After Slim left, Mike stood shivering in the doorway watching his 'father' walk down the sidewalk. Mort watched him trembling. He remembered watching his own father saddling his horse to go to town and form a posse. He'd wanted to be a lawman like his Pa when he was a boy but when he realized the cost of missed family outings, dinners etc. he wasn't sure. In the end, he'd become one anyway.
Before he gave himself completely over to dark memories, he shook himself back to reality.
"Mike, before you and Slim came to town, did you have breakfast?"
Mike turned and closed the door. He pulled his jacket closer around his shoulders and looked up at the kind man Slim had said he could trust. "We had a scratch breakfast at the ranch," he mumbled.
"What exactly is a scratch breakfast?"
Mike frowned slightly and sat down dejectedly on the chair in front of Sheriff Mort's desk. "We had left over biscuits and milk," he paused and corrected himself. "Slim had coffee."
"Well, I never had my breakfast; would you like to join me at the diner? We could talk about what you'd like to do this week too."
Mike blinked in surprise. "You want to know what I want to do?"
Mort nodded. "Well, it is your first visit to town. I reckon you've hardly ever visited any of the shops other than the general store."
"What other shops are there, Sheriff Mort? "
Mort grinned and walked to the door. He reached for his hat. "You, young man, are in for a treat!" An idea was already forming in his mind as he opened the jailhouse door and led Mike down the street.
Breakfast was a lively affair with Mike regaling Sheriff Mort with stories about ranch life with Slim and Jess. Mort listened intently, eager to know the boy better. He knew that Slim was a hard worker and driven to making the ranch and relay station a success. He had seen, first hand, Slim's growth from a young, idealistic Union Lieutenant to a resolute vigilante to the proud owner of a large ranch. It was, in his opinion, the raising of his younger brother and the inheritance of the ranch that made Slim into the man he was today. The "by the book", "straight as a rail" rancher had become a father whether he knew it or not. As he looked over at young Mike, he realized that Slim had a profound influence on the young boy. Jess Harper tempered him and the two men were now willingly challenging themselves in a new role 'fathers' to the very vulnerable Mike Williams.
"Do you like being a sheriff?" Mike asked as he wiped jam off his chin.
"Most days," Mort told him smiling.
"What do you do when you're not arresting bad people? "
"Well," Mort sighed thinking of all the work that was piling up on his desk this very minute, "I have a lot of papers to fill out and read. I have to make sure that everyone in town is safe. By the way," he spoke conspiratorially leaning forward, "I need a Special Deputy this week. Would you be interested in the job?"
Mike's eyes widened in surprise. "What would I have to do, Sheriff Mort?"
Mort resisted the urge to laugh. Mike was picking up the mannerisms of Slim already. "Well, you'd need to wear the Special Deputy Badge on your jacket for one. Then you'd need to keep your eyes open for things I might miss. You see Mike," he paused and looked around the room, "I'm taller than you and people are used to seeing me in my role as sheriff and you are much shorter and new to town. You're also not afraid to ask questions. What do you say?"
Mike nodded slowly. "I would be honored," he said shaking Sheriff Mort's hand.
Later that morning, Mort with his now Special Deputy, walked down Front Street. Mort made it a point to introduce Mike to all the shopkeepers. Mike was respectful and very polite. They ended the morning round at Benson's where Mort rewarded the young boy with some candy sticks.
"Ready to go to the ranch, Mike?"
"The ranch?" Mike frowned. "We don't have a key."
"Well, we do actually. Slim left it with me, just in case. I figure, if you're going to be staying over in town, you'll need your night shirt among other things."
Mike nodded and followed Mort to the livery. Usually the ride to "12 Mile House," as some old timers called Slim and Jess's home, was a solitary one. Mort used the time to collect his thoughts, solve problems or just admire the scenery. This day however, he was accompanied by Mike who kept twisting his body to and fro seeing the prairie from a totally new perspective.
When they reached the quiet ranch, Mort dismounted and helped Mike down. After unlocking the door and making sure that nothing was disturbed, he sent Mike into his room to gather his clothes. This was the first time he had been in the house by himself. Mindful of the report he had to write the judge, he wandered into the small compact kitchen. When he had been here last, they were celebrating Andy's graduation and his leaving on his own adventure to St. Louis. Jonesy had kept the space to his own liking. He knew where everything was and he managed to cook tasty meals for the family in the small space.
Slim had washed the dishes earlier and they had dried on the counter. The back door was locked, the curtain closed against the cold. The dining area with the long table and benches was neat and so was the main room. Jess had folded a blanket across the seat of his rocker and the cozy rug which undoubtedly made for a warm place to play or sit for Mike was swept.
Slim's desk flanked the opposite wall. There was a small table off to the right set up with a checkerboard game and a bookcase crammed with books was nearby.
Mort crossed over to the window by the front door. Moving the curtain aside, his eyes swept past the yard to the hills above. There was a set of pegs near the door probably for hats and jackets. Mort knew that the first bedroom had been Slim's parents room and then occupied by Jonesy so he didn't enter. The next room was Mike's and the last one was the shared room. Two beds, separated by a small table holding a book, cup and the offending alarm clock completed the picture. The beds were made.
All told, the ranch house and probably the bunk house and barn too spoke of a well-kept, lively, livable space but the judge was looking for the type of life that Slim and Jess were providing young Mike and that was going to be more challenging to write about.
"Sheriff Mort," Mike called to him in the midst of his mental note taking. "Everything is ready!"
Mort turned and walked into the boy's room. Looking down at the bed, he said softly, "There's something missing."
Mike scratched his head. "Two jeans, two shirts, nightshirt" he recited. "I don't know?" He looked up confused.
"Here's an easy way to remember, Mike," Mort pointed to his head and recited an old rhyme: "Head, shoulders, knees and toes."
Mike giggled at the rhyme and then his eyes widened with the knowledge just imparted.
"Socks!" He shouted.
Mort laughed and added, "You ready for another lesson?"
"Yes, sir, I mean Sheriff Mort."
"One set of clothes on your back, one set in your bedroom and one set to be washed or mended, except if you're traveling which is what you're doing."
Mike nodded thoughtfully and then scratched his head. "But how do I pack all my clothes and still ride Chase? Will I have to wear them all?"
Mort shook his head. "Nope, we'll make a bed roll."
Mike frowned. "Oh," he said realizing what the bed roll was. "You mean the roll that's tied on behind the saddle that Slim or Jess puts on when they ride away?"
Mort nodded. "Go get those socks, Mike and I'll teach you how."
Author's notes: Obviously, the little ditty was not around in the 1870's, but I thought I would add it for levity.
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