Chapter 7

Jess hovered on the edge of the abyss for what seemed like an eternity. Every time he felt like he might be heading for the surface something or someone would send him plunging into the depths once more. He tried to recall what had brought him to this; he vaguely remembered an explosion of pain and then darkness but beyond that were just jumbled images and sounds that seemed to merge into each other. When snippets of lucidity did come; he was aware of shadows passing above him; hushed tones; and sometimes, maniacal laughter. It was the stuff of nightmares. Somewhere in the depths of his addled mind he tried to rationalise what had happened? Had he been hurt? But the more he tried to think; the fuzzier his brain became and the louder the rushing in his ears. It was just easier to float on the brink of the twilight world between awareness and the yawning expanse of nothingness. And he realised he was content to do so.

But gradually clarity started to return; instead of the buzzing in his ears; he started to hear sounds again; his eyes started to focus once more and when they did; the concerned face of a boy swam into view. Someone he thought he recognised.

"Jess?"

He tried to move but the movement sent waves of nausea through him and he lay back panting. He closed his eyes, trying to concentrate on keeping whatever lay in his protesting stomach right where it was.

He felt a hand lift his head and something was pressed to his lips. Instinctively he turned away.

"C'mon Jess, you gotta take some water. It'll do ya good."

Jess shook his head. He was still trying to clear his head and recall where he was and what had happened to him. He opened his eyes once more and, as he was finally able to focus, he remembered.

"Knute?" he croaked.

The relief on the boy's face was clear. "Yeah, Jess. It's m..m…ee. I s…s…ure am glad to s…s…ee you awake at last." Despite the effort it took for the boy to formulate the words, the Texas twang was unmistakeable.

Wretched as he was feeling, Jess managed a wan smile. "It's good to hear your voice again boy."

The boy nodded happily "You too Jess. Fer a s..s..pell there, you had m..m..me real worried."

Jess tried again, and this time managed to get himself propped up on his elbows. Again, he had to close his eyes for a few seconds and focus to overcome the dizziness before he could open them once more and try to take in his surroundings. They were in some kind of makeshift shelter; he was lying on a crude cot, dressed in just his underclothes. He could see his jeans and his shirt draped across a line of twine that had been strung from one pole to the other. Knute saw where his attention was drawn.

"I washed 'em as b..b..est I could in the river." He grinned, "reckon the way yer s..s..mellin' the rest of you could use a b…b..ath too."

It hasn't escaped Jess' attention that he smelt kinda ripe. He was still trying to remember what had led to his being here. He suddenly recalled the blow to the back of his head and instinctively reached up; expecting to find a wound, a bandage, something..

"You rememberin' w..w…what happened?" Knute's expression had taken on a more serious tone.

Jess nodded. "Someone hit me. That what had me laid out?"

Knute seemed to consider for a moment, as if trying to decide how much to tell him. Even with his still foggy mind, it didn't escape Jess' attention.

"Yeah, Jess. I'm real s..s..sorry 'bout that. They s..s..shouldna hit you like that. D..d..didn't think it would have you laid up s..s..o long though."

Jess looked at the young man sharply. "Well, how long has it 'bin Knute?"

The boy hesitated, looking round nervously.

"Knute? I said how long has it 'bin?" Jess could feel the panic rising. He tried to rise further out of the cot but it was too much for his protesting body and the bile that he had been doing his level best to keep at bay suddenly rose in his throat. He turned to his side just in time as his spasming stomach ejected what little water Knute had been able to get into him. The exertion reduced his vision to pinpricks of light as he struggled against the waves of dizziness that overcame him. He had never felt so weak. He was in no position to argue as his young friend eased him back down on the cot and held the canteen up to his lips. He took a few slow slips and swallowed, not wanting to repeat what he had just been through, again, in a hurry. He realised however, whatever had had him laid up, and he was beginning to have his suspicions on that, he clearly hadn't taken any sustenance in quite a while and needed the fluids. He opened his eyes as Knute started to withdraw the canteen but before he could do so fully, Jess had reached out and grabbed his arm. As he had lain back, panting, struggling to regain control of his weakened body, the image had suddenly come back to him, of what had led to his being slugged.

He gritted his teeth, struggling against the waves of dizziness and nausea that once again threatened to consume him, and leant forward, bringing his other arm across to hitch up the boy's sleeve. The tell tale bruising and scarring confirmed his worse fears.

"Oh hell Knute, what have they done to you?" The boy struggled out of his grip, stumbling backwards, shocked at the sudden ferocity with which his friend had taken hold of him. Jess fell back, his energy finally spent. With rapidly diminishing vision he saw the boy look up as someone entered the tent, his face a mask of fear, but he was too tired to look for himself as finally he allowed the darkness to overwhelm him once more.


As his senses returned again, he was conscious of a presence in the tent with him. He was aware of a pungent smell that assaulted his nostrils. Instinct told him it wasn't Knute; he didn't know how or why he was so sure but he decided to play possum a bit longer until he could figure who it was and whether they were a threat.

However, his unseen visitor had already seen through the ploy.

"I can tell from yer breathin' that yer awake Harper."

He knew that voice. It was unmistakeable. So it hadn't been an elaborate nightmare after all. He should have known that was too much to hope for. He opened his eyes, resigned to the fact that Clint Jackson had him where he wanted him. A cursory glance around confirmed he was alone with his captor.

His head felt clearer than it had last time he had awoken but in every other aspect he felt worse. Much worse. It was as if, before, everything had been numb, disconnected somehow, but now the numbness had been replaced with pain in every fibre of his being. Jess tried not to show it; didn't want to give him the satisfaction, but Jackson didn't miss a trick. Besides, he was an expert on the subject.

"Hurtin' Harper?"

"Go to hell" Jess spat, through clenched teeth.

"Now that ain't no way to be Jess, after I've been takin' such good care of you an' all."

Jess didn't take the bait; he wasn't interested in playing any of Jackson's games.

"Where's Knute?"

"Oh, he's around. Probably takin' care of that horse of yers. 'Bin doin' that a lot when he ain't 'bin takin' care of you. Nah, 'ol Knute dern't go far." His voice took on a sinister tone, "Not when he's got everythin' he needs right here" from out of his pocket he had taken out a glass syringe full of clear liquid and was now toying with it, holding it up to the light, letting the contents run up and down the glass teasingly. Jess could feel his heart start to race and he realised he had broken out in a cold sweat.

Jackson grinned manically, "Hungry Jess?"

Jess swallowed against the dryness in his mouth, his words belying what, to his horror, he truly felt. "Not for what yer sellin' Jackson."

"Oh it ain't fer sale Jess, why no, to you it's free of charge. Ain't heard you complain none before now. In fact you've bin' real willin'"

Jess struggled to sit up, fighting against the rising nausea and the excruciating cramps that seemed to be invading every inch of his body. With shaking hands he hitched up the sleeve of his undershirt, the tell tale pin picks and bruising over the vein confirmed it.

"You bastard…" Jess tried to launch himself at him but, despite his crippled leg, Jackson ably pulled away. Jess' legs buckled under him and he collapsed unceremoniously to the floor, panting.

"Now Jess, that weren't very smart was it? Why, you ain't go no strength in you. Here, let me help ya" he reached to help him back onto the cot but Jess shied away from him. It took all his reserves of strength but he managed to pull himself up and lay back panting on the bed. The cramping in his stomach and the fire in his veins was becoming intolerable. He curled up in the fetal position, trying to find a way to counter the pain, no longer caring what Jackson thought, just focusing on trying to find a way through each spasm as it rocked his entire body.

Jackson regarded him with a warped satisfaction, "Yes sirree, the crampin' sure is bad ain't it? I can't tell ya how much I feel fer ya right now and I wish I could tell ya it'll get better but, well, I'd just be lyin' Jess and I just can't do that to ya. But truth is, only way yer gonna feel better, is if'n I give you more of this. 'Coz I've spent the last ten days gettin' ya nice and dependant."

He held up the syringe once more "Yep, it was a risk givin' ya so much in so short a spell, but, well, I got plans fer ya Jess and I 'bin waitin' a long time for this. Guess I'm gettin' kinda impatient in ma old age."

A battle was waging within Jess, the battle of mind against body. His body was crying out for the drug that Jackson had been feeding him for the past 10 days; that had him residing in a twilight world of half awareness and nightmares. And then he had gradually reduced the dose so that awareness had begun to return but had his body protesting for the substance that it had quickly assimilated and grown reliant on. No wonder he felt so weak; he had probably had little or no food in all that time. Jackson had him exactly where he wanted him, vulnerable and weak.

"I'm gonna kill you." He spat between chattering teeth. It was pure bravado. He was in no shape to do anything and they both knew it.

Jackson sat back down on the stool next to the cot and stretched his crippled leg out in front of him, grimacing once more at the pain.

"No, Jess, yer not gonna kill me. Ya wanna know why?" he looked down dispassionately at the pain filled blue eyes that met his and started to hitch up his own sleeve "Coz, you can't kill a man twice."

Jess was mesmerized as he watched Jackson slap at the hideously scarred arm to raise the abused and partially collapsed vein enough to receive the precious liquid.

"That's right, the man that Clint Jackson was, died that day back in '64; killed by the hand of Jess Harper. Ever since then, The Gray Ghost has been lookin' for him. Lookin' to make him suffer, like he's suffered; make him feel the same pain he did; and take his life away the same way that he took Clint Jackson's life away." He took a deep breath and closed his eyes as the euphoria of the opium coursing through his veins took full effect. When he opened them again, the pupils were completely dilated, giving him a demonic look.

"Yes sirree Jess, by the time I've finished discreditin' you, you ain't gonna have a friend left in the world and you'll wish you died that day with old Clint, I can promise ya that." He got up and started toward the tent flap.

Jess squeezed his eyes shut against the pain that had enveloped his entire being, his breath coming in tortured gasps. "You're mad" he managed to stammer as he tried to breathe through the spasms of agony.

Jackson stopped and looked down at the man hunkered up in a ball on the cot.

"Maybe, but I hold all the aces Harper, and in another hour or so, you'll be beggin' me to give ya what you need. And then you'll be mine. And that's when the real fun starts."

Jess closed his eyes again and gritted his teeth as another spasm of pain wracked his tortured body, and tasted blood as he bit through his own lip. When he opened his eyes again Jackson was gone, leaving him to his own misery and pain.


Slim couldn't understand it; there had been reports of robberies all along the border; mercantile's and the odd small bank, but the gang had never gotten away with much, if anything, to speak of. But they had a ruthless reputation. Five people had been killed in as many weeks and on separate occasions the names 'Jess' and 'Harper' had been mentioned. No one had been able to make a positive identification as the raiders had taken to wearing scarves over their faces and besides, no one really knew Jess in any of these towns, but it just didn't add up to Slim; it just wasn't something that Jess would do. And why would men who had gone to such trouble as to hide their faces, make such an obvious mistake to call one of them by name? No, it smelled to him as if someone was deliberately trying to sully Jess' name. Mort felt the same way; but word had gotten out that Jackson had fought in the same unit as Jess during the war, and everyone had known about the links with Johnny and Knute Duncan after the showdown in the Laramie street six months before. They had conveniently forgotten how Knute Duncan had prevented a lot of killings from happening that day. Slim had been particularly grateful that the young man had saved him from having to face his pard out there on that street.

He sighed as he tied Alamo up at the hitching rail outside the hotel and then headed down the street towards the Laramie mercantile store. Despite his concerns for Jess, life still had to go on and Daisy had sent him into town to pick up some supplies; but he was getting increasingly angered by the attitudes of some of the towns people; people both he and Jess had considered friends. What he saw reflected on many of their faces as they walked past, was suspicion; disdain, even fear. And that was from those who did him the courtesy of looking him in the eye.

Things had come to a head a few days before when he had last been in town to pick up some papers from the stage office. A wire had just come in for Mort, informing him that the bank had been robbed in the Colorado town of Glendevey and the teller had sworn that one of the men had referred to one of his accomplice's as 'Jess'. Of course, the wire was marked for Mort's attention only, so naturally, the whole town knew about it before he did.

As Slim had ridden in, he had seen an angry crowd gathering outside of the sheriff's office, with Mort standing on the porch trying to calm them all down. At the front of that crowd had been Kel Johnson. He was one of those men who revelled in stirring up trouble and Slim wasn't a bit surprised to hear him shouting the loudest "And what I wanna know sheriff is when are you gonna accept that Harper's trouble? He always was. People like him don't change." After more than a week of building tension, with no way to release it, Slim had seen red and had launched himself at Johnson. It had taken three of them to pull him off but not before, he noticed with satisfaction, he had done a fair bit of damage to Johnson's face. It had been the distraction that Mort had needed to disperse the angry mob but it hadn't stopped the sheriff laying down the law to him about his job being hard enough as it was trying to defend the reputation of one friend, without another trying to get himself thrown in jail. Slim gave a wry smile; Mort would have done it too, to make him cool off, if it hadn't been for Daisy and Mike being left alone.

His mind wandered back to Jess again, as it was oft to do. He wished he knew where he was right now and what was going on in that head of his. Slim couldn't believe he would be riding with Jackson. Not willingly anyway. He knew he had some loyalty to the men he had ridden with during the war but Johnny Duncan had proven to him that it wasn't healthy to let the past dictate your present. He couldn't see why Jess would just throw away the good life and friendships he had built in Laramie after drifting for so long, just to re-engage in some past allegiance that could only ever hold him back.

And then there was Mort; with Duncan and Jackson being implicated in the hold up that killed Seagar and injured Mose, and Jess having known about the payroll, the other lawman in the territory had all come to the same conclusion; that Jess Harper had gone rogue. And it was putting tremendous pressure on Mort whose credibility with his peers was on the line. He didn't know how much longer he could defend the young man with all the evidence that was mounting against him. They needed to do something; Slim didn't know what, but anything was better than just waiting and allowing Jess' name to be continually dragged through the dirt as it was. The supplies forgotten, and sick to the back teeth of people crossing the street to avoid him, he headed towards the sheriff's office.

As he got to the door, Ben Sanders from the telegraph office was coming out. He obviously hadn't expected to see Slim and his expression was one of surprise.

"Howdy Ben. Any news?"

"Slim…I ….er…think you'd better talk to the sheriff" he hurried out and as Slim watched him head back down to the telegraph office, he could already see Kel Johnson and a bunch of others cross the street to intercept him. Slim went inside, his mouth suddenly dry. From Sander's expression and his reluctance to tell Slim himself, the content of that latest wire had to have something to do with the Jackson gang. And specifically Jess. Slim headed into the office. A grim faced Mort was taking down two of the rifles from the gun rack as he entered.

"What was in that wire Mort?" The sheriff looked up, a pained expression passing across his face to see the young rancher.

"Now Slim, what are you doin' here? I thought I told you the other day to stay outta town for a while?" He had retrieved a box of cartridges from the drawer and was now loading both shotguns.

"Mort I'm goin' stir crazy waitin' back there, hearin' all these rumors about Jess and not bein' able to do anythin' about it."

Mort sighed, and stopped what he was doing for a moment. "Well, it looks like you're gonna get your chance, coz they're not rumors anymore."

"Whadd'ya mean?" He didn't like Mort's expression one little bit.

"The Jackson gang have struck again. They held up the Cheyenne bank. No one knows how they got in; the army have been watching the road up from Fort Collins and Dan Logan has had men regularly watching all the other routes in from the South, but they still managed to get in and hit the bank. Killed Jack Webster the Bank Manager and wounded Lon McGarry one of the tellers. McGarry got a good look at the man who shot him. It was Jess."

Slim was incredulous. "Oh, now c'mon Mort, you don't believe that Jess would…"

"I'm sorry Slim" Mort interrupted, "Jess is well known in Cheyenne - all the while there was no positive proof he was involved in any of this, I could hold the dogs off but now Jess has been officially identified I can't protect him anymore. Dan Logan has set up a posse and is chasing them westward; looks like they're comin' our way. I'm gonna round up every able man I can find and we're gonna see if we can intercept them before they disappear. Logan's already wired the General at Fort Collins to send his men up to cover that route, just in case we miss them and they head south at the Laramie fork. I'm sorry Slim. I held them off as long as I could."

Slim swallowed against the dryness in his mouth. Whatever they were saying, he still couldn't believe it of Jess. But with the might of two posses and maybe the army bearing down on the gang, Jess was sure going to be short of friends out there. He looked out of the window and saw a gathered crowd heading down the main street towards them, Kel Johnson at its head. Word had already gotten out.

He turned back to the sheriff "I'm comin' with you Mort. If Jess is with them I want there to be a fightin' chance of bringin' him in alive."

Mort nodded grimly. They'd have their work cut out on that one.