PacNorWest
Veteran Member
#246
Wyatt stood with his back to the wall, doing a sweeping assessment of the people crowded into the hall of the patriotic congress. His arm was still paining him if he didn't keep it in the sling, but he was jostled every which way, with his arm immobilized against his side. It was bulky enough that it took up a space and another half of the small space that was evidently allotted to each person.
The hall was a nightmare. Over crowded with few exits, there was nothing in the line of ventilation or places to sit. Wyatt had never considered himself claustrophobic, but he was having a hard time making himself be inside the enclosure.
In order to keep bodies from bumping into his arm, he had stationed himself in a wall niche, barely wider than he was. It helped some, but the heat and aroma of unwashed bodies was making him feel lightheaded. He was wondering if this was a purpose driven situtation, to pack all the men in such close quarters, to make it difficult to defend themselves.
The first day of the conference, Wyatt had stood in line and registered the Clan's names for the thousand acres the state was using as 'bait' to get attendees to come. Since he was early with his request, the hand written paperwork had been delivered to him first thing this morning.
The deeds, securely sheltered in his inside vest pocket, was his only obligation to the Linderman clan, and he was happy to have completed that task.
Ducking outside for fresh air, he noticed a large group of men gathering around a wagon with three men seated in the bed, on chairs. They were slowly inching forward, to the hall. With his hinky meter running at full speed, Wyatt headed for the bank of outhouses, a reasonable movement that wasn't out of line, considering the times.
Closing the door behind himself and using the peep holes in the inferior wood slats, Wyatt tried to make himself invisible. From his vantage point, he could see another wagon maneuvering on the opposite side of the hall; and he assumed it was there to block the exits. Now a lot of words from Clora came rushing back to jumble in his mind.
Wyatt checked behind the outhouses to see how many men were loitering, casually stationed to create a wall of bullet fire, if need be. There were none, so if he could watch and use a time that all the outriders were busy, he might make a get a way and keep his life.
His chance came when the guards crowded close around the wagon and open doors of the hall. Slipping from the outhouse, Wyatt ran for the trees that rimmed the fairgrounds looking buildings.
The stables were a run across an open area, but there didn't seem to be any hands watching the horses, so Wyatt eased into the interior of the stall lined building and ran down to Joe's stall.
Throwing the blanket and saddle caused major pain, but he barely took notice. A fleeting thought crossed his mind about the new to him shirts that Clora had donated to him, those and his shaving kit that were back in the dormitory.
An instant later, Wyatt decided they weren't worth his life, and he opened the far gate and let Joe out into the sunshine. Joe was antsy and hard to mount with his twirling around, but as the sounds of the first gunshots sounded, Wyatt was streaking down the road with his horse at a dead run.
Wyatt stood with his back to the wall, doing a sweeping assessment of the people crowded into the hall of the patriotic congress. His arm was still paining him if he didn't keep it in the sling, but he was jostled every which way, with his arm immobilized against his side. It was bulky enough that it took up a space and another half of the small space that was evidently allotted to each person.
The hall was a nightmare. Over crowded with few exits, there was nothing in the line of ventilation or places to sit. Wyatt had never considered himself claustrophobic, but he was having a hard time making himself be inside the enclosure.
In order to keep bodies from bumping into his arm, he had stationed himself in a wall niche, barely wider than he was. It helped some, but the heat and aroma of unwashed bodies was making him feel lightheaded. He was wondering if this was a purpose driven situtation, to pack all the men in such close quarters, to make it difficult to defend themselves.
The first day of the conference, Wyatt had stood in line and registered the Clan's names for the thousand acres the state was using as 'bait' to get attendees to come. Since he was early with his request, the hand written paperwork had been delivered to him first thing this morning.
The deeds, securely sheltered in his inside vest pocket, was his only obligation to the Linderman clan, and he was happy to have completed that task.
Ducking outside for fresh air, he noticed a large group of men gathering around a wagon with three men seated in the bed, on chairs. They were slowly inching forward, to the hall. With his hinky meter running at full speed, Wyatt headed for the bank of outhouses, a reasonable movement that wasn't out of line, considering the times.
Closing the door behind himself and using the peep holes in the inferior wood slats, Wyatt tried to make himself invisible. From his vantage point, he could see another wagon maneuvering on the opposite side of the hall; and he assumed it was there to block the exits. Now a lot of words from Clora came rushing back to jumble in his mind.
Wyatt checked behind the outhouses to see how many men were loitering, casually stationed to create a wall of bullet fire, if need be. There were none, so if he could watch and use a time that all the outriders were busy, he might make a get a way and keep his life.
His chance came when the guards crowded close around the wagon and open doors of the hall. Slipping from the outhouse, Wyatt ran for the trees that rimmed the fairgrounds looking buildings.
The stables were a run across an open area, but there didn't seem to be any hands watching the horses, so Wyatt eased into the interior of the stall lined building and ran down to Joe's stall.
Throwing the blanket and saddle caused major pain, but he barely took notice. A fleeting thought crossed his mind about the new to him shirts that Clora had donated to him, those and his shaving kit that were back in the dormitory.
An instant later, Wyatt decided they weren't worth his life, and he opened the far gate and let Joe out into the sunshine. Joe was antsy and hard to mount with his twirling around, but as the sounds of the first gunshots sounded, Wyatt was streaking down the road with his horse at a dead run.
.
