Answers after Sunset, a laramie fanfic

Answers after Sunset

Jantallian

"There's someone followin' us!" The one on the bay horse shifted uneasily in his saddle and his shoulder muscles twitched as if a draught, icier than the biting wind, had blown over them.

"What?" The other rider jerked awake from the semi-doze in which he had been travelling.

"Followin' - us!" his companion repeated succinctly. It sounded as though he was speaking through gritted teeth.

The blonde man on the chestnut straightened up with an effort. He appeared to be listening. "You sure?"

"No." The one who had spoken first was either being sarcastic or honest - or possibly both. "Just feelin' ..." The dark head turned slowly, looking back along the trail.

"Doesn't seem likely," the other man ventured. "Who'd be riding this trail on a night like this?"

"Apart from fools like us, you mean? Anyone who likes the dark …"

The clouds were scurrying across the inky sky, driven by a vicious freezing wind. Already a nail-paring moon was showing just above the mountain rim and the sun was setting all too swiftly. With winter dusk falling fast, it was getting less and less easy to see anything at all and they needed, in their exhausted state, to trust to the sure-footedness of their mounts. The windings of the old mining trail were overgrown and disappeared entirely in places. Only someone who knew the territory very well - and was desperate to get home - would come this way. But it was a short cut and they were desperately weary.

The other man made no reply. So the dark man just hunched his shoulders against the wind - and possibly against whatever else was breathing down his neck. If he was not believed, it made no difference to his own certainty. His silence was challenging. After a few minutes of riding in it, the other risked a further observation: "Traveller's not bothered."

Traveller's rider turned and glared at him. "You ain't ridin' him!"

"All right, then, Alamo's perfectly calm!" his rider snapped back.

"Some comfort!" the dark one retorted. "He's a ranch horse - wouldn't know a wolf from a wood-pigeon if he'd trod on it!"

To this gross insult, Alamo's rider did not respond immediately, for he did not have the energy. Presently, however, he muttered "Better than spooking at every bush!"

"Who's spookin'?"

"Like horse, like rider ..."

They plodded on in gloomy silence and increasingly real gloom as the sunset made a thin red line along the mountain ridges to the west. If dogged determination could have been transmuted into the ability to fly over dangerous terrain, they would have been home in five minutes. As it was, they were not going to get there even in five hours unless they risked a broken leg or two. Neither of them wanted to admit this unpalatable fact, especially as it had been their own choice, after the sheriff's belated arrival with reinforcements, to chance the old trail and thereby avoid a long detour via Laramie with the remnant of the posse. Knowing each other as well as they did, they were both acutely aware of their combined reaction to recent events and to this particular setback. While this was to be commended in terms of psychoanalysis, it did nothing to improve anyone's temper.

The follower smiled at this conversation and continued to match the pace of the two weary horses in front, although his own mount was restless and eager to catch up.

"Slim, we ain't gonna make it."

"Rubbish! We're going to get home!"

"Yeah, but we ain't gonna do it tonight." It was a profound relief to have finally admitted this.

"Maybe not, but we're not giving up!"

"So what next?" Jess sounded as if the words were being dragged out of him. He had made the essential admission, but he did not want to make any more decisions.

Slim considered, drawing on his detailed knowledge of the territory. "We haven't passed the mine yet. Another couple of miles. Beyond that the land starts to drop and the ridge'll be at our backs, to the north. The south side is more sheltered. We'll make camp there."

"At the shacks?" Jess sounded dubious, even reluctant.

"Maybe," Slim was non-committal.

Jess hunched even further into his jacket and pulled his hat down over his face. "We're gonna need all the shelter we can get tonight." As if in agreement with this statement, a blast of wind rattled the trees around them, driving a last few leaves whirling into the sky. That sky was clearing rapidly now the sun had set and the temperature was dropping steeply.

"Let's get a move on then," Slim replied impatiently. "Unless you want to spend the night here!"

"I wanna spend the night in m'own bed."

"Oh really? What d' you think I am, some kind of magician? One wave of the hand and we're home?" Slim's tone was uncharacteristically bitter.

"Pity you're not. Then the least you could do would be to rustle up somethin' to eat!"

This reminder of Jess's appetite did not endear him to his companion. "So I won't have to fight you to get a fair share tonight. Now for goodness sake, shut up and come on!" Slim dug his heels into Alamo and set off as fast as he could. Behind him, Jess shivered and looked over his shoulder again. Then he urged Traveller on after Alamo.

The follower moved out from the shadows of trees, once more keeping pace with the pair ahead. Once more, he smiled, his teeth gleaming whitely, although there was no sun or moon to touch them.

Slim kept up a good pace, given the steep, rocky surface of the climbing trail, but it still seemed like hours to Jess before they finally reached the top and the gaping entrance to the old mine. He shuddered again. They did not even pause to rest the horses, but pressed on, down the narrow defile that led to the little cluster of mining shacks tucked into the only reasonably flat hollow on the south side of the ridge.

Or at least, it used to lead to the shacks.

They drew rein and peered through the shadows. The hollow was almost completely in darkness now, for the young moon gave scarcely any light and, despite the clear sky, the starlight made no impression under the overhanging cliffs. There did not seem to be any buildings or, at any rate, any whole buildings, just isolated beams sticking up from the ground like dead teeth or leaning drunkenly against each other in haphazard disarray. There was a very faint smell of an old burning lingering in the sheltered air. But there was precious little shelter for two men and two horses.

"So they did burn it …" Jess murmured softly.

"So what?" Slim was angry with disappointment at their bad luck. "It's the best we're going to get tonight."

"You sure?" Jess shifted uneasily in his saddle.

"Yeah, I'm sure!" It was an insult to the rancher's expertise to suggest that he didn't know the territory. "We could go another five miles and not find a flat place in this canyon. If we did risk the horses' legs in the dark, there's no shelter when it ends. We'd be above the tree-line and exposed even worse. This is it."

"So you think we can camp here?" Jess sounded even more dubious than he had before.

"We're going to camp here, whatever you think!" Slim told him roundly. "So you might just as well sit back and enjoy it."

"Sit on what? M' horse? All night?"

"Do what you like!" Slim snapped as he dismounted and began to lead Alamo towards the edge of the hollow, where there would be more shelter. Jess edged Traveller slowly after him. On the far side they found a place where a sort of bay had been formed in the cliff-face, enough to accommodate them all and giving at least the illusion that they might get out of the wind.

Slim dropped Alamo's reins and busied himself picking up stones to form a fireplace. When he had created one to his satisfaction, he set off across the hollow to collect whatever firewood he could find. As he passed Jess and Traveller, he looked up and said grimly "Do you really intend to sit there all night?"

"Huh?" Jess seemed to come back to reality from a long way off.

"Jess, stop wool-gathering and worrying about being followed!"

"Worryin's strictly your department, is it?"

"And obeying orders is yours!"

Jess's head went up sharply and he was clearly in the process of biting back the first words that occurred to him. Then he said in a surprisingly gentle voice, "Slim, this is a bad place."

"I suppose that means poor little Jess Harper is afraid of the ghosties?" Slim enquired sarcastically.

"Terrible things have happened here for all the right reasons … exactly like last night!"

Slim glared at him. "Just shut up, get down and make yourself useful!" He stalked off across the hollow.

As soon as his back was turned, Jess slid slowly and cautiously from the saddle – a far cry from his usual graceful performance. He leaned against Traveller's warm side for a moment or so before he set about slowly unsaddling the bay. He dumped the saddle, saddlebags and his bedroll close to the improvised fireplace, then undid the bridle and pulled it off. He seemed mainly to be using his right hand, while his left arm was clamped against his ribs.

"Stay here," he told Traveller, waving an arm to encompass the hollow. The bay snorted, possibly expressing his disgust at the lack of grazing and his hope that Jess was going to provide some alternative fodder.

"In a minute!" Jess moved over to Alamo and followed the same procedure with him too, although he left the bridle on, so that Slim could decide how he wanted to make his mount stay with them.

Jess rummaged in his saddle bags and pulled out a small bag of oats. He also unhitched the two canteens and poured the contents of both into his hat, which he proceeded to offer to the two horses. When they had slaked their thirst, he gave each of them several handfuls of oats. The horses huffed in appreciation and, turning their hind-quarters to the wind, tucked in their tails and prepared to stand the night out. Jess steeled himself to emulate their fortitude.

He was crouching by the fireplace when Slim returned and dumped an armful of half-charred wood next to it. "Get it going," he ordered curtly. "I'll bring some more." He felt rather than saw Jess's involuntary shudder and struck out in exasperation: "You're turning into a proper little old lady! Just get it started – or is that beyond your capability?"

"I can strike a match, yeah – but it's what shows up in the light …" Jess reminded him.

"Just do it!" The blonde stamped off into the darkness once more, but his companion called after him, "Take care! There's a well out there somewhere!"

There was no reply.

A third smile lit the darkness of the canyon trail. The road to hell is paved with fractured friendships!

Jess crouched over the unlit fire. He was profoundly unwilling to set light to it. He could still see, in his mind's eye, the tiny flame of a match that had betrayed the position of the posse and their prisoners and led to so much slaughter. Ten dead men, including four of the posse and one betrayer – and a boy - not to mention those injured. Some of the gang would stand trial, but for some there would never be that chance. Yet that was all that Slim had ever wanted for them - justice. In spite of the awful deeds with which they were charged and, much more than that, their conduct under fire, Slim would still accord them justice in the full process of the law. Jess himself had much less clear-cut feelings. All he could remember was the limp, light weight of the dead boy in his arms. Mouse-brown hair flopping over a smooth, young forehead. Eyes dark and staring into infinity. It could so easily have been Andy. But it wasn't. And it had all come to be because someone had struck a light at the wrong moment.

When Slim returned for the second time, Jess was crouched over the struggling flames of a small fire. It was not giving off much light or heat and, in some ways, seemed to make the darkness of the hollow and the ruined shacks worse.

Slim dropped his armful of fuel, flopped down thankfully and leaned back against his saddle. "Now all we need is something to eat."

"There's oats. If we had a saucepan, we could make some porridge."

"We don't have a saucepan!"

"If we had some cheese we could have some bread and cheese if we had some bread." Jess sounded as if he was talking in his sleep, but this was an illusion. He was too strung up to sleep.

"Got any coffee?"

"No. Used the last yesterday."

"Right." Slim sounded decisive as usual. "Then all we can do is build up the fire and make a very early start in the morning."

"And someone's gonna bring us fresh shavin' water and a nice, clean shirt and a good hot breakfast?"

Slim leaned over to get another log to toss on the fire. "Shut up, Jess! You aren't help –" He stopped abruptly as Jess grabbed his wrist, forcing him to stillness. Very slowly, the young Texan reached for his boot-knife, drew it silently, and then flung it so accurately and swiftly that it was impossible to see the passage of the blade through the air. There was a thud and a cut-off squeal.

Not ten feet from them, a big buck hare lay pierced by the knife.

"Hit some coffee beans next." Slim might have been joking, but then again, he might not. "You're the camp cook," he continued, "you deal with it. That fire's not going to last long. I'll see if I can find some better wood."

He struggled to his weary feet and disappeared once more into the gloom. So he did not notice the expression on Jess's face, the effort it took him to stand up nor the moment when he bent over the dead hare to pull out his knife and nearly threw up.

Coming back to the fire, Slim could smell the strong and tempting scent of roasting meat. Jess had skinned, gutted and spitted the hare, which he was turning carefully over the feeble embers of the fire. He had also been profoundly sick behind a convenient rock, but he had no intention of mentioning this. Slim deposited another load of wood and breathed in appreciatively. "That smells good."

"It does? I was wonderin' where it came from?"

"White hares live up here, Jess – they change their coats in winter – saves them from predators."

"I know that! Useful talent - avoidin' predators."

"Just stop going on about someone following us, will you? What in heaven's name can we do about it, even if they are?"

Slim's appeal to reason was abruptly interrupted by a movement on the other side of the fire. They both looked up, startled. A hesitant figure was hovering on the edge of the ring of firelight. "Good evening. I apologise for alarming you, but I saw the fire and I was drawn, who would not be?"

The stranger found himself looking at the barrel of the gun that had leapt into Jess's hand before his first words were finished. Slim turned on his companion angrily. "For goodness sake, Jess! It's a clergyman!"

"Yeah, I can see that." Jess's voice was cold and hard and the gun never wavered.

Slim took a risk and pushed the barrel aside. "I apologise too, sir. I'm afraid you took us by surprise."

"Not me," Jess muttered. "I've been expectin' him."

"Surely not?" The clergyman edged a little closer to the fire. "I came up from the south – must have missed my road really badly."

"Hotter in the south, is it?" Jess's question seemed quite random but came with a cutting edge.

"Anything would be hotter than this place," the man laughed agreeably as he pulled his dark cloak tighter around his bony shoulders. "You won't turn me aside from your fire, now, will you?"

Trail hospitality was sacrosanct and never more so than when it was needed by those who were weaker. Slim ignored Jess's muttered 'Ain't my fire!" and said politely, "Hitch up your horse and sit down. We'll be eating in a minute. There isn't much, but you're welcome to share what we have."

"Perhaps I can contribute?" The man turned and fished in his saddlebag, eventually producing a small and as yet uncooked partridge, which he placed carefully on a stone near the fire. He was rather tall and thin and when he removed his black shovel hat, they could see that his white hair was shaved close to his head. His eyes, under bushy brows, were piercingly dark. He smiled at them and seemed to fold up like a pack of cards as he sat down by the fire. "How pleasant to have some light and heat. I am in your debt."

"It's nothing much," Slim told him. "We're all out of supplies, I'm afraid."

"You have had a difficult time? Some trouble on your road?" The clergyman's tone was soothing, inviting, as if he listened to confessions of the unwanted death of ten men all the time. But, of course, he knew nothing about that.

"It's a hard trail, this one," Slim admitted, "we'd hoped to make better time, get home tonight."

"Then I should have missed your company and fared even worse, I fear." The response was courteous, but somehow unsettling and it certainly provoked Jess, who sneered, "You'd end up down a mine-shaft or bushwhacked by a bear – this territory don't take kindly to travellin' salesmen!"

"Neither do you, it appears." The stranger seemed unoffended. "And it's hard on the horses too." The man rose to his feet and moved over to attend to his own. Taking advantage of his turned back, Slim elbowed Jess in the ribs and hissed, "Will you pack it in! What have you got against him? A perfectly innocent man of the cloth!"

If Jess had any comment to make on the word 'innocent' it was strangled by the half grunt, half gasp that he gave in response to Slim's elbow. He doubled over, but managed to make it look as if he was just reaching out to attend to the cooking meat.

"What's up with you?" Slim demanded. He knew from long experience that Jess, in this mood, would fly at him given the slightest provocation and was very surprised that he hadn't.

There was another sharp in-drawn breath and Jess snapped, "I'm fine!"

The return of their visitor to the fireside prevented Slim from paying proper attention to this characteristic phrase, a fact that he was to regret bitterly later. The clergyman had produced a long skewer from his saddlebag, on which he impaled the partridge, so that he could hold it over the fire. He seemed to be adept at doing this without getting scorched in the process and the air was soon redolent with the scent of cooking meat.

The wind had fallen and, as the moon rose higher, a chilly stillness settled over the hollow, shrouded as it now was in deceptive twilight. The shadows cast by the thin moon played across their faces. This helped to disguise the whiteness showing under Jess's tan and the tension in his jaw. It made Slim look much more rigidly righteous, as if his expression had turned to marble. On the clergyman's features, the shadows gave a skull-like emphasis to the thinness of his bones and the pale light gleamed on his hair and teeth.

Presently the meat was cooked and the stranger courteously gestured with his skewered bird in the direction of his companions. "I'm sure you have a knife, don't you?" His gaze seemed transfixed on Jess for a moment. "Have a stab at –"

He got no further, for Jess scrambled to his feet and staggered away from the fire. An instant later, they heard the sound of violent retching from behind one of the boulders. Slim got up quickly, concern furrowing his brow and wiping away the anger he had been feeling for most of the day. He waited for a moment, to give the other man some decent privacy, then cautiously followed him. Jess was doubled up on his knees behind the boulder, his left hand clenched to his side. Slim put a gentle arm round him, wondering momentarily why this made him flinch so violently, and helped him up. "Come on back to the fire. You'll freeze out here!"

"Ain't eatin'-" Jess gasped.

"No, I can see you might not want to." Slim was puzzled by this, but didn't want to force the issue.

"No! You too!" Jess whispered violently. "We ain't eatin' that meat!" His knife was in his hand and dangerously close to Slim's neck. "Promise me!"

Sometimes it was not worth arguing with him – and this was one of them. Slim didn't think for one instant that Jess would actually use that knife on him and was rarely motived by fear anyway, but he respected the powerful emotion that led the younger man to make this gesture. Why Jess was behaving like this, he had no idea, but his common sense said that there was plainly no point in fighting over such a trivial issue.

"Okay," he agreed calmly. "Just come back and sit down again."

It seemed for a moment that Jess might refuse, but he did let Slim guide him back to his place by the fire and even submitted to having a blanket from one of the bedrolls draped round him. "You need a drink," Slim told him, his instinct for looking after people – especially people he cared about – overwhelming all the less kindly emotions he had felt that day.

"Ain't no still up here any more!" Jess laughed harshly, and the clergyman gave a cough and warned: "Alcohol is scarcely going to do you good in your condition, my dear young man."

Jess scowled at him and was obviously going to retort that he was not anyone's dear young man, but Slim got in first. "Guess it'll have to be Adam's ale, then," he joked, picking up first one then the other canteen. When he shook them, it was apparent that there was nothing more than a sip in the bottom of either.

"Gave it to the horses," Jess told him.

"You would, wouldn't you?" Slim observed teasingly. He knew that Jess would never neglect his mount for his own comfort – or for anyone else's for that matter – and it was a principle with which he thoroughly agreed. A man got nowhere unless he looked after his horse. "I'll get you some more from the well."

He hurried away into the darkness of the hollow almost before they realized and as the blackness swallowed him up, Jess called anxiously, "Take care of the pulley, Slim! It'll be awful rickety by now!"

Once again, there was no answer.

##### Either the One #####

The clergyman laughed from his side of the fire. "He doesn't seem to take much notice of you, does he, my young friend?"

Jess glowered at him. "Ain't your friend!"

"No. No – perhaps - I think not. But your friend, Mr Sherman, seems to be exceptionally keen on ignoring the very good advice you give him. Does he ever pay any heed to what you say?"

"When it matters!" Jess sounded defiant and very weary.

"And there is no time when it matters so much as right now." The teeth glinted in the firelight.

Jess ignored him and called out again after the invisible figure: "Take care, Slim!"

"I'm sure he knows best," the stranger murmured, his tone unctuous and guaranteed to goad anyone who was worried about someone else. But Jess made no response, just hitched himself up against the boulder on which he was leaning, as if preparing for action. "Mr. Sherman is so well educated, is he not?" the man continued. "Of course, he would value book-knowledge more than practical expertise." There was still no reaction. Jess's eyes were closed, as if he did not want to look across the fire and meet that dark, penetrating gaze. "He must find your impetuous behaviour very trying, especially in dangerous circumstances …. No, I don't think he's going to take any notice of your advice!"

"What d'you know about it?" Jess demanded with something approaching his most truculent attitude.

"My dear young man, it's obvious –" the oily voice began, but Jess snapped at him: "Don't belong to anyone, least of all you!"

"Me? Not yet." There was a gloating laugh. "But I wouldn't count on it, if I were you."

"Well, you're don't and I ain't owned!"

"O yes you are. Whoever pays your wages owns you, body and soul. Surely you know that?"

"What would you know about it?" Jess repeated.

"You stupid boy!" The tones were chilling, contemptuous. "It's obvious to any experienced observer. It is so clear who is in charge. And it isn't you. Because it's evident how you behave, how you react – you think with your guts and your gun, not with that underused brain of yours. You need a boss, an owner, because you can't think for yourself!"

Still Jess did not react. He was bowed forward, his face towards the ground, but anyone who knew him well would have noted the small movement of his thumbs against the palms of his hands. If the stranger had hoped to provoke him, he had not succeeded, although the safety margin might be small. Jess just remained slumped against the rock.

The man on the other side of the fire sat alert, as if he was waiting for something. Suddenly, his head went up, as if he could see through the gloom or was scenting some event impending in the dead air.

There was a terrible scream of tortured iron, a rumble of collapse and a sickening crunch. Somewhere within these sounds, a faint human cry might have escaped the music of destruction.

"Dear me!" the clergyman remarked calmly.

"Slim!" Jess, forgetting everything, tried to leapt to his feet. The result was a humiliating defeat. He had to resort to pulling himself upright with the help of the rock. Once he had gained his footing and his balance, he headed off into the gloom in the direction of the sound. "Come on!" he flung over his shoulder, "He's goin' to need our help!"

He limped across the hollow, following his instinct about the direction of the sound. Soon this was confirmed by the disturbed dust boiling up into the air. He came to the edge of the well shaft. The ruins of the windlass leaned drunkenly across the opening. There was a full bucket of water standing on the rim of the well. And, lying next to it, the body of his friend, beneath a big, iron beam that had collapsed from the lifting mechanism.

"Slim!" Jess knelt by the motionless body, reviewing swiftly what had happened and what he could do about it. Obviously, the arm of the windlass had parted from the main structure and the beam had struck Slim, pinning him to the ground. Jess flicked a glance over his shoulder to the observer in the shadows.

"Help me! We've gotta get this off him!"

"Oh, no. I don't think it is worth the effort."

Jess pinioned the speaker for a moment with one of his piercing glares. He tried to take a deep breath, but the pain was too much, so he simply blanked it from his mind altogether, as he had so often done before. Then he bent all his muscles and his determination and his power and began to raise the beam above his prostrate friend. "Pull him clear! I can't hold this long!"

"Oh, no. I don't think so. What is the point?"

Jess did not reply. Instead he dug his feet into the frozen earth and heaved and lunged against the heavy beam until it gradually began, with much screeching of iron and wood, to move away from Slim's fallen body.

"How very heroic!" The commentator regarded his efforts with a mixture of amusement and contempt. "Just what exactly do you think you are going to achieve?"

Jess did not answer. He had to get Slim back to the fire to be able to see where and how badly he was hurt. The blaze of energy that had enabled him to move the beam had faded to a cold, sluggish sickness but his mind would not give in. He didn't have the strength to lift a dead hare, much less six foot three of hard muscle and bone, but he could not drag Slim for fear of injuring him further. Give me the strength ... please give me the strength … he prayed fervently … let me be able to do this … for pity's sake, let me be able to carry him …

Laughter sounded behind him. "You want to get him to the fire? Kill yourself to find out what's killing him? How pitiful!"

Kneeling next to Slim's unconscious body, Jess slid his right arm under the broad shoulders, for it was here that the main weight lay. Cautiously he extended his left arm so that Slim's legs hooked over it. He gritted his teeth, closed his eyes and struggled to his feet. At once, nausea shot through him, as his abused body rightly demanded that he give up this insane attempt.

"Give up, why don't you? He's not worth it," the mocking voice chuckled.

Jess turned very carefully, edging one foot at a time in order to keep his balance and not collapse along with his heavy burden. Then he began to put one foot in front of the other, very, very slowly.

It's only a few yards ... only a few yards ... just a few yards more … let it be near … just another few yards … Waves of pain and sickness were coursing through him until, despite all his self-control, he could think of nothing else, but still he hung grimly on to the man he was carrying and still his feet moved inch by inch towards the fire.

There was a snort in the darkness and Traveller loomed up beside him. You should have whistled, he seemed to be saying. Without an order, the horse knelt down, enabling Jess to ease Slim over his back. He did not know if this was better than dragging him, but he had no option because he had no strength left. Very gently Traveller rose and very gently backed up until he was close to the fire. When he knelt once more, Jess was able to roll Slim's body on to the ground.

"Lie down, Trav," he ordered quietly and the horse sank down next to them. Jess eased Slim so that he was lying on his back, supported by the smooth shoulder of the animal, whose warmth would help to counteract the shock of the accident and the chill of the night. He picked up the blanket that Slim had put over him – it seemed like hours ago – and tucked it round the injured man. Gently, Jess pushed back the blood-soaked hair from Slim's forehead. His fingers traced the savage wound across that broad, smooth brow. The deep gash was weeping blood sluggishly and he could feel around it the indentation of crushed and broken bone. It was much, much worse than he had thought.

"So what can you do now?" The stranger settled himself by the fire and watched with patronizing attention. "All that effort to find out something you knew all along. He's dying."

"Not yet." Jess staggered to his feet again and somehow managed to make it back to the well and the bucket of water. With a great effort and a good deal of spillage, he lugged it back to the fire and dumped it down. He had nothing with which to bathe the wound, for his own bandanna was thrust into the hole in his side and bound there with strips from his shirt. He felt through Slim's pockets and found, as he expected, a clean handkerchief, which he used carefully to wash away the blood. It did not make the wound look any better and there was nothing to bandage it with, for trying to use Slim's shirt would involve too much shifting of his hurt body.

"Such touching concern. But you don't think you can save him, do you? In fact, you're not really sure if he is worth saving, after the way he's treated you." There was a pause and then the voice went on, exuding an aura of angry bitterness, "Not just today. Not just last night. All the time. You're useful, but you don't really count. Not when you come up against his principles. It's been the same all the time. He can't listen to anyone. Not to you. Not to that old philosopher, Mr Jones. Not even to the needs of his own little brother."

Jess wrung out the handkerchief and laid it carefully across the injury. Then he looked up sharply at his tormentor and said curtly, "Leave Andy out of this."

"My dear Harper, he's been the focus of contention between the two of you since the day you first rode up to that relay station. Just like the boy last night."

And at once Jess was back in the darkness and confusion of the canyon and the storm that was driving down it. He heard the cry of the child, desperate to get free, and felt the pain in his own soul. The boy was already injured, beaten, unlikely to be able to stand without help, let alone run or ride and escape. He felt again the knife in his hand. The same knife he had used to kill and gut the hare. Another helpless victim.

"Let Sherman die." The goading voice scored his soul with fire and acid. "He sacrificed others for his ideals. He has deserved it."

"No!" The word was torn hoarsely from Jess's throat and his hands tightened desperately on Slim's shoulders.

"You fool!" the voice hissed at him. "Ten men died. Tonight is no ordinary night. Tonight the dead collect their dues. There is a price to pay. A soul is required. Before the cock crows at dawn, one of you must pay with his life."

"Not Slim! He's innocent. He did nothing."

"He insisted on tying up the prisoners. Bound them helpless. Left them to lie there under the gunfire and die. He brought about the child's death and he sacrificed his own men. You call that nothing?"

"All Slim had ever wanted was justice and the due process of law! For that, we had to get them back to town and stop that traitor stringing them up then and there. And if they hadn't been tied, those outlaws would have gunned down more of us as soon as the others attacked."

"Of course. He's always right, isn't he? Always certain. Always correct. Following in the footsteps of that stiff-necked old pedant of a father that he tried so hard to live up to. Principles first, people a long way behind. But, naturally, you would not appreciate that, would you? Your father was a far cry from the upright Matthew Sherman, wasn't he?"

And he was even further back, in another kind of darkness. An angry darkness. The struggle of two spirits and two wills that were too alike to live in the same space. Facing defiantly the fury that was about to break over his head yet again, if the man could not control it this time. And there were so many times when Jess had pushed the limits of defiance and independence too far.

"You know what it's like to be beaten, don't you? And you remember being tied too … don't you?"

Yes, he remembered the helplessness, the pain of the rope burning into his wrists, the thud of his body on the stones and earth as it was dragged across the prairie. But all that had been an accident, not like last night. Not a selfish betrayal to rid the traitor of the evidence against him. He remember strong hands releasing him, lifting him, cool water being poured over his wrists and his bruises, remembered the face, no longer drawn into a scowl of conflict, but calm and close and full of love.

"Like father, like son, they say. Don't you want to live to be a father and do better than him?"

And he could remember the lean, dark figure - reckless, undaunted - against the flamelight of the burning buildings. The father who had died willingly, defending that same son and all his children because shielding the vulnerable drives deeply in the integrity of the heart.

With an effort, Jess dragged himself back to present danger. The soft voice continued to turn the knife in a wound deeper than the one he was carrying now. "The bruises may have gone from your body, but they are still on your soul!"

"Surprised you want it then."

"One of you must pay."

"Not Slim. He's honourable, like his father. He has no reason for shame. We can't do without justice and honesty and strength like his. I cut the boy loose. I struck the light. I started it."

And he was crouching there, the tiny flame cupped secretly in his hands so that he could see if the child was conscious. A tiny flame. But enough to bring the betrayer down on him, on them both. "So you've saved me some trouble, Harper. Now I can claim that he used the knife to get loose and then turned it on you." The knife. He felt nothing but a dull thud as it drove into his ribs. But – aah! – the pain as it was pulled out again. Pain to be shut out, ignored, at once, lest it lead to more betrayal. "Shot while escaping," the gleeful voice had crowed. And then there was gunfire. So much gunfire.

"And you think the boy would have been safe from Sherman's idea of justice? Don't give yourself illusions. You know what he's really like."

"He – is – innocent!" The words were dragged from Jess's lips, not because he begrudged them but because he could hardly breathe any more.

The figure on the other side of the fire rose to his feet, regarding the two young men with a kind of gloating power. "You don't ask how I know all this."

"No need to ask. I'm close to it now. I know you for what you are."

A terrible laugh split the still air. The figure flung wide its dark cloak, like wings about to envelop and smother. Its silver hair streamed upwards, crackling and sparking with energy. The deep eyes set in the glimmering skull burned with flame.

"Give in! Why don't we just say his rigid standards killed him? He'll be glad to die, a martyr to justice!"

"You said body and soul. What's mine is his. Take it. You know I ain't got long." Jess crouched defensively between Slim and the towering figure.

"But I can give you long - all the time you want and all the freedom. If he dies, you can live."

Jess heaved a sigh. "I told you – I know. I ain't makin' that kind of a bargain with the likes of you!"

He lifted the covering from Slim's wound and instead laid his hand over it, as if by some invocation of trust and care, the life could flow from him and heal his friend. As he did so, he felt another hand touch the back of his – warm, strong, loving. Something flowed through the two hands resting together over the terrible injury, something like a flood of energy more powerful than Jess could ever imagine. He lifted his head and saw for a moment a face in the shadows, grey-haired, with a close-clipped beard, lines of wisdom and laughter around the eyes, lips firm and compassionate, with all the integrity and generosity Jess had known in Slim.

"My beloved son, you please me very much." The quiet words might have been spoken to either of them – or to them both.

##### Or the Other #####

"Take care of him while I get the water…" The words faded into the silence, just as Slim's figure blended with the darkness.

The man on the other side of the fire did no such thing. He sat alert, ignoring Jess's inert body, slumped against the rock. It seemed as if he was waiting for something. Suddenly, his head went up, as if he could see through the gloom or was scenting some event impending in the dead air.

There was a terrible scream of tortured iron, a rumble of collapse and a sickening crunch. Somewhere within these sounds, a faint human cry was blended with the music of destruction.

"Dear me!" the clergyman remarked calmly. The still figure opposite him did not react.

Footsteps sounded across the hollow, uneven, uncertain, as Slim staggered into the firelight. He was carrying a bucket of water, which, with a great effort and a good deal of spillage, he lugged to the fire and dumped down. He was clutching his bandanna to his temple with his other hand and a bright stream of blood ran from under it, down the side of his face, to soak the shoulder of his shirt.

"He did warn you." There was a self-satisfied smirk in the clergyman's voice. "But then, who needs his advice? You can take care of yourself. So sit down and share the meal. There is plenty for the two of us. He isn't going to need any!"

"Jess!" Slim took in the still body, which had slid even further down against the rock. He struggled to open his saddlebag with one hand, pulled out a tin cup and dipped it in the water. Dropping the bandanna in a blood-soaked heap, he slipped an arm round Jess and lifted him back into sitting position. The limp body was surprisingly heavy and difficult to handle in his dazed and disorientated state. The throbbing wound seemed to be blurring his sight and he brushed the blood out of his eye with his sleeve impatiently. He pressed the cup to Jess's lips, but the younger man would not drink.

Slim dipped a finger in the water and moistened the dry, cracked lips, which, in the unreliable light, looked as if they were stained with blood. Jess mumbled something and shifted his head away.

"What?" Slim bent close, hoping to get some clue about what was the matter.

Suddenly Jess said distinctly and clearly: "Take a long spoon, Slim!" But he was completely unconscious. Slim looked at the fire and the cooked food and the man sitting on the other side. "What happened?" he demanded. "What's the matter with him?"

"Who cares? Why make so much bother over a worthless drifter?" was the casual reply.

"What would you know about his worth?"

The stranger smiled, his teeth gleaming whitely in the dimness. "More than you do, my dear young man."

Slim was tempted to reject this designation as sharply as Jess would have done, but good manners prevented him. Instead he repeated, "What would you know about it?"

"You aren't a stupid boy," he was told contemptuously, "but you certainly let yourself behave like one over this no-good saddle-tramp. It's obvious to any experienced observer. It is so clear who has to be in charge. And why? Because it's all too evident how he behaves, how he reacts – thinking with guts and gun and knife, not with whatever underused brain he has. You have to be the boss, the superior, because he doesn't think for himself!"

Slim's head jerked up, his face stern and expressionless. If the clergyman had intended to provoke some more judgemental reaction, some kind of agreement, he did not get it. The blonde man just tried again to get his companion to drink. Again he failed. Jess's breathing was slow and irregular, like the pulse, which, when Slim laid his head close to Jess's throat, he could just hear struggling feebly.

And the needling voice almost drowned it out. The man sneered from his side of the fire, "He doesn't seem to take much notice of you, does he, my young friend?"

"Since when have you been my friend?" Slim's tone was courteous but curt.

"Longer – perhaps – than you think. But your friend, Mr Harper, seems to be exceptionally keen on ignoring the very good advice you give him. Does he ever pay any heed to what you say?"

"When it matters!" Slim was definite, but his voice was increasingly shaky. The throbbing in his temple felt as though someone was hammering a knife into his brain.

"And there is no time when it matters so much as right now." Teeth glinted in the firelight as the stranger continued, "But I'm sure you know best!" His tone was unctuous and guaranteed to goad anyone who was worried about someone else. "You are so well educated, are you not?" the man continued. "You know the value of book-knowledge over mere physical prowess." There was still no reaction. Slim's eyes were fixed on Jess, as if he did not want to look across the fire and meet that dark, penetrating gaze. "You must find his impetuous behaviour very trying, especially in dangerous circumstances …. No wonder, when he never takes any notice of your advice … or your orders!"

Immediately, the argument of last night sprang again to the forefront of Slim's mind. Jess at his most uncooperative. Ignoring the responsibility of the badge he had put on. And ignoring Slim's authority as leader of the posse. His disdain for discipline radiating from every inch of his taut body. His hand hovering dangerously near his gun, as he made an impassioned plea for freeing the youngest member of the Johnson clan. And something deep, personal, something essential to his own integrity, driving him to such recklessness.

"His reckless disregard for common sense and planning caused that massacre." The voice was implacable. "He never thinks beyond the immediate, does he?"

"He was thinking about the boy," Slim replied slowly and truthfully. "He was thinking with his heart."

"Very sentimental. And how very heroic!" The commentator regarded the unconscious man with a mixture of amusement and contempt. "Just what exactly did he think he was going to achieve? All it did was to bring him to his present state."

"What state? What's the matter with him?" Slim's voice cracked with fear and desperation as he turned and bent over that still body once more. "There's no sign of injury, no blood!"

Laughter sounded behind him. "Maybe he hasn't got any left. He's been vomiting it all out of him. If you bring him to the fire, you'll find out for yourself what's killing him!"

Gently, Slim lifted Jess until he was lying close to the light. As he did so, a spasm of agony shook the slight frame and a groan escaped the young Texan's lips. But Jess never groaned. No matter how bad the injury he was suffering, he could always shut the pain away in some prison of his mind and the most you would get out of him was "I'm fine!" That was what he had said not so long ago, Slim remembered with horror. How could he have missed that familiar signal?

Feverishly, he began to unbutton the heavy winter jacket Jess was wearing. To his utter amazement, he found no shirt underneath. Jess's vest was missing too and his undershirt was ripped apart all along the left side. The remains of his shirt formed a rough bandage, encrusted with blood, around his ribs.

Slim felt in his own pocket and pulled out a clean handkerchief, which he wetted in the bucket. Then he began to sponge away the edges of the bandage where they were sticking to Jess's skin. Slowly and carefully, he loosened the knots and pulled away the improvised dressing, which seemed to be made from the sleeves of Jess's shirt. His bandanna was pressed deep into the hollow between two ribs. Slim lifted it carefully. His fingers traced the savage wound splitting and bruising the tanned skin. A deep knife-trust was weeping blood sluggishly. It was much, much worse than he had anticipated.

"So what can you do now?" The stranger leaned over the fire and pulled off a leg of partridge, which he proceeded to chew, as he watched Slim's reaction with patronizing attention. "All that does is to confirm something you should have known all along. He's dying."

"Not yet."

"Such touching concern. But you don't think you can save him, do you? In fact, you're not really sure if he is worth saving, after the way he's behaved to you." There was a pause and then the voice went on, exuding an aura of complacent self-righteousness, "Not just today. Not just last night. All the time. You're useful to him, but you don't really matter. Not compared with riding his own way, following his own wild impulses. It's been the same all the time. He doesn't obey anyone. Not you. Not to that wise old sheriff, Mr. Corey. He doesn't even care how much he hurts your own little brother."

Slim wrung out his handkerchief and laid it carefully across the injury. Then he looked up resolutely at his tormentor and said sternly, "Leave Andy out of this."

"My dear Sherman, he's been the focus of contention between the two of you since the day you first found that intruder sitting at your table. Just like the boy last night."

And at once Slim was back in the darkness and confusion of the canyon and the storm that was driving down it. He saw movement in the shadows, heard the cry of the child, desperate to get free. Someone was trying to rescue the boy and help the others to run or ride and escape. There was a tiny flicker of light in the darkness, closely followed by a single gunshot. He saw Jess crouching over the boy, clutching him desperately in his arms. The knife was still in his hand. The same knife he had used to kill and gut the hare. Another helpless victim.

"Let Harper die." The goading voice scored his soul with fire and acid. "He can't be trusted. He has deserved it."

Slim was plunged into another kind of darkness. An angry darkness. A darkness where two opposing ways of thinking clashed. Where order struggled with freedom. Where one kind of integrity defied another. And there were many times when Jess had pushed the limits of generosity and patience too far. A dark place where the face of friendship was drawn into a scowl of conflict and only utter trust would save them from destruction.

"Never!" The word was torn from Slim's throat with all the force of a shout and his hands tightened desperately around Jess.

"Not Jess! He was trying to protect someone, to save them."

"He opposed tying up the prisoners. He went against your orders. He freed the boy and he struck the match that showed them where to fire. He brought about the child's death and the death of all those men. You call that saving?"

"All Jess ever wanted was to protect the weak, the vulnerable! To stop someone falling into the lawless pit that swallows up so many. To give someone else the same chance that was given to him. He didn't know that traitor had set us all up until it was too late. If it hadn't been for his skill with a gun, those outlaws would have shot down even more of us along with their own gang."

"Of course. You are always right, aren't you? Always certain. Always correct. Following in the footsteps of that stiff-necked old pedant of a father that you tried so hard to live up to. Principles first, people a long way behind. No wonder Harper found that so hard to bear with. But, naturally, what can you expect? His father was a far cry from the upright Matthew Sherman - or did he neglect to mention that?"

Slim found his mind slipping back to the few hints that he knew about Jess's past. To the deep grief that the Texan felt for all that he had lost. Mother and father, dying in defence of their family. Brothers and sisters slaughtered. Comrades who fell in battle or rotted in prison-camps. Friends who deserted and betrayed. And it spoke to his own pain and loss. For mother and father, gone too soon. For younger brothers never living long enough to become friends.

He sighed softly and whispered almost to himself, "What price can you give for a friend to become a brother?"

"One of you must pay the price. Which?"

"Jess has honour of his own. He is worth more than you'll ever know. I gave the orders. I made them tie the prisoners. I started it."

The figure across the fire sneered spitefully, "And you think he would have let it rest there? Don't give yourself illusions. You know what he's really like. He always seeks revenge above friendship."

"Never! He does not!" The words were dragged from Slim's lips, not because he begrudged them, but because he could hardly think for the storm of pain raging in his head. Everything seemed to be dissolving around him, transforming reality into something deadly and eternal.

"Give in! Why don't we just say his recklessness killed him? What other death can a hired gun expect?"

Slim answered quietly, painfully, "I expect him to live. To go on caring for the little ones. To go on risking himself to help others. We cannot afford to lose that kind of integrity."

"And yet, if he dies, you can go on living yourself. I can heal that head wound of yours. You can cheat death."

Then Slim laughed, a sound of pure amusement and affection, as he looked down at the friend in his arms. "Jess would tell you I don't cheat. It's down to that upright upbringing of mine. And I won't make that kind of a bargain with you. I'll die before I do!"

He lifted the covering from Jess's deep wound and instead laid his hand on it, as if by some invocation of trust and care, the life could flow from him and heal his friend. As he did so, he felt another hand reach to the wide hole in Jess's side at the same time – a warm, strong, loving hand. Something flowed through the two of them as they touched together, something like a flood of energy more powerful than Slim could ever imagine. He lifted his head and saw for a moment a face in the shadows, an ordinary young man's face, eyes steady with belief and strength, lips ready with trust and laugher, and, shining from it, all the loyalty and courage that Slim had seen in Jess.

"My true brother, willing to give up life for me." The quiet words might have been spoken to either of them – or to them both.

##### Both #####

Sunrise light crept late into the hollow, touching the blackened timbers with a sheen of silver and gold that made them look like sculptures rather than gravestones. It revealed the chestnut horse, standing stalwartly, turned sideways to the campsite, shielding its occupants with his body. On the ground, the bay lay stretched out. Pillowed against his neck was the dark head of the One, his master, fast asleep. The Other, the blonde rider, had been leaning against the horse's shoulder, but had slid down so that his head rested on the younger man's ribs. Their bedrolls, glittering with frost, had been neatly tucked round each of them.

The bay lifted his head and gave a low wicker. The One raised his head also, instantly awake, as was his habit when sleeping outside. He stirred cautiously, turning so that he could ease the Other back up to his original position. Then he sat up and stretched carefully. He yawned, looked around and said in tones of supreme surprise, "Well I'll be damned!"

"Not after last night, you won't," a familiar voice assured him. "At least, not for a long while."

"We both hope – if our luck holds out!" There was a smile in the gravelly tones, as the One turned and surveyed his companion.

"I think it was a bit more than luck that helped us survive the night," the Other observed thoughtfully. "How do your ribs feel?"

"I'm fine!"

"No, seriously!"

"Closed up nicely. Can't feel a thing. How's your head this morning?"

"As good as the new day - which we seem to have been given in spite of everything."

"Yeah, but what did we do to deserve that?" was the whispered response from the One. The Other looked in the same direction.

Against all odds, the fire was blazing merrily. Tending it, they thought, for a moment, they saw someone – a child? a boy? a bright spirit? – but almost at once whoever it was, was gone, dissolving, disappearing like mist, into the rising light of the winter sun.

On the hearth-stones were laid coffee and hot cakes and a bucket of steaming water.

######

There are Christian concepts underpinning this story not just because I believe that, through being willing to suffer for others, good does triumph over evil, but because, watching the original series 1 and 2 again, I've been particularly struck by the way such patterns of thought and behaviour were quite often embedded naturally in the stories and the dialogue. Characterisation, too, often suggested that, contrary to external appearances, we cannot know exactly what is going on in someone else's soul.