Slim watched the door, heart thumping and fingers clenched, as the soft tap of boots across the porch echoed through the silence. In desperation, he tugged at his bonds, straining until the ropes bit into his skin. It didn't help, but he didn't stop. If he didn't get out of these bonds, Jess was in big trouble.

He glanced over at his friend, lying on the floor among the expanse of destruction. Jess was doing his own struggling, and it looked like it might do more good than Slim's. Already he had made it a few feet across the room to where the falling desk had spit out a letter opener, and he had the point twisted into the ropes, straining against the binding. A few more minutes, that was all they needed for Jess to get free. Just a few more minutes.

But they didn't have it.

Slim's head whipped around as the door creaked open, and if there was something, anything he could have done in that moment to stop Skeenan, even slow him down, he would have done it. Even flinging himself and the chair to the ground to get between Skeenan and his prey would have been worth the bruises. But before he could so much as get the chair rocking, Skeenan was across the room and on the ground, the collar of Jess' shirt in one hand and a knife in the other.

"Clever move, buddy," snarled Skeenan, barely restrained fury coloring his words. "It almost worked, too. Close enough that I ain't sure you're worth the bother of keeping alive." The knife edged closer to Jess's throat, the blade brushing against his skin. Slim could see every muscle in Jess's body tighten, his eyes widen with something a little too close to fear.

Fury plowed through Slim's blood. Jess wasn't afraid to die in a gunfight, or thrown from a horse, or even wandering the desert. As long as there was a chance to fight, Jess fought, ready to live or die as it came. But trussed up like a chicken at the dinner table, waiting for his enemy to do what he pleased – that was the kind of death Jess Harper couldn't stand.

And there was nothing Slim could do.

But a thumping from the other end of the room took them all by surprise, and the three of them turned to look at Andy, who had been slamming his feet against the floor. Slim glanced back at Skeenan and felt his heart drop again at the grin on the man's face.

"That's right – I did promise you could have a say in the decisions, didn't I, Andy?" Skeenan hauled Jess away from the debris – and, not coincidentally, away from the sharp objects that could cut through rope – and stepped over to Andy, where he removed the boy's gag. "How shall we punish old Jess?"

Andy swallowed a few times to get his mouth back to working. He didn't look at Jess, which seemed to Slim like a smart move, all things considered. He was going to have to make a decision, a bad one, but right now that was the only thing keeping Jess alive.

"Give him a punch," muttered Andy, studying the ground. "A hard one, right to the gut."

Slim breathed a sigh of relief, and out of the corner of his eye, he could see Jess easing slightly. A punch to the stomach was practically nothing, especially considering Jess' extensive experience in the art of pugilism. It might hurt some, but it was better than anything Skeenan would have come up with.

But Skeenan was already shaking his head. "Andy, Andy, Andy." He patted the boy's cheek. "As the brightest of the bunch, I was hoping for a bit more creativity. You gotta think outside the box. And it's gotta be worth it, the punishment's gotta fit the crime."

He strolled across the room and nudged Jess with a boot, which earned him another of Jess's firecracker glares. "See, the real problem was the noise of the desk falling, so maybe we shoot off a couple rounds right next to Jess's ear, see if he goes deaf. Or how's about this? I could've gone to a dark tiny jail cell, so maybe we lock him in a chest for a while." He grabbed Jess' hair and forced his head up. "Would you like that, Jess Boy? Like to spend a coupla days in a box with no air?"

"All right!" shouted Andy. "All right, maybe…maybe you kick him."

Skeenan turned to Andy, his grip on Jess's hair forcing Jess's head to the side, and Slim vowed that if he ever got his hands free, he was going to yank every strand of Skeenan's hair out. "What's that, boy?"

"Because he kicked over the desk," explained Andy desperately. "He kicked the desk, so you…kick him."

Skeenan looked thoughtful. "Still ain't up to the caliber I was hoping for, but it's a start, I guess." Without any more warning than that, he twisted and landed a solid kick to Jess's stomach, and Jess, head still pulled up by a handful of hair and hands still tied behind his back, twisted into himself with a groan.

The boot swung back and landed again, this time against a leg, and a moment later Skeenan had dropped Jess' hair and was tenderizing Jess to a pulp. Andy started shouting, and Slim pulled so much against his ropes that he could feel blood slipping down his wrists, but all they could really do was watch until Skeenan tired of the exercise.

The kicks finally stopped, and heavy breaths of pain, exertion, and frustration echoed through the house, punctuated by aching groans from Jess and stifled sniffling from Andy.

"Now," said Skeenan through pants. "Let's not see that again."

He walked back to the kitchen, patting Andy on the shoulder as he passed. "Good call, kid."

Slim watched him disappear, and the only consolation he had against Jess' curled, bloody body and Andy's horrified look of guilt was that this man was going to prison for a long, long time, even if Slim had to spend the rest of his life hunting him down to make that happen.

XXX

If it were any other day, Andy and Jonesy would just be getting lunch ready. Slim and Jess would be out for the day, bringing a packed lunch with them to save time, so there'd be nothing special at the house, just sandwiches and an apple or two. But they'd more than likely eat outside in the sun, and Jonesy would tell Andy that there was still a lot of work to be done before stretching out to take a nap. Andy would play with his critters, maybe read some, mostly just enjoy the sunshine. If it were any other day.

But it was today, and today, Skeenan was there instead of Jonesy, and the bright sunshiny day was replaced with a curtained-off dimness, and Andy's belly was noticeably lacking in fullness. He glanced in Skeenan's direction, hoping maybe the man had dozed off, but he was still settled on the couch below the window, legs stretched out and rifle balanced across his knees, calm and content as Andy, Slim, and Jess sat before him, subjects of his absolute power. Andy's eyes flickered to his family. Slim was doing all right, but Jess looked like he'd just come out of a stampede.

Andy had gotten permission to see to Jess's injuries – choosing that, in Skeenan's maniacal fashion, instead of giving Jess food for the rest of the day – so the reformed drifter was at least sitting up against the wall, with the worst of the wounds cleaned and a bandage around his head, where he had taken a particularly sharp blow from Skeenan's boot. He wasn't groaning anymore, but Andy could still see the pain etched across his hero's face, and even with Slim and Jess both whispering to him that it wasn't his fault whenever Skeenan gave them the chance, he felt awful. More than anything else he had ever wanted in the world, he wanted this to be over.

But it didn't look like that was going to happen any time soon. Especially since they still didn't know why Skeenan was doing this, or what his particular interest in Andy was, or why he seemed so dead set on tearing down everyone at the Sherman Ranch

As if his brother had read his thoughts, Slim spoke into the silence. "You still haven't told us what you want."

The man grinned. "You mean you ain't figured that out yet? I want you to suffer."

"Doin' a mighty good job of it," muttered Jess from his slightly curled position on the floor, but his voice was quiet, and if Skeenan heard him, he gave no indication of it.

Slim frowned. "But that doesn't explain why. You've got to have a reason."

"Yeah, I got a reason." Skeenan leaned forward over the rifle. "You play your cards right, I might even let you in on it."

"Don't bother with him, Slim," said Jess. "Man like that, probably sheer craziness."

"You think I'm the crazy one?" Skeenan grinned, and the feral look in his eye only served to bolster the opinion. "Maybe I am…but I'll tell you something. If I had a killer in my sights, and I knew he was a threat to my partner and his kid brother, I'd pull the trigger." He held up his finger and thumb as a gun and mimed shooting it at Jess. "'Stead of lettin' him get free and hogtie us all up. Whaddaya think: is the great Jess Harper losin' his touch? Or maybe he's just as crazy as I am?"

"Or maybe he doesn't cotton to the idea of killing a man if he doesn't have to," snapped Slim, but that only brought Skeenan's attention to him.

"Well, two cents from the noble, the upright, the important Slim Sherman! Too good to get your hands dirty, isn't that right? You'd rather hand a man over to the law and let somebody else do your killin' for you. You're yellow all over, and usin' a badge to hide it."

"That ain't so!" shouted Andy hotly, at the same time that Jess snarled, "That's the wrongest you're ever gonna get, Skeenan."

But Slim just stared the man down. "There's no shame in letting the law take care of criminals. That's the mark of a civilized country."

"Civilized country?" Skeenan whooped and pushed back his hat. "Well, my goodness, Mr. Sherman, sir, I didn't realize we was livin' in a civilized country. What with all the robbin' and lyin' and killin' that seems to go on all the time. I never figured a man like me could make it in a civilized country!"

"We may not be there yet, but we're getting there," said Slim stubbornly, and Andy knew he meant every word. Andy had listened to enough speeches about the growth of Wyoming to know exactly how passionate Slim was on the subject. "And that starts with respect for the law."

Skeenan rubbed his jaw and widened his eyes dramatically. "Yeah, yeah, I reckon you're right. You got me all convinced up, now." He stood and strolled over to Andy. "You must be awful proud of your brother, kid, him and his respect for the law. If it hadn't'a been for him, you'd all be sitting pretty right about now, worrying about nothin' but feeding the chickens. Yup, you must be plum relieved to have a brother that'd rather let you git kidnapped than do his fightin' without the law to hold up his shakin' arm."

"That's not what it's like," said Andy, but Skeenan had already turned to Slim.

"You can keep talkin' pretty, Sherman, but the fact of the matter is, you drug your brother into this, sure as if you held the gun to his head. Your big ideas and fancy talk are all right, but they're the reason you got a brother over there right now tryin' not to cry." He leaned in close. "So what kind of a brother does that make you?"

Slim's face could have been cut from marble, but Andy knew the words had stung. He wished he could say something to let Slim know that he shouldn't feel any guilt on Andy's account, but he worried, with a deep and aching gnaw, that anything he said or did would just get his brother or Jess hurt.

Finally, Slim spoke. "The kind of brother who does what's right, and trusts his brother to know it. Andy knows the importance of the law. More important, he knows what's right. And he's not about to give up on what's right just because of a two-bit gunslinger who needs a pistol to make him feel big."

Andy gasped as Skeenan reached out and grabbed Slim's face in one of his huge hands. For a minute, it looked like Skeenan was going to twist his wrist and break Slim's neck, and there was nothing Andy could do about it. Panic flooded him. He was going to have to watch his brother die.

Skeenan twisted Slim's face to the side, a wrench sharp enough to cause pain but not, to Andy's immense relief, enough to do permanent damage. "You know, Andy," he said, eyes locked on Slim's, voice dangerously low, "I think your brother here could use a shave. Why don't you go get the razor."