Lost and Found

Chapter Three

Mr. Weston's massive barn and sturdy two-story home came into view ahead of Paul. His legs burned, and his arms hurt, but he pushed forward, kicking up dust from the tree-lined road as he raced for help, hoping Mr. Weston hadn't gone to town like he said he might two days ago when he came to check on them while their father was in town getting drunk at the saloon.

Running up the porch stairs, Paul set Kitty down, grimacing against the ache in his arms from carrying her the whole way.

"MR. WESTON," Paul yelled, "MR. WESTON." He gasped for air and knocked urgently against the wooden door, shouting anxiously, "MR. WESTON."

When no one came to the door, he spun on his heel and raced down the steps gripping Kitty's hand tightly.

Pulling her behind him, he panted, "Kitty, we have to find him; he's the only one close enough to help us." He glanced down at her and stopped in his tracks.

Tears streamed down her cheeks, and her eyes filled with terror as she met his gaze.

Gritting his teeth, he knelt in front of her and wiped the tears from her face, "I'm sorry I'm scaring you, Kitty," he pulled her into his arms, "please don't cry."

He tried to take a couple of calming breaths, but the tears and panic he was fighting so hard to hide made it impossible for him to breathe. He had to stay strong, if he cried like he wanted to, the woman would die, and it would be his fault.

Kitty wrapped her tiny arms around his neck, hiding her face as uncontrollable sobs wracked her little body, "Where's Mr. Weston, Paulie?"

Awkwardly he stood; his weakened arms struggled with her slight weight as he held her. Taking a deep breath, he whispered, "We'll find him, Kitty, don't worry," and rubbed her back.

She raised her head as she sniffled and wiped her nose with her hand.

He turned and scanned the property, "Let's go check the barn, maybe he's in there," he touched her chin gently and looked into her crystal blue eyes, "sound like a good plan?"

She nodded and rested her head back on his shoulder.

Paul jogged to the barn as he yelled, "MR. WESTON, ARE YOU HERE?"

The barn door stood wide open, allowing the sweet smell of hay and the animals within to scent the air. Hearing a metallic hammering coming from the back, Paul looked in and hollered desperately into the shadowed interior, "MR. WESTON."

The hammering stopped briefly.

"MR. WESTON, ARE YOU BACK THERE? IT'S PAUL SUTTER," he yelled louder.

Metal clanged, followed by a dark figure appearing from a room at the back who yelled, "Paul?"

The man sauntered down the aisle, closing one of the fifteen stalls as he passed into the sunshine that beamed through a window on his left. He was a formidably tall man and brawny from the hard labor of ranch life.

A faded red shirt with a worn leather apron covered his broad chest down to his knees where his chaps then covered the rest of his legs, and his dark leather boots were scuffed but well cared for.

Wiping a worn-out blue bandanna across his forehead, Mr. Weston ran a hand through his dark brown hair, moving the shoulder-length strands off his sweaty face. He stuffed the bandanna back in his rear pocket as he came closer to Paul.

Breathing a sigh of relief, Paul ran into the barn and panted, "Mr. Weston—you've gotta come quick, sir. We need help."

Sawyer quickened his pace, untying his apron and hanging it on a hook nearby. His spurs jingled with each powerful step bringing him closer.