke with a softer voice than usual for he too had noticed the bed with it’s quiet occupant.
Sally filled a small tin cup with broth before motioning the two travelers to eat. This they obeyed at once, for such a long hard ride had stirred up quite an appetite in them.
Nothing was said in that dim cabin. The whistling of the wind round the chimney sounded as though it would gladly tear the old cabin down to get at those within its walls. Anyone who had not been used to the roaring and sighing would have been quite fearful. As it was, no one so much as noticed it save for an occasional glance now or then at some particular strong gust.
“Sally,” the sick man’s voice sounded from the bed.
Ty arose, followed his sister to the bed, and lifted with gentle hand the gray head of the father as Sally spooned some warm broth into his mouth.
“Ty, get the . . . pouch . . . hangin’ by my gun,” the voice was low but insistent.
Ty strode across the room to the door over which the rifle was hanging and lifted the old leather pouch. Placing it in his father’s hand he waited in silence.
“Get the Good Book, Child,” and Sally stumbled to a shelf and brought back the Family Bible, playing it gently on the bed at her father’s side.
It was several minutes before the old man spoke again.
“All these years . . . find her. You must!” In his excitement the father raised himself up and grasped Ty’s hand with a vise like grip. “Ty, promise me you’ll find her! Promise... promise...”
“I promise.” Ty assured quickly, trying to ease the old man back onto the pillow. “I’ll find her.”
The hold relaxed and the tired eyes closed. The face was white, and the breaths came in gasps from colorless lips for a few minutes then steadied into the slow breathing of the sleeping.
The young man turned at last with set face. “Who am I to look for?”
Sally shook her head. “I don’t know,” she choked over a sob. “I sometimes think his mind ain’t right. He’s never told me ‘bout any person needin’ found. In fact he never talked of anyone ‘cept you since he took sick.”
The night wore on. The storm raged with unabated fury through the woods and around the little cabin. Inside all was still. Carson slept, rolled in a blanket on one side of the darkened room. Sally sat on her little bench near the fire. Sat and thought, cried a little when she thought of her father and slept, then awakened and thanked God that Ty was home. As for that young man, he didn’t sleep. He spent most of the time sitting beside his father’s bed in silence. It was good to be back home again.


Oh, yes, I nearly forgot. Since April of 1994 I have read a total of 770 new books. Anna, you were certainly the closest.:)