When Duncan awoke it was full morning. The sun shone in through the frequent holes in the roof of the barn, lighting up streaks of dust in sunbeams reaching nearly to the floor. He pushed the chain and pulley off to his side and rubbed his head. Below he could still hear scuffling sounds on the barn floor. He sat up and peered over the crossbeam.
The old man was still on the floor with Dawson lying next to him, his head on his chest. When Duncan moved over to the side of the hayloft the chains on his wrists clanked and Dawson’s ears perked up. He started barking. The old man moaned.
“What is it, boy? What do you hear?”
Duncan stood up and dragged the long chain with him. He went to the side where it was still tied off to a rusty metal bolt in the old barn timbers. He untied the chain from the bolt and then brought both hands up above his head. With all of his strength he slammed the old rusty padlock down on the bolt and it shattered the lock. He took off the chains and rubbed his wrists.
Carefully, he peered over the side of the hayloft where Dawson growled and barked at him. Now that it was daylight, Duncan could see that there were some old wooden planks missing from the front of the barn. He stood and looked at them. If he could just put his feet into the side of the wall and climb down far enough, he could jump to the floor and avoid the dog. He looked out through the small barn window to his side and saw the foothills rising up to the mountains in the West. If he could get past Dawson, he’d be free again.
The missing planks were near to the open front door, so Duncan put his foot into the first open area and climbed down. The dog continued to bristle, bark and snarl at him, but Dawson stood his ground next to the old man on the barn floor and wasn’t coming nearer. The flashlight and shotgun were off to the side and out of reach. The old man looked up and saw him, but then let his head drop back down again and groaned.
Duncan took two more steps until he was only about six feet from the ground. He looked back and forth between the barking dog and the barn door. Finally, he jumped down onto the ground and ran as fast as he could out around the barn and into the open desert foothills. He looked back around as he ran. Dawson wasn’t following him, so he slowed down after a hundred yards and stopped.
The old wooden house was near the river and it sat at the bottom of a wooded canyon like a small oasis in the desert. It had a faded grey-white color and looked like it hadn’t been painted in decades. There was the old tumble-down barn and a chicken coop with a corral on the other side. Duncan looked around. There wasn’t anything else anywhere, for as far as the eye could see.
He looked toward the mountains and then back into the desert. There was a mule in the corral, but no car and no telephone lines in any direction. He shook his head and looked up at the burning sun above him. It was already getting hot. The old man would probably die alone of thirst if someone didn’t come by and help him.
He turned back toward the mountains. What business was it of his? He was a hunted fugitive from the law. He had to keep going. He was lucky to have gotten away. Duncan stopped, hung his head and sighed. Almost against his own will, he turned around and went back to the old man’s house. Just as soon as he got some water for the old man – then he’d be gone. He looked back over his shoulder at the mountains behind him. Just get the old man some water – that’s all.
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