Frigid cold, that's all there was on top of that Godforsaken mountain. A massive caravan of wagons pulled by large horses struggled up through the near knee-deep snow. Two gentlemen sat on the driver's seat of the lead wagon. "What are we doing up here, Dutch?" The one on the left yelled over the harsh, biting wind, "This is the last place we should be, especially with Davey in his condition!" The man was older, around the age of fifty-five, with grey, short cut hair and a cleanly shaven face. "I won't be surprised if this cold weather kills him!"
A sigh came from the younger man, about forty-four in age, with medium length slicked-back black hair and goatee, named Dutch "I know, but we weren't gonna be able to lose the law otherwise! I hope you're wrong and it don't kill him, but with those injuries…I am sorry about this, Hosea… if I'd known what would have happened, I wouldn't've- "
''I know, I know." Hosea cut Dutch off before he could finish.
"Maybe you should send someone up ahead? See if they can find any shelter up here?"
Dutch merely nodded his head and called over his shoulder, "Arthur, come up here for a minute!"
A broad-shouldered man on a Grey Snow-capped Spotted Appaloosa trotted to the front of the wagon. "What is it Dutch? Is it Davey?" His voice had a deep and gruff tone, with a strong southern accent.
"No, not yet anyway. I was gonna ask if you could ride ahead of us a bit, see if you can find any shelter for us?" Arthur was younger than both Dutch and Hosea, around thirty-six years of age.
"Sure." Arthur nodded as he spurred the horse into a slight canter and disappeared into the blinding storm.