The Unexpected Request - Part 57

Good Morning Western Wednesday Readers,
It is cooler now. The last few days have been summer again with the temperatures reaching 102. Now it is cloudy with an almost chilly breeze. I love fall!


I've gotten a little writing done, but this week is busy. I don't start writing class after all. That will be next week. I certainly wish I was traveling with Priscilla De Silvosa. :) But, I'm much to busy to join her and Amy.


I hope you enjoy this next part of The Unexpected Request. Thanks for the book reviews those that sent them. You all did a great job especially considering that not one of you has read the end yet.:)
What do you think of this part?

Part 57

    But Carson protested, “Rohbar, that mud’s so deep ya’d sink up ta the hubs a the wheels ‘fore ya’d a gotten ta the main street. I reckon Sally can walk on the boardwalks ‘long the street an’ it ain’t goin’ ta hurt her any. If’n she’s afraid a the mud, she ain’t the daughter a my best friend.”
    After a speech like that, Sally couldn’t have been paid to ride in a wagon. “It was very kind of you to offer, Mr. Rohbar, but I don’t mind walking. And,” she added with a smile for the missus, “a little mud never hurt any of my clothes. Good-bye!”

    The trip back to the house took longer than any of them expected, for the mud was so thick and heavy that it pulled on their boots making walking in the street almost impossible. At last, however, the trip was ended, as all trips eventually do, and the trio were sheltered once again in the dry, cozy house near the edge of town.
    Ty brought in wood and Carson started a blazing fire while Sally prepared to wash and mend the best of their clothes in preparation for the morrow. Without any trouble she had secured Carson’s approval to attend church in the morning with the Rohbars.
    The afternoon and evening passed quickly by. As she was mending, Sally questioned her brother and Carson about what had happened during their visit to the sheriff. Though she was relieved that Mason, Poker, Shorty and Duffer were now in jail, she was horrified to find out why Ty had had to leave home so quickly. “Ty, when we get back home, we need to get a sheriff.”
    “Reckon yer right.”
    Sally sewed a few minutes in silence. “Ty,” she began again, “I can’t think of anyone who would make a good sheriff. They’re either too old or too busy or something. You could be the sheriff.”
    Ty snorted and looked disgusted while Carson grinned.
    “What?” Sally asked, puzzled.
    Seeing that Ty didn’t intend to answer her, Carson did. “It’s jest that Ty’s been asked by the sheriff here ta stay an’ be his deputy.”
    “You would make a real good one, Ty,” Sally said slowly.
    “I ain’t gonna be no deputy,” he retorted. “I’ve got other things ta do an’ I ain’t stayin’ ‘round this here town.”
    “Of course we aren’t staying,” soothed Sally. “We aren’t going to really stay anywhere until we find . . . her.” It always felt a bit awkward talking about the missing Eleanor Elliot.
    Hardly any more talk was had that evening, and in silence, the trio prepared for the next day.

    The sun was shining and the mud on the streets was not as impassible as it had been, when Carson, Ty and Sally set off for the little church. Several birds were singing brightly up in the clear sky on that quiet morning. Sighing a contented sigh, Sally tucked her hand through her brother’s arm, and, when he glanced down at her, she smiled up at him, though there were tears in her eyes as she whispered, “It’s been so long.”

    It was a very quiet afternoon which the trio spent back at their temporary home following the church service. Sally wrote a letter to the Fields. It was only the third letter she had written in her life and it took her most of the afternoon as well as part of the evening.
    After supper, Carson and Ty sat before the fire, Carson checking over the bridles for their horses and Ty busy with knife and wood, whittling while Sally labored over her letter at the table.
    “Ty,” Carson began, “if’n we leave tomorrow, where ya thinkin’ a headin’?”
    “Ain’t sure. Jest on.”
    “Ya know winter’s comin’. It ain’t here now, but I reckon that cold rain yesterday wouldn’t a been so nice out in the open. What ya think a goin’ from town ta town, least ways till we get us a clue a some kind. Lest a course ya was wantin’ ta change yer mind ‘bout that deputy notion the sheriff’s got.” He grinned as Ty glowered and snorted.
    Silence descended for a time with only the soft crackling of the fire, the scratching of Sally’s pencil across the paper, a soft brushing sound from Ty’s knife and a gentle jingle now and then from the bridles. Outside the shouts and music from the saloons disturbed the Sunday evening hush which was seeking to settle over the town, lulling the townsfolk into slumber, preparing them for the week of work ahead.
    Sally laid down her pen at last. “I wrote a letter; I don’t know if it is the proper way to write one or not. But Ty, I did want to tell them where we are heading next,” she added the last wistfully.
    “What about headin’ fer Thorn Holler? Rohbar said it’s ‘bout a five day trek if’n we’re goin’ slow.”
    Ty paused in his whittling. “What direction’s it in?”
    “Southwest.”
    “Well, I reckon jest ‘bout any place’d do, seein’ we ain’t got anythin’ ta go on. I sometimes think we were closer ta findin’ her back at Fort Laramie.”
    “We will find her, Ty,” Sally protested. “It hasn’t even been a year. We can’t give up now.”
    “I ain’t givin’ up, Sally. I’ll find her even if I have ta go over this here United States on foot!”
    Leaning back in his chair, Carson crossed his feet and drawled, “Well, I’m a hopin’ we ain’t goin’ ta have ta do much walkin’ I ain’t use ta it.”
    Sally couldn’t keep from smiling at Carson’s attempt to cheer Ty, and then with great care wrote:
    “Ty and Carson said we are going to Thorn Hollow next. It is a five day trip if we go slow. I will try to write from there. Sally.”

    After fastening the locks Carson had discovered on the doors, the trio turned in for the night.

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