Author's Note: Not a big fan of Clell's, either. Stupid Clell. He should've died instead of Jim in the real movie. He barely even said anything, and he wasn't even cute. Bah. 'Least Jim was cute! Oh yeah, I'm not racist, but honestly, if the gang was on the Confederate side, do you really think they'd have Tom around? Just wondering.. And now that I know people are reading this, do you guys like the title or do you have any suggestions? I'm open to them, so please, feel free if the title sucks.

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The remainder of the James-Younger gang (including Frank, who had decided not to follow his younger brother) stayed close to the Kansas-Missouri border after Jesse left with Zee for Tennessee, despite the fact that they were still wanted criminals. None of them would've given up the life anyway. It was just too exciting to leave.

Cole was the "leader" now, but Frank was the driving force behind his brilliance. He always had been, even when Jesse and Cole were arguing about who was in charge. Bob was definitely Cole's right-hand man; he was his brother, after all. Jim had become a powerful asset to this little band of robbers with the turn of his seventeenth year. Now that he had ridden with them for about two years, they deemed him fit to actually handle things on his own without supervision. McClelland was there as well, physically if not mentally. He barely said anything anymore, just went through the motions like some kind of puppet. He was worse than Comanche Tom, who was naturally stoical and indifferent, but even Tom's heart was in it.

They were still a part of this "war with the railroad", even though the railroad wasn't exactly threatening the area of Kearney, Missouri. In fact, they hadn't been really threatened since the Pinkerton detectives went around on their mad pyrotechnic spree two years ago. But the life was good, so who was going to argue with it? Saying they were at war with the (Yankee owned) railroad was a fine excuse, it gave people the belief that maybe the Younger gang was doing some good while robbing those banks. People thinking you're the good guy equaled places to stay for the night when a posse was hot on your trail.

Speaking of places to stay, the Kearney Inn was such a place, with no law interference, so long as you lied low and didn't bring attention to yourself. Unfortunately, Jim didn't fully understand that concept, which might've been why he and Bob were now surrounded by five quite robust excuses for men with their guns at the ready. It didn't take much for Jim to realize that he shouldn't have yelled "Son of a bitch!" quite so loudly when they were hiding out behind the tree line and Bob had accidentally (well, accidentally on purpose) punched him in the face because he was "breathing too loudly". They had seen the posse coming when they were returning from just outside of town and assumed that they'd be able to hide while the posse members passed them. Assumed. So now here they were, and it didn't look too good.

"They got one helluva price on your head, Younger," one of the men waved his gun dangerously as he talked to Bob. "Well why d'you think it's there?" Jim was trying to be menacing. Without a gun, it was pretty difficult.

"Jim, I don't think this is the time to threaten the guys wit' the guns." Bob was backing up towards the tree line slowly. The men wouldn't notice, he was pretty sure they were about as smart as a sack of potatoes.

"Yeah, lissen t'your brother, boy," a second man moved closer to Jim, jabbing his gun into Jim's left shoulder.

Jim looked thoroughly angry. His eyes darted from the man with the gun to his shoulder to the one off to his left to the third with his gun aimed at Bob. The gears started turning in his head. Bob noticed. He looked to his little brother with a what-the-hell-do-you-think-you're-doing look. Jim didn't respond, only his mouth twitched a little with a smile. Maybe, if he was damn lucky..

"Say your prayers, kid," the second man demanded.

Jim did. Then he raised his hand as quickly as he could and pushed it to the left as hard as possible. The gun went off and the third man flew backwards, letting out a yell of pain as he dropped to the ground. Jim yelled, too, hand moving to his shoulder. The bullet had gone clear through it and into the next man's chest. The first man, distracted by the misfire, turned his head to the noise. Bob sidestepped and took his gun, twirling it and aiming it back at him. Jim stumbled behind Bob and straightened, then reached out with his good arm and grabbed Bob's trench coat, pulling him behind the nearest tree quickly before the second man fired off his gun again.

"Bob, shoot him!"

The first man had apparently found his second gun, because it was chipping away at the side of the tree now. Bob returned fire, hitting the first man in the leg. He fell to the ground hard and clutched his bleeding appendage.

"Bob!" Jim yelled above the gunfire.

"Shut up, Jim! What d'you think I'm doin'? Sittin' here knittin' socks?" he leaned around and fired twice, taking out another guy. The remaining exchanged fire, but Bob and Jim had the cover of a tree and the others were out in the open.

It was obvious that the combined intelligence of these men could qualify for legally retarded. They continued to stand out in the open while Bob picked away at them. They were running out of ammo, and so was Bob, but he had wonderful aim. He waited until they wasted it all, until he heard the clicking of their empty magazines. Bob smiled and then leaned out from behind the tree with a grin at the stupefied posse men. He didn't shoot, just tapped Jim on his good shoulder and stood. The both of them slid out from behind the tree, Bob assuring their safe passage with a raised gun.

The two unscathed men watched them go with total agitation in their forms. They would've given chase except that Bob still had bullets in the gun. One stepped forward and shook his fist violently.

"Gonna get'cha, Younger! You wait!"

Bob chuckled slightly and pulled the trigger, not really aiming at either of the men. It scared them, though, and they hurried off into the woods, leaving their fallen comrades. Jim watched them with a small smile on his face, his hand still gripping at his shoulder. It had created a deep line of blood down his arm, but it the bleeding had ebbed away gradually. Bob noticed.

"Jim, you alrigh'?" he laid a hand on his younger brother's back.

"Ah, get me some bandages and some whiskey an' I'll be just dandy," his voice was rather upbeat.

"That's the Younger spirit right there. You hit us an' we get right back up," he slapped Jim on the back and Jim stumbled forward a bit off balance. "Whoa, Jim, you sure you're alrigh'?"

"On second thought," Jim winced, "I'm not feelin' so great, now." He almost dropped to his knees but Bob caught him. He moved to Jim's unwounded side and took his arm to drape it over his shoulders for support.

They shuffled back to town, Jim leaning heavily on his older brother. His legs didn't seem to want to move anymore. He was still conscious, for the moment, coming closer to passing out every second. He was fighting it, though. He didn't want Bob to have to drag his sorry ass back to town where Cole would scold Bob and later him for irresponsibility. He didn't want to lose his prestige because he got injured while trying to escape from a posse that outnumbered him five to one. With some effort on Jim's part, and most on Bob's, they made it back to the inn with Jim just barely conscious.

Bob wasn't sure where the others were as Jim's weight was added to his own and he was struggling to keep himself off the ground. "Fellas?!"

Frank heard Bob before Cole did. He stood up and looked out the window before actually heading outside. What was so damn urgent that Bob had to be yelling like that? He was answered when he saw the bleeding Jim, unconscious in Bob's arms. He turned his head back to the inn.

"Cole! Go get a doctor!" Frank had jogged over to Bob to relieve him of the dead weight of his brother. Cole came out in a hurry, furrowing his brows at Bob in a mix of worry and anger.

"What happened?"

"Cole, he'll explain later. Now go get someone t'fix this!" Frank urged his cousin, who glanced at him and hesitantly took off to find a doctor. Frank looked back to Bob. "You hurt?"

"Naw."

"Good, help me carry him. He's heavy."

"Yeah, the hell's he been eatin' lately?"

"I dunno, maybe it's your ma's side'a the family kickin' in."

"You callin' my momma fat, Frank?"

Frank just grinned roguishly as they lugged Jim inside.