Through Silence

(Please be aware that violence is on the higher end in this story)

Crack!

His entire face wore the pain. His entire body was the pain.

Crack!

Through his tremble, his lashes lowered, but not to where full closure put his vision into darkness. Blurred by the assault, he needed to shake his head to find clarity. When it came, the air slid through his lips almost as harshly as when the whip cracked. Below his tied, bent frame were the drops of his blood. And with another slap against his back, he watched pieces of his flesh fall to the ground where they were quick to become a part of the red river that was his very life.

Crack!

Again he contorted to the violence against his skin, and again his gut rolled with nausea as he saw his body drip below him. The attack might be shredding his flesh to where it was no longer recognizable, but inside where it mattered most, his heart had not been cut. And that vital piece, beating rapidly through his agony, wouldn't see the leather strip at all if he kept quiet. And he would.

Crack!

But how much more could he possibly take?

To death, he thought.

Crack! Although this one had a different tone, as it was struck against the floor. Chin moving to rest against his shoulder, he dared to catch a glimpse of his tormentor. It was easily discerned that the man was incensed, or perhaps a better word to use was possessed. He was that indeed. Possessed by evil; possessed by the desire of his partner's death.

He growled. "Where is Jess Harper?"

Silence was his defiance, yet it had its own reply, another slap to his back with a whip.

"Now look, Sherman." Dragging the whip across the ground, he changed positions to stand in front of him. It became like a snake, smearing Slim's blood as it slithered through, but then again, the same title could be placed over the man. "I can keep this up a whole lot longer than you can."

Even the air hurt as he pulled it in, but Slim had to put more than a whimper into his voice. "I know."

"Then tell me where Jess Harper is!"

"No."

The whip struck the ground with such severity that Slim felt the splatters of his own flesh return to his frame. His tongue touched his lips, the slide going from left to right, but the taste there was only sweat. As Slim sealed his mouth again, he wished he had never exposed it. The thirst that held onto his throat like the driest desert intensified. If only he could have a drink. If only he could… But no. If he started thinking about giving in to his body's demands, the next step would be a short one to take. Giving in to the outlaw's demands. And Slim was not willing to go that far.

The glare drew upward to meet his, along with a fist that shook into the air. "Don't you care that you could die?"

He cared more that Jess would live.

Slim shook his head. "My ma raised me according to the Bible, which says death has no sting."

This brought the anger even higher in the man, tinting his cheeks with the color that was staining the floorboards beneath him. Well, that just went and proved that he was one of the devil's kids, all right, being provoked by the mere mention of the Almighty. But along with the added heat brought another rise of the whip, and this time it streaked across Slim's front.

Slim's breaths came out in short hitches as his body writhed. His eyes still looking down, it was easy to view the newest stripe. Stretched across his bare chest and up to his collarbone, the welt split far enough apart that blood slipped down his torso, seeping into the jeans that clad his legs.

Seeing the flash of the whip come even closer to his face, Slim's call made it wither before his cheek was split in half. "You do know that if you kill me, you'll never find Jess."

He came close to smirking. "There are others who know him."

Slim shook his head. "But I'm the only one that knows where he is."

"Then you're going to tell me where he is or I'll…"

"I haven't yet," Slim said, keeping his eye on the whip that remained lowered to the ground. "And I won't."

The frustration coming out of every pore was as loud as the man's growl. Tossing the whip to the floor, the man walked to the square frame that kept Slim's arms held high. A knife coming out of the sheath at his side, he sliced each rope, but before Slim's body could collapse into the dust, he caught Slim's chin with his hand.

"You will tell me before I'm through with you. That whip, that's only the soft part. There can be much, much worse, Sherman. I'll let you think on that all night."

It wouldn't have been necessary to shove Slim to make him topple over, his weakness would have dropped him to his belly, yet the man put all of his weight into the push. Slim's mouth against the floor, he propped his eyelids far enough open to watch the full retreat. The door going shut would be the last thing Slim would see, for along with his arsenal of weapons, the man took the only source of light with him.

At least he knew what time it was. Late. When he had been forced into the shack several hours earlier, Slim had noticed the pair of windows on each side. Now that they were just a part of the black walls, it meant that Jess would no longer be riding, but camped somewhere among his favored Big Open.

A sigh poured through Slim's parted lips. "He's safe. That's all that matters."

His flesh arguing with his head, Slim wrapped his arms around his waist and curled into his pain. The severity made him rock, but in the same breath, the severity begged him to lie still. Slim groaned as he shifted positions, but he wasn't going to allow his full agony to transfer out of his lips. It would be better endured if he didn't utter its sound.

There was one noise he did want to make, and that as a gentle call. A plea, rather. Not to heaven, although Slim had lifted prayers several times since he was captured, this was for a set of ears too far away to hear. "Jess."

The follow-up stayed inside of his head, a thank you to God that Jess really was too far away to hear. A thank you that Jess hadn't been home with the knock pounded on Slim's front door. If he hadn't been away, then both of them would likely be dead, their carcasses discarded for the predators of the earth to enjoy. And the man behind such treachery gone free.

He really did have a name. Cole Chandler. Slim's mouth, though pinched, gave the tiniest flicker of a smirk. Although not the same one, he went to school with a Cole. And as Patrick had been his last, most of the kids swapped his first and last letters around, calling him Polecat as a tease. Maybe that was why Polecat came so quick into Slim's mind at the introduction, fitting his tormenter with the same sideways handle. But there was also another name that made a rapid entry into his thoughts when the gun became pointed into Slim's flesh. Josh Chandler. The barely-over-twenty kid that Jess had killed the week before.

He remembered Jess standing over the lifeless frame, gun hanging low in his clasp as if the iron was also feeling death's despicable weight. "I didn't wanna kill him."

"He didn't leave you with any other choice, Jess," was Slim's reply. "If the bullets he threw at you had hit, you'd be the one lying there."

"I know. Still woulda rather neither of us having reason to fire in the first place."

"No. In the first place, someone should've taught him better."

Slim relayed this conversation with Polecat when he first spoke his demand for Jess' life, there at Slim's front door. Well, except for that last part. Slim didn't figure his disposition would improve by telling the man that Josh might not have held up the Laramie stage if he had been schooled better at life. After all, being the older brother with ten or more years up on the younger, a good portion of that learning likely had come from Polecat himself.

As the heated question about Jess swirled around him, Slim had stood solid, staring at the man opposite him, willing his tongue into silence.

But Polecat's noise had just begun. "I want Jess Harper. And I'd imagine you know exactly where he is."

"I do."

"Where is he?"

"Someplace alive, and I intend on keeping it that way."

The gun butt clopped over his jaw, again over his head and before Slim's body could buckle to where only darkness existed, he smelled the alcohol-tainted breath as the man's mouth hovered over his face. "You'll tell me. When I'm done with you, you'll be screaming Harper's whereabouts so loud, he'll be able to hear the echo!"

With a couple of blinks, Slim was back in the precise moment that he lived, stuck in darkness and misery in an abandoned shack about ten miles east of the Sherman border. But still a corner of his mouth had the ability to rise. So far Polecat had been wrong. The only screaming Slim had done was internal. He hadn't even allowed his thoughts during the whip's lashing to express that Jess was somewhere between Laramie and Casper, lest the man could look inside of his mind.

Located by his memory, Slim turned his eyes toward the door. He might have been alone, yet now that the location had taken shape behind the throb in his forehead, Slim needed assurance that Polecat wasn't close enough to hear the potential whisper. He sighed. The room was still sealed by ink.

Well, he had said he would give Slim all night. If the shortest of Polecat's words could be trusted, then Slim's assurance could grow and allow the solace of sleep to claim him. Even if he dreamed of Jess somewhere out on the trail, an evil eavesdropper wouldn't be able to catch it and Jess would remain safe.

One arm going underneath his head for support, Slim closed his eyes, his mumble soft, yet extremely meaningful. "And Jess'll be safe."

.:.

He couldn't remember what kind of hell he was waking too, just that he was aware of every flame touching his skin.

Slim made the mistake of rolling onto his back, the instant regret making him jerk into a sitting position. Another error, as the square room that he was in became a circle, spinning him until he expected to crash his skull into the floor.

Hands against his temples, Slim slowly opened his eyes, and with the settling of the blur, he remembered everything. "Jess."

His heart hammered a painful staccato as Slim quickly sucked the name back into his mouth. It didn't take long to complete his glance around the room, ending with a hard stare at the window's light. Even as the realization etched into his brain that he remained alone, the rate couldn't decrease.

It being dawn meant that Jess would be riding.

Slim couldn't stop the race from starting in his mind. He'll stop in Laramie first. He'll know I'm gone. He'll have warning. That way he won't ride into the ranch blindly. And he'll stay safe.

Slim's chest lurched as the door swung open, but that wasn't the only part of his body reacting to the man's return. His skin was already feeling the jabs of a million needles that more lashes would have to be endured. But then Slim noticed that the whip wasn't in Polecat's hands. The grin that was stretching wider with each step toward Slim showed that he wasn't coming empty, and as he kneeled in front of Slim, a knife came out of its sheath.

"Morning, Sherman." He ran his thumb across the sharp blade with enough pressure to leave a line of blood. "That's so you know that it isn't a dull one."

"I didn't figure it was your everyday potato peeler."

The knife came so close to Slim's eyes that the glint from the pale light seemed to wink at him. "Well, it seems your tongue was loosened overnight. Good. Maybe I won't have to get too ugly today."

Slim knew he shouldn't but the retort was burning so hot on his tongue that if he didn't spit it out it would light his entire body afire. "From what I see, you're ugly all the time."

Knuckles crashed into his mouth. But it wasn't too bad, just a trickle of blood to taste.

"Now no more backtalk. Just tell me what I want to know," Polecat said, taking the knife's point to rest atop Slim's left ear.

He had to admit, this position was more unnerving than facing his whip, but still Slim was not going to comply. "No."

"You really want me to hack off your ear? Or maybe I should peel back some of your scalp."

The swallow was so difficult to make, Slim was afraid his throat was going to betray him with a choke. "Go ahead."

He switched the knife's point directly between Slim's eyes. "In a couple of pokes I could blind you."

"You haven't fulfilled any of your threats yet."

"What do you call this?" Polecat took the blade away from Slim's face to put it against his chest. Inserting the tip into the whip's mark, he flicked away the scab, but that was only the littlest piece of flesh that would be lost.

With each inch upward that he trailed, bringing a fresh river of blood down Slim's front, his throat rumbled with the pain his body desperately wanted to express. A shout, a howl, anything that would match the torment, but Slim kept it locked inside. Yet he couldn't stop his body from contorting, from quivering and from trying to pull away from Polecat's vicious hand.

He clapped his palm on Slim's shoulder to still him. "Where is Jess Harper?"

"I won't tell you."

A fist formed, the belt went across Slim's jaw, a second over his eye.

The swelling already making him squint, Slim struggled to keep the lid from going all the way shut. "It really gets under your skin that I'm not afraid of you."

"But you're afraid for Jess Harper. Admit it. You're afraid for Jess Harper."

He didn't speak, didn't even nod, but Slim knew that Polecat could read his expression. Yes.

"You have a right to be worried about him. Don't you think I could come up with some other way to get him other than through you?"

"I told you I'm the only one that knows where he is."

"Ah, true. But Jess has to return home, now doesn't he?"

"So."

"So? I can easily go camp out there, sleep in your bed and wait for him to arrive, unsuspecting the bullet's arrival too."

"You're too late for that," Slim said, expecting with the lilt of his lips that he would get them knocked into his teeth again, but the only part of Polecat that retaliated was with the rough spewing of his breath across his face.

"What're you talking about?"

"The stagecoaches know by now that I'm not there. In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if a posse's out searching for me at this moment. With the way news spreads like wildfire around here, Jess isn't going to ride into the ranch unsuspecting. He'll be riding in with his rifle pointing to even the tiniest movement. And in case you weren't aware, you stand out far more than a fly flitting from manure pile to manure pile."

He rocked back on his heels so hard it was as if Slim had gotten a punch at Polecat's face. Perhaps he had, just with a vocal jab. Whichever hit the man had taken, it turned up the anger until the color shone on both cheeks. It was at this moment that Slim expected his life to be taken. He clenched his jaw for what was to come, his muscles tensed, his heart repeated his mother's prayers, but then with a spin of his boots against the floor, Polecat walked out. The door wasn't even given a wall-rattling slam.

Slim stared at the empty space for a full minute, stunned. Finally shaking away the direct line with the door, Slim's hand rose to wipe the lingering drops of blood and sweat from his forehead, but his fingers couldn't finish their duty without his thoughts turning his body to ice. Polecat had said the whip was the soft part. The knife obviously was far from being delicate, as were the man's knuckles, but as provoked as Polecat was, Slim couldn't help but wonder what was coming next.

It took every ounce of strength and a guttural cry to get on his feet, but once there, Slim was determined to not go back down. His stride could have been described as a shuffle as he went to the window to peer out. From this angle the land was clear of the man. He limped to the opposite. Same that way, too.

Maybe he was just asking for a bullet, but Slim had to try the doorway too. The knob turning slowly underneath his palm, Slim eased the door open a crack, allowing one eye to wander first before his entire head poked through. Strange, but it was as if Polecat had completely disappeared. There was nothing to see at all, except… Slim's heart jumped a mile… His horse.

Dressed in all of his leather and accessories, Alamo stood with his head up, ears pointed toward the building, as if the animal was coaxing him to come.

But did Slim dare?

This is what he wants. If I try to escape, he'll cut me down.

Yet the temptation was too strong to not take one step. If the dust scattered at his feet, he could quickly dive back into the shack. With a determined nod, Slim's boot went forward. Nothing stirring around him, Slim instructed his other boot to follow, making the full transition of his body outside.

His eyes followed the perimeter, not making contact with anyone that appeared to have stepped out of hell. Confusion was strong, but the desire to escape was stronger. Going forward, Slim reached Alamo's side and then immediately turned, once again searching for Polecat's blood-red stare. He couldn't find it.

He barely allowed a breath to go in and make its return back out. This was too easy. Polecat wouldn't let him go free like this. It had to be a trick. It had to be a trap. It had to be about Jess.

Slim touched Alamo's bridle, his fingers quickly turning into a grip. That's it. He expects me to ride straight to Jess.

But he wouldn't. Slim did hoist his frame into the saddle, but the only direction he would take was in the opposite of where Jess would be.

I'll lead him all the way to Mexico if I have to, but I'll never let him find Jess.

.:.

Oh, it was hot. Even hotter underneath the bedroll that Slim draped over his back to protect his lashes from adding sun-induced blisters to their suffering. Leaving without a shirt had never entered his mind, just that in fleeing, he was leading Polecat farther away from Jess. But an hour into the journey he was acutely aware of its absence. The tree canopy getting thin and then nonexistent, Slim felt like he was being baked like bread, the stripes on his back rising until he feared they were going to explode.

The bedroll-jacket provided relief for what lay under the crusty layer of blood, but the rest of his body protested its placement. Sweat rolled in profuse lines down his face, his underarms were like pools, and if he needed to drop his pants for nature's call, Slim would likely need to peel the wet fabric away from his hips.

But while the complaints throbbing inside of his skull were valid, Slim knew they were just another part of this ongoing quest to keep Jess safe. And because of that, all of this could be endured.

There was one thing, however, that no matter how strong a man's fortitude was, stood as a barrier in Slim's way. He hadn't had water in too many hours, and with the loss of blood, sweat and maybe even a few tears, Slim's tongue was so dry it was hanging out of his mouth. The canteen that was slung over the pommel had touched Slim's lips within a minute after finding it, and then promptly thrown to the ground. Polecat had filled it with sand.

Eyes straining into the distance, Slim thought he saw the wiggling line of a creek, but as it could have merely been forced there by his own desire, he didn't start to feel relief. He didn't even hurry to its side. But the stream was real. The closer he came, the cooler the air was around him and Slim began gulping in the water's fragrance even before he could bow his knee at its bank.

Sliding from the saddle, Slim hung onto his mount to let the swirling inside of his head straighten out before taking a step, but as it did, it suddenly had to rise.

A rider was coming. Polecat? The direction was wrong, but that didn't mean the man hadn't done some circle-work and was now approaching from a different side.

The ingrained instinct too strong to remember that it wasn't there, Slim's hand slapped at his hip, and feeling the empty space, switched his eyes to Alamo's side. Scabbard just as empty, Slim debated his next move. He was too weak to fight, yet as Alamo's mouth had already dipped into the cool water, he still had strength to run.

Looking back at the creek that he wouldn't get to taste, Slim put his foot in the stirrup and jumped. His bottom almost missing the saddle, he moaned as he straightened his frame. There was a repeat as he looked behind him. The rider was getting closer. Putting force into his heels, his horse ran forward, his aim for a corner that would be a shield. But before he could reach that safer ground, his name rushed over the terrain, the tone, a distinct gravel that Slim would recognize anywhere.

Whipping his head around, Slim squinted into the distance. He must be suffering from an illusion. Jess couldn't be here. He should still be north of Laramie. Yet the fear made him pull up so hard on the reins that Slim caused Alamo to rear. With a crash that could have opened up the earth and swallowed him whole, Slim was on the ground.

The hands that came upon him were gentle, yet Slim fought them.

"Easy, Slim. It's me."

Jess? Jess, no. You can't be here. No. Slim's words were stuck in his head, but maybe there was something coming out, for Jess' replies had accuracy in their placement.

"I'm right here, Pard. Just take it easy."

Maybe it's because this really is all a dream. But why is he so real? Slim pulled his lids open. Dreams were supposed to be distorted. There was nothing fuzzy about Jess at all. Not only could he see Jess and hear his voice, he could feel his hands, touching the wounds. No, he was doing more than that. Slim felt liquid, blessedly cool liquid. Jess was bathing his wounds. There was no doubt now, Jess was real.

Slim's eyes scrunched closed again. Jess, Jess, oh how could I have been so stupid?

In the throes of his agony, had he made a mistake and turned north? Did his head bob too many times over the saddle horn to make Alamo think that he needed to take matters into his own hooves and head home? Yet Slim was certain that he had taken a southerly trail, he had forced himself awake enough times to check that he wasn't drifting off course. He couldn't understand what went wrong, but getting a grip on what was in front of him would need outside explanation, for Slim's brain was about the equivalent to mashed potatoes and the gravy was oozing out of his ears.

He parted his lips, the crackle short. "How?"

Jess put his canteen to Slim's mouth, gently pouring it through the opening, thankful that there wasn't a sputter, but a swallow. He watched Slim's tongue greedily lap up what was leftover in the stubble of his upper-lip and then allowed Slim another taste from the stream that gurgled alongside them.

It was faint, but Jess had heard Slim's singly delivered question mark. Jess had also given the same word to Slim when he kneeled beside his partner on the ground, but the only response had been done with expression. Painful expressions.

Jess didn't have to look hard to discover why. Slim had been whipped, and by the deep hues of injury that marred his face, he had also been beaten.

His fingers traced the gash at Slim's lower lip and then nestled into the side of his neck. The rhythm underneath was rapid with fear, but while Jess could grasp that the reason went with Slim's wounds, the remainder was still lost to him. Slim should know that he was safe now. The gun on Jess' hip would make sure of it.

Slowly turning Slim to his side, Jess put the pressure of his palm against Slim's back. Warm, but not fever-like. He nodded and then reached for the cloth that had been balancing on his knee and then let the cool fabric clean the old blood away.

How could Jess's hands be this tender? His entire being was tensed with the desire to put them into fists and pummel the life out of whoever was behind the brutal lines that he was cleaning. He poured more water into the pulsating marks on Slim's back, the following pat with folded cloth so soft a whimper didn't come out of his partner's lips, but one of relief.

Yet while Slim's teeth weren't grinding in pain, Jess could see the deep etches of his forehead. He was so afraid it made Jess' stomach turn into an icy pit.

He gently rolled Slim to his back. "It's gonna be all right, Slim. I ain't gonna let nobody get to you."

"Jess. Jess, you can't."

Now Jess' own brow furrowed as deep as Slim's. "Can't what?"

"Be here."

The gasp below him stilled Jess' hands, as well as his heart. "Why?"

"He'll kill you."

Jess rocked back on his heels. "Who will?"

"Polecat…" Slim shook his head. "I mean Cole Chandler."

"Oh." Jess' face became shadowed. "Josh had kin, huh?"

"An older brother. And he's been eating a bowl of hate for breakfast, lunch and supper every day since he died. You've got to get away from here, Jess."

"I ain't going anywhere, not with you like this," Jess said, touching the violent pucker along Slim's shoulder. "He figured he'd get me by doing this to you?"

"He tried to get me to tell when you weren't at the ranch, but I wouldn't budge. So he took me to a shack to beat it out of me. I still wouldn't tell."

Jess wished that he had. Then the only man scrunched up in pain, or worse, would be him. But since Jess couldn't change the course of time that had already gone past him, all he could do was aid the wounds his partner bore for him. Refreshing the cloth with water, Jess erased the dried blood from Slim's face.

Slim looked up into the intense blue. "How'd you find me?"

Jess nodded, so that was what Slim had been trying to get out earlier. "I wasn't looking for you. Just riding home."

"Wait, didn't I turn Alamo south?"

"Could be. I came through the south pass this morning."

"But you were snooping around Casper for mustangs."

"I was, but not for long." Jess watched Slim's eyebrows rise. "I ran into Lane Peters on the trail and he told me that a new rancher that way snagged most of the good ones in the area. Since I didn't wanna head home so soon, I decided to check out the herd that's being talked about just across the border in Colorado. So I did."

"And now you're on the way home." Slim's hands rose to cover his heavy sigh. "And all I did was put you in more danger."

"You didn't know, Slim. Where do you reckon Chandler is now?"

"I don't know," Slim said, raising his head. "Could be close to breathing down our necks by now."

"Then you better get outta here."

"Me?" Slim abruptly sat up, not caring that every wound on his body belted out their loudest scream as he did. "What about you?"

"I'd kinda like to meet this fellow," Jess said, but seeing the fear darken Slim's eyes, he put both hands around Slim's shoulders. "Easy, Slim. I won't go calling without my gun."

"Don't forget he'll be pointing his, too."

"I won't. Come on, Slim. I reckon Alamo's rested enough to carry you where you need to go."

Slim couldn't suppress the groan that rose up and out of his being when Jess helped him to stand, but it was admittedly from more than pain. "Jess. Please don't do this."

"Well I'm gonna."

A surge of energy through Slim's veins, namely anger, put his face within inches of his partner's. "I'm in no mood to fight."

"And you're in no condition to win. So just get in that saddle before I plop you in it myself."

The stare was an entire minute before Slim's head began to nod. "All right, Jess. I'll go."

Jess reached into his gear and pulled out a shirt. "Here, Slim. Your shoulders'll be too big for it to latch, but it'll cover your back."

"Thanks, Jess."

"One more thing," Jess said, sliding his rifle into Slim's scabbard. "You'll need this more than me."

Slim looked at the iron hugging Jess' hip. "I'd rather you have both."

"No, sir." He hooked the reins around Slim's palm. "Now you head straight for Laramie, you hear?"

Slim nodded, even though his heart wasn't in the agreement. "Come too, Jess."

"No. You know you ain't fit for hard riding. If we both go we gotta run. If I stay behind, I can make sure Chandler don't go a foot toward home. Now get."

Jess watched Alamo's retreat, still facing that direction when the visual turned only to hearing. It wasn't until silence was all around him that Jess went to the stream, but where he could have stood in the shadow of a tree line, he remained in the wide open. Being a lure meant he was going to be seen immediately. Jess just didn't know to expect that in a literal sense.

A rock crunched behind him. Turning, Jess saw the gun first, and then he knew he was looking at the face of Cole Chandler.

"Harper." The hammer clicked back. "Where's Sherman."

"I thought you wanted me."

"I do," Chandler answered, watching the close perimeter as if he expected to see Slim's silhouette somewhere inside that line. "But I also need Sherman."

"No witnesses left to hang you, huh?"

"Something like that. Where is he?" Seeing the straight mouth across from him colored his cheeks with incense. "Oh, so now you're going to play the silent game?"

"Worked before."

"There are ways to make a man talk, you know." The gun stayed secure in the man's right, but the left was on the move. Reaching for his back, Chandler's hand returned wearing a coiled whip. In one flick of his wrist, it was its full length.

"Go ahead," Jess challenged. "Try me."

The gun was holstered, taking the count of weapons down to one, and as the whip rose, Jess' hand flashed for his hip. The whip slapped around Jess' wrist, taking his clasp away from his gun before he could even touch the hammer, and the prompt jerk, flung his iron completely out of reach.

"Oh, I will, Harper. I'll try you so hard you'll die."

Attempting to make him jump the whip cracked against the ground at Jess' feet twice, but the next display would be right across his front. The thin leather lashed toward Jess, but in a speed that would have made his gun draw jealous, Jess' hand caught the whip. The pull was enough to take it completely out of Chandler's possession and put it into his own. Jess bounced the handle once in his clasp to make the gape across from his spread, and then with a glance over his shoulder, Jess tossed the whip behind him. The creek swallowed it whole.

Jess' eyes snapped. "What else do you got?"

The iron was obviously still in Jess' sight, there in its leather seat against Chandler's hip, but it was the shiny blade that caught Jess' attention, slowly being pulled out of its holder on his left side.

"By the time this is done with you, there'll be so few pieces left of Jess Harper that no one will know your face from your tail."

Jess took one step, wanting to circle the man, but Chandler wasn't following suit. In a wild leap that also pulled a similar sound out of his throat, Chandler was on top of Jess, their bodies in a direct collide with the earth.

"And I'll start right here with your throat!"

Teeth clenched, Jess pushed up on Chandler's hand, but the knife was still coming closer to his neck. Air rushing into his lungs through his nose, Jess' chest heaved with fear, yet as strength existed there too, Jess' knee started to push into Chandler's torso. The response was a boot going onto his ankle, slamming Jess' leg back to the ground. And then a firm grip slammed against his arm, rendering his hand useless.

He tried not to gasp, but it came out anyway. Jess was completely pinned to the ground and at the mercy of a knife and a crazy man. There was only one way that this was going to end.

Boom!

Jess looked past the head that was starting to slump, and before the deadweight landed on top of his frame, Jess rolled Chandler's body away. The rifle still emitting its smoke, Slim stood a mere foot from his boot tips.

His air was released in a whoosh. "Dad-gum, Slim."

"Well, I guess my silence saved you after all," Slim said, lowering the rifle's nose to the ground. "Neither of you heard me coming."

Jess' hand slid across the sweat that was coating his forehead. "Thanks, Pard. That was kinda close."

"You're the one that always says 'Close don't count'."

"In this case it does."

"How so?"

"It counts a great deal that you saved my life," Jess answered, his eyes caught together with Slim's. But it went even further than that. Slim had suffered for the sake of his life, endured the kind of pain that would have made most men crumble in front of their enemy. He remained unwavering despite the blows. He wore each stripe because of friendship, and that friendship increased to a span that couldn't be measured.

Jess briefly looked down at his feet. Saying all of that wouldn't come easy, for Jess wasn't the kind of man for that many words. But he knew Slim felt them, like his hand that eased onto Slim's shoulder. "Come on, Pard. Let's get you home, and maybe, just maybe I'll do all your chores for the next week or so."

Slim rolled his eyes. "That'll be the day."