A cool hand pressed against Jess's forehead. He opened his eyes to see Andy, and he sighed in disappointment. Andy was his least favorite; he wasn't sure he could stand one more reminder of the danger he had brought to the boy who was like a little brother to him.

But then a wet cloth pressed to his lips, and for a moment he was so stunned and confused he didn't know what was happening. Until his brain finally caught on.

Water.

Desperately, he lunged at the damp cloth, biting into it, sucking out the moisture, practically swallowing the rag in his desperation to get at the water.

"Careful, Jess," said Andy's voice. "Too much could kill you."

Jess managed to blink up at him. He was blurry at the edges, but he looked worried. That was a nice change from his most recent conversations with Andy. But it was also too bad. He didn't want Andy to worry.

An older face appeared over Andy's shoulder. Jess didn't recognize him. Maybe it was Slim when he was old and worn out and they were meeting up again in Heaven…but it didn't look like Slim. Maybe it was God. If God cared about the likes of Jess Harper.

"Careful, Son," said the man who might be God. "We don't want to hurt him any more than he's already been."

But the sudden jostling and movement was almost more than he could stand – certainly more pain than any of the other mirages had inflicted. The world darkened for a moment, and when the light resettled, everything looked different. The air was brighter, and the ceiling was farther away, and everything had a crisp edge and managed to keep from blurring into everything else.

Strong fingers pressed into his hand, and he turned his head slightly to see Andy Sherman sitting beside him.

"Hi, Jess," said Andy, then, before Jess could answer, he continued, "Doc says you shouldn't talk for a while. At least, not 'till the swelling in your throat's gone down some and you've had enough liquids."

Jess nodded slightly and studied Andy's face. He looked all right, except for a few cuts and bruises. He also looked real, which was more than good enough for Jess.

"Doc says you were in a pretty bad way," said Andy. "When you called him God, he figured the lack of water did a number on your brain."

Jess smiled a little, cracking his lips, as Andy continued. "You've been in bed for about a day. You woke up occasionally, and we managed to get you to drink some water. Doc says you should be feeling better pretty soon." Andy hesitated, studying him. "Do ya? Feel better, I mean."

Jess nodded weakly and was almost surprised to realize it was the truth. In the battle between life and death, it looked like life was going to take the upper hand, which Jess had not been expecting. His tongue felt like it fit in his mouth again, and his brain had stopped fogging at the edges.

He scratched his tongue across papery lips. He knew he wasn't supposed to be talking, but he had to ask. "Slim?"

His voice was raw and scratched against his throat, but the pain wasn't nearly as bad as Andy's suddenly crestfallen face. "I dunno, Jess. He got me out, but I had to leave him there with Skeenan and the others. I told the sheriff all about it, and they were riding out to help him, but they wouldn't let me come. They said I had to come back here. And I wanted to make sure you were all right." Andy ducked his head. "I don't know what's happening to him."

Jess tightened his grip on Andy's fingers. He wanted to tell him not to worry, that Slim was strong and smarter than the two of them put together, that things would be all right.

Maybe, if he could've said the words, he would be able to believe them.

XXX

When Skeenan had first dragged him off, it had seemed like the middle of the night. Darkness was thick as a wool blanket, even more stifling in the heavy brush and shadows of the forest, and the only creatures stirring were distant, sleepy birds. Slim was surprised to note, after an hour of walking, that the sun was practically bouncing into the sky, and everything was moving quickly back into the light. Dawn had come.

As light and visibility reasserted itself, Skeenan made a point of walking slowly, carefully through the brush, like a creature that knows it's being hunted. Slim had no intention of complying. This might be his only chance at a rescue, and he was going to be as loud as possible. Every twig he could snap, every rock he could kick, every tiny dead leaf he could crush under his boot, he made sure to hit.

Until Skeenan shoved him against a boulder, yanked out his knife, and slashed it against Slim's face, barely missing his eye as Slim winced at the sudden, sharp pain.

"You shuddup that noise," Skeenan hissed. "Or I'll be sending you back to little brother in bite-sized pieces. Startin' with them pretty blue eyes."

Slim stared at him, disgusted by the threat but harboring no doubts that Skeenan would make sure Andy received his dead body in pieces. He could only imagine the anguish that would cause his little brother. Better alive a little bit longer than dead now, on the end of Skeenan's knife. He nodded, and Skeenan pushed away from him.

"Lucky for you, I still gotta get to Canada, and you're gonna get me there," Skeenan growled. "Which I guess means you got about a day or two more."

Ignoring the knife still pointed at him, Slim stared down Skeenan and pulled the kerchief from around his mouth. "In that case," he said, hating how dry and hoarse and raspy his voice sounded, "I'd rather live with the gag off." His glare was all burning ice. "If you don't mind."

Skeenan shrugged. "Just don't forget who has the knife."

Slim turned away from him and let Skeenan prod him forward, trying to think. He had been counting on someone in the gang underestimating him, or getting fed up with Skeenan and taking him out, or taking it a little too easy on guard duty. There was no chance of that happening now. And to make things worse, they were closer to the pass than Skeenan thought; if Slim really did lead him directly there, he'd be dead in much less than a day. His odds of survival had just dropped precipitously close to zero.

He strained his brain, trying to think of something, anything, to get out of this alive. It should be easier, now that it was just him and Skeenan, but it was hard to figure a man in handcuffs beating a man with a knife in a fistfight. He dismissed one idea after another, as each became more preposterous than the next, and finally had to admit that he wasn't getting anywhere.

He wondered how Andy was doing. And Jess. He hoped desperately that his brother had made it home, that he and Jess were safe and well. Whatever happened to Slim, the two of them would have each other. There was some comfort in that.

In the next several hours of walking, he thought about home. Remembered the gentle scolding of Jonesy, Andy's cheer, Jess's friendship. Pulled up memory after memory of happy times on the ranch, Christmases and early morning sunrises and dinners together. At least his last few hours would be good ones, remembering the people he loved. And if he didn't die, it would be because he owed it to those people, people who loved him as much as he loved them, to fight for life despite the odds.

Maybe it was those memories of home. Maybe it was the knowledge of exactly how Andy would feel if Slim did die out here, in the middle of nowhere. Or maybe he was just sick of being prodded along by Skeenan. At any rate, the man poked him again, none too gently, and that was it. Slim whirled, swinging the bag of money around to slam against Skeeenan's wrist and make the knife go flying.

It worked better than the last time, when Skeenan had been standing outside the Sherman Ranch holding the rifle; Slim's current attack was completely unexpected, and Skeenan's reaction was slow. Slim took full advantage of Skeenan's shock by throwing his shoulder into the man's stomach, sending them both crashing to the ground, but Skeenan was up in an instant, fist slamming into Slim's face. Slim barely recovered before Skeenan was on him, crushing his throat into the dirt.

With every ounce of strength left and a slightly longer arm's length, Slim wrapped both hands around Skeenan's throat and pushed, not even trying to choke him, just trying to get him off. It worked well enough that Slim was able to gasp in a few strands of air before Skeenan jumped him again, and Slim planted a foot in his stomach and flipped the man over his head.

Toward the knife.

Realizing a second too late what he'd done, Slim sprang to his feet. Just in time to see Skeenan, holding the knife and grinning like it was Christmas.

"End of the line, Sherman," he drawled. "Guess I'll have to find my own way to Canada. Poor Andy. Good thing for him he's got Jess. Does it hurt, knowing that your kid brother loves a drifter more than his own big brother?"

"Andy's always had more than enough love to go around," snapped Slim. He knew that Skeenan didn't care, knew that the man didn't deserve one ounce of explanation and wouldn't care if he heard it, but he still had to say it. He never was able to stop defending his little brother.

Skeenan just shrugged. "I guess that'll just make it hurt more when you're dead."

He lunged, and Slim threw himself to the side, and Skeenan tripped forward as his knife didn't meet any resistance.

And Slim was on him again. Because Andy was getting his brother back. He was getting both brothers back.

It was a struggle, fighting against Skeenan's strength and freedom of movement, twisting the knife from Skeenan's desperate hand, but once again, Slim had motivation on his side. Beaten down and in cuffs though he was, Slim finally managed to snatch the knife from Skeenan and kick himself away. He rose victorious, knife in hand, while Skeenan panted furiously in front of him.

There was a rustling in the bushes, and Slim took a step back, twisting some so as to keep Skeenan and the newcomer in front of the knife. The kind of luck he'd been having the past few days, it would be Charlie, wondering where the money had got to. Or Burt, glad to have Slim alone and at the end of a gun.

But it wasn't Charlie, or Burt, or any of the other outlaws. It was someone else, someone with scuffed boots and a salt-stained hat and a dented, magnificent tin star. And behind him, a handful of other men, all holding guns and dutifully following the badge. Slim almost dropped then and there in relief. He started to smile before Skeenan spoke up.

"Sheriff, thank goodness," he gasped, and Slim stared at him in shock. He never would have expected those words to come from that mouth. "This man was going to kill me!"

"Probably woulda done the world some good, too," answered the sheriff. At Slim and Skeenan's surprise, he added, "Even if he weren't wearing cuffs, we'd know it was you, Skeenan. Your picture's been making the rounds. And we've got a description of your prisoner from a kid that rode into town. Blond, blue eyed, too tall for his own good." He nodded at Slim. "I figure you're Slim Sherman?"

Slim nodded. "That's me, Sheriff," he said, calmly enough, but inside, he was whooping up a storm. Andy had made it out safely, then. He'd even found a way to help. Collapse threatened again as relief coursed through him, a cool river of blessing in the dry desert heat they'd been living through. Slim didn't even realize what a burden it had been, not being certain what had happened to Andy – not until the burden was gone.

The sheriff twitched his gun at Skeenan. "All right, let's go. We found a few friends of yours who'll be mighty glad to see you." He glanced over at Slim. "And somebody help Sherman out before he drops dead right here."

"Before you go, Sheriff," said Slim, because everything was going to be put to rights, and better sooner than later, "There's a bag in the shrub over there that I suspect holds $60,000 these men stole from a stage coming out of California. I don't know the details, but I believe there was some killing involved."

The sheriff nudged his shotgun at one of his deputies, a young, scrawny fellow, who waded through the shrubs and brush until rising with a leather sack in his hand. Ignoring Skeenan's poisonous glare, he peered inside as he returned to the group.

"He's right, Pat," said the deputy. "There's a whole pile of money in here."

The sheriff looked impressed. "Nice work, Sherman," he said, but Slim barely heard him. Now that he was safe, now that Andy was safe and Skeenan was in custody and the money was in the hands of the law, he didn't have to keep fighting any more. He nearly fell to the ground before the man beside him slung an arm under Slim's shoulders and nudged him back the way the men had come. He was safe. Andy was safe.

Now, if only he knew for certain that Jess was safe, everything would be perfect.