Chapter Ten
The campfire was dwindling down to near nothingness when a hand added two sticks, just enough to keep it ablaze a few hours longer. It was all that was really needed, as when the fire would die down once more, dawn would be close to being welcomed and the same man could stamp out the remnants with his boot. He had volunteered to stay awake and watch the prisoners to please her. He gave her a glance even now as she slept. A wicked woman Beryl Monroe was, but she made a younger man like him feel mighty good inside. He tugged his hat lower to his eyes when he heard the whispers near the creek and with a frown on his face, he strode to the trio with rifle in hand.
"You should all be asleep," it came out more as a command than a suggestion.
"What's the point?" Jess looked up at him, the cold stares matching nearly perfectly. "We're gonna die come morning anyway. Might as well let us live our final hours the way we want. That ain't bothersome to you, is it?"
"Just keep it down," the rifle barrel bounced twice against his leg as he slowly walked away, his stance to remain in close proximity with the prisoners, but also to be close to her.
"What does he think we've been doing?" Mort lowered his voice even further than before, "singing with all the grace of a jailed drunkard?"
"He's just trying to impress Mrs. Monroe," Slim said, shaking his head. "But I think he'd have it made with her even if he sat around doing nothing."
"Probably so," Mort gave a slow nod. "She sure has a specific standard when it comes to men."
"What is it that you two have, Jess?" Slim asked, pulling Jess' attention away from the man holding the rifle to look him in the eyes.
"I dunno," Jess shrugged, his eyes sliding back to the upright man. "Dark hair and blue eyes, fast gun, quick temper. All of that I reckon."
"She's a beautiful woman, all right," Mort said, putting a finger to his chest, "but I'm glad I don't have the same criteria."
"Me too," Slim echoed the thought.
"You're jealous and you know it," Jess' throat rattled with a short laugh, but then he suddenly stiffened, his eyes narrowing on what was ahead of him.
"Jess?" Slim prodded his partner.
"You know, from the start she's called them the best," Jess formed one hand into a fist and then rubbed it into the other open palm as he continued, "but I reckon we can also qualify. I think we're just gonna have to prove to them we're better."
"I like the sound of that, Jess," Slim started clenching his fists together, "but how can we do it? They might do well to pound in some facial flesh, but bullets don't bounce off fists, you know. And they have all the guns."
"No," Jess gave a quick point to Slim's head, "only off that thick skull of yours."
"Come on, Jess," Mort said, biting back a chuckle, "you obviously have a plan, so why don't you just spill it?"
"Okay," Jess stood up, stretching his back as he rose, "it goes like this."
"What're you doing on your feet?" The rifle and the man that held it was suddenly at Jess' side.
"A coupla things," Jess answered, holding both hands out away from his sides to lessen the threat level. "One, I needed to loosen the kinks from sitting so long, and two, I wanted to ask you something if I could."
"Go ahead."
"With the stretching or the question?"
"Both," a snort followed the answer.
"Great," Jess' cheeks rose with a smile. "We're kinda alike, you and I. About the same age and height, color of hair's the same, blue eyes, although I reckon mine are a bit deeper. Do you always wear blue shirts?"
"Not usually. That was your question?"
"Nah, that was just an added thought," Jess spoke the words quickly, but kept his tone at a soft level to keep the other two outlaws asleep. "What I wanted to ask is, since we're so much alike, why do you suppose Mrs. Monroe chose you over me? After all, I'm the original Jest Harmer. Doesn't that make you second best?"
Slim looked up at Jess, trying to not let his eyes grow wide at the words coming from Jess' mouth. He knew how far his partner had to reach inside of him to address himself with the ill-designed name he had been given. From the first time it had been spoken aloud, Jess had hated it, going as far as punching a stagecoach passenger who had made the unfortunate decision to use it in his presence. Slim had never heard the name spoken by Jess without a burst of fire to go with it, until now. And Slim knew the reason why. He could already see the smoke begin to curl out of the nose, mouth and ears of the man across from Jess, the piercing blue eyes boring into Jess' rock-solid face as the jealous emotion was aroused. A fight was about to begin, and as long as the other two men stayed asleep just long enough for Jess' two partners to get in position, then there would really be a battle to be won.
"She chose me because…" the words were quickly cut off, as the truth was staring at him in the face.
"Because she couldn't have me," Jess finished for him, and the man's eyes could have turned green.
Until that moment, the rifle hadn't been pointing at anything vital, resting somewhere between the ground and the open space between their bodies. When it started to rise, Jess reacted, for all he needed to make a precise strike was one second. Jess' foot kicked, landing the man on his back as impact was made in his abdomen, the rifle slapping to the ground at the same instant. Jess lunged for the weapon, but as his opponent was no longer down, their bodies soon collided, with multiple punches thrown and caught.
The first sound of the melee brought the other two men springing to their feet, but they would get no further in advancement. Slim jumped on the tallest man, spinning him around to give his fist a taste of a jaw, receiving a slap in return before Slim gave another. There was something about a fight that turned off every other pain a man was already enduring, the focus solely on the task of his hands, and it was this way for Mort as he dove for the oldest. His leg knew no trouble as he was barreled backward, coming up with a swift jab to another face and dodging the one that was offered to him.
Through it all, she rose, brushing the wrinkles out of the dress she had bedded in, a gun nestled in her hand, but she knew she lacked the ability to properly align a moving target. The brawl was intense, and although her eyes slid from one man to the other, her focus couldn't help but latch on to the one she desired the most. His lip was bloodied, the face was darkening in different places, but he wasn't backing down. He would never back down. Beryl suddenly looked behind her at the horses in a row, and keeping the gun attached to one hand, she fled, because even Beryl was aware that the best might not have been good enough after all.
The peak of the fight had been reached, the sounds of flesh getting hit was coming in less frequency as the men inside the tussle were weakening. Slim could see the lashes lowering of his opponent, the sway was noticed across from Mort, and while Jess' breaths were heaving heat, the other was coming in short bursts through a mouth. It was almost over. Another punch from Slim, a block and then a jab in the stomach from Mort, with Jess balling a fist to find his finish, but only two of these men succeeded. The dark haired men each refused to announce defeat and with equal responses from their fists, they sprawled to the ground, with the rifle within an arm's length. The sudden blast shocked everyone into a still silence, but concern for a friend couldn't keep every lip sealed.
"Jess!" Slim shouted, trying to dispel the horror that was rising in his chest as he saw two similar men lying on the ground, the blood already mixing with the dirt that was underneath. One of them was hit, but which one? Slim wanted to wait for the answer, but his gut already knew. Jess.
"Slim, is he...?" Mort couldn't finish the question, leaving the beaten man in front of him in a heap, as he started to turn toward Jess.
"I'm all right," Jess said, rising to one knee. He shook his head as the droplets of blood flicked from his hairline, revealing the bullet crease along his forehead. "Good thing his aim's about as subpar as the rest of him."
"He went out cold after he pulled the trigger," Slim stood over the man, jerking the rifle out of his grasp. "Your last punch was slow to put him under, but he went. You sure gave me a scare for a moment, Pard."
"Gotta find some reason to keep you on your toes," Jess said with a grin as he slowly stood up.
"Here, Jess, let me take care of that," Mort pointed to Jess' head.
"Aw," Jess shrugged, putting one finger on the wound and then wiped the blood away on his thigh, "it ain't nothing."
"Well, you took care of me when I was hurt," Mort pulled the bandana around his neck loose, "let me do the same for you."
"Thanks, Mort," Jess said when the oozing blood was sealed behind the kerchief.
"No problem," Mort nodded, and then turned to find Slim standing close by. "Everyone rounded up?"
"Looks that way. Wait. Where's Mrs. Monroe?" Slim quickly turned his head in each direction, but there wasn't a sign of the woman anywhere. Even her dark presence couldn't be felt, as the shadows were not hiding her.
"She's gone," Mort slowly said the two words, the sinking feeling in his stomach dropping all the way down to his feet.
"She's probably gone back to the house," Slim shifted his eyes in the direction he knew the brick buildings would be and then to their horses, even though they were noticeably minus one. "We can catch her."
"As long as we don't catch something of hers in the process," Mort picked up a loose gun off of the ground and after checking the chamber, dropped it in his holster.
"I'll take some more flying lead or whatever else she might throw at us head on just as long as we get her," Jess took a handful of blue fabric and pulled the man to the horses, releasing him to find the eyes of Slim and Mort upon him. "You ready to go?"
"Lead on, Jess, as long as you're able," Mort moved toward Badge, this time, needing no help in getting mounted.
"I'm able. Always."
"Let's get them tied up and ride," Slim started wrapping the men with rope, and although he didn't posses the same intricate skill as Ann at the same job, the knots he made would be inescapable.
They left Beryl's buggy at the campsite, their tracks following in step with hers as Jess kept the leading position, with Slim and Mort trailing not far behind with the outlaws strapped to their horses in tow. Being experienced horsemen, and figuring that the woman wouldn't be able to keep a steady pace through the final hour of darkness, they expected to catch up with her. They did, just as the morning light lit up the hillside, with the bricks of her home and the outbuilding that had been their short prison term seeming to shine the brightest. But they were too far behind. She was going to make it all the way, and as soon as she dismounted from her horse and turned back to gape at the incoming riders, they knew they would be facing her wrath.
"Get out of my way, Ann," Beryl stormed inside, her hand reaching out to shove the older woman against the wall, and kept raising it higher as she entered, ready to grab the rifle that rested over the fireplace.
She walked back to the front door and set her sights, first on Mort Cory, and then she would have to take down the blonde, but the last man? Could she? When he made her feel like the young, vibrant woman she was when she first married Martin Monroe? She had to. This was the Mort Cory gang, and they had to die. It was as if the wanted poster that had plagued her since it first came into her possession had just rolled to a stop at her feet, the page coming open to gape up at her, the name like the black hole that fitted over her heart. They couldn't get away with what they had done. They had to die! If it wasn't for her incredible taste for revenge, and the long, drawn-out methods she had planned to use, they would already be buried and gone. Death could wait no longer, and each one now belonged to her. She moved the rifle away from the sheriff who was now so close she could see his star on his vest and focused on the heartthrob. He would be first. If not, she might hesitate after the others fell and it would be too late. Beryl found her target and bit her lip. This better be worth every trigger pull.
"Drop it," the strange, deep voice jolted her, and her entire body grew stiff.
"Best do as he says," the feeble voice that Beryl recognized gave her another firm jolt, and she whipped her head around to see the wrinkled face that it belonged to. "Unless you want to get shot."
"Ann," Beryl's face turned its whitest shade as the rifle started to lower, "what have you done?"
"Stopping you, like I should have done a long time ago," Ann replied, the weakness in her voice lost of its trembling, replaced with newfound strength. "This here's the Marshal from Casper."
"No," Beryl shook her head, a screech not far behind. "No! They have to die!"
"Nobody's going to die," Marshal Ben Brown reached out a hand and pulled the rifle away from the woman, her hands growing a pair of cuffs a moment later. "In fact, I see some men that are now going to live."
They were walking up to the house, guns in their holsters as they were no longer needed, the weight that they had carried on their shoulders switching to light as their final threat became subdued. Mort stepped through the doorway first, unable to avoid the cold stare that was upon him, but when he looked at Beryl Monroe, the harshness, and surprisingly, some of her beauty had faded.
"You were supposed to die," Beryl said as if she were spitting after every word. "This can't be over, it just can't!"
"It is," Mort answered, looking her in the eye. "What's more, the Bates-Monroe reign of terror has finally ended."
"Our family will never hurt another soul again," Ann said, stepping closer to her daughter-in-law. "I saw to that."
"You sure did," Slim said, wrapping an arm around the frail shoulders. "You saved our lives more than once. I wouldn't be surprised if there's a reward in order."
"For someone like me?" Ann asked, starting to object. "But I'm just as…"
"No," Mort said, looking Ann in the eyes, "you're free and clear. I'll see to that."
"Thank you," Ann suddenly put a hankie to her eye as Slim gave her an extra squeeze. "Thank you."
"Looks like we've got quite the haul to take to town," Marshal Brown looked out at the tied up men on horseback. "I take it they're the guilty party everyone's been talking about."
"They sure are," Mort nodded, the relief finally being allowed to flood through his veins, "but I wouldn't be surprised if we'll be riding right into a mob." Mort wasn't mistaken, but with one lawman backing up the other, the angry lynch mob turned into one large posse that took the real prisoners to Casper, putting them behind bars to stay.
"Mort," Marshal Brown put his hand in Mort's and gave a firm squeeze when it was all over. "I didn't think it possible that you could've turned outlaw. Glad to know that I was right."
"Thanks, Ben," Mort smiled as he returned the hearty shake, "it sure is good to feel free."
"I bet," the Marshal nodded, following with a shake to Slim and Jess' hands. "You fellows make yourselves at home, right now I've got to get a wire off before they close shop for lunch."
"Looks like the latest newspapers are in," Slim picked up the top sheet from the marshal's desk and straightened the fold. "Headline sounds better. Should I read it?"
"Only if you wanna be stuck scooping horse manure for the next six months," Jess gave Slim a wry look, "by yourself."
"How about if I skim?" Slim slightly turned his head toward Jess, waiting for the reluctant nod and then shifted his eyes back to the newspaper when it was granted. "Well, it's the best one I've read yet. No really, it says we're completely innocent."
"That's an improvement," Mort smiled, watching Slim's face as he continued to read.
"Huh," Slim raised his eyebrows.
"What?" Jess leaned closer, wanting to peer over Slim's shoulder, but didn't allow his head to lean close enough to the newspaper to read any of the words. "Or maybe you shouldn't tell me."
"Oh, it's not much," Slim shrugged before continuing. "They used the real names of the fake gang members instead of our made up ones. Cap Stuart, Timothy Smith and Drake Roberts."
"You mean they're gonna be remembered for who they really are," Jess took a step backward to point at the newspaper in Slim's hands, "while we're still gonna be associated with those distorted handles we were given?"
"Looks that way."
"Dad-gum."
"Well, it probably doesn't matter, Jess. You know, I don't think the Mort Cory gang is ever going to go away," Mort stood up, his leg rested enough that he was ready to get back on Badge. "And come to think of it, maybe it's better that way."
"Wait a minute, Mort," Jess put his hand up, "you mean to tell me you like running from crimes we didn't commit?"
"No, Jess," Mort shook his head, a light laugh tickling his throat. "I was talking about our friendship. Maybe calling us a gang is the wrong term to use, but you, Slim and I, we're a team, and that's something I hope we'll always be."
"I reckon you're right," Jess put one arm around Mort, the other was draped over Slim's shoulder, "but if either of you ever call me that doggoned name, I'm quitting."
"Deal. Come on, Boys," Mort smiled, the gesture spreading to the other two faces that was bright enough to send light all the way to the sky, "let's go home."