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Dear readers, this is going to be my last story for awhile. Now, before your thoughts run too quickly in the wrong direction, I want to make it clear that I am not quitting. I just need to take a break. Since I started writing fanfiction four years ago, I have written (including the shorts in Lives Worth Saving) 57 stories, and only one that wasn't for Laramie. In my legacy story stats on this site, I have published 1.3 million words in that time. I don't write every day, but if I did, this would roughly average out to me writing 900 words per day. And this doesn't include the amount that really gets written. Changes, deletes, edits and rewrites have their own number. To those of you who have written and published stories, I'm sure you understand how much time, effort, and even agony that goes into creating something like this. To those of you that have only read, trust us writers, it takes countless hours to create a story. But despite the challenges in getting from chapter one to its end, I enjoy writing stories for Laramie and its fans. In fact, I love it. But I'd really like to pull away for awhile, unplug from the computer, and take some time where I'm not thinking of a plot or how to get around a hole I've created. I think you'd be surprised, but a story is often still fully at work even while hands and body are away from the keyboard. Although Jess has a way of capturing my full attention, so I suppose I can blame his amazing character on that one.

But it's not all Jess' fault. I rarely take breaks between stories. Often the day after I complete a story, I start a new one. There have been several times in the past where I was working on multiple stories at once. If you ever want to be overwhelmed, that's a sure way to do it. I realize that I'm the only one that puts pressure on myself to keep a pace like I have been, but I'm also the only one that can say it's time to step away. And I'm telling myself this now.

I especially want to thank everyone who has gone on this journey with me. Whether you take the time to write a review or you're only there to read, you all have kept me going. And it is this exact group of readers that will bring me back someday. And that is my promise to you. I will be back. I already have a plan on my next story, and to be honest, the one after that, I just don't know how long it will be before I can bring it to the point of publishing. It might be several months away, but I can't leave Slim and Jess on the serious end of a couple of outlaws' rifles while they're dangling over a pit of rattlesnakes forever. (No, that's not the storyline, but if you know my penchant for hurting the boys, especially Jess, it could get just as eye-popping dramatic!)

And even though this isn't my last ever, I still want to go out with a bang. Now if you're ready to dig into this one, make sure you have a big enough fork, maybe make it a shovel, in case, you know, someone gets buried… CW

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Summary: Although it is not related to the episode where characters and plotlines are concerned, this story was born from a few lines at the end of "The Passing of Kuba Smith" when Slim is about to be killed by Kuba's partner, Snow.

Slim: "I've got a partner too, and he'll gun you down if it takes the rest of his life."

Snow: "You're whistling in the dark. He won't ever know I was within a hundred miles of here."

Slim, but using my own line: "You don't know Jess Harper."

As long as you have seen this episode, you know how it ends and it isn't necessary for Jess to gun Snow down if it takes him the rest of his life. But in this case, it is.

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Whistling in the Dark

Chapter One

Slim's boots were his only brace, yet their power was being reduced to nothing but a double-lined skid through the dirt. Gloved hands circling his forearms and up to his biceps, a heavyweight was attached to his right and left side. His throat had already taken on the rumble of growing hoarse hollering at the two, so why not take it all the way to losing his voice? Especially when Slim was about to lose something even more vital. His life.

"Let me go!" He attempted a squirm of his upper half to coincide with the shout, but that only made the grip into his flesh tighten. As the pain increased, Slim's teeth locked with such severity he thought the next sound out of his mouth would be the snapping of his jaw. It wasn't, but his voice attempting a bluff was at an even rougher croak. "You have the wrong man!"

The mustache on Slim's left twitched. "You're Slim Sherman, ain'cha?"

"You know I am!"

"Then we have the right man," the man replied, stopping short of letting his mustache lift with a full-on laugh. "That is, unless you were lying when you said you were Slim Sherman."

Slim shook his head. He wasn't. There hadn't been a need in his mind to hide his name when his horse approached the pair at the creek's edge twenty minutes back. After all, the sheriff had said the wanted man was alone and by the description Slim had been given, neither stranger was him. And because Slim's horse didn't want to drift away from the water without taking his fill, Slim was stuck with two sidekicks. Literally. Each hand around his flesh felt as if they were attached by a vise.

The tugs on his body getting more fervent, Slim watched the trail that had once been wide was turning into a sliver of a path. They must be getting closer to their destination. He lifted his gaze away from the earth's floor to search for a structure. Another half-mile had to be bounced over before he finally saw it, nearly hidden into the mountainside. The white-washed face blended so much with the sun-bleached rocks that Slim had to scrunch his lashes shut and slowly open them again to make sure he wasn't imagining it. The house was real, and by the louder ticking inside of his chest, so was Slim's danger.

The force on Slim's right side pushing forward, the boot's kick was the man's knock. Three times it clunked until there was a call from the inside. It was no welcoming "Come in" either. Slim heard the gruff notes and wondered if more than his limbs shuddered.

"Lex, we got him!"

During the time that Slim had been pulled from his horse and drug across ground that wasn't meant for a tenderfoot, he figured who held the biggest name in this bunch. Now that it had been said, the rigidity in Slim's spine rose to its highest level. Jack Lexington. It was obvious by the strength in how it was used that the cropped version gave his name more prominence among his type, but long or short, he was the same kind of man. Wanted. And for more counts of murder than what was printed on his poster. He knew this, because Slim had shaken hands with his latest victims.

Hearing the lock click free on the other side, the weather-worn door cracked open. Slim had expected a face, not the nose of a gun. His chest held a sharp intake of breath, but the men beside him didn't flinch. Noticing the obvious lack of fear, Slim figured the iron's show must be routine to make sure there wasn't a gun on the outside pointing back. Slim allowed the other men's ease to spread to his frame, but not enough to change his guard. The gun in Lex's hand could still be meant for him.

The door opening to its full expanse, a tall frame filled its opening. "Bring him in."

Once Slim's eyes adjusted to the duller light of the room, Slim couldn't help but start at the man's top and drift all the way down to his boot tips. He definitely looked the killer's part. Not every outlaw had that advantage as Slim would never forget the baby-faced horse thief that had died in his yard. But then he also thought of Jess. Although his partner didn't wear that kind of label anymore, Slim could clearly state that Jess didn't have the face of an outlaw. But Jack Lexington, if there was a contest among ruffians, he would have won a medal.

His hair, slicked back on his head by some kind of grease matched the shade of sin, black. Possibly the same color, his eyes were so dark, they must have always been covered by some form of evil cloud. That wasn't all his features had to offer. The pointed nose, narrow cheeks, hard jaw, and teeth that must have been browned by something more than tobacco showed between his partly open lips also declared his reputation belonged with the lowest of lows. The longer Slim stared, he realized Lex was absorbing his features the same. He couldn't help but wonder, what exactly did Slim look like to the outlaw?

Likely the summation could be done with far fewer words that what Slim needed for Lex. Tall, thin and as honest as a preacher robed up on a Sunday morn, just without the robe. But perhaps all the man was really looking at was what was pinned to Slim's chest. Their gaze broken by Slim's own glance at the five prongs, it was at that moment that he heard the man take a seat.

When something else in the room moved, Slim turned his head. The two men that brought him there were exiting. Slim slowly released the air that was starting to burn in his chest. This was going to stay between the two. He might not have minded if he was armed, but the man with the mustache had relieved him of his iron within the first seconds of hitting the ground.

Slim dared to go first. "Well?"

"Slim Sherman, isn't it?" Palms against the other, Lex's fingertips danced together as he waited for the confirming nod. "I understand you're looking for me."

"I suppose I could say the same about you."

Lex laughed. "Finders keepers, right?"

He hated to agree, yet there it was. "Something like that."

"Then it's a good thing I found you first."

"Not from my point of view."

"No. I suppose it isn't." Lex had yet to release his gun, but as it shifted in his palm, the only source of light made the metal gleam.

The flash was too much like the first step in this inevitable trip to Boot Hill. Slim's mind was already moving the time backward. With one blink, his vision began to catch up and the room began to blur away in front of him, reconnecting with the image Slim had found while his horse's hooves clopped over a wooden bridge. Looking down to the glistening water below, Slim would have admitted he desired the scent of fish frying and the pleasing taste that would stretch to his belly, but the thought of putting a pole into the stream immediately vanished when someone was calling for help.

Out of the saddle with his rifle in tow, Slim nearly went to his haunches to reach the stream's edge. All he needed was one look at where the voice had been coming from for Slim to release the iron and get his feet wet. The man wasn't in deep enough to be drowning, unless you could call lying in a sea of his blood as drowning.

"I've got you," Slim said, holding onto the man's shoulders as he pulled the medium build out of the water.

His breath came in short spurts. Not fear, not relief, just pain. "Thanks. I'm Sheriff Ratcliff."

Slim gently unbuttoned the shirt, the peeling back of the fabric showing a bullet's hole in his ribs, but without the powder marks, he knew he was looking at the exit. The sheriff had been shot in the back. "How long have you been like this?"

"I don't know. A couple of hours, maybe. Got knocked clean out of the saddle with the bullet, and then after I rolled down the creek's bank, I didn't know anything until a few moments ago. I guess my horse's on the way home."

"Where's that?"

"Eagle Point. About twenty miles southeast of Billings."

Slim pointed to the large circle of blood. "Someone you were chasing or someone out target practicing?"

"The first." The sheriff looked Slim up and down before settling on his softest feature, his eyes. "You're Slim Sherman, aren't you?"

"You know me?"

"You're name gets around."

He tried to smile. "I'm not sure that's a good thing."

Sheriff Ratcliff shook his head, the hand reaching for his chest indicating his difficulty in breathing like the sound that came out of his lips. "Lawmen share stories. I happen to have heard some positive remarks coming out of Laramie last time I rode through Wyoming. Mort Cory thinks highly of you."

Slim nodded. The feeling was mutual for the Laramie sheriff. "Yeah, we go back quite a ways. He's a good man."

"I need that kind of help, but Cory's too far away. Sherman, I need you."

"What can I do?"

Sheriff Ratcliff's entire body shook, except for the poignant line that was made as he attached his dark hue to Slim's blue. "Take my place. Jack Lexington has to be caught."

Slim's mouth hung open. His mind had already inserted the vow to do whatever was asked, but while the thought had been processing in his mind, Slim had figured taking the sheriff to the nearest doctor and getting another lawman in on the action would be it. Not Slim becoming the lawman.

His tongue already held the protest, but the look in the sheriff's eyes, already starting to blur with the knowledge that he was dying kept it there. Slim swallowed, his decision changed.

"All right." He gave the man his hand for the proper seal, and after Slim released it, the sheriff's fingers slid into his vest pocket. A deputy's star came back out, and the hesitation before taking it made the sheriff's pain-lined mouth deepen.

"Slim, please…"

"The first thing I'm going to do is get you to some shelter. I saw a homestead a couple miles back. And don't argue, or I won't put that thing on my chest."

"Stubbornness can be a good quality in a lawman."

Slim took the badge in hand and gave it a squeeze. "Or a rancher."

"Right now, you're only one. Put it on, Deputy."

The woman at the house was somewhere in her forties with a son at a little over half that span by her side. Both were armed and loaded with the kind of serious expressions that neither was afraid to use them. Yet it wasn't but a moment after the greeting and Slim's plea to help Sheriff Ratcliff that both weapons were put down.

Satisfied that the sheriff was in better hands than his, Slim began the search for Jack Lexington. He didn't figure that the outlaw would be out standing on a ridge, waving his arms to alert Slim's attention, but Slim had hoped to come across even the slightest sign. He didn't. For the rest of that day he chased nothing but a coyote that taunted him with its howl throughout the night. At sunrise when he went to check on the lawman, he discovered that the man that he was after had been close all along. The woman's shaky breath on his cheek as she sounded out the name right before she died confirmed it.

Lex had killed them all.

And now here he stood, face to face with that very man. Slim didn't realize the walk back in time had put his hands into fists, or taking the higher route to flame his cheeks. He had been wearing some of the emotion since captured, but as the picture refocused on Lex's frame, anger was spreading out of his core and into his flesh. Sheriff Ratcliff, well, it could be said that his duty put his life on the line every day. But Mrs. Whitman and her son, Nat? They didn't deserve to die. And especially not by a low-life whose only home should be in hell. Now Slim was fully aware of the heat that radiated throughout his being. And if he were one step closer, the ball at his side would be taking a swing at Lex's jutted-out chin. To heck with it if he got a bullet in return.

One wily eyebrow went upward. "Your thoughts are showing, Sherman. Hatred's not all that becoming on you."

"I'm not out here to win best dressed in a beauty contest."

He laughed. It wasn't the kind of chuckle that might produce a hearty knee-slap from an old-timer, a rich guffaw out of a man with a sense of humor, or the good-natured cackle that Jess would let flow out of his throat if Slim had said the same in different company. The sound was purely sinister, underlined with the type of chill that could freeze a body stiff if caught too long in a winter's wind.

It was a good thing Slim was already at the boiling point. "Well, are you going to tell me what you want me for?"

The gun pushed forward, the hammer toyed with. "I was wondering when you were going to get to that."

"So you're just going to shoot me down cold," Slim said, unable to add the lilt to turn the statement into a question.

"Looks that way." Lex stood, the gun still in a point, yet Slim wasn't going to be content by the fact that it wasn't raised to the most vital place. His heart. "After all, I can't let you walk about. In case you were wondering, it was the boy that said your name. Humph. Boy. I was already fighting to kill by the time I was his age. I suppose you know by now that I killed him, the woman…" He paused to add flourish to both his features and his voice. "…And Sheriff Ratcliff."

"Why do you think I'm wearing this star?"

"You sure are sassy. Interesting quality in a lawman. Usually only see that kind of spunk in my kind."

Thank you, Jess. Last time they'd had this sort of conversation, Slim had bemoaned the fact that Jess was rubbing off on him. Now he was grateful that he had. It might not get him farther away from death, but he would rather go down with daggers coming out of his eyes and a stream of fiery spit off of his tongue than show any kind of groveling. Seeing the look that came from his captor, his mind provided the repeat. Thank you, Jess.

"I suppose there's no point delaying it." Lex nodded toward the door. "Outside, Sherman."

Not that Slim needed to, but the moment his boot struck dirt, he became reacquainted with the two men that had drug him there. His arms pinned to his back, they spun Slim to watch Lex's retreat from the camouflaged house. With every step that Lex took, they jerked him backward.

The entire walk to this place was done the same, with Slim's long legs preventing a steady flow of steps, but a well-placed rock was about to give him an advantage that he didn't have before. Planted on the rock, Slim put his strength into his right foot to not move, just waiting for the man to his right to brace his frame and pull. With the outstretched leg so near, he definitely had a shot. Suddenly rearing back, Slim clipped the man's leg with his boot heel, and as the knee dipped toward the ground he had the ammunition to draw back for another. Slim's toe hit the thickest part of the man's hip and as the force delivered wasn't a delicate walk through a daisy field, Slim's side was instantly released as the outlaw's body flopped into the dirt.

Hands already in a clench, Slim reached for the collar below him when the cocking of a gun and its point into his temple brought everything to a halt. He looked up to find Lex standing over him, his itch to kill so clear that Slim could see his finger shaking against the trigger.

The gun was pulled back, but still Slim couldn't breathe. Now he was looking into its barrel.

"I see you favor Beamer," Lex said, motioning with his head to the man on the ground. You should. After all, we're partners. My other friend over there is just along for the ride. That, and the fact that he keeps me informed on the whereabouts of lawmen like you."

Except Slim wasn't really a lawman. He was just wearing a tin star because a man that had held that sworn duty had taken this man's bullet. "And Ratcliff?"

"And Ratcliff. And now that you've brought him up, I think it's time you ought to join him. Are you ready for your six feet of this earth?"

Slim lifted an eyebrow. "Is anyone?"

"Very good, Sherman. Are you done with your bravado yet?"

"Not quite," Slim answered, watching as Beamer rose from the ground to stand in his rightful position next to Lex. "I have a partner too, and if you think he's going to sit back and do nothing, that'll be your deadly mistake. He'll track you down if it takes him the rest of his life! But believe me, he'll get all of you."

His shoulders went up too nonchalantly, making a burst of steam come out of Slim's lungs. "What's he going to do? Even if he knows how to read a wanted poster he won't know that Jack Lexington's the one responsible for your grave being dug. Besides, by the time he even knows you're dead, I'm going to be so far away from here, the dirt won't even remember what I look like."

"You don't know Jess Harper."

Slim watched the man's eyes. They narrowed at his partner's name. A certain sign that the reputation that Slim's partner carried on his right hip was known.

Yes! Slim's inner being cried out. If you know him you'll fear him! You'll know that Jess Harper is not the kind of man that you want on your tail. Ever! Backpedal on your threats! Do it now for fear of the kind of retaliation that only Jess can give!

It certainly wouldn't be the first time that Jess' name would strike enough fear into a man that he reined back on his plans. Slim watched with his breath held tight to his lungs as Lex's gun returned to its leather seat. But then as it was finally released, Slim didn't feel the fire that had existed a moment before. The air was rather cool.

Lex lit a cigarette, the drag so long Slim wondered if he were sucking every piece of tobacco out in one breath. The release was also lengthy, the stream of smoke coming across the stretch that separated them to where Slim stood. It tickled his nostrils with such intensity Slim felt his throat constrict with the need to cough, but Slim refused to allow Lex the pleasure of showing his discomfort. He kept eye contact, only allowing his eyelids to droop when Lex blinked first.

And then with another long puff in and out, Slim caught the gleam in his eye. And the message. He really wasn't intimidated by Jess' name. Slim felt shot before the man even pulled the trigger on him.

His cigarette now only ashes under his foot, Lex looked up at the sun. "Ten, is it? What do you say, Sherman? Is it still morning enough for an execution?"

"You're the one that's been dragging it out."

There was that chilling laugh again. "True. True. But you see it does make a difference, because in this case, I kind of like the firing squad premise."

He would. Slim gave the man a cold stare that would be his only comment, and as Lex received his silent reply, he pulled a navy kerchief from his hip pocket.

"Blindfold?"

"I don't need one."

"Like to see what's coming for you, do you?"

"I'm not afraid."

"Thinking of that partner of yours again?"

Slim tried to keep his face without emotion, but the surprise had to have flashed across his face. At that exact moment Jess was being held very closely in his mind. Something that Slim figured would be how it would remain until his death.

Lex smirked. "I told you it's a waste of time to wish and hope on someone's supposed lust for retaliation."

"And I told you, you don't know Jess Harper."

The tongue across from his silenced, Lex jerked his thumb toward a rocky wall that would be the background of Slim's bulls-eye. Not letting it be done easily, it took both men to haul Slim there and as he stared at his killer, Slim tried to let his eyes convey the same message that his throat had seethed.

Yet he couldn't forget one thing.

Lex had made a point. Jess might be able to follow a trail made by the softest steps ever created, but how would he even know where to begin? Slim wasn't supposed to be this far off the trail home. Billings was his first destination, and although he had left a couple of days after his original plan, Jess couldn't possibly think something was wrong until several more had passed without his return. He might be astute, but Jess wasn't close cousins with a rattler's tail and how it was prone to jump. Jess would wait, possibly send a couple of telegraphs, and only then when proper time merited a search would Jess leave the ranch.

Jess' obvious start would be in Billings. But then what? If the only other people that knew he had been in these parts other than a trio of no-good outlaws were all dead, then who could Jess possibly question?

Yet despite these odds, Slim still believed in Jess' ability.

You'll get them, Pard. I know you will.

"All right, men." Lex said to Beamer and Mustache.

At that moment, Slim realized he hadn't learned the other man's name. Not that it mattered less than a minute before his death, but Slim looked him over. Sandy hair and tall, with enough girth around each upper arm to keep on living as a thug for a no-good like Lex. No wonder Slim had struggled to completely break free. Mustache might have been tougher to go up against with a fist than Beamer.

Lex already stood in the center, yet he looked to his right and left. "Line up."

Slim looked across the short span at the men perfecting their aims. One was pointing at his head. Another at his gut. Lex, of course, would have the heart. He couldn't prevent the place beyond that point from going at a full gallop, but Slim steadied his breath. It was easy when his mind took him home and the man that he would never see again. Maybe that thought should have constricted his core so that he died before the bullets flew, but in that picture of Jess, standing solid in the front door of his home, Slim had faith.

But he couldn't help but allow an outward path to the aching part of his heart, just to say goodbye.

Slim took a deep breath, likely his last.

Well, Jess. I was wrong. I always figured you'd be the first of us to die.

"Ready…"

I know you won't let me down.

"Aim…"

But just be careful. I don't want my death to be the cause of yours.

"Fire!"