Chapter Two
When a man had been out on the trail for nearly two weeks with not more to eat than a dwindling stash of biscuits that were imitating rocks, once the last leg of the journey to home was in sight, it was only natural to quicken his steps, or at least, get the horse that he was riding to do so. It was also the characteristic of this man to take risks in his life, so with the desire to get home stronger than any need of surrounding comforts, Jess Harper made what others would call a reckless decision. He made the choice to take the shortcut back to Laramie through the dry lands instead of going the long way around the barren country. He knew how to take care of himself and his faithful companion, Traveler, in the desert's roughest conditions, but, like trails often do, this one was about to take an unexpected turn. Right about now.
Jess pulled Traveler to a stop with a softly commanded, "whoa," fully taking in the scene that was in front of him. As far as his vision could focus, there wasn't much of anything to look at except the rocks upon rocks layering upon hill after hill. Right through the middle of that vast terrain was a wide swath of barrenness where nothing but dirt and dead shrubbery rolled around in the wind as likely nothing else but such things would want to settle there. But it was in this place where Jess' eyes drew to a squint for something that didn't belong interrupted the normal desolation of the land. A tumbleweed wagon sat alone in the middle of the road without so much as a sign of anyone being around it. There wasn't even a team of horses attached to the transporting jail's front. Trouble wasn't a fitting word, but it was what first came to Jess' mind as he urged Traveler to a trot toward the wagon. It wasn't long when the description turned into something much closer to danger.
Jess stopped his horse at the front of the wagon, only draping the reins loosely over the wagon tongue after he dismounted. He took a step and then halted, his hand pulling his gun in an instant before his foot found a forward motion again. A man bound in chains around both of his hands and feet lay face down on the ground that by all appearances was a dead man, but even without a definite sign of life, Jess kept his gun poised and ready. Jess continued to walk in his direction, but a moan near the rear of the wagon turned him abruptly. Trying to hoist himself from the ground beside a wheel was a man wearing a marshal's badge, and from the blood coming from the side of his neck, he was in far greater need of Jess' help.
"What happened?" Jess asked, immediately putting pressure on the open wound with a handkerchief he'd pulled from his hip pocket. Jess lifted the man so that his head leaned against his left shoulder, trying to aid in his comfort the best that he could but even with the pressure now placed on the pulsating wound, Jess knew there was nothing else he could do.
"Talmon," the marshal sputtered, nearly choking on the blood that didn't just flow on the outside of his neck, but what was also going down his throat. By the dazed look in his eye and the unfamiliar name he'd breathed, Jess could only guess that the wounded man wasn't clearly seeing his face, and that in his grave condition was only reaching out to an unknown person that he thought had come to his aid. "He's… not…"
Whatever the message was, it would not be relayed any further, as a weak moan was all that followed his sketchy words and then he was gone. Jess eased the dead man's body onto the ground and then looked up, his eyes roving once more over the empty land. There were many questions on his tongue that would never have an answer, for the only living things that had seen what had transpired were close to being dead things themselves.
Jess tugged his hat lower to his eyes to ward off the harsh glare from the sunlight and glanced at his waiting mount. What had happened to the team of horses that had pulled the stout wagon? It wouldn't take an experienced man such as himself to be able to see that nothing on the wagon had broken and certainly the animals hadn't unhitched themselves. Jess shook his head slowly back and forth as his eyes narrowed into a squint, looking toward the heat wavering horizon, but there was nothing but fierce nothingness that came into focus. He dropped his vision back to the dead man, his hand touching the star that pronounced his title as a U.S. Marshal. No tumbleweed wagon ever used only one lawman to transport a convict, yet here he was alone. He'd likely died by the hands of the criminal, but by the looks of the other body in the dirt and the empty gun beside him, the lawman hadn't passed away without doing one last necessary duty, which left Jess the sole task of doing the burying.
Jess pulled a shovel loose from where it was secured from the side of the wagon and stuck its tip into the hard earth knowing what was before him wouldn't be completed anytime soon. Jess put his boot on the edge of the shovel, the wind shifting more dust underneath it than what the pressure of his weight had done. He wiped his brow and then stuck the shovel into the ground with more force and as his body turned to toss the heap of soil aside, the edge of his vision caught movement, but not soon enough to be able to properly react. When his body was hit from behind, the shovel fell from his hand, landing in the dirt with another swirl of brown dust into his eyes. It was too late to chastise himself for not making sure the convict really was deceased, for now his entire focus was on staying alive.
It was the sound of the chain crunching near his ear that brought Jess' heart rate up, but in the next second when the same piece of chain was wrapped around his neck, it was then that he feared his heart would stop. Jess braced his body as the iron links pressed tight, one hand clutching at the chain to prevent it from choking him to death while the other reached for the arm that did the strangling while the smell of the unwashed man stung his nose and lungs almost as badly as the chain. The man hissed into his ear after a sharp intake of breath, like a snake bearing its fangs, although what was tearing into his flesh was not a venomous creature, yet was just as severe. Jess' hand traced up along the man's arm until he felt the flesh above his elbow and gripped tight, and with his legs supporting both bodyweights, he hurtled the man off of his back and over his head, releasing the chain from its strangulating hold around his neck.
When the convict landed in the dust, Jess drew his weapon with his normal gun hand, as the other latched onto the searing pain that throbbed around his neck. He could swallow and he could breathe, but his normal bark that would have commanded loudly at any other man that had threatened his life was far from menacing when he emitted a raw, almost shaking demand, "stay on the ground."
One look into an unwavering gun barrel was all that was needed for the man to show his obedience and keep himself planted in the dirt. Jess let an inaudible sigh escape through his slightly parted lips in relief that he wasn't being challenged further. It was evident by the clothes that he wore that he hadn't yet been imprisoned, but was likely on the way there. He was thin, gaunt was possibly a better term, as his clothes that resembled a down-on-his-luck drifter hung loosely over his limbs. He had dark hair with matching colored stubble on his cheeks, angry brown eyes and a deep scowl around his mouth, but what held Jess' attention the most, was the irons that locked tightly around each wrist and each ankle, the upper portion being what had almost killed him.
Jess felt his cheeks warm as the convict made a sharp noise through his throat, adverting Jess' gaze in a quick motion to land on the dead lawman, the mysterious story now perhaps having some much needed insight, Jess motioned with his head to the corpse, "you kill him?"
"Yeah," it was answered with arrogance, making Jess cringe.
"What about the other man?" Jess asked, searching the facial expressions closely to detect a hint of a lie or downright truth that would come in an answer.
"What other man?" The half smiled response was all that Jess needed, because he knew without seeing any evidence that there had been more than one man involved and even if the outlaw decided to continue to try to weave a lie or attempt to deceive, Jess wasn't going to buy it.
"All right," Jess gave a single nod, "you killed him, so you bury him."
"I don't like that arrangement," the voice was shrill, like it belonged to a weasel.
"You ain't got no other choice," Jess motioned with his gun for the man to stand and ground out the words with a firmer sounding voice. "Now get to it."
"That gun makes you a big man," the convict stood, shaking his irons as if to intimidate Jess with them, but it didn't make the blue eyes flinch.
"Just remember I'm the one who holds it," Jess answered and then after he heard a feigned attempt to hide a laugh, Jess asked, "what's your name, anyhow?"
"Bruce Stahl," he said with pride, as if everyone in the world knew of him and would tremble at the mention of his name, everyone except for the man that was holding a gun on him.
"Jess Harper," Jess' introduction was spoken in a natural tone, for there was no need on his part to strike any fear into the outlaw, his weapon alone should have been enough to do that, not his past reputation as a gunfighter, reformed outlaw, or whatever else men in his former lifestyle would refer him as.
"All right, Mr. Harper," Stahl reached for the shovel that Jess shoved in his direction, "I'll bury him, but I'll do so only with the knowledge that it'll give me some experience, because you just might eventually need one dug for you, too."
"Stop talking and start digging."
For nearly an hour, Jess stood still with his gun poised in Stahl's direction as the man slowly dug the grave. As Jess had already been well aware, the ground didn't want to give in to the demands of a man wielding a shovel, but once broken, the dirt parted aside, mounding up in the middle until the depth was at an appropriate level for what was needed. There was no mercy on Stahl's part for the man that he'd killed and was ready to bury as he started to forcefully tug on his feet, but Jess' own kindness had the ability to extend to the both of them. Jess tucked his gun in his belt at his waistline, reaching out to the marshal's immobile hands and with a firm command to Stahl to do the deed with more respect, Jess gently lifted the man in the grave and once completed, nodded to Stahl to finish the duty while refilling his hand with his weapon.
How Jess ever retained compassion for even the vilest of criminals, Jess himself could never comprehend, but it was a part of his character that had often been the most scrutinized amongst his peers in his days on the wild side, and it had only intensified during his more mature adulthood. Jess knew it had been backbreaking work to bury the marshal, especially in the already depleted state that Stahl was in, therefore because of the empathy that lived inside of him, Jess couldn't let the outlaw finish the entire job alone. After the last shovel of dirt was in place, Jess motioned to the closest pile of rocks, which was still a grueling distance away, and then he fell in step beside the convict, back and forth, again and again, until the grave was properly marked with the misshapen stones. There wasn't a single scrap of wood to be seen to be formed in the shape of a cross, so Jess tucked the marshal's badge between two stones at the head of the grave, so that anyone that would come searching for the fallen lawman would know it wasn't just any man that was buried there. Jess stepped to the front of the grave, and even though he never had the chance to know the man, Jess whisked his hat from his head, but there wouldn't be more than a mere moment of silence given.
"Are you planning on letting me go bone dry while you say an unnecessary prayer?" Bruce's question brought Jess' head up from its bowed state, sparks flying from his eyes as he clearly focused on the visibly exhausted, yet still incensed man. It was true that he deserved a long drink after that seemingly endless task and Jess knew his own body craved the life giving liquid as well, but he wasn't going to produce the water only because of Stahl's unsympathetic say so.
"You can have some water, but I'll get it when I dad-gum please." Jess waited until the silence drew for longer than a minute, although neither man counted the seconds to know for certain how long the span actually was. Once replacing the sweat stained hat back on his head, Jess glanced at the water barrel, grateful that the contents were nearly full, as his own canteen wouldn't have gone very far between the two of them, especially when he didn't know how long it was going to have to last.
Jess knew not to turn his back on a man as desperate and despicable as Bruce Stahl was, for even the slightest mistake could cost him his life. He had already made one vital error assuming the man was dead upon his arrival and there wouldn't be another. Jess took the steps to the water barrel backward, keeping his eye trained to the panting body in front of him, just in case there was more on the man's mind than the need to quench his thirst. Jess lifted the dipper to his lips first, letting his throat take the refreshing, albeit warm, liquid slowly to savor every droplet. He would have rather taken another serving of water and douse it over his head, as his skin craved it just as much as his mouth, but he took it to the outlaw instead, watching as he drained it in two quick gulps. Each man drank another cupful before the dipper splashed back inside of the barrel and at least for a few moments as they stayed in the shade of the tumbleweed wagon, neither one felt dry.
Now what? It wasn't spoken aloud, but the question mark hung in the air between the two men so profoundly that it was almost visualized as if it were drawn in the dirt. They could wait, but for what or for whom and the most important question of all was the unknown length of time that any wait could turn into. Days could turn into a week or even longer for there was no way to know if anyone would be traveling on such a roadway in the middle of nowhere any time soon and if there was, Jess wasn't certain he would want to meet them. There were worse men than Bruce Stahl was that crawled around in the unknown parts of the territory and he didn't want to be sitting out in the open such as he was for one to find him. Waiting, even if the marshal's companion would be returning with help, seemed too high of a risk, yet, with a criminal as desperate as the one Jess was with, any possible avenue he could take would be brandishing the highest of risks. But Jess had to make a choice, for the question mark wouldn't disappear without doing something about it, and he would.
They were two men in the depths of a desert; a murderer and a cowboy with one wearing shackles and the other holding a gun, but there was only one horse to get them out of it. Both men couldn't sit on top of the animal together, not under the current conditions, from the heat, or from the chained convict. If they were going to go anywhere, and Jess was leaning hard on their leaving, it would be at a walking pace, and there was only one man in any condition to walk such a journey. Jess. With a determined glint in his eye, Jess walked to Traveler and let his mount get his fill of the water. He'd need it more than the men, for Jess had just decided they were walking out.
The sun was finally releasing its torrid touch on the land, but even when it would set, the temperature wouldn't drop low enough to stop producing the sweat beads from forming on a brow, at the underarm, or from trickling down a man's back. Jess didn't bother to wipe the droplets away from his cheek, for more would be following, but even still, he knew it was the best time for them to be on the move. After filling every canteen that Jess had with him, along with one that was left in the driver's seat of the tumbleweed wagon, he gave the command for Bruce Stahl to mount his horse.
"If you try anything," Jess growled the threat through his teeth, "you'll get a bullet, but not one that'll put an end to you real quick, but one that'll blow out your knee or an elbow."
"Do you have that precise of an aim?" Stahl asked as he put his hands on the saddle horn to hoist himself up. "If you'd miss and hit air, well, that'd make whatever I'd try a lot more interesting, now wouldn't it?"
"I reckon you're only one move away from finding out how good my aim is," Jess answered with his deep toned voice full of grit. "And I know where to put a deadly mark, too, just in case I change my mind."
"All right, all right," Bruce conceded as he climbed on top of the saddle, "I'll be good."
Jess knew it wasn't a promise that would be kept, but he hoped that they'd get out of the dry country before it was put to the test. As long as they were out in the harshest open land possible with nothing but constant heat to face around every turn, neither man was really in control, no matter who held the gun. The sun was, and Jess knew he wasn't the only one who understood that fact, which made the journey they were about to embark upon even more dangerous. They were literally in the middle of nowhere and it would take at least two days of travel in their condition before that would even remotely change into a less barren somewhere, but they would have to get going to get there and Jess wouldn't wait another moment to get started.
Traveler balked only slightly at the strange way the outlaw was positioned on his back, for the chains prevented a normal seated position in the saddle, but as long as Jess retained a hold on the reins, the animal kept his trust in his master and started forward without complaint. Jess chose his hopeful destination as Spartanville, although he didn't relay that information to his outlaw companion. Without a town or any people, Sodium Wells was closer and a more likely choice to make, but Jess didn't want to take the risk that the spring was already dry, for he knew their supply of water could run out before getting to the areas only water source that he knew of. Rawlins was even farther to the northeast and Green River well beyond that remote location and even though the land farther north along that route line was less intense, Jess didn't want to make the already extended journey any longer by heading in a completely different direction for help.
They'd walked a mile, maybe closer to two when a sound pricked a horse's ears that quickly produced the reaction to sniff the air. Jess turned his head in every direction, searching for the source when a rough bark turned into a yowl, followed by a repeated high-pitched yip that was coming from more than one mouth. A pack of scraggly coyotes were running together across the barren land, their closest distance nearly thirty yards away. It wasn't dim enough light that Jess couldn't see them, but even if his eyes hadn't been able to pick out their dingy coats, Traveler had them spotted all the way. Releasing a comforting, "whoa, now, Son," through his lips, Jess encouraged his horse to continue onward, as the yapping dog-like creatures weren't interested in them at all, but ran toward the east where they'd likely wind up along a nearly dry waterway sometime within the night.
Jess listened to one last lonely howl in the distance, adding his own response with a gentle sound in his throat for Traveler to hear when another sound broke through the remaining stillness. Taking advantage of a distraction that only nature could produce, Bruce Stahl made his move, the irons clanking together giving Jess the only indication that the man had jumped. He turned just as rapidly, ready to fire his gun at whatever flesh he could see, but Stahl was already upon him, hitting him in the middle of his chest. The jerking of two bodies made the horse reel backward, but unlike a skittish pair earlier in the day, Traveler kept his position when the reins draped into the dirt.
As Jess had been acutely aware, chain bound wrists were a powerful weapon, and once more they were in use, but not in a deathly grip around his neck like they'd been earlier. Bruce wrapped the iron links around Jess' gun hand, squeezing tightly until Jess' fingers became numb, dropping the gun into the dirt. Jess fought, kicking with his leg, and jabbing at a jaw with his left hand, but now that his gun was gone, any intimidation on his part went with it. Bruce finally pulled the chain loose and brought his hands up high, the momentum coming down gained force as he struck Jess across the jaw, drawing instant blood to spurt from a deep gash at the corner of his mouth.
Jess produced his own punch, bringing a trickle of blood from the opposite nose, but the reaction to the pain in another man's face was only to ball a set of fists together in a dangerous aim for Jess' skull. The shackle struck his temple and Jess' knees hit the ground with a whack, the darkness already willing to consume him, only needing his permission to fully succumb, but he'd never give it. Jess blinked his eyes repeatedly, his forcefulness weakened enough that the normally active fire that fueled his inner core was not able to be lit enough to ward off the dizziness, or perhaps it was the throbbing pain, but the fight within still had enough power to rage on. Despite the lightheadedness, he returned to his feet at the same moment that Stahl picked an object up out of the dirt. Jess knew what it was without seeing it, but knowing couldn't fully prepare himself for what the man would do with it.
Jess kept his feet planted firmly to the ground, standing slightly bent at the waist, his chest heaving deeply with each breath that he drew. His eyes were narrowed, staring intently at his opponent, who returned the gaze, looking at him with malice, and there in his eyes Jess saw the cold, cruel hatred that piercingly reached outward and clutched around his throat. Jess Harper was a man that never admitted his fear, but what he saw, what he knew this man was capable of doing, and that there was no one around to stop an evil act from happening sent a chill racing down his spine, being somehow even colder than the depth of Bruce Stahl's eyes. The mouth of the outlaw, although partly open to draw in deep bursts of air into his lungs, showed every inch of his smile as he pointed the gun that used to be fitted in Jess' holster, dangerously close to a rapidly beating heart.
"I'm too close to freedom to care what happens to you," Bruce hissed the words through his teeth. "So you best do as I say, or die right now."
"I ain't about to argue with a man in your position," Jess moved his eyes to look at the gun and the finger poised on the trigger. He didn't add aloud what the remainder of his thoughts were processing, that Stahl would be killing him anyway. But until he set off the gun, Jess knew he still had a chance and he wouldn't intentionally do anything to pressure the desperate man from ending his life any sooner.
"Good." The reply was spoken too happily for Jess' liking, but any irritation from the outlaw's mirth wasn't displayed anywhere on his face. Bruce shook his wrists, the iron links clanking against each other showed the object of his threat before he uttered it allowed. With one hand still firmly attached to the gun, he gestured with a thumb to his shirt pocket. "You're going to get the key and get these shackles off me. I've been bound tight for too long."
Jess' hesitation was only a moment, yet it was long enough for Bruce to take his threat one inch closer as he thrust the barrel of the gun into Jess' chest. The pressure of the iron felt hotter than the outdoor temperature, like he was being branded, and he knew if he didn't act in obedience, Jess would be blazoned with the mark of a bullet, permanently. Jess raised his hand slowly, reaching his fingers into the man's pocket and felt for the key. As the instrument that would unlock the outlaw entered his hand Jess tucked it into his palm, thinking that once Stahl was freed, his life expectancy would drastically diminish, unless the outlaw had another use for him, and at the moment, Jess couldn't think of a single thing that could possibly keep him alive. Adjusting the object of Bruce's desire to fit between two fingers, Jess held up the key just beyond the outlaw's face and there, as snapping brown eyes stared at the small, precisely shaped piece of metal, Jess' hand froze in place.
"Set me free!" It was spoken sharply, yet strangely it was merely a whisper.
Jess stuck the key into the keyhole and as it turned, the sound was proof enough when it became unlocked. Stahl shook his wrists and the chains fell into the dirt, sending a small wisp of dust curling into the air between the two men and the moment it settled back into the earth, the key was inserted into the bound ankles and once more, the irons landed with a thud amidst a cloud of powdery sand. It was done, the man was free, and Jess felt a weight press hard on his back, for he felt that he was responsible for the man's sudden freedom and also, that he would soon die without Slim or Andy, or anyone else that he cared about knowing where he had fallen. Jess set the key in Stahl's opened hand, stepped backward twice and then waited, keeping his face set firmly to show the killer in front of him that he wasn't afraid to die.
Jess had truly expected a bullet to penetrate his body when Stahl raised his gun hand, but what he received was another blow to his head, and this time, no ounce of his courage could stop the darkness from snatching him, dragging him into its clutch deeper than the night sky could ever be.