By Yankee 01754
Three figures stood on a hillside next to a new grave. One was the minister called upon to perform the funeral service. The other two were the sole mourners.
One stood tall and straight, head bowed in reverent silence as the preacher spoke. The shorter one also stood with head bowed, but shoulders taut as a drawn bowstring.
"Ashes to ashes, dust to dust," the preacher dropped a handful of dirt on the coffin containing the body of John MacLean.
Slim Sherman reached out his arm and wrapped it around the shoulder of his friend Jess Harper.
"Come on, Jess. There's nothing more you can do. Let's go home.
Jess looked up. The sky looked dark, like it was brooding. And that's how Jess felt too.
Mac had been a good friend. When the so-called posse had taken him prisoner, it was Jess who first confronted them as they tried to lynch him. Slim had been right behind to back him up and keep Jess from completely losing control.
Jess had figured out who actually committed the crime that Mac was accused of - the murder of a sheriff and a doctor. He'd gone hunting, and found Vern Cowan, and brought him back to the relay station - alive. Slim had stayed behind to defend Mac. It was no use.
There were only a few chickens in the yard when Jess rode in with Vern Cowan. The Posse's horses and the judge's buggy were nowhere in sight. Neither were Mac and Slim. It was when Jess turned toward the barn that he saw Mac's lifeless body hanging from a tree. He was too late. Too damned late. And where in blazes was Slim when they were hanging Mac? He was supposed to be defending him. He stormed into the house and found Slim in the kitchen, leaning over a basin of water. And boy, did he let him have it with both barrels; maybe Slim was asleep when it happened or maybe he helped tie the rope around Mac's neck?
Slim never said a word. And finally, when Jess took a breath, Slim looked at him. And that's when he got a shock.
Above Slim's right eye was a nasty looking cut. No, Slim hadn't stood by while they lynched Mac. Jess felt worse than a backstabber and asked if there was anything he could do for his friend. Slim said, 'No."
If it was at all possible, Jess was even more furious than he had been when he first came home. One friend dead. Another one - the man who took him on when he was drifting and befriended him and gave him a job - a home - was hurt. Someone was going to pay.
Before Slim could stop him, Jess headed to town with Vern Cowan in tow. By the time he got there he was so angry he was fit to burst. And it didn't him long to find who he was looking for. He'd just shoved Cowan at the group and spit a mouthful of whiskey in the face of "special deputy sheriff" James Hedrick, the retired judge's son, when Jess felt a hand on his shoulder. He knew whose hand that was.
Slim kept his hand there, telling him nobody was going to draw. They'd turn them over to the law and let the judge- due to arrive in a few days - handle both cases. It had been hard but the ex-gunfighter let his friend talk him into it.
That had been two days earlier. Slim had generously offered to have Mac buried near the elder Shermans; an offer Jess accepted gratefully. Together they had cut Mac down and took him to the undertaker. Slim paid the bill to have Mac's body prepared for burial and for a decent casket to bury him in. Jess had been so lost in his grief that he just couldn't think straight. It had fallen to Slim to make all the arrangements, including paying somebody to dig the grave and fill it in afterward. That man waited, discreetly, by the hearse that had delivered Mac's body to his resting place.
The friends made their way back to their horses and headed back down the road to the combination ranch and stage relay station. Going inside, Jess changed into working clothes and went back outside. By the time Slim had changed his clothes as well his partner was attacking the woodpile with a vengeance. Chips flew from the logs he was furiously chopping. He knew he still had murder on his face but that didn't stop Slim Sherman from approaching him.
"Jess. Jess, you can't help Mac. He's dead. I can't tell you how sorry I am."
"I know. I just have to do something - anything to keep from going into Laramie and killing that bunch that called themselves a posse!" Jess kept chopping
Slim took up another ax and started chopping. Jess looked at him in surprise. Slim was attacking the wood almost as fiercely as he was.
"What's the matter with you?"
"I'm mad too."
"Why? You didn't have nothin' to do with Mac being lynched."
"Yes, I did. You asked me to look out for him while you hunted Cowan. I failed to protect him and I let you down. You said so yourself."
Jess shook his head and threw his axe down. "Heck, Slim, you didn't let me down. I think...I think Mac knew you did the best you could. I know that - now. I was a fool to think you deliberately helped them hang Mac."
"Them stop blaming yourself, Jess. You can't keep going on like this. It's no good for you. And it's not what Mac would want."
Jess dropped his head. Slim was right. He felt like he was being eaten up inside.
Slim put his ax down, then put his arm around Jess' shoulders as the ex-gunfighter finally broke down and cried. A couple of minutes later he wiped his eyes in embarrassment.
"You know, we need to put a marker on Mac's grave. We can use that oak that I have stashed away in the barn," Slim told his friend. " We'll put his name and his date of birth and the date he died. Maybe even something about him - something like 'gone but not forgotten' or 'good friend'."
"Yeah, that'd be real nice, Slim, Mac would like that."
Slim slapped him on the back. "Then let's get started partner."