Duty's Line

He looked down at the star on his vest. Sometimes he hated it. This was one of those times.

Mort ducked his head at the oncoming bullet, the miss far enough that the flinch was short, but he wouldn't be exposing his hat a second time. The man behind the flying lead could become more accurate. After all, some of his friends had already made the perfect mark. There was proof in that fact lying right beside him. And back on the road a piece. And behind the boulder off to his left. And still another stretched out along the creek.

He had failed this posse. Although the men that followed him out of Laramie hadn't needed his push to get them in the saddle when a local rancher was downed on Front Street, his experience should have told him that the group behind him would be coming with the temperature in their blood too high to tame. Maybe he couldn't have stopped their aggression when they caught up to the lead rider that had done the deadly gunplay in town, but the warning should have been on his tongue that it was likely that they were after more than one. No one was usually that brazen without a group to back him.

Mort made this realization when the first shot turned into three, and now that they were pinned down, the opposing count had doubled. At the least. He knew of six for sure, but if there were more down the road either incoming or watching for a cowardly flee, that number would tick up even more. But maybe there were only six that surrounded him and the two men that were left on his side of the law. Either way it probably didn't matter, considering how outnumbered they were. And at his own nod of approval, it had gone down even more. But since another shot in the distance hadn't broken up the raucous reports around him, Mort held onto a little hope that the guns popping from across the road were stopped at six.

If there was a number seven, he should have heard the extra blast by now. It might have been what the group of outlaws was looking for, but it wasn't for the run of a coward that a gunshot could have come, but one of bravery. Slim had snuck off to get help, but Mort knew the rancher would have never volunteered for the risky job if the sequence of events had been off by just a small margin. It happened seconds after the hooves of his horse pounded the ground. As Mort watched the fall to the dirt, he expected Slim's swift return, but he must have been too far to know the outcome of that shot and what it would mean to him, for the body that was beside him was Jess.

He looked down at the blood for the umpteenth time. He was still alive. Jess' awareness was at zero, although a doctor might have argued that there was too much unknown about what the brain experiences while unconscious to say that it was at nothing, but Mort knew that his hearing was at least gone. If Jess could recognize the gunfire that was still being thrown at them, he wouldn't be lying flat. And then there was the most common sense of emotion. If Jess could feel the tension and the worry that was pouring from Mort's body, then there would be nothing holding him back from joining in the fray. It was the pain that had taken him out, and the shock that went with it, but if there was one more challenge to put against oblivion's power, it was about to occur.

At that very moment was the distant shot. There was a number seven after all. Slim didn't make it through. And mercifully, just as it was when Jess went down, Jess didn't know his partner had been hit.

Mort lowered his lashes, no tears to fall, although they burned, and the sigh he heaved was that of a broken spirit. At least, it was that of a broken badge. His hand rose to touch two of the six points, the desire to rip it off of his vest strong enough that the leather began to pull away from his shirt, but with another blast zinging over his head he slapped it back in place. He might not be overly fond of it at this moment, but even if he chucked it into the bushes it wouldn't change the kind of man that he was and the duty that went with being a lawman. He couldn't give up, no matter the odds, not when there were still lives that were counting on him. Especially the man in blue that was stained with red beside him.

"Give it up, Sheriff." The outlaw's call was tainted with a serious flair of cockiness. "You haven't got a chance."

"You can kill all of us, you know," Mort shouted, the gunfire temporarily suspended as his voice worked its way through the sets of listening ears. "But you can't keep on killing forever. Someone will track you down. If not by a bullet, then by a rope."

The silence went on so long, Mort wondered if they had made a full retreat. There had been no hooves hitting the ground, but the way his heart was hammering in his head, he could have missed it. But not all seven of them. One thing was for certain, they weren't creeping up behind his back to put a bullet through his skull. If they were, then Chip and Crowley would have already taken lead's deadly poison. He could see them out of the corner of his eye, and as the two posse members were on the move, they gained Mort's full attention, inching closer to the sheriff's position. For a moment he thought they were seeking strength in numbers, but they were bowing to the pressure instead, the desire to flee stronger than the desire to stay.

"Chip!" Mort's whisper sounded closer to a scream as his fingers reached for a piece of the streak of olive that was his shirt, but the only connection was against the tips, a grip unble to form. "Don't run!"

The warning went unheeded, but even if the man stopped to listen, it was too late. His upright position made a bullet fly, its landing in a place where the breath was instantly taken away. And then in a moment of panic, Crowley followed, but where a bullet sought his flesh, he had a swifter dart, and somehow he made it to the timberline without a sudden drop. One man out of eight might have made it to safety, but Mort knew Crowley would never look back, turn back or come back. He was just as gone as if he had received the same final treatment as Chip.

Mort's hat was given a rough slap against his head. So much for getting the outlaws to consider his speech as reality. As long as one of the men had the ability to count, they knew for sure he was the only one left. No outlaw with any kind of reputation would leave a lone lawman behind. Except he wasn't alone. There was still one more beside him. And Lord help him, because Jess was starting to stir.

"Stay down, Jess," Mort whispered, his eyes on his friend, but his ears were twitching to the sound behind him. They were moving, sounded like in multiple directions, but the one he was most concerned about was heading his way.

Jess' eyes roved after the failed attempt to rise, the lack of his partner's presence showing along the pinched lines of his face worse than the pain he bore. "Where's Slim?"

Could he really say the truth? Since it wasn't spelled out in front of him yet, at least the starkest detail of death or life, Mort couldn't fully answer, but the plea coming from Jess' gaze was so strong that Mort knew he had to produce something. "He went for help."

Jess' response came with a rasping breath and the slightest hint of a smile. "Good."

He had to put both hands against the wall of guilt to shove it off of his frame, but even then it didn't fully topple the heavy sensation to the ground. Stealing a glance to the other side of their protective boulder, Mort saw the brush part as the leader emerged with an outstretched pistol and then he quickly dropped his gaze back to Jess. If the approaching man thought Jess was dead he wouldn't slide the barrel of the gun his way, but if he knew Jess was alive then it would be certain that another bullet would find him. Mort had to pull away from his friend to keep him alive. And he had to do it now.

"It's gone quiet. I'm going out to have a look," Mort said, wondering if the soft blue would turn to the tip of a flame if Jess didn't believe the reason of his departure. "Keep low, just in case."

There was no sudden switch in color, and with a light puff of air coming through the part of his mouth, Mort stood, the wide step that he took around his shield made him a mere ten feet from the opposition. Facing the single gun, Mort's eyes only went over the terrain once before coming to a final land on the outlaw. The number might have been at a significant height when the posse crashed into them, but no longer. Mort had been positive he had heard their departure, and although he couldn't have given a proper count at the sound, it wouldn't have equaled them all. Since the landscape was empty of other irons, he was standing in front of the one that remained, for there was no need for all seven to battle against one.

"It looks like your posse bailed," he said with a sinister twist of his lips.

"Some did." Mort nodded, his eyes desperately wanting to find his rearview to make sure Jess had stayed down, but he kept his dark brown attached to the narrowed set across from him. "Others went down fighting."

"Like you're going to do?"

"It's my duty."

"Aw, that line of duty." The laughter rang from his mouth as he brought a fist to tap against his chest. "Gets you right here every time."

"That's one way to put it," Mort said, his hand starting to move for his gun. "Or should I say, that's one place to put it."

He never expected to be missed. A span that close should have been right on target. But even though Mort was willing to sacrifice his life to keep Jess' going, there was still the power of the badge flowing through his veins. At the touch of the opposite trigger, Mort leapt, his body rolling as a trio of bullets scattered the dust along each side of his ribs. He himself had no accuracy when in motion. The pair he sent back went without puncture, but as Mort became stilled and the tip of his gun could find proper alignment, he realized the other weapon was no longer focused on him.

Jess stood, or a better description would have been just upright, for his bloodied frame couldn't take on a seasoned gunfighter's stance, but he was there, the boulder his backdrop, and the outlaw was making his deadliest aim.

"Jess!" Mort's shout was flung with enough dynamite that the explosion brought Mort to his feet, but where the result was most vital, it changed the direction of the outlaw's eye.

Mort fired, and the second blast went nowhere as the gun was dropped with the body crashing to the ground. Running to the fallen side, Mort checked for a pulse, his gun going into his holster a moment later. There was no more reason to keep it in hand, for the outlaw was dead. He wanted to breathe a sigh of relief, but the air would only get stopped in his chest as his head whipped toward Jess. His face was in the dirt.

"Jess." This time it came more softly, but his body gave a similar reaction to the first and Mort rushed to Jess' side.

"Mort?"

"I'm right here," Mort answered, gently rolling Jess' body over and no amount of experience that he kept under his belt would have prevented the grimace from forming on his face. The slightest movement had made the blood pump at a steady rhythm out of the hole in the upper right portion of Jess' chest, but now it was coming out in a gush. He took a fresh handkerchief out of his pocket and pressed it into the wound, and then crawling to the boulder's support, Mort leaned against the hard surface, the dark head nestled into the crook of his arm. "I thought I told you to stay down."

"Me, take orders?" The air entered Jess' lungs with a rattle, and at its exit it produced a cough. "I had to try. He was gonna kill you."

"I know, Jess." Mort patted the blue-clad arm. "Thank you. But this time, the saving belonged to somebody else."

"Yeah," Jess answered on a gasp. "I gotta make someone else look good once in awhile."

One corner of his mouth rose to settle in his cheek. "Sure, Jess."

The blue eyes closed, but only for a moment, as the lashes had to flutter upward to seek another pair. "I... I hope it was enough."

Mort swallowed, afraid to ask, but it trickled through his parted lips. "What do you mean?"

"I don't like how I feel. The blood. I reckon it's gonna be too much outta me."

He had to clear his throat, for the gravel that came with the emotion was getting thick. "You'll be all right, Jess. I know you will."

Mort had answered from his heart, but his head had a backup question that had zero positive response. How could he be so certain? The entire posse was gone. There was no one to send for help other than himself. Even though Mort could turn his head and see the outline of a pair of horses at the tree line, it wouldn't be this route that he would take. Number one, Jess couldn't sit a saddle and two, it would be too slow-going doubled up with a man that could be lost to darkness at any moment. But there was another reason why Mort didn't leap from the ground and make a hurried dash to his horse.

The several gunshots that had been swapped between living and dead should have been enough to make the other men turn back. And what they would find at their return would only make more lead fly. Right at them. Or if he was left alone, right at Jess. He would need a grave before Mort even made it halfway to Laramie. Mort shook his head along with his sigh. He wouldn't be going.

Mort looked at the limp hand that barely touched the butt of his gun and then lifted his gaze to the exit route of the outlaws. They wouldn't stand much chance when the group returned. Sure, the bullets in their guns could make some impact, but it wouldn't be enough. Mort knew that this would be where the story of his badge would end. And Jess? Maybe he could try to hide him somewhere, but the growing stain had its own type of reality to face. Just like Jess had said, the blood could prove to be too much. Unfortunately, Mort's knowledge wouldn't make it that far, for there was no doubt who would be the first one of them to die.

Jess' light had just blown out, but in the case that there was somewhere a doctor willing to argue the point with some kind of accuracy, Mort brought his heart close to Jess' ear.

"I hope you know how much you mean to me, Jess. A man like me, devoting his life to the law, doesn't get much time for family. Friends, sure, they number plenty, far and wide. But family, that's always been fairly small. When I count you among them all, you're there as both. And I couldn't ask for a better friend or a son. Anyway, I just hope you know that."

Anything else, no matter how meaningful, was put on hold. They were coming. Mort took a deep breath and put his pistol in his hand, the other giving Jess a parting touch. "I'm sorry I couldn't save you from them all, Son. But I'll tell you this, I won't let them take either of us out without a Harper-sized fight."

The group was coming hard and fast, and although he couldn't meet them the same, Mort held the gun in readied position, his eyes watching for the first signal that defense was needed. His finger waiting for permission to press the trigger, Mort sucked in what could be one of his last breaths and held it in his lungs, expecting the reports to sound. What came first wasn't from a gun, but from a mouth, and it was calling his name.

"Mort!"

"Slim?" Mort's head bent toward the familiar voice, his heart pounding a wild staccato as the horse rounded the final bend bringing Slim at the lead of a large posse and the excitement burst inside of his chest. "Slim!"

The tall frame dropped out of the saddle, his run to Jess' side complete in a few strides. "Mort, is he...?"

"He's rough, Slim, but he'll make it. I know he will."

"I brought the doc with me," Slim said, putting his hand on Jess' cheek before dropping it close to the wound, "but I didn't know it would be Jess that would need him first."

"He was hit right after you left. As a matter of fact, I thought you got the same. How is it that you didn't get plowed under? I heard the shot."

"He missed, though not by much." Slim put his finger through the hole on his sleeve. "I went low and just kept right on riding, didn't stop until I hit Laramie."

"Good thing that you did. We've got work to do, Slim. I shot the leader. The others will be coming back."

Nodding toward the group of men lining the road, Slim freed his firearm from its holster. "This time we'll be ready for them. All of them."

And with a seasoned lawman in full command, there wasn't a single outlaw that escaped when they did.

.:.

He looked down at the star on his vest. Sometimes he hated it. This wasn't one of those times.

Mort brushed his thumb across the badge as he slowly regained his height, his eyes following a boy that had just celebrated his tenth year. What had been in a box beside the candle-topped cake was a tin star, the pretend kind, but it still bore the word on its front like the one Mort wore. Randy, full of smiles and more than a pound of pride, had just finished showing off the gift to Laramie's lawman, the announcement strong coming off of his lips that he was going to be like Sheriff Cory someday. And with his own set of six points to adorn his vest, Randy was one step closer to his dream.

The sigh of contentment rolled out of Mort's mouth, and just as the boy disappeared around a corner, he found another young man to rest his gaze on and Mort's lips switched to a wide smile. "Hey, Jess, over here!"

"Howdy, Mort," Jess said, his own face wearing a grin.

Mort slid his hand inside of Jess', both palms getting a hearty squeeze. "How do you feel, Jess?"

"Better. Doc says I can go home, and dad-gum, my own bed's gonna feel mighty good."

"And here I thought you could sleep anywhere."

"I reckon, but the scent of medicine in every room ain't exactly comforting."

Mort nodded, the chuckle close to turning into a full round of laughter. "I can imagine. You got some time? Coffee's hot on the stove in the office."

"Just waiting on Slim to arrive with my mount. A coupla cups oughta make it just right, I reckon."

"Sounds good, Son," Mort said, fitting his hand against Jess' back as the walk began toward the jailhouse, but his boots became stilled before they reached the shingle that bore his name, for Jess had come to a halt. "You need something, Jess?"

"No. Just something I gotta say," Jess answered, feeling the fingers grip into his shoulder, and whether Mort knew it or not, the fatherly gesture made the words come off of Jess' lips much easier than he expected. "What you told me the other day. I do know. And just so you know, it's returned."

"Thanks, Jess." There wasn't much more that Mort could say, as the emotion he felt inside was enough. Giving a slow nod, Mort smiled, and then motioned with his hand toward his office. "Ready for that coffee? Two cups, wasn't it?"

"You bet."