"Lost Allegiance"
Missing Scenes
Monday
Sherman Ranch
Slim finished the morning chores, changed the team when the noon stage came in and, as soon as it departed, headed straight to the barn. He saddled Alamo and prepared to ride out.
"Daisy, if I'm not back in time, Mose and Mike can handle changing the four o'clock team."
Daisy put her hand on his arm and gazed up at him. "You'll bring him back, Slim," she stated, almost ordered, not even caring to hide the tears brimming in her eyes.
"He'll probably beat me back here. But I'll look for him, just in case Traveller threw a shoe or somethin'."
He tried to sound nonchalant about it, but when his eyes met hers, she could see the concern and the bags beneath the sky blue pools, indicating he hadn't slept any more than she had. She'd also noticed the extra canteen of water he'd hung on his saddle's horn, the extra blanket he'd put in his bedroll, and the bandages and whiskey he slipped into his saddlebags when he thought she wasn't looking.
If Jess had found shelter during the storm last night and was okay, he should have been home long before this.
After fifteen head of their cattle had been rustled sometime during the night Saturday, Slim and Jess had discovered the crime Sunday morning and gone looking for the rustlers. They'd been out on the range when the brutal dust storm hit, but stubbornly continued the search. The two of them had gotten separated from each other, and, acknowledging the uselessness of continuing the hunt with swirling dirt so dense it made visibility only about five feet, Slim had made his way home, hoping Jess did the same.
He didn't. So, the other hope was that he'd determined he couldn't see well enough to make it home and so had waited out the storm in some type of shelter. A line shack, a cave, or a recess among boulders, thick trees or such. But if he had gotten along fine doing that, why wasn't he home by now? Jess hadn't been seen since late Sunday afternoon.
The dust storm that began Sunday morning had finally ended by break of day on Monday. The winds calmed and, at last, the blown dirt settled down, all over everything both outside and in, seeming to coat the world in a beige and brown haze.
At that point, Daisy didn't even want to think about all the items in need of cleaning. Worried and exhausted from lack of sleep, she just made a half-hearted attempt to rid the floors, kitchen counter, and dining table and chairs of the dust, while she'd continually watched for Jess to appear. She tried reassuring herself over and over that it was not yet time to be worrying so much. There was a perfectly simple reason why he'd been delayed getting home. And even if he'd encountered a problem, things were never as bad as they seemed. Jess always bounced back. But when he still hadn't arrived by noon, her nervousness caused her to drop the broom so many times, she gave up momentarily on clearing the mess from the ranch house. And Slim's worry had reached the point of nearly matching hers.
He'd glanced toward the top of the hill for what must have been the twentieth time, hoping to see his friend riding down to the ranch. Again, disappointment added to his unease. So after the stage left, he got ready to search for Jess.
Mike came from the house, carrying a pack of food Daisy had prepared. He handed it to Slim, and the tall rancher ruffled the hair of the apprehensive child.
"You get the checkerboard set up, Mike. When Jess gets home he'll want to see if you can beat him this time."
Mike smiled, reassured that things would soon be back to normal. With a last look of shared concern between Daisy and himself, Slim set out.
He rode back along the trails he and Jess had covered early Sunday when they'd gone looking for evidence of the direction the rustlers had taken. As he searched now, all along the way he looked for sign, hoping to see some indication that Jess had at least started for home. But there was nothing. Tracks would be impossible to find; the wind took care of them, other than ones that would have been made today after the storm died down, and he saw none of those. But he saw nothing else either. No overturned rocks, no churned up tufts of grass, no evidence left by a horse, no piece of cloth on a branch or any article left on the ground.
He reached the point where he and Jess had split up, and he headed down the trail Jess had taken from there. He hadn't gone far when he saw the broken fence. That must be where the rustlers headed the stock off Sherman range. Jess had surely found it. Why hadn't he come home and told Slim, so they could bring tools up here today and fix it?
He dismounted and tied his horse. Looking past the fence, he saw the downed tree. Not entirely unusual for a long-aged pine to come down during the major gusts they'd had yesterday. It would provide plenty of firewood. Sure a lot of work to saw those limbs and trunk up, though. Maybe he'd just see if the lumber mill would want to take a big part of the trunk in trade for cutting the whole tree up, and leave the rest for the ranch.
Surveying the fallen evergreen, he caught sight of a black object beneath a limb. He moved closer. Jess's Stetson. Lying topside down. As he scooped it up, he noticed something on one of the tree limbs and the earth. Anxiety climbed from his stomach up into his throat when he saw the crimson streaks on a branch and the dark red spots on the ground. He more carefully viewed the black hat. A dark splotch marred it too. Dried blood.
Oh, lord, had the tree come down on top of Jess? He noticed the lumpiness just beneath the branches. Dirt-covered rocks. If his pard had landed on those rocks with limbs swiping over him, they could have done a lot of damage.
Dadgum, Jess, how bad are ya hurt? And where the devil are ya?
If Jess had been able to climb up onto Traveller, which direction would he have headed, if not for home? But if he was injured, especially with a head wound, he may have been confused and gone in the wrong direction. Or if he passed out along the way, Traveller may have just wandered, seeking to please his master by finding some direction he thought might suit Jess. And in the long run, it may have been entirely the wrong course to get any help.
Slim kept up his search for hours. Stopping at the top of yet another ridge to look around, he considered the next step to take. If Jess had actually tried to ride while the storm was still going strong, it would have destroyed any tracks. And that's what must have happened, because try as he might, Slim could determine nothing to give him even a hint of which direction to head next. He'd just been checking out various possibilities with no results at all. The sun had already set, and he had a good deal of riding ahead of him to get back to the house, so he decided to go home for now. Maybe he'd be lucky and find Jess there, ready to give him an earful for thinking he was a greenhorn that couldn't take care of himself. He sure hoped that's what he'd get, a good bawling out from his pard sitting safe in his rocking chair.
Slim rode into the barn, and the first place he directed his sight was to Traveller's stall, since the horse wasn't in the corral or the paddock. Finding the bay's stall empty, he forced down the fear trying to gain a foothold. Maybe Jess had been home and explained the need to ride out again. Maybe he'd found a neighbor needing some help. Maybe… Maybe… How many scenarios had he come up with to try to calm the worry? After taking care of his horse, he made his way into the house.
He stepped inside the front door, and his eyes instantly swept the room, finding no gunbelt or jacket hanging by the door or any other indication that Jess had been home. He'd started toward his and Jess's bunkroom when Daisy came from her room, her face careworn.
"Slim, did you… ?" Her voice trailed off at the look on his face.
"No, Daisy." He shook his head, his voice barely audible. "I didn't find him."
"But… his hat…" She pointed toward the black Stetson Slim clutched.
Darn! He had planned to put it in the bedroom, thinking Daisy would be in the kitchen when he came inside. He should have known better. I should'a hid it in the barn.
"I found it out on one of the trails Jess rode yesterday. It probably blew off in the storm." He wasn't a man to lie, but suggesting that Jess had lost the hat in the wind offered an unrealistically optimistic theory.
She noticed how he refused to look her in the eye as he spoke. "Slim Sherman, you tell me the full story this instant!"
"Is Mike asleep?"
"Yes, he was worn out from worry when you weren't back by suppertime." She drew a breath and tried to calm herself. "Now, dear, please explain to me what you've found out."
Slim nodded and patted Daisy's arm. He headed toward the dining table. Daisy followed.
On the table sat an apple pie, plates, cups and saucers, silverware, the sugar bowl, creamer… everything all set for a late night snack with coffee, anticipated for three, as indicated by the number of place settings. The only things missing were the coffee pot, kept warming on the stove, no doubt—and Jess.
"Why don't you grab that coffee for us, Daisy, and I'll fill you in on what I know."
As they sipped the brew, Daisy's brow furrowed at Slim's description of the fallen tree, the Stetson lying there, and the evidence of blood at the scene and on the black hat. She took the hat in hand and gasped at the amount of dried blood on it.
"Oh, Slim, you must go find him! He's hurt! He may be lost. Or trapped somewhere."
"I know, and I will. But I don't have any idea where to head, Daisy. And I won't be able to find anything in the dark. I'll set out again at daybreak."
Tuesday
Helford Ranch
Jess was worn out from the confrontation with Lon Jamison. There he was lying in bed, having just awakened on Tuesday morning after a night of pain fever, as Sharon Helford called it, but Jamison either didn't care or didn't realize the injuries were serious. But Jess hurt, all right. He'd awakened sometime during the night Sunday, under the fallen lodgepole pine. A big branch pinned his arm, his ribs felt like they were being jabbed with a knife and his head hurt more than it had from the worst hangover he'd ever experienced. He'd been unconscious, his bleeding head resting in his overturned hat that had been knocked off when the branch hit him.
He'd extricating himself from the tree limbs and climbed clumsily aboard Traveller, who was totally skittish from the storm, as well as from his human acting not nearly like himself. Jess passed out off and on, unable to give the horse any direction, causing the animal to simply wander throughout the night and early Monday morning. They'd ended up running into Christy, who Jess knew from his Texas drover days. Christy tended Jess's head a bit, stealthily removed the bullets from his gun when he passed out again, admitted to stealing the cattle, and stuck a bunch of bills in Jess's jacket pocket to pay for them. Then he'd helped Jess back up onto his horse and watched him ride away as someone took shots at them. That someone turned out to be Lon Jamison.
Jamison's ranch was near the Helfords', and Lon had it in his mind that someday he'd marry Sharon, even though he'd never actually told her he truly planned to do that. So Sharon had quickly formed a friendly feeling toward Jess when she found him on Monday around noon and brought him, unconscious, to her father's ranch in Back of the Moon Valley, a small community tucked in a clearing in a low mountain range. Not many people outside of it had ever heard of, including Jess, although Laramie was less than a day's ride away.
When Jess had finally awakened Tuesday morning, Jamison came to the bedroom where the Helfords had him resting, glared at him, and accused him of being one of the rustlers who'd been stealing from the local ranchers. None of Jess's denials and explanations had convinced the man of his innocence. Throughout the day, he had struggled with the pain and Jamison's threats. The only bright points for him were the moments spent with Sharon.
"I guess I jump to conclusions," Sharon had told him. "At least I have about you."
Her soft voice accompanied an alluring look she gave him, and Jess felt an attraction building between the two of them. He was grateful that she believed him innocent of the rustling, and that both she and her father recognized he would never hurt her.
On Tuesday evening Christy and the three Bannister brothers decided to rustle every bit of stock the ranchers in the valley owned. Jess had finally been starting to feel a bit better when the rustlers showed up at the Helford ranch. While the Bannisters stole the cattle, Christy tied Sharon up in the barn, and then came to the house. When Jess refused his offer to join the gang, Christy knocked him out, slamming him hard to the floor.
After Jess came to, he found Sharon and untied her, but her father and Lon still thought he was part of the gang. Lon had knotted a noose and planned to hang him, when a deputy showed up at the right moment to stop that, and Lon ended up guarding Jess while the ranchers rode after the rustlers.
Jess watched the interaction between Sharon and Jamison.
What does she see in this joker? How could she love him? Maybe she doesn't.
He felt the way she looked at him held more affection than what was in her eyes when she looked at Lon. He hoped so. He was finding himself more drawn to her with every hour that passed.
Wednesday morning
Sherman Ranch
Daisy was beside herself with worry. At dawn on the third day since Jess had last been seen, Slim prepared to ride out again to look for him.
"Daisy, if I'm not back by the time the first stage gets here, tell Mose…" He paused and drew a breath, regretting what he felt it was necessary to say, and the additional worry he knew it would cause the dear lady. "If I'm not back, it'll mean I haven't found Jess. So tell Mose what's going on and that when he gets to town he needs to fill Mort in and ask him to round up a search party and come out here."
She nodded silently, her eyes tearing. They filled with tears again when she had to pass the message along to Mose.
By early afternoon, Mort Cory arrived at the Sherman Ranch with six other men. All of them knew Jess well, thought highly of him and were eager to find the injured Texan. Mort had just asked Daisy if she had any idea where Slim was or where he wanted them to begin searching when the tall rancher rode down the hill.
Slim and Mort talked over the options, put a plan in place and discussed it with the rest of the men. Then they all gathered a few supplies and headed out. Teams of two men headed in various directions outlined by Slim, with the agreement to meet back at the ranch house at sundown. If Jess had been found before then, four immediate gunshots would serve as a signal to be passed along, and possibly heard by the next nearest group, who would continue the process. The sound would only carry so far, but they each prayed they'd hear those shots soon.
Wednesday midday
Helford Ranch
With Jamison guarding him at the Helford ranch, Jess baited the man into coming at him. When Lon got close, Jess threw a haymaker than knocked the man out. After giving Sharon a kiss, Jess rode out looking for Christy.
He caught up with the rustler shortly after dawn Wednesday. When the Bannisters showed up, a shootout ended with one of them and Christy dead, and the other two brothers captured. Lon had actually helped Jess with that.
"Harper, are ya… are ya hurt?" Jamison asked.
"No. Not where it shows."
But he was hurt. His emotions had been lassoed, tied up tight and staked out. Because, as Jess had told Sharon, his association with Christy was a complicated thing. Christy had betrayed him, rustled from him, tried to lure him into a life of crime, decked him into unconsciousness, and told Jess he wouldn't mind taking him on in a gunfight. But when it came right down to it, Christy ended up dying for him. Friend. Enemy. Friend again? Jess was never exactly sure what Christy was.
Then there was the whole Bannister aspect of the past few days adding to his hurt. These Bannister brothers weren't the same clan that had killed Jess's family, not exactly. He'd dealt with that bunch already and seen to it that they all went on to find out the ultimate judgment on their evil hearts. This bunch of no goods were cousins to the first gang. Not as ruthless, though. They didn't kill children, at least as far as Jess knew. But they were sidewidin' criminals nonetheless and didn't bat an eye at pulling the trigger on ranchers, even 16-year-old Jimmy Lane. Christy had sent Ross to meet his Maker, and the valley's version of a judge would set the date for the other two Bannisters' tickets to the hereafter. Jess and Lon had captured them, tied their hands to their saddle horns and delivered them to the deputy who came riding over the hill. But being up against this bunch of Bannisters quickened horrible memories of the first time Jess had encountered that evil family. The whole rustling ordeal had been downright gut wrenching. He felt like the windstorm that landed that tree on top of him was swirling him around again, as he tried to right his world and make some sense of it all.
When he'd answered "No," to Jamison's question, he meant no new wounds. But his previous physical injuries were sure still there, and newly inflamed. The riding and shootout had taken a huge toll on him, well before he was anywhere near healed. And the force of Christy's fist knocking him into next week and onto the hard floor sure hadn't helped. The ribs had flared high again, and so did the headache. He might have a concussion, Sharon told him, from where that limb had grazed his head. After using the minutes Jess was unconscious out there on the prairie to empty the Texan's .45 and replace it in his holster, Christy had wiped the blood that trailed down Jess's face and neck, and Sharon had washed it from where it matted in his dark hair. That was all the thought he'd given to the head wound; the ribs had distracted him from devoting any more attention to it, beyond wishing the headache would go away. That is, until the ride back to the Helfords' house after the fight was over. When Jamison had to steady him to keep him from falling from the saddle when he'd almost passed out, it became obvious there was more going on in that noggin of his than he'd considered at first. So when Sharon and Mr. Helford said he was in no shape to ride, he hadn't argued much. He'd spend another night at their place tonight.
Walt Helford watched Jess during the noon meal. The young man wasn't looking too good, and Walt knew he and Lon Jamison were partially to blame for that, after what they'd put him through with their accusations and misguided judgment. Good grief, if the deputy hadn't ridden up to the barn yesterday, Lon might have actually tried to either shoot Harper or lynch him. Walt had apologized several times to Jess since then, assuring him he wouldn't have let Lon go through with it. At the time, he'd just been overcome by anger about the Bannisters killing Jimmy Lane from the next ranch when they'd raided it. Harper had quickly forgiven him, but he still felt guilty. Making sure Jess got good care now was the least he could do.
He admired the Laramie rancher's ability to let bygones be bygones, although he wasn't so sure Harper had completely let up on his feelings against Lon yet. Maybe inviting Lon to lunch today wasn't such a good idea, but there were some things about the ranch business and resettling steers back to their proper owners that they'd needed to talk about. And Sharon seemed quite eager to have both Harper and Jamison join them for the meal.
Jess glanced at Jamison, sitting at the other end of the dining table from him. The man, who he knew desired Sharon, sat rigid as stone, none too pleased with the arrangement for Jess to stay over at the Helfords again. Well ain't that just too bad. Jess grinned into his coffee cup and drained the last swallow, secretly gloating.
Jamison did show up and help put an end to the shootout with the Bannisters, and he did help Jess make it back here to the Helford ranch, so he was trying to get past his anger with the man. But Lon's surliness wasn't making it easy. And after all, Jamison had initially wanted to hang him, then threatened to shoot him. And his admitting he'd been wrong about Jess wasn't much of an apology. So Jess reckoned if the man was feeling a little discomfort now, he had it coming. And it was obvious that he had a burr under his saddle.
Jamison gritted his teeth. The way Sharon looked across the table at Jess Harper made him angry, but, even more so, it had him worried. Very worried. When Sharon had maintained that Harper needed more rest before he could ride out, Lon had tried to convince them all that Harper should spend the night at his ranch, not the Helfords'. But Sharon insisted he avoid riding so much as the two miles to the Jamison ranch house and stay right here with them, so she could look after him. She wouldn't even hear of Harper sleeping in the barn as he'd offered to do. No, he'd be right there in the house again tonight.
Lon had conceded the need for Harper to stay; the man was worn to a frazzle and still in a lot of pain. And yes, Lon could see he needed yet another round of rest tonight before he'd be able to leave. The action involved in riding out to find Christy and the shootout with the Bannister brothers had further injured his already cracked ribs and didn't help his head wound any either. If he'd tried to ride out this afternoon, he likely would have dropped somewhere on the way. It was obvious he needed care, and, unfortunately, Sharon insisted on providing it. Lon quietly sucked some breath in to try and settle his edginess.
She's supposed to be my girl! She shouldn't have her hands all over some drifter.
All right, he had to admit Harper wasn't a drifter or an outlaw; he knew that now. He had misjudged the man from the get-go and finally realized the truth; Harper was a good man, a respected rancher and landowner. That made it even more disturbing to have him around Sharon, because he had a lot to offer a girl. And Lon could tell Sharon thought he wasn't half bad to look at either. He could see the attraction between them. It galled him to think of Sharon helping Harper put his shirt on yesterday, like his arms didn't work or something. Worse yet was her wrapping those bandages around Harper's naked torso. It had been bad enough that she'd done that when Harper was unconscious when he'd first been brought here, but last night he was fully awake as she tended him.
Mr. Helford would be taking back his own bedroom tonight, the one on the first floor that Harper had been using. Harper wasn't well, but he was now able to make it upstairs; so he'd be spending the night in a bedroom near Sharon's. Lon's eyes narrowed. He sure hoped Harper would stay in that spare room. Alone.
Jamison found Harper to be a confusing son of a gun. He was a good man, but there was something about him that didn't quite sit right with Lon. While Sharon had insisted on his staying with them, the Texan—that accented drawl hinted at his origins—had stubbornly insisted on something himself. A decent burial for Christy. While the other dead outlaw had been given a quick and unceremonious covering by earth right away in the valley's boot hill, Harper demanded that Christy be afforded a more respectful burial with a local church deacon saying a prayer over the site. To Lon, that seemed a strange way to feel after what had happened, but Harper said, "No matter what all else he done, he pure and simple saved my life when he took the bullet that ended him. I'll see him buried proper with some words spoke over him."
Well, that was accomplished just before noon. Now, Jamison wanted Harper gone!
But it was going to take spending at least one more night at the Helfords' before he had the strength to ride the rough country all the way back to Laramie. And for Lon, that meant another night of worrying about Harper keeping his distance from Sharon. Seeing the way the two of them kept eyeing each other right there in front of him, he felt his hope in that regard stretched to the limit.
"Jess, are you sure you've had enough to eat? You must get your strength back. You've been through so much." Sharon's soft voice matched the tender look in her eyes.
Lon tilted his head to hide his agitation. Walt Helford noticed and hid a smile behind his hand. A little jealousy in this situation was a good thing. Jamison could use some prodding.
"You been makin' sure I got plenty, Sharon, and I'm mighty grateful. Ya sure are a wonderful cook." Jess smiled at her, and she beamed at the compliment and his attention. "I could use another cup of your great coffee, though."
"Of course." Before pouring the coffee into his cup, she patted Jess's hand, which rested on the table. The gesture did not go unnoticed by her father. Or Lon. He glowered.
"Jess, you haven't told us a whole lot about yourself. Do you have family?" Walt asked.
Lon perked up, awaiting the answer. Maybe this would be an incentive for Harper to get going, at least early tomorrow morning.
Jess nodded. "Not blood related, but family for sure. Slim and Andy are like brothers to me. Daisy's like my ma, and Jonesy's like an uncle. Don't see him and Andy much anymore, since Andy's off to school. But now we got little Mike with us. Ya might say he's like a nephew to Slim and me. We took him in when his folks were killed by Indians.
"Oh, how kind of you!" The admiration in Sharon's voice further grated on Lon's nerves.
Mr. Helford passed the platter of fried fish back to Jess, encouraging him to take another helping. "I wish there was some way for you to get word to them, but our valley's so doggone far from any town." He smiled at the way the lean cowboy, who'd politely claimed to be full, heaped more of the offered fish onto his plate. "I imagine they're wondering what happened to you."
Jess nodded. "Yeah, I reckon they're doin' plenty o' frettin'."
Wednesday early evening
Sherman Ranch
The gunshots to signal that Jess had been found never came. At sundown the entire search group had reassembled at the ranch.
Slim forced himself to eat the supper Daisy had prepared for all of them. He was sure the food was delicious, as always when Daisy ruled the kitchen. But this evening, the flavors didn't even register in his addled brain. His only thoughts and conversation concerned the search for Jess. Though he sure wasn't hungry, Slim knew he needed the nourishment to keep himself going, so he forked one bite after another. At the end of the meal, he couldn't even have told anyone what he ate.
"What's next, Mort? What more can we do?"
Mort shook his head. "I'll send some telegrams to surrounding towns, asking about Jess and encouraging any help they can provide in checking things out, see if anybody knows anything that could be a clue to where he could have gone. Beyond that, Slim, I don't know. We've covered miles with no sign at all. We can try again tomorrow and head even farther out, if you're all willing."
He scanned the faces sitting around the table. Worried expressions and nodding heads responded.
"I can take another day or two away from my ranch, Sheriff," Clyde said. "My sons can handle things for a while."
The others made similar offers.
"We know Jess is hurt. We have to keep lookin' for 'im!" Merle emphasized his statement with a hand slapping the table.
"Maybe somebody found him and took him in to tend to him," another friend offered. "We gotta keep asking everybody within miles and miles around here."
Slim looked at each of them. "You're all good friends. We sure appreciate your help."
Mort stood and put his hat on. "We start at dawn, boys. Thanks for the supper, Daisy."
Wednesday, early evening
Helford Ranch
Jess was about to enter the Helford's barn to spend some time with Traveller and see him fed, when Lon Jamison called out to him.
"Harper! I want'a talk to you."
Jess turned around, aggravated by the animosity in the voice. "Don't see anybody tryin' to stop ya," he growled.
Jamison stalked toward him, stopping ten feet away. "All right. I'm not a man to beat around the bush. So I'm gonna talk, and you're gonna shut up and listen."
Jess's eyes narrowed. Without even intending it to happen, he unconsciously planted his feet wide and solid, and his hand slowly moved into place near his holster. He had no intention of drawing, but a brawl… now that was something else entirely, an option he was more than ready to set in motion if this yahoo in front of him didn't settle his tongue and cool his heels. His left hand closed, while his right remained near the grip of his gun, just in case Lon turned into a complete fool.
"Tread careful, Jamison." Jess's baritone warned ominously. "Most men that've talked t' me like that didn't walk away afterwards."
Jamison's eyes flashed. He didn't know if Harper was insinuating that he'd fought men who'd disrespected him, or outright shot them, but either way, the arrogance in the statement ramped his wrath up a notch. His chin jutted forward as his voice boomed out. "Look here, Harper, if you—"
Suddenly, Jamison clamped his mouth shut as his eyes flew open wide. Harper. He knew he'd heard that name somewhere before. But he just couldn't pin it down, until now. That's what hadn't sat easy with him about the Laramie rancher. Now, seeing Jess take position in a confident gunfighter stance brought the memory back full force. Jess Harper! Colorado Springs. He'd heard about the man's reputation there, when he'd gone on a bull buying trip three years ago. He'd just made a well known gunslinger angry! Harper was looking at him like he'd just love for Lon to give him a reason to draw.
Jamison raised both hands warily. "I... I told ya before, Harper, I'm not too handy with a gun. I don't want any trouble. I don't mean any harm. I just have to tell ya somethin'."
Jess stood unmoving and silent. When Jamison said nothing further, he barked, "Well? Get on with it."
Lon slowly let his hands fall, but made sure they came nowhere near his holster. He wondered how to proceed cautiously and still make his point. "Harper, I figure you're the kind of man who sees what he wants and is used to taking it anytime he pleases," he said calmly, trying very hard to keep any trace of anger or challenge from his tone. He hoped his statement came across as a compliment, a testimony to Harper's strength and abilities.
It didn't.
Feeling insulted, Jess's eyes and words snapped. "I never take anything. I only want what I earn or what's give to me. I'd git no satisfaction in having somethin' that wasn't offered with a willin' feelin'."
A look of sadness overtook Lon's face. His voice was quiet. "That's what I'm worried about, Harper. That she's willing."
Jess masked his surprise. He'd thought Jamison was still accusing him of being a rustler, a thief. He now understood the subject on Lon's mind was Sharon.
Lon pushed on. He felt he had to explain—and ask something of Harper, even at the risk of life and limb.
"I know you've probably got your choice of plenty of women. But Sharon… she's all I've got. And she's all I've ever wanted."
"Don't seem that way. Not to me. And not to her."
"But she's gotta know. I'm just trying to get my ranch built up enough to do right by her."
"Maybe she's tired of waitin'. Maybe she's ready to move on." Jess's tone held an icy timbre.
"To you?!" Jamison yelled. He didn't even care now if he was taking his life in his hands. "You think you can just ride in here and take my girl? You think you can take my place in her life?"
Jess's brows drew together sharply. "I ain't usually this patient, Jamison." His voice rumbled in a carefully controlled monotone from deep in his chest. "But I've hit my limit with you. Don't press your luck no further." His thumb rubbed against his flexing fingers on his gun hand.
Noticing the movement, Lon blanched, unaware that the action was often a manifestation of Jess's agitation, not a preparation to shoot. Realizing again how reckless he'd been, he tried to get a grip on his temper and speak respectfully. "I'm just wondering what your intentions are, Harper. And I'm hoping… you aren't gonna destroy my dreams."
Jess caught a glimpse of a pink apron at the side of the house as its wearer retreated into the shadows, but his focus remained on the anxious rancher in front of him.
His voice came low and steady, but still held a good deal of irritation and a fearsome edge. "If you hear about my intentions, it won't be from me." He glared. "And I ain't in the habit of basin' my plans on another man's dreams."
Jess turned away from Jamison, effectively ending the conversation. Completely confident he wouldn't get a bullet in the back, he walked on into the barn.
Jamison took a deep breath, feeling his fear drain away. He hadn't accomplished anything other than aggravating the gunfighter, and he felt utterly relieved that Harper hadn't drawn on him. He'd been lucky this time, and from now on he'd follow the advice—or was it a warning—not to push his luck. Vowing to keep out of the Texan's way, he turned and stomped back toward the house to finish the day's business with Mr. Helford.
It was about a half hour later, as Jess was finishing grooming Traveller, that Sharon made her way to the barn. Jess turned at the sound of a skirt rustling.
"Howdy." He smiled broadly as she came near.
"Howdy yourself." A similar big smile on her face, she stepped closer. "I wondered where you'd got to."
"Just makin' sure Traveller's fed and settled. He's used to spendin' the night in our barn with his friends. Thought he might be gettin' a bit restless."
Sharon laughed. "I've never heard a horse described as having 'friends.' I think it's wonderful that you see them that way." She directed the softness in her eyes to his. "Jess, I'm relieved that you're spending the night. And I think you should stay for a few more days, to be sure you're completely well enough to ride."
"That the only reason you're wantin' me around?" He grinned as he watched her.
"Would I seem unduly bold if I said 'no'?" She stepped closer and put her hand on his arm. She looked longingly up at him.
Jess had seen that look in the eyes of many women. And he knew responding to it could lead to trouble, especially when another man had recently been in the picture. Against his better judgment, though, he succumbed to his own yearning and moved toward her. He placed his hand under her chin, tilting her face up as he bent down to her, and pressed his lips to hers. When she draped her arms around his neck, he reached an arm around her waist, gently pulling her closer. Wrapping his other arm around her shoulders, he drew her into a tight embrace and gave her another kiss that was long and tender. When the kiss ended and he raised his head, her position didn't change; if anything, she leaned more into him.
His breath deepening, even as doubt began to creep into his awareness, Jess rasped, "Sharon, it don't seem like this is where I oughta be right now."
"At our ranch? Why, you're welcome to stay here for as long as necessary to heal well."
"That ain't what I meant," he said quietly. "And I think you know it." He tried to step back, but her hand at the back of his neck urged him toward her.
"Where don't you belong, Jess?" she whispered.
He gazed into her eyes. "In your arms." He frowned slightly. "Ain't ya promised to Lon?"
"No, I'm not. He's never really asked me. And even if I were, maybe he's not the one I want." She looked deeply into Jess's dark blue eyes. "I'm sure of where I want to be right now. But if you aren't interested…" She lowered her arms, turned away and went out the door.
Jess stood for just a moment before following her into the ranch yard. "Sharon!"
She stopped, but didn't turn around, just gazed demurely back over her shoulder at him as he approached. When he caught up to her, they stood for just a moment, staring at each other. When Sharon smiled at him, Jess stepped forward and once again pulled her into his arms, kissing her passionately. She responded just as enthusiastically. After the kiss, they briefly looked into each other's eyes and then closed them again in another even longer kiss. When it ended, Jess suddenly sensed her tensing and raised his head to find her looking around the side of his shoulder, beyond him.
Turning to follow her gaze, he saw Lon Jamison. The man stood beside his horse at the hitching rail, his hands balled into fists. His eyes bored into Jess, who expected at any minute he'd have to fend off an attack; yet he kept his left arm around Sharon's waist. She remained turned toward him, her hand resting on his chest, and she didn't move it as she watched Lon.
Jamison's eyes shifted from Jess to Sharon, and disappointment replaced his anger as they silently stared at each other. Then Lon looked away, grabbed his horse's reins and quickly mounted. With a final glance at the two people standing so close to each other, he spurred his horse into an immediate gallop away from the ranch.
Jess turned back to Sharon. "I'm sorry if that embarrassed ya," he murmured. "I didn't know he'd left the house."
"You have nothing to apologize for, Jess. We have nothing to apologize for." She briefly stroked his cheek. "It's almost suppertime. Let's go on in."
The evening passed with pleasant discussion among Jess, Sharon and her father. Mr. Helford considered the looks, smiles and gentle teasing that passed back and forth between his daughter and their guest might be laying a good foundation for their developing relationship. Jess thought so too. But exhausted and hurting badly, he turned in early.
Thursday, dawn
Sherman Ranch
Slim had Alamo saddled and was securing a bag with food that Daisy had prepared, as he thought about the routes the search team had planned they would each take for the day to look for Jess. Shortly after dawn, Mort Cory, Jim from the livery in town, and Ed, a nearby rancher, rode into Sherman Ranch. Seeing just the three men who rode in, Daisy nearly panicked.
"Sheriff Cory, only three of you? More are needed to find Jess. Why didn't they come? They surely aren't giving up!"
Mort dismounted and stepped forward to calm the woman.
"No, of course not. Nobody's giving up, Daisy. In fact, even more are joining the search today. Most are setting out straight from their ranches or town instead of coming out here, though. If anyone finds Jess or any kind of clue, they're to get word sent to my deputy in town and out here."
Daisy's frantic twisting of her apron ceased. As she settled down, Slim tried to reassure her further.
"Don't worry, Daisy. We won't stop looking until we find him. He's gotta be out there somewhere."
"Oh, yes, but where, Slim? And in what condition?" Her voice trembled.
For a moment Slim looked almost as distressed as she felt. But then she could see him practically shaking off the doubt. "We've eliminated a lot of places. That's a good thing. We know where he isn't, so today we've got new ideas for where to look."
Daisy nodded, trying to be as optimistic as he was. Usually, she was the one telling people to have hope, to keep a strong faith that things would work out. But… this was Jess.
Although she loved Slim and Mike with all her heart, there was a special place in that heart of hers for the dark haired young Texan. A place she knew no one else could ever fill if, God forbid, he didn't come home. It had just about killed her when she'd lost her son in the war. And somehow, Jess had been the one who had helped put those shattered pieces of her spirit back together. She didn't think she could survive the loss of another son. And surely, that was what Jess had become to her.
The four men had been conferring, and now Slim returned to Daisy. "We've decided that if we haven't found Jess by sundown, we're all gonna camp for the night wherever we are and then keep going on farther come daylight."
Daisy nodded. "You'll need more provisions." She returned to the house to gather additional food for each of the men to take with them, praying they wouldn't need it, that camping for the night would be unnecessary because they would find Jess long before sunset.
The men tried to keep it from Daisy, and they didn't speak it out loud, but secretly they each sensed a change in atmosphere among themselves. Hope was fading, as they each began to wonder if Jess, obviously injured as the evidence indicated, had come to even greater harm. Jess Harper was well known to be an expert horseman, an experienced outdoorsman, having survived on his own in the Big Open for years. For him to be missing since Monday, for there to be no trace of him, raised enormous concern. If he could have come home, he would have. So it appeared that wherever he was, he was incapacitated. The countryside was full of ravines and canyons, and a man disoriented by a head wound could easily end up plunging over the side of a cliff. No matter how they tried to avoid the thought, they began to wonder if this could end up being either another day of wild goose chasing, or perhaps even worse. Possibly a day of finding a man now beyond help.
For Mike's sake, Daisy fought to keep her emotions in check, as she watched the four men head out in teams of two again, off in their designated directions.
Thursday morning
Helford Ranch
Jess spent a restless night and finally fell into an exhausted slumber a couple of hours before dawn. He woke an hour past daybreak, rather embarrassed at having stayed in bed later than the rest of the household, though all told, he'd only gotten about three hours of decent sleep. By the time he got downstairs for breakfast, he found a middle-aged, gray-haired woman with a prim and proper appearance had joined Sharon and Walt at the table.
"Jess, I'd like you to meet Mrs. Cassidy," Walt said. "She's a nurse who visits folks here in the valley when she can."
"Pleased to meet ya, ma'am."
"Mr. Harper." The nurse eyed him carefully. "Walt has told me about what happened to you. I agree with him that it would be a good idea for me to take a look at those ribs and your head."
Jess smiled politely. "Thank ya kindly, ma'am. But I reckon I don't need checkin' or fixin'."
Walt motioned to him to sit down, and as he took his seat at the table he reflexively hunched forward, grabbing at his ribs and unintentionally gulping a startled breath as unexpected sharp pains suddenly jabbed him. Of all the dadgum times for them ribs to give me a kick.
"Right after breakfast, Jess, we'll take a look." Mrs. Cassidy's no nonsense tone reminded him of the way Daisy dealt with his attempts to avoid her nursing instincts.
He glanced at her shyly. "Yes'm."
As Sharon walked past him, she leaned over and whispered in his ear. "Well, you sure look fine." When she walked behind her father to get the coffee pot from the stove, she glanced back at Jess and smiled flirtatiously, her eyes sparkling as they met his. His lingered on her face as a smile played at the corners of his mouth.
With the meal finished, and an exam and rewrapping of his ribs by the nurse completed, Jess accompanied Mrs. Cassidy from the bedroom back into the parlor. He stood politely as she took a seat, then carefully lowered himself into a rocking chair, aggravated for feeling so worn out from the simple, though uncomfortable, exam and binding. He took note of Sharon's absence, but figured it impolite to ask where she was.
"Well, what do you think about our young guest?" Mr. Helford asked, resuming his seat.
"I know he discussed leaving today, but I think he needs at least another two or three days of rest before riding anywhere. I'd say he has at least two badly cracked ribs, and they're nowhere near healed. Time on a horse certainly won't do them any good." Mrs. Cassidy scrutinized Jess. "They still hurt a lot, don't they?"
"I'm fine, ma'am."
"Did you have trouble sleeping last night due to the pain, Mr. Harper?"
He raised his eyes to meet hers, surprised at her perceptiveness. He knew he couldn't lie. He simply nodded.
"I figured as much. As for the head injury, it is definitely a concussion. Not real bad, but serious enough. And again, not healed." The nurse studied Jess. "You are still having headaches, are you not?"
"Not so much."
Mrs. Cassidy fixed a look at him that conveyed she knew he was covering up the severity. She determined the only way to get a straight answer out of this young man was to be very specific with her questions. "Jess, when was the last time you had a headache?"
Again knowing he couldn't lie, he ducked his head and mumbled, "Now."
"Have you ever been without a headache since that tree limb hit you?"
Jess kept his eyes lowered. "No ma'am," he said quietly.
"That's what I thought. I'll leave some medicine for you. Use one soon, mix it with water." She handed Jess two small packets from her bag. "It should give you some degree of temporary relief from the pain in both your head and ribs, and it will probably make you drowsy, which is fine. You could use the sleep, and I'm sure Mr. Helford won't mind if you take a nap. You can take the other one tonight before bed. The sleep will surely do you a world of good."
"Yes ma'am. Thank you." Jess didn't indicate exactly what he was agreeing to, but he secretly swore it sure as shootin' wasn't to take any dadgum medicine. He definitely didn't intend to put something in his mouth that would make him sleep, especially not in the daytime. His years on the drift had ingrained in him the need to stay alert.
"We're happy to have you stay on for a few more days, Jess," Mr. Helford said earnestly.
"I don't like to put folks out, Walt. But I'm really grateful for all you're doing for me."
"You're not putting us out at all. You're good company, son. And we're not doing anything close to what you've done for us. I still wish you'd let us pay you something for those beeves you're leaving here."
"I been paid. You can keep or share the Sherman stock as you see fit. Just be sure some of 'em get to the pa of the boy that was killed. I know it won't do anything to ease their grief, but that family's due somethin' for sufferin' a loss. Y'all are due somethin' for what Christie and the Bannisters put ya through."
"Thanks. I know the Lanes will appreciate the feelings behind the gift. Now, will you stay on for a while?"
Jess smiled. "Yeah, I'll take ya up on that, and stay for at least another night."
Mrs. Cassidy cast a warning look his way, making it clear that just one more night wasn't enough.
Jess read her look and gave her one of his winning smiles. "I'm thankful for your concern, Mrs. Cassidy."
The middle-aged woman smiled back and shook her head slightly. What could she say? The man was not only stalwart, but charming. She would do no more coaxing or arguing. She just hoped he'd use good sense.
After a brief chat among the three, the nurse stood up, and Jess and Walt both came to their feet in polite response.
"Jess, I'm going to drive Mrs. Cassidy around to several of the ranches today. I'll be back here in time for supper. You get the cards ready to give me a poker lesson." Mr. Helford nodded at him and then walked the nurse to the door.
Jess bid them both a pleasant goodbye, and as Mr. Helford helped Mrs. Cassidy don her light cloak, the recovering cowboy sauntered to the front window. He looked out at a bright sunny morning, a contented expression on his face. A buggy that must belong to the nurse sat to one side of the hitching rail, with Mr. Helford's mount tied behind it. Further away from the other end of the rail, Jess saw an unwelcome sight that turned his smile into a scowl.
Lon Jamison stood in the ranch yard with Sharon. He took her hand in his and spoke as she listened attentively. A radiant smile spread across her face, and she enthusiastically nodded her head and said something brief. Then she threw her arms around his neck. Grinning from ear to ear, Lon circled her waist with his arms, picked her up and twirled her around, and then set her back on the ground as he lowered his lips to hers and gave her a long kiss. Walt and Mrs. Cassidy had exited the house and now joined them. Sharon told Walt something that made him hug her and give her a kiss on the cheek. Then he stuck out his hand to shake Lon's and slapped him on the shoulder, smiling at first one, then the other. Mrs. Cassidy spoke to Sharon, and the beautiful brunette beamed. A few more words and smiles were exchanged, and Walt helped the nurse into her buggy. As he and Mrs. Cassidy waved and drove off, Lon and Sharon wrapped their arms around each other and shared another kiss.
Jess's lips pursed into a taut line. He swallowed hard and turned away from the window. He stared into the fireplace for a long while, took a deep breath and slowly released it. Then, he trudged up the stairs.
A few minutes later he came down, his jacket on and his gunbelt buckled low around his hips.
He stopped by the kitchen and gathered up several biscuits, two apples and two boiled eggs left from breakfast and placed them in a canvas bag from the cupboard. He and Slim had ridden out so fast to look for the rustlers and had intended to be home before sundown, so he'd left the ranch with no saddlebags or bedroll. To pay for the food, he was about to pull out one of the bills Christy had put in his pocket for the stolen cattle, when he realized Walt would find that an insult to his hospitality, especially since he'd already been given some Sherman stock. But Jess did reach into his pocket to grab the two packets of medicine. He dropped them onto the table. Better someone else use them if needed, than they go to waste in his pocket.
He heard hoofbeats and glanced out the window to see Jamison riding out. Sharon headed for the rose bushes in the backyard, and he could hear her humming a tune to match the happy glow on her face. He watched her wistfully for a moment. Then, releasing a heavy sigh, he pulled on his black leather gloves, gathered up the bag and headed out the front door.
In the barn, Jess greeted Traveller. Then he began to get his horse ready, placing the blanket and grimacing and gasping as he hoisted the saddle onto the bay's back. He was tugging the cinch tight when Sharon walked in.
"You're leaving?" The shock in her voice matched that on her face.
"I got folks at home wonderin' what happened to me," Jess replied dully, without looking at her.
She knew there was more than that influencing his sudden notion to leave. She'd noticed the tightness in his throat when he spoke.
"But did the nurse say it's okay for you to ride already?" she asked with genuine concern.
He didn't answer. A moment of silence hung between them, before he spoke again, his eyes fixed on the stirrup fender as he lowered it back in place.
"Looks like ya got the proposal ya wanted." The muscle in his jaw twitched. "Glad I could help."
She winced, taking the insinuation just as harshly as he meant it. In contrast, her statement came softly.
"You think I used you."
"You ain't the first," he replied gruffly.
Still not looking at her, he opened the oats barrel, scooped a few fistfuls of the grain into a bag he'd found in the barn, tied it and added it to his bag of food from the kitchen.
"But that's not what it was, Jess. I wasn't using you to make Lon jealous."
He tied the larger bag to his saddle.
"I wasn't trying to force him to decide about me." She stepped closer to him. "I was trying to make myself decide… about you."
He turned his attention to Traveller's shoes, making sure each was secure.
"A woman can be attracted to two men, you know. And at some point, she has to choose." She watched him as he moved to the other side of his horse to check the shoes on those hoofs. Tears formed in her eyes at the way he was blocking her out, guilt building in her conscience because he was rushing to leave when he shouldn't be riding yet.
He reached for his canteen and looped it over the saddle horn.
She stepped near him. "For a long time… it's just been Lon. But with you here…"
His back to her, he adjusted Trav's bridle.
She placed her hand on his arm. He stopped his movements, but kept his gaze in the opposite direction from her.
"You're quite a man, Jess," she said quietly. "You caused me to rethink everything. Made me take another look at how I feel. I was confused for a while. Then this morning when Lon rode over and asked me to marry him, it just became clear that my future is with him."
Jess gently pulled his arm away from her grasp. "Like I said, I'm glad for ya."
He still hadn't looked at her. He took Traveller's lead and walked out of the barn.
She followed. "Oh, Jess, I'm sorry. Please don't leave like this."
He stopped, looking at his horse, holding the lead and reins in his left hand, and again flexing the fingers on his gun hand, a sign not only of preparing for the discomfort he knew mounting was about to inflict, but also of the turmoil inside him from dealing with Sharon. He wished he could have left without having to see her again.
His focus shifted to the distant hills, and there was no emotion at all in his voice when he told her, "Ya took good care of me. I'm obliged."
With determined effort, he put foot to stirrup and climbed into the saddle with less than his usual grace, gritting his teeth at the fierce stabbing in his ribs and head.
"I wish you'd wait," Sharon pleaded.
He sat there, holding in a groan, stubbornly refusing to move his hand to his side where instinct told him to support the cracked ribs. He took shallow breaths until the pain subsided somewhat. Finally, for the first time, he forced his view in her direction.
She didn't look anything like Laurel DeWalt. Except they were both beautiful. One as hard to figure out as the other. And both of 'em darn good at reelin' him in.
Sharon seemed like the sweetest thing. But then… she was gonna marry a guy who had come close to murdering an innocent man—him. She'd stood right there and watched Jamison form that noose and fling it over a rafter and heard his plan to hang Jess, so she knew that Lon Jamison had it in him to lynch a man. And yet, he was the one she chose.
And she could deny it all she wanted, but it sure seemed like she'd used Jess to nudge Lon into setting a date. He didn't like being part of a game that positioned him as a pawn so somebody else could win a prize. Might be he was unfair in looking at it that way, and in time maybe he'd see it different. But for now, that's sure how it felt.
Sharon realized that even though she hadn't intended to, she had hurt him. She'd broken his trust. And his "you ain't the first" remark made her wonder how many times someone he trusted had hurt him, used him. She hadn't meant to do that, but she could understand why he thought she had.
And now, she had to admit that without fully realizing it, maybe she had used him. Her father had told her that Lon hadn't proposed to her because she hadn't made him mad enough yet. She was attracted to Jess, very attracted to him. And knowing him really had made her question everything. But maybe, deep down, she knew she belonged here with Lon. Had she seen Jess as a way to make Lon jealous enough to finally take the next step, to speed an engagement along? She almost felt sick to think how unfair that had been to Jess. How hurtful it had been. He had a right to be furious with her.
But as he looked at her now, she didn't see anger in his those dark blue eyes, only regret. She knew it was regret over what had happened between them, not regret that he was leaving. And there was no talking him out of going. She had suspected he was a man who, once his mind was made up, wouldn't change it. His expression confirmed she was right about that.
She blinked the tears away and swallowed her anxiety. "Be careful out there."
A melancholy look swept over his face, and gravel filled his voice as he softly said, "I truly do wish ya all the best, Sharon."
"Jess… please come back and see us sometime," she said hopefully.
He gave no indication he'd even heard the invitation, though she was sure he must have. She wished she didn't see such sadness in his eyes. It was a look, perhaps, of having been betrayed, and yet, without surprise at that happening.
He turned his head, gazed toward the mountains and rode away.
Thursday, almost sundown
miles beyond Sherman Ranch land
"What do ya think, Mort? Which way should we head now? Or should we make camp here?" Slim's voice was tired, morose, barely audible.
There had been no sign of Jess. The storm had hit Monday, and he hadn't been seen since that morning. They knew he was injured. Who knows how bad. Four days was a long time to go without food or water, if he had ended up unconscious somewhere. Alone. And hurting. The idea of his pard lying out there, dying alone, tied Slim's stomach in knots.
Mort glanced at the sky. "It isn't a good idea to be riding in the dark over country we aren't familiar with. But we've got maybe another forty-five minutes or so of daylight, and for some reason I want to just keep going in the direction we're headed, at least for a few more miles."
"Lawman's intuition?"
"I don't know what it is, Slim. Just a gut feelin'."
"You want to hold on to hope," Slim stated solemnly.
Mort nodded. "I know you are."
"I'm trying." Slim swallowed the lump in his throat. "But if he's alone and hurt… he can't hang on much longer." Shaking off the fretfulness and the weariness, Slim sat up straighter in the saddle, pulling his shoulders back determinedly. "We've gotta find him, Mort. Today. We've got to find him today."
Mort looked at the worried sky blue eyes, and felt a need to reassure the young rancher. "For all we know, maybe one of the other searchers has already found him. Jess might be sitting back home right now, chowing down on a big piece of Daisy's apple pie, while we're out here worrying ourselves sick about him."
The two men locked eyes for a moment, doubt and anguish shining in both sets. Without further word, they both pulled their jackets tighter against the unusual chill and heeled their horses on, farther away from Sherman Ranch, toward the low mountains in the distance.
Jess had made his way over the top of the low range of mountains behind which Back of the Moon Valley was hidden, and had stopped at noon to eat. Between him and Traveller, they'd drained half his canteen then. He'd figured they'd be coming upon a creek soon. There should be plenty of water flowing down from those ridges into various outlets and creeks below. He hadn't come across one yet, but he was pointed in the right direction, toward home. And that was enough.
Sure, his ribs were paining him something awful now, and he could hardly get his breath, and his head felt like some old gold minor was chiseling away for nuggets inside it, causing flashes of light to alternate with the shades being pulled over his eyes. But he was fine. He just had to keep riding. He was headed for home. And that was enough.
From the position of what he thought was the sun, unless it was another one of those light flashes from behind his eyelids instead of in front of them, he reckoned it to be around 6:00 now. Finally, he'd happened upon a creek.
He dismounted and let Trav drink from the flowing water, while he sat down and leaned back against a nearby log with his canteen and the remaining food he had. He wound up setting it aside though, vaguely wondering why he no longer had an appetite. He'd let Trav settle, and then give him the rest of his oats and an apple. It wasn't too far now, just another six or seven hours, he reckoned. They'd end up having to ride in the dark, but he'd take it slow. He tried to draw a deep breath and winced at the increased pain. Maybe he should camp for the night, but being this close to home and so eager to get there, he didn't think he could bring himself to do it. Trav was good about picking his way, and it was clear weather, should be plenty of stars out and moonlight, so walking along at night shouldn't cause 'em any problems. By midnight, maybe sooner, they should ride into Sherman Ranch.
The day sure had turned out to be dang hot. Shouldn't be this warm at this time of year. Sweat ran in rivulets down his face, neck, chest and between his shoulder blades, even though he'd taken his jacket off long ago. Trav seemed to be holding up okay, but he himself sure was feeling almighty wore out. And dadgum if that pain in his ribs, and his head too, wasn't getting worse by the minute. Almost made him wish he'd a' hung on to one of them powders the nurse gave him. Nah, he couldn't take a chance on falling into a dead sleep out here anyway. He was fine. He just needed a little breather.
He scooted down a mite more to rest his shoulders against the log and stretched his legs out in front of him, but the position caused more pain in his ribs. Dadgum, if that powder was here, he'd knock it back right now. No! He didn't need that. Just a few more minutes of rest was all he needed. And then they'd get going. They were nearing home. And that was enough.
And with that thought, Jess tilted sideways and slid down into unconsciousness on the cold ground.
They'd stopped at the top of a ridge and looked as far as they could in the diminishing light. Seeing nothing that was of any help, Slim and Mort made their way down the foothills to the even ground below to make camp for the night. They'd done as much as they could for this day, and both felt an overwhelming sense of failure and dread. They dismounted at the small creek and stretched their saddle-weary muscles, as the horses drank their fill. The depressing silence between them told that their attempt to hang on to hope was fading as quickly as the daylight.
Mort began to gather wood, as Slim created a shallow pit for a fire and outlined it with rocks from near the creek.
Suddenly, Alamo lifted his head and pricked his ears. With a whinny, he started to walk upstream. "Alamo, get back here!" Slim called. "Alamo! Whoa!"
The chestnut recognized that command and the tone, reluctantly halted and turned to look at his master, but made no move to return to him. Instead, he faced again in the other direction. Groaning with frustration and fatigue, Slim lumbered toward the normally obedient beast, wondering what had got into him to behave so headstrong. He reached out and grabbed onto the horse's lead and was about to gently scold the animal, when he heard it. A distance neighing.
With a pat of apology and thanks on Alamo's withers, he pulled his gun and quickly lead his horse back to the sheriff.
"Mort, there must be someone upstream a ways. I heard a horse or two."
Mort likewise pulled his iron. "Sioux this far out, ya think?"
"Could be. Could be anyone. Maybe those rustlers."
"We'd best check it out. Careful now. Move in slow."
They tied their horses to one of the trees and left them behind, unwilling to be given away by a stomp or snort as they approached the area where the sounds had originated. Putting some space between them, but keeping each other in sight, the two men sneaked slowly upstream, darting behind rocks and pines. Mort motioned to Slim to stop when one horse came into view.
There was no camp, and it appeared the bay was alone, possibly having strayed from where he belonged. There seemed to be no one nearby, which was a relief in regard to rustlers. They rarely traveled alone. A Sioux scout or hunter, however, could be out on his own and lurking nearby, well aware of the two men moving in. Slim held his position and kept a strong lookout, while Mort gradually moved forward.
The bay was faced away from them, with its head down close to the ground. At first Slim thought it was just grazing, but then it seemed as though the animal was nudging at something. But no movement came from whatever drew the horse's attention. Slim looked toward the last position Mort had held. The sheriff wasn't there now, having sneaked further along. Slim likewise moved cautiously forward. He stopped abruptly when the bay suddenly lifted his head, like he had noticed a new sound or scent nearby. The horse turned skittish, neighing plaintively, yet still drawing no reaction from whatever he'd been nudging at. Obviously wary, the animal moved sideways just enough for the waning rays of the sun to illuminate a form on the ground.
Slim and Mort saw it at the same time, and awareness of what lay there raised the hackles on both their necks. A body.
And when the horse turned around, both the rancher and the sheriff instantly recognized the bay with the white diamond at the top of the long face. Traveller.
Blood turning cold in their veins, both men charged forward from their separate locations, with hope and dread battling for supremacy in their souls. At exactly the same moment, they reached the still man lying face down and knelt beside him.
"Jess? C-can ya hear me?" Slim's voice shook, along with the hand he reached out to Jess's shoulder. Getting no response, he touched the side of his friend's neck. At the feel of a strong pulse, he sighed in profound relief. "He's alive," he breathed the words as a prayer of thankfulness.
Mort nodded at the good news, but a smile was still far from his lips. "Let's see how bad things look."
Together, the two men gently rolled Jess over. He was drenched in sweat and felt so warm that Slim illogically glanced around to see if he'd missed sign of a campfire. "He's feverish."
"Don't want him getting chilled. We need to get him off this cold ground."
Slim put an arm under Jess's shoulders and raised him, holding him against his chest to keep the upper part of his body off the ground while Mort ran back to get their horses. When the sheriff returned, he untied the bedrolls fastened behind both saddles and spread the ground sheets out, one on top of the other. Working together, he and Slim soon had Jess lying on the sheets and covered with blankets. Mort looked at his head and then began checking his arms and legs for signs of a break. When he moved his hands over the ribs, the Texan suddenly flinched and moaned.
"He's bandaged," Mort stated, with an air of optimism. "Someone's taken care of him. At least for a while."
Slim grabbed the canteen lying nearby, dampened his bandana and pressed it to Jess's cheeks, forehead and neck, wiping the sweat and trail dust away. The younger man began to stir.
It was a battle to force open eyes that wanted nothing more than to stay shut, but he finally succeeded. Staring up at what he initially thought was a patch of sky, Jess frowned as the blue began to look like eyes. He couldn't put two and two together. The last he knew he was in a meadow with only Trav there. His mind was playing tricks on him now, he figured. Or… could it be?
"Slim?" he managed in a course whisper.
A broad smile broke across the tall rancher's face. "Yeah, pard. It's me. And Mort's here too."
"Wh-where's… here?"
Mort chuckled, relief washing over him like the little stream nearby. "The middle of nowhere, son. But we'll get you home soon."
"Make sure… ya find Traveller."
"He's right here, Jess. He's fine. And you will be too. We know your ribs are hurt. How 'bout your head?" Slim hadn't been able to get that image of the blood stain on Jess's black Stetson out of his mind.
"Got a blacksmith poundin' on some shoes in it," Jess rasped.
Slim smiled wanly. He helped his friend sit up against the log and got his jacket on him. Mort held the canteen to the younger man's lips and encouraged him to drink.
"It appears you've got no infected wounds. Guess your body's just busy dealing with the injuries, and that's what's spiked a fever in ya," the sheriff said. "You shouldn't be riding with the condition you're in."
"Needed to leave where I'd been stayin'."
"And where was that?" Slim asked.
"I'll fill ya in later." Jess's eyes slammed shut on him again, and his voice trailed off. "Get me home, pard." And with that, once again, Jess was overcome by darkness.
Thursday, just before midnight
Sherman Ranch
Ben had been a big help the past few days, keeping up with the chores while Slim searched for Jess. Daisy was grateful for the help, but the man's very presence at the ranch almost shouted the desperate reason he was there, and it put her even more on edge. Each day she was relieved when he went home.
Mike was acting up more each day, something he rarely did at all. She knew he couldn't help it; he was a child dealing with enormous worry. But it was a strain trying to handle him. When she'd finally got him to bed, she heard him crying himself to sleep. She sat at the dining table and despite her best efforts not to, she ended up doing the same. Laying her head down on her arms, she let the tears flow until she too fell into an exhausted sleep.
And that's how Slim found her at midnight when he stepped inside the house.
"Daisy," he patted her shoulder, and even though his voice and touch were gentle, she was startled awake.
"Huh? What?" She popped up immediately and glanced around, unsure for a moment of where she was or what was happening, until her eyes settled on him. She couldn't help being fearful. "Slim! What is it? What's happening?"
"Take it easy, Daisy." He held her arm to make sure she was steady. "It's okay."
His eyes held hers as he said the words she'd waited days to hear. "We found him."
For a moment she just stood still. "Is he… all right?" She asked quietly, her voice trembling.
"He will be." Slim smiled. Daisy almost collapsed with relief. He hugged her.
"He's hurt, though, and a bit feverish. And he's been going in and out of consciousness. Mort's outside with him, waiting for my help to bring him in. Where should we lay him?"
"For now, let's have him here on the couch."
Slim and Mort positioned the once again unconscious Jess on the couch in the main room and hurried to gather everything Daisy instructed them to bring her. At first sight of him, she doted on Jess with motherly love and hugs, tears of relief and prayers of gratitude. But she quickly switched into professional nurse mode. She wanted to hear all about what had happened to him. She hoped he'd wake soon to give her needed details that would help her better know exactly what to do for him. He needed to be seen by the doctor as soon as possible too.
However, other than his ribs, the cut on his head, and the slight fever, Jess appeared not to be in nearly as bad a shape as she had feared. His color was good, he hadn't lost weight, he'd been cared for. By whom? And where? The answers to all the questions flowing through her mind could wait, though. For now, he was home. And that was enough.
Saturday afternoon
Sherman Ranch
It was the second full day of him being home, and Jess's recuperation was coming along just fine. The doctor had checked him out yesterday and rewrapped his ribs, and then gave him one of those pain potion powders, and dadgum, if it didn't work just the way the nurse at the Helfords' had said it would. He slept like a baby, and when he woke up this morning, the ribs felt better and his headache was practically gone. He actually wasn't feeling bad at all, sitting there on the front porch, feet propped on a small, low table, serenely drinking the lemonade Daisy had made for him.
Daisy hadn't yet stopped fussing over him, and for once he was kind of enjoying the attention. Especially since it kept him from having to help clean up that dusty mess in the house that Slim, Daisy and Mike were tackling. Daisy even had Slim wiping off the bureaus, desk, bric-a-brac and such. Things that, if Jess would admit to it, he would have been quite capable of handling, at least for a while before needing to rest some more. But if gettin' knocked on the head, cracked in the ribs and pinned to the ground by a tree, not to mention shot at and nearly lynched, didn't earn a man a day or two of slackin', then what did?
Slim and Mike hauled a chair outside to clean it. They talked a bit with Jess before Daisy came over to him, patting his shoulder and once again asking if he needed anything.
"No thanks, Daisy. I'm fine."
It was just a bit rankling to Slim and Mike that Daisy seemed to think their comfort and thirst quenching could wait, while she continually catered to Jess. He's always been her favorite, Slim thought. He smiled, though, knowing Jess did need some extra attention. But did he have to enjoy it so doggone much and just sit there, relaxing, sipping lemonade in the shade and watching them work?
Slim eyed him. "I'm sure glad to hear you're feelin' better, pard. Maybe you'd like to help us knock some of this dust out of the furniture."
"Uh, I don't know, Slim," Jess grimaced and grasped his ribs, selling his incapacity just a bit too dramatically. "Ya know, my side's still pretty sore."
He settled back and gulped some more lemonade. "I don't know what got into Daisy anyway. Women are just too durn purticuhler."
"What you're tryin' to say is… dust doesn't bother ya, huh?" Slim asked.
"Not a bit," Jess replied casually with a slight shake of his head.
"Well, that's good, pard."
Slim grinned mischievously at Mike. The boy smiled back, and it was apparent that some conspiring had gone on before they'd left the house. Jess didn't notice the look that passed between them.
"Let's go, Mike." Slim encouraged.
In what could easily be assessed as a well-planned action, they simultaneously began to beat the cushions of the chair with thick sticks, causing a cloud of dust to burst from them.
It was not an accident that they had positioned themselves so the afternoon breeze swirled the small dust storm directly at Jess Harper.
-The End-
Note: The dialog ("Harper… are ya hurt?" ..."Not where it shows." "I guess I jump to conclusions… about you.") and in the last section for the tag scene on the porch is from the wonderful "Lost Allegiance" episode, written by John C. Champion (story) and Dick Nelson (teleplay).