A group of people with torches and lanterns gathers near the edge of the Black Hills forest. It is a chilly night in March 1886. Robin Weaver is lost out here somewhere, and this search party is determined to find her. The woods are dangerous these days. Wild animals, Indians, and who knows what else out here. Sooner we find her and get out of this place the better.
Tweek is not a happy man. Roused from his warm bed after a night of heavy drinking, he now finds himself (still intoxicated) standing at the edge of the woods in the wee hours of the morning, part of a hastily-formed search party.
Robin who? He doesn't even know the kid. Why am I even out here, he wonders. Couldn't this wait until tomorrow?
Tweek slips away from the main search party and ducks behind a huge oak tree. After answering the call of nature, he notes that the group has moved quite a distance from him. He can see the bobbing torches many yards ahead. Again he thinks of his warm bed and casts a longing look back towards town.
Something catches his eye. Movement in the tall grass. Just for a moment, then it's gone again.
Not watching where he's walking, Tweek walks right into a low-hanging tree branch and gets smacked in the face. Hard. There is a burst of profanity-laden expletives, then he picks himself up off the cold damp ground.
The search party has moved beyond his sight or hearing now. He could easily turn back and nobody would even know. The thought crosses his mind more than once as he stands there angry and in more than a little pain.