Chapter Three
Sheriff Mort Cory pulled the blanket away from the dead man's face, sucking in a quick rush of air as the identity was made. He had already viewed the other two bodies, but it was this one that stung the hardest. A young man Mort had called a friend and a sometime deputy, shot dead. Right between the eyes. Not many men had that ability to pull a trigger with that much accuracy, especially when they were not facing an amateur on the other side of his gun like this one was. There was no consolation in such a tragedy, but at least he never knew what had hit him, or that he wasn't the only one that had taken a fatal bullet.
Pulling his eyes away from the lifeless form beneath him, Mort let the blanket fall back into place and then he stood, the heaviness so great he could have been buried himself. Lawmen had specific duties to perform, and Mort's experience up until now told him that it was impossible to not be emotionally involved, but viewing this type of murder scene went beyond his experience. The hand clutched at his side opened and closed, the second opening coming to rest on the butt of his gun. He had no doubt that if the killer was in front of him that it would be drawn and fired without much thought, except for that vital part of his soul that went with the star attached to his chest. That was something that Mort could never ignore, even if a murder was tearing his guts to shreds, like this one was doing now. Hearing the steps of his deputy approach, Mort cleared his throat, lest there be any notes of his emotions stuck there, and then he turned to his companion.
"Do we bury them here, Mort?" Wiley asked, wanting to keep his eyes away from the brutality around the two lawmen, but his gaze kept being drawn to each corpse. "Or should we wait for Slim?"
"Slim won't be back for another day, maybe two," Mort answered, the sigh pushing through his lips as he raised his view to the lettering on the barn. SR. The Sherman Ranch. He had been there hundreds of times before, but at that very moment, it felt as if it was the very first.
"Kind of hard to stomach," Wiley said, his mouth set in a firm line, but even still it quivered.
"No killing is easy to take, and I know this right here is a step above that." Mort's hand shifted from the gun where it had been resting to place it on Wiley's shoulder, the grip sinking in, but the touch could only reach the surface on both men. "If you need a breather, I'll understand."
"I'll just be a minute," Wiley said with a simple nod, and Mort's head echoed the gesture as he walked into the Sherman house.
Mort stood alone, partly wishing that he could do the same, but knowing that there was greater need than easing even the slightest tension in his own soul by walking away, he remained with the dead. They could no longer offer insight into what had happened, but Mort could still seek the surroundings. There were signs in the dirt, some right beneath him that spoke in a loud enough voice to listen to. Hoof prints, although they could have been made by any number of horses, one was done by the killer, and this was where Mort kneeled. Tracing his finger through the mark of the shoe, his eyes trailed eastward as the obvious exit line came into focus. He had lit out fast. Scared of being caught, Mort knew that sometimes when a man on the run has nothing to lose, that was where they often made a mistake. If he could get on the lucky side of the trail, this one could do the same. Even though the beginning of that hunt was right in front of him, before he could gather enough men to follow, Mort had another chore.
Although there was nothing to wipe away, Mort's hand ran over the length of his face as he shifted position, leaving the side of his fallen friend to walk toward the Sherman barn. He and Wiley had ridden hard to get there as soon as the stagecoach brought the news to them, and since their mounts were too spent to make the return trip, he knew Slim's best would get them home. The ground was solid underneath him, but every step sounded hollow to his ears, surprisingly loud, enough to drown out the noise that began to rattle from the west. It lasted long enough that Mort's head didn't turn until his frame was an arm's length from the barn door, just in time to see a buckboard make the final bend around the side of the house as it rolled to a stop. The grim face of the driver meant that the details had spread through Laramie.
Mort's steps returned to where he had begun a moment before, his head bobbing a greeting before he could find the words, as the eyes that he looked into, dark and sad, could barely find their normal twinkle. There was no way Mort could avoid the other brown-eyed look, large and fearful, no doubt wanting to hide, but going even further than the place where his deputy had tried to flee to, even if it was in the very same place. The last, that was where Mort knew it would be the hardest gaze to attach to, already he could see the flames and Mort hadn't even switched his glance. He met the blue with a crash, and for the first time since Mort had taken the first painful view of the dead man he stood next to, Mort felt his eyes smart with tears.
"Jess."
"We headed for home as soon as we heard," Jess said, watching as Jonesy quickly ushered Andy into the house at the same moment that Wiley exited, face still pale, but walking on stronger legs.
"Wiley and I set out in a rush, only been here a half hour ourselves."
"What happened, Mort?" The gory details had already reached him, with too much violence surrounding every word to be considered gossip, which struck him solidly with the hardest slap of truth. Even though Jess had seen the image that his abhorrence created in his mind during the ride home, he still needed to see for himself the damage that a brazen outlaw had done while they were in town.
"Scott Temple was killed." Mort had to pause to draw in a shaky breath, necessary to quell what was rising in his throat. "And his brother. Looks like Scott went down fighting, but I don't think he or their grandpa had a chance."
"Dad-gum," Jess muttered, lowering to one knee to put a hand on his friend's quiet chest. The blanket was removed, only for a few seconds, his face not reflecting the actual horror as his eyes took in the real scene. It was nothing like what he had pictured for this was a million times worse. Right between the eyes. And the others, an innocent boy and a quiet old man, were they the same?
"Dusty got it in the chest," Mort explained, understanding Jess' unspoken question before he could create the words to ask it. "Papa T, the same."
"Dad-gum!" The volume wasn't its highest, but it could still be a deafening roar. "What kinda lowlife would do this?"
"The lowest kind," Mort answered softly, the difference between their tones enough to separate night from day. "Jess, for burying, do you think?"
"I'm sure Slim would say they could go alongside his parents, but I reckon Papa T's homestead should be where they're laid to rest. Since they've got no other kin, I reckon if it comes to it, Slim'll buy his land so nothing can happen to their stones in the future."
"That sounds like the best way," Mort said, turning to Wiley. "We'll put them in the buckboard and take care of things. And then we'll get a posse together."
"All right, Mort," Wiley's words walked with him to the boy's body, and Jess purposely looked away as he was laid in the wagon.
"You'll ride with me?" Mort's question came with the movement of his eyes to lock into the steely set of blue.
"You bet." Jess' jaw hardened into stone as his pace took him to the barn, where it took him merely moments to saddle up Traveler and return to Mort's side.
The burying was completed, as each man in the group dug a grave, but after the moments of quiet solemnity were over and their hats were put back on their heads, Wiley rode solo into Laramie while Mort and Jess began the search. The posse caught up on the old river road, but even though there was a large presence with ammunition and strict scrutiny of what lay beneath them, their efforts returned to them futile. It was long past the hour of sunset when Jess' mount carried him home, and his every emotion that went with the loss was even more raw than when he had left.
"Find anything?" Jonesy asked as soon as Jess' foot hit the porch.
"He rode his horse to death." Jess lowered his weight into the closest chair, pulling his gloves from his hands, and the moment they were released, Jonesy set a cup of coffee in his palm. "Thanks. I reckon it's gonna freeze one of these nights and tell us winter's coming."
"As if we couldn't already hear it knocking," Jonesy said with a smile, but the tiniest flicker of light on his face quickly faded. Giving the interior of the house a quick look through the closed door to make sure Andy wasn't about to step through it, his gaze switched back to Jess, and although they would remain alone, his voice still dipped down low. "Trail peter out after the horse?"
"I couldn't pick out his footprints." Jess lifted the cup to his lips, let a mouthful find its way to his stomach and then shook his head. "He musta lit out into the rocks, near the steep incline past the south Jubilee trail. He coulda gone any direction from there and not leave a mark. Dad-gum, I sure wanted to get my hands on him."
"You mean get your gun on him."
"Something like that," Jess answered with a rattling grate to his voice, but draining the last of the coffee in one gulp wouldn't be able to wash it away.
"It's gone dark, but he's probably still running," Jonesy said, taking the empty cup from Jess' hand.
"Could be." The bite in Jess' voice was so prominent, his teeth could have been gripping a thick steak, ready to tear it to pieces.
"Something's eating your insides, Jess," Jonesy continued, watching the lines of his jaw tighten before a set of blue eyes reached him. "Wanna spill some of it on the ground? I've got a mop sitting right over there."
"I asked Scott to fill in at the relay station today."
"I know." Jonesy stepped around Jess' outstretched legs to ease his backside into the neighboring seat.
"I didn't know he was gonna bring Dusty along."
"I know," Jonesy repeated, trying to dismiss the laughter of the neighbor boy that had only been running through the yard the day before when Jess had made the request for Scott's assistance while they planned on spending the day in Laramie, but the sound couldn't be erased. Scott and Dusty's grandpa, affectionately called Papa T by everyone that met him was Jonesy's friend. And now all three were gone.
"They would still be alive if they woulda been someplace else."
"True as that is, there's another truth that has to be added to it," Jonesy said slowly, knowing Jess' blue was upon him just by the chilling sensation that ran down his front. "I reckon that no-good outlaw would've still rode up, and if we would've been here instead, then that would've been us."
"Maybe." Jess suddenly stood, his hand, not in his usual rapid speed to draw, went for his hip, and jiggled the gun in his holster. It wanted to come out, wanted to be fired, but only if the man that had done the killing was behind it. But if Jess relied on the faded trail he had been forced to leave, it would never become reality. "Maybe not."
"I know how you feel, Jess. But putting a fist into your own jaw won't do any good."
"I dunno."
"Scott had grown into a fine man, Jess, who wanted to be like you, Slim and Mort all rolled into one. He might not have lived long to show it off, but I think he made it far enough to make you all proud." Jonesy put his hand on Jess' shoulder and gave a gentle squeeze. "It's a terrible thing that's happened, truly terrible, but don't fault yourself. He lived the way he wanted, and he died fighting for those he loved. Sounds an awful lot like you, don't you say?"
"Yeah," Jess whispered, his voice not far from complete silence. "But it still hurts, and I sure as blazes wanna get my hands on the man who done it."
"Don't we all? Come on Jess, Andy was in bed last I looked, but I reckon he ain't asleep. Don't you think it's time we joined him?" Jonesy cocked his head toward the door, and his hand went for the knob when Jess responded with a single nod.
"At least Slim wasn't here," Jess said, but before he could walk through the opening, he looked up toward the night sky as his hand formed a solid fist to tap against his thigh. "Everything's hard as stone and cold as ice, but Slim's all right. Because of that, I can still find reason to breathe tonight."
…
Quick note: I always use Mort throughout my Laramie Universe, and although this story is based in season one, I'm borrowing Mort's deputy from season two, Wiley, from "Rimrock".