Wind and Pine Needles

Dashiell made his way through the forest with a deliberately slow pace. Dead pine
needles littered the forest floor and were pushed into the soft earth with each step he took.
The rain had slowed down from its initial torrent to a fine drizzle, mixed with the mid
autumn wind though it was still enough to chill a man to the bone. The floor below him
began to slope up and Dashiell knew he was almost at his destination. Atop the rise stood
a single story cabin nestled in among the trees, a building few had ever actually seen. It
had taken Dashiell the best part of a week and a whole lot of bought drinks to find out its
location, the first few sites had been instantly corrected with a gentle poke from some iron
into the ribs. The handful of people who were willing to talk about Herman Shroot werent
the most talkative of folks but with the right amount of pressure applied they became as
friendly as a man could ever ask for. Dash made his way up the slope, stepping from one
tree to the next in an attempt to mask his approach. He still could not see the cabin from
where he was, the top of the hill was met with the towering spires of pine trees and low
lying grey clouds. Dash stopped once his head broke the cover of the hill and peered out
from behind a thick tree trunk. The cabin was in better shape than he had been led to
believe, the windows were intact and other than the aged wood of its structure it appeared
to be in good shape. Smoke was quickly whipped from the top of the chimney away from
his position by the eastern wind at his back, the fire inside was low and probably remained
that way most of the time as to avoid detection from other parts of the forests.
Dash made his way around the perimeter of the building, sticking to the tree line
and trying to stay behind cover as much as he could. After all the time hed taken getting
the location of this place and the trek though the cold wet woodland he would be damned if
it all went to hell now because he was too eager to get it done. He made one full lap of the
building, stopping occasionally to listen out for sounds inside the cabin and for any sign of
life other than the thin smoke trail escaping into the wind. The rain returned to its heavier
downpour, the dark grey clouds overhead clearly full with the stuff. It meant hed have a
harder time listening out for Shroot but it would give Herman no advantage over him either.
Dash broke the tree line and quickly crossed the small clearing the cabin was standing in,
keeping himself as low as possible. He gently pressed himself up against the old wooden
logs of the building and took a moment to listen once more. The rain was falling harder
and harder so all he heard was the building hiss all around him. After a moment of listening
to the rain Dash chanced a peek inside though the dirt covered window. It was dark inside

the cabin, a weak glow from the fire inside and an oil lamp off in the far corner. It was
difficult to make out anything that wasnt in the centre of the room but one thing was
unmistakeable. The bulbous shape of Herman Shroot, passed out on his cot surrounded
by bottles and jugs which covered the rudimentary bed and most of the floor below him.
Dashiell pushed the door open as delicately has he could. There was no telling how
rusted the hinges were or if the door itself had become warped with its many years of life
out in the wilds. The door did creak on its hinges despite the slow speed Dash moved the
door at, thankfully when he stopped and checked inside Shroot was far too inebriated to
notice the intermittent creaking from the hinges which were once possibly brass and
shined in the sunlight. Dash took a deep breath and opened the door a little further, just
enough to get his body through without much trouble. Inside the dark cabin his eyes began
to adjust. Even though the exterior of the shack looked to have been kept reasonably tidy,
inside every surface was littered with junk, most of it being empty moonshine jugs and
bottles that had once housed cheap whiskey. A collection of rusty tools and cutting
implements were piled up on top of a table next to a broken oil lamp, the glass and fuel
had long since been left to fall between the mountain of useless tools making their handles
just as unpleasant as their heads. Beside the overflowing work bench hung a curtain, thick
and dark in colour, it was too dim to tell inside the cabin just what shade it was supposed
to be but Dash believed what it covered would be much darker than its colour. He took
another deep breath and parted the curtain with his fingers. There was no need to stare,
the glimpse of pale skin and a blood soaked nightie told him all he needed to know. Dash
closed his eyes and let the curtain fall back to where it was. Hed hoped to find her alive or
to not have found her at all, believing the rumours of her romance with the missing farm
hand had meant shed fled south and was starting a new life. Instead that faint glimmer of
hope was replaced by a rising anger, all consuming and rushing towards the surface. He
turned to face Shroot who had not moved since he first spotted him through the murky
window. Drawing his revolver from its holster he stepped through the mess on the floor no
longer caring about the noise. With his free hand Dash picked up a bottle from the small
table beside the cot and threw it to the floor smashing it and a few other empties in one go.
Shroots eyes snapped open to reveal a blurry silhouette looming over him.
Get up. Dash said levelling his weapon on Shroot. It took a moment of furious
blinking for the muzzle of the gun to come into focus. Shroot tried to speak but all that
came out was a horse croak. Get up. Dash said again, much firmer than before. He
stepped back, keeping his weapon trained on Shroot who slowly swung out his legs and
sat up on the bed. He cleared his throat with a few violent coughs before he pushed

himself up and out of the cot. His muddy boots crunched on the broken glass below him,
he was unsteady on his feet, the alcohol from the night before still having a firm grip on
him but he was alert enough to know that he had no choice but to do as the dark stranger
said.
Outside, now. Dash flicked the nose of his pistol towards the doorway and Shroot
made his way to the half open entrance, stopping to hold onto which ever surface he could
to keep his balance. Once he stood on the threshold and felt the cold autumn air on his
face his mind began to clear and his senses returned to him like a slowly retreating fog. He
was about to speak when Dashs boot dug into the small of his back and sent the rotund
man tumbling forward into the dirt. Shroot coughed and spluttered as he tried to get the
mud out of his mouth and push it out of his eyes. He had gotten up to his knees when he
felt the cold iron nose of a revolver pressed into the back of his skull. Followed by a loud
and deliberate clicking of a hammer.
Why? Dash asked, trying his best to hide the fury which wanted to break out of
him. Why? she was just a girl. Shroot coughed once more and placed his hands on his
knees. He took a few laboured breaths before answering.
Whaddya want me to say? Im sorry? Shroot asked, his voice a harsh rasp.
I want to know why. Dash said as his pushed the nose of his weapon deeper into
the mans skull. And I want to know now.
Truth is, there aint no reason, I just wanted her. Shroot replied flatly. His huge
body juddered like he was trying to stifle his cough. It did this a few times before Dash
realised he was not coughing, he was laughing. The first round erupted out of the chamber
and into Shroots head forcing him face first into the mud. As soon as his body had hit the
ground Dash fired the remaining five rounds into the corpse of Herman Shroot. He
replaced his revolver into the holster and reached inside his jacket. From the inside pocket
he removed a small metal box and instantly began extending the telescopic aerial. The
inside began to whir and the valves glowed as they warmed up. He waited a minute before
activating the radio, staring down at the oozing body of Herman Shroot and deciding a
quick death had not been good enough for him. Once the valves had reached their desired
temperature Dash clicked down the sender button and spoke into the metal grill on the
front of his radio.
Zeke? The radio spat out a burst of static and then went silent. A moment later
Zekes voice came out of the small speaker inside.
Did you find them Captain? Zeke asked before being swallowed up with another
harsh burst of static.

I found them, better go get the Marshall and tell him to send some men up here.
You want us to come pick you up?
No, youll not be able to get anywhere near here. Just send the Marshall and some
horses.
Copy that. Everything all right Captain?
Not even close. Ill see you when we get back into town. Dash said before relaying
his location to Zeke. Once the conversation was over Dash closed down his radio and
replaced it into his jacket. He stood outside the cabin and waited for the Marshall and his
men to get here. It would take them several hours to navigate the vast forest but he never
left his spot next to the cooling body of Herman Shroot, trying to figure out if he would ever
be able to shake this anger he felt right now.