Vigil at Parkison Town

by Badgergater

Episode: Duel at Parkison Town; Just because the bullets have stopped flying doesn't mean the story is over; what happens after Slim is shot

Vigil at Parkison Town

By Badgergater

Episode: Duel at Parkison Town

Characters: Jess, Slim, Andy

Summary: Just because the bullets have stopped flying doesn't mean the story is over: what happens after Slim is shot

Author's Note: Thanks as always to Hired Hand, the best beta. Get well, pard.

Laramie—Laramie—Laramie- Laramie

Slim Sherman came way too near to dying that morning in Parkison Town.

Even with the Doc right there, and as hardrock stubborn as Slim is, it was a close call. Scared the daylights out of Andy. And yeah, okay, I'll admit it: me, too. Not that being scared is a thing I generally admit to, ever. But if I'm honest, I was. Because Slim Sherman was more than just my boss and working for the Sherman Ranch was more than just a $30 a month and found job.

Way more.

It was my life, in ways I'd been shown over and over again those past few months. And even if Slim wasn't my best friend, which he is, and as near a thing to a brother as I've got, which he is, too, he had himself a real kid brother, Andy, who was just a boy and depending on him. And Jonesy- the ranch hand Slim had inherited along with the ranch and all the responsibilities of raising a brother who wasn't even old enough to pretend he needed to be shaving yet- counted on him, too.

Slim's family, and that includes me, needed him; and his business, the ranch and relay station, did too, but besides that, this country needed him. Decent, law abiding, forthright an' fair men like him who could see what Wyoming could be when it grew up and got civilized, not just wild and lawless like it is today, they are about as scarce as hen's teeth.

I know. I've been a lot a' places and met a lot of men considering I ain't even close to being 30 yet, and I can tell you I've never met any other man like Slim Sherman.

He's like a horse breeder who sees that wobbly-legged colt take its first steps and knows he'll be the finest cutting horse or fastest running horse or the best pulling horse for a hundred miles. He's someone who'll be there to help that colt stand tall and strong until he can walk all on his own. He sees plain as day how Wyoming can someday be a law-abiding place where good people can live free and clear, even if that time's still a ways off—but he knows it's coming.

He knows with a certainty.

That morning in Parkison Town, standing back and watching Slim walk down that street toward that bitter old man in a renewal of a senseless family feud, that was one of the hardest things I have ever done. Leaving my iron in its holster was nearly more than I could force myself to do. But I did it, because Slim had ordered me to stand down, and I reckon some of that soldier training I had years ago must have stuck, because I held back and let Slim fight his own fight.

Sometimes, watching is so much harder than doing. Way much harder.

I followed along on the boardwalk while Slim walked down that street toward that blood-crazy old Mr. Parkison, keeping close as I dared. When that first bullet hit Slim, it was like that lead was tearing into me. I thought my heart was about to stop when Slim got hit again, when he staggered and dropped to one knee I started toward him- I couldn't help myself. But somehow, from somewhere, he found the strength to get back on his feet and wave me away.

I didn't want to do what he was asking, but I did, because even when I don't agree with something Slim is doing, I still respect him for doing it.

I could barely breathe as Slim kept walking, doing what he had to do because he's a forthright man who won't stop until a job is done the way he thinks it ought to be done. He was gonna see that this feud was over, dead and buried like it shoulda been years ago- even when he might end up dead and buried right along with it, the dadgummed fool.

It's that kind of courage that's kept me here, at his side, even when the pull of the big open gets so strong I can almost taste the distant places a'waiting out there. See, a man like Slim Sherman needs a man like me at his back, a man who won't hesitate to use his gun when the situation demands it. And a man like me needs a man like him to keep my boots on the straight and narrow.

But for such a smart man, sometimes Slim does the damnedest, foolhardiest things. Things like walking down the dusty street of Parkison Town toward a crazy old coot of a man with a long barreled pistol in his hand and pure hate in his heart.

Slim stood there and faced down Mr. Parkison and when he was done, when he'd talked down the old man and his son and ended a feud that had become old way back before he was even born, he fell.

It's a scary thing, when a man goes down, especially when that man is the best friend you've ever had, a man as close as any brother could ever be.

Me n' Doc Sweeney, we rushed right over to Slim and carried him into one of the deserted buildings. He was quiet as we moved him inside and put him down on a long counter— it must have been the old dry goods store, or some such sort of place back when this had been a real town instead of a ghost town.

We were so busy tending to Slim that we didn't hear the new arrival walk right on in behind us.

"You could bring him on up to the house…"

I spun around at the sound of that voice, my gun in my hand without my thinking about putting it there. Young Lee Parkison stood in the doorway, looking scared but determined.

He'd have looked even scareder, if he'd known what I was thinking about him at that moment. "Thanks but no thanks," I answered, even before the doc could say anything. "We ain't movin' him." I wasn't about to risk taking him among folks I didn't trust, even if Lee had promised Slim that the feud was over.

"I'd like to help…"

"You've helped more'n enough already," I snapped sarcastically, sliding my iron back into my holster. Oh, that kid could sure put on a poor sad puppy-dog look, but I was remembering being ambushed while out riding fence the day before, then being hauled away against my will to that ghost town. It had been a miserable night I'd spent, trussed up in that dusty old barn just down the street, with Lee helping his old man keep me there as bait to lure Slim into a fight he didn't want.

I turned away, dismissing him, my attention back to Slim. I heard Lee's boots on the boardwalk as he moved away but I didn't pay him any more mind because I had more important business to worry about.

And there was plenty to worry me.

Slim was all pale and clammy, the way a man gets when he's been shot and is bleeding too much.

Soon as we had Slim lying flat on that counter, Doc set right to work digging out the slug. I was right worried, remembering back a few nights to Slim showing me that dueling pistol in his attic, a perfect match for Parkison's weapon. The size and heft of the lead ball it fired was fearsome, the kind of thing that could do real damage to a man.

I helped Doc while he worked on my pard. I ain't much of a nurse but I did as best I could, wiping away the blood so he could see as he probed for the bullet. Doc dug out the slug, cleaned the wound and then sewed it up with neater stitches than my old granny back in Texas used to do. All the while he muttered as he worked, talking to himself. "Deflected here, followed the rib around," he said, exploring the path of the damage with his fingers. "Didn't go so deep as it might have, but tore a nasty gouge, here, and here…"

I listened hard for any encouraging words. "How bad?" I finally had to ask.

For the first time he lifted his gaze from his work, and while his face wasn't exactly smiling, it wasn't grim, neither. "It's good, actually, Jess. Better than I'd hoped for, considering where he was hit."

I let out a thankful sigh. "I'll be able to take him home, then?"

Doc shook his head. "Not so fast, Jess. The old road up here is rough, way too rough to transport a badly wounded man."

My heart fell. "I thought you said he was good, Doc."

"I said he was better than I expected. Frankly, having seen those old dueling pistols, I thought any wound would be fatal." Sweeney shook his head as he used one of the cloths he'd brought with him to wipe the blood from his hands. "He needs rest and quiet, and I won't take a chance on that wound reopening. I had to do a lot of fancy stitching to close it up."

Yeah, I'd seen that. And I knew, from personal experience, that it don't take much to start a fresh wound bleeding again. But I guess I was hoping an' wishing more than thinking fact.

"We'll just have to watch how things are going over the next few hours," Doc told me kindly. "He's a strong man."

But was he strong enough?

Laramie—Laramie—Laramie- Laramie

I helped Doc make Slim as comfortable as we could— I had to give the old sawbones credit, he'd come well prepared. He'd brought not just medical supplies and bandages of all sorts with him but blankets and even pillows to make his patient comfortable.

After that, there was nothing for me to do but wait, and I ain't good at having time on my hands, so I tried to find things to do to keep myself occupied. First I took care of the horses, Slim's Alamo having stood tied all this while in the little corral by the old livery stable. I unharnessed Doc's horse, too, since he said he'd be staying, putting both animals in the barn with my Traveler, who, like most horses do, seemed glad of the company.

The day was starting to get right warm though it wasn't even close to noon yet, but I knew by nightfall we'd be needing a good fire. There was an old potbellied stove in the corner of the store we were using as Slim's hospital room, so I cleaned out the cobwebs and a dried-up old mouse nest, made sure the pipe was clear, and then set about finding some furniture to bust up for fuel. I gotta admit, I enjoyed that job, taking out some of my frustrations by breaking up old chairs and demolishing a rickety three-legged table I found in what had been the saloon. It didn't really make me feel all that much better, but it did help me use up some of my excess energy.

And anger.

I stopped in to check on Slim, who was still sleeping and seemed to be about the same, which I took as encouraging news and Doc agreed.

I prowled around the old town, looking for more firewood for the night. Seemed like Parkison Town might have been quite a place once, though long ago: lots of false-fronted store buildings, some houses, even a little school house, all of 'em empty now.

I had just torn some splintered boards off an old, half tumbled down shed behind the store and was working at freeing a splintered door, hanging off of one hinge, when I heard hoofbeats approaching.

It was Lee again—I guess that boy weren't so easily discouraged as I'd thought. I was all set to lash out at him once more when I saw the look on his face, about half-scared but all contrite. Slim wouldn't want me haranguing the kid, I thought suddenly. After all, the boy had agreed quick enough to ending this feud. Biting back the sharp words that came first to my tongue, I asked, in the most civil tone I could manage, "What brings you back here, Lee?"

He held up a cloth sack he was carrying slung over the horn of his saddle. "Since you didn't want to come up to the house, I brought you some vittles n' coffee," he answered eagerly, stepping down and walking with me back toward the old store where the doc was tending to Slim. "I thought you might be hungry."

The thought of food hadn't once crossed my mind, even though I'd had neither supper last night nor breakfast this morning, which tells you just how discombobulated I was by what was happening.

"It's nothing fancy," he said, "just some bread and cheese, but it's filling."

"Thanks."

"Mister Sherman gonna be all right?" he asked as we stepped inside the old store.

"We don't know yet," the doc answered before I could.

Lee turned to me. "I'm real sorry, Mister Harper, real sorry. If there's anything I can do, anything…"

"Does your Pa know you're down here?" I wanted to know.

"I told him I was coming here."

"And he agreed?" I asked, disbelieving.

"I don't really know. I didn't wait to find out."

My anger toward the kid began to ease up just a mite with that answer. Maybe he did have the gumption to stand up against his old man. About time, though. He'd been party to ambushing me the day before, keeping me tied up all night and threatening to hang me- it was hard to have anything but hard feelings toward him.

"And I brought this, too," he reached into the bag and pulled out a bottle. "Thought maybe you could use this."

"Doc brought all the supplies we needed."

"I didn't mean it for medicinal purposes, Mr. Harper," Lee explained. "I was thinking maybe you, or the Doc…"

I was, I suddenly realized, exhausted and hungry on top of angry, and the kid was beginning to grate on my badly frayed nerves. "I'm partial about who I drink with. And you an' I ain't friends."

He nodded. "I know that, Mr. Harper. I can't claim to be, not yet, but I'd like to make amends, not just for Pa and the duel, but for us dragging you here last night."

Well, that was a start. I can appreciate a man who owns up to his mistakes and apologizes for 'em, but I wasn't quite ready to let go just yet. "I could press charges. Kidnappin's a felony offense."

"I know that, Mr. Harper."

I looked him over sternly. "No more duels? No more kidnappin's?"

"None."

I took the bottle and walked over to the table where he'd spread out the food he'd brought along with a pot of coffee and a couple of cups. I pulled the stopper from the bottle with my teeth and set it down on the table, poured an inch in the bottom of the first cup, then turned to Sweeney with a lifted eyebrow. "Doc?"

He shook his head no.

I poured myself an additional dose, then three fingers into the other cup and handed it to Lee. He was surprised but took it as I jammed the cork back tight onto the bottle with a slap of my palm.

I took a sip of the amber liquid, feeling the fiery liquid burn its way down my throat before it hit my empty stomach with a whollop. It wasn't the best whiskey I'd ever had, but not the worst, neither. I tossed back what was left in the cup, swallowed it down and slammed the cup down. "Drink up, boy."

"I don't drink much," he said, hesitantly.

"Ending a feud's occasion enough."

He nodded and sipped gingerly, making a face before swallowing a whole mouthful and breaking into a fit of coughing worse than a consumptive. I guess he wasn't kidding when he said he wasn't one to drink much.

I had me some of that bread and cheese before I had another drink. The combination of food and drink, I admit, settled me some.

Right about then, Slim woke up. He moved his arm and lifted his shoulders like he wanted to climb up outta that makeshift bed, taking a deep ragged breath that was half moan, and sorta mumbled Andy's name.

In a flash I was across the room and by his side even before his eyes had fluttered halfway open, which was about as far as he could get them it seemed. "Easy, Slim. Easy, pard."

"Andy…" he whispered.

"Andy's home, he's fine." I reassured him.

He was looking right at me, and though his eyes were glassy and unfocused, I could see he was determined to tell me something. "Jess…"

"Easy, take it easy now," I soothed, the doctor hovering at my shoulder.

"Jess, you…" he paused, licked his lips.

I knew they were dry and turned to find the doc handing me a cup. I set it to Slim's lips and helped him sip a little water. It seemed to ease him some.

"Andy… he's… gonna… gonna be… worried."

"He's okay, Slim. He don't know nothin' about this."

Slim's words were barely audible. "He'll worry… that I ain't home."

Dadgum, he was right. I should have thought of that; would have, if I hadn't been too blamed distracted. "It's okay, Slim. I'll let him know you're gonna make it." The doc threw me a look, like maybe I was jumping to conclusions, but Slim was gonna be fine, because he had to be, and I wasn't gonna even think it could be any other way.

Slim tried again. "Andy… tell…tell him…"

"I'll tell him that you'll be home givin' him orders real soon."

Slim nodded and closed his eyes wearily. "Don't… let him… worry."

Right. Great idea. I couldn't even keep myself from worrying much less do the impossible for Slim's little brother. "You rest, pard. Let me take care of things."

A hint of a smile appeared on his pale face, even as his eyes stayed closed. "That's a… fright-frightenin' thought."

"Hmmph." I nodded at the doc and stepped away. Taking hold of Lee's arm with a steely grip, I pulled him toward the door and spoke low. "I gotta ride back to the ranch and talk to Slim's kid brother. You stay here and see to it the Doc has whatever he needs. Anything, you hear? Anything at all." I looked at him with a warning glare that would have scared the devil himself. "Don't you let nothin' happen to Slim. Got it?"

"I'll do my best," Lee promised, and I could hear the sincerity in his voice.

"Just do it." I snapped.

I hurried down to the barn, threw my saddle up onto Traveler's back and tacked him up in record time. The moment my butt hit the saddle I dug my spurs into his flanks and we lit out for the ranch, fast as ol' Trav could cover the ground.

Laramie—Laramie—Laramie- Laramie

I spent the whole ride back to the ranch trying to figure out what I was gonna say to Andy and how I was gonna say it so that I wouldn't scare him none. But it turned out all that thinking was nothing but a waste of time- Andy wasn't about to be fooled. The minute I rode into the yard the kid came busting out of the house, worry written plain on his face.

"Hey Jess! I'm sure glad you're home. Where were you?"

"Ah, gone." I knew it was a dumb answer even before the words were out of my mouth.

"I knew that. Slim was worried about you."

"Well, I'm here now…"

"And he ain't. He rode out this morning. Said he was going to look at cattle over at the junction, but I think he went looking for you," the boy added. There was suspicion and a touch of accusation in his voice when he asked, "Didn't you pass him on the road?"

"He wasn't on the road."

"Then where is he?"

"Andy, Slim, ah, he didn't go to the Junction."

Andy scowled. "Then why did he tell me that?"

"He didn't want to worry you. He, ah, he…."

Andy's a real smart kid and I wasn't fooling him a lick. "He went to Parkison Town didn't he, Jess?"

I couldn't lie to the boy. "Yes, he did."

"But he said he wouldn't fight that old man."

"Slim went to Parkison town 'cuz of me," I admitted, still mad at myself for letting one old man and one barely growed boy get the drop on me. "The Parkisons snatched me yesterday when I was out riding fence, kept me tied up all night in that ghost town of theirs."

"Then where is Slim, Jess? Where'd you leave him?" He reached forward and grabbed hold of my shirt, his voice rising, his eyes going wide with fear. "Where's Slim?"

"He's still there…"

"He's…Parkison… Did he? Jess? Did they fight?"

"Yeah."

I saw the terror plain in his eyes. Much as I've seen the Sherman brothers bicker and fight, I also know Slim and Andy are family— no two brothers could care more about each other.

Andy took a deep breath, squared his shoulders, and his voice shook as he asked, "Is he dead?"

"No, no, he ain't. Old man Parkison shot him, but Slim's alive…"

I could see relief flood across the kid's face, but he knew there had to be more to the story than what I'd told him so far because Slim hadn't ridden on home with me. "He's gonna be all right, Andy, I promise. The doc's with him right now. He'll make it."

But he must have heard that flicker of doubt that was in my mind, because without a word he let go of my shirt, spun around and ran for the house. I started right after him but by the time I got to the door, I met him coming back out, jacket in hand and slapping his hat on his head. He brushed past me like I wasn't there and ran on toward the barn.

"Andy! Andy, wait!" I shouted, but he ignored me. I followed after him into the cool darkness of the barn and found him tossing his saddle up onto his horse's back. I grabbed the boy's shoulder and spun him around to face me. "Andy, he'll be all right. I just came to let you know about what happened, so you wouldn't worry."

He looked up at me, the hurt plain in his eyes. "So I wouldn't worry? I'm not some little kid, Jess. You can't ride in here and tell me Slim's been shot and expect I won't worry. I've seen men shot. I've seen men die."

There was truth in that. The boy had seen more than his share of bloodshed, young as he was. I still had my hand on his shoulder, feeling it shaking through the thin material of his shirt, and gave it a squeeze that I hoped would reassure him. But Andy shrugged it off and turned back to his horse, tightening the girth before backing the animal out of its stall.

"Where do you think you're going?" I demanded.

"To Slim," he answered as he jumped into the saddle and dug his heels into his horse's ribs.

I stepped in front of his palomino and grabbed the horse's reins to make him stop and listen to me.

"Andy, the best thing you can do for Slim is to stay right here…" I insisted.

"No, I'm going to Slim," he declared defiantly. "And you can't stop me."

"Andy…"

His voice was tight but determined. He wasn't backing down. "Jess, you either ride with me or get out of my way."

I could see there was no stopping the boy, so I nodded. "We'll go together then." I could only hope we'd find good news when we got there.

Laramie—Laramie—Laramie- Laramie

We rode across the hills through the gathering dusk, at a gallop, neither one of us uttering a word until we reached the ramshackle old town. Andy's horse hadn't even come to a stop before he was out of the saddle, dropping the reins and running toward the only building with a light showing from it. I was right on his heels and going in the door, felt the relief run through me as the Doc looked over at me and nodded.

Slim was still alive.

Laramie—Laramie—Laramie- Laramie

It was the beginning of a long, long night.

The Doc slept, snoring in his blankets across the room, and every couple of hours he'd get up and check on Slim, reassuring us that the patient was doing fine.

Me, I couldn't sleep, so mostly I sat beside Slim, just so I'd be there if he came around or needed anything. Doc said he wouldn't, that with the shock and the laudanum he'd sleep until morning, but I couldn't rest. I thought about how Slim an' me had started out at odds with each other, and then become friends as close as brothers. I thought about how he'd given me a job and more than that, a home, the first real home I ever had. I thought about the way he'd given me a second chance, and then a third and a fourth. I thought about how he'd welcomed me back, time and again, when I'd gone hidin' off on my own. I thought about the way he'd always had my back. I thought about a lot of things that night, all of them reminding me that I'd never had a better friend, and never would.

I don't think Andy slept at all, either. He sat beside me, by Slim's side. He didn't say anything, but I could see he was thinkin' deep, likely recallin' his memories the way I was goin' over mine.

Late in the evenin' Lee brought us down some more blankets, and I wrapped one around Andy, suggesting he ought to lie down and rest a while but he wouldn't.

Of course, I couldn't neither.

Standing vigil is hard, harder than a man would think, but mostly because there is nothing to do except watch and wait, feeling helpless all the while. Time passes slow and a man's mind wanders to all sorts of places you generally don't want it to go, to times and places usually best not remembered.

It was real late, long past midnight; the Doc was sound asleep, the room quiet. I'd just refilled my coffee cup and sat back down in one of the old saloon chairs when, out of the blue, Andy asked, "Jess, what does it feel like?"

"What does what feel like, Andy?"

"What does it feel like, bein' shot?"

I stared into my coffee cup, trying to figure out how to answer him, how to give enough truth to satisfy the boy, now near to grown up, without treating him like a child, which he wasn't anymore. "It's hard to explain, Andy."

"Try."

"It's like a punch to the jaw, or bein' whalloped by a mule's kick. Even when you know it's coming, it's still a surprise, sorta, when it hits you, an' then you feel kinda numb and weak and maybe a mite sick to your stomach sometimes. And weary, too, like you haven't slept in forever."

"It hurts bad, don't it?"

I wanted to tell him no, but he knew different. "Sometimes," I hedged.

Andy threw me a look that told me he was aware that I was telling him something less than the whole truth.

I sighed. "Yeah, it hurts, Andy, sometimes worse than others. But Doc gave him some laudanum to ease the pain, so Slim ain't hurtin' none."

The boy took a deep, shuddering breath. I could see him wanting to believe me but not sure he could.

I suddenly remembered a day not so many months ago when this boy had eagerly urged me to go to town after that gunman, Ed Calder. I remembered how gung ho he'd seemed then, and I knew that after today he'd never see a gunfight in that way again— so maybe something good had come out of this mess. "I'm sorry."

Andy threw me a questioning look. "For what? You didn't shoot Slim."

"I didn't stop that old man from shooting him, either."

Andy hadn't been there to see the fight, but he knew his brother well. "Slim wouldn't want you to fight his battle for him." The youngster really was growing up, I realized, and he understood a lot about his big brother. Andy had a good head on his shoulders; then again, that's what I'd expect, him being Slim's brother.

"He wouldn't let me." So I told Andy the whole story, all that had happened there in the street that morning, just the way it had happened.

"The feud's over then?" he asked hopefully.

"Yeah. The old man's beholdin' to your brother now for not killin' him, and Lee's seen more'n enough bloodshed. The killin's done."

Andy shivered. "And the dyin'?"

I couldn't promise him that, much as I wanted to, much as I was taking the doctor's optimistic words to heart. I've seen men die long after they'd been shot, men who seemed to be on the mend, and then just, somehow, lost the fight.

The night stretched on long and the hours passed slow as molasses in midwinter. Andy dozed in the chair beside Slim's bed; I drank coffee until the pot was empty, and then I made another. I stoked the fire, and I went out to check the horses and on the walk back stopped to look up at the night sky, searching for the first signs of the dawn. Dawn, in my experience, usually brings hope.

Through it all Slim was unconscious, quiet except for the soft sound of each breath going in and out. Sometimes it seemed too slow and sometimes it seemed each one was hard work for him, and that was scary. But he's a strong man- I don't call him Hardrock for nothin', and that can be the difference in carrying a man through.

By the time the sky in the east got lighter, Slim seemed to be breathing some easier and stronger, and showed signs of waking up, which pleased the doctor to no end. There was some bit of color in his face, too, and finally, he opened his eyes and sorta nodded at us.

We knew then he'd be okay.

On the Doc's orders, we let Slim recuperate there in Parkison Town for a couple of days before moving him back to the ranch. I borrowed a buggy to make his trip home as easy as possible. Mr. Stanley, the banker, had just got the brand new rig on special order all the way from St. Louis, with extra springs to give his wife and daughters a comfortable ride. It worked out real well to ease the trip for a wounded man, even with the rough road out of Parkison Town.

Slim made steady progress after that- being home always seems to help a man on the road to recovery. Even at that, he was weeks on the mend.

But even long after Slim's wounds healed, I knew none of us was gonna forget that night we stood vigil at Parkison Town.

x- The End -x

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