It was a little past sun-up when the four weary men rode back into Laramie from the chase that had ended with the capture of a riderless, saddle-less horse instead of the fugitive Wes Torrey. They pulled up outside the hotel and dismounted.
"Give me a minute with Louisa and then we'll see if Torrey is still in town," said Marshall Clark. Jess nodded as he wound his horse's reins around the hitching rail. He turned to the other two men.
"First we'll start by looking in that stable again."
"If he's in there, I don't see how I missed him," said Charlie in an injured tone.
"We all missed him," Jess replied. "Come on."
Even through his grim tension, Jess had to inwardly smile at Charlie's protest. The man regarded with tolerant amusement as the town drunk was taking pride in his night's work - and rightly so, thought Jess, as they walked around the corner of the hotel building. Charlie was another one who had proved his worth on his second chance. It was thanks to Charlie that the posse was hunting a wounded man hiding out somewhere instead of a killer on the loose.
His train of thought came to an abrupt halt as he caught sight of a ladder leaning against the rear wall of the hotel. His glance moved to the top of the ladder, where a curtain fluttered out of an open window. The window of - the marshall's room? He cursed himself for a fool. He'd been so focused on the idea of Wes Torrey being wounded and wanting to escape, now that the Torrey gang was all but wiped out and taking over the town was no longer possible, that he'd forgotten Torrey's other motive for moving on Laramie. But Wes Torrey wouldn't have forgotten. So long as he could still move, he'd be after the man who he believed killed his brother - and what better way to get at a man than through his wife? Jess's act of proclaiming Vern Clark as the man who shot Al Torrey may have placed Louisa Clark in the worst sort of danger.
Jess turned and dashed back to the hotel entrance. As he ran through the lobby and took the stairs three at a time, he only hoped he wasn't too late. Vern wouldn't be prepared; Torrey would likely get the jump on him as soon as he opened the door... As he charged down the corridor, Jess heard voices. A woman's saying something he coudn't quite make out, Vern's voice answering, then, as he reached the door of the Clarks' room, Wes Torrey's voice demanding:
"Alright, if you didn't kill him, then who did?"
For the one and only time, Jess gave the fact instead of the legend.
"I did."
The blaze of gunfire was brief; at its end Louisa Clark ran to her husband's arms while Jess crossed the room to bend over the still form of the last of the Torrey gang.
*L*A*R*A*M*I*E*
*L*A*R*A*M*I*E*
The chickens scattered as the eastbound stage pulled into the Sherman Relay Station. Slim led up the fresh team, while Jess opened the stagecoach door for the passengers who wanted to stretch their legs. He gave his hand to a fair-haired woman whose "Thank you, Jess" had a lilt that revealed her Scandinavian origins. She was followed by the man who until a few days ago had been Laramie's marshall. Vern Clark stood off to the side as the other passengers helped themselves to some refreshing water from the pump or went into the house for the coffee Ben had waiting. Jess took the chance of a farewell word.
"It's a shame you're leaving, Vern. You've got yourself quite a reputation here in Laramie. You could build something good on it."
Marshall Clark shook his head.
"A reputation founded on a lie, Jess."
"That part don't matter," said Jess. "You proved you deserve the reputation, that's what counts. And I'm never going to tell the story, that's for sure." He grinned. "If I did, the town might try to make me marshall!"
"You'd make a good marshall, Jess," Clark said with a smile of his own. "But Laramie has Sheriff Barcroft now - he's a fine lawman. And it's better if Louisa and I start again someplace else. Anything we build here would have a hollow stone in the base."
"Yeah, Vern, I understand." Jess held out his hand. "Good luck, and take care of that wife of yours. I think she's somethin' real special."
"So do I, Jess. Goodbye, and thanks - for everything."
The passengers were climbing back into the stagecoach. Just before the marshall got in, Mose reached inside and dusted off the seat with his handkerchief, then stood holding the coach door as Clark climbed aboard.
"You're doing everything but putting down a red carpet, Mose," Slim said as Mose closed the door with a flourish.
"I'd put one down if I had one, Slim," the stage driver answered. "Nothing's too good for the man who shot Al Torrey!"