Blood is Thicker Chapter 1, a laramie fanfic

Blood is Thicker by Jan Graham/ Lila Leigh

The last of the early calves had been dropped while the herd was in winter pasture. For over three weeks, spring had erased winter's chill and new growth made the Sherman ranchers long for the greener grass on the other side of the pasture fence.

Only yesterday, Slim decided the calendar and the stretch of good weather would allow their cattle to be driven to summer graze. The two young men raced each other, full of high spirits and tired of the confines of winter quarters themselves, whooping with sheer exuberance. They exchanged face-splitting grins, shook out their lariats and hazed the livestock through an open gate into the upper meadows.

Their mounts were just as happy to stretch their legs and celebrated with little crow hops, tossing their heads and chomping on bits. The boys had let them run until the herd was in sight. Alamo and Traveller were in fine fettle. As Slim said, "They could turn on a dime and give you some change". The cowponies braced their forelegs, staring down any belligerent steer or new mama who dared to challenge the path their riders demanded.

"That went fast, Slim. Them ornery critters were as anxious to get to this sweet new graze as we are to plunk 'em up here where we don't have to haul hay and wipe their tails for 'em ever' day."

Laughing at his best friend's wry observations, Slim Sherman agreed, "Yeah, they'll fatten up fine on this lush grass."

"Most of the snow has melted off, only the deep drifts and shady pockets are left. And some a that will still be here at the end of June." Jess braced one hand on his mount's rump as he slouched in the saddle, gazing toward higher ground, "Back in Texas, my Pa always said when the snow took on that blue tint it was hangin' around for more to join it. He'd get to frettin' when it wasn't all gone by the first of May."

"Well, up here in God's country, that piddlin' little bit of snow will help feed the creeks clear through August." Slim pushed his hat to the back of his head and gazed around at the rich Wyoming land his father had homesteaded, "We should get a fine return when we cull the herd for the drive this fall," he noted with satisfaction.

"Did you fill in the tally book, Jess?"

"Yeah, Boss. I ain't no tenderfoot," Jess bristled, "Been rustlin' beeves since before you was born."

"Rustlin' makes a poor choice of words where cattle are concerned, Hotshot! Good thing I know you're horsin' around or I might have to haul you in before Mort Cory."

"Now you're talkin', Slim, we can get to gentlin' some mustangs for the cavalry instead of babysittin' all them calves," Jess chuckled.

Slim grinned at his partner as he spun Alamo and gathered himself, "And I'll thank you to remember you're the baby of this outfit." He put spurs to his mount and called back over his shoulder, "Race you to the lake! Last one home has to bring in the stove kindlin'!"

Since the beeves were squared away by late the previous afternoon, Slim had taken this morning to work on stage line books and ranch accounts.

After changing teams for the noon stage, he rode out to clear brush damming the creek between their range and Ben Parkison's spread.

Shortly after breakfast, Jess had left for Laramie to buy fencing supplies and to fill Daisy's shopping list. His plan was to pick Mike up from school and let the youngster practice driving the wagon home. Right after he himself practiced asking Miss Malone, the current school marm, to the first social of the season.

On his way into Laramie, Jess spent some time perfecting his invite on the placid draft team. Robin and Clem would flick an ear or shake their heads when Jess asked what they thought, but Robin's eye roll was enough to convince him he needed to sound more sincere. Finally satisfied he had every word just so, Jess chirped to the horses and shook the reins over their backs to hurry them along.

The warm weather had brightened all their spirits and Daisy welcomed the chance to air smoke-stained curtains and sheets. Plotting her next scrubbing foray, she pondered how much she could persuade Slim and Jess to help before bedtime.

Mid-afternoon, with little warning and a banshee howl, a late spring storm came roaring out of the northwest. Daisy had been taking her wash off the line, appreciative for once of the constant breeze which had rapidly dried her clean linens. Fast moving gray-bellied clouds blotted out the warming rays of the sun and fat raindrops sprinkled her load of ironing without aid from her own experienced hand. Tucking the basket of laundry under her arm, she hurried into the house before the first scattered drops turned into more than a gentle April shower.

SR Chapter 2

Mike was proud of being allowed to guide the team while Jess relaxed. He grinned when Jess responded with a grunt or occasional "uh-huh", his hat tilted down over his eyes. Jess was only half paying attention to Mike's mile-a-minute chatter, his mind lingering on Miss Katie Malone's intoxicating smile and her shy agreement to go with him to Saturday night's dance.

Rain caught up with them about halfway between Laramie and the ranch, both laughing as the warm drops slicked Mike's bangs to his head and dampened their clothes, but not their spirits. The temperature began to drop, the mild shower and light breeze becoming a furious squall. Jess took the reins, Mike tucked in tight beside him, only his eyes peeping out between the toggles on Jess's yellow slicker. Clem and Robin responded quickly to Jess's urging, anxious to be out of the driving rain and secure in a dry stall.

Slim greeted them, likewise clad in bright yellow rain gear, his hat sluicing water down his back. He waved Jess into the barn, swinging the doors closed behind them. They all laughed at the picture they made, bedraggled and dripping puddles into the straw and dust of the aisle between the big box stalls.

"Boy, that storm sure blew up in a hurry!" Slim exclaimed, "Lucky thing you had your slicker along, Jess, or Mike might've melted plum away."

"Aww, Slim, quit your teasin'. I can't help it if Aunt Daisy thinks I'm still some little kid," Mike complained, "I drove almost all the way home. Jess only took over when the storm got so bad. I'm old enough to do a lot more important stuff than any of ya think."

Exchanging a quick wink with Slim, Jess agreed, "Yes sir, Slim, pretty soon Mike's gonna put us both out to pasture."

Mike shot back, "That's right, Jess. You and Slim can sit on the porch and jaw with each other while I do all the heavy work. I won't even have time to go to school there'll be so much I can take off your hands."

"Whoa, there, Tiger," Slim interrupted, "School comes first, like it or not. Miss Daisy will have all our heads if you go in spoutin' a notion like that."

"I won't say nothin', Slim. It'll be our secret. I'll get up ever' morning and leave like I'm goin' to school, but then circle around and do Jess's chores – and yours too - before Aunt Daisy knows anything about it."

His guardians shook their heads, but had to turn away to hide their smiles at young Mike Williams's finagling to keep from going to school. He saw book learning as only a ploy keeping him from taking care of more important matters at home. And those important matters could be anything from soaping harness and mucking out stalls to searching for a second horny toad to keep Betsy from being lonely. In Mike's eyes, most any chore, no matter how tiresome, was better than being cooped up indoors in a musty schoolroom memorizing multiplication tables and long, boring poems.

Mike kept up his campaign to become a fourth grade truant. But he agreed to drop the subject before heading inside where Daisy might overhear. They emptied the wagon, each one carrying some parcel.

Dismayed exclamations came from all three ranchers as they discovered the rain had turned to hard pellets of sleet mixed with snow while they tended to evening chores in the snug barn. They dashed to the front porch, with Mike slung over Slim's shoulder. All three peeled out of their wet boots and slickers before tramping over Daisy's freshly mopped floors.

SR Chapter 3

Supper did not have its usual quota of lively conversation and jokes as the family caught up with each other's day. The wind howling around the corners of the little cabin and snuffling under the doors made Daisy look around uneasily. A violent gust down the chimney blew ashes and sparks onto the living room floor and Jess leaped to stomp out the embers before they could blaze up. He took time to scrape the fire box and scoop all the built-up ashes into a bucket before adding two new logs to the grate and scooting them around until they caught fire.

Slim had a grim set to his jaw and he distractedly ran his hand through his straw-blonde hair. He and Jess were taking turns wearing a path to the front window.

Mike and Jess cleared the table, no one much interested in the usual second or third helpings of Daisy's fine meal. "Come on, Mike, you've been promoted to chief cook and bottle-washer," Jess said as he steered Mike toward the kitchen.

"Well! I like that, Jess Harper. Was my supper that bad?" Daisy asked with a mock frown.

"Uhhh, maybe only chief bottle-washer and plate-dryer," Jess returned with a sly upward peek through his thick lashes. None of them wanted to get on their cook's bad side. They all remembered having to fix their own grub or eat cold pork and beans when Daisy decided to teach them a lesson.

The rattle of pans as Jess washed and Mike dried echoed from the kitchen. Slim twitched back the curtain and wiped a spot on the fogged window to peer out again at the blowing snow.

"Alright, Slim, what are you not telling me?" Daisy finally asked, "And don't try to pull the wool over my eyes."

She had settled into a chair beside the fireplace, letting down the hem on a pair of Mike's trousers. She looked up at Slim as she snipped off her thread, "I can see both you and Jess are worried to death about something."

"It's the cattle, Daisy. In this blizzard, they'll drift before the wind and when they reach the south boundary fence, they'll pile up together against the fence or in a corner. The back ones will keep pushing and shoving forward and the ones in front have nowhere to go."

Jess came from the kitchen, his hand on Mike's shoulder. Slim frowned, and opened his mouth to send Mike to bed, but Jess interrupted, "No, Pard, Mike's part of this family too. He has a right to hear what you're tellin' Daisy."

Mike walked over and slipped his small hand into Slim's large, calloused one. Unconsciously mirroring Slim's arrow-straight bearing, he gazed up at his tall hero, "I told you and Jess I can do lots more than any of ya think. I can pull my own weight around here, if you'll only let me."

"You're dead-on, Mike. This concerns all of us," Slim led Mike over to the couch and pulled him into his lap. "You're growing up in front of our eyes but I still think of you as a yearling colt not quite ready for a saddle."

He ruffled Mike's hair and then smoothed it down, giving him a hug.

"Did you hear what I was telling Miss Daisy?"

Mike replied, "Only part of it. Jess was makin' too much noise with the skillets."

"Why, you little. . ." Jess threatened.

Everybody chuckled and Daisy felt the tension ease, even as the gale rattled window panes and fought to gain entry.

Repeating his words, Slim made sure Mike understood the seriousness of what their cattle were enduring as the blizzard continued to rage.

"Them beeves will keep tryin' to push forward, and the ones in the middle will smother to death in the press. They don't have the sense God gave a goose ta settle and wait for the wind and snow to die down," Jess added.

In a small voice Mike asked, "What can we do to rescue 'em?"

"Nothin' now, Mike," Jess answered, concerned at the worry he saw reflected in both Mike and Daisy's eyes. "We'll have to wait till the storm blows itself out before we can tackle headin' up to the high pastures."

Daisy held a hand to her throat. She knew Slim worried outside of all reason at times, taking everything, real and imagined, on his own broad shoulders, to shield the rest of his family. If Jess was anxious too, she knew there was real cause for alarm.

"How long do they have, Slim?" Daisy asked. She knew as well as the men their fortunes depended on the ornery critters Jess described as 'steaks on the hoof'.

"I'm not sure, Daisy. They could drift slow; hopefully the blizzard will blow itself out by morning. And they're further west. This storm blew up out of the west so it should stop snowing where the herd is before it clears out here at the house."

Jess put in, smiling, "It's late enough in the spring, the sun can be shining, the little birdies singin' and a nice breeze coolin' my brow by tomorrow." Jess flapped his arms like bird wings, making Mike laugh out loud while Daisy and Slim each grinned. His natural high spirits infected the others, only Slim realizing tension still rode hard across Jess's shoulders.

The ranchers convinced Mike to go to bed, Slim tucking him in, but leaving a lamp turned low to comfort the youngster.

Soon after, Daisy headed to bed as well, "I'll send up an extra prayer for sunshine and little birdies singing tomorrow," she told them, patting each on the arm as she gathered up her sewing basket and pin cushion.

Jess hugged her tight before opening her bedroom door. "It'll work out, Daisy, you'll see."

Slim fretted all night. The fourth time he woke Jess from his own restless sleep, they both decided to move to the living room. They took turns feeding the fire, using up logs at an alarming rate to keep the cold at bay.

The friends alternated drinking coffee and scraping frost from the window to peer out at the snow whirling in a manic dance driven by the unrelenting wind.

Ever practical, Slim started gathering up supplies and tucking them into his saddle bags. He reached out his hand, "I'll fill up your matchbox with lucifers."

Fishing the small metal tin out of his vest pocket, Jess handed it over, "Get your sidearm and I'll clean it when I've finished mine. How long's it been since you fired your rifle?"

Slim glanced over his shoulder, "It's fine. Not been used in over a week."

Nodding, Jess efficiently stripped down Slim's bone-handled Colt and reassembled it. He dropped both revolvers into the holsters hung on the rack beside the front door and put his cleaning kit away.

Jess walked into the bedroom, returning with his saddlebags and both their bedrolls. "I got an extra pair of long johns. You better do the same."

"Yes, sir, since when did you start thinkin' ahead?" Slim drawled.

"Since I learned to hate freezin' my butt off chasing critters," Jess retorted, looking anxiously at Miss Daisy's door while he lowered his voice to a hiss.

"I shoulda known," Slim grinned, "You're never gonna get used to these bracing winters, huh?"

"Is that whatcha call it? Bracing? I'll never get used to draggin' through drifts hip deep on a tall Injun."

Slim shook his head ruefully, but dutifully retrieved an extra set of long johns to tuck in his saddlebag.

SR Chapter 4

At dawn, sunshine did not stream through window or door; no birds were singing. There was only a lightening of the dreary, gray, low-lying clouds obscuring the horizon. But, in comparison to the icy wind and snow from the night before, it felt almost balmy as the men and Mike took care of outside chores while Daisy fixed breakfast.

Icicles began to drip as the morning wore on. Jess broke one off the edge of the porch and handed it to Mike to lick. By noon, the snow had become a mix of sleet and rain.

The two young cowboys were well aware of the hazards that could be waiting for them on their rescue mission. They had extra ropes, their bedrolls and both men's saddle bags bulged with tools and camping gear. Daisy had added coffee, meat sandwiches and thick oatmeal cookies in case they had to spend the night in the high reaches of the ranch.

Slim looped a woolen scarf around his Stetson and tied it under his chin. Jess had his scarf, a recent gift from Daisy, wound around his neck with the ends tucked under his collar. They both wore their heavy sheepskin coats, two pairs of socks, long johns, and to protect their legs from both cattle and the cold, their sturdiest chaps. Long yellow oiled-canvas rain slickers completed their outfits.

Jess's droll comment, "Slim, you look like an overstuffed canary," earned him a grimace and half-hearted swat from his boss. Slim knew Jess was trying to lighten the mood for those left at home and followed up with a smile and wink for Mike's benefit.

With many cautions urged on them by both Daisy and Mike, Jess and Slim took their leave with assurances they would be careful and would be home as quickly as they could.

The barn and hill in front of the house protected them from the wind still gusting sporadically from the northwest, but once they reached the crest of the ridge, the wind's strength increased tenfold, cutting like a knife, straight in their faces. Traveller and Alamo dropped their heads and pushed on through new drifts. At the top of the next ridge, Slim caught up with Jess. As Slim started around him, Jess reached out to grab his arm.

"Remind me again why we're out here instead of warmin' our britches in front of the fire?"

"'Cause we're gonna use part of the profits from selling that prime stock to get a good stallion and about six mares."

"Oh, yeah," Jess nodded. "Well, your turn to break trail for a while and let's hurry so we can get back to the house." He waved Slim ahead.

When they got to the line fence, Slim pointed west; Jess agreed and reined his mount east.

Jess rode east for almost an hour, nearly ready to give up and retrace his steps when he began to hear cattle lowing miserably. Following the fence, he found part of the herd bunched, the front-most pushed sideways, unable to move.

Jess dismounted and dug in his saddlebag for wire cutters. He snipped the bottom strand of barbed wire close to the nearest post. The wire sprang away from him, coiling into a spring, bouncing along the ground, dragging a furrow through the snow. As the individual cows and steers realized a human was near, their bawling multiplied and they began to shove harder against the leaders. Muttering, "It's 'devil wire' for sure," Jess shrugged out of his yellow rain slicker and draped it over the other two strands of fence to protect the lead cattle.

Tension eased on the second strand of barbed wire as Jess squeezed his cutters. It whipped backwards and tangled with the wire already on the ground.

Cattle surged against the single strand of the fence still intact. It snapped near the far pole and wrapped itself around Jess's leg, up his arm and across his chest in a thorny embrace. The end scraped Jess's cheek, laying it open and letting blood pour down his face.

Beeves pushed through the break in the fence, spinning Jess around. He fell beside the post, wrapped in the last strand of barbed wire. Cows, calves and steers continued to scramble through the opening, bawling and leaping as they scattered. Waving his hat and hand in their faces, yelling as they surged around him kept Jess from being trampled but did nothing to improve his opinion of bovines.

Jess gingerly clipped barbed wire and untangled himself bit by bit. He groaned, "Cows gotta be the dumbest critters on earth. No, Trav, make that the second dumbest. Cowboys are dumber than these walkin' steaks or I wouldn't be in this fix."

Finally free of the dangerous barbs, Jess threw his tools and the tiny sections of wire into his saddle bags. Blood still oozed down his cheek, dripping from his chin. He grabbed a handful of snow to clean the scratch and made a half-hearted swipe at his face with the ends of his scarf.

Pulling his torn, dirty slicker from the mud, Jess shook his head in disgust. He held it to the light and peered at the holes, "Looks like a load of buckshot peppered this poor thing. But it beats nuthin'." He draped the tattered slicker over his shoulders and shoved his arms through the ragged sleeves.

Jess scooped his hat from an icy puddle and beat it against his leg before plopping it on his head, tugging it down tight. Brushing ice from his saddle and Traveller's mane, Jess found himself wishing he had fur-lined mittens instead of his thin leather gloves.

Wincing as he put weight on his foot, Jess jerked the reins loose from the fence post, and tried his usual hop into the saddle, but his leg wouldn't support him. One of the steers had landed a hoof squarely on his left ankle, and Jess grumbled dire curses on the offending animal as he limped around to the off side of his patient mount.

Before Jess could swing into the saddle, Traveller began shifting his feet, dancing nervously, pawing the ground and tossing his head, alerting Jess something was wrong. The usually steady cowpony's ears pricked forward and the whites of his eyes were showing. Jess put a soothing hand on his horse's neck and crooned softly, "What is it, old fella? We're gonna meet up with Slim and head for the barn. You and Alamo both deserve some extra oats tonight."

Jess felt a heaviness in the air as the ground began to tremble beneath them. A low rumble, barely at the edge of hearing, was rolling in from the west. As the tremors grew stronger, Jess drew his revolver before grabbing the reins and pommel. He squinted over his horse's back into the gloom, searching the distance for a stampeding herd of cattle or buffalo; in his experience the only thing to account for the shuddering earth.

'Whatever's goin' on, Slim's back that direction, and I'd bet a month's pay he's smack dab in the middle of it. Dadgum fool don't have sense enough to come in outta the rain.'

Ice was glazing the ground, building up on every strand of wire and blade of grass, each tree limb and post, encasing the world around them in an icy prism. But, anxious to locate his best friend, Jess touched spurs to the horse's sides and urged him to move out as fast as conditions would allow, even though Traveller's iron-shod hooves occasionally slipped on the frozen ground. The tough little bay whinnied uneasily, but kept heading into the wind, trusting his rider's voice and body cues, that almost imperceptible grip of hands, knees and thighs, to keep him safe.