Chapter Six
"Who are they?" The question came through Mort's lips, knowing who they were supposed to be, but wanting to know their true identity. Whether he would receive their given names or pseudonyms in response, they were outlaws, just by the look they wore from head to toe, and worst of all, one was supposed to be him, the other two played Slim and Jess. The robbing, the killing, the kissing, the beating all belonged to them.
"Mort Cory," at Beryl's introduction, the oldest man gave a curt nod, "Dim Sherman," the blonde head became more noticeable when his finger tipped the brown hat back, "and Jest Harmer." This brought a hand to rest on a gun butt, an action the real man knew all too well, but the face was harder, the lines rougher, unable to bear an exact resemblance.
"He's the one that brought me here," Slim pointed to the man that stood across from him, and although he was tall, lean and sporting a light crop of hair, the facial expression was far too fierce to belong on a Sherman, unless that was what his cousin looked like before he was hung for horse stealing.
"I had the unfortunate pleasure of meeting them both," Jess said, his eyes darting back and forth between the two faces that he had punched. In the moment of battle, there had been no time to notice any similarities between his features and Slim's with the other two men, but now that he could gauge every detail, he could say he saw it, the dark hair and blue eyes being significant, but it wasn't enough to put a rope around one's neck.
"You've made a glaring error," Mort said, his focus resting entirely on Beryl. "They don't look enough like us to incriminate us. Sure, you can use our names, but you can't fool an eyewitness."
"They already have," Beryl's answer was smooth as she pointed to the newspaper now resting on the floor by Slim's legs. "Or were you not listening when he read those beautiful details in print?"
"I listened," Mort said through a tight jaw.
"Boys," Beryl turned, her throat finding a purr to add to her words as she rested her eyes on the man that was supposed to be Jess' counterpart. Apparently she had a thing for this man, too. "Won't you show them how it was done?"
The tall man exited the building, returning a minute later with articles of clothing slung over one shoulder. Handing one shirt to the older man and another to the youngest, without a single thought that there was a woman in the room, buttons began to go undone, and what had been clad to their upper halves were released, replaced with the newest shirt on top. It hadn't come to any surprise that Beryl's eyes oversaw the transformation, the pleasured scrutiny etched on her face during the moments of bareness, but then her smile quickly returned to the callousness that couldn't be hidden for long as the last collar was folded in place. A cream shirt covered by a tan-toned vest, a dark brown shirt with a slightly lighter shaded vest, and a pale blue shirt with no vest made the first convincing argument. The last thing, and the most vital thing to change was when the bandanas came up over their faces, and in that simple action alone, the resemblance took on an entirely new meaning. Mort Cory, Slim Sherman and Jess Harper sat on the floor in stunned silence, as Mort Cory, Slim Sherman and Jess Harper stood across from them.
"They did what was written in that phony article," Slim said, nudging the paper farther away from his side with his foot.
"There's nothing phony about it," Beryl responded with a nonchalant wave of her hand. "The Mort Cory gang went on a robbing and killing spree, among other things," an eyebrow darted up as she turned to look at the fake Jess, "and no one can dispute it."
"We can," the type of authority that was ringing in the room could only come from a lawman's voice, and it was loud and clear, "and what's in front of us is all the proof we need."
"I suppose," Beryl rocked slightly on her heels as a finger came up to tap her jaw as she stared at Mort, "but you'd have to get on the outside first. And that's never going to happen. I'll make sure of that."
"Why?" Jess squirmed slightly, wishing that the ropes could fall away as his fists were ready to spring forward and finish what he had started along the road before his capture. "What'd you do all this for? Especially when your boys coulda got killed making us look bad."
"Men classified as the best in their business don't get killed," Beryl answered smoothly, her eyes once more raking over Jess' body. "I'd imagine that's what went wrong with my brother. He wasn't the best, and in that, he let my son get taken down too. But I don't hate my brother for that, I hate you. Well, that hatred could turn into something less loathsome if you were involved in this separately, Pretty Boy, but being with Mort Cory takes you all the way down to that level with him. It's too bad, the way you make me feel…"
"Hey," a tight fist with an exposed thumb jutted into a blue-shirt, "I thought that was me."
"Easy, Jest," the warning came from the tall blonde, "it's not the place."
"Anytime, anywhere," Jess said coolly, his mouth wiggling upward into a smile as two sets of hands suddenly needed to hold his matching opponent back from lunging at him.
"We were talking about the reason," Mort suddenly interjected, wanting to turn the current subject back around, lest Jess was about to get a jealous fist rammed down his throat, even if there wasn't returned feeling on Jess' part to Beryl's obvious ogling. "Sure, you and Boss Bates have a strange hunger for revenge, but what's the point in tarnishing our names when you're going to kill us? You already said that was your goal."
"True," Beryl gave a slight shrug, "but can you recall what I said to you before about the layers of revenge? Every part is going to be significantly better than the one before. We're nowhere near finished. In fact, the party's just begun."
The silence that followed was intensified as the three men followed Beryl out of the door. As it slammed shut, the room was lifted from its wicked atmosphere, but what was left behind was pure melancholic. There was still the determination that resided in each man, a feeling that could never be snuffed out even as death would be closing in, but the reality of what had been done to them was overwhelming, leaving the distinct throb of despair to run rampant. What made it worse even still, was the knowledge that there was no way that they could change any of it tied in a zigzag fashion in a remote brick square.
"You all right, Mort?" It was Slim that asked the question aloud, but it was also being posed by another's intense gaze, the vibrant color sparkling with Jess' own battle of anger and frustration, but also the notes of compassion for a friend.
"How can I really answer that, Slim?" Mort slowly shook his head, the sigh not coming far after. "Instead of being known as a sheriff, I'm a wanted criminal who will never get a chance to clear my name. I keep thinking about my Pa, wondering what this will do to him. We were able to talk out the traumatic escapades we endured with Boss Bates before and that helped the memories ease, we even could find a good laugh at the previous articles written about us, you know, father son banter, but this is different. This will cut him to the core. His son, a lawman that followed in his steps, dies as a renegade outlaw."
"He'll know it ain't true, just like the last time," Jess said with encouragement. "And we ain't buried yet."
"But what's going to come in between?" Slim asked, the chill settling over them again, even though it hadn't fully left with the resoluteness in Jess' voice. "Mrs. Monroe's party cake must be mighty thick."
"We can't fear whatever's coming, Slim," Mort said, his words turning Slim's face to look intently at the lawman.
"Yeah," Slim nodded, and then his head grew still at the sound of the doorknob being turned, the dread already in place, but there wasn't another report of a vile deed that had been done in their names coming in behind it. The only body passing through the opening was Ann, their allotment of water in her hands in the form of a canteen. As Slim was closest to the door, she paused at his position first, kneeling down to offer the liquid to come to his lips, but Slim quickly moved his mouth away from the offering.
"Drink," Ann spoke the first word in their presence with a delicate delivery that matched her frailty by every inch of her frame, and the despondent sound sent an extra dose of compassion through each man's heart.
"Ann," Slim started, seeing the surprise in her voice that her name had come from his lips. "Won't you help us? We can help you, too. It's obvious that you're afraid of Mrs. Monroe. If you help us, we won't let her hurt you."
"You don't know what you're asking," the voice was thin and shaky, but was there a flash of something other than fear in her eyes?
"I know you're not a part of this wicked scheme they have against us," Slim said, using his softest voice to wrap around the fragile shoulders. "You can be free and clear. We promise."
"There's no way you can fulfill that promise," Ann said, once more tipping the canteen up to Slim's lips, but she frowned when he still refused to take it.
"Let us try," Slim said, the urgency rising in the shade of his eyes.
"No," the answer was made as sharply as the elderly woman could pound it out.
"Why?" Slim's voice teetered on the edge of pleading, and for a moment, he thought he had chipped away a part of her exterior wall, but what he saw faded away as fleetingly as it had developed. "The answer can't be that bad. Please tell us why."
"I'm Beryl's mother-in-law."
"You might think that makes you bound by family loyalty," Slim said quickly, trying to keep the surprise of Ann's admission out of his voice, "but everyone has the freedom to make a choice."
"I don't know," Ann pulled her bottom lip in with her teeth as her eyes seemed to look away from Slim's face, but then with a firm little shake of her head, she began to raise the canteen above Slim's face. "Are you going to drink this water or am I going to have to pour it over your head to get you to do so?"
"I'll drink," Slim said with a smile and then swallowed a couple of the offered mouthfuls. "See, you do have your own spunk. Why do you let her treat you so terribly?"
"What else can I do?" Ann shrugged, her eyes suddenly darting toward the floor. "I'm not clean either."
"You mean the law has something over you?" Mort asked, not wanting to step on Slim's hopefully wonder-working toes, but a lawman's inquisitions could never stay stilled for too long. "Or is that just what Beryl says?"
"No one has to tell me," Ann said, a wrinkled finger coming to her chest. "I lived my own life as one. I was married to an outlaw, and birthed Martin Monroe. I know what that makes me."
"Of course," Mort said, letting his head tilt backward to rest against the wall, the long-ago flyer with Martin Monroe's picture flashing through his mind when he had discarded it at the time of his deserved hanging. "I should have made the connection when I learned of Ernie's name. It's true there's longstanding history of lawbreakers in your family, Ann, but that still shouldn't define who you are."
"Please, Ann," Slim said, the soft caress of his voice touching the old woman's cheek. "Everything in your past can turn around with one action to save us. You know Beryl's going to have us killed."
"I know nothing of the like," Ann abruptly turned toward Jess, nearly forcing the water down his throat and then did the same to Mort, capping the canteen with a pop of her palm as she stood up to leave. "She shares little with me, except with the reminder that I'm always to do as I'm told. I've done that, and now I've got to get back to the house."
"Wait, Ann, you're our only hope," Slim called to her retreating frame, but the door was shut before the final word could be spoken.
"You tried, Slim," Mort sighed, shaking his head, "she's just too scared. Maybe there'll be another chance to reach her tomorrow."
"Yeah," Slim's response was barely mouthed, let alone heard. "Tomorrow."
But why think about tomorrow, when there was still enough of today to endure? Not enough time had slipped by in their joint solace when there was sound at the doorway, and another sound was heard inside, as each man sucked in a breath of air.
"What now?" Jess groaned through his whispered question, turning his face into a wince as he waited for what was about to come.
From the moment they had been thrown in their private dungeon, every time the door would open, they expected to be beaten, but up until now, that mode of revenge that Beryl Monroe was quite capable of ordering, never came. She seemed built on vengeance, but aside from her hiring the trio of outlaws to wreak havoc as the Mort Cory gang, possibly everything else was just words. Maybe it was just an empty threat, a fire built hot enough to fear, but not to actually be burned with, until the triggers would be pulled. And now they were receiving another unexpected visit. The water and little food they were granted each day had already been delivered, what else could it be other than another form of retaliation? The thoughts of more punishing acts, with the necessary emotions topping them over, resided in each of their minds for only the time that it took for that doorknob to move, from the moment it was swung wide enough for the perpetrator to enter. If they had waited to process such fearfulness, it would never have been born, for there wasn't a heavy hand or foot coming in, but the most delicate one they had seen.
"Ann," Slim breathed her name, but there wasn't a sound to come through her lips as she walked close to his seated frame, her hands seemingly empty except what might have been in her folded clasp. With a cautious look behind her at the nothingness that followed, she abruptly dropped a pocket knife in front of him and in the same silence she had arrived, she left.
"You got to her," Jess said, keeping the excitement that he felt rushing through his veins stifled in his voice, watching as Slim pulled the knife closer with his heels, his smile breaking wide when Slim's fingers found the handle. "Great job, Slim, now we can get outta here."
"Feels good to be free," Slim said when all of their ropes were now in a pile on the floor. He dropped the knife into a pocket as their steps made the way to the door and a breath was held in each throat when a hand reached out to turn the knob, the air then being released as there was no one in sight on the outdoor side.
"I know Ann couldn't have hidden more than a knife in her apron," Mort touched his empty holster, "but I wish we were leaving armed, especially when we're going to be on foot."
"We won't be on foot," Slim gave a point with his finger to a clump of trees, the evening shadows dark enough to blend the coloring to almost appear as one, but there were three solid shapes underneath the biggest tree. "Look over there. Those mounts look familiar?"
"How did Ann do that?" Mort asked with wonder in his voice.
"I don't know," Slim said, his eyes turning toward the window of the house but only finding a lacy curtain instead, "but I wish she was going with us."
"Me too," Jess started out the door, his alertness to his surroundings at its highest level, "but we can't wait. Let's go."
Alamo, Traveler and Badge appeared to be as relieved to see their masters as the men was to greet their mounts. They were without saddles and gear, but their backs were accepting of the familiar rear ends that settled upon them, and with a quiet command, the horses began the first steps of an escape. It was at the point in an evening where it could be described as neither bright nor dark, the dusky light still making the wide-open spaces quite visible, which led them to guide their horses to walk along the shadows of the trees. Conversation remained at zero as they traversed farther away from the house, watching behind them with nearly every hoof fall, the sounds only turning upward as they disappeared from its sight, but it wasn't coming from any of the escaping men's lips.
They might have gone unnoticed if the dark-haired ruffian hadn't been invited to the main house for supper. He had just exited through the door, the black hat resting back on his untamed curls that had become even more haphazard with feminine fingers trailing through them over the second refill of coffee, when his eyes caught movement in the shadows. It was first dismissed as his partners in crime, until he counted one, two, and then three men on horseback making an all too quiet retreat. His hand bringing the gun to his clasp, he hurried to the small, brick building, his mouth turning into a straight line as he found it empty. A simple cuss should be in order just about now, but instead, his legs took him to his horse where he mounted up, the aim to where his two companions should be waiting. Their job had just drastically changed.
"Something's making my backbone itch," Jess flexed his shoulder blades, but no amount of squirming would aid in its relief.
"We being followed?" Slim turned, but the dusk was switching to darkness fast enough that he couldn't see very far behind Mort on Badge, who trailed behind him, as Jess had naturally taken the role of leading their escape route.
"Probably," Jess gave a nod, but kept his gaze pointing forward. "But they can't have too good of a jump on us, yet."
"I hope you're right, Jess," Mort said with a scratch alongside his neck, as he, too, felt the presence of unwelcome eyes. "That is if it's only our counterparts that are after us."
"You think there could be more?" Slim asked, his eyebrows darting upward at the thought that there could be more than just three men in pursuit of them.
"Anyone that saw that wanted poster or read that danged article about us could be crawling around these parts," Jess gave the answer with a shake of his head. "Remember the bounty hunters we ran into the last time we were wanted."
"How could we forget?" Mort asked, his hand naturally rising to his chest where he had taken a bullet from a bounty hunter. If it hadn't been for Slim and Jess' tough persistence, he would have died.
"You got that right," Slim answered with a grim expression on his face. "Where're you taking us, Jess?"
"We'll head for…" but his answer was stopped abruptly with a cluster of bangs. "Rifle shots. It sounds like they're just firing willy-nilly, though."
"It's getting too dark to get a good shot," Mort said, twisting slightly on his mount to look behind him.
"But they're still definitely going to try," Slim's head naturally ducked as more shots rang out, some sounding even closer.
"There's a canyon about a mile to the south of here," Jess said, giving a nod in its direction as he encouraged Traveler to a faster run. "If we can get there it'll mean safety, at least for the night."
"Then let's get there," Mort urged his horse to the same rhythm that Slim and Jess' now moved.
Shots came from several directions as they fled, the bullets now whizzing close enough to flesh to make them wince as the misses peppered the ground or found a permanent dwelling in a tree trunk. How their pursuers had caught up with them so quickly, they didn't have the answer to, unless there were a group of bounty seekers scattered about the hills, adding to the constant firing of bullets, trying to beat another man from taking the prized bounty home.
Darkness was coming close, as the brightest stars now shone in the sky, but Jess could make out the lines of the canyon he aimed for as the rocks gave a blacker shape against the slightly colored sky. Staying low to Traveler's back, knowing that Slim and Mort were doing the same, he kept his mount slightly ahead of Slim's, blazing the trail to their hopeful safety, nearly counting the seconds that remained until they would get there. The bullets hadn't let up behind them, but the deeper they rode, their frequency seemed to lessen, coming to a stop as Jess passed the first rocky wall that would keep them hidden.
"We made it," Jess refrained from letting out a whoop, even though the exhilaration of reaching a safe destination pushed high in his chest without the sting of a bullet making contact with his body. Traveler spun underneath him, and in a cropped second's time, the sensation inside of him suddenly went crashing downward so hard he almost fell from his horse. There were only two of them beyond the canyon's entrance. Jess searched for Slim's eyes, and once finding, he held the gaze steady, blue locked into blue as the reality dug into their flesh worse than one of the bullets could at why the trio was now down to a pair. "Where's Mort?"
Neither man had the answer, but they could make an accurate assumption. While the bullets filled the air, the need for survival ran as wildly as the heart rate inside of their horses as they fled a would-be death scene. And now the guns had gone quiet, while they were down one man, and in the sense of a gang, the man absent was the hardest to lose, its leader. The whisper was spoken in a mixture of reverence and sorrow as Slim's lips barely parted the hushed cry.
"Mort."