The Cave

Jeb’s eyes opened slowly, his back sore from sleeping against the rock. The closest thing to a bed in days.

“It’s starting to snow, said Isaiah. Silhouetted against the cave’s entrance by the flat light of snowfall, he peered out cautiously. Caution was good. They were coming.

“That’s good. It’ll slow ‘em down,” Jeb said quietly. “Easier to see.”

“Yep, but hard for us to keep moving, too.”

“This is a good hole.” Jeb observed. The small cave had been a blessing last night. But they were trapped by the telltale snow.

“We can stay here a few days if need be.”

“Makes me nervous.” Isaiah sat nearby, fingering his Colt.

Jeb watched him carefully, wondering. Isaiah’s quirks had gotten them here. The poor drunk at the saloon had never seen it coming, and Isaiah had been too quick to draw. Over nothing.

Isaiah cocked and spun the cylinder, clicks jabbing at the cave’s silence. Jeb watched Isaiah fiddle nervously with the weapon, at one point even looking down the barrel, hammer still cocked.

Fool, Jeb thought. He needed to be away from him. But how? They were in it deep now. Well, Isaiah was in it deep. Jeb had done nothing but run from the chaos. But Isaiah had followed, and the men had followed them both.

He could just walk away. He could make an excuse to hunt and never return. But the look in Isaiah’s eyes worried him. He felt fear chill his spine.

“Isaiah, can I see that pistol?”

Isaiah leered at him, handed over the gun and jumped up to look outside. The hammer was still cocked. He never heard the shot that killed him.

Jeb moved quickly away from the cave, snow building on his collar. The men would have what they needed…