Chapter Three
Groaning as he awakened, Jess raised his eyelids but kept his head level with the ground as returning to consciousness brought the awareness of a throbbing headache with it, needing to blink three times before anything came into focus. The sun hadn't begun its torture yet of a new day, but it was close enough to the horizon to create enough light to see and what Jess' eyes soon landed upon was Bruce Stahl, seated against a scraggly dead shrub with Jess' gun in his hand, and Jess couldn't help but continue his stare. Stahl should have taken Traveler and been long gone, leaving him alone in the desert to die, but the man and the horse remained. The surprise that coursed through Jess' veins brought his head up, making him ignore the pain around his temples which also brought a barrel of a gun to return to a direct point at his vitals.
"I'm glad you're finally awake," Bruce said as he scrutinized the dried blood on Jess' cheek where it had trickled down from his head, gauging the depths of the injury he'd inflicted. "I hated to waste any water on your account to get you to snap out of your stupor."
"Why waste anything at all?" Jess automatically raised his hand to his head, although touching the blood crusted lump didn't make it feel any better at all. "You coulda just left me here to die."
"I could have," Bruce nodded and then switched his head to a negative shake, "but that wouldn't have been my smartest move."
Jess shook his head hard several times to help ward away any leftover dizziness and at the same time, try to help his brain think more clearly. What the outlaw was telling him wasn't making sense, although in Jess' defense, he didn't think and act like a criminal as depraved and desperate as Bruce Stahl was and more importantly, although roughed up, Jess wasn't in the same physical condition as the escaped convict was. This noticeable fact had been the driving force in Bruce Stahl's mind to keep Jess alive, and as Jess drew to his feet, the reason began to trickle out of the outlaw's mouth.
"I needed time," Stahl said as he put a hand on Traveler's reins and Jess couldn't help but notice that he did so with a gentle hand, and for that, he gave a small nod of gratitude. "I've been worn out for longer than I can remember and without you barking at me, the cooler night air was like medicine, although far from the fully healing kind. That'll come when I'm free and clear."
"You'll never be free as long as you're running," Jess interjected sharply.
"Maybe," Stahl shrugged, "but I'll worry about that when the time comes. Now though, it's time to travel."
"Where to?" Jess didn't add the question that he wanted to, but it played in his mind. With or without me?
"Anywhere," Stahl answered quickly as he stepped closer to Jess, "as long as it's out of this godforsaken country."
"God hasn't forsaken it," Jess said slowly and quietly, but the words wouldn't penetrate on their receiving end. "I reckon He ain't gonna abandon something He created."
"Take your boots off," Bruce commanded and then when Jess didn't act on his demand, he bounced a bullet dangerously close to Jess' toes. "I won't be saying it again."
Jess complied, but pulling them free from heat swelled feet made it necessary to use both hands in a firm yank to remove them from his body. He was ready to drop them both in the dust when Bruce snatched them from his hands and, kicking out of the flimsy moccasin like shoes that had been on the outlaw's own feet, he put on Jess' boots, giving them a stamp with each foot to properly put them into place.
"Not too bad for size," Stahl thrust one foot in Jess' direction as if he were expecting a compliment on the look. "A little big, but much better than those things Marshal Mays put me in so I could properly wear those ankle irons they had me wear. Oh, and that reminds me, about those irons …" the hesitation was purposely given, but the allotted time didn't give Jess an indication to what was coming next. "Put them on."
"What?"
"You heard me," Bruce turned his head to the side in a cocky manner, "and unless you want to keep testing my aim, you'd better do it now. Wrists first."
They weren't far from where Jess stood, but the two steps that he took to get them felt more like taking two hundred. He paused, standing over the pile of chains and the shackles that were attached to them and looked over his shoulder at Stahl, standing behind him with his sick, sinister smile as he kept the gun pointed too close to his head. There wasn't any other choice to make but to do what the man said. He didn't want to die, not then, not there, and not by a convict's hand. Maybe years ago he wouldn't have cared when or how he'd die, but now he had someone else to live for other than himself. Slim and Andy. With the thought of staying alive residing in his head as well as in his heart, Jess picked up the shackles and fitted them around his wrists, the snapping of them locking together sounded like lightning striking the earth to Jess' ears.
"Now sit," Bruce motioned with the gun until Jess did so and keeping a somewhat accurate aim with the weapon, the outlaw picked up the remaining irons and with intentional roughness, slammed them onto Jess' ankles, the fit being so tight around Jess' solidly shaped form that they instantly dug into his flesh. "And finally, one more thing."
Jess stood, as Bruce continued to revel in the way he dawdled before performing his next act, keeping his eye trained to the outlaw's every movement. He didn't know how vital his keen watchfulness would be until he realized what the convict was about to do. Stahl reached into his pocket and held up the key to the shackles, the first full ray of sunlight striking the golden object making it glint in the early morning brightness and then with a mighty thrust, let the key fly through the air. If it wasn't for the sun illuminating a glow onto the key, Jess would have never seen where it had landed, but he did and he burned the place into his memory like the sun was now burning into his skin.
The tumbleweed wagon was still in sight, as it would have been in any direction for miles, but it was this mark on the land that Jess turned his gaze upon, for it was with the abnormal object sticking up off of the desert floor that helped him gauge what was now most important to him, the location of the key. The distance, the angles, and the way the shadows were being cast all played a role in keeping the key's position locked in his mind and the most important line to the shining object in the dust was from it to the tumbleweed wagon. He wasn't the only one staring at the prison on wheels, but the reason for the other man's intent look was completely different than Jess'. The outlaw turned away from it first, mostly so that the sun was no longer shining in his face, but its presence wouldn't be erased from his mind as easily and neither would Harper, for he had no other choice but to keep Jess alive.
The heat and its hazardous partner, the hot, dry wind would work together to wipe away any trace of their presence from the land in the form of footprints or horse tracks, but it wouldn't hide a body, and Stahl knew that they were still too close from the destination of his escape to leave one for a searcher to find. No doubt about it they would be coming. If not Sheriff Talmon and his recruited rescuers, but the tumbleweed wagon would eventually become suspected of foul play when it didn't show up in its intended destination on time. Bruce gave the horse a drink and then swallowed a mouthful himself, ready to make his getaway closer to completion.
"Does your head still hurt?" Stahl asked as he watched Jess' eyes and began to grin when Jess, although not giving a vocal reply, told him it did by the shadows that covered the sparks of blue that had been visible before Bruce had clubbed Jess over the head. "Good, because I think the best position for a man with a headache is draped over the saddle like a corpse."
The only thing Jess could think was that at least he wasn't going to be forced to walk in the shackles. He was pushed against his horse by a force that held little strength, and for a brief moment, Jess almost turned to face Stahl head on, but the gun was too close to his back to make the play. If it wasn't for the weapon, Jess would have taken him, and as his body was hoisted over the saddle, he wished he had tried it anyway. Stahl swung up over the saddle behind Jess' frame and with a gentle kick in Traveler's sides, they were moving.
From Jess' position it was difficult to shift himself even an inch in either way, and it was even more challenging to raise his head to keep an eye on their direction. They were no longer heading toward Spartanville, of that Jess was certain and if his instincts were working at their normal level despite the injury close to his thought producing head, he guessed that they were on a dead aim to Sodium Wells. It was a likely destination, still far enough from towns and people, but it was close enough to the edge of the dry lands for freedom for a man on the run.
His head being down didn't aid in the headache, but worsened the pounding and with the swaying movement his horse was making, the dizziness returned in full force. Jess touched his forehead, wiping the sweat away first so he could put a flat palm against the tight pain, but his hand felt as hot as the baking earth and brought him no relief. Only closed eyes that would lead to sleep or something deeper could bring him aid, and his physical body wanted it, cried for it, but the internal soul of Jess Harper fought it with everything that he had in him. But it wasn't enough. A little over an hour into their ride his head dropped as low as it could go as consciousness slipped away from Jess' once firm grasp.
Time was gone when there was nothing but darkness. He could have been out fifteen minutes, an hour, ten subsequent ones, or even a full day, but for certain Jess would have stayed in his own personal darkness longer if something hadn't aroused him. Jess flinched as he came to, fully aware that nothing was the same as when he'd met with oblivion. Traveler was frightened and recoiling, not responding to the man that held the reins. Jess tried to look, but there was nothing in his line of sight that would spook his trustworthy mount and not a sound of a rattler met his ears. Jess moved his hands, but the sound of the chains only made the fright worse and suddenly Traveler's front feet left the ground and the man seated in the saddle landed in the dirt. The man draped over the saddle remained, and the skittish horse began to move in an antsy pattern, threatening with every circled step to drop his master headfirst onto the solid ground.
"Whoa, boy, whoa," Jess said soothingly, hoping that the tone of his voice would reach through the fright of his mount. "Steady now, Son."
Offering words of comfort would have worked in any other setting, but when the man doing the talking was slung over the saddle like a sack of provisions and the man on foot began a harried attempt to catch the nervous animal, it was a losing battle. Traveler turned a sharp circle, kicking up the desert grown object that had spooked him in the first place, a thick, rolling tumbleweed, which seemed eerily ill fitting considering the type of wagon that had started all of this, and suddenly the front hooves were in the air again. There was nothing to hold Jess' body in place and as Traveler started running, Jess started falling.
Jess dropped into the dirt with a thud from his body and a clank from the shackles, not missing as he crunched to the ground Traveler taking a hasty exit to the south. He drew to his feet in a surprisingly swift manner for a man that was bound by chains, his body instantly reacting to the sight across from him as he readied his stance for a fight. There would be no gunplay, at least not yet, for the gun that had been secured in Bruce Stahl's possession was now lying in the dirt at least ten feet behind Jess, and the outlaw would have to go through him to get it. And he would have to try for it. If Jess wanted to live, there was no possible way he could let Stahl succeed.
With a wild leap, Stahl landed on top of Jess, his hands pummeling him on each side of his face as both men dropped to the ground. Jess was wearing a weapon, the same as Stahl had nearly effectively used on him, but Jess wasn't a heartless killer, so he didn't make an instant attempt to put an end to the outlaw's life, but he used what he had to defend his own life from being lost, the same as what he'd used time and again, his tenacious grit. Their bodies locked, rolling several times in the dirt, seemingly kicking up more dust around them than what was still on the ground. Stifling the cough in his throat that his opponent wasn't able to conquer, Jess waited until Stahl's body was flattened to the ground and as he was releasing the choking feel from his mouth, Jess was able to break away, rising to his feet. As the outlaw finished the repeated cough, Jess hauled him up by the thin fabric around his collar, making his lip split open in the next second as he delivered a solid punch to the man's mouth, dropping Stahl's body back to the ground.
Bruce Stahl rolled over onto his belly with a groan, but the sound only stayed on his lips for a moment, as the scowl turned into a smile as he clearly saw the gun lying in the dirt only an arm's length away from him. Jess saw this too, and as he gauged the distance that both men would have to reach to snatch the victory giving weapon, knowing that he was held back by two sets of chains, Jess could plainly see that his hand would never make it. His foot was his closest option. Jess jumped, although the shackles made the action difficult with precise accuracy, he landed his toes on an outstretched set of fingers, drawing a harsh yell as his other foot swung around, the chain snagging onto the gun as he sent it scooting nearly fifteen feet across the desert floor.
Jess watched as Bruce slowly came to his feet, readying his stance for another blow by blow tirade from the outlaw, but unlike the fierceness that Stahl first came at him with, he only took two shaky steps. Jess was weak, but until that moment, he hadn't realized how much weaker Stahl really was. For Jess, his hardship had only just begun, but for the outlaw, his nightmarish journey had been going on for some time, and even the power that came with being in control couldn't swing enough momentum his way. With the toll already taken, all that was needed was another stout push to put him over the edge. Jess had been the one to produce that shove. Jess hit Stahl with his fists, but the iron bound wrists were what did the damage as the force sent him flailing, where his head twisted up and around to the side, the neck broken on impact where he landed, his life exiting at the same instant.
Jess staggered backward, and as his physical endurance was drained with the fight's end, he let his knees meet the ground before he collapsed. He sat there drawing in what should have been deep breaths, but due to the heat and the exertion, they came in shallow puffs, not aiding his air starved lungs quick enough to replenish his need. Jess stayed low to the ground for several minutes, wiping away the sweat that stung his open wounds as he shielded his face from the heat of the sunlight that hurt his bloody cuts even more. When his chest felt less starved for air and his handkerchief was just as soaked as the back of his shirt with his bodily moisture and blood, Jess swayed only slightly as he did so, but got back onto his feet. He looked around in every direction at the ongoing barrenness of the terrain and then settled his eyes on the one thing that didn't match what the land produced.
Bruce Stahl was dead and although there wasn't any remorse in his heart for the departed convicted killer, Jess couldn't just leave his body there to feed what could soon become a sky full of swarming buzzards. There would be another grave dug and this time the chore would solely belong to him, with nothing but his bound hands to use to do so. Jess dropped his knees back to the earth and began, grateful that he had no sense of an actual span of time, for how much actually passed was too lengthy to count. The hole wouldn't be deep, as dirt and blood crusted hands couldn't penetrate the hard packed earth very far, but with the dry soil that he'd mound over on top, it would be an efficient enough grave, almost. Jess shook his head, as it couldn't be completed without the rocks that would have to be gathered; an endless supply of them. Step by shuffled step, bending down, picking up, back and forth, rock by rock, again and again, Jess didn't stop until it was done and when he was, Jess felt like he was done.
Before he'd let the earth claim the body, Jess had removed his boots from the feet of the dead man. Although there wasn't any way that he could wear them with the shackles solidly attached, he tucked them under his arm, hoping the opportunity to put them on wouldn't be too far into the future. The gun was back where it belonged in its holster, his draw was severely hindered, but considering there wasn't much need to pull it in lightning speed he didn't practice the action more than once. Besides, his fast hand that had given him a once revered reputation wasn't his biggest concern.
Traveler was gone and everything that Jess needed went with the freely running animal as well. The canteens full of water, the food, his bed roll and jacket were all gone. He had nothing with him that could sustain his life, only that very life that still remained inside of him and without the most vital need, water, the life wouldn't be able to carry on very far. But Jess would try, even if he failed, he would try.
The decision was made, yet there were still many unknowns in the wilderness to face. Where exactly was he? He knew by the sun's angle how to point to north, south, east or west, but one thing that he could never pinpoint was how far Bruce Stahl had really brought them. As vast as the desert was in all directions, everything looked the same. The barren land of nothingness surrounded by hills that were mere shadows in the distance to the rock laden ones that flanked each side of it wasn't much different than where he'd first ran into the tumbleweed wagon. So where could he go, which way was there to turn to possibly find any help?
West. Wasn't that his motto before he'd landed at the Sherman Ranch? Going west, always west and the same west now would save him or kill him. That's where the key to the shackles was located and it was the closest type of help he could come up with. To find the key, and not just the one that fitted the shackles, but the one that would sustain his life, was to find the tumbleweed wagon, where a partially filled water barrel would still be sitting. With shoulders slumped, Jess began to walk. Slowly, one steady foot going forward at a time until Bruce Stahl's grave was no longer in sight.
And in the middle of the closest rock covered hill a horse stood, eyes blinking in the brightest of light as he sniffed for the one he knew, the one who owned him, and yes, the one who loved him. There was nothing on the air or in the wind that told him where to look, the only place the animal knew was where he'd last seen him. With a steady rhythm of hoof beats, the horse trotted to the flat, dry land, ears pointed up, ever listening, eyes darting back and forth, ever searching, and when he came to a rock covered mound in the dirt, he stopped. This was where his master had dropped from his back. This was where he'd fallen and this is where Traveler would stay.
