Only Seconds Left

Tick. Tick. Tick.

If there was a clock in the room, and there wasn't, it would have been the sound that would have received the most focus, as it would be counting down the seconds until it would be the end. The clock might have been absent, yet the noise remained, although if the current thoughts could land on true reality, then it would be noticed that the rhythmic staccato came from a chest. His chest.

Throb. Throb. Throb.

That was more like it, but where this time it came from the beating of his heart, the central location was at his temple, for that was where it bled. The breath in his lungs stifled, he lowered his eyes, his gaze lingering at where it dripped. Directly on the front of his star. There was enough now that it marred his title, but even if it could no longer be read, the hard lines on his face told the truth of his full name.

He was Sheriff Mort Cory. And he was about to die.

Being a lawman, there was always the potential that upon awakening every day, this one could be his last. He would accept his fate as coming today with less emotion if he was the only one. But he wouldn't be taking flight into the unknown alone. Jess would be going with him.

Shifting his brown hue to the body on the floor, Mort struggled to get the needed air through the hot passageway, for something was caught inside of his throat, and it wasn't connected to the bandana that covered his mouth. He would be amiss if he didn't give the feeling a proper label. There were any number of words he could use for its description, but Mort settled on grief. It wasn't the kind that brought weeping tears to an eye, but it had roots deep enough that he felt moisture's burn. And the reason was clear.

He loved that boy. Jess would frown if he knew how Mort addressed him in his head. Boy. He was far from it in age, size and experience, but since Mort had never been blessed with a family of his own, having someone like Jess Harper in his life, a friend like no other, it became easy for the bond to grow to a father and son level. And even though it had never been said, Mort could feel the warm return. Even now, with Jess lying in the blank world that was oblivion, it was being shared between them.

One of those droplets might have had room to wiggle through his lashes if a stomp on the front step didn't turn his head.

Mort's eyes widened as the doorway was filled, the last shred of hope gone when it wasn't a friendly face that entered, but one completely the opposite. It was fairly young, scarred alongside of his jaw, and a woman with a fluttering eye might have called him handsome, but all Mort could see was the outlaw, and the name he carried. Killer. No, stretch it further. Murderer. And he went by the handle of Damon Barr.

"You comfortable? You don't have to bother answering," Damon said, his grin set at its slimiest as he walked to Mort's desk, the chuckle behind the bent lips because he knew with Mort's lips sealed, he couldn't offer any reply. "Because even if you're not, it doesn't matter anymore. Now that I have this, your time is up."

Mort watched as Damon tapped the blasting powder in his hand. He would have had to pilfer it and the rest of his artillery out of the store's interior to get it, since at this hour the mercantile would be long closed. It might not have meant much considering the weight of the man's current crime, but the lawman in Mort couldn't help but add another notch in the man's hide. Murderer and thief.

From the moment Mort had been forced to lose his weapon, it was out of his hands to see justice be done, but he knew someone would get him. Damon's image would get quite the sum added along with it someday soon. That was a guarantee. There were certain types that couldn't rest without going after such a tally. Along with experienced lawmen like himself who would have their eyes set for Damon's end, there would be one more on his trail. Probably the one most important, too. Slim.

He should be back at the ranch by now. If only he and Jess had never had that meaningless spat and parted at sundown, but Mort couldn't do more than shake his head at the memory. It was too late to think about how many "ifs" could fit into the picture. The place where they were at was real enough without them. So real that Mort could see it behind his closed eyes. But then again, he should. The Laramie jail was close enough to being his home that he had every crevice memorized. The front door was set on the west wall, the two side-by-side cells took up the entire north half of the building, with a smattering of posters tacked onto the wall opposite the bars, and then Mort's desk sat straight-center, the stove that kept it warm in winter off to his normal seat's left. Yet in a few short minutes, it would be beyond recognition, if there was anything left at all after Damon was done.

The Laramie jail was going to explode. He and Jess would go right along with it.

"I've used this kind of ammunition before," Damon said, and sensing his study, flicked his gaze toward Mort. "So don't worry that I don't have the skill to make a proper boom. It'll blow all right. Sky high."

His hands were carefully stacking the sticks, their ruddy color showing above the box' line as they were being set. Mort might not have the same experience as what the outlaw boasted, but he knew by the sheer number that there was more than enough to reach those particular heights. Mort hadn't looked out into the night to find the moon, but if it was full enough, maybe he would get a chance to roll across its surface before taking the plummet back down to earth, his grave.

As if this very thought was being tapped into by the one in his close proximity, Mort shifted his gaze away from the outlaw when Jess groaned. It didn't appear that he was going to make the full rise out of the hole he was lying in, but it made Mort's brows knit together with worry. Damon just might take another jab at Jess if he came out of it too far. Jess' lights had already been blown out due to the man's gun butt. He said he owed him another after Jess' body struck the ground, but Mort took that one instead, leaning protectively over his friend that put the iron's handle alongside Mort's head.

That had been the minute before both men wound up in adjoining cells, hands tied behind each back, gagged and waiting to die. Or at least Mort was the one waiting. Maybe it was mercy in its grandest form that Jess didn't know what was coming. Had Jess known what Damon was capable of from the start, maybe what they were facing would be having a different outcome. Perhaps if Jess would have been quicker with his temper, well, that was stuck in one of those pesky "what ifs" again, but as Mort leaned his head backward, recreating what he had been told and what he had witnessed firsthand, he wished he could have seen that familiar gun sticking out of Jess' hand, because the other put them right where they currently were. Waiting to die.

.:.

Jess stepped through the saloon's batwings, and a shoulder from the opposite side wanting to enter got a clip from Jess' arm as he made his exit. "Sorry."

"You sure are," said the disgruntled face that took a backward step away from Jess, yet his feet went solid, a sure sign that he wasn't going to allow Jess the freedom to pass by. "You definitely look like a sorry excuse for something. Not sure what right now."

"Mister," Jess rumbled, as this time, the thunder preceded the lightning. "You're in my way."

"So?"

"That's an easy way to get into trouble," Jess warned. But he didn't want to get into a gunfight. Not when he had a stupid fight with Slim hanging over his head. His fists, sure. But it was best to leave his pistol right where it was.

"I don't mind trouble. You?"

"It's easy to get into it when someone like you's gotta hand forever churning the pot."

He flexed his hand, the fist tightening and then spreading open to dangle over his sidearm. "Hand or iron?"

It was small, kind of sly, but the smile worked its way into Jess' cheek. "My knuckles could use some practice. My gun ain't needing any reminders how to work."

The other man's mouth made its own twist, yet this one went down. He wasn't fooling around. "Then let's go."

The air whooshed with the rapid rising of a fist, but the sound of it getting blocked had its own distinct thud, but it all would become broken by the hurried footfalls on the boardwalk.

"What's going on?" Mort asked, not quite stepping between the two men, but close enough that his hands could spread them apart if either one took a forward motion that would get the fists flying a second time.

"Not much."

The shrug was exaggerated, so Mort shifted his gaze to Jess, the shaking of his friend's head not adding much to the explanation, neither did the gravelly repeat.

"Not much, Mort."

"Well, we can always work it out in my office," Mort said, spreading his arm away from his side to point to the shingle that bore his name. "Care to lead the way, Jess?"

"I reckon," Jess answered, watching through his blue that was increasing its spark as the stranger's scowl grew.

"First name basis." He shook his head, his mouth narrowing as if he was going to spit. "You two friends or something?"

"Kinda."

"Nice." The sarcasm poured from his body like boiling water, steam and all. "A man knows he can get by real easy being friendly with the law. What do we even need to chat about if you're going to immediately take his side of things, Badger?"

"Let's wait and hear it. Come on," Mort said as he lifted the man's gun away from his hip. He didn't like the man's tone or even his stance. There was something about him that made Mort want him unarmed, and apparently Jess sensed it too, as the next question came through his lips.

"You gotta problem, other than with me?"

"No."

He said it without friction through his lips, but Mort tasted the suspicion. He was wanted. But by how much, Mort couldn't quite know. Yet. "Let's go."

They entered the sheriff's office one at a time, with Mort taking in the rear position, and as Jess was in the lead, he naturally made his steps end at the desk, his backside taking a corner. The other man kept his stance at two solid paces away from where Jess leaned, making Mort need to take a wide turn around him to avoid a collision as he slid into his chair.

Mort looked first at Jess, and then to the stranger, but his gaze couldn't help but walk back to Jess. "So, are either of you going to tell me what that fight was about?"

"What fight?" He responded with both eyebrows up in the air, waiting for Jess to chime in, and when he didn't, he gave his head a slight shake. "This is where you're supposed to echo me, Cowboy."

"Not quite," Jess answered and then turned his blues to Mort's questioning shade. "It was mostly words, Mort."

"That's because I broke it up. If I hadn't, it surely would've been more than words."

"Oh, you can count on that." The man nearly laughed, giving his fist a gentle rub, the gesture making Jess' backbone stiffen.

"Easy Jess," Mort said, feeling the tension build in the man that was touching his desk. "All right, Mister. What's your name?"

"Damon Barr."

He wouldn't have been a good lawman if his eyes didn't pass to the bulletin board, but he already knew that none of the posters on the wall would fit the description, but that didn't mean much. There were new ones being printed every day with or without a face, all bearing a name that could easily be changed. The one just offered to him could easily be barrowed, made up or the real deal. And wanted.

"All right, Barr," Mort continued, reaching for a stub of a pencil to jot down the story. "What are you doing in Laramie?"

"Getting annoyed, mostly," Barr answered, jutting his thumb toward Jess and then at the star. "First by him, now by you."

Avoiding the need to sigh, Mort looked up to Jess' granite features. "Jess?"

"I jostled him coming outta the saloon," Jess said, giving Barr his own point. "But he wanted to make something outta it."

Mort rubbed his chin as he shifted his gaze to the other man. "I see. Why's that?"

"I felt like it," Barr snapped, his position changing as he erased the span with two strides. "And I still feel like giving him a sour taste."

With his feet suddenly on the floor, Mort jangled the cell keys in his palm. "Then I guess you'll have to get cooled off inside a cell."

"What about him?" Barr asked, his finger going into Jess' chest.

"He's a lot calmer than I'd expect him to be, considering, which means he isn't fit for a hard bunk tonight. But you are."

"Now wait a minute!"

Mort interjected with his own throaty fire. "You should find yourself lucky I don't let Jess give you a piece of his punch. He throws a mighty one. Now get in that cell."

Damon's eyes started to shift as he searched his surroundings, settling on what was positioned just to Jess' left hip. "All right. All right. But you see, I can throw something mighty too."

His lunge for the desk produced a gun in his palm, the rapid twist of Jess' torso to draw his own gave Damon the ability to kick at Jess' hand, severing the professional connection with his iron.

"Now that he's no longer carrying, Sheriff." The snarl coming from Damon's chest matched what pumped inside of Jess and Mort, but theirs were produced in silence. "Drop yours."

"I don't know what you're trying to get away with," Mort said as he lowered his belt to the floor. "But men like you always come up short."

"If it makes you feel better, go ahead and think that. But this time it's going to be different."

"We'll see about that," Jess said, the balled fist already in motion as he aimed for Damon's face with his right, his left making the jab for the gun. He would have made a perfect strike if Damon didn't possess the same kind of skill. His gun butt made a skin-tearing strike, and the smack against the floor was loud as Jess' belly made contact with it.

Damon pulled his arm back for a second swing, the mark of Jess' skull being missed as he clipped a shield that turned out to be the side of Mort's head. The air grunted through Damon's lips as he pulled away from both men that were now spouting blood. "See, you both got one from me after all. But it's too bad I did it so good with him. I'd sure like him to have another."

The hand was no longer poised for action, yet Mort stayed protectively over Jess' unconscious form. "You didn't just do this because Jess put your nose is in a twist. What're you trying to prove?"

"My protection. I can't let you lock me up, Lawman. If you do, you just might send a wire with my name on it. If it reaches Cheyenne, and it likely would, then you'll find out that I'm wanted for more than just fighting. And I can't let that happen if I'm going to keep on breathing clean air."

He had sensed it all along, but a sheriff could never lock a body up just because of whatever tingled in his backbone. But now that sensation had gained a lot of force. It was a full body quiver, because the present was even more real than the short walk through the past had been.

Mort and Jess were going to die.

.:.

He had already noted that he was no expert, yet Mort could clearly see by the ammunition on the floor and by the sudden arrogant air that surrounded Damon that the dynamite was ready for lighting. Needing more running room than what a fuse could provide, the line of powder Damon had made on the floor was its replacement, but no matter what kind of firing would get it started, the boom would still have the same consequences. Whether he was addicted to the stuff or was only a casual smoker, it didn't matter, but a small roll went into Damon's lips for that very purpose. Lighting the cigarette, the smoke came through the part of his lips and out through his nostrils, the puff in a direct aim toward their cells.

"Bye, Lawman, and whoever your friend is. Jess wasn't it? Maybe I'll find out when I open a newspaper in a day or two. This right here should at least make it to print beyond Wyoming's borders." The cigarette came out of his mouth, the smoldering tip given a shake before the entire piece slipped through Damon's fingers where it landed with a pop on the edge of the powder. "There it goes."

With a smirk from his lips, Damon made his escape and the true countdown was begun.

"Dear Lord," Mort said it just as much through the bandana as what cried out inside of his head. The agony pouring from his being fell like a torrent, landing on the man in the opposite cell, and with a startle that made his head shake, Jess awoke. Just in time to go back to sleep. Permanently.

"Mort? What's happening?" It was a muffled pile of consonants mixed with stopped-up saliva, but it sounded out clear enough that Mort could decipher it.

"Dynamite," answered Mort's equally-mangled tongue.

The tone had enough urgency behind it to understand, and Jess rolled over, the smell and the sound matching the line of black on the floor and the sizzle of the flame. The explosion must be only seconds away, but it felt like an entire hour needed to be gone through, for whatever time it really was had hardened into ice, the slow drip, the melt toward the fiery destruction.

Jess jumped from the ground, only to shove his spine against the bars that he shared with Mort, his fingers in a frenzy to find the binds that sealed Mort's. "Hurry!"

Mort's back hit the set of irons with the same force that Jess' had made and immediately felt the opposite fingernails begin to dig, but because Mort's wrists had added thickness that Jess' didn't boast, he couldn't perform a proper wiggle to aid their removal. "I can't!"

"Gotta try!"

His dialogue wasn't as quite as impossible to understand as one would think, but when Mort completed the deciphering, he gave a single nod. Jess was right. They had to try. They couldn't go down just by lying still and waiting for an angel to give a hearty backslap to welcome them home. They had to get to that angelic embrace by fighting all the way to the end. He twisted his fingers, feeling Jess' palm and something moved against his thumb. Another flex and there was another. It was this shift that made the difference and suddenly the strand of rope was a finger-width away from the jutting wrist bone.

"It's working!" Jess shouted through the wad between his teeth, feeling the rope start to fray, but the victory was too small to be felt beyond the loosening binds.

"If only…" Mort's muddled statement couldn't be finished translating, as it had no end. They both knew what he was going to say and exactly why his jaw stopped working. If only they had more time. But it was about to be up. It was only seconds away.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

.:.

Most of the lights of town were out when his horse made the quiet steps onto Front Street. Including the saloon. Running his eyes past the dark building that would have been his first stop, he spotted a figure in a hasty trot. It wasn't the outline that he was the most familiar with, yet he gave the man a second, even harder look. Fortunately, the one doing the fleeing didn't share the glance, otherwise he just might have let a bullet connect with Slim Sherman's flesh.

He dismounted in front of the hotel, as it had one of the few windows that delivered a glow to the night's darkest shade. The right boot going toward the boardwalk, Slim looked toward the corner window, Jess' usual place for lodging when staying over in town, and noticed the curtain pulled tight. Jess always left his at a slight part.

"Gotta keep a lookout," was his Pard's explanation the first time Slim ever noticed Jess' habit of not making the window covering completely closed.

And seeing the window now meant that Jess wasn't in there.

Maybe it was already taken, Slim mused, still in an aim for the hotel door to check with the sleeping clerk if Jess had registered earlier.

He didn't usually have reason to search out Jess' whereabouts when the hour pushed past this one unless something was wrong. Slim didn't really know what to label it, but when he was at the halfway stretch toward the ranch, Slim suddenly pulled up on the reins and looked back toward Laramie. They had parted with some discord hanging between them. Not a lot, just enough to make Slim's boots pound a little harder as he left through the saloon's doors, yet there had been no denying that it was there. He never like having an argument left open no matter who it was with, and this was with Jess, his best friend and partner. Maybe that was all that was making his insides feel unsettled as he squinted his eyes into the distance. Whatever he would have called it, Slim's horse felt the tips of his spurs to start the return trip to town.

His arrival came with the Laramie streets inactive, besides that fellow Slim first noted as he rode in. Since Slim hadn't met up with Jess anywhere on the road, town was the only place he could be. The saloon out, the hotel was his likely choice, even if in the corner room slept someone else. Yet Slim hesitated before his hand gripped the knob. Most likely the overnight employee wouldn't appreciate getting woken, especially if Jess was no where within the building.

Slim sighed and gave his head a slight shift but then the blue of his eyes gave a shimmer. There was still a lamp shining in the sheriff's office.

"Mort'll know about Jess," Slim said softly, turning to give his horse a pat and then he walked across the street, his every step matching with a certain tick, or more precise, a particular throb coming from inside.

The acrid scent was his first greeting as Slim pushed open the sheriff's door, and at the sight on the other side, his heart would soon get the full opportunity to literally leap out of his chest.

"Slim!" Jess' masked cry held two meanings. Elation, yet a powerful punch of fear went square into his gut. There wouldn't be time to save them. Only himself. The ticks were down to single digits. "Get out!"

"Nothing doing," Slim responded, certain that he knew what Jess had said even if he couldn't make out any of the letters.

Slim's long stride was his advantage, the lengths overriding the startling seconds as he reached Mort's desk. With the threat ablaze beside him, his hands turned immediately slick with the hot tension in the room, but his fingers could still perform as he gripped the key ring. First shoving the thin metal into Jess' door, he ignored the muffled protests coming from its interior and when he heard the seemingly loud click declaring its unlocking, he leapt to Mort's door. As soon as its seal became free, there was no point looking at the smoky line on the floor. If they did, the last second would be gone with more than a puff.

They hit the doorway, Slim's loose tongue able to complete the frantic exclaim. "Jump!"

The shout and the explosion were so close together, they might as well as sounded off in unison.

Three men lay face down, side by side by side as the jailhouse went straight up into the air in a ball of fury. The smell, the smoke and the heat were all banding together in a raucous rage, keeping the men pinned down, even as debris rained down on their backs. Only when the blast had tamed to a more tolerable degree did they stand, turning to face what once was the sheriff's office that was now only a smoldering pile of memories.

With the building removed from all other structures in town, the threat of spread was minimal, but as the town was now fully awake, the bucket brigade went into full motion. Yet there were a few feet that didn't budge far from where the other stood.

"You all right?" Slim asked, pulling the remnants of the rope loose from Jess' wrists.

The bandana slipped through his tight jaw that he didn't even attempt to pop at its removal, for the emotion that kept it rigid was real. Gratitude for being alive, but there was also something else. "I reckon. Slim, I…"

"Don't say it, Pard. Whatever we argued over is forgotten."

"Dad-gum," Jess said, looking toward the saloon where the evening had turned sour, but whatever was left inside was just an empty space. "I guess it is."

"Still some burning round back!" Someone's shout brought their heads to turn toward the smoldering structure, but the gaze would settle longer on the lone man that was off to the side watching its demolition.

Slim's hand connected to Mort's back, where bits of black showed where embers had sparked his vest. "It can be rebuilt, Mort."

"I know," Mort answered with a determined nod. "But not in time to put Damon Barr inside for good. He's going to get a surprise when he's caught."

"And soon. He can't be far, Mort," Slim said, taking his finger to point where he had seen the man make his escape into the dark. "I saw him when I rode into town a couple of minutes ago."

"Then let's go get him."

.:.

Caught that same night, the Cheyenne jail would be sufficient for Damon Barr's holding until his trial would take him to the territorial prison, but a week later there would be another set of bars that held a certain set of attention.

"Dad-gum," Jess said, flexing his hands around the irons that framed his face. "I hope this is the only time I'm on this side of these things."

"What's that, Jess?" Mort stepped through the newly constructed wall, still missing of a much-needed door in place.

Jess looked upward to where the bars attached to the ceiling, where he had been checking the strength of their fresh insertion. They weren't going to budge a fraction. "Oh, nothing."

"Come on out of there, then. Otherwise you might start looking like you belong back there," Mort said, giving Jess a quick wink.

The barred door was pushed open with a clank. "You did so hear me."

Mort laughed, his hand rising to drape over Jess' shoulder. "Hard not to without a door."

"It'll be good to have the cells closed off for a change."

"Sure will, Jess. Especially if I get unruly characters like you visiting."

"Hey, I ain't gonna do anything to get locked up. Or at least, I'm gonna dad-gum try not to."

"That's all a sheriff can ask for, Jess," Mort said and then quickly turned his head toward the front door of the building as it was given a rough knock. "That must be Slim."

"What'd he be knocking for?" Jess asked with a sly smile. But he knew, and the smile blossomed to a grin when Mort turned the knob and Slim pushed a dark brown desk through.

"Why, that's…" Mort's mouth hung open as he pointed to the familiar piece of furniture that he had seen throughout his growing up years.

"It sure is, Mort." Slim's hand rubbed at a slight mark his palm had made on the desk's edge. "Your pa's very own desk. Got it here from Denver this morning."

"Slim and I thought you'd like to have something special to christen your new office with, Mort. So we wired your pa, and he said come get it."

"I don't know what to say," Mort said, trying to blink away the tears. "Considering how close I came to not being here anymore, it's not me that should be getting the treasures, but giving them."

"Remember I was part of that closer-than-I-ever-wanna-be, too, Mort. So I gotta say in some of them treasures. You deserve it."

"Thanks boys." Mort looked from Jess and then to Slim but to keep the moisture from doing more than blur his vision, he gruffly cleared his throat. "Well, we've still got work to do before dark. I don't want either of you needing to stay over. Those new bunks in there aren't going to get broken in by either of you two."

"Too late, Mort," Jess said, crossing his arms over his chest. "I already tried one out. And you know what, they're still harder than rocks!"

"Well, I guess some things never change." Mort's laughter chimed in with the other two rich tones to fill the entire room.

It was true that some things never changed, and that included their friendship. Although maybe with one correction. After the seconds ticked completely down, it made their friendship stronger.

.:.

This story came about as a conversation between MustangSallie, CoryLynne and I about the way the jail set changed from season one/two to three. There was nothing stated in the series and I thought of how I could fit the change into a story. (Although I do admit there were a few times in the colored episodes that it was switched back to the earlier seasons set, likely due to whatever was available.) CoryLynne thought maybe a fire would have destroyed it, but no, no, just a fire is too simple when it comes to my mind. So I blew it off the map! Another interesting tidbit to think on. Did you ever notice that in night scenes throughout the entire series run, when there is a shot of the partial overhead view of Laramie that there is a tree in the middle of the street near the Laramie jail, that doesn't exist in the daylight? Maybe someone should try to explain that in a story! Thank you all for reading and reviewing. There's still more to come in this series, hopefully a lot more, but it is harder to keep a steady pace of them when I'm writing full chaptered stories too. So don't give up if it's a long stretch between these postings sometimes. I've got a long list to go through yet. Take care and God bless. CW