Like Father, Like Son

by Jantallian

Mort has a decision to make, but not until he has thought deeply about all that Slim and Jess have shared over the years of their partnership. This story was originally intended for Father's Day so it is either very early or very late!

Like Father, Like Son

Jantallian

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Before reading:

This story assumes that, regardless of what happened in the show, there is only one Mort Cory, in the form of Stuart Randall, and he has been Sheriff of Laramie all along.

As the 'action', or at any rate Mort's thinking, takes place some time after the end of the show, I have deliberately left vague the female roles implied in the story, so that you can imagine who you will in them.

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Mort Cory turned the letter over and over in his weathered brown hands. He was frankly puzzled. He recognized the handwriting of course: he'd seen it often enough in notes and on forms. But why pay for postage on a letter you could perfectly well deliver by hand?

Looking up, he met the amused gaze of Joe Staines, the postmaster.

"Don't ask me!" Joe said firmly. "It ain't none of my doing."

Mort frowned. And his frown, when you were on the receiving end, was formidable. But he had to admit the justice of Joe's remark, even if he did consider it less than friendly to deprive a man of his hard-earned money unnecessarily.

Because the Sherman Ranch and Relay Station finances always needed shrewd and vigilant management, especially now the number of its inhabitants was increasing.

He looked again at the mysterious communication and decided it would have to wait. It was marked 'Personal' and Mort only did 'personal' at the end of his long working day, when he was finally in the peace and quiet of his own home. He folded the envelope, tucked it into the pocket of his vest, picked up the bundle of mail for the Sheriff's Office, gave the amused Joe another glare for good measure, clapped on his hat which he had politely removed indoors, and strode out of the Telegraph Office and down the street to his own domain.

There were plenty of problems and puzzles in Laramie every working day, without adding to them.

It was many hours later, therefore, when he had finished his supper and cleaned up the kitchen and laid out what he needed for the next day, that he finally brought himself to remove the letter from his pocket.

Heck! He was behaving as if it was bad news! As if he had a premonition, even. But why else would Slim Sherman bother to write to him? How would he even find time with the demands of his new responsibilities?

Premonitions were something Mort knew more about than his outwardly calm, thoughtful and responsible exterior would suggest. Gut instinct was something a lawman had to have and sometimes it served him better than mere facts. He did not often act solely on it, unlike a certain erstwhile deputy of his, but he never ignored its promptings. His own life had been both blessed and cursed by sometimes foreseeing situations or events, yet he would not change any of it … except only the enduring grief which was his constant, familiar companion. A grief which he had known was coming so long before he was deprived of the most dear companion of his life.

Mort took himself firmly in hand and moved out on the porch to sit in the last of the late evening sun before the soft twilight would envelop everything. Even now, he was not entirely off duty: one ear was always attuned to the faint noises of the town below as they drifted up to him. It was not that he did not trust Toby Miller, the deputy who was in charge tonight. More like the town was his child, an unruly offspring whom, over the years, he had gradually helped to learn to value justice and decency and support for your neighbor. He felt like a father towards the place.

And no father is ever totally off duty, no matter how old the child.

Mort thought this with a grateful smile, remembering how his own father had been ready to hit the trail and back up his son against all opposition with an accurate gun, even in his old age, when he might have been expected to sit peacefully in his own chair by the fire. Actually, at the tender age of eighty-three, the old soldier was as tough as the boots on his feet and had made nothing of the long ride from Denver to Laramie in order to support his son in doing his duty.

Mort's heart filled with surge of thankfulness and pride and grief all at once. Thankfulness because his father had understood at once Mort's four-year quest to prove Tom Wade's innocence and for his unspoken trust that his son would never frame someone but remain true to the justice which they both held sacred. Pride because, in supporting Mort's work, his pa proved to be still honorable, still packing a precise firearm and still willing to let his son take the lead in his own duties and his own life. Grief because he would miss the old man's twinkle, his dry wit, his independence, his encouragement, his trust … there were so many things which made their relationship strong and enduring, so many qualities which had shaped Mort's own life and character. But only a few months later, in the following winter, they had laid Mort Senior in his final resting place and the shoot-out which finished the Wade affair had proved to be his last.

Memories of his father brought Mort's thoughts back to the very same occasion and to the hard-headed yet instinctively compassionate actions of the other partner at the Sherman Ranch. Jess Harper might act on his gut instinct more than most, but he was also unswerving in his loyalty to and support for Slim, for the extended family into which he had been welcomed, for friends and neighbors, not to mention Mort himself. Moreover it was not just those close to him who benefited from the Texan's backing: despite the danger, Jess had stood by Tom and Julie Wade in their struggle for justice. It had cost the young couple dearly in the strain it put on their relationship and Mort had seen, in Jess's support for them, the young man's longing for stability and his deep concern for the family life which should flourish in a marriage.

Well, that longing had been fulfilled now. And Mort had seen another longing too, when he had introduced Jess to his own father …

"Fine shootin', sir!" Mort's deputy held out his hand as he greeted Mort Senior respectfully.

The old man looked at him with his piercing gaze for several seconds. Then he grasped the offered hand and shook it vigorously as he nodded approvingly. "So you're the young Rebel my son trusts his town and his reputation to?"

"Ain't figurin' to let him down, sir." Jess looked mightily surprised Mort should have spoken to his father about him.

"Guess his trust isn't misplaced." The old man delivered his judgement with the conviction of one who knew his son's high standards. "He's not sparing in his praise of you, young Harper. 'Not just a fast gun, but a shrewd head, an honest heart and a spirit of justice' – that's what he said."

Jess Harper didn't blush easily. But if he ever did, it would be now. "If I earned those words, sir, it's because I learnt from the best – Sheriff Cory!"

Mort grinned and said, "I still haven't beaten any sense of self-preservation into your head, though, have I?" Then he turned to Mort Senior and added, "Probably as well – he needs both eyes to be one of the finest trackers we've seen in years."

Jess, however, ignored Mort Junior and just shook his head in admiration. "If my eyes are as sharp as yours in another fifty years, sir, I'll reckon myself lucky."

As he said the last word, his gaze went from Mort Senior to his son and back again. Just for a second, Jess seemed to be seeing someone else standing with them. The impression was so vivid Mort could have sworn he saw a lean, dark shadow, a man whom the years had honed with experience and hardship, a man so like Jess it was uncanny.

There was a saying, 'a chip off the old block', but this was nothing so earth-bound. It was two wild spirits choosing to ride the earth side by side. For a little while.

Mort shook his head as he was struck again by the sudden sense of overwhelming tragedy which he had felt then. It was one of those moments when he was in touch with some experience outside his own, but with which he felt immense sympathy. Not that anyone ever needed to pity Jess. From the very first, Mort had reckoned him to be a young man who had made his truce with pain and grief, not submitting but fighting his way through whatever life had thrown in his path because he refused to follow any direction but his own.

This independence had made for some interesting confrontations when Slim had first offered Jess a job and a home.

It was, without doubt, exactly what had attracted Andy to the young drifter and Mort was sometimes amazed that the two older men never came to blows over the right way to be a father-substitute to the youngster. Slim, of course, had had the model of his own father, Matt, who, although strict, was a man of principle and fairness, and whose ranching ambitions his eldest son shared wholeheartedly. What kind of an example Jess had had, the heavens alone knew – literally, Mort believed, for Jess had never spoken of any family living except his sister, now in California and busy making Jess an uncle several times over.

That alone ought to have given him some practice, Mort grinned to himself, knowing Jess had made the long journey a couple of times in recent years. He had no doubt been a hands-on practitioner of child-wrangling in the lively young household.

Travelling the land – the freedom to take off into the Big Open and choose his own trail - was close always to Jess's heart, even though his heart was now rooted firmly in Wyoming with the family he had found there. When he did take off these days, it was always for a good reason and always with the promise that he would definitely return. This had not been the case in the early days, when it had been perilously easy for Andy to try to emulate his hero, especially as so many exciting and not always wholly respectable acquaintances of Jess's were prone to track him down to Laramie.

There'd been the time when Andy decided to act on his resentment that he was not being treated as if he had any say in running the ranch and had taken off in true Jess-style …

Mort had delivered the palomino back to the relay station and the boy's reunion with his horse was moving to watch. Nonetheless, Mort had been uneasy. The palomino was unpredictable at the best of times and seemed to have been roughly treated by whoever had stolen him. Andy could calm the horse, even now, and probably would be able to do anything with him, but Slim had suffered enough the first time Cyclone had caused havoc on the ranch. Mort could see, just by his expression, that Slim was not relishing a repeat performance. In fact, if he had been a betting man, Mort would have given good odds on the subject of keeping the horse causing a major clash of wills between Slim and his brother.

It was scarcely any surprise when, a few days later, Jess came into town for supplies and ended up raiding the coffee pot in Mort's office. To be accurate, there was absolutely no surprise at Jess scrounging whatever strong coffee was going! What was surprising was his preoccupied expression and the lack of his usual leg-pulling about the idle life of a town sheriff.

"Come on, spit it out!" Mort urged, wondering what had got into the normally devil-may-care Texan.

"Waste of good coffee!" Jess retorted, with an attempt at his usual humour.

"What's on your mind?" Mort asked sternly. He could be extremely commanding when he chose, although his normal authority lay in his calm and reasonable approach to the men under him.

Jess grimaced and told him: "Andy took off."

Mort frowned and asked, "Did you encourage him?"

"Hell, no! Y'know me better'n that by now, Mort!" Jess looked quite hurt. "Andy's a smart kid at book-learnin' and he knows his way around the ranch, but he ain't got the skills to survive on the trail by himself, not without a lotta luck."

"So what did you do?" Mort asked curiously, sensing there was much more to this than met the eye.

"Told him he had t'wise up and learn a ranch ain't just about what one person wants or feels."

Mort smiled a little inwardly, knowing that, more than once, this had been Jess's own struggle when he disagreed with Slim.

"We have t'work together, think what's best for the whole business," Jess went on, his brow furrowed by the seriousness of what he was saying.

"Slim's ideas sure are rubbing off on you!" Mort ribbed him gently. "What did Slim have to say? And more important, what's he doing about Andy?"

"Gone after him, trackin' him, of course!" Jess answered at once, surprised Mort even had to ask, although, given Jess's tracking skills and his bond with Andy, it was not unreasonable to suppose he might have taken on the task himself. But Slim's powerful sense of family responsibility came first. "He ain't gonna let his little brother run into harm, even if he was mad about that ornery palomino, wanted to sell it 'cause it darn' well did so much damage."

"Andy took off because of the horse?"

Jess shook his head. "I don't think it was just the horse. Sometimes it's like Slim's tryin' too hard to take his pa's place. You've known Slim for a long time, Mort, been like a father to him. D'you think he sees Andy's growin' up fast?"

Mort shook his head too. He thought of his long friendship with Matt and Mary Sherman – of seeing Slim himself mature into a confident and competent young man – of the hard school of war which had shaped that man – and of the heavy burden of responsibility he had come home to shoulder after his father's death, closely followed by his mother's. Mort was not sure he himself had been able to fill even part of the gap made by such a loss, any more than Jonesy had. Slim's conscience had always driven him unrelentingly as far as his responsibilities were concerned.

"Did you tell him so?"

"Something like," Jess admitted with a wry grin. "Ain't as if Slim never took hold of the freedom of makin' his own decisions about life. Andy just wants to have his opinion counted. Not to be treated like a boy all the time. Maybe when they get back, we can work something out."

Mort nodded in agreement. He could talk to Slim about it, but right now he was glad Andy's rebellion had not also caused a major rift between Slim and Jess. Jess seemed confident Slim would find Andy, but Mort would keep ears and eyes open through his law-keeping contacts and, if necessary, give some official aid to find the missing boy. After all, there were still outlaws somewhere in the territory – men far from scrupulous in their treatment of adults, let alone a youngster.

But it had all worked out in the end. The characteristic Sherman honesty and trust had brought Andy through his adventures unscathed, given him valuable experience of the adult world and, to a certain extent, had redeemed a man from a lifetime of lawlessness. Nonetheless, Slim had been troubled by the implications of what had happened. It was some time later that he confided in Mort, seeking his advice, as he had once done regularly in the past. Since Matt's death, however, Slim had rather focused all his attention on filling the place and keeping up the standards of their absent father, without considering the qualities of his own which Andy would benefit from. In this particular incident, Slim had come face to face with the fact that Andy understood adult relationships with a sensitivity which he must have inherited from his mother. And the youngster was also not bound by the absolute view of truth which had always driven Slim, causing him to make sometimes harsh judgements of the honesty of others.

"I hate lying," Slim admitted, as he leaned back in a rocking chair and gazed out over the rooftops of Laramie, which formed the foreground of Mort's view. "Pa always said it was better to hurt sharply once with the truth than to let a lie fester and kill."

"But you can see why Andy didn't tell the whole truth?"

Slim frowned. "Yes. The absolute truth would have killed a good woman." He'd given Andy the right to chose what to say. He had to respect his brother's decision.

"If that's so, then which would you prefer – the death of a truth or the death of a human being you admire?"

There was a little silence. Slim sighed. "I think I would still have told the whole truth. Jess said I would, anyway."

"He did?" Mort's eyebrows flew up in surprise. He knew Jess understood Slim pretty well, but he also recognised that Jess himself would not have hesitated for a moment to protect someone he cared about, by whatever means he had to.

"Yeah. We talked about it. He said I could tell the full truth because truth was such an important part of me. And because I was an adult, I would have thought of a way to handle it so's it didn't hurt her so very badly."

"And Andy's still a youngster."

"Yeah – but he's growing up fast. I guess I need to …" Slim hesitated a little, trying to express his new perception, " ... to make space for him to grow into."

Mort smiled to himself.

Maybe Slim and Jess weren't so far apart on the parenting issue after all! They seemed to be learning from each other – and that could only be a good thing.

Both young men had gained some expertise in such skills by the time Andy was getting educated in St. Louis and Mike Williams arrived in all their lives. Mike was a lively and much loved addition to the family, but in some ways it didn't seem fair for Slim to have to cope all over again with another fearless kid who would all too soon grow into another challenging teenager!

But Mike was not Slim's brother. He was an orphan who needed all the security, strength and sheer love which Slim and Jess could give him. And give they did, striving to provide the peace, created by the constant surety of protective adults in a safe home, to counterbalance the trauma of his parents' death which frequently shook the little boy. For Mike, peace was a long time coming; so also for his guardians. Mort knew both the men had suffered alongside their new ward, willingly sitting night after night with him through his nightmares, even though they had a full day's hard labor ahead every day. As Slim put it: "It's no less than his own pa'd do for him. We're not going to fall short for want of trying."

The burden, however willingly it had been shouldered, was considerably eased some time after they had offered a home to Mike and were in the protracted process of formal adoption. Such was their determination to provide a domicile of which the authorities could approve that the young men were prepared to change their whole lifestyle if necessary. To the total surprise of almost the entire population of the town, many of whom had been taking bets on the outcome of their advertisement for domestic help at Sherman Ranch, the other younger, prettier and more than willing candidates were seen off by the epitome of an old-fashioned housekeeper.

Not that she had remained a housekeeper for long!Mrs Daisy Cooper, or Aunt Daisy as she soon became to Mike, simply filled a gap in their lives which none of them had realized until her advent had been there. One moment she was a stranger, an elderly passenger who had lost everything to fraudsters. The next moment, she was family.

The household was certainly better organised, better scrubbed and, to Jess's eternal delight, better fed than it had ever been before. More than this, Daisy was an entirely natural home-maker, with a warm practical concern which enveloped everyone. This did not mean her standards were not strict. She certainly made the two young men toe the line from time to time and she provided Mike with much kind and affectionate discipline. Being able to teach, she also took his education in hand, for which Slim was extremely grateful, as the work generated by his expanding cattle business meant there was a limited amount of attention he could give to it. Just as essential were Daisy's nursing skills, since the household contained Jess Harper as well as an adventurous ten-year-old, a pair who between them kept those skills well employed; she was a more than adequate replacement for Jonesy's home doctoring.

So it was that when Mike got shot as the Laramie bank was being robbed, Jess didn't hesitate to pursue justice for him – but only, Mort realised, because Mike was safe at home in Daisy's expert care. Otherwise Mort was quite certain Jess's first concern would have been the boy's survival and the necessary treatment, despite the Texan's own dislike of being doctored or anything resembling it.

The depth of Jess's concern came across forcibly because Mike being more dead than alive was enough to drive him on the trail of those responsible, no matter what it cost him. In truth Jess would do anything for the child he had taken into his heart as if Mike had been his own. That heart, as Mort observed to Slim and Daisy, was wrung and wrenched by the fear of losing Mike and the horror of evil men who did not scruple to make children their target. There was something deeply personal to Jess in all this, Mort surmised, some event in his life which made the protection of the little ones of a family a sacred duty. All the same, however pure and father-like Jess's motives, Mort had felt kind of sorry for anyone who got in his way or opposed his mission of justice.

For justice was something Mort knew he could always rely on Slim and Jess to support, even if Jess's methods of doing so were sometimes surprisingly original. Their instinct for justice was as natural and intuitive as the way in which they cared for their little family and set good examples for both the young boys.

Andy and Mike were lucky in how their elders chose to behave, because the Good Lord knew Slim and Jess had come across plenty of examples of bad fathers, often ones who brought up equally bad sons!

The most recent example had been Jess's attempt to reunite Skip Whitaker with his father, a thankless task if ever there was one. It was totally understandable, especially to Jess, that Skip had a burning desire to see his own pa because he had never had the chance before. But Leo McCall had enough wanted posters to his name to paper a house and an evil reputation to go with them. If either Slim or Mort had realised where Jess and the boy were headed, they would both have moved heaven and earth to stop them.

They might not necessarily have succeeded. The pull of flesh and blood was a powerful one and Skip was determined to follow it to the end, even if Jess refused to guide him. The boy was heedless of Jess's wisdom at the time, but afterwards recalled to Mort Jess's warning: "Too many men use a gun instead of their head." Skip had seen Jess use his intelligence rather than his proven skill with a gun to try to extricate them from such a dangerous situation. In the end, however, the son had to be saved from his father's world by the only means that father recognised.

At least Skip himself was safe, which was more than could be said for the fate of some other sons and their fathers. Mort thought back over the past years, recalling the time he'd deputized Slim to enable him to protect Jess from getting unjustly shot or hanged as a result of being arrested by Sam Jarrad. Ultimately it was proved that the whole trumped-up charge had been secretly engineered to protect a son from the consequences of having murdered his own father. As Jess gave witness, the whole relationship was fraught with violence – father beating son and son drinking to stir up his courage. Courage to do something so unnatural it brought a shudder to the soul. Neither Slim nor, it seemed, Jess, had a father living and the horror of such a deed struck them both hard.

When Slim returned the deputy's badge he was subdued by the tragic truth they had uncovered and it was not until much later that he was able to fill in for Mort the details of how they had done so. Jess, on the other hand, was disgusted by the crime, but this was nothing compared with his fury at the killing ordered by another father and son. The actions of Judge Matthew Hedrick and his son Jim, in hanging John Maclean without a fair trial, perverted justice and the way in which a father should guide his son to seek the truth. Neither Jess nor Slim were prepared to accept such standards, but their different approaches to how this injustice should be righted had nearly driven a wedge between them. In the end, though, both father and son were to pay a heavy price for their merciless conduct.

Then, of course, there was all the trouble old man Parkison had caused with his lunatic determination to challenge Slim to duel over the death of his youngest son, Floyd, despite the efforts of the older, Lee, to dissuade him. The pressure to fight was relentless, even though Slim knew he had no obligation to take up the challenge. Mort recalled the young man's patience, normally one of his strengths, being sorely tried by this bitter, antagonistic father's insistence. Jess had said afterwards he'd never known Slim to snap at any of them, least of all Andy, the way he did at that time. Certainly Slim had come striding angrily into the Sheriff's Office, complaining about the challenge notice still being printed. Much though Mort sympathized, there was not a lot he could do to alleviate the situation. There was no law against printing a notice and no-one was going to forget the challenge, with or without it. Slim might want action, not least to prevent the bunch of words flying around Laramie to the detriment of his own reputation; however, the only possible action Mort could take was to warn Slim to stay out of Parkison Town. Mort could only act if there ever was a duel and then his duty would be to arrest the winner, regardless of how he personally felt about the participants. Yet it seemed to Mort unjust that Slim had to pay for the traditions established by his forebears.

I will visit the sins of the fathers upon their children unto the third and fourth generation. Regardless of it being in the Bible, it was a savage tenet for anyone to follow.

Ben Parkison had certainly taken the Bible text about 'an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth' to the limits of what any reasonable interpretation of justice would stand. He was prepared to use whatever means he could to do so. It was easy for him to engineer a fence-break which any rancher would naturally hasten to repair; the scheme delivered Jess into his hands, forcing him to serve as emotional blackmail on Slim's conscience. Mort often wondered what Jess had said in that dark night, how he would undoubtedly have argued vehemently for an exchange of roles, bargained his own life in exchange for Slim's. For Jess knew full well the brotherhood between the two of them was going to be used to betray Slim's resolute refusal of violence and to drive him into actions he would otherwise never have taken.

But Slim's response to the apparently inescapable demands of the duel was both unexpected and highly intelligent. Very few men would have had the courage or the will-power to allow Parkison to empty his pistol before they fired a single shot. Very few would have realised that withholding his own right to fire would gain Slim the upper hand permanently so that he could use the honour of the duelling code to drive a bargain which ensured Lee Parkison would be able to guide his father along a saner path.

This was not the end of the matter for Slim, however. Even when it was proved Floyd Parkison had died in a tragic accident, Slim's conscience was still not clear. So, a while later, he once again joined Mort and sat on his porch, discussing with his old mentor the moral dilemmas posed by trying to be absolutely truthful.

"I told Andy a deliberate lie!" Slim's voice was strangled by shame and rough with emotion. "I told him Jess sent word he'd be staying over in town."

"Why did you do that, Slim?" Mort asked gently.

Slim's pleasant face was twisted into a painful grimace. "You know how Andy is about Jess, Mort." He paused to gather his determination and his fundamentally truthful nature. For this truth hurt him, much though he valued Jess's friendship and loyalty. "Andy idolises Jess. Jess is everything Andy wants to be. He's been places far beyond a relay station in Wyoming, done more things, met more people, been in more fights, had more adventures –"

"What a kid would call adventures," Mort pointed out firmly. "I doubt if you asked Jess that's how he'd describe them. Seems to me life on the drift is tough and lonely and dangerous. Jess sets more store by your friendship, by you opening not just a job but your home to him, than any glamour he might have got on the trail."

"Yeah." Slim gave a heartfelt sigh. "I know he belongs with us and he'll back me to the hilt every time. He feels he betrayed me because he let the Parkisons manage to use him as a weapon against me."

"He'd never do choose to do any such thing to you, Slim," Mort stated firmly. "Neither of you would ever willingly betray the other."

Slim bowed his head. "I know, Mort. Jess had no choice. But he still blames himself because he respects my right to make my own decisions. He showed how much when he stood by and let me take the duel the way I'd chosen. That cost him."

Mort grinned. "Yep. He'd want to go in all guns blazing to get you out of trouble. It says a lot that he understood what you needed to do."

"Jess backed me all through it," Slim's eyes shone with the remembrance of his friend's willing support. But then his face became troubled and he continued: "And he knows I've always put such a price on truth-telling." Something was clearly still bothering Slim.

"You told a lie to save Andy from knowing the danger to Jess," Mort said, "but I think it was also so you could handle the situation in a way which was true to your own principles and which kept Andy from being involved."

"Yes, but I told another lie too. I told Andy I'd be leaving real early in the morning to go see about some steers. I didn't need to tell either of those lies. Jess is my friend too." Slim's voice caught for a moment as he wrestled with the strength of his emotion, an emotion based not on youthful hero-worship, but on the shared trials and dangers of adult life. "I should have trusted Andy, trusted he'd understand that I would do anything for Jess, that I'd fight to save him from hanging. Trusted that, even if he knew about Parkison taking Jess, he'd do as I asked and stay behind and help me by not distracting me. More important, I didn't give him the chance to be mature and show he could carry a burden of fear for us both - all because I didn't tell him the truth."

"Do you know why, Slim?"

There was a long pause.

"I think I wanted to keep him safe from all the poison Parkison was spitting out. To keep him with a clear view that neighbors are the ones we help out, even if we don't get on too well with them. I didn't want him to think I'd set out to kill an old man just because he was an old fool. I didn't want the Sherman name tarnished with such crazy ideas, such bitter pride. Andy and I are the sons our father raised. It's his name we carry. It matters how we live, all the more so now he is dead."

Mort let a little silence lengthen between them. Then he said, "You wanted to keep safe the integrity of how you would act and the integrity of Andy's response to other people and the integrity of the Sherman name. Those are powerful reasons. I'm not saying you were right, because you did something against your true nature, but you did it first and foremost so you could help a child respond to a complex adult dilemma."

A man never stands as tall as when he kneels to help a child.

Mort's heart went out to Slim. He knew how much it had cost the upright young rancher to find an honourable solution to an impossible challenge. But Mort's instinct for fatherhood told him Slim had made the best response possible, given his own nature and the circumstances.

Such motivation was a characteristic of both young men. They would move heaven and earth to help and protect those younger and more vulnerable than themselves. There were times, Mort had to admit, when giving help was not the first or natural response, but Slim and Jess recognised youngsters could be incredibly foolish and that every fool needed a second chance. Jess particularly, coming as he did from a less than secure and reputable background, knew the value of someone giving you the benefit of the doubt and his own experiences undoubtedly coloured his approach to such problems.

And trouble seemed to find Jess as a bear tracked down a honey comb! Whatever the circumstances or the opinion of others, Jess seemed first to put his trust in his own response to the individual concerned. He had certainly done so in his encounter with Juan De La O. When Juan had stolen Jess's horse, it did not take long for the Texan to discover the boy was more in need of his protection than his retribution. And if that protection meant facing down a whole town, so be it! Then there had been Billy Watkins:,the trouble-making teenager who caused enough problems to try a far greater patience than Jess possessed. Yet when Billy's clashes with Jess led him into still deeper trouble, Jess did not abandon the reckless runaway to the fate he had brought on himself, any more than his own father would have. Setting the youngster on the right road was no easy matter, but worth it in the end.

There was no doubt Jess could and did care in the same way for the strays he came across as much as for the boys of his adopted family. It had been evident a while back when the Blackfoot, led by Red Wolf, broke out from the reservation. In defiance of the authority of the army, Jess had set about aiding Red Wolf's crippled son and, unlike Slim, certainly didn't have any hesitation about lying creatively in order to give the boy a fighting chance. As always, Jess was prepared to take the risks and the responsibility of defying authority on himself. This was not only because of his instinctive grasp of both the justice and the usefulness of seeking co-operation with the Blackfoot tribe. Over and above this wider aim, something in Lame Wolf's fierce pride, in his survival alone when he had been rejected as dead, called to a fundamental need which resonated deeply in Jess: the need for a son to prove worthy to a lost father and for the father to accept whatever his son had endured and survived.

To a father a son is a son, part of him, no matter what.

Mort's heart lit up with warm affection. When Jess repeated later what he had told Lame Wolf about fathers and sons, he was undoubtedly setting a standard for his own life and the family he would one day have. Now that both the Sherman and Harper families were most evidently in the process of expansion, such ideals were being tested against reality.

It was almost symbolic of the strength of the partnership between the two young men, of their sense of equality and the way they worked so closely together, that both their first born had arrived at almost the same time. It might have been tempting to think this signalled a new period of domestic stability at the ranch, but it had to be said that Jess was not showing any more signs of conventionality than usual. Accommodation in the ranch house was getting decidedly cramped, even with Andy, Mike and Jonesy in St. Louis. So Jess and his woman, with help from friends, neighbours and family, had been busy extending one of the line-shacks further up the mountain and turning it into a sturdy homestead. The location meant that Jess had space to develop his beloved horse herd and also quicker access to the upper grazing for the cattle, not to mention inspecting and maintaining the boundary fences!

Like many homesteads, however, the shack was relatively isolated, a precarious place where the inhabitants had to cope as best they could with whatever fate and nature threw at them. This certainly didn't daunt the couple one jot, although Daisy couldn't see why the ranch house could not have been extended, rather than a young woman expecting a baby choosing to live in such a primitive place and so far from the benefit of a midwife, never mind a doctor. But the courage and resilience of the independent pair was typical both of their inherited dispositions and of pioneering tradition. Their first son was born in the midst of fire and storm, yet mother and baby survived and were thriving. As for the father – Jess might maintain an air of imperturbable nonchalance about the new arrival, but he stood no chance whatsoever of fooling those who knew him best. It was evident that the gift of this child, named Matthew both for Jess's long lost elder brother and for his best friend, had healed something deep within the young Texan.

The peaceful birth less than a month later of Slim's son, Nathaniel, also named for a missing brother, was the cause of much joint and joyful celebration. This did not, however, prevent Jess pulling Slim's leg unmercifully by reminding him that imitation was the sincerest flattery! Actually, they were both delighted the two boys had come into the world at almost the same time.

No doubt they were hoping as the boys grew up so close together they would become as firm friends as their fathers, Mort deduced with a grin.

But it was a grin tinged with a deep inner sadness. Mort's own family had not grown. And Jess's experience of the harrowing circumstances of Matt's birth had brought back memories almost too painful for Mort to bear. He knew only too well how perilous childbirth was for a woman and what a slender margin separated life from death. It had not seemed like death at the time, at least not to the doctor who attended the birth and who had departed cheerfully in the assurance that all was well. Only Mort was aware of imminent danger because of a sudden realisation that he had seen a vision of this lamplit room long ago, before ever their child was conceived … had gazed on the pale, tired face of the beautiful woman who lay exhausted by her labour … had realised the meaning of her faltering breath … but he had not heard, in his far-off premonition, her last words: "I shall never be far away from you. I am going ahead – just a little way – and I will be there waiting when you come to join me."

It was a long time before Mort could truly rejoice over the new arrivals in the Harper and Sherman households, even though he kept his own pain hidden far beneath his usual wise, kind, friendly demeanour. But as the two babies grew stronger each day, leaving the danger of the early weeks behind them, so Mort's heart grew stronger again. He had never lived in the past. He had the future to look forward to. She was only a little way off … calling him home in her beautiful voice which their love had called into being … she was just ahead there on the path … soon he would close the distance between them … soon …

He came to himself suddenly, tumbling out of his vision, startled to find he was rocking quietly on the veranda with a crumpled letter in his hand.

Oh well, better get on with it before the light has gone completely and see what Slim wants to say which is so important he has to put it in writing.

He smoothed the letter, but did not tear the envelope open or use the long working knife he carried. Instead he rose to his feet again, went back inside and rummaged through his desk until he found a pen-knife. This he took back onto the porch. Then he settled in his chair, took a deep breath, slit open the envelope and drew out a sheet of neatly written paper.

At least, it was neatly written most of the way down the sheet, but at the bottom the handwriting changed to a script which dashed across the page with a certain individual wildness, just like the writer. Mort's brows drew together as he considered what such a joint letter might mean. He lowered his eyes and read:

'Dear Mort,

We are writing to you because both Jess and I want to ask you the same question. We do not consider it fair that one or other of us should get his question in first. If we both try to speak together, you will most likely not understand what we want to ask. So we thought a letter from both of us would be the best way to do this and, because we'd both want to talk you into agreeing if we handed it to you in person, we are sending it by post.

Mort, you've been the most amazing friend to both of us. I personally can't remember a time when your wisdom has not guided me, when your humour has not lightened up the day or when your understanding has not made some dark places in life a little lighter. Because you are a special person, not just to Jess and me, but to the whole family, we'd like to ask:

Will you stand godfather to both our sons?

Here Jess's handwriting took over.

Ain't no wiser guide the boys could have than you - no better example of how a man should live – and no more steadfast friend. Plus you ain't gonna let them get away with anything – and there Slim and I are surely gonna need your support! You'd honour us all greatly, Mort, if you're willing to take more Shermans and Harpers under your wing and your eagle eyes.

We are agreed there couldn't be a more fitting godfather for Nathaniel and Matthew. (Signed) Slim and Jess.'

So that was it! Mort heaved a sigh of relief that his premonitions had been wrong for once. He folded the letter and held it gently in his clasped hands and leant back in his chair, pondering.

Should he?

Could he?

Mort could handle the God bit. His faith was simple but powerful, and all his experiences had not shaken it; rather his inner sense assured him that he was being guided and strengthened through them. Exactly as any good father would support and encourage his son.

It was the father bit Mort was thinking deeply about. It was humbling and moving that Slim and Jess, after all they had learnt respectively and together about being the heads of their own families, wanted to trust him with such a vital moral role. He already carried willingly a great responsibility towards Slim - and Jess – and Andy – and Mike. He was not sure how good he was at it, but he knew it was his job, his duty and his care.

Could he give the same example, the same guidance and the same freedom to another generation of Shermans and Harpers? Had he still got the strength and the energy or was he too old?

As he pondered on this decision, he suddenly sensed a twinkling eye regarding him from somewhere in the beyond and he heard Mort Senior telling him, as he had once before:

One father is enough to oversee one hundred sons … and one hundred sons will not change who that father is.

Mort took a deep breath.

He could do this.

Yes!

.

---

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Acknowledgements:

* For all chapters: The great creative writing of the 'Laramie' series is respectfully acknowledged. My stories are purely for pleasure and are inspired by the talents of the original authors, producers and actors.

* Thanks as always to Westfalen of the eagle eyes, without whose help this story would be full of typos, inaccuracies and illogical plot developments!

Notes:

There are some references in this story which derive from 'Casket of Fears and Dreams'.

'Imitation is the sincerest flattery.' C. C. Colton (1780–1832): The Lacon, published in 1820, was immensely popular. Colton lived in the USA from 1828-30, when he made his living by gambling.

'One father is enough to govern one hundred sons but not a hundred sons one father.' George Herbert

The role of godparents prior to the second half of 20th Century was a serious responsibility and commitment, as well as being a measure of an individual's moral standing in the community.

Laramie Episodes in this story:

Season 1

Episode 11 - Dark Verdict

Season 2

Episode 4 - Ride the Wild Wind

Episode 9 - License to Kill

Episode 12 – Duel at Parkison Town

Season 3

Episode 9 - Wolf Cub

Episode 11 - The Killer Legend

Episode 15 - The Barefoot Kid

Episode 17 - The Runaway

Season 4

Episode 1 - Among the Missing

Episode 10 - Bad Blood