Andy reined in his horse, slowing down to a walk and staring back the way he had come. It was stupid, but he kept wondering if he should turn around. It had taken him over half a day to get this far, and turning back would just waste even more time, something he had already done far too much of. He had spent most of the morning leading his horse on foot away from the outlaws, walking longer than he needed to, probably longer than he should have, but he couldn't shake the deeply settled fear that the outlaws were following him, just waiting to strike. Even now, safely distant, with nothing and no one in sight behind him, he still felt like he should be running.

Except Slim was back there. And Skeenan had made no secret of the fact that, of the three inhabitants of the Sherman Ranch, Slim was the one he really wanted dead.

Andy looked the other way, down the long, winding path that led towards Laramie. Towards Jess, who was probably dying right now. Who needed help.

If only there were two Andys, one for each brother. One to go back and spring Slim from the grip of bloodthirsty criminals, and one to race the distance to the ranch house and save Jess from the brutal death of dehydration. For the first time in his life, he felt outnumbered by Slim and Jess.

If only Jonesy were around. He'd be able to help. Instead, he was just going to get a terrible telegraph when this was all over, explaining how one member of the family had died. It would break his heart, and Andy would never stop feeling guilty for whatever decision he made right now.

He swallowed through the tightness in his throat and dropped his face into the horse's mane. He couldn't do this. He was still a kid. No matter how much he pushed and tried and pretended, he was just a scrawny, useless kid who wanted to let other people make the hard choices. Slim should never have trusted him with this.

Not that there had been much of a choice.

Telegraph.

Andy shot up straight, a mannikin on newly taut strings, and the horse, sensing his sudden change in attitude, shifted anxiously underneath him. Somehow, with everything that had happened and with Skeenan acting as though Andy were responsible for it all, he had forgotten that he wasn't alone. Even with Jess tied up in the root cellar and Slim held prisoner, he still had a whole town of people who knew him, knew Slim and Jess, and would want to help. Not the least of which was Sheriff Corey.

Hope sucked the breath from his lungs, then fled just as quickly. Because he didn't know any of the towns. Not up this way, anyway. He had been as far as Casper often enough that he could muddle his way along the path, but all he knew about up this way was what Slim had told him incidentally, which wasn't much and which, to be perfectly honest, Andy hadn't really listened to. He was regretting that now.

He was sure there was a town up here somewhere, and that if he stuck to the larger roads, he would hit one eventually. But would he have the time? Would Jess have the time?

Looking for a town might be the only thing that could save Jess. It also might be the thing that killed him.

Andy buried his face back in the horse's mane again and, instead of screaming like he wanted to, he breathed. Deeply, slowly, in and out, the way Slim had taught him when he was younger and he could hardly think for the tears or the anger running through him. And he thought about what Slim and Jess would do.

Slim, Andy knew, didn't much care for gambling. He would rather bet on a sure thing – or, better yet, not bet at all. Take care of one problem, then worry about the next. He'd be riding hell for leather for the ranch, then he'd turn right around again and rescue the next person.

But Jess was a gambler, and he didn't like to cut his losses. He went all in when he wanted to win, and he usually came out on top. He wouldn't be looking to save just one person. He'd be looking to save everyone. And he'd take a few longshots to make that happen.

Another breath, and Andy straightened. The ears of his horse perked eagerly as it sensed another change in his rider.

He'd take the chance. And he'd come out on top, just like Jess.

No one was dying on Andy's watch.

XXX

Jess tried to swallow, but everything was dry, and his throat rebelled against the process.

Instead, he focused on breathing. In and out, slowly, calmly. Trying not to think about the men he'd seen die of dehydration: the raving lunatics pulled off a ship too late, the sunken bodies stretched out in the wilderness.

Slim would come back. Andy would come back. And they'd bring canteens full of water, and he could drink all that he wanted…

He closed his eyes against the image, but all he could see was water. Water, water, everywhere, and nary a drop to drink. Hadn't Andy read that recently from one of his schoolbooks? It had sounded horrible when Jess heard it. He had always known that dying of thirst was a bad way to go. And now, actually going through it…it was worse than he ever imagined.

"No more than you deserve, though," said a pensive voice that Jess knew all too well.

His eyes flew open. "Slim!" Finally. Everything was going to be okay now. He was going to make it.

But Slim wasn't holding a canteen of water. He wasn't even moving to untie Jess's ropes. He was just sitting there, perched on a barrel, one booted foot tucked against the staved sides, studying him with those eyes that always seemed to see a bit more of Jess than he would like. "You brought him here."

Jess caught his breath. "I know." He'd thought about that every moment Skeenan had been torturing Andy. Through every cruel thing that was done to Slim. Ever since he'd been tied up here with nothing to do, it was the only thing he thought about. "I know, Slim, and I'm sorry. If I'd known at all, I'd've pushed him off the stage."

Slim leaned forward on his knees. "I know that, Jess. But it doesn't change the fact that you did bring him here. You put the ranch in danger – more importantly, you put Andy in danger."

Jess stayed silent, scraping his dry tongue against flaking lips. It was too true to refute.

"Maybe we shouldn't have taken you in at all," said Slim, and the words cut. Sliced right into Jess's bones. It was the last thing he ever wanted to hear from Slim, the one fear he could never quite break free of. He tried to remind himself that Slim had a temper, worse than Jess's, sometimes, and a tendency to say things he didn't mean when he was fighting mad.

But Slim wasn't angry now. He was calm, pensive, and that was worse. Because that meant he'd thought about it, rationally, logically, and he really did think this was the right thing. "Maybe everyone would be better off if you died in this cellar. At least you wouldn't be bringing any more murderers around. It's too late for Andy, but Jonesy and I might be safe."

Jess hadn't been able to meet Slim's eyes, but at his last words, a wave of horror pulled through his neck and lifted his head. "Andy's…" he couldn't even say the word. "What happened to Andy?"

Slim stared at him, still so pensive, but his eyes were heavy with sadness. "Skeenan killed him, Jess. You brought Skeenan here, and he killed Andy."

And Jess must have blacked out, because the next thing he knew, Slim and the rest of the dim lighting had disappeared, leaving only a heavy, lonely darkness that ate through everything to the depths of Jess's soul. Jess didn't blame Slim for leaving him here; he would have done the same. Because Andy…

He couldn't think past the name. It hurt too much.

And then, as if summoned by Jess' thoughts, Andy himself made his slow, careful way down the ladder, holding a lantern and grinning a little.

"Andy!" Jess shouted. Or tried to shout. His throat was swollen and so dry that he couldn't manage more than a choked grunt, and even that hurt more than he would've thought possible.

The lantern swayed, flame fluttering weakly in the hot, heavy dark, as Andy stepped across the packed dirt of the floor and settled on the same barrel Slim had used yesterday. Or earlier. Sometime before. Probably.

"Hey, Jess," said Andy soberly, setting the lantern on the floor so it cast eerie shadows over his face. "Jonesy says you shouldn't try to talk. He says it'll just make you die that much faster."

Jess tried to swallow again, but there wasn't much of a point. He lifted his eyebrows and hoped that Andy would understand his question.

Of course he did. He and Andy always understood each other. "Slim says I can't let you go," said Andy. He didn't look as upset about this as Jess might have hoped. "He says you're too dangerous, that we'll all be better off when you're dead."

Jess leaned his head back against the beam he was tied to. You believe that, too? he wanted to ask Andy, but he couldn't talk. And he was afraid of what the answer might be. Because Jess might believe it himself.

"I'm real sorry, Jess," said Andy, and Jess knew he meant it. "But Slim's my brother, and I gotta do what he says. Especially when it comes down to choosing between him and some drifter."

And that didn't sound like Andy, not quite, but he couldn't figure out exactly how. Besides, it was true: Slim was Andy's brother, and he'd always come first. Just like his family and the ranch would always come first for Slim. It made sense that Jess had to die in this hole in the ground.

I understand, Andy, he thought, and Andy stood with the lantern.

"I gotta go. Jonesy's making soup, and I gotta get lots of water for cleaning and washing and such. Maybe take a bath, too." They both looked up as a distant pattering on the ground above signaled rain. "I guess there's water everywhere but here."

Jess stared up at the ceiling, at the layer of wood and dirt that separated him from the cascade of water that could save his life, and he wanted to cry. But there wasn't enough water for tears.

Andy stood at the foot of the ladder. "I'm glad I got to see you one last time, Jess. I hope it's quick."

Me, too, Andy, Jess thought. He couldn't take his eyes off the ceiling, imagining water pouring from the sky, flooding through the grass, gushing over everything except him.

Me, too.