The younger Maverick breathed a sigh of relief when he entered the hotel room and found his brother still asleep. 'Musta been another poker night,' he thought. Relatively quickly Bret stirred and Bart sat on the chair next to the bed, ready for the questioning to begin. To his surprise, there was none.
"Hey, good mornin'," was as much as he heard from the bed.
"I've got some news," Bart responded.
"What's that?" Bret pulled himself up into a sitting position.
"There was an arrival this mornin' on the stage."
"Oh God, not Pappy!"
"No, it's not Friday," Bart chuckled.
"I don't have any more guesses. Tell me."
"Be glad yer sittin' down. Dandy Jim Buckley."
"Are you serious?"
"Yeah."
"Come for the poker game, I guess."
"Maybe. But Lee Maxwell picked him up at the stage depot."
Bret ran his hand through his hair. "Do you think . . . . . "
"Who knows, with Buckley. He's been in some awful shady deals."
"Did he see you?"
"Don't think so. But he might have. There's a meetin' tonight, ain't there?"
"How'd you know that?" Bret asked before he thought. "Oh yeah, Miss Maxwell. How is she, by the way?"
"I'm havin' dinner with her again tonight. After the meetin' gets started. So I might take the buggy out there."
Bret got a sly grin on his face. "Was it cold last night?"
"Naw. Not really."
Bart was right, Bret had drawn the conclusion that he'd spent the night with Julie. "Careful, that brother a hers is liable to expect you to marry the gal."
"I don't think Lee Maxwell is gonna want her to have anything to do with us when this is all over."
Bret nodded. "You're right, I'm sure. Well, I'm goin' ta get breakfast. You?"
"I got somethin' ta do first, then I'm comin' back ta sleep. I'll catch ya later."
Bret went downstairs to the dining room; Bart walked down the hallway and out the back entrance to the hotel. Through the alleys and back streets he meandered until he got to the Rangers offices. He slipped inside and once again found himself in Templeton's office. The Ranger walked in with two cups of coffee and handed one to Bart. "Thought you might need this."
The gambler took it gratefully. "Thanks. Saw Buckley get off the stage earlier."
"Yeah, I was lookin' to see what we were dealin' with. Quite a dandy, isn't he?"
Bart laughed and almost spilled his coffee. "That's how he got the name."
Templeton sat on the corner of his desk and sighed. "Didn't shoot him, I see. So I take it he's cooperating?"
"Yep," Bart replied, "after I explained all the perks that go along with prison life. He's very agreeable to staying out of the Federal system."
"Most people that have a choice are. I expect to see your brother in here sometime today. Have you seen him this morning?"
"You mean has he seen me? Yeah, I made an appearance at the hotel. He was goin' down to eat breakfast."
There was a knock on the door and the young, wide-eyed Ranger stuck his head in. "Jack, Bret Maverick's here to see you."
"Shoot," Bart muttered, "you got another way outta here?"
"Yeah," Templeton answered. "That door leads out to the back alley." He pointed to a door behind the desk.
"I'll take it. Thanks for the coffee." Bart took a last swallow and set the cup down. He hurried over to the door and went outside, then closed it, except for a small crack, behind him.
Templeton turned to the young Ranger. "Alright, Samich, bring him in."
In just a minute or two Bret Maverick appeared in the office doorway. "Templeton," he said by way of greeting, and took the seat that his brother had just vacated. Bart peeked through the slightly open door and watched Bret, who looked worn out. 'Not sleepy, just exhausted,' Bart thought. 'We gotta get this thing over with in a hurry before it kills him.'
"We may have a problem with the Republic bunch," Bret started.
"Dandy Jim Buckley," Templeton offered.
"You know about Buckley?"
The Ranger nodded. "Jim's sorta workin' with us. Kinda like you are. He won't mess anything up."
"How sure are you?" Maverick asked. "I don't mind playin' around with my life, but I'm not gamblin' with my brothers."
Bart stood outside the door and thought about what Bret had just said. It seemed to be the way his brother always thought, ever since they were nothing more than babies. 'I don't mind playin' around with my life . . . . . but I'm not gamblin' with my brothers.' In almost every situation, that's what Bret had done. Gambled with his own life to keep Bart safe. 'It's not right,' Bart thought. 'Why should he always be willin' to risk himself for me? Doesn't he know I feel the same way?' He waited until he could hear both his brother's and Templeton's voices and closed the door carefully. He walked down the alley, turning Bret's statement over and over in his mind.
When he got to the back door of the hotel he went in and climbed the stairs, headed back to their room. He removed his boots, hung up his frock coat and silk vest and took off his shoulder holster, laying it ritualistically on the bed, then climbed in carefully right next to the gun. He closed his eyes and drifted slowly into the world of sleep, still thinking about his brother and all the times Bret had saved his hide from one mess or another, and wondered how far he would go to balance the scales . . . . . .
They were at Lee Maxwell's ranch; Julie was there, along with Tommy Slade and Quentin Travers, and Jim Buckley. Dandy and Bret were arguing and Maxwell was doing his best to referee, but neither one of them was willing to give an inch. He couldn't hear what they were saying – Julie was trying to get him to leave with her. Without warning Slade got into the argument, on Buckley's side, and it was two against one. All the voices got louder and louder until Maxwell's ex-foreman pulled his gun and aimed it right at Bret.
Bart yelled "NO!" and pushed Bret out of the way, just in time to catch the bullet meant for his brother. It hit him right in the chest and instantly took his breath away; he knew a lung was punctured and that was the least of the damage. He dropped to the floor and couldn't move. As Bret gathered him into his arms, Bart knew he didn't have long.
"You okay?" he managed to squeeze out as he felt the edges of his vision creeping in towards black. A look of abject terror crossed Bret's face, but Bart smiled at his brother. "My turn, big brother," he whispered as he desperately tried to draw breath. "Don't get into trouble . . . . . . without me," he gasped, and lost the fight, closing his eyes and shuddering once before his lungs gave out.
Like he had so many times before, he woke with a start and looked around the room. From the angle of the daylight on the walls he knew he'd been asleep for quite a while, then he realized he was drenched in sweat and shaking. He got out of bed and made his way to the wash basin, where he soaked the wash cloth, then wiped his face and neck down. He hated nightmares like that. He'd had so many of them over the years that he'd lost count. Sometimes they were a precursor to events, and sometimes they were merely bad dreams. As he stood by the dresser with his hands still in the water basin, he wondered which one this would be.
He wiped his hands and pulled his watch out of his pants pocket. It was almost five o'clock. Where was Bret? He wouldn't head out to Maxwell's alone, would he? After that last nightmare, he certainly hoped not.
He removed his shirt and washed the sweat off, then put on clean clothes and gathered his shoulder holster from the bed and his buckskin jacket from the closet. He was about to strap on his gun belt when the door opened and his brother walked in.
"Last time I was here you were still asleep."
"You were here before?" Bart asked.
"Yep, about an hour ago."
"I wish I'd heard ya. I mighta woken up."
"You ridin' with me out to Maxwell's?"
"Yeah, if I don't give Noble some attention he'll find somebody else to make miserable."
"You ready to go now?" Bret asked as Bart tied his gun belt down.
"Yes, sir, I surely am."
"Alright, let's get outta here."
Bart grabbed his brother's arm before they went out the door. "Be careful tonight, would ya?"
The older brother looked in the younger brother's eyes and saw the concern and worry there. "Have another nightmare?" he asked.
"Just be careful, Pappy."
Bret grinned and threw his arm around Bart's neck. "I will, son, I will."