Chapter Three

When two instincts have the same strength, it's impossible to not have one get torn in half when only one could be acted upon. Jess felt firm tugging against the fibers of his being as he turned away from Mort to fire into the darkness.

Each blast exploded with bright light in front of him, the scent of each report curling into his nostrils, but his most active sensor was his ears, and nothing touched them except for the noise coming out of his hand. Jess knew by the fifth round that he was hitting only pieces of the earth, yet he still popped out the sixth, and then his boots began tramping up the slope.

The defeat made the ache between his shoulder blades ratchet all the way up to his skull. He was gone. And God help him if the same description would fit over the lawman that Jess had to leave behind.

Hurrying back to where the posse men hovered, Jess parted the outlining bodies and went down to one knee. "Mort?"

There was nothing. Not a quiver of his lips, not a flutter of eyelashes. Nothing.

Jess' hand probed the heart. A weak throb. But there. Yet it was too early in this fight to breathe a prayer of relief. In another two minutes he could be feeling an empty chest.

His voice quickly changed to the tone of full authority. "One of you get back to town, get the doc and bring him out to the Claycamp's. We don't dare move Mort any further than that tonight."

With only a slight turn of his lashes in the road's direction to know that his order was being obeyed, Jess pulled the extra handkerchief from his pocket. Now his full attention was on the wound, and that the single bit of fabric was not going to suppress what was exiting the hole, close enough to the badge that the lower prong disappeared in the red rush.

Looking up to the closest face above him, Jess barked, "Get in Mort's saddlebag. Gotta be some bandages in there. We gotta slow this bleeding down. And someone else get a litter set up. Mort ain't getting to the Claycamp's on horseback."

Neither would Jess. His stride remained attached to the ground, so close to the unconscious body that Jess could reach out every few minutes and check for Mort's life. There were times that Jess was uncertain that his own breaths kept going, as he would catch each one up in his lungs as he sought Mort's pulse. Then with the assurance returned, so came Jess' air, only to be stifled again when his hand pulled away from the tortured flesh of his friend. As the Claycamp's house came into view, Jess felt just as assaulted, the ache in his chest so real that maybe he was carrying the bullet for Mort instead.

Except the blood still poured from Mort, not Jess.

"Put him in the back bedroom," said Noel Claycamp in response to the pounding on her door. Barely tucking a gray-streaked strand back inside of its loose bun, she hurried ahead of the men carrying the sheriff's limp frame. "Has someone gone for the doc?"

"Yeah," Jess answered, the grunt quick to follow as his hands became released of its weight. "Gotta do what we can for him before he gets here, though. He's in a bad way."

Noel unbuttoned the bloodied shirt down to the wound. "What kinda slug?"

"Rifle."

Her tongue slapped against the roof of her mouth. "I've only ever fished for forty-fours, and that was outta my boy's shoulder last March during that late snow we had and doc couldn't make it outta town. Mmm. It might not be heart-stopping close, but I daren't try touching this one."

"Got any whiskey?"

Noel's eyes lit up. "That I can provide."

Jess waited for her return, grateful that the woman was bringing a bottle with the liquid's line higher up than half. He was going to need a lengthy swig himself. Taking it from her hand, Jess brought the tip to Mort's lips, waiting until the weathered hands lifted his head so that a few drops could make it down Mort's throat.

The sputter was like music and to hear the melody all over again, Jess tried a longer dose. A slight cough came from Mort's throat, but the burning swallows weren't able to match the pain in his core. There would be no arousal. Pulling the spout away from Mort's face, Jess put it up to his own.

Noel waited until Jess' drink was all the way down before she asked. "Hear anything about my Finley?"

"When I rode into Laramie, Mort said that he was gonna lose a tooth or two."

She grimaced. "Oh, he won't like that, what with the way Finley takes on the tobacco."

"Considering the same man was behind it as this, Ma'am," Jess said, looking down at Mort's bloodied front. "I reckon your husband's a lucky man."

Her features turned soft, almost fearful. "You're right."

Jess never considered waiting as being one of his strengths. Pacing from Mort's bedside to the Claycamp's front door, with each pass his knees felt weaker. It was like he was doing a balancing act on the world's highest rope walk, with a pack of those circus lions waiting at the bottom for when he dropped. Jess' legs did start to buckle, but that was at the sound of buggy wheels, with the near stumble coming when he lurched the door wide to usher in the doctor.

He expected this next waiting period to be even more grueling. But watching Doctor Sweeney operate, and seeing the lines of the physician's face shift from troubled to relieved, made the time invisible. And just like a finger's snap in front of his face to send every second hand in the world ticking again, it was over.

When the bullet plopped into the pan beside the doctor's bag, Jess couldn't help but stare at it, the blood of his friend being pulled away from the lead by the water, turning what once was clear, crimson. The truth was as real to Jess as what he was viewing. That bullet hadn't been planned for Mort. But for him.

Jess' hands knotted at his sides. If only he had let it explode into his flesh instead. True, maybe he would be looking up to dirt being tossed in his face right now and not lying here in Mort's condition, but at least he wouldn't be wearing the vicious knife wound to his heart, bearing the boldly printed name of Guilt. Jess had heard the rifle in the outlaw's hands, felt the bead of it, and the eye narrow in on his frame. He knew what was coming.

"I shoulda let it," Jess whispered, his eyes turning to the cheeks, so pale against the white pillow there wasn't a difference in shade.

"What was that, Jess?" Doctor Sweeney dropped the towel that had been the mop to his blood-stained hand.

"Oh, uh…" Jess swallowed, but not even dropping the rock in his throat down into his gut was going to take away the feeling that burned inside. But he wasn't about to share that with the doctor, lest the sharp instruments be turned on him. "He gonna pull through, Doc?"

"I think so. Strength's are never shy in a lawman. And this one, I suppose, has more strength than most."

"That he does," Jess said, admiration for his friend allowed to overshadow the other, harder emotions that pummeled him. Or at least, for that brief moment. "But how're we gonna know, I mean really know that he's on the mend?"

Doctor Sweeney turned toward the groan, matching the eye-flutter coming from the bed. "I'm sure he'll let you know."

Jess' hands went to the bedside. "Mort?"

"That you…" Mort's eyelids scrunched tight and then wearily rose again. "Jess?"

"You bet, but just hearing your voice, I reckon I'd be glad even if you woulda called me Jemima."

"That curly-headed brunette at Ben Dooley's?" Mort saw the grin spread as Jess nodded his reply. "How do you know about her?"

"Oh…" Jess lifted one shoulder, and then put a teasing sparkle in his eyes. "I think the bigger question is, how do you know about her?"

"Well, you see, I…" The sudden pink in Mort's cheeks brought Jess' mouth open far enough to let out a chuckle.

Doctor Sweeney put the cold end of his stethoscope against Mort's chest. "Sounds better, but I think my patient needs rest, not the kind of conversation that this could turn into. Not that it wouldn't be interesting, mind you."

"I get the hint," Jess said, taking a step away from the bed when Mort's eyes took on the drift of a downward motion. "Take it easy, Mort."

"He should sleep for awhile, Jess." Doctor Sweeney motioned toward the door. "Why don't you take a breather."

Nodding, Jess pulled his gaze away from the lawman and left the room. Legs like mush, he didn't get far. Not even allowing the kind of reprieve that would aid him the most, Jess didn't follow the lamplight to the living area where a couch would beckon. Resting his back against the outer wall of where Mort lay, Jess' hands ran over his face.

A bottle was held outward. "Here, Jess."

"Thank you, Ma'am." Jess poured with such length into his mouth he didn't know if he could swallow in one gulp. As it went down in the single rush that he offered, Jess exhaled loudly, a mixture of the flames smarting in the back of his throat and that the darkest part of this night could be behind him. "It's kinda a relief to know that everything's gonna be all right again."

"Mmm-hmm." Noel's answer was quiet, eyes downcast, and then with a pop of the cork back into the bottle that was now bearing a resemblance of being closer to empty than half, she walked away.

Jess wished he could have punched himself and then almost did. What a dumb comment to make to someone who had been robbed of her and her husband's every dime. While Finley would recover enough, loss of tobacco chewing or not, how were they ever going to scrape by in what was supposed to be their golden years? If Jess' money, as small of a collection as it was, had been snatched out of the Laramie bank, he could put his back right into the grind the next day to build those dollar signs to where they were. He could easily tell any listening ear that it was just a life's lesson, lived and learnt. But a life's saving? That could never be rebuilt.

Now he was back to the place when he found Mose. Angry. And determined to find the man behind all of this. Jess strode to the window, the night still wearing a heavy enough cloak that he knew he couldn't go out in it for a few hours yet. But once light started to mingle with the dotted ink he would be back in the saddle. The posse had long since scattered back to the safer walls inside of Laramie, but Jess didn't figure he would need a group. At least not yet. For now, he would go alone.

And then ride back the same way he left.

It was as if the man that shot Mort wore a set of wings and flew away into the night. Yes, this was impossible, but the signs were so minimal that the thought existed while Jess stood in the early sunrays, the ground underneath him wearing nothing but his own shadow. Looking up to view the skyline more clearly, Jess shook his head and then returned to the place where his friend lay.

His soft knock on the front door brought him Noel Claycamp's tiniest hint of a smile. "How is he?"

Her graying head bent toward the door. "Better go see for yourself."

Steps moving quickly inside, Jess' hand connected to Mort's, surprised at how much of a squeeze was returned. "You sure gave me a scare, Mort."

"Glad that I knew nothing about it, or I might've turned scared stiff."

"I'm sorry, Mort," Jess said, sighing the words as much as speaking them.

"What for?"

"For ducking."

Mort leaned forward as far as he dared without making the bullet hole scream so loudly that it came out of his lips. "You mean to tell me you picked that exact second to pick up your reins to not get shot?"

"Well, no… but I…"

"Still feel guilty," Mort finished, watching Jess' lowered eyelids come with his nod. "Son, bullets are part of this job. Sometimes they hit flesh, other times they don't. But I'll let you in on a secret."

"What's that?"

"When you're the leading lawman in a posse, you'd rather those bullets go into you than one of the men you're with."

"You ain't telling me you're glad you got shot?"

A smile played around both corners of Mort's mouth. "No, but I'll tell you another secret. If you were shot instead, I'd be spitting mad, and maybe spitting some nails too."

Humor was always a way Jess hid his heart, now was a time it was needed. "Well, in that case, maybe you oughta head out to the ranch, there's some fence boards that need hammering in."

"Maybe some other time, Jess," Mort answered, the laugh light as his shoulders recaptured the plush pillows behind him.

"Sure."

"But speaking of jobs." Mort waited until he had the intense blue locked with his brown. "You going to be headed into town soon?"

"Yeah."

"Well, you know where the badges are, Jess. Put one on. And I expect the same for Slim."

Jess started to shake his head, but kept it still. "Someone's gonna have to look after Daisy and Mike."

"I know. But I've got to have someone I can count on. Preferably two someone's. Unless you can think of someone other than Slim, then I'll…

"No. Slim's the only man I'd wanna share stars with." Jess' eyes crinkled upward when he saw the feigned expression of hurt across from him. "Except you, of course."

Mort gently patted the bandage. "Well, until this heals, right now I'm out of the business."

"You gonna stay at the Claycamp's?"

"For awhile. Noel and Finley both gave the invite to stay as long as necessary. Since it's rather lonely in my house, I thought I'd take them up on the offer," Mort answered, but even as the words made their exit, he was reading another set, unspoken, but not unable to understand what they were saying. "But it's not so far that you couldn't ride out for a talk now and then. In fact, I'd kind of be upset if you didn't keep me informed on what's going on."

"Well, so you ain't gonna get in a tiff this early on in your recovery, I've already rode out once looking." Jess held up a hand to still Mort's tongue. "And don't ask it. No, I didn't find anything. The casings that were left behind were the only sign that anyone had been there."

"Knows how to hide his tracks well."

Jess nodded. "That he does."

"If he keeps this kind of lifestyle going, he'll slip up."

"And I sure as everything's gonna watch for him to do so."

"I know you will, Jess." Mort's hand stretched out and firmly responded to the one that inserted into his. "I mean… Deputy Harper."

.:.

"Deputy Harper," Jess muttered for the fifth time since the prongs went into his vest.

He felt like anything but. In the week that he had taken on the role he had made one arrest, and that merely an overnight stay when a barroom brawl got out of hand. Otherwise the extent of his duties stretched as far as giving Parson an exaggerated talking to, pulling little Teddy James out of the street when his prizewinning frog was about to jump inside the barreling stagecoach's path. And yes, even with Teddy tucked under one arm, Jess saved the frog, too.

Yet even with a young life spared from injury or worse, Jess still felt inadequate. Slim wasn't even in town. While he carried a deputy's badge with him, the town was so quiet for the first two days that Mort was out that the two ranch partners figured one of them might as well do their duties at home. Slim won, or depending on which side they were looking upon, lost the coin toss and returned to the ranch.

And now with another five days tacked on after Slim rode home, it felt as if Jess' only complaint for the day was that his breakfast egg yolks didn't run far enough into his browned potatoes. But then he heard the pounding of boots on the boardwalk. Something, even if it was just Parson throwing hell and brimstones in the saloon, was about to change his whole outlook.

The Overland's Superintendant poked his face through the doorway. "Jess, you better come quick! The stage was hit again a couple miles south of here and Alby got the best eyeful of the fellow yet."

Jess' hand naturally went to the iron at his hip. "All in black, huh?"

"And on foot."

Jess reached for the hat that had been waiting on the rack. "That's him, all right. Let's go!"

As it turned out, Alby's "eyeful" was no better, no worse, than what he had got out of Mose when all of this had started. But after hearing every detail, there was no need to throw any more questions around. This was, without a doubt, the same man that had shot Mort.

Standing in the town's center, Jess held onto the reins of his mount in his left, in his right was a fully prepared rifle. "All right, I need a group of men."

In front of him stood enough onlookers to stir up a dust storm if all of them got on horseback together, but less than a handful stepped forward. And it wasn't difficult for Jess to note that not a single man that had been on the previous posse was one of them.

The gravel was quick to enter Jess' throat. "Come on, it can't be that difficult to decide to mount up."

"No, it's not difficult," said Wallace Page, a rancher in town for supplies. "I'd kinda like to go home to my wife tonight, and not wind up buried under a tree someplace."

"Same here," was the echo, three times over.

"Don't you understand?" Jess put a hard boot to the ground as he stepped forward, ready to create his own storm even without the churn of hooves underneath him. "He's gotta be caught! That ain't gonna happen if all of you are gonna hide. But lemme tell you something. If he stays on the loose much longer, then no one's gonna be able to hide from him. Maybe he'll hit your ranch, maybe he'll come into your store. And maybe he won't just slip in trying to go unnoticed, but'll put a bullet in you to make his tromping that much easier. Now, what do you say? Who else is riding with me?"

Two. Only two stepped out of the crowd toward the man wearing the star. The rest gave Jess a mixture of cold stares and head shakes, and an invisible punch to his gut when they walked away.

Frowning, Jess faced the group of six that would make up his posse. He would have rather that number be doubled. "All right, men. Get horses and rifles and be here at the sheriff's office in ten minutes."

The time had to tick to twelve, as one of his volunteers got weak-kneed during preparation's span and the two extra minutes were used up as realization for the reason kicked in. His hat getting a harder tap than necessary on his head, Jess led the group out of town, looking back only once to make sure there were still five in tow. There were. And strangely enough, Jess would gain that extra man back not far out of town, but only because someone else had become a victim.

Lyle Overton, the lone boy in a family of girls that homesteaded on the backside of the hill closest to town came barreling toward him. The fright on the face that was barely sporting a pair of whiskers on his chin was story enough to know something was wrong.

The dust billowed up in front of Jess as he called a halt to the men behind him. "What's happened, Lyle?"

"We were robbed. A man in black held onto Ma and made me put all of our money in a sack for him. Course it weren't much, considering we've been doing poorly this year, but he didn't seem to mind."

Jess' eyes already started to drift toward the pale line that was the trail to the Overton's. "How long ago?"

"No more'n fifteen minutes. I came riding out as soon as Ma started shushing the little ones of their tears."

"He can't be far if he's still on foot," Jess said, daring to grin as he could taste the arrest he was about to make. "Let's go get him, boys!"

"You ain't leaving me behind." Lyle tugged on the rim of his hat, perhaps to make his appearance manlier. "I ain't sitting still when I've got the image of a gun pressed into my ma burned into my eyelids."

Jess glanced at the saddle Lyle wore. It wasn't wearing a rifle. Neither was his hip, but Jess wasn't about to turn away some help, even if it was just a boy making an attempt to fit into a man's boots. "Come on, then."

The footprints were wiped outside of the Overton's backdoor, but farther out, Jess' sharp eye found one that was missed going up the ridge. Gauging the path that was before him, Jess knew that no horse could follow. All that could handle such a climb was a man that was cousins with a mountain goat, and as the posse-goats would have to go up one at a time, making such an incline could be considered suicide.

Fortunately Jess knew what the backdoor of this ridge looked like. Still steep, but far more obtainable. And by churning the hooves underneath them at just the right pace, they just might beat the man to it.

"Follow me." Jess refrained from shouting the command, using his arm to declare the direction they were to ride. "We'll catch him yet."

Jess was grateful that he had a faithful horse that not only obeyed his voice, but reacted to the movements in both body and hand. He needed that kind of intelligence beneath him to follow the curves of the road, for Jess' gaze rarely left the bends and bows of the hillside above him. He didn't want to miss even the tiniest hint of black that could be racing for an exit. And squinting his eyes into the distance, Jess didn't.

Jess' gun went into the precise point as if his finger were showing the posse where to look. His voice would do the rest. "Hold it, Mister!"

A rifle swung toward him. Jess could see it glint in the afternoon light, and if the rays were bouncing just right, then the outlaw would see his in return as Jess whipped it out of its scabbard. Firing to prevent a slug from appearing in his chest, Jess grunted as the only return was his bullet ricocheting off of the rocks. He missed. And with another second, there went his view of the black.

"He disappeared, Mr. Harper," said Lyle Overton, gazing upward along with the rest of the men.

Jess leapt off of his mount, his aim for the rocky ledge he was about to climb. "Not for long!"

Although the location definitely was not the same, this place was literally no different than what Jess deemed as suicide as before. Where the difference lay was that the man he was after was right above him, so within his grasp that Jess could feel the tightening of his palm against the man's wrist right before he slapped the cuffs on.

Anchoring both feet onto a sturdy slab of rock, Jess' rifle went upward first, the business end ready to explode if black-clad flesh appeared above him. But while darkness might be a part of hell, another part of that desolate place was what Jess would actually see first.

Fire.

A scream pulled out of his throat by the harsh flapping of the flames in its own wind, Jess reeled backward, his slide and then fall putting him on the ground, but not out of harm's way. The fire was now right on top of him. The kick made the source roll to the side, the burning tumbleweed's path diminished by the rocks that it rested upon, but the outlaw wasn't finished with his fuel.

One right after the other, the flaming orbs dropped from the sky. No matter where Jess tried to scramble to, the embers found him. Jess tried to cover his face with his hands, but even they were on fire. Everything was on fire. Like the walls of the house that he was born in, the flames threatened his whole being. And if one reached into his chest far enough, it would rip his heart right out all over again.