Chapter 4: A Sore Head is the Least of My Concerns

Trampas opened his eyes blearily, his head aching so badly he wanted to trade it for a different one. "Must've been quite a night," he thought. "Boss-man'll have my hide if I'm in the jailhouse…." However, he wasn't in any type of jail he had ever seen, for this one did not have a roof.

A man with messy wavy hair and a black eye appeared over him, his mouth moving. It took Trampas several beats to realize that he was talking to him. He was saying, "Trampas, come back to me, come on…."

Trampas squinted, trying to place the man's face. Then it came to him. "Jess! We sure must've had a great time last night. Funny how I can't remember a thing about it, but those are the best ones, ain't they?"

"Shh, Trampas, you've got to stay quiet. You've got to shut up for once, please, Trampas."

Trampas almost quipped back with something witty until his mind cleared enough to really look at the man before him: Jess looked terrible. He had bruises coloring his tan skin as well as a split lip and a gash on his forehead that was still bleeding sluggishly. Scrapes covered visible skin and his clothes were torn and dirty. Trampas looked as best as he could at his own clothes and noticed they were in the same state. Shifting his attention back to Jess, he noticed that his new friend's body was tense, his eyes furtively glancing over his shoulder.

Memories of what actually happened slammed into Trampas like the ground that had knocked him unconscious. "Jess," he whispered, "what's going on? Where are we?"

Jess opened his mouth to answer when two mean-looking men materialized to flank him on either side. "Alright, Harper. You've had long enough. Time to get movin' again."

"Just a minute," Jess snapped. "He's still out of his head." He blinked extra hard at Trampas, who took it as a hint.

"Hee, hee, hee," the blond man giggled. "Jesse, Jesse, you're the best ol' pal a boy like me could ever have. Woohoo! What a time we had last night."

"Boss don't care, Harper. Get him ready, or he gets it."

Harper glared at the man with such hatred Trampas expected him to drop dead. The man took a small step back from the force of the stare, but quickly recovered. "I've had just about all I can take out of you, boy. You mind your ways," he slammed a boot into Trampas' unprotected side, "or he gets it. Got it, 'Jesse'?"

Trampas gasped like a landed fish, the pain in his ribs threatening to make him vomit.

Jess leapt to his feet, snarling like a wildcat. "Leave him alone!"

"We will, so long as you do like we tell you," the man taunted.

Jess' hackles lay down, so to speak. "Fine. Help me get him to his horse."

"That's your job, sonny. Better get it done if you don't want blondie here to get some more."

The two men walked casually away. Harper cast one last visual dagger in their direction before kneeling beside Trampas.

"Jess, who are they? What do they want?"

Jess lifted Trampas' shoulders, saying, "Some old 'acquaintances' of mine…robbed the stage."

Trampas grabbed a fistful of Jess' blue shirt, forcing the man to look him in the eyes. "Jess, you didn't have anything to do with it, did you?"

Jess' avoidance of the question screamed guilt. "Let's get you on that horse before they come back over here."

"Jess…"

"Come on, Harper! Get that boy loaded!"

Jess hauled Trampas to his feet, who felt like his head was splitting open like a ripe watermelon. "Jess," he groaned, "I don't think I can…."

"You've got to," Jess growled back. "Or you'll be dead."

Trampas was only a little taller than Jess, so when the black haired man started to half-carry Trampas over to one of the horses, his mouth was close to Jess' ear. "Why am I alive at all?"

"It's on account of me. I grew up in this country; know it like the back of my hand. They want me to guide 'em across Texas to Mexico."

"What do they need me for?"

Jess' blue eyes burned with such fierceness that Trampas felt a chill pass down his spine, though the temperature had to be close to breaking the top off the thermometer. "They need you," he answered while boosting Trampas into the saddle, "to keep me in line. So long as they got a gun pointed at your back, I don't got no choice but to do as they say." Trampas could hardly understand Jess' last words, as the young man's voice seemed to be almost strangled from the rage burning inside.

Later that night, the outlaws set up camp. Trampas could do no more but to try to keep from throwing up. The day had been tortuous, and he knew from his symptoms that he had a serious concussion. Every step of the horse had been pure agony, and he wished he could have fallen into unconsciousness again; at least then he didn't have to feel anything. Jess helped him as best as he could, but most of the time he was forced to ride at the front of the group to act as a guide.

Now, when Jess came over check on Trampas, another man shoved him away. Jess snarled dangerously, but backed down as soon as the man's pistol pointed at Trampas' head. A couple outlaws laughed at the spectacle, their voices a pain to the injured man's ears. Trampas wished he wasn't so helpless, but for now he could do nothing but grip the ground every time dizziness swept over him.

The sun had sunk below the horizon, but the outlaws chanced a small fire for coffee and supper. They made Jess do most of the work, and Trampas could tell from the stiffness of the young man's body he was about to lose control. Things only got worse when his "friend" Obie Smith came over. He approached Jess rather congenially, but Jess' response was the exact opposite. Trampas couldn't make out what Jess said, but he guessed it to be something offensive.

"Now, Jess," Obie said, unruffled. "I been tellin' you. This is your kind of work, not that back-breakin' stuff you been doin'. I been talkin' to the boys; they agreed that if you do your job right, you'll get a cut of the poke once we get down to Mexico."

"Like blazes, I will. I know what I'll get once I get down there."

Obie spread his hands. "Oh, come on, Jess. I'm real sorry we had to go to the methods we did to get you to come along with us, but we figured before that you would be real obligin'. Couple years ago you would have done this job without no complainin'."

Trampas felt a sick feeling add to his already considerable discomfort. It was just as he feared: Jess wasn't the whitest lily in the field. However, Jess' answer offered a bit of reassurance.

"Sure, Obie. Maybe a simple job of guidin' or some such. But I would never take no murderers no place, except for maybe to jail…or boot hill."

Obie smiled, but it held contempt. "That where you plannin' on takin' us, Jess?"

Jess' face looked absolutely evil in the firelight. "I'd say you could bet your life on it, Obie, but you already have."

A look of fear passed over Obie's face, but it was gone in a moment to be replaced with one of triumph. "You're gettin' soft, Jess. That blond cowpoke over there is the proof. The Jess I knew wouldn't let some feelin' like friendship cloud his judgment like the Jess I'm seein' right now."

Jess' legs spread as he adopted a gunfighter's stance, though he was not armed. "You want to see how soft I am, Obie? Probably not as much as you think."

Obie scoffed, mostly for the benefit of the silent observers. The entire camp's eyes were on the pair. "Not tonight, Jess. Just wouldn't be fair, you bein' all tired from the long day you've had. 'Sides, we still need you to get us to Mexico. No, it'll have to wait until a better time."

Jess smirked and twitched his head in a small, tense movement to the side. "I can't wait, Obie." He then turned a stalked over to where Trampas was lying and stretched out beside him like a watch dog at the foot of his master's bed: companionable, comforting, but always alert, always dangerous.

The next day's sun rose too soon for Trampas, but the night spent on an unmoving surface had helped him recover some. The day was spent in monotonous travel across the endless waving grass, moving as quickly as the horses could handle…but it was faster than what Trampas could handle. He couldn't keep anything down, and his dizziness and nausea never subsided. His head pounded harder than the horse's hooves and he wondered if he would survive this ordeal, threat of a bullet or not.

Finally, the sun was starting its travel down the western sky. Trampas sighed; relief was in sight. Jess and a couple outlaws had headed off from the main group to scout ahead. Suddenly they appeared on the top of a hill at a fast clip.

"What's goin' on?" Obie demanded irritably. They had been a long time without fresh water and all the men were getting dry.

An outlaw named Peterson reported, "A bunch of folks in wagons. There's at least five or so of them, freighters."

"Who are they?"

Jess was sitting quietly in the saddle, slouching against the horn. "Why should you care?"

Obie sent him an angry look. "Shut up, Jess. Peterson, I need to talk to you."

The men dismounted. Jess went to help Trampas sit on the ground and gave him a drink, talking quietly. "I don't know Obie's got in mind, but we can't be more'n a day or two from Mexico. Time's runnin' out. These folks in wagons might give us the break we need."

"How, Jess?"

He received no answer, for a man wordlessly came over to Jess and grabbed him by the collar and dragged him over to a horse. Jess cast a worried glance in Trampas' direction before mounting the horse without being forced. "Obie, what in tarnation are you doin'?"

Obie stood beside Jess' horse, smirking as a man took a strip of rawhide and tied Jess' wrists together and then to the horn. "We're goin' for some water, boy."

"Why do I gotta come along?" Jess growled, his last word cut off in a grunt as the man jerked the bonds to make sure they were tight.

Obie looked like a cat that had just caught a canary. "I don't like the idea of leavin' you here with your buddy. Might be tempted to try somethin' while the odds are a tiny bit more in your favor." He turned away from the fuming Texan to Peterson. "Mel, you stay with scramble-brains there. Keep him company, huh? We'll be back in a few hours."

Peterson nodded. While some might worry that Obie had ideas on leaving him behind to cut down on division of shares, Mel Peterson was not a man to be tricked. No man had crossed him and lived to tell about it.

Soon the small party had vanished on the horizon. Trampas stayed as he was, his mind furiously working. Peterson was sitting off to one side on remains of a buckboard wagon. He would glance over at Trampas from time to time, but mostly seemed consumed in his stogie and his whittling knife.

Trampas stood up, and Peterson tensed. "Now, hold on there," Trampas said easily. "Just stretchin' my legs, tryin' to get my bearings back from this knock on the head."

Peterson shrugged and watched Trampas for a while, but as he saw the way Trampas staggered about like a man at sea, he soon became absorbed in his whittling again.

Trampas' balance was actually off, but not as much as he put on. He stumbled to the ground, his hand conveniently landing on a broken piece of the wagon tongue. Trampas found his feet again, the impromptu club held behind his leg.

Peterson never saw it coming. Trampas belted him as hard as he was able, feeling vindicated serving out headaches this time rather than receiving them. He confiscated the man's gun and took the folding knife for good measure. He then went as fast as he could to one of the horses and got on board. He grabbed the reins of the other remaining horse and set off in a fast trot in the direction the others had gone. He hoped he could find them before dark, for it would be very easy to get lost out on this landmark-less land.

After an hour's journey, Trampas started to worry. It was getting dark, and it seemed as though the watering hole was much further than it had seemed when the men had ridden in earlier. Worst of all, his head was swimming again, and he found he could hardly stand to look ahead at the seemingly moving horizon.

When he started to slip from the saddle, he couldn't stop himself. He jolted to the ground with a cry of pain. The stars above danced in a maddening jig, and he closed his eyes. If he just rested for a moment, he could get moving again, find the wagon train, and get some of those people to help him rescue Jess… Just a moment's rest…