Chapter Three
"Who are you?" Slim asked, reaching his height slowly as he stood, the cautious step that he took was enough to bring the gun away from Andy's position to land closer to his middle.
"Zack Dowling," he answered, the dark eyes narrowing on the tall frame.
"I understand if you need a shelter from the storm," Slim said, the gun's position not moving when Slim's finger pointed to its barrel, "but you don't need to threaten us to get a seat by the fire. Holster it up and we can have proper introductions."
"I like the gun fine where it is, but yours on the other hand, that one can drop."
The hesitance wasn't long enough to make the man's threat intensify, but Slim held it out long enough, watching the stern eyes across from him, and then with his mouth hardening into a straight line, Slim's gun landed on the floor. "Feel better?"
"Sure." He almost smiled, but the dark eyes didn't reflect it. "Is this the Sherman Relay Station?"
"It is. I'm Slim Sherman. My brother Andy, and that's Jonesy over there. You want something other than the howling wind off your back?"
"That'll do for a start," Zack answered, his gun being pulled up, and with its movement, Slim moved to stand alongside his brother and as a long arm wrapped around a small set of shoulders, Dowling's gun slipped inside of leather. "I thought I was getting too far off track in the storm. Figured I was close by your place. Glad I found some sense of direction to land here."
"You weren't aiming for us in the first place?" Slim asked, wanting to feel a sense of relief that the stranger hadn't intended on dropping in if the storm hadn't come barreling out of the north, but relief was too far away, or as a better pinpoint would be, wherever Jess was.
"No. Got separated from my brother this morning. I told him to not wander off, but he didn't listen."
Sounded familiar, so much so that Slim felt the pang of regret hit his chest that he hadn't done more to stop Jess from getting in the saddle. "What's your business, you and your brother?"
"Don't cotton to outlaws, do you?" Dowling's hand, once more, fingered the handle of his weapon, but it was only there as a reminder of its presence, as it stayed in position against his hip.
"Not particularly," Slim answered, his voice calm even though his heart did kick him soundly from its inside position as the beat picked up its speed. Dowling's walk inside of his house with a protruding gun had been enough evidence of the man's profession, but it was the confirmation that throttled him the hardest.
"Not too many law-abiders do. Oh well, that won't bother me as long as you all mind yourselves and remember the kind of guest you have under your roof. In case you were wondering, I'm planning on riding out this storm right here. I'm not foolish enough to wander back out in this mess to find my brother even if he is the biggest, reckless, hothead on the planet."
"That could stretch out for days," Slim said, giving the shoulders underneath his palm a tighter squeeze when he felt them tremble.
"So? Were you planning on going someplace?"
"No."
He would have liked to, especially since he shared a similar predicament as the outlaw, but also like the outlaw, Slim knew he couldn't go out into the chaos of snow no matter how important the situation. The barn and the necessary duties to keep the stock fed was as far as he would travel and even then a misstep could leave him with frostbite or worse. No man could survive for long out in the type of blizzard that was raging beyond the walls and getting lost in it would be a sheer sign of death. The thought made Slim's heart tick even harder and as it did so, he caught Dowling's gaze and Slim realized he shared one thing more with the outlaw. The worried lines that were etched over their faces were exactly the same.
"Then I'll make myself at home. Coffee smells great. Don't make me wave my iron around a couple of times to get one poured for me, all right?"
Slim's eyes found Jonesy's, and at the connection of their dark and light shades, Slim nodded to ease the reluctance, and Jonesy's feet moved into the kitchen. The coffee, which was well past the boiling stage, was poured into three cups, but only one would get picked up. The steam danced around above the liquid line as the cup was brought by the fire, but the wisps that showed the brew was at its highest temperature would get a chance to diminish to a smaller trail as Dowling, despite his imminent request for it, wasn't reaching for it with outstretched hand.
Ignoring the internal heat for a more important chore, the man's boots clomped from one room to the other, obtaining every weapon, and when he had Slim's gun nestled into his beltline, a pair of rifles in his hands and Jonesy's shotgun under his arm, he stepped to the door. Of course there was one more that Dowling would know nothing about, but with Jess' retired gun unloaded in its hiding place, it would serve them no purpose. The wind doing more to open it than turning the knob, the door swung wide, hitting the wall with a bang that made an old and young set of feet hop, and then every gun found a bed in the snow, except for the one that was attached to Dowling's right hip. With another slam the door went closed, the boots growing stilled as the rocking chair was pushed to the edge of the fireplace and with a weary groan, he lowered into its seat.
"Thanks." Dowling grabbed the cup, downing a mouthful without a single wince, but the wrinkles around his eyes did deepen as he looked upward, not to lash out because of a burned tongue, but to firmly dismiss those that were around him. "Well, go do whatever you want to do. I know you can't charge out the door for help and those guns I just tossed out there, well, they'll be buried in moments so there's no point even taking a half-glance at where they might have landed in case you get any ideas about them during our time together."
"Come on, Andy," Slim said, leading his brother into the kitchen with Jonesy's slow footsteps coming behind them, the three coming to a stop at the farthest span from where Dowling slurped his coffee with Slim leaning against the kitchen door.
"What're we gonna do, Slim?" Andy asked, his eyes still on the position of the outlaw, even though a wall, rocks and a blazing fire separated them.
"Nothing we can do but ride the blizzard's duration out with him. Try not to fret, Andy. We'll be all right." Slim gave his brother a reassuring pat, but he knew his words wouldn't penetrate more than what his fingers pushed into his arm.
"I suppose there could be worse outlaws barging in during a blizzard," Jonesy said, keeping his voice low as he glanced over his shoulder, but Dowling's body was in a rhythm with the rocker, swaying in front of the flames and not listening to the kitchen chatter.
"True," Slim agreed, his head not able to produce a nod. "But he still bears the title even if he's done little more than show his fangs. That could change, so it's best to do as he says."
Jonesy doused the pot with a hearty shake of both salt and pepper and then pushed the stew away from the heat. "I figure it's what's on his mind that's keeping him from doing his loudest rattling."
"Yeah. I know how he feels," Slim said, his voice trailing into its softest touch as his finger moved the curtain away from the window, but the only thing visible was white. Miles and miles of endless monotony of the same picture. "Who would think that he and I would have the same problem?"
"You think his brother's on his way here, too, Slim?" Andy asked, looking up into a face that seemed far away. Even after Slim shook his head, changing the image of his face that had depicted his thoughts of one man in the snow, he couldn't quite erase the frown completely as he answered about the other.
"I doubt it, Andy. Even if a man had a compass, a map, and the strongest sense possible of which way he was going, it'd be impossible to make a perfect aim in a blizzard. Most men get so disoriented, they travel in circles. No. He won't be coming. Not until the storm blows over anyway."
"If his brother's not in a shelter, will he die?"
"He could, Andy."
"Then what about Jess?" The question made Andy's voice more urgent, and although it didn't carry into the other room, Jonesy put both hands outward and gave them a lowered wave to instruct Andy to take his tone back to a whisper. "We don't know where he is right now."
"Jess isn't green, Andy. I know he's more stubborn than a mule, but he's not about to make a hasty decision with his life. And there are a lot of nicks and crannies in the canyons around Pine Ridge. He'll be in one of them, hungry and mad, but safe."
"I wish I could tell my rumbling stomach that," Andy said, his hands wringing in knots in front of him, like the gurgle that came from the worry that had settled in his middle.
"A bowl of stew will take care of that right quick." Jonesy reached for a bowl, but when it became filled, a bellow for food was slung off of the tongue from the other room. "Well, I reckon our unruly guest gets to start. I'll be back directly and we'll all eat."
While Dowling lapped his in front of the fireplace, a bowl and spoon did get put at each position at the table, but it was only two that would get a regular taste. Andy stirred the contents of his bowl with one hand, the other twirling the cup of water, but with a repeated glance to the rattling window, both the items in front of him would grow forgotten. Pushing a sigh through his lips, Andy's hand reached up to rub a folded arm, and it was noticed by the two older sets of eyes that the fingers trembled.
"Go ahead and get closer to the fire, Andy." Slim nodded toward the fireplace, but the gesture also gave a direct point to the couch and window where he knew the boy would rather be perched. He knew that if circumstances hadn't put a stranger in his house, then both Sherman brothers would be there, giving a constant stare to what was on the other side of the pane. "This'll keep till later."
"All right, Slim." His angle was purposely widened to avoid a direct pass of the outlaw sitting in Jess' favorite chair, and when Andy reached the window, he tugged at the afghan that covered it up to his shoulders and crawled in place.
"How come you're not eating, boy?" Dowling asked, the wipe across his mouth with his sleeve done as his eyes scrutinized Andy's position on the couch.
He shook his head, but with the piercing stare working its way clear through his shirt and into Andy's spine, he worked his mouth into a reply. "I don't think I could."
"You that scared of me?" Dowling shook his head, his nose adding a snort. "I'm not aiming to hurt any of you, but I just had to make sure that you all knew that I could. Makes life easier that way, establishing who's in control right from the start."
"It's not that, it's…" But Andy couldn't finish, for his heart wasn't able to reveal its true feeling to an outlaw. It was better if Dowling could do the revealing, and that's where Andy decided to press. "What's—" He paused to swallow the tremble in his voice, but even that wouldn't take it away. "What's your brother like?"
"Abe? Wild, a bit easily ruffled, I'd say. He's younger than me by three years, but sometimes I feel like it's closer to thirteen. Still acts like a kid sometimes."
"Are you close?" Andy asked, shifting his frame just far enough that he could look at Zack and still be able to twist his head back toward the window if something other than snow moved on the other side.
"As close as two brothers could be, I suppose. We set out together after the war, oh, not to be criminals at first. It just sort of evolved that way when neither of us could make a job stick, but through the good and bad, we've gone through it all together. He makes me mad enough to wring his neck sometimes, like today when he took off when I told him not to, but I love the lout, sure enough."
"You're afraid for him, aren't you?"
"What makes you say that?" It landed off of Dowling's tongue with a snap.
"The way you talk," Andy answered, the sharp tone making his body produce an extra shiver that had nothing to do with his back pressing against the cold window frame. "It kinda has the same sound as mine. Afraid, I mean."
"Well. Some, I suppose." Dowling admitted, his hand tracing his jaw and then landing back on his leg with a hard punch. "He shouldn't have been out there and I can't shake the thought that he could still be someplace where the snow can reach him. I know Abe could die out there and there's not a thing I can do about it."
"What'll you do when the storm's over?"
"I don't know, boy. Look for him the best I can. But if he didn't get away from the wind I'd…" Now it was Dowling's turn to not be able to finish, his emotions smarting more than off of his tongue, but sparkling in the corners of his eyes.
"I'm sorry," Andy said, the image of a man close to tears making one slip away from his own lashes.
"No need to cry, boy." His hands balled into fists. "It is like this though. I know that I can't take revenge on a storm, but I'd take great offense to someone that would do my brother harm. That's when things could really get deadly."
They drifted into silence, yet the stillness could only come from their closed lips, for the sound of the raging storm hadn't eased for a single moment since it began, the violence that pelted the house only intensified. Jonesy and Slim getting up from the table diverted two separate attentions from where their eyes had been focused for only a moment, a dark shade colliding back with the fire while a younger one returned to the window. Their thoughts couldn't be hidden by what they gazed into, and there was another set, from his position in the kitchen that had his own version of the same.
"I wish I could stop looking out this window," Slim said with a frown. "It'll be dark as night and a hundred times more dangerous in an hour or so and yet I'll still be watching for him."
"Then you really won't be able to see a thing," Jonesy answered, dumping Andy's uneaten supper back into the pot. "I best be getting another pot of coffee going, on account we probably won't be sleeping tonight either."
"I won't, that's for sure. Not with an outlaw taking up camp with us."
"Yeah. Glad that Andy got him talking, though. Wish he wasn't a ruffian. I'd feel a lot sorrier for him and his brother if they were just out on the drift like our other lost friend."
"I know what you mean. I understand him a bit more, but any trust is a long ways off."
"I hope for his sake that his brother didn't stay in the storm and got out of it someplace. A man could become a victim fast under the current conditions. Why, I remember a time when your pa and I went out scouting after a blizzard swept through and we found three different men that ought to've known better than be out in that kinda weather, yet we ended up burying all of them."
"That doesn't really comfort me, you know."
"Sorry. Did anyone's ears other than yours hear that?" Jonesy asked, watching as Slim leaned toward the living room.
"Doesn't look like it. Andy and Dowling don't look any more worried than they did before."
"Well, maybe Dowling's brother knows better than the ones I was talking about," Jonesy said with a nod, although the certainty of his words didn't travel further than the gesture.
"Hope so." Slim's eyes returned to the blank outdoors. "But he's out there somewhere."
"Yeah, and wherever that somewhere is, hopefully he and Jess didn't collide while in it."
"I was thinking the same thing, Jonesy, but there are worse things out there than men with guns. A blizzard doesn't have to pack bullets to kill. It has its only deadly weapon, and it's right outside that door. And somewhere in the beyond, there are a couple of men lost in it."