Chapter Eight

Jess stared up into a bright white light. Numerous faces bounced in front of him, seemingly floating in mid-air. He couldn't make out who they all were, but he could hear their voices, surrounding him.

"Just lie still, Jess," one of them spoke. "A few more minutes here."

"Can't you give him anything?" another voice called.

"Not with that head injury."

"Just hold him still."

He felt something sharp pierce his right thigh and then it started digging through the muscles in his legs. He screamed and arched his back as numerous hands seemed to reach out of nowhere to hold him down. He recognized one of the faces over him now – a woman. He'd seen her before. She was a nurse, and she'd been on a stagecoach with him. When had he last ridden in a stagecoach? Before he could follow the train of thought, the piercing in his leg seemed to intensify and he screamed and struggled against the hands again.

His head lolled to the side as all his strength seemed to seep out of him. Through the mess of hands and bodies surrounding him, he could see another bed on the other side of the room. He saw blue eyes staring back at his own. He noticed a pale face, sweaty blonde hair stuck to the forehead.

"Slim..." Jess muttered, his voice not strong enough to produce a sound, but the shape of the word escaping clearly through his lips. A slight smile played across Slim's face and Jess stared back at it, thinking it was the greatest thing he'd ever seen. He smiled back as best he could, and then his eyes slipped close, and he drifted off to a place where he could feel no pain.

Jess' eyes slipped open again. He felt a cool cloth being spread across his forehead, and someone's hand was holding onto his. He turned his head towards the hand, then stopped as a headache sprang to life. He closed his eyes again briefly, gasped, and then opened them and slowly finished rolling his head to the side.

Sheriff Mort Corey smiled down at him. "Welcome back," he said, and he patted Jess' hand gently and then moved his hands up to the cloth on Jess' forehead. He pulled it down and placed it in a bucket of cool water that sat on a table next to Jess' bed. Mort reached over and grabbed a water pitcher and a cup that were also sitting on the table and poured the water into the glass. He helped lift Jess' head gently and lifted the glass to Jess' lips. Jess swallowed as best he could, but his head was pounding, and he was very weak. He managed a small sip before waving the glass away and sighing as his head was lowered back onto the pillow.

Jess licked his dry lips and closed his eyes. "I-I was…was havin' the best dream…" he murmured.

"What's that Jess?" Mort asked, bending closer to his friend to try and hear his weak voice better.

"Slim…Slim was there. Alive." Jess swallowed heavily as tears sprang to his eyes. He could feel them escaping out from his shut eyelids, and while he was embarrassed and wanted to wipe them away, he found that he didn't have the strength to lift his hand. Anyway, why shouldn't he cry? His friend…his partner, his brother was gone.

Mort reached down and grabbed Jess' slack hand again. He squeezed it tight and leaned even closer to his friend, hoping his voice would penetrate Jess' fevered and confused mind. "He is alive, Jess." Mort watched Jess' face, looking for any indication that the young man had heard him, but he remained motionless, his face slack and his mind unaware.

"When can I see him?" Slim Sherman sat up in a chair, his right arm wrapped protectively around his still healing abdomen. He was bare chested aside from the numerous bandages that wrapped around his stomach, which the doctor had just finished cleaning and redressing.

"When you can stand without falling over," the doctor said firmly as he began packing up his medical bag.

"He thinks I'm dead, doc," Slim protested. "I need to show him I'm okay."

The sheriff jumped in now, rising from the hotel bed where he had been sitting, watching as the doctor checked over a still very much healing Slim Sherman. "He's got a bad fever, Slim. That bullet stayed in him too long."

The doctor clicked his tongue and shook his head. "I told the fool to wait for me to check out Slim when he first brought him in. Should've known he'd go running off to the saloon…"

Mort jumped back in, interrupting the doctor's angry rambling. "And his head's a mess. He's still confused, not sure of where he's at or how he got here. He's delirious. Even if he saw you, he'd think you were a fever dream." In fact, the doctor had recommended that Slim be moved to the hotel as soon as he was stable enough to be cared for away from the doctor's office. Jess' fever had spiked numerous times over the past week, and he had been calling out in fright due to his frequent nightmares. The ramblings of the sick man had interfered with Slim's own healing, and the doctor insisted that Slim and Jess not share a room until Jess' sleep became more peaceful. Slim had argued against this wholeheartedly, but in the end, it was Mort who had stepped in and told him that Jess wouldn't get better until he saw that Slim was alive and in good health – and that wouldn't happen until Slim could get a few full nights of sleep.

Slim had been in the hotel room for three days now, and he was itching to be back at his partner's side. He still wasn't strong enough to walk across the room on his own, but that didn't matter – Jess needed him, and Slim was determined to be there; especially after all Mort told him he'd been through the day that Slim was shot.

The doctor finally shuffled out of the room, mumbling to himself about his difficult patients, and Slim and Mort were finally able to have a conversation about what had happened. "You know, Mort…" Slim started. "Bill Enders and Ricky Mount? Jess didn't kill either of those men."

Mort nodded. "I know, Slim. You told me the whole story not long after it happened. I guess…I guess Jim just needed someone to blame."

"Jim?" Slim asked. "You found out his name?"

Mort nodded. "Jim Baxter. He's in jail, awaiting his trial. Should be a pretty quick one."

"Baxter? I thought he was Bill Ender's brother?"

Mort shook his head. "Not really. They were friends, from childhood. Guess they practically grew up together."

"So, not brothers, but…close enough." Slim sighed and brushed his hand across the back of his neck. "Kind of like me and Jess."

Mort leveled a glare at his friend. "Nothing like you boys."

It was another two days before Slim managed to stand on his own two feet without support. Though he only managed a couple of shuffled steps before he began to stumble, he insisted that it was time he be allowed to return to Jess' side. Begrudgingly, the doctor agreed, but he drew the line at allowing Slim to attempt the walk over to the doctor's office. The doctor produced a wheelchair, and Slim sat himself in it as quickly as possible, then looked expectantly at the doctor and the sheriff, who had agreed to accompany the young man back to his friend's side.

Just minutes later, Slim was back in the room where he had recently fought for his life. As he was wheeled into the room, Slim took a moment to look at the now empty bed where he had lay recovering for the better part of a week. He remembered so little of what had happened to him; he had largely spent the week unconscious, drugged to the point where the pain in his abdomen was nothing but background noise. It was the incoherent rambling of his friend that had finally brought him to the surface again; allowed him to swim his way up through the drugs and the pain and fight for life again.

The doctor wheeled Slim past his old bed and up to Jess' side. Next to him stood the nurse who had saved Slim's life. She smiled over at Slim as he looked across at her from the other side of the bed. "You're looking much better," she smiled, and he gave her a grateful nod.

"Thanks to you," he replied. "How's he doing?" he said, turning his face towards his still pale and sweating friend.

"Hanging in there," she murmured as she used a wet cloth to dab at the sweat coming off Jess' forehead. "The fever is lower than it was."

"Can I?" Slim asked, motioning for the cloth, and the nurse nodded. She handed it over and Slim took her place, working to cool his partner's heated skin.

"We'll give you a few minutes," the doctor said, his normally gruff manner being replaced with a bit of sympathy. He was touched to see how much the two young men cared for one another, and he knew that right now, his friend's presence was the best hope for Jess' recovery. The nurse and the doctor silently left the room, leaving Slim alone with his friend for the first time in over a week.

Slim was silent for a moment as he studied Jess' face. He wiped his forehead with the cloth and used a hand to brush back the stubborn curls. Finally, he set the cloth down on the table next to him and reached forward to take his friend's limp hand. "Jess…" he began, his voice barely above a whisper. He was still quite weak himself and seeing his friend so ill was taking what little strength he had. "You've got to wake up," he pleaded. "I'm here. You need to know I'm here; I'm alive Jess."

There was little sound for a few minutes, just the ragged pained breathing of his friend. Slim kept his hand firmly gripped around Jess' and he stared hard into his friend's face, willing him to open his eyes. Then – slightly, ever so quietly, there came a murmur from the man on the bed. "Sl…Slimmm?"

Tears instantly sprang to Slim's eyes as he gripped Jess' hand even tighter and shifted closer to his friend. "Yes, Jess. It's me. Come on, wake up."

It took another few minutes for Jess' eyes to flutter open, but when they did, Slim was delighted to note that they were clear and aware. Jess rolled his head on the pillow and stared at Slim with half opened eyes, his tongue running over his dry lips and his hand squeezing Slim's with what little strength he could muster. "Am I…dreaming?" Jess asked, his words slow and soft.

Slim shook his head and squeezed Jess' hand again. "Feel that, pard?" he said, a smile spreading across his face. Jess nodded slightly and then squeezed up his eyes in pain as the unrelenting headache made itself known again.

"F-feel it…" Jess acknowledged. Slim watched as his friend's eyes shut again and he drifted off once more to a much more peaceful seeming sleep, his breathing less labored and his fevered brow feeling much cooler. Slim let out a breath of relief and then bent forward until his head was lying on the bed next to Jess' arm. Minutes later, that's how the doctor found them – both men sound asleep, Slim's head resting near Jess' body, their hands intertwined on the white sheets.