Chapter Four

The crack of the rifle and the impact of the bullet slammed into Mort at the same instant. His head went forward over his horse's neck, the hot sting penetrating his arm like a flaming poker had been inserted into his flesh and not allowed to be removed. Mort clenched his teeth together, wanting to rise to get a view of the terrain where the bullet had flown from, but instinct told him to remain low. His horse had already slowed, as had his companions, and he was about to give a command to seek cover when his hat was blown off of his head, the involuntary reaction making Mort's body slam into the ground.

"Mort!" The exclaim had barely left Mose's throat when another gunshot tore an accurate path. A body dropped from a saddle behind him, and Mose pulled his mount backward, his gun in his hand, firing repeatedly at an unknown position above him as the remaining posse men did the same.

The man toting the rifle cursed, dodging behind the security of a massive rock as bullets from multiple guns returned in his direction, although none were popping close enough to his large frame to create a concern. He knew he was well hidden. But being well hidden wasn't his duty. Keeping the posse from advancing was. He had thought taking the leader out with one shot would have been enough to create a total retreat, but sometimes plans didn't always succeed. The first shot hadn't been a true miss, his aim unswervingly at the badge, or at least, what was behind the star, but at the last possible second, the lawman reached an arm across his chest. The second bullet destined for the posse's leader he would own as a mistake, the bullet hitting too high above his head to count, only putting a hole through his hat instead. One error was enough; he wouldn't make another. And the posse man with a bullet in his gut wouldn't be arguing with him about it.

Stepping out away from his cover, he sent a handful of bullets down below him, hearing another grunt as at least one did its damage. Ducking quickly backward, as someone's aim had come closer, he paused only a few seconds before cracking several more shots at the men that were on the right side of the law. They were tenacious, he would give them that credit, but they were failing fast. There were too many on the ground, their source of life draining away if not already gone. He fired at the remaining members that were starting to flee, landing them close enough that they would have felt the wind pass, but he was done with killing. For now.

"Mort," Mose gasped when the air around him became stilled from gunfire. His back was to the ground and he turned his head, seeking a sign of life in the lawman near him. He had taken a bullet at the lowest part of his neck, just a portion, the bullet doing no more than clipping a line of skin, but enough to make him leveled. "You dead?"

"I'm still breathing, Mose," Mort replied with a pained whisper. His arm was held tight to his chest, his palm closed over the wound in an attempt to reduce its flow, but as quickly as his heart was pumping, the blood came just as rapidly.

"Good," Mose sighed, part of him wanting to rise, but the other half knowing that he needed to remain stilled, lest the gunman still had a beady eye pinned on them. "Some of the others didn't fair the same. Beasley took one for keeps, and I 'spect Rothland's done for, too."

"The rest?" Mort prompted, the dread in his middle as painful as the throbbing of his arm. He always felt the weight of failure whenever a posse under his leadership received damage. He and Mose were hurt, two others were dead, and that was just the beginning. There was still no way of knowing what was beyond the gunman that wouldn't let them by.

"I lost sight of 'em when I went down," Mose answered, turning his head away from Mort to the retreating trail. "Don't see 'em anywhere. Musta fled."

"Don't blame them the way the bullets were flying," Mort said, trying to rise, the groan in his chest deepening as he made it up into a seated position. "You hurt bad?"

"I'll live," Mose replied, seeing that Mort wasn't gaining another piece of lead by getting up, he pulled himself to wobbly knees. "You?"

"Got a bullet stuck in my arm," Mort answered with a grimace as he momentarily removed his hand to get a look at what was imbedded in his skin, "but I've had worse wounds and have still been kicking afterward, so this shouldn't be any different."

"Good to hear," Mose shifted his head from right to left, only two of their horse's still in sight. Mort's and one of the dead men's. The others, like the remaining posse men, must have scattered. "What're we gonna do?"

"We'll have to pause this fight for now," Mort's eyes were trained on the hillside, the man who had been responsible for two deaths and two injuries was either gone, dead, or still up there, and Mort had the distinct feeling it was the latter. "After we care for Beasley and Rothland, we'll go to the Sherman ranch. There's no one there, and along with taking care of the ranch for Slim, we can use it to recoup and regroup. I'm sure Munson will watch the town for me since I won't be back there for a day or two. Normal sheriff's duties can wait, but this, I won't be giving up on."

"You're plannin' on comin' back up here, then?" Mose asked, blotting his neck with his handkerchief.

"I've got to," Mort's tone was as solid as the piece of lead that had struck him, his eyes on the trail above him.

He was a sheriff. Someone was up there, breaking law after law, threatening lives and ending lives, and he wasn't going to be sidelined by one of their bullets for long. He was a sheriff, but he also was a friend. He'd be back. He'd most definitely be back.

…

"Slim," Andy's voice was a soft shudder, his eyes shut tight as if blocking out his vision would also hinder the sound of the repeated gunshots in the distance. "What's happening?"

"I don't know, Andy," Slim gently shook his head, biting his lip in response to both the pain in his shoulder and fear of the unknown possibilities between both sides of the gunplay. "Probably the posse exchanging bullets with the half-breeds. Rex, too, maybe."

"What about Jess?" Andy opened his eyes then to look at his brother, wanting to see the same confidence built into his every feature as it had been when he had stood across from Slim, firing a gun with Slim as his target. But what he saw was a reflective image of his own, although Slim was doing a better job at trying to hide the fear than he was. Yet it was still there, and Andy shivered harder. "You think that he…"

"We can't think the worst," Jonesy said, trying not to wince as the end of his statement was followed by another round of gunshots.

"But Jess was heading for the posse," Andy turned his head toward the direction of the staccato blasts, unable to follow Jonesy's advice.

"Jess has dodged more bullets than any normal man in his lifetime," Jonesy gave a resolute nod. "If he hadn't done a good job, he'd look like a piece of aged Swiss cheese by now."

"I know how you feel, Andy," Slim took a deep breath, the air growing silent, but the sound of the bullets somehow still rang in his ears. "But try not to be afraid. We can't give up on him just because some bullets were flying. You know that stubborn determination of his just as well as I do. Believe in it."

"I wonder what the silence means," Jonesy pondered softly as each mind was unable to dispel the worst case scenarios, but also felt a ray of hope inching its way forward.

The silence stretched from a few seconds, to several minutes, all the way through the entire hour. Slim kept turning his head toward the opening that Jess escaped from, listening for returning footsteps, the only result producing several sighs through his lips. He would have returned by now. But as Slim didn't have any answers, he could do nothing but continue to wait, and hold on to that tiny speck of hope.

"Holding up, all right, Slim?" Jonesy asked, the break in the silence making Slim jump.

"Sure, Jonesy," Slim answered, the half-truth coming out more on the side of the lie. There was no position that he could shift into that would provide relief, but his back and legs continued to move as if they didn't believe what his mind already knew. The blood had slowed, thanks to Jess' proper placement of the towel against the bullet hole, but the pain had intensified, his flesh responding in angry outbursts that the piece of lead was still invading his body.

The renewed thought of his partner brought another stab of worry. Where was Jess? It was past sunset, made obvious as the already dark room had turned pitch black. Surely if his escape had been successful, the darkness would do well to continue to hide him. Yet, the night held its own enemies. Slim had been listening to the pattern on the roof, the tones changing from a softer note to a harder beat, as the rain became ice. It would only worsen as the darkest hours would set in, the snow and ice becoming a dangerous mix for a man on foot.

Eyes widening, Slim turned his gaze upon the door as the lock was turned, his sense of alarm ratcheting upward. The door swung open and Cross stepped inside, the glow of a lantern in his hand nearly reaching every corner of the small room. Taking only short breaths, Slim watched his every move, the air soon becoming stuck at its intake when he came to a stop in front of him. Cross already knew. Through each of his steps, he didn't take a single glance at the empty rod in the room. Cross had already known Jess was gone before he had unlocked the door. Did that also mean that he knew what had happened to Jess after his escape?

Slim tried not to let his emotions show, but a muscle still jumped in his jaw as he stared up at Cross. He looked smug, the suit and tie only adding to his conceited appearance. Slim had stared hard at the man before, but now, in the lantern light, his features seemed illuminated, but also hardened. The man was in his forties, his yellowed hair taking on a different hue at the temples as brushstrokes of gray met the shaving line of his bare cheeks. His hands were smooth, without a single callous, showing the evidence clearly that he never did the dirty work. Cross claimed that he wanted the Sherman ranch, yet the reason why was still unknown, but perhaps for the first time in really looking at the man, Slim knew he didn't want the land to work it. He was no rancher, and the half-breeds and Rex were no ranch hands. He might be ruthless in his commands, but he'd be nothing in a real fight.

"Your scrutiny is appalling, Sherman," Cross shook his head. "But nevertheless, it's to be expected. See what you need to? Or will I have to show you the scar on my arm, too?"

"I've seen enough," Slim answered, setting his jaw tight. "Enough to know that you're not man enough to fight for what you want."

"Interesting that you'd bring that up when you have a bullet stuck in your shoulder," Cross said with a slight shake of his head. "And although I could argue with you about my abilities, I have something else on my mind."

"And that is," Slim prompted after Cross chose to revel in prolonging his thoughts for too long.

"You know that feeling you get inside when something you hope for just dissipates into thin air?" Cross asked, flipping his hand upward like he was swatting at a fly. "Well, you're about to get a double dose of it."

"What are you talking about?" Slim asked, not wanting to know, but needing to know.

"I'm sure you heard part of it," Cross stuck a thumb toward the right wall. "The posse that you must have envisioned swooping in to save your sorry hides is long gone. They swooped all right, back to Laramie as fast as their mounts could take them, at least those who could still ride did. Those that were left behind, well, they're still lying in the mud down there."

Slim tried not to shudder, but it was nearly impossible. Mort would have been leading the posse, a group of men that would have been made up of his friends and neighbors. And some of them wouldn't be riding home. Slim couldn't know the numbers or the complete list of names, but there was one he knew for certain. Sheriff Mort Cory. He wouldn't have fled, which meant he was one that had dropped and bled. Although that was enough of a weight to add to Slim's already slumped shoulders, Cross had referenced the shattering of hope in pairs. The posse was only the first. There was still one more. It had to be. It couldn't be. But it was. Jess.

"Oh, and I mustn't forget Harper," the line on Cross' mouth drew straight, his dark eyes boring into Slim's, waiting to see him flinch. "He's at the bottom of a cliff."

"You're lying," Slim said, yet as soon as the words came out of his mouth, he knew it wasn't the truth. There had been a certain glower dancing on Cross' face when he had taunted Slim with Andy's death, something that Slim would have normally picked up on had the pain in his heart not been in control, but that same expression now didn't exist. Slim attempted a deep breath, but it came in shakily, watching as Cross' steps took him to the door. He wasn't lying.

Jess was at the bottom of a cliff.

…

Jess should have been at the bottom of the cliff, but somewhere between his releasing point and inevitable death was a ledge, where at one time two trees had attempted long odds at survival. The rocky ground eventually won, the remnants of the trees now only dark brown wooden poles with a few weak arms jutting out in various directions, but it was one of these outstretched limbs that brought temporary aid. Jess' right side hit the limb, the branch breaking on impact, but it was enough force against a falling object to slow Jess' plummet, just enough for the ledge to be obtainable. Even if was only by his hands.

Jess' body suspended in air as his hands barely clung onto the short outcropping of rocks. Already scraped, damaged and bloody from the battle with the rawhide and previous grip on the cliff side, there was little strength left in them to keep him held in place for long. If he could pull himself upward, Jess knew he had a chance, but what could he do perched on a ledge with no way back up and only one way down? He looked up at the trees, their strange silhouettes an image of their death, but for him they had resulted in life. But for how long? What lay below him still beckoned, and something above him seemed to prove that he was still destined to reach it.

Darkness was closing in, the shadows of the cliff muting out whatever dim light remained in the sky, but Jess wouldn't have needed a lantern beside him to know what was coming. His face felt it first, the rain gently dripping on his cheeks had suddenly hardened, the dropping temperatures not only freezing the falling liquid, but anything that it would touch. Feeling his palm start to slide as the ice increased, Jess quickly looked down below him, searching for even the smallest form of support. But there was nothing. Jess took a deep breath, snowflakes now mingling with the pellets, and he dropped his lashes as his fingers began to slip. The tree, the ledge, and his own tenacity had saved him before. Something else would have to save him now.

Jess had known all along what lived at the bottom of the cliff. He had heard its roar from each perching point and now he was about to meet it. Even in the blackest night, water could still reflect the sky, and Jess' eyes opened, seeing the swirling beast at flood level churning as if powered by a violent storm, made worse by the day after day of rainfall and snowmelt. Men often said at death they'd be six-feet under, but the depth of water raging out of control was extensively deeper. A watery grave might be the only hole Jess would ever get dropped into.

Jess hit, the air he drew in before his mouth went under not enough to fully fill his lungs, his body quickly screaming for more as the water wrapped around his waist like solid arms, jerking him farther down with each roll. Unable to fight the current, Jess' body rushed with the volume, his swimming skills still too new to properly help him, no matter how hard Jess pumped his arms. There was no sense of direction, up, down, sideways, all felt the same. An eerie silence surrounded him, and for a fleeting moment, Jess thought that he was entering his eternity, but there was no peace to go with it, only more torment.

Without realizing he was so close to the surface, Jess' head suddenly found freedom, the air pouring into his flaming lungs as fast as he was being led downstream. There was little he could do to remain at the edge, the torrent bobbing him up and down as if he were a worthless piece of driftwood, swallowing nearly as much water as he did air. Already his stomach wanted to retch out what had entered, his lungs protesting with similar force, he coughed, sputtered and inhaled whenever his mouth escaped the power that continuously clawed at him underneath.

Breaking the surface once more, Jess rapidly blinked his eyes to remove the droplets from his lashes, only to have them widen as something big and black loomed over the top of him. Air should have been all that he wanted, yet Jess suddenly had to do the exact opposite to live and he dove back under, desperately trying to avoid crashing into the rock wall that the current was shoving him against. Jess' leg brushed against the stony bank, not hard enough to crush, but enough to deflect, and he was suddenly thrust into the middle of the river, fearful that he was only headed for another piece of the water's doom. Yet, it was in this part of the frenzied rush where there was the most safety, for the rocks that meant certain death were now out of reach.

The struggle between air and water continued to beat upon Jess, his body growing weaker with each push forward, the fight within beginning to diminish. As a deep breath became nothing more than a slight inhale, Jess didn't think another could possibly follow when something tapped him on the shoulder. His hands scrambled to touch the solid form, but then as the water sloshed him quickly down and back out, it was gone. He reached out with both arms blindly searching, and then it slapped him again, this time hard on the back and Jess twisted his torso, the object now securely under his stomach. He gasped, the air pouring into his starving lungs, but the exhaustion poured inside even deeper. Jess' head dropped, his cheek loosely hugging his strangely shaped support, and then there was nothing more.

The first part of awakening was his hearing, the sound of the swollen river lapping against the stone walls at a constant roar, but nowhere near as deafening as when he was part of its hectic flow. Lying on his stomach, Jess was wet and cold, racked with uncontrollable shivers, the rattling of his teeth adding to the din around him. But there was more than just nature and Jess producing it. He heard a voice, a familiar voice, but although Jess' mind retained a certain level of fog, he knew it wasn't that of his enemy. But since the rush of relief was continuously absent, the familiarity wasn't that of a friend either.

"Dad-gum," Jess groaned, the heightened need to rise bringing him to his knees, only to have them collapse underneath him again. Not bested, Jess attempted another method, pushing his hands against the ground, but his trembling arms couldn't support his weight and he dropped back to the ground with a burst of air escaping through his clenched teeth.

"I wouldn't do that, Son," the voice, a mixture of groggy and gravel, reached out to him, and Jess shook his head, water flying from the tips of his hair to the thin layer of snow around him.

"Who…" Jess began, pausing for a hacking cough as his lungs refused to work without dumping another portion of the river back out of him. "…are you?"

"Don't you remember me, Boy?" Shuffled footsteps approached and Jess' hand involuntarily went to his hip, even though the gun had long ago been removed. "It's been almost a year, but I didn't think anyone would forget a partner."

"A partner?" Jess asked, still unable to place the pieces together, whether it was from being waterlogged, numb, or something entirely different.

"Well, kinda," the man chuckled, the sound triggering deeper into Jess' memory. "I shoulda known never to get paired up with a fella with an honest face."

"Judge?" Jess wiped his eyes in disbelief, turning his head upward as the scruffily bearded face bent over him. "Judge Barnaby Cade?"

"That's him, er, me," Barnaby thrust his hand into Jess' and pumped up and down. "I didn't figger meetin' you a'gin, and if I did, it wouldn't'a been from fishin' you outta no overfilled crick."

"You pulled me out?" Jess asked, turning his head toward the river, churning onward with its menacing rolls.

"I did," Cade nodded, squeezing the muscle on his upper arm. "Bet you didn't think there was that much strength in these old bones, didja? You almost sailed right on by. I kept poundin' on you with a stick, but then you finally caught on."

"I'm mighty obliged, Judge," Jess smiled, the strength returning enough that he was able to pull himself into a seated position.

"What're you doin' out here, Sonny?" Cade asked, his face shaped into a contorted frown as he raised a finger to point at the water. "Surely you're not after me a'gin? 'Cause if you are, I just might push you right back in."

"No," Jess shook his head, adding another necessary cough to rattle his chest. "I'm after someone much worse. That is, I will be if I can get back up where I fell from."

"You fell?" Cade let out a crackled guffaw. "How does somebody like you always got an angel lookin' over your shoulder?"

"Well, if you reckon I got an angel, then you better count yourself as being one that wears wings. Twice," Jess smiled as he held up two fingers, and then seeing that the puzzled expression on the Judge's face had deepened, he added, "Choctaw, remember?"

"Oh, yeah," Cade said, bobbing his head as the salt-and-pepper patches on his cheeks couldn't quite hide the pink tint that formed there. "Never mind about no wings, though. I'm far from the angelic type, a lot closer to the…well, you can figger that out. So you're after someone worse than me, huh? Anyone I know?"

"Dunno," Jess answered, the returned image in his mind of the suited outlaw making his hands ball into fists. "Calls himself C.C.; short for Carlyle Cross."

"Nope, never heard of him," Cade wagged his head back and forth. "Course I've been kinda outta the loop for awhile now. You, uh, after him for money?"

"No," the bark returned to Jess' voice with a sharp throb, the desire to fill his hands with Cross and his cohorts bringing him all the way to his feet. It was the middle of the night, snowing, and he didn't have a single sense of direction, but Jess knew he needed to get back in the place of battle. He hadn't dropped out of the sky to ride the rapids only to take it easy when he got out.

"Too bad," Cade shrugged, starting to turn back toward his campfire. "Mighta struck up our old partnership again iffen you was."

"Mind if I dry up a bit by your fire?" Jess asked, his strides taking him closer to the inviting flames.

"Well, Son," Cade pulled a bottle out of his coat pocket and took a long swig. "You can have your warmth at the fire, but I'll take mine with this. Think I'll nestle down for a bit. Don't wake me if I snore. I'm a bear before my morning cup of whiskey."

Jess sat down on a log, the heat of the fire doing more than just offering him a dryer shirt. He had aches in too many places to count, the campfire snapping and sparking at the wood he offered it creating a soothing balm to the places that hurt the most. Jess hated to admit the feeling, but it also made him sleepy. But when he thought of Slim, Jonesy and Andy, still stuck in that shack, tied to iron rods that didn't provide any comfort, Jess would never close his eyes. Turning his back to the flame, Jess flicked his eyes at the Judge's bedroll, his snore enough to create an echo. One open-mouthed snort would have been enough, but Jess had to hear them all in doubles.

Standing up, Jess took a few steps in the Judge's direction, tempted to wrestle with the bear and give him a kick awake, but before he swung his foot backward, in the flickering firelight, Jess saw another bottle. He knelt down and picked up the flask, its contents full to the brim. He gripped it tight, wanting it, but not in the way of passing it through his lips, but for Slim. Another snore ripped through Cade's throat and Jess found a smile, fitting the whiskey into his boot, the cork being the only portion that stuck out of its rim. Judge Barnaby Cade did owe him a bottle, since Jess had paid for every piece of equipment, liquid included, in their search for the robber's loaded stash.

"I wonder what else he's got I could use," Jess spoke softly, starting to sift through the Judge's meager camp. It was too bad Cade only used a shotgun, as it would have felt nice to have a loaded gun at his hip again, but Jess knew he could never wrangle the man's only weapon out of his grasp. As it was, Cade was lying with one arm wrapped around the iron.

Moving quietly, Jess stuck his hand inside of a saddlebag, wary at first, since he knew the Judge often left surprises for unsuspecting intruders, but other than hardtack that felt more like rocks than something edible, it appeared to be empty. But as he was about to give up, Jess touched something cold. Sticking it in his clasp, Jess pulled out his clenched fist and opened his palm. A pocketknife. This he could definitely use. A weapon, although small, but still very sharp, and one that could easily be concealed. Jess pushed the knife deep in his pocket, pausing as a snort turned to a grunt, but Cade only smacked his lips before arousing in another chorus of his slumber.

Needing the heat to be against his bones once more, Jess stepped back toward the fire, the intense chill beginning to seep away the longer he stayed by its flame, but only from his outer core. Nothing could warm his heart. He was someplace beyond being angry, having a deep hunger for revenge that could only be satisfied when a particular man was in his clutch. He stayed this way, the emotions at a constant churn, only multiplying as the sun, still covered by a layer of gray, rose enough in the east to lighten his surroundings.

The Judge was still snoring, although not as obnoxiously, and Jess stepped away from the campsite to feed Cade's horse. Two in the saddle would be slow going, but it would still be better than traveling back to the shack on foot. That is, if they could ever get ready to leave. After his night of drinking, Cade could sleep until noon. Jess didn't have that time, but he also couldn't take off on the Judge's horse and leave the old man afoot. The bottle and knife were one thing, horse stealing was something else altogether. Jess gave the horse a pat, his aim to face the bear head on, but Jess' feet suddenly slid to a stop in the slush and he crouched low behind a rock. Bull or Snake, it didn't matter which, but one of the half-breed's had just entered camp.

Jess kept his breath held as the large man silently stepped up to the Judge. With his rifle, he tapped Cade three times on the leg, the last coming harder to finally arouse the older man. He groaned, growled, and mumbled words that were inaudible to those that could hear him, but he found his feet, and Cade's head bent backward as he looked up into the face that loomed above him.

"That you, Chawwwwkie?" Cade elongated the name, finishing with a hiccup, his vision somewhere near a blur, unable to focus on the face in front of him, but seeing enough to bring his shotgun up a notch.

"No, Judge," Jess whispered, staying hidden, but unable to stop the fear from pounding in his temples that Cade was no match for the opposition, even if he was equally armed.

"Wait," Cade shook his head, the shotgun rising higher, his eyes blinking away the haze the same moment a dawning realization flashed through his mind. "Choctaw's dead."

It was about to happen. He could have slipped away, disappearing into the rocks while the half-breed did the unthinkable. He could have done nothing, only focusing on saving his own skin. But he didn't, because Jess wasn't that kind of man.

"No, Judge!" Jess leapt forward, crashing into Cade's back, sending both the old man and the shotgun spiraling to the ground. There was no way that he could reach it to defend himself, so Jess turned slowly, facing whatever wrath was to come head on.

"You," the half-breed grunted, the rifle aligned at the same level as Jess' head.

"Go ahead," Jess challenged, his feet firmly planted to the ground, even though what was underneath him was soft and slippery.

A fist was raised up high, a gasp emitted from a sotted mouth, and Jess felt the blow crash into his jaw. He staggered, unwilling to go down, and as Jess regained his stance, he expected a bullet to take the place of the fist. If one did come, Jess would never know it. With a rapid twirl, the butt of the rifle was in the air, swinging downward it met the back of his head and Jess landed onto the ground with a thud, lost in his own world of darkness.

And on the ground, something as red as crimson stained the whiteness of the snow.

:.:.:

As I left Jess falling from the cliff, I had water in mind as his landing point, but I hesitated at how he would get there. And then I read through a PM sent to me by Nakoosay, and I chose two of her ideas in how to save Jess. The tree limb and the ledge. Thank you, Nakoosay. You didn't think you were helping me, but you did so in a big way.

Kappa Girl, thank you for the vote of confidence in saying that I could fulfill your request! From the moment I read your suggestion, I was intrigued, and I wanted to accept the challenge, but I had to do it right. I watched "The Lawbreakers" twice this week, (it's a good thing it's one of my favorite episodes!) to try to capture the Judge's character. I hope I did him justice. Thank you for this idea, as I feel it adds a different twist to this story.