As the sparks fly

by Jantallian

Not everyone in Laramie is one hundred percent enthusiastic about Slim Sherman's new ranch hand, but their predictions are fulfilled in unexpected ways.

1. Chapter 1

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AS THE SPARKS FLY

Jantallian

The action takes place shortly after 'Stage Stop', but assumes that some characters, who appear later in other seasons, were there all along.

Part One – Smoke without Fire

1

"It'll lead to trouble!"

If Slim Sherman had a dollar for every time he was to hear that warning in the next month, he'd be able to pay off his debts and the relay station would be a sight more secure!

This time it was Freddie, gloomily polishing glasses behind the bar and periodically casting an experienced eye over the poker game going on at a table in one corner of the saloon. Slim deliberately restrained himself from turning and following Freddie's gaze. He was perfectly well aware that the saloon's regular poker school, made up of some of Laramie's older and more cynical inhabitants, had decided to give the newcomer in town a little try-out. He just hoped it didn't empty their pockets to the extent which would provoke some kind of rough-house.

To give him his due, Jess had not accepted the invitation to join the game without an interrogatory glance to Slim. Silently there had passed between them the understanding that Jess had promised to play straight. Slim felt he had no right to prevent his new employee from engaging in a little recreational gambling. The only problem was that Slim was pretty certain it was not recreational for Jess and he was perfectly capable of earning his living by the cards if he had to.

"Professional trouble!" Freddie continued morosely, echoing Slim's thought, as he snuck a sideways look at him.

Slim was resolutely keeping his attention on his glass of beer, with an intensity which the quality certainly did not merit. Nonetheless, he was aware of the flicker of activity reflected in the mirror behind the bar. Jess was sitting facing the bar and Slim could see the movement of his hands on the cards, lean, hard fingers, exercising a fluid, confident control, somehow at odds with their square, blunt tips, which argued a more practical type of skill. Slim saw those fingers rake in another heap of winnings. In some ways, he was glad he couldn't see the faces of the men who had thought they were on to an easy killing. All the same, he was concerned that sooner or later, if Jess kept on winning the way he was, things would turn – as Freddie had pointed out – to trouble or worse!

"You mark my words, that Harper boy's earned his livin' from gettin' into the middle of whatever trouble's shakin' its tail at him!" Freddie pronounced, with the air of one who has seen it all before. He probably had. He was probably already counting the cost of the ruckus which was likely to ensure from Jess's activities. Slim would have been, in Freddie's place, and in his mind, he didn't blame him.

His heart, though – that was another matter. In his heart, he hoped Jess was taking his fellow gamblers for every cent he could get! Slim had a strong sense of fair play and, to his mind, deliberately trying to clean out a younger man – and a stranger too – did not qualify. He wondered what he should do if it did come to a fight. He would not think of failing to back Jess up – the man worked for him and anyone who worked at the relay station had Slim's undivided support and loyalty. No – it was more a question of whether Jess would appreciate his help. Slim knew to his cost exactly how hard a punch that young man could pack and was under no illusions about the number of fights he'd been in – doubtless many more than Slim had hitched up stage teams! And he obviously won most of the time, since he was still alive and likely to kick the hell out of anyone who tried to rough him up. Slim grinned as he remembered Jess encouraging him to give Bud Carlin the pasting he deserved. They'd been of one mind then, but it was problematic how far he should risk interfering tonight.

He was suddenly aware that the reflection in the mirror had altered and the action had halted. Jess was pushing his hat back and staring, apparently in wide-eyed amazement, at the pile of money in front of him. It was at this point Slim learnt something useful about Jess Harper – he could feign innocence with complete ease and success. By the look on his face, you would have thought he'd never been in a poker game in his life before.

Sure enough, a naïve grin plastered itself across Jess's face as he scooped up the money. But he rifled and flicked the bills into a professional stack before thrusting them into his wallet and depositing the loose change in the pocket of his battered vest. Slim heard the low rumble of his voice, sounding ever so slightly apologetic, as he told his fellow players: "Guess that's enough for a newcomer like me tonight, boys. Better to quit while y're ahead, ain't that right?"

Jess pulled his hat back down to its usual position somewhere just above his eyebrows. His expression of gullible innocence did not change one iota. He pushed his chair neatly under the table, picked up his empty beer glass and strolled across to join Slim at the bar.

Slim was having problems keeping a straight face. Freddie was muttering into his glass cloth: "Maybe not tonight, but trouble sometime for sure!"

Jess leaned companionably next to Slim and shot him a sideways glance. His expression was relaxed but serious, although Slim was willing to bet he was struggling hard not to allow a grin to match the mischief sparkling in his eyes.

"Guess I can afford t' buy you a drink now?" Jess said thoughtfully. Slim had bought the first round. "Whiskey?"

"Yeah. Whiskey. After that little exhibition, I think I need a whiskey!" Slim told him.

Freddie silently placed two glasses in front of them. He poured the whiskey. Jess knocked back his in one. A second later, Slim did the same. Jess reached out and grasped the bottle. "Leave it!" he advised the bemused bar-tender, as he tossed a bill on to the counter. "And keep the change."

Freddie glared at him, but could not bring himself to refuse good money, since this was a considerable over-payment and might compensate somewhat for the damage he was expecting.

Jess looked sideways at Slim again and tilted the bottle suggestively. Slim thought for a moment. There was no sense in them getting drunk, since it was liable to lead - dare he say it - to trouble. On the other hand, it was good to savour the fruits of Jess's victory!

"Just one."

"Yeah. No sense in startin' tomorrow's work with a thick head." Jess poured them each another glass. He hefted the bottle in his hand for a moment, then a very slight grin twitched his lips. He strolled back over the poker table and deposited the bottle in the middle. "Seems I can't take my liquor either, so maybe you boys'd like t' finish this for me?"

This carefully insulting generosity caused a ripple round the table, which almost immediately stilled. Slim was standing close behind Jess. "Ready to ride?" he asked his employee.

"Yeah." Jess looked over his shoulder at him and added, "No sense in gettin' into trouble with y' boss!"

"Come on!" Slim led the way out of the saloon, still determinedly straight-faced. They got to the Livery Stable before they dared look at each other and give way to the chuckles that were shaking them both. They hadn't been looking for trouble and, thankfully, it seemed to have missed them, this time at least.

2

"Jest lookin' for trouble!"

Mose glowered down from the driving seat of the stage and wagged an accusing finger at the relay station's new employee.

Jess just grinned and led the team away to the barn. He enjoyed standing right in the path of an incoming coach, challenging the skills of the driver to pull up as close to him as possible. It added some excitement to the generally routine activities of the relay station.

Slim sighed. He really didn't need the stage-crew taking against his latest ranch-hand. Jess was far too good with horses, a skill which had considerable value in the daily working of the relay station. Right now he was gentling the restless team who had just been unhitched, uttering a soothing subterranean rumble of calming nonsense as he led them out of the way so that Andy could bring in the first couple of replacements. The two of them worked well together, both having an affinity with the animals which was sometimes uncanny. Andy was laughing as he came, the result of a quick comment Jess had made as they passed. Slim hadn't seen him so relaxed and happy for a long time – and willing to work.

Jess stabled the weary, sweating team where water was waiting for them, leaving rubbing down and feeding them for the moment. He re-appeared with a bucket of axle grease and a brush, having spotted that both off-side wheels could do with attention. Slim noted this with approval as he escorted the passengers inside: Jess was observant and didn't wait to be told what to do, which was only to be expected when he had stated flatly that he liked being his own boss.

Slim, with Mose ambling beside him, had barely reached the porch when the sudden scream of a horse in pain split the air. Turning, he saw with horror the lead horse, which Andy had been hitching up, rearing wildly above his head. Almost in the same instant, Jess dived across the intervening space, threw Andy out of the way and leaped to catch the leader's bridle.

"Easy, now, easy, fella!" Jess was hauling the horse's head down with one hand, gentling the quivering neck and ears with the other. "Steady there, now, boy, easy..." It was the same rumbling growl which the horses had become accustomed to when Jess was caring for them. The horse snorted and shuddered, rubbing its head trustfully against Jess's shoulder.

Slim reached Andy and extended a hand to help him to his feet. "You ok?" He was mindful that Andy would not appreciate being treated like a kid, especially in front of Jess, not to mention the startled passengers.

"Yeah, thanks to Jess!" Andy's eyes were shining with hero-worship. Slim sighed inwardly; it was hard when your kid brother decided someone else was the good guy. But he also acknowledged that he was right: not only had serious injury to Andy been prevented, but also potential disaster if the frightened team took off without a driver. The fact that Slim would have done exactly the same himself did not affect his generous appreciation of Jess's lightning response.

Mose pounded past them and skidded to a halt beside Jess. The old driver knew and loved each individual team horse, relying as he did on their unstinting effort and reliability. "What's up?" he demanded. "Ain't never seen him actin' like this before."

"Somethin' must've set him off,' Jess agreed. He was examining the horse carefully, running his hands gently over the smooth hide until he found a tender patch close above the powerful shoulder. "See here."

Mose nodded. "Hornet sting, d'y think?"

"Looks like it," Jess agreed. "I'll get y' the reserve out, if y' can give me a minute? Pullin' in harness ain't gonna do this old boy any good right now."

Mose nodded in approval, appreciating the care of his precious team. "I can take an extra coffee on board."

"Do that!" Jess smiled. He looked over his shoulder and asked: "You ok to give me a hand, Andy?"

"Sure can, Jess!" Andy responded eagerly. Slim and Mose watched as the pair unhitched the injured horse and led it away. As they did so, they heard Jess saying, "Sorry for throwin' you around like that, partner. I'll try t' remember to ask first next time!"

Mose grinned as he and Slim made their way towards the house once more. "Guess y' made a lucky choice, didn't y', Slim? If there's gonna be trouble, y' can depend upon it, that young man ain't gonna let y' down!"

3

"That young man is nothing but trouble, my dear, you may depend upon it!"

It was Sunday. Sunday morning on the church porch and no-one entering escaped Mrs Mulholland's fearsome scrutiny.

Slim cursed silently in a manner quite inappropriate to his currently blameless intention of participating in the morning service. He had had no idea Jonesy's insistence that they all attend the monthly visit of the circuit preacher would land him this kind of situation. It was all very well taking down opportunist gamblers and dicing with death to gain the respect of the stage teams, but there was not a lot you could do to combat the prejudices of a bunch of puritanical ladies. Or so he thought at the time.

"Loose living, you mark my words!" the leading lady of the Laramie congregation continued with satisfaction. She was the wife of the bank manager and consequently believed she knew everyone's business better than they did.

"Surely not?" Miss Price ventured hesitantly. "Mr Sherman is from a most respectable family. Surely he wouldn't -"

She was cut short as Mrs Mulholland bent towards her little group of cronies and hissed: "Involved with dissolute women! A married woman too, so I heard!"

Slim braced himself to face her down and felt Jonesy at his side equally bristling in defence against this gossip. Jess had been reluctant enough to come with them in the first place, not least because he had nothing to wear which remotely resembled 'Sunday best'. Andy had been instrumental in persuading him it didn't matter - what mattered was that he belonged to the Sherman relay station now and God wouldn't care what he looked like anyway. Jess had responded laughingly that he had no problem with God, but he didn't want to let the Sherman reputation down. Slim had blessed him for saying so, but now it appeared the ladies of the church wanted to imply he did exactly that. Slim was thankful Jess had taken the buckboard down to the Livery stables.

His thankfulness didn't last long. He and Jonesy made a pretty effective barrier between the ladies and the street. The first any of them knew about impending trouble was when Jess stepped round Slim to stand square in the face of this female opposition.

He removed his hat, giving the ladies a polite but curt bow before he turned to Slim. "Guess I'll head down to the barber's shop and see if I can take that bath I need."

Slim suppressed with difficulty an urge to strangle somebody - probably somebody female. Instead he said quietly, "It's Sunday, he's shut."

"That so?" Once again Jess gave the impression of total innocence. Then he looked Mrs Mulholland straight in the eye. "In that case, I'd better come in to the only other place where washing people clean is a main part of the business."

Mrs Mulholland drew herself up to her full and impressive height, gasped in a sharp breath which set all the chains on her ample bosom clanking and lifted the lorgnette she affected to her eyes. She looked Jess up and down for a full minute. He returned the look politely, impassively. If it was a game of 'chicken', Mrs Mulholland was the first to flinch. She turned away into the church with a snort, aiming a final shot over her shoulder as she did so: "Probably a Catholic to boot!"

Not all her accustomed entourage followed her immediately, however. It was then that Slim learnt something else about Jess Harper: he had a quite unexpected effect on most ladies of a certain age. Maybe they had not forgotten the allure of a mystery or maybe they felt he had been unjustly insulted or maybe they just thought he needed mothering? Probably the latter, Slim reflected, as they politely turned down three offers of Sunday dinner and even the use of someone's bath. Favouring one of them over the others was bound to lead to trouble and female trouble was a whole lot worse than an Indian raid!

They escaped thankfully into the church. It seemed an impossibly ironic coincidence that they were about to sing:

'God is our refuge and our strength,

our ever present aid,

and, therefore, though the earth remove,

we will not be afraid.'

And to listen to a sermon which took for its text Psalm 32, verse 7: 'Thou art my hiding place; thou shalt preserve me from trouble.'

4

That young man's bin makin' a friend o' trouble- or makin' trouble with his friends! Jonesy thought grimly as Andy bolted off the evening stage, which had brought him from school in Laramie, and disappeared into the barn like one seeking a hiding place.

"Been throwin' punches with Ted Jarvis's eldest boy," Frank, the driver, confided with a grin. He was a native of Laramie and had known Slim and Andy all his life. "Ain't nothin' much. Y'know – kids' stuff!"

Kids' stuff! Jonesy scowled. There was no escaping it - Andy was getting too big in mind and body for what the little school in Laramie had to offer. Not mention too big for his boots sometimes! Jonesy's scowl deepened as he considered Slim's probable reaction to Andy getting into a fight. Then he sighed: Now there was Jess Harper's opinion to take into account as well and it seemed like easy money to bet that he wouldn't agree with Slim on the subject!

Andy fled into the barn with one objective: to get to his refuge in the hayloft where he could have some privacy to wrestle with the storm of emotions surging through him. It was a considerable shock when he ran slap into a hard wall of solid muscle. Jess was on the way out to see if Frank wanted any of the team changed.

"Whoa, part'ner!" Jess's firm hands gripped Andy's shoulders, steadying and supporting him. There was a split-second when Andy might have shaken him off, such was the turmoil in his soul, but Jess just said perceptively: "You need some space?" He turned Andy towards the ladder up to the hay-loft and gave him a boost up the first few rungs. "Take y' time. I'll deal with the stage."

Andy scrambled up the ladder and flung himself into a corner of the hay-loft, panting and struggling against an urge to let tears of anger and frustration burst from him. He lay on his face in the sweet-scented hay and prayed that he would be able to bring himself to some sort of composure before he had to face his brother and account for his actions. He was not ashamed of what he had done, but he knew, as a Sherman, he was expected to handle trouble without resorting to a bout of fisticuffs.

Presently there was the soft sound of someone quietly climbing the ladder. Andy tensed, hunching into the hay in an instinctive desire to hide himself under it. He had a sense of movement, as if someone had folded down close to him. A hand touched his shoulder, gently but with a strong, firm warmth.

"If y' need more time, I'll go away," Jess told him softly.

Andy shook his head. The hand on his shoulder was reassuring. " 'S'ok." His voice hitched on a sob and Jess's fingers tightened their grip.

"Figured you might need a drop of water?"

Andy heard the slosh of liquid in a canteen and suddenly realised his throat was so tight that he would have croaked if he tried to speak. He rolled over and clutched at the proffered refreshment. He hitched himself up into sitting position and drank deeply, his face still screwed up in misery and his eyes half-shut.

The canteen was gently withdrawn and something soft and wet pushed into his hand. Jess murmured, "Wipe y' face. It'll help."

Andy made use of the damp cloth and found Jess was right. The cool water seemed to ease his anguish somewhat and certainly soothed the swollen lip and bruised cheekbone he had incurred. He was able to draw in a shuddering breath as he finally opened his eyes – or at any rate, the one eye which wasn't showing the effect of the fight.

Jess was sitting on a nearby hay-bale, dangling the canteen between his hands. He looked absolutely normal, as if getting into fights was an everyday occurrence of no particular importance. As if it was something that a man ought to take as part of his natural experience. There was no rebuke or retribution in his gaze, only an acceptance of what Andy had done and, it seemed, a willingness to allow his reasons for doing it. Presently, he said softly: "You learnt anythin' from this?"

"Yeah!" Andy realised with a shock that he had. "I guess I know hitting someone doesn't always change things."

"Makes y' feel a helluva lot better sometimes, though," Jess told him with a grin.

"At the time," Andy agreed, but, with growing insight, he added: "But only if you can live with your conscience about why you did it."

"As long as it is your conscience," Jess agreed. "You have to decide. Not your brother or me or Jonesy or your teachers – or whoever! You need to know why you acted how you did and be as near one hundred percent sure that you did the right thing as you can." He looked closely at Andy and asked: "Y' wanna talk about it?"

"Yeah …" Andy heaved a sigh. "I think I did right, but – one hundred percent … I'm not sure!"

"Good!" Jess told him unexpectedly. "It's when people are so one hundred percent sure they're right and everyone else is wrong, that things really take a turn for the worst. A man has to judge if he did the best he could, accordin' to the circumstances and his principles. But if a man's thinkin' right, he won't ever be so all-fire stubborn certain that he is absolutely right. Part of growin' up is learnin' how t' live with that."

"Slim won't think I'm right!" Andy gulped as he went straight to the heart of his feelings.

"Slim's not stupid," Jess told him firmly. "He'll understand why things worked out the way they did, if y' tell him how it was – just simple-like an' not tryin' to make a big issue out of it. You understand?"

Andy gulped again and nodded.

"You wanna try it on me, for practice?" Jess asked.

Andy was not sure. The provocation for the fight had hurtful implications for all three of them. Now, as if for the first time, Andy was looking at Jess. He saw not just the exciting and friendly stranger with whom he felt such a kindred spirit. He saw someone who suddenly did not seem to be so very much older than he was. Someone whose life had carried many incidents like the one Andy had just had to deal with. Someone who had had to make hard decisions and face them on his own. Andy realised, with a sudden rush of emotion, how lucky he was to have Slim's love and support and wisdom, however much it might irk him and restrict his freedom at times. He knew without a doubt that Slim would never let him down – and neither would Jess. He heaved a big sigh and let this knowledge help him come to terms with what had happened.

"Johnny Jarvis said you were a thieving, lying saddle-tramp, just waiting for the first chance to make trouble and cheat us all!" he said simply. "He said that Slim was a fool to take you on – and then …" – a sob choked in his throat – "Then he called Slim a bad name!"

"An' you hit him?" Jess sounded perfectly calm about this.

"Yeah. I ain't gonna let anyone say things like that about Slim or you!"

"An' then he hit you?"

"Yeah!"

"An' the next thing y' knew, you were in a fight?"

Andy nodded dumbly.

Jess considered for a moment, after which he grinned and asked: "D'y whip him?"

"Not sure," Andy admitted honestly. He sniffed and rubbed his sleeve across his face. Jess offered him the damp cloth again and Andy took it and blew his nose vigorously. They sat silently. After a while, Jess asked: "What's troublin' you still?"

Andy thought hard, his face screwing up with the effort. "Don't think I changed anything."

"By havin' the fight?" When Andy nodded, Jess continued, "What did y' wanna change?"

Andy stared at him. "What he said! What he said about you and Slim!"

"Does sayin' make it true?"

"Of course not! But he shouldn't have said it!"

"People say lots of stuff," Jess pointed out. "But sayin' opposite or even hittin' them, don't always change their opinion."

Andy stared at him. He was a good intuitive judge of people and he was pretty sure that Jess's usual response was to hit first and argue about principles a long way after. What was he getting at now?

"You ain't gonna find everyone's got a good opinion about me, Andy, an' there's been more 'n one time when what he said was precious near the truth," Jess told him softly. "Slim took a chance on me. He's big enough to carry what happens because o' that. But I'm sorry you got hurt."

Andy glared at him. "I'd do it again!" he said fiercely.

"Sure y' would, partn'er. But y' need to know that sometimes not bein' able to change things hurts more'n the fight."

"I will change what they think!" All Andy's passionate loyalty surged to the fore.

"Sure y' will. But the way y'll change it most is by bein' who you are – by bein' a Sherman an' actin' according." Jess paused, watching Andy's expression closely. "D'you believe what the Jarvis kid said?"

Andy shook his head angrily.

"Live what y' believe," Jess told him simply. "That's what Slim does."

Andy nodded slowly. There was quiet between them again.

In the shadow of the loft hatch, Slim found he was gripping the rungs of the ladder so hard that it hurt. Jonesy had sent him to find Andy, with a warning to go gently on the boy. Instead he leaned his head against the rough wood, a sudden fierce emotion shaking him. He was amazed and touched by what Jess had said, because he seemed to understand Slim's own feelings and to put them in a way Andy could accept. Totally unexpectedly, he had been a rock of wisdom and a refuge for Andy in his trouble.

5

"Can I be a trouble to you, ma'am?"

Miss Eleanor Jackson looked up from her sewing. After a brief survey of the young man standing in her doorway, the old lady pushed her needle into the pincushion and prepared to give him her full attention. For one thing, he did not look like a young man who generally spent much thought on his clothes. His shirt had a triangular rent in one sleeve and it looked as if whatever had made it had also caught his skin and drawn blood. His pants had seen much hard wear and the only thing in their favour was that they certainly fitted extremely well. His boots were high quality but again had been hard-worn until they seemed to have grown on his feet and the black hat he had politely taken off was seriously in need of a good brush down. What he could possibly want with a dressmaker she could not imagine. But she was prepared to be entertained, even if he had got completely the wrong shop.

He held out the leather jacket which he had in one hand. "Managed to rip the sleeve seam open on a nail," he explained ruefully. "Jonesy said you had a machine might make a better fist of sewin' it up than he can?"

Ah! Jonesy. So this was Slim Sherman's new ranch-hand who was causing such a considerable amount of talk and speculation! Miss Eli adjusted her spectacles and took another good look. She could see why.

This young man handled himself with the cool confidence of one to whom danger is a familiar companion, even when he was trying to be self-effacing as he was now. He was lean and hard and yet there was a supple grace about the way he leaned against the door-post, waiting for her response. He was smiling down at her and she caught a mischievous twinkle in the bright blue eyes beneath a thatch of dark hair which looked as if it could do with a good cut. He was nothing like as handsome as the eligible Mr Sherman, who, Miss Eli knew full well, was the cause of more than one broken heart - after all, she was the dressmaker, adopted aunt and trusted confidant of half the girls in Laramie. All the same, this young man had the kind of untamed good-looks which were exceeding attractive.

Talk about putting a wild cat amongst the pigeons! Miss Eli said to herself. Out loud, she inquired: "And who might you be?"

"Jess Harper, ma'am. If you're Miss Johnson, I'm mighty pleased to make your acquaintance." The smile and the twinkle had broadened, as if he knew perfectly well what she had been thinking.

"I'm Miss Eli to the whole town, Mr Harper. Best you call me so, like everyone else."

"Thank you, ma'am, that'd be an honour. I'm Jess to my friends, if y'll count me as one?"

Miss Eli inclined her head and held out her hand for the jacket. He took a couple of steps further into the shop, giving the impression that something wild, and fortunately merely feeling curious, had just prowled in. The jacket was also good quality and as well-worn as all his other gear. She could see why he would want it mended if possible.

After a moment or two's consideration, she told him: "I can do this - but on one condition."

His eyebrows shot up and his eyes widened, but he just tilted his head, prepared to listen. Miss Eli stood up. "Come with me!" She hobbled her way slowly into the little kitchen at the back of the shop.

"Yes, ma'am, Miss Eli." He followed her dutifully.

"Take your shirt off!" she ordered.

Whatever he had been expecting, it was certainly not this and, as she saw with amusement, a flicker of shock passed across his face. Then he grinned, raising a hand to the tear in his shirt.

"Yes indeed," Miss Eli smiled back. "You can get a nasty infection from a rusty nail. I'm surprised Jonesy didn't doctor you himself."

"Ain't nothin', ma'am. I didn't let Jonesy see. Besides, Slim Sherman only has clean nails!"

She suppressed a giggle at this. "It's Miss Eli, Jess - and no sewing without iodine!'

Jess Harper knew when he had met his match. He stifled a groan and pulled his shirt obediently over his head. Miss Eli made quick work of cleaning and treating the ragged tear in the corded muscle of his upper arm. As he was getting back into his shirt, she said briskly: "The jacket repair will take a couple of hours. You got things to do in town, Jess?"

"Yeah. Gotta pick up supplies from the store and check out the mail for Slim."

"Guess you could probably use a cool beer too!" She patted him on the shoulder and gave him an encouraging push in the direction of the door. "See you later."

"Yes, Miss Eli!" There was a flash of a smile and he was gone in the twinkle of his own eyes. Miss Eli sighed nostalgically and went over to her sewing machine.

Jess strolled along the main street of Laramie, which was, to all intents and purposes, almost its only street. He walked with the air of a man who has no particular objective and all the time on the world. In fact, he was taking careful note of the layout of the main buildings, the alleys, the principle businesses and where folks left their wagons, mentally assessing likely places for ambush and the location of the best cover. Jess walked down the street and no-one watching the light-footed gunman's stalk should have been in any doubt that trying to interfere with him would be a seriously bad idea. Fortunately no-one did, although interested stares from a number of local inhabitants followed his progress. Looking out of his office window, Sheriff Mort Cory's casual glance became an intent perusal as he gauged the possibilities in the district's latest resident.

In a few minutes Jess arrived without incident at the General Store. Ezra Watkins looked up sharply as the lean shadow crossed his threshold. His instinct was to reach for the gun he kept under the counter, but, taking a second look at the way this man wore his own, he decided it would be a very stupid mistake indeed. He held his breath and waited.

"Mr. Watkins?"

"That's me."

"Pleased to meet y'." The young man held out his – empty of a gun – hand and after a second's shocked pause, Mr Watkins took it. Maybe this wasn't a hold-up after all?

"Slim Sherman sent me t' get some supplies on his account. The name's Harper, Jess Harper." The young man held out a piece of paper.

Taking it, Mr Watkins saw a list in familiar hand-writing. "Very well, Mr. Harper. I'll take this as Slim's authority. Give me twenty minutes to get what you need together, then you can bring the wagon round."

"Take y' time," he was told. "Gotta couple of hours to fill. How about you send over to the saloon an' let me know when y' ready?"

"Very well," Watkins said again, thawing somewhat. "Thanks. Been busy today."

The young man turned to go and, as he did so, struck his foot hard against a largish, heavy crate just inside the door. "Damn! What the hell's in there?"

"One of those new-fangle sewing machines with a foot-treadle," the store-keeper replied. "Would you believe, Mrs Dorren ordered it and then they upped and went to Canada? And left me with something I'm going to find hard to get rid of!" The store-keeper's face said it all.

"Yeah!" There was a thoughtful tone in the young man's voice, but he went on out of the stores without further comment.

Miss Eli was almost finished when Jess reappeared some two hours later. She'd found the ripped seam much more difficult than she had anticipated, but was determined not to let her new customer down. The old machine was making hard work of the leather, which was scarcely surprising when the thickest material it normally had to deal with was heavy cotton. In two strides, Jess was at her side and removing her hand from the hand-wheel.

"You should've let me turn it!" he reprimanded her. "Didn't realise it was goin' to give you so much trouble."

Miss Eli smiled as together they completed the sewing in record time. "You did ask me if you could cause trouble," she teased.

"Not that much," Jess smiled. "Y' need a rest." He tossed his jacket on to the table. Then he disappeared into the kitchen and presently came back with two cups of coffee.

"Make yourself at home!" Miss Eli told him in mock reproof, but she made no objection when he pulled up the arm-chair she kept for her customers and indicated it with a jerk of his head.

"Sit!" He handed her the coffee. "You ever stop to eat?"

"The old don't need as much to eat as the young," she responded, "but I'm willing to bet you have a very healthy appetite!"

"Eat you out of house and home," Jess grinned, "or so Jonesy says. He keeps complainin' that I ought to take my wages in food or I'll be too expensive to keep."

"I'll believe that," Miss Eli agreed. "Jonesy's a stingy old buzzard, but young men work hard and play hard and eat to fuel it. I don't doubt Slim's getting his money's worth out of you."

Jess ducked his head, almost as if he was shy. "I do my best. He's a good boss."

"He's a thoroughly good young man."

"Yeah. Didn't take me long to realise that."

"But he needs to loosen up some, play more. Think you can do something about it?"

"Sure can try, ma'am!" Jess grinned as he finished his coffee and took both cups back to the kitchen, where she heard him wash them up. When he returned, he said: "Thanks for the mendin'. How much do I owe you?"

Miss Eli was tempted to say he had already paid with his company, but she was shrewd enough to know that this was a man who always paid his debts. When the bill had been settled, Jess took her hand in his. "Thanks, Miss Eli. I'll try not to bring y' too much trouble, but if the machine needs some heavy turnin', you just let me know!" He picked up his jacket and headed for the door.

"I'll be sure to do that, Jess. But all it usually has to handle is muslin and lace."

"Not with me around!" he quipped with a cheeky grin. Then he was gone.

It was another couple of hours before Mr Watkins and his assistant appeared in her doorway, manoeuvring a big crate on a trolley. When they had unpacked and set up the new-fangled machine, the store-keeper handed her a sheet of paper. It took her some time to decipher the execrable handwriting, but when she did, it read: Please accept this, Miss Eli – you'll be doing Mr Watkins a favour and I guess whatever I do in Laramie, it'll lead to more mending trouble for you. Jess Harper.

6

"This is going to lead to trouble!" Mort Cory laid the Wanted poster on the table, a worried frown creasing his normally calm face.

An equally worried frown added more wrinkles to Jonesy's weathered countenance as he stood absently wiping his hands on the apron he had just taken off and staring in consternation at the poster. It was Jess all right: 'Five foot eleven, 175lbs, dark hair, blue eyes' - and anyway the picture was perfectly clear. 'Wanted for armed robbery'. At least it didn't say 'murder'.

"Slim know about this?" Mort asked when Jonesy made no reaction to the evidence.

Jonesy shook his head. "I dunno," he replied honestly. He had been watching with loyal concern the developing relationship between the younger men, but, of course, much of the time the two of them were out working the range and he had no idea what they talked about. He didn't think it was likely, though. They were all still feeling their way with Jess and he was not given to personal revelations, even though he was willing enough to spin a yarn or two for Andy in the evening.

"Jess plays his cards close to his chest," he admitted.

"Yeah, so I heard," Mort agreed with a grin. "You know he pretty well cleaned out Walker's poker school the other night?"

"Yeah, Slim said," Jonesy admitted before adding somewhat defiantly: "Said he stopped short of provokin' a fight too!"

"Just as well!" Mort said grimly. "Those idiots in the saloon should look at the way he wears his gun before deciding to take him on."

Jonesy nodded worriedly. None of them had seen Jess in a gunfight except Slim and he'd just been too grateful for the back-up to analyse the technique. But the well-worn gun-belt and slick gun only added to the impression Jess could be very dangerous - and so might anyone coming after him for that reward! Then there was the fact that he'd arrived at the relay station breathing vengeance on a man who'd betrayed him ... Jonesy wondered why Jess had given up the quest when he agreed to stay and how much Slim knew about the whole incident.

His worrying was interrupted by a cheerful young voice as Andy stuck his head round the front door. "Hey, Jonesy, I've finished doing the outside chores. Can I go -?"

"No y' can't!" Jonesy told him before he could get out a request to ride after Slim and Jess. "Y' know full well Slim said for y' to get on with y' schoolin'!"

"Aw, Jonesy!"

Jonesy was conscious of Mort quietly folding the incriminating poster and returning it to his pocket.

"Don't y' come that tone with me, young man!" The worry made Jonesy's voice harsher than normal.

"If I am a young man, I ought to be doing a man's work!" Andy protested crossly.

Mort and Jonesy exchanged sympathetic glances and Mort said: "You won't find them easily this long into the day, Andy."

"Will!" Andy snapped. "Jess's been teaching me to track - and he's the best!" Seeing the sheriff's sceptical expression, he went on fiercely defending his hero: "He is! He learnt from a tribe when he was a kid! And he was a scout for the army."

"And in the army he'll have learnt to follow orders," Mort pointed out sternly, although he rather thought that borderline insubordination looked more Jess's style. "So should you."

"So git t' the desk an' do as y' big brother told y'!" Jonesy added.

"I'm sick of him telling me!" Andy muttered rebelliously.

"Yeah? Well you'll find even Jess Harper takes y' brother's orders!" Jonesy told him sternly.

"Only 'cause he's paid to," Andy observed astutely, "and Slim doesn't pay me!"

"Git!" Jonesy could see argument was going to get him nowhere and was mightily relieved when Andy finally stamped over to Slim's desk and got out his books. "An' maybe it'd be an improvement if y' encouraged your pal t' get some book learnin' into that head of his too?"

As an attempt to convince Andy of the value of schooling this was a total failure. He just gave Jonesy a look of complete contempt and said coldly: "Jess knows how to stay alive without anyone playing nursemaid to him and that's worth more than any book learning."

Jonesy and Mort exchange another harassed glance. There was more than one kind of trouble in the offing! Mort picked up his hat from the table and made for the door. Jonesy would just have to cope! As the old cook followed him onto the porch he asked: "Where are they working today?"

Jonesy grinned sourly and said, "You mean y' Indian trackin' skills ain't up t' findin' them?"

Mort laughed. "If he's really that good, he'll be a useful man to have in a posse - always supposing the one following this doesn't catch up with him!" He patted his shirt pocket meaningfully.

Jonesy shook his head. He hadn't been around Jess that long but something didn't ring true. "Can't see him robbin' anyone deliberate-like," he told Mort thoughtfully.

"No?"

"No. Hell, he didn't even keep them poker winnings. Gave half of it t' some other drifter, down on his luck, bought Miz Elli a new sewing machine 'cause the old one made such hard work o' mendin' a tear in his jacket and handed over the rest to Slim t' go towards buyin' Andy a good surprise present for his birthday. Oh, an' I think he bought a shirt an' some new socks!"

The comment about Andy's birthday brought a real smile to Mort's face. "So where do I find these two secret benefactors?" he asked again.

Jonesy told him.

Mort rode along slowly and quietly, as befitted both his mood and the noon heat. It would be as well to come up with the two of them taking their mid-day rest, when things were likely be more relaxed. He did not expect Jess to react well to the poster and if that young man hadn't got a hair- trigger temper to match his gun, Mort was no judge of men. Better to catch him in a reasonably good mood to start with.

This plan was doomed to failure.

He arrived eventually at the section of fencing on the southern border of the ranch which was being renewed. He knew Slim would be very glad to have another pair of hands to work with him on this tedious and laborious task; Andy was not strong enough yet and Slim tried conscientiously to avoid over-burdening him with ranch work. But Mort wondered how a Texan would feel about fencing the range.

The strong midday sun was mercifully hidden momentarily by the clouds as Mort found the shady place on the banks of a small stream where they had left their horses. It was a secluded spot, a long way from any trails or the likelihood of chance encounters which might prove unpleasant. Both horses had been unsaddled and Alamo was lightly hitched to one of the branches. Jess's bay was minus his bridle as well and was drinking at a small pool in the stream as Mort rode up. The horse lifted its head and seemed to be giving the newcomers the same sort of assessment that his owner might have. But Alamo knew Mort and his mount and gave a soft whicker of recognition. At this, the bay decided they were harmless and moved over to join the chestnut, standing head to tail with his companion to keep the flies off. Mort just hoped their riders, who were obviously still working on the steep bank above, were getting on as well. That hope lasted all of ten seconds.

At the top of the bank, Slim caught the end of the next piece of wire which Jess was stretching for him, grabbed his hammer and snapped rather irritably: "Pass me another couple of nails - and get a move on, will you!" The work had not gone smoothly and he had wanted to finish this section before noon.

"How the hell can I reach the nails an' pull this wire for y' at the same time?" Jess demanded equally irritably.

"You should've moved them first," Slim retorted.

"You want 'em, you move 'em!"

"I'm paying you to move them!"

"Oh yeah! I forgot that." Jess let go abruptly and the wire, evidently possessed by the same devil as Jess, whipped out of Slim's hand and sprang back into a tight coil. Jess stamped over to the previous fence-post, grabbed the tin of nails and dumped it at Slim's feet. "Your nails!"

"Thanks!" Slim mumbled, sucking the burn on his finger which the wire had made.

Jess glared down at him without apologizing for what was an avoidable accident. Instead he said rashly: "We could use Andy on these tricky sections. It'd save time and he'd feel he was doin' some real work around the place for once!"

Slim scowled up at him. "Andy's got his schooling to attend to. He's going to amount to more than just a ranch-hand!" The words were no sooner out of his mouth than he wished them back, realising how insulting they sounded.

Fortunately Jess was thinking about Andy, not himself, for he just continued: "He's gonna end up part owner of a ranch he ain't got the skills to run. Even if it mostly damn fencing!"

Slim leapt to his feet. "I'm running the ranch and I'll decide what's best for Andy! So you can quit swearing around him for one thing. Now let's finish what we started."

He was thinking of the fencing and Jess's response took him by surprise. His head and his fists went up and he snarled: "I'm willin' to pick up right where Carlin interrupted us!"

"You sure are asking for this!" Slim's frustration with the progress of the work and anxiety about the viability of the ranch and jealousy stirred by Andy's obvious admiration for Jess and irritation at Jess's opposition to his authority all came to the boil suddenly. The challenge in Jess's stance was the final straw and he swung a hard blow at his goading employee.

It was then he learned what a sneaky, unscrupulous fighter Jess Harper could be. Instead of parrying the blow or ducking, Jess grabbed his arm and pulled him off-balance, at the same time hooking a leg behind Slim's knee. Slim lunged out wildly, catching Jess in a grapple round the waist. The result was that they both fell into the brush below with a resounding crash and rolled rapidly streamwards.

At the bottom of the slope, Mort had tethered his horse and was sitting quietly in the shade, considering the outcome of this bickering. So Jess took Slim's orders? It certainly didn't sound like it!

Thrashing and heaving and trading wild blows, the combatants rolled down the slope with increasing speed. Inevitably, they ended up in the pool. Slim grabbed Jess by the hair and ducked him smartly. Jess retaliated by heaving Slim off and sending him flying backwards.

The water was only a couple of feet deep but the shock was sufficient to cool their tempers somewhat. Gasping and sputtering they both surfaced at the same time. Jess spat out a mouthful of water-weed and grinned at Slim. "Ain't no call t' wash my mouth out! I take y' point."

Slim sat up and pushed his dripping hair out of his eyes. "Thanks for missing my nose again!" he grinned back. He struggled to his feet, sloshed over to the bank and, when he was once more on dry land, extended his right hand to Jess.

Without hesitation, Jess took it and allowed himself to be pulled out of the water. Slim did not let go his hold. He looked Jess straight in the eyes and said quietly, "Andy's my brother. I love him and, while I'm responsible for him, it's my job to make the rules."

Jess looked right back and nodded in acknowledgement and said equally quietly: "Andy's my friend. While he needs someone to back-up his side of it, I'll speak my mind!"

Slim nodded his own acknowledgement and Mort saw, for a brief moment, the hand-clasp tighten between them. Then Slim slapped Jess on the back and Jess ducked his head in a disarming gesture of effacement.

"I'll get the guns." Without more ado, Jess scrambled back up the bank to where they had evidently deposited their weapons and their shirts while they were working. This was probably a good thing: firearms do not mix well with spontaneous swimming.

If Mort had hoped his observation of the dispute and its resolution had remained unnoticed, he was again to be disappointed. Slim watched Jess disappear up the bank before turning slowly and saying, "This is a long way to come in search of a picnic, Mort?"

Before Mort could answer, Jess slithered back down the bank. The sheriff noted automatically that, despite his soaking wet pants, he was wearing his gun-belt. He decided it would be as well to lighten the atmosphere a little.

"Shame on you, boys! Letting an old man like me sneak up on you!"

It had the opposite effect. Jess's chin went up and his eyes narrowed. " You arrived less than ten minutes ago, just when that last bank of cloud went over. Traveller'd let me know if y'd been a stranger, but I guess Alamo knows y', so Trav reckoned you were ok."

"Really?" Mort sounded just a little sceptical, even though he had seen the horse's vigilance.

"Try sneakin' up on us when Alamo ain't there and y'll find out!" Jess warned him.

"Coffee?" Slim suggested diplomatically. He had already worked out that this was usually the best way to get Jess into a more relaxed mood.

"Thanks." Mort figured nothing much would soften the news he brought, but every little helped.

When they were all comfortably full of food and coffee - Jonesy having soon worked out that you needed to provide plenty extra when you were feeding Jess - they sprawled in the deep shade of the over-hanging trees. Jess rolled and lit a cigarette. Slim returned to his original question: "Ok, Mort, you got your picnic! I don't believe the saloon's run out of food yet. Now tell us what really brought you out here?"

Mort made no direct answer, just fished the poster out of his pocket. "I wanted you both to see this." He did not add before someone else does.

"Together!" It was less of a question than a statement from Slim. He did not look at the paper, but got up and moved over to join Jess, who had also risen to his feet.

Mort found that, for some unaccountable reason, he was holding his breath.

The two young men looked down at the Wanted poster together.

Jess's expression did not change, but, as Slim looked down at his impassive face, he found that he was remembering the first day they had ridden back to the relay station together. He remembered Jess's expression when Andy had come bounding out of the house, proclaiming joyfully: "It's Slim and Jess is with him!"

Now he simply said: "If trouble comes, I'm with you all the way. This makes no difference."

Jess's eyes widened and he became utterly still for a moment. Then he ducked his head as if to conceal his emotions. When he looked up again, he met Slim's eyes with a heart-wrenching, crooked half-smile. "Good to know!" He sounded even huskier than usual. He thought for a moment, before he went on: "You can take care of yourself, but there's Jonesy and Andy -" His voice faltered for a moment at the thought of harm coming to Andy. "It ain't fair to risk them!"

Slim thought of the way Jess had taken off to help him at Baxter's Ridge without letting Andy get involved. "I trust you to take care of them," he told him firmly. "Where would they find better protection?"

Jess smiled that half-smile again. But he was shrewd and experienced. "Ain't no tellin' who'll come after this," he pointed out, as he flicked a finger against the poster.

"We'll deal with that when it happens," Mort assured him firmly. His own wide experience told him that here was a youngster who had been let down, put down and sometimes done down more than was needful in his short life. He had felt how much the word 'trust' from Slim had meant to Jess. He went on: "The only reason I brought this out to show the pair of you is that I want to be able to stop any locals getting stupid ideas and their heads blown off!"

Slim looked at him in surprise. Mort did not know Jess and, although he was an excellent judge of character, he must also be relying on Slim's greater acquaintance and his opinion.

Jess laughed. "I'll try t' avoid addin' to y' cemetery, Sheriff! This may help." He turned and stooped to pick up his vest, reaching into the pocket to extract his wallet. "Good job it didn't go into the water! But I guess I'll be needin' t' get another copy soon!" He handed Mort a battered and much folded piece of paper.

Mort scanned it swiftly. It was a court declaration, exonerating Jess from any crime and acknowledging that the Wanted poster had been issued in error. He heaved a sigh of relief. He felt a father's responsibility towards Slim and was mightily glad this latest threat to the security of the relay station and its family appeared to have been averted.

He got to his feet and strolled over to unhitch his horse. "I'll see if I can get you a new copy, Jess. Meanwhile, boys, do me a favour and stay out of trouble, will you!"