After the needed nap, they played a few rounds of checkers, ate a hearty lunch and read some chapters of Robin Hood. Mike liked that Sheriff Mort used different voices for the characters in the book like Slim did. It was still raining at dinner time so Mort ran between the rain drops to the diner for some chicken and dumplings. After Mike helped him get out of his wet clothes, they had their dinner, talked some more and made it an early night.
Sometime later, Mort suddenly awoke. Not sure what was happening, he nonetheless instinctively reached for his gun belt and slid on his boots. He sat on his bed for a moment listening intently. There were no gun shots, no sounds of someone yelling 'fire', no breaking glass. Suddenly he heard a small, whimpering sound that reminded him of an animal in pain but the sound was not coming from outside. Realization hit him like a hail of gunfire - Mike! He bolted for the child's bedroom. He skidded to a stop and looked at the young boy. He was trying to burrow himself in his blankets which were sliding off the bed and crying piteously, "Slim, Jess."
The "by the book", stalwart Sheriff's heart tumbled over in his chest. "'What do I do?' he questioned himself as rising panicked feelings threatened to overcome him.
Suddenly he remembered Slim's instructions. He took a cloth from his medicinal closet and went to his kitchen for the water bucket. Dipping and then wringing it out he clutched the wet cloth and walked swiftly back to the room. He took a deep breath and then scooped Mike and his blankets into his arms and going into the main room, sat down in his rocker by the fire.
At first he did nothing at all, but as he gathered his thoughts, he began to rock slowly back and forth. He wiped the restless face gently and began to talk about Laramie. Mike began to settle, his tears still creeping down his cheeks, but his hand no longer clutched Mort's shirt as tightly as before. As his body shifted onto Mort's chest, his breathing slowed until he was finally asleep. But instead of getting up and putting him back to bed, Mort was losing himself in the fatherly moment.
He knew that the jealousy that he'd felt towards Slim and Jess was just that - jealous that they got to spend their days and nights with Mike, helping him grow and learn, while he was just Sheriff Mort, who Mike would see every other Saturday when he came to town or maybe see in passing while playing in the school yard.
As he rocked slowly back and forth, memories of rocking his own sweet daughter assailed him. Both his daughter and his wife had died so many years ago now, and yet, holding Mike this way, playing and talking with him had brought so many heartfelt memories back to him.
Although he loved Mort Sr., as he referred to his Pa, he hadn't set out to be a lawman. Forced to grow up faster than he wanted to, he had gone to war, met Slim Sherman, and then because he wasn't ready to settle down and was at loose ends, he and Slim got involved with the vigilantes at Adobe Wells. Afterwards, sick at heart over all the suffering, the two friends parted - Slim to Laramie, himself to Denver.
The two friends would not see each other again until Slim's telegram reached Mort Sr's home. "Laramie looking for a sheriff. Want the job? Contact me. Slim."
Mort sighed and shifted Mike's body as his arms were going numb. He'd found more than a job when he came to Laramie. He was happy here. He wiped the tear from his eyes and looked down at the tow head and gently stroked his hair. " Thank you God for this second chance to be a father" he whispered.