Chapter Seven
"Tie up the horses," Jess said during his movement of dismount. He flicked Traveler's reins in Slim's direction and then pressed his back along the south canyon's wall. "I'm going back."
"Not without me, you're not," Slim's voice skated on ice, his eyes producing a similar chill as he felt Jess' gaze fall upon him. He secured both mounts and then pushed his body next to his partner's, no questions, no statements passed between them, just a resolute nod. As they both knew it should be, they would go find Mort together.
In silence they retreated over the steps that their horses made in their escape, finding the silence coming at them in return bringing an extra note of alarm, even though it meant that there was no one with a gun lurking toward them ready to pull the trigger. The absence of noise around them also had the chance that the one they were looking for might not be capable of uttering a sound. They wouldn't know until they found him, and there was much emphasis that neither mind had the word if anywhere inside.
The last shade before complete darkness was in the middle of switching, cutting off their vision from jumping too far ahead to search in the scraggly brush that might have been hiding a telling sign. They continued forward solely on instinct, gauging the distance by their slow, but steady pace, and as they reached a quarter mile, the tighter the feeling in Jess' gut became that they were getting closer. Oddly it was the hat that caught his attention first, resting on the ground only two feet from the head that belonged in it, but as the rest of Mort's frame took on more than a dark lump, what his eyes really latched onto was the even darker, wet mark on the ground.
"Mort," Jess' lowest tones couldn't hide the fear that forcefully seized him.
"He's alive," Slim spoke the words that brought a measure of relief into both men as they simultaneously knelt beside their friend and saw his working breaths. Slim's hand reached out to examine the source of the blood, finding the bullet's obvious intrusion as soon as his fingers made contact. "Leg wound. The bullet's still inside, too."
"Mighta bumped his head when he landed," Jess said, brushing his fingers over the discolored lump that was just visible along the hairline above his forehead. "He's definitely out cold."
"I don't see Badge anywhere," Slim raised his head, listening for the sounds of a horse wandering nearby. "He likely kept running when Mort fell, and since he's without gear, the horse would be hard to catch even if we knew where to look."
"Then I reckon we better carry him," Jess' voice teetered on the edge of being full of gravel as he slipped his hands under Mort's shoulders. "We'll get him back to the canyon and hideout until morning."
"And then?"
"I dunno," Jess answered as Slim started walking backward. "We'll figure it out then."
Inside the canyon, the crevices of the rocks hid their shapes and shadows from any wandering eyes and once beside their horses, they set Mort back on the ground. They felt safer than being where Mort had first fallen, even if the surrounding darkness was doing a decent job at concealing their frames. But if on a checklist they had put safety first, that now being secured, they were forced to address the second most important item, helping Mort to survive.
"You still have that pocketknife on you?" Jess asked, watching as Slim's nod and fingers reaching inside his pocket came at the same moment. "Give it here."
"You going for the bullet?" Slim's mouth felt like it had the moisture content of a desert as he dropped the knife into Jess' open palm.
"One of us has to," Jess answered, momentarily closing his fingers over their only weapon. "I gotta coupla matches, so if we can make a fire big enough to see by, maybe that bullet will find its way out."
"With a little help from a steady hand," Slim tried to smile as he caught Jess' gaze. "You can do it, Jess."
"Who says my hand's any steadier than yours?"
"You do," Slim pointed toward the empty holster at Jess' hip, "every time you pull your gun. I'll get that fire going."
Slim built the fire as close to a rock wall as he could, eliminating the flickering light from spreading far outside of their hideout, but allowing the soft glow to give Jess enough visual aid to work with. When Jess gave a nod, Slim moved into position, kneeling behind Mort's head where he could keep the lawman stilled with his hands if the probing brought too much response from Mort's body. It did. Slim attached his upper strength to Mort when a groan turned into a yelp when Jess inserted the knife. The agonizing cry coming through Mort's lips as Jess searched for the invading piece of lead threatened to tear both men's hearts out, and with the pain now in full assault, Slim wasn't certain that his soothing words in Mort's ear were even heard.
"Dad-gum," Jess released a stream of air through his teeth as his fingers suddenly became more coated with Mort's blood.
"Can't get it?" Slim asked, tightening his grip on Mort's shoulders, even though the man underneath his grasp had just dropped under the surface of wakefulness again, which in itself, was merciful as in his personal chasm of darkness, there would be no writhing in pain. But in Slim, the pain that went with fear had suddenly just increased.
"I'll get it," Jess' answer was built on too much determination to argue with and the flash of his eyes that quickly darted upward to catch Slim's, reflected the same as it shimmered with the nearby flames. "I didn't start this fight to lose it, and I won't."
The bullet came out less than sixty seconds later. It was too soon for triumph to be sounded, but a strong dose of relief that intermixed with their victory rose high enough in their chests that a small smile flickered at Slim's mouth. On Jess, the gesture reached all the way to change the type of sparkle that was in his eyes. Slim eased the pressure on Mort's shoulders, his hands taking over for Jess as he wrapped two handkerchiefs around the wound that was still producing a steady pumping of blood. Jess shifted his weight to lean closer to Mort's face, noting the steady breaths and the expression that in his unconscious state, changed from deep distress to that of more serenity. For now, it appeared that they had won.
"I'm gonna go stand watch," Jess' voice held a slight catch as he stood, and as Slim watched his partner disappear in the darkness, he knew that there was more than the need to stand guard that drove Jess away. It took a special type of strength to dig a bullet out of a man without holding onto a doctor's certificate, but the task took on an even deeper meaning when the man wearing the bullet was a friend. Jess would keep a sharp watch on their surroundings, but he would also be releasing the tightest tension in the way he always deemed best, in silence and in solitude.
At the first noticeable shade difference in the eastern sky, Jess slipped silently back to where Slim had waited the remainder of the night at Mort's side. His approach found a set of brown eyes gazing upward at him, and there in that look coming from Mort's eyes into his was a rush of emotions. The uppermost was gratitude, which was followed by relief and pain, and that's where the list should have stopped, but there was one more, and Jess wasn't sure he could define it, or even wanted to.
"How do you feel, Mort?" Jess asked, reaching a hand outward for Mort to grasp.
"Been better, Son," Mort's answer came with a shaky breath between his words, giving the hand that had extracted the bullet a gentle squeeze. "But I would be worse off if it hadn't been for you two."
"Aw," Jess gave a nonchalant shrug, bringing a corner of his mouth upward, as he took his backside to find a seat on a rock near the burned out fire, "it ain't nothing."
"I'll be the judge of that," Mort attempted a smile, but it could barely flicker.
"You need something, Mort?" Slim asked, noticing a hint at what might have been underlying in Mort's core, and he became ready to grab anything that Mort would request if it was within his grasp.
"Yes, but it's not what you'd think. Listen to me, Boys," Mort said with the authoritative ring of a lawman, but not without the sincerity of their friendship. "I want you to get out of here."
"What?" Slim and Jess' voice's each rose more than one notch.
"Go, save yourselves. There were more gunmen than I could count firing at us last night, with bullets coming from almost everywhere. They're not going to stop looking, and could be already breathing down our trail right now. With my leg like this, I'd only slow you down. We all can't make it out together, but you two certainly can, and will."
"No, Mort," Slim took in a quick intake of breath, not necessarily trying to hide the catch that was in his throat, but an attempt to stifle the pain that was clutching his middle. It only made it worse. "We won't leave you."
"You have to," Mort's hand wrapped around the bloodstained kerchiefs around his leg, the wince on his face not hard enough to erase the emotion that radiated from his eyes on down to his chin that he wouldn't give permission to quiver. "I can't walk, I can't ride, not even doubled-up with you. It would be impossible without saddles and proper gear."
"We don't know until we try," Slim said, his teeth tightening together as he fixed his gaze on Mort's face.
"I know by how I feel, Slim," Mort met Slim's eyes, and for a moment they were stuck in silence. Just for a moment, as Jess was far from letting the subject grow closed that easily.
"You think I painstakingly took that bullet outta your leg to just ride off and leave you here to be caught by some money-hungry bounty hunter? You think we're gonna just let you go?" Jess' anger fueled him to his feet, the forward motion bringing him to nearly stand directly over Mort's body, with chest heaving and eyes sparking. "Who do you think you are?"
"I'm a wanted criminal," Mort suddenly sounded weak and hearing the uncharacteristic trait come from his throat hit like a solid punch in the gut.
"You're a lawman," Jess rapidly fired back with a singular point to the badge on Mort's chest. "But if it makes you feel any better, you ain't a wanted criminal alone. Slim and I are wearing the same label right now. I suppose I can say this with more honesty since I'm the only one of us here that really does know what being on the other side of the fence feels like, but let me tell you, being called an outlaw don't make you any less of a man when it ain't true, unless you pull yourself down to that level. What're you gonna do Mort? Die as that wanted man you've been pictured, or live as a lawman for however much longer you've got on this earth?"
"You made your point, Jess," Mort said, and both of his companions were concerned that there was a 'but' waiting to be added on with another excuse about not going with them. What followed was entirely different, when Mort straightened his back and looked up at Jess. "Well, aren't either of you going to help me up? We can't laze around here all day. Let's get going."
A full hour couldn't quite pass before their hiding place was discovered. A foot kicked at the remnants of the fire, while a hand touched the dried blood on the ground, their eyes coming together with a firm nod. It was them, all right, but gone just after daybreak. The two bounty hunters topped their horses, the rifles in hand sliding back into their scabbards a second later, as they had been ready upon entering the overnight campsite to kill the members of the Mort Cory gang at the moment of identification. That's how they worked when the posters didn't care how the carcasses were delivered. Dead men cause no trouble, but they certainly brought a good price. But even though they had made the obvious discovery, taking the payment would now have to wait, or battle it out with other men like them, who were also out for a large reward. Nudging their horses into a swift pace, they followed in step with those that had fled, hoping that their bounty didn't belong to another.
There are different types of hunters, however, that seek justice, and one of them isn't defined by any number printed on a wanted poster. While the two bounty hunters and scores of others roaming the territory like them were ready to kill on sight, Douglas Levine, a sixtyish man with a receding hairline and a belly that looked like it belonged more on a barrel than a body, entered the scene. Chirruping to his team of horses to get them to move in a less lazy fashion, but being unsuccessful, he relaxed his heavy weight against the buckboard seat to catch a few winks, only to jerk upright exactly forty-seven ticks later. There were two unsaddled horses taking on water at a shallow stream that curled around a bend in the road, but there was not a man to be seen. Could it be them? Sure, the reports had all said that the Mort Cory gang consisted of three members, but how could an upstanding citizen and a neighbor of Stanley and Cecilia Cox pass this opportunity by? Even with a rifle under his arm as security, Douglas wasn't the type of man that could tip-toe unsuspectingly upon anyone, but a silent approach wasn't the only way to catch a no-good bunch of crooks. Giving the team a hearty slap to get their legs moving, he changed his direction back toward Lofton to gather as many men as possible that tasted the vengeance on his tongue just as bitterly as he did.