Free The Battle: Alone: Book 4 by Darrell Maloney

sleeping the day away.
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
    Chapter 14
     
         The little old man looked friendly enough. At least he smiled when Dave walked through the door marked “Winslow County Sheriff’s Office: Serving Proudly Since 1846.”
         “Well good morning, young fella. Or is it afternoon yet? My old wind up watch finally gave out a few weeks ago and it’s kinda hard to tell now.”
         Dave checked his own watch and said, “It’s almost one p.m., and I’m doing okay. Thanks for asking, sir. How about yourself?”
         “Couldn’t be better, unless the lights and the air conditioner suddenly started working again. What can I do for you?”
         “I’m looking for the sheriff, if he’s around. I have this letter to give him.”
         Dave unfolded the letter given him by Frank Woodard before he left San Antonio.
         “It’s a letter of provenance,” Frank had explained. “They were used a lot in the old days, when someone was traveling to a strange land where he might be viewed as unsavory or hostile. It was given to someone in authority, to prove that the traveler was who he said he was, and not just somebody looking for trouble.”
         The little old man opened the letter and read it while Dave looked around the room.
     
    To Whom It May Concern,
         My name Is Frank L. Woodard. I am a Senior Deputy with the Bexar County Sheriff’s Department in San Antonio, Texas.
         I can vouch that the bearer of this letter, Dave Speer, is a personal friend of mine who is also a permanent resident of Bexar County.
         Mr. Speer means you no harm or ill will. He is merely on a journey to find his family who was stranded in the Kansas City area when the blackout occurred.
         Please aid him on his journey if you are able, and not hinder him in any way.
         As testament to my own identity and credentials, I urge you to contact Jason Willingham, Sheriff of Winslow County. I have known Jason for many years, and I know he is well known and respected throughout the State of Kansas. Jason knows the sound of my voice, and will vouch for me if he contacts me via ham radio. Dave knows the frequencies I monitor.
         Respectfully Yours,
         Frank L. Woodard
     
         Once finished, the man refolded the letter and handed it back to Dave. For several seconds he said nothing, but Dave thought he detected a sense of sadness in the old man’s demeanor.
         Then he said, “My name is Willingham too, but I’m afraid I’m not the man your friend was referring to. Jason was my son, and the sheriff of Winslow County for many years. He was a damn good sheriff, too. I know because I was in the same business. I ran this office myself when I was a young feller like you. I raised my Jason to respect the law and do right for others, and he learned well. When I announced my retirement, he ran as my replacement and won by a landslide. There’s been a Willingham running this office for over fifty years now.
         “At least, there was until about a year or so ago.”
         “Why? What happened?”
         “Jason was on horseback, leading a posse who was tracking some escaped convicts from Leavenworth Prison. The bastards lay in wait for them. Got them in a crossfire. Ambushed ‘em, like cowardly villains in an old western movie.”
         The man looked Dave in the eyes, and Dave could see unfallen tears.
         “Jason, the only one I had left in this world, got shot in the back and died there, in the dirt, like a damn dog.”
         “I’m sorry.”
         “Only two of them made it back alive, and they were both wounded. One died the following day. The other was gut shot, but managed to survive. He said his days of volunteering for posses was over, though, and refused to go back out. Said he owed it to his wife and daughter to stay