Chapter Three

"You'd better get over to the saloon, Sheriff. He's looking to make a mess of things."

Deputy Warren Lane stood leaning against the door to Sherriff Mort Corey's office, his arms crossed and a disapproving frown stretching across his face. He had been sent by the bartender to get the sheriff at once. There was trouble brewing in the saloon, and Mort knew how to handle this sort of trouble better than anyone.

Sheriff Corey stood up, groaning a bit as his back ached in protest. He reached around and massaged his lower back, all the while growling about the detriment of old age. He hesitated as he looked at his deputy, the frown stretching deeper across his face now. "I suppose reaching old age is better than the alternative, however…"

Warren nodded gravely and stepped aside as Mort reached for his hat that was hanging on the peg by the door. He slipped it onto his head, then checked that the gun holstered to his side was properly loaded and shoved open the door.

The sun was just beginning to set now, and people were streaming into town for dinner and merriment. The streets of Laramie were busy, but still somewhat subdued. Many people had been alerted to what had happened at the Sherman Ranch earlier that day, and many people in Laramie were close friends of both Slim Sherman and Jess Harper. Slim still lay in the doctor's office, going through an hours long surgery that would hopefully save his life. He had been nearly dead already when Mose had pulled up in a panic and asked Mort for his help carrying Slim to the doctor's waiting room.

Mort and Warren walked silently together over to the saloon. They shoved open the batwing doors and gaped at the sight that greeted them.

Jess Harper sat at the bar, his back towards the door – a rare sight. The former gunslinger had long told the dangers of sitting with your back to a door, always preferring to sit where he had full access to view all angles of a room to keep a constant eye out for danger. Now, he seemed oblivious to the two men that had just walked through the doors behind him. A nearly empty bottle of whiskey sat in front of him, along with a shot glass that Jess downed in one quick gulp as Mort pulled up behind him. Jess reached for the bottle and began to fill up the glass again, but he startled as he felt Mort's hand land on his shoulder.

"Jess," the sheriff began, and he pulled the young cowboy around to face towards him. Jess had finished pouring his glass and he held it up in front of his face. He pasted a smile on his face as he thrusted the glass up towards Mort.

"Cheers sheriff," he slurred, and he poured the glass down his throat and then slammed it onto the bar behind him. Jess motioned towards the bartender that his whiskey bottle was now empty, indicating he wanted another. Behind him, Mort shook his head no, and the bartender acknowledged the sheriff with a slight nod of his head.

"I think it's time to go, Jess," Mort said softly, realizing that the young man was starting to draw the attention of the other patrons. Turning back towards the sheriff, Jess looked up to stare him in the eyes. Mort was taken aback by the grief and pain that he could see written in the younger man's normally steely blue stare. His eyes were bloodshot, and deep bruises were beginning to form underneath them. He looked as though he had been crying for hours.

"Go where, sheriff?" Jess asked, still slurring heavily. "Issit time for the funeral?"

Mort shook his head, a firm glare flashing across his face. "There's no funeral happening, Jess. Slim's still in surgery, and you need to be well enough to help him through this."

"Help him?" Jess laughed out loud then, startling many of the other men at the bar. Mort realized how quiet the men suddenly were, and he felt that all of them were staring, taking a twisted thrill in Jess Harper's public pain. "I'm the reason he got shot, Mort."

Mort reached out a hand as Jess' body began to tilt off the barstool. He grabbed ahold of the dark-haired man's shoulder to steady him. Jess' feet crashed to the floor, and he tried to stand, but his right leg buckled, and he tilted hard into Mort's arms.

"Easy boy," Mort whispered. "Come on now." Deputy Lane stepped forward and took Jess' other side and together, the two men helped Jess stumble out of the saloon and down to the sheriff's office. They deposited Jess in one of the chair's across from Mort's desk. The young man instantly bent forward, rested his elbows on his legs and buried his head in his hands.

With a nod to the sheriff, Warren Lane exited out the doors, leaving Mort to handle his young friend. Mort went across and poured a large cup of coffee and then walked over to Jess' rapidly depleting form and knelt in front of him. "Here Jess," Mort said firmly. He reached out and grabbed Jess' hands and pulled them gently away from Jess' face. He slipped the coffee cup into Jess' right hand, and kept his hands wrapped around it for a moment until he was sure that Jess wouldn't drop it. Jess lifted his head and stared at the coffee cup for a moment, seemingly unaware of how it had wound up in his hand. "Thanks," he finally mumbled softly, and then he straightened up slowly and leaned his entire body back in the chair. He stretched his right leg out in front of him, wincing as the muscles twitched around the bullet wound.

"Have you gotten that looked at yet?" Mort asked, motioning towards Jess' injured thigh.

Jess' eyes had slipped close, but he nodded and spoke softly. "The nurse on the stage wrapped it up." He opened his eyes just barely and brought the coffee up to his lips, took a small sip, then sighed and allowed his eyes to fall closed again.

Suddenly, Jess' eyes sprung open and he bolted forward, spilling some of the coffee onto the floor in front of him. "I've got to get to him, Mort," Jess said. Mort reached forward and took the coffee from Jess' shaking hands before his floors could be further ruined.

"What are you talking about, Jess?" Mort asked, trying to keep his voice gentle but suddenly feeling very alarmed for his young friend.

"Slim," Jess said, his voice panicked. "Where's Slim?"

"Now, calm down Jess," Mort said, putting his hands on Jess' shoulders to hold the young cowboy in place. "Slim's at the doctor's still. He's all right; we've just got to give it some time."

Jess shook his head. "I dug him a grave, Mort," he said, his voice laced with pain and slurred with drink. "I shoulda stopped him. I shoulda gone with him or done something before the gun went off…" Jess was mumbling now, ranting about things Mort didn't understand.

"Stop it, Jess," the sheriff said, not unkindly. He knelt again so that he could look into Jess' face. He forced the younger man to look up at him, and then he spoke slowly and clearly, trying to break through Jess' drunken mind. "Who did this, Jess?"

Jess shook his head back and forth for a moment, his mouth gaping open, his eyes wide and filled with pain. Tears sprang up and a few began to drift down his abnormally pale face. Jess licked his lips and took in a harsh gasp of breath. "I don't…I don't know." He blinked rapidly as more tears began to flow down his cheeks. Jess seemed completely oblivious that he was crying now. "But I shot him, Mort. I shot him, and we left him there." Jess looked up into Mort's eyes now, his own eyes growing larger with realization. "He's still there. We can get him. We've got to get back to the ranch."

Mort shook his head. "We're not doing anything, Jess. You need to sleep off that alcohol, and get that leg looked at again."

"You're not going without me," Jess said, his voice now becoming stronger and losing some of the slur that had permeated his speech since Mort had found him in the saloon. "Slim's lying there…dying…because of a problem this man had with me. I'm responsible for this, Mort."

"You're not going," Mort said again, his voice firm.

"You're not leaving me here!" Jess argued, pushing his body up straighter in the chair. "Either we go together, or I'll go alone."

"Not if I throw you in jail!" Mort threatened.

"For what reason?"

"Public intoxication!"

Jess pushed himself to his feet. He held on to the arm of the chair as he tried to keep the weight off his right leg, but he schooled himself not to wince at the pain; to try and appear fitter than he truly felt. "Ya can't leave me, Mort," Jess said, his voice thin and weak. "He's…he's the only family I've got left. I've got to make this right."

"You think killing yourself will make thing's right?" Mort challenged.

"Better me than Slim," Jess said softly, his voice barely above a whisper.

"You're a fool boy," Mort replied. "And Slim would say the same."

"But he'd do the same too," Jess said, his voice a little stronger now. "If things were reversed – he'd ride out there and find the guy who did this. For me."

Mort sighed and stared into the eyes of the stubborn young man who had ridden into his life as a stranger with a checkered past just two years prior. He had never met someone so quick tempered, so insubordinate, so defiant; and yet, he knew Jess Harper was right. There was no point arguing it any further. Mort sighed and turned back to his desk, picked up his hat, and settled it tight on his head. "We'd better get going before the sun sets all the way," he sighed as he strode towards the door. Behind him, Jess Harper gave the slightest bit of a smile as he followed him out the door.