Small Thanks Chapter 2, a laramie fanfic

Equine – and a few other - thank-yous

including a brief appearance by the mighty mallard

Jantallian

Stage Stop

The barn was enchanted. Through every opening, the last rays of the falling sun flung a network of luminous stripes and inky shadows across the floor and walls. In the corners dusty cobwebs were transformed to a golden gossamer by the light. Hay and straw glinted as though Rumpelstiltskin had been at work on them. Here and there the light lighted on glossy hide, gleaming like the sheen of polished bronze or ebony. Only the gentlest of sounds drifted into the ear – the rustle of straw, the tap of a hoof, the whisper of breath.

Slim Sherman stood quite still in the doorway. He was, by nature, practical rather than poetic. Yet just in this moment he was caught up in the magic of the simple beauty of the evening's peace. As he looked round the building, the central shelter of the ranch, he was touched by a sense of wonder and profound thankfulness.

Tonight, he felt close to his father. To the dedication and labour which had founded this place. To the deep love of the land and its creatures in all their potential. To a vision of the future which never wavered. He felt very close to that vision, for today something had changed ...

Slim smiled to himself as he thought back over the tumultuous events of the past day. This morning he had risen to his customary tasks and picked up once again the burden which rested upon him alone. Tonight, for the first time in a very long time, he knew he had support and companionship and the understanding of adult who could stand alongside him and face all the strenuous work that cattle ranching demanded.

Giving himself a mental shake for these uncharacteristic thoughts, Slim moved quietly from the doorway. As he made his way along one side of the central aisle, checking each of the stage horses, he was still nonetheless somewhat bemused at his change of mind about the Texan drifter, with whom his first encounters had been so unpropitious. Yet it was more than a change of mind. It was a change of heart, too, if he was honest – and Slim was nothing if not honest. He had seen in Jess Harper's actions, rather than his words, a responsibility and a sense of justice equal to his own. Not to mention courage, skill and a wicked sense of humour. Slim grinned as he remembered Jess encouraging him to give Bud Carlin a taste of his own medicine!

He turned at the back of the barn to check the stalls on the other side. On this side there were only three horses. The first was Andy's mischievous palomino, who snorted and danced in the hope of some extra attention. Slim ignored him. Beyond was the unfamiliar head of the star-faced bay which belonged to Jess. 'Traveller', Slim seemed to recall – an apt name for a drifter's horse. Then came the startling white blaze, long nose and sharply pricked ears of his own mount.

"Alamo."

Slim stretched out a hand and gently scratched the chestnut under his jaw. The horse was not an easy character to handle, tolerating few humans, but loyal and willing to tackle anything his master asked of him. Slim had certainly asked a lot today.

"Well done," he told Alamo softly. "If you hadn't had the speed and the stamina, we'd never have caught up with the fellow in the next stall."

He thought for a minute about what would have happened if Jess had ridden on unchallenged. Ridden on a lonely trail to some place which did not know him. A place where he had not made a friend of a youngster and earned the respect of a wise old man. A place where only his gun-skill and not his character mattered.

Slim was touched again by profound thankfulness, not least to his beloved horse.

"Thank you, my friend Alamo, thank you!"

He meant it from the bottom of his heart.

Stage Stop

The road still kept its glittering enchantment in the sunset. The last rays of the falling sun flung long shadows across the yard and the corral, but the road was a river of gold. The old oak in the corner of the corral was a lustrous giant, rooted in the warm earth. The dusty ground was transformed to a plush glowing carpet by the light. The water in the trough and the hay in the rack glinted as though lit from within. The light touched a glossy hide, gleaming like the sheen of polished bronze as the horse shifted to rest a different hoof. Only the gentlest of sounds touched the ear – the rustle of leaves, the creak of timber, the whisper of breath.

Jess Harper leaned on the corral fence, a wisp of cigarette smoke coiling above his head. He had been many places and seen many homesteads, wrested from the wild land and held by the determination of men and women and children. He knew the dedication and labour it took to found this place. He knew it thrived because of a deep love of the land and its creatures in all their potential. He could see that here was a vision for the future, for peace, for growth, for prosperity. This was a good place. He could feel it through the soles of his boots, the same way he had when he first dismounted and greeted the old man and the boy at this very fence.

Remembering that encounter, he ground his cigarette into the dust and vaulted over the fence as he had done before. The single horse in the corral moved restlessly before turning to face him. Jess stood quietly, murmuring words learnt long ago in a language no-one here would understand. The horse understood. Presently it stepped delicately towards him, then halted, stretching its neck and breathing a soft whicker over him. Still murmuring, Jess reached out a hand and gently scratched behind the pricked ears.

"I guess I owe y' thanks," he said softly. "If y' hadn't got all riled up, I'd never have been able t' show that I had anythin' t' offer."

He knew he was not here, now, because he had demonstrated his skill with horses. That would have to be used in the future, as part of the daily work of the ranch, before it could be credited to him. But it was something he had to give in contrast to his gun-skill and he was glad it had been part of his first interaction with the family and life of the relay station.

The horse nudged him with a soft nose. It seemed to be agreeing. Then, abruptly, it flung up its head and backed a few paces.

"Dang'd four legged menace!"

Jess turned and saw the old cook, Jonesy, leaning on the corral fence. He looked as if his back might be hurting after a long and strenuous day. Jess moved instinctively, wanting to help, but realised almost instantly that there was nothing practical he could do. He climbed over the fence and dropped down beside Jonesy. He observed, "Ain't gonna get far without a horse."

Jonesy chuckled and agreed. "True enough. But I gotta say any other four legged critters get on fine with me, but horses –"

"They sense y' fear," Jess said softly.

The old man stilled and his gaze seemed to go right through Jess. It was in the balance whether he would acknowledge this insight, but after a moment he responded, "Yeah, y' see true. Had a bad experience with a big horse when I was only a little kid. Ain't never left me."

Jess nodded. "A horse is mighty powerful an' heavy. Hard f' a man t' handle. Not every child feels safe."

Jonesy's shrewd eyes remained focused on him. "I'm reckonin' you always had the touch, even from a child."

"Yeah." Jess reflected for a moment and then said, "An that's why ' I owe y' a thank you."

Jonesy raised an eyebrow at this.

Jess smiled and told him, "If you hadn't dropped my photo and this here horse hadn't o' reared up away from you, Andy'd think a lot less o' my skills. So thank y' for givin' me a chance t' show I ain't just an idle drifter an' that I might have somethin' useful t' contribute here."

The old man nodded slowly. "I guess we'll see. But y' ain't doin' too bad so far."

"Thanks!" Jess said again.

They stood together, leaning companionably on the rail. Behind them the sun sank, throwing a blanket of deep shadow over the yard and the corral and the road. But Jess's being, for once, was not in the shadows. His instinct might be for the enchanted trail, but his heart longed for the deep roots this new place offered to let him put down.

Iron Captain

The barn door creaked open as wide as it would go and stuck open with a reluctant clunk. For a moment all else was still, as if waiting for the entrance upon the scene of someone or something momentous and awe-inspiring. The interior of the barn was dark compared with the bright sun of early morning. The sharp line between light and shadow was like the threshold between two worlds, between life and death.

Nothing happened. Then there was a scuffle and a muffled exclamation and the thud of hooves.

"Easy – easy now – ain't no call t' drag me – I'm gettin' y' out t' that grass as fast as y' can eat it!" The words, in a low drawl, murmured between the darkness and the day like the gentle roll of waves on the shore of a great placid lake.

The horse which appeared in the open doorway was clearly not impressed. The mare threw up her head, scenting the fresh outdoors and space and freedom, and pulling eagerly at the halter rope which was held firmly in Jess's hands. At her heels, her foal stumbled a little, getting its long legs in a momentary tangle, as it took its first look at the wide world – or at any rate the yard and corral and pasture of the Sherman ranch. Behind it, watchful and shepherding, came Slim, a huge grin on his face as he watched Jess's horse-whispering fail, for once, to hypnotise an animal.

"OK, lady, y' gonna get there soon enough."

Jess led the impatient mare through the corral to the open gate and the wide expense of inviting grass which rose gently up the side of the hill. He reached up and pulled off the halter. The mare gave a great snort of relief and shook herself all over. Then she lowered her head and began to graze with the single-minded determination of a mother with a demanding offspring to feed. Slim moved swiftly to divert the foal, who was much taken with this new unconfined space and showed every sign of setting out to explore the road instead of following his mother. Jess swung the gate closed and they both leaned on it, watching the animals with pride and amusement.

"That one's going to go far," Slim said, reflecting on the foal's escapist tactics.

"Yeah. Carried along by his ma's ornery impatience!" Jess agreed, bending to rub his toes through his boot. The mare had landed on them a couple of times.

"Better to have spirit and a sense of freedom than to let yourself be confined," Slim observed.

Jess looked at him in surprise. "That sounds more like my way o' thinkin' about life than yours."

Slim grinned and agreed. "Too right! You take off into the Big Open whenever you're given half a chance. I guess the mare feels the same, so now you know what the rest of us have to put up with when you do!"

Watching the now contentedly grazing horse and the excitedly exploring foal, Jess grinned too. "But we all know where home is. The place y' start from and the place y' come back to."

"Yeah."

Slim was silent for a moment, suddenly vividly conscious of what a relief it was to hear that Jess had grown real roots anchoring him to the ranch and relay station. He thought too of the nature of individual freedom, which Jess in many ways personified, and how, in the yard behind him, a woman had taken a single drastic action to secure it for herself and to save his ranch.

"I owe the little fellow a thank you," he said as he watched the foal.

Jess looked at him again, sensing something unusual in his tone, but saying nothing.

"I think he helped to show Lita what a new life meant. That however fragile you are, you can stand firm on your own. That you have the right to choose a new beginning."

They stood quietly together, remembering the woman walking steadfastly across the yard behind them, risking herself to put an end to madness and coercion.

"I think the foal made her happy too," Slim said softly. "In the middle of all that happened, she was happy for a little while. Which surely is something to be thankful for."

Jess smiled a little inward smile. It was typical of Slim not to give credit to his own care and protection which would make any young woman very happy too.

General Delivery

The sun beat down with the merciless weight of a hammer on an anvil. For the three people working on the hillside above the Sherman ranch, though, its fierce purity was welcome after the dark struggle in which they had all been involved. Their concentration now on their joint labour was a mirror of the values and the strengths which had brought them through an unexpected challenge and trial. Their sense of unity and of simple mutual support contrasted starkly with the cold and ruthless habits of a mercenary gunman.

They were all thinking to some extent of the recent shadow and danger which had hung over the ranch. Ed Caulder had briefly sheltered and been healed there. His change of heart, of the way he operated, as a result of that hospitality, was appreciated and respected. In the end, he had chosen the same path of law-abiding honour which motivated his hosts. While his past deeds could not be undone, it was profoundly to be hoped that this change meant his spirit was free and at peace.

Peace certainly cloaked the land under the fierce rays of the midday sun. As they moved through the long grass, scrub and scattered trees, the scent of crushed herbs drifted with them and a fine mist of pollen cast its tenuous net over them. There was no sound but the muted buzz and hum of innumerable insects and the soft rustle of grass disturbed by their passage. No breeze stirred and the air was still and heavy as a blanket over the land. Presently, by mutual consent, they met in a deeper patch of shade and rested.

Jess tossed down a couple of traps and the pegs which had rooted them to the ground, creating a pile with those already disarmed. He was glad to dig them out, for in the trapping of wild things there was always a wound to his own free spirit. Slim was already sitting, leaning back against a convenient tree trunk. Jess dropped down full length on the grass beside him and tipped his hat over his eyes.

"Sure am glad y' didn't set more o' these things!"

"Setting them's less effort than getting them up," Slim agreed. "It didn't take Andy and me all that long."

"An' it's taken three of us all mornin' t' get rid o' them." Jess's tone revealed his less than enthusiastic attitude to the savage iron jaws of the traps.

"That's the last!" Andy flung down another trap on the pile.

"You sure?" Slim asked automatically.

"I can count!" Andy told him indignantly, "and I remember where we put them."

As he spoke, he looked back across the slope of the hillside as if visualising their actions. Then he heaved a deep sigh. "It was horrible that Mr Caulder got caught in one."

"We didn't mean it to happen," Slim said mildly and with admirable restraint, since Ed Caulder had come to spy on the ranch with the intention of killing him.

"No, but we did mean to catch cougars," Andy pointed out. "Or coyotes or wolves ..." His voice trailed off. He seemed to be thinking deeply.

Slim and Jess, caught by the boy's unexpected introspection, remained still and quiet.

Then Andy said, "I guess we have to say thank you."

"Huh?" The comment took Slim completely by surprise, although Jess was nodding in silent agreement.

"Yeah. We need to say thank you to all the wild animals we set traps for. If we hadn't set the traps, Mr Caulder wouldn't have been caught. And if he hadn't been caught and injured, he wouldn't have stayed with us. He wouldn't have talked with us. He'd never have known any way except killing."

Both Slim and Jess were nodding in agreement now.

"So," Andy concluded, "I say we need to thank the cougars and the coyotes and the wolves and all the creatures who were in danger from the traps. Their danger helped save a man."

Night of the Quiet Men

"How d'y' do it, huh?"

Jess Harper leant against the warm, solid flank of his faithful mount and smiled as he recalled the many trials and adventures they had passed through together.

"How d'y' take a highway instead o' the unknown trail, huh?"

The horse just stamped a hoof. Highways might have ruts, but trails could lead into treacherous impasses.

"How d'y' run over the same range when there's the Big Open out there, huh?"

This just provoked a snort. In equine terms, the Big Open was full of uncertainty and danger which the ranch to some extent curtailed.

"How d'y' swap the wide world for a warm barn, huh?"

Traveller just huffed and pulled another mouthful of hay. The answer, to his mind, should be obvious.

The questions could just as well have been asked of the man as of his mount.

"How d'y' get domesticated when y've lived in the wild?" Jess asked softly.

There was no reply. Traveller simply butted him affectionately in the ribs. Jess winced as the impact jarred his recent injury. An injury from whose worst effects this horse had certainly saved him.

"I sure owe y' thanks." Jess caressed Traveller's neck and ears. "If y' hadn't 've gotten domesticated enough, y'd never have found y' way back here an' I could have been lyin' there at the side o' the road till mornin'."

He did not add that if he had, he would probably have had much less chance of surviving his injuries. He just went on leaning against Traveller, absorbing the warmth and strength and comfort of a companionship deeper and longer than almost all he had had with his fellow human beings.

The barn was quiet, the hay and straw sweet-smelling, the stall secure. On the bracket his saddle gleamed in the lamplight, cleaned now of the stains from his blood. There was peace and as much safety as any man and his horse could expect in life.

Jess heaved a sigh of contentment. "Thank y', my friend. Thank y' for bringin' me help and gettin' me home."

Queen of Diamonds

"Y' darn'd lucky y' ain't ending up in the pot!"

Iridescent feathers gleamed as they fluttered in the late afternoon sun. Dust drifted lazily across the yard. Copious clucking filled up the quiet which had hitherto prevailed. The recalcitrant chickens ignored Jess's threat and persisted in their attempts to trip him up.

He fetched a bucket of grain and tipped it into the various feeding trays, knowing full well that the birds would probably scatter it with profligate enthusiasm the moment his back was turned. So he duly turned his back, picked up the basket from the porch steps, and set about trying to find the day's eggs.

This was a task guaranteed to set a light to the regrettably short fuse of Jess's temper.

It was too much to hope that any sane chickens would have the common sense to lay their eggs in the hen house. Jess was fully convinced that there were no such things as sane chickens. Or at any rate, not in the Sherman yard. There were some eggs in the hen house - or rather, there had been some that morning. That was the easy bit. But the rest were cunningly distributed during the day in every likely and unlikely place around the yard. Finding them involved stooping, stretching, crawling and occasionally climbing. None of these were activities which appealed to Jess Harper. It also took an unconscionable amount of time.

"Pesky poultry!" he muttered under his breath, rummaging through the hay store.

"Mindless menaces!" he mumbled breathlessly, grovelling under the porch.

"Brainless birds!" he expostulated, finding several eggs behind the muck heap.

"Feathered fiends!" he exclaimed in exasperation, retrieving the final few from the woodpile, the weapon case in the barn and the winch housing over the well.

But today he could not curse them with the same vigour as usual. He knew perfectly well that he owed them a debt. A small debt, but an important one, nonetheless. Instead, he turned his effort, his skills and his determination to rounding up the chickens and shutting them up for the night.

Shutting them up did not mean them shutting up. The yard echoed with indignant squawking, as if Jess was indeed trying to capture one for the pot.

Fortunately expert aid was at hand. From the roof of the ranch house, Napoleon the mighty mallard spread his wings and swooped over the yard. He had been guarding against eagles doing much the same manoeuvre and his sweeping shadow was very effective in making up the minds, such as they were, of the chickens in favour of their hen house.

Iridescent feathers fluttered. Dust flew. Copious clucking re-echoed. If a hurricane had roared through the yard, it could scarcely have caused more confusion and consternation.

Then at last the hen house door slammed shut.

Stillness.

Silence.

Peace.

A triumphant duck.

A basket of eggs.

A thankful man.

Jess grinned at the duck and the duck gave a satisfied chuckle.

"Thanks, little fella!" Jess picked up the egg basket and headed for the house, where it was his turn to make supper. He paused in the doorway of the kitchen and looked back at the evening-shrouded yard and the dark bulk of the hen house, from which came the soft, contented murmuring of poultry settling down for the night.

"I suppose I gotta say thank you t' that lot too. If it hadn't o' been for them, I'd've lost my temper for sure and Slim an' I would probably still be sluggin' it out right there in the yard."

He grinned and raised his free hand in a salute. "G'night, you chickens. God bless y' an' make y' lay somewhere sensible tomorrow!"

From beside his boots came a disbelieving quack. Man and duck chuckled ruefully together.

No Second Chance

In the shadows, the mighty trees looked like the aftermath of some arboreal battle, the scattered limbs of giants cast chaotically into a teetering mountain. The sharp smell of raw wood and bark came from the stressed timber, the weight of each bulk pressing and grinding into the one below. The night wind pushed fitfully against the dark trunks and it seemed the merest breath in the wrong place might succeed in starting an avalanche. Creaks and groans made a muted chorus of protest.

Beneath it all, a man.

The groans did not come from the man. Nor did the protests. On the contrary, Smudge kept up a lively barrage of colourful curses, exhortations and more than one joke, stemmed only by his need to catch his breath and grit his teeth against the pain of the weight on him.

"They sure ain't breedin' men like they usta! Time was when a young man could shift a little ol' pile o' logs like this in no time. Shift it with one hand tied behind his back!"

"Sure thing," Jess agreed absently as he wrestled with the rope, the reins, the traces and two lively horses. "I just need both hands t' tie a knot, grandpa."

"You make that a good knot, boy! An' less o' the grandpa or I might jest git out from under this lot by m'self an' make y' eat y' words."

Smudge did not, however, make good his threat. He maintained afterwards that this was because Jess had climbed up a tree out of his reach. At the time he could only lie and listen to the grating of chains, the rasp of the ropes and the rattle of the hitch on the team. He knew how long it took to secure logs and harness a team. He'd done it often enough. In his head he praised the speed and skill of the two young men and in his heart were both hope and fear for the result of their work.

Then Slim was kneeling by him, ready for the moment the tackle began to lift the key log. Dust drifted over them as the pair of horses responded to Jess's urging and dug in their hooves to take up the strain.

"All right then, big fellas. Keep steady. Steady now."

He might have been speaking to calm the humans as well as the team. There was power in Jess's quiet tone, power in the straining horses, power in the taut ropes and the slowly lifting tackle, which counteracted the groan and screech of the moving timber, just as a deep bass gives grounding to a leaping melody. Certainly the sound of the shifting logs was music to everyone's ears.

Until the links of the chain gave a final discordant clang and parted company. The horses, released abruptly from the tension which had bound them, bounded forward. The reins jerked mightily but Jess automatically threw his weight backward, slowing the team almost to a halt. In the same second, he turned and raced frantically back to his friends.

Lightning could not have struck quicker than Slim as he heaved Smudge safely out from the trap and into the care of the waiting doctor.

The logs rolled and settled with a final threatening rumble.

Now all that remained was to settle with the men who had threatened and injured so many.

It was a day or so later, after the score was finally settled down to the last tin can, that Jess was in the corral, making much of the horses who had lifted the logs and rewarding them with some treats.

"Y' can give 'em a few extra apples from me," Smudge's voice came from the rail, to which he had limped painfully but with his usual ornery independence. "Reckon I owe 'em a thank y' for their efforts."

"Y' hear that, Robin, Clint?" Jess gave each of them a hearty pat. "Smudge says y' did a good job – and he should know."

"I knows the team ain't nothin' without the driver," the old man told him. "Have an apple y'self."

Jess shook his head. "The third reward goes t' a horse who wasn't even there."

"Is that so?" Smudge's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "What horse?"

"This one." Jess caught the brown gelding by the forelock and led him over to the fence. "He's the one we lent you," Jess replied. "If he hadn't made his way home, we'd never have known anythin' had happened t' you."

"An I'd jest a bin layin' there, takin' me ease, until I got back power enough t' push off all that kindlin'!" the old man told him roundly. Then he laughed and groaned at the same time because it jolted his bruised and battered body. "But the hoss made it home, so it's thanks all round. Gimme one of those apples, Jess!"

Acknowledgements:

For all chapters: The great creative writing of the 'Laramie' series is respectfully acknowledged. My stories are purely for pleasure and are inspired by the talents of the original authors, producers and actors.

Thanks as always to Westfalen for excellent beta-ing and gifting me with several of the ideas developed in this chapter.

Notes:

No Second Chance

I've taken the liberty of making Smudge a bit more vocal under the log pile than he is in the episode – you really can't keep a good teamster down.