Two Brothers

While the story's plot is strictly my own, this story is inspired by
a member of this fanfiction site, "twobrothers", who is a
regular reader of Laramie's stories, including my own.
I don't know if during the creation of this name that it
applied to Laramie's characters, but the more I saw "twobrothers"
hanging around my favorite fanfic town, the more I applied it to
Slim, Andy and Jess. So if you're thinking then, shouldn't
the title be Three Brothers, for the three original characters?
Well, I guess you'll just have to read and find out why it stands at two. CW

Chapter One

The hand that rubbed Slim's eyes lingered at the bridge of his nose until the blur of sleep was gone. With one more pinch, the last of his slumber drifting away, he shifted his blues around the room. Andy was up already?

Slim frowned as his hand pulled away from his face to crawl across the bedside table to feel for his watch. The cool circle in his clasp, he gave the lid a pop and read the numbers. Ten after. He was about to shrug one shoulder, that the minutes that had ticked off were meaningless, but then Slim shot up in bed, the face of the watch directly in front of his own.

"Ten after eight!"

No wonder Andy was already up, as should he have been over an hour ago. Long legs swung over the side of his bed, Slim quickly reached for his pants. The pulling up and fastening at the waist were completed as he rose, his boots stamped on mid-stride, and last his shirt and its row of buttons were done as he walked from sleeping quarters to that of eating.

"Morning, Jonesy."

The coffee pot was raised and then poured into a cup. "You're late."

"I know." Slim dumped half of its contents down his throat. It was a good thing the pot had been seated at the stove's rear, otherwise his tongue might be doing a wild dance right about now. "It wasn't intentional, I'll tell you that."

He had already wakened once. The crow of the rooster brought his eyelids open near the six-thirty mark, the drop back down not done with such a droop that he would open slumber's door and fall immediately into it again. Yet Slim wasn't going to jerk the covers off. There was something specific he was waiting for, something that had happened on this date every year since he had been home from the war. Except for this morning.

Just in case Slim had gone cross-eyed and jumbled up today's number, he left the coffee cup in Jonesy's palm and walked to his desk. The calendar was there, just as he had viewed it the night before. It was the correct date, all right.

Leaning his head through the bedroom door, Slim looked again at Andy's bed. Disheveled, it was, like he had sprung out in a hurry, kind of how Slim had finally decided to welcome this day as if a hot-poker had been his prod.

His hands connected to his hips. "So why didn't he wake me?"

Slim might have gone a little deeper than dozing when he did succumb to the quiet breaths in the room, but he wasn't at such a head-thwacked state where he wouldn't have heard an excited shout in his ear. And even though Andy was pushing the mark that took him away from being a little kid, he was still kid enough that his whoops were exuberant ones. Slim's mouth toyed with the memory from last year.

"Wake up, Slim!" The small knees splayed over his belly as the two hands pumped against his chest, the shrill howl enough to send the livestock scattering. "It's Jubilee Day in Laramie! How soon're we gonna leave?"

Slim had tried to fake a frown. "How soon can we eat breakfast, do the chores, get cleaned up and get the team hitched?"

"That far?"

"Well." Slim's hand had gone up in the air, his forefinger allowing a small span over his thumb. "Maybe we can trim it down a little and not get cleaned up. Just don't tell Jonesy."

"Wow!"

Slim's mouth spread apart, matching Andy's response from the previous year, although his was almost a hundred times more subdued. "Wow."

Jubilee Day. To Andy Sherman it was right up there with Christmas. Maybe even higher, as the most Holy Day on the calendar usually found the ranch house blanketed so deeply in snow, they were closed behind its walls. Sometimes it was well past the auld lang syne before the road could be dug out and a trip to town made. And because Wyoming's winters were unpredictable in the wrong kind of way, Slim would make Andy stay home. So Jubilee Day was something special, an event the two brothers had shared with the kind of abandon that by the time the day was upon them, Slim's insides were prone to the same type of giddiness that Andy possessed.

The question mark etched itself over Slim's brow a second time. "Then why didn't he wake me?"

A shout outside of the door made the handle turn and Slim stepped onto the porch. He could hear the youthful chatter, in fact every word, and he leaned against the railing with a smile. Well, Andy hadn't forgotten. Even if Slim's ears had been unable to catch the burst about "Jubilee", it was obvious by the bright cheeks that he knew what this day was going to hold. But then the confusion tugged his lips in the opposite direction.

Andy knew and purposely didn't wake him.

He barely breathed what was becoming a perpetual rotation in his mind. "Why?"

But perhaps he was looking at it. Standing next to Andy, one boot perched on the bottom corral rung while Andy straddled the top, was Jess. The man that Slim had invited to stay almost a full year ago that had taken the easy step from ranch hand to friend was listening to Andy's stream of words. Although from Slim's vantage point, he couldn't tell if Jess' ears were lifted in genuine interest or that he was merely listening because he had nothing better to do.

The forward motion of his foot started toward the two when Slim's frame naturally pulled up. Jess was reaching into his pocket, his fingers expertly extracting both the thin line of white and the match to light it with. In one strike against the corral's post the tip glowed, Jess' mouth absorbing its opposite end and then at its removal, the silver cloud went into the sky. Smoking. Apparently Slim was going to have to talk with him again. He had already insisted that if Jess was going to drag on cigarettes that he should do it only when Andy wasn't present. The last thing Slim wanted was to have Andy heaving more than his lungs out from taking a sample of what Jess seemingly enjoyed.

"What's Jubilee Day?" Jess asked, his lips finishing with a puff. At least that time the smelly swirls were forced toward the ground.

"It's a celebration that the folks in Laramie put on. You missed it by a couple weeks last year before you came here to stay. There's lots of food, horse races, three-legged races, that's with people, and a shoot-off. You should enter that, Jess. I'd bet you'd beat everybody else. You saw the Sunday Shoot that Laramie puts on in the summer, when fella's come from miles around to see who's the best at rifle shooting. Remember? But Jubilee's is different. Today's contest is just the Laramie men and showcases both pistol and rifle shots."

"Sounds kinda interesting."

"Oh, it is. I think it's my favorite day of the year, and this year's gonna be the best ever. That is, if you're coming along. You're going, aren't you, Jess?"

"Yeah, sure. Sounds like a lotta fun."

"Wahoo!" Andy's hand slapped Jess' shoulder, the momentum making his body start to slip from his perch. If there hadn't been a pair of solid hands below him, Andy would have fallen, but Jess' security brought him safely to the ground to look up into his brother's eyes that had suddenly appeared beside Jess'. "Hi Slim!"

"Hi yourself."

Andy's finger went toward the sun's angle. "Don't you know what time it is?"

He was about to ask the same. Maybe it was best that he hadn't got it out before his brother's blurt. Slim's just might have left his tongue with some heat in its wake. "Yeah, I know what time it is."

"Well, the chores are 'most done. Jess has seen to that."

"Thanks, Jess." Slim said, eyeing the cigarette and it was obvious by the sudden drop to the ground and the boot that crushed it that Jess caught his stare. He might have even felt its sear.

"Sure." Jess tossed his head toward the horses. "Want me to hitch up? Andy said something 'bout this festival thing starting at noon."

"I need to get cleaned up first," Slim answered, bringing his hand around to touch the shoulder of his brother. "And it looks like you need to wash more than your hands."

"Aw, Slim."

"No, aw, Slim. The washbasin."

It took his fingers to slightly press into the flesh to get Andy steered in the pump's direction. If he would have let his brother follow the ranch hand, the dust along Andy's chin would have gone all the way to Laramie. With Jess angling toward the barn, it was obvious that the newest member wasn't going to apply any soap. Probably wasn't going to shave his morning whiskers off either.

Oh well. Not every mustang is able to be tamed.

The towel in Slim's hands catching the last of the droplets that were left after he rinsed the suds from his face, his eyes wandered the length of the yard. Now that it was just the two of them, the morning's lack of leaping onto his frame could see more light than what Slim's inner flame was producing.

He cleared his throat before putting it out in the open. "I'm sorry I overslept this morning. I hope you weren't worried when you couldn't wake me."

"Oh." Andy swallowed, the tug on his shirtsleeves abrupt to get them back to their full length. "I forgot. When I woke up, Jess wasn't in bed anymore, so I ran out to find him. He wasn't here for last year's festival and I wanted to tell him all about the Jubilee. I'm sorry I didn't wake you like always."

"It's all right, Andy." Slim smiled, using his fingers as a comb for his brother's unruly chunk of hair that kept popping up in the back.

"So you're not mad?"

"No." Not anymore anyway, although if Slim would have taken the time to put a proper identification on his emotions, that might not have been the word he would have come up with. But at least now he could put dawn's lack of howling in his ears behind him. "You did fine. Jess is part of this family too, so I guess we'll have to figure out a way to properly include him in our morning ritual next year."

"Right!" Andy's grin spread as his heels spun, his direction for the barn and the obvious chore he had in mind. Helping Jess get the team hitched. That was fine, Slim had his own list to do.

The razor found Slim's face, the brush put everything on top just right, and a dab of something with fragrance was swished over all. This might be a day set aside for the brothers to enjoy, but a man never knew when a particularly lovely skirt might sway his way. Nodding at his appearance in the mirror, Slim grabbed a honey-slicked biscuit that Jonesy left for him on the table and then returned to the outside air, the last minute details checked off before he could put his backside into the driver's seat.

"I see you're ready to go," Slim said, laying his rifle inside the wagon.

"Been that way for awhile," Andy answered, his pants giving the seat an extra polish as he shimmied over to make room for Slim.

Nodding at the seat that would only fit three, Jess tugged on the reins of his horse. "I reckon I'll ride."

"Here's your coat, Andy," Jonesy said, handing up the jacket. "Never know when a wind's gonna come along to make a nose sniffle. Oh, Slim, did you get those pies and cookies I made loaded up?"

"Sure did."

"Good. Let me make sure they're settled, all right. Hey, there's some molasses cookies missing. Now how'm I supposed to stand alongside all them Laramie ladies with any sort of pride when half the plate's empty?"

"Sorry, Jonesy. I thought they were for snacking on in the wagon, and since I was gonna ride, I didn't wanna miss out."

"Well, I won't shoot you for it, but just mind your fingers next time they go to sneaking inside a closed box."

Jess tipped his hat, the grin unable to hide behind his raised hand. "That I'll do, Jonesy."

"All right, Jess," Slim said when Jonesy's tail-end was in place. "Lead us to Laramie's Jubilee."

"Yahoo!"

.:.

Andy's exclaim must have been repeated a half dozen times before Laramie's outskirts came into view. There was one oddity. When the Sherman wagon finally rolled into the backstreets to park, the boy's tongue was tied with silence.

"Too much excitement." That was Slim's take, but Jonesy's might have been closer to the real mark. "Too much food, particularly the sweet stuff."

That thought put Jonesy in his proper direction with all of his boxes to compete as the only man among a bevy of women, which, depending on how the man looked at it, wasn't such a bad thing. Andy ran first to the overloaded food tables, but where he could have started taking his stomach on a long and eventful journey, his real destination was to sign up for the three-legged race. Jess looked over the decorations and seemingly satisfied with that single glance, went to get his mouth around a beer glass. And Slim, he might have been to more Jubilee's than everyone he rode into town with, but when the festivity's horn sounded, he felt like he didn't know where to go.

An hour later he was still among the back row of onlookers, his shoulder leaning against the bakery's south wall. At least he now had something to watch, even if it put the incense to smolder again.

"Oh, there you are, Slim. Did you get to see?"

"Yeah. I saw them, all right. Andy and Jess are entered in the three-legged race."

"No, I was talking about the bake contest. Didn't you see it?"

Slim shook his head, eyes still fastened to the starting line where a boy and a man were getting their legs tied together.

Jonesy followed his gaze, his shoulders given a quick rise. "No, I guess you couldn't. Well, just so you know why my buttons are about to bust wide, my pie came in second place. Only Mrs. Allenbaugh beat me, and you know how Mrs. Allenbaugh can make pies."

"That's good, Jonesy. Real good."

He tipped his head to the side. "You'd probably say the same if I'd said I'd come in last place."

"Uh-huh."

Jonesy stretched upward on his toes trying to reach Slim's knot-hole level. "Hmm."

"What?"

"Just wondering when your eyes turned green."

"Green?" Slim's headshake was almost as hard as his frown. "You know they've always been blue."

"Not today, they ain't."

"What're you getting at, Jonesy?"

"You must've caught a bug when you got up this morning, or that bug must've caught you. A little pest, it is, worse than a mosquito. And his name is Jealousy."

If the eyes were green, and as the sudden ripening of his cheeks turned to red, then Slim would have won best-dressed at a Christmas party. "I'm not jealous."

"Well, whatever you wanna call it, I thought you and Jess had all those sideways emotions figured out a long time ago."

"We did. But then Andy thought it more important to tell Jess about Jubilee than to give me his usual holler to get up."

"So you admit you're feeling jealous."

Slim's hand slapped against his thigh at almost the same staccato that dropped off of his tongue. "No. I was just a little upset is all. I'm well over it."

"Not sure you look the same way you say it."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Oh, nothing much."

"You know, Jess is more of a kid than I am. He lost a lot of his youth. I should be happy that he's out there, acting it up like he's closer to Andy's age than mine."

"Then why ain't you smiling?"

"Because I'm Andy's brother. And someone else is by his side other than me."

"Well, honesty ain't a poisonous pill to take down. You've got that part outta the way, now do the other part of being a big brother and be happy for him. And what's more, there's yet another part here that you're overlooking. You've got two little brothers down there together. Even more reason to cheer."

"You mean Jess?"

"I do. Tell me he's not like a brother to you."

Slim couldn't. But Jonesy didn't give him a long enough break to put in a reply anyhow.

"So since you've got a genuine pair out there running amok, maybe you should give them some brotherly support instead of brooding about not being in it. You know, it looks like they've got a good chance at winning this match. Usually the Thornton twins take that prize, but after that stumble they took at the starting line, they're never gonna catch up."

A smile tickled the corner of Slim's mouth. Jonesy was probably right, and it did look like Jess was going to give Andy the victory he always craved. Except Elmer and Waylon Looce were catching up. If either bobbled the slightest, all Andy and Jess would get was second place.

Slim cupped his hands over his mouth. "Let's go Andy! You can do it! Come on, Jess! Bring him on home!"

"They're gonna do it, they're gonna do it!" Jonesy repeated, his hat going straight up in the air when the line was finally crossed. "They did it!"

"Now that's a year's worth of squeals if I ever saw one," Slim said, hurrying to reach Andy's side to give the boy a hug the moment the different sized legs were freed from the other.

"We won, Slim! Did you see?"

"Yes," Slim answered, although he wouldn't have admitted that most of the race he was watching with green eyes. "Congratulations, Andy. You too, Jess."

"Thanks." Jess shook his head, taking a small portion of the droplets of sweat out of his hair. "Whoo. That took a lotta wind outta me."

The wishful thought made Slim's eyebrow dart toward his hairline. "Enough that you're going to back out of the shoot off?"

"Nope. I gotta be more'n winded to not be able to handle my gun."

"I bet you'll win that, too! Don't you think, Slim?"

"No bet. Especially since I'm going to try to come out on top myself. Come on, Jess, let's get over there together so we can be in the same set. The first shooters on the line are usually the best ones."

Slim's words were true. After every man had an opportunity to prove he was worthy of entering, the first group of six were the only ones with the skill to advance to the next round. Jess, Slim, Bailey Brown, Peter Massey, Cole Ferguson and Dub Walsh stood close to one another, filling their pistols up with lead. They had already let the insides of their rifles fly, and as Jess, Slim, Bailey and Cole were the only shooters to hit every bullet on an exact dot, it was down to who could do their side-arms proud.

Somewhere along the line, Andy turned into a circus' ringleader. Every ear within range was tuned to Andy's enamored dialect. Forgetting about the brother that raised him and everyone else that was merely a name among Laramie's township, the subject of Andy's animation was the only man in the lot he deemed as hero.

"Look at Jess Harper shoot! Every can, and not a single hole outside of the center! Can his hand gun be the same match?"

Everyone held their breath as Mort gave the whoop to begin and then the air turned wild with the sound of bullets, some smacking dead-center while others pinged off objects that weren't even a part of the contest.

"Wow! If you blinked you'd've missed that there wasn't a single miss from Jess! Oh, his weapons are like a trick pony! How does he do it? More than practice, I'd say. It's like magic!"

Slim sighed. His brother was certainly as on target as Jess was. Slim's sidearm lowered, as he knew without looking at the marks the judges were going over that one of his bullets had gone astray. He would be ousted again.

"You've got me beat, Jess." Slim nodded toward the trophy. "See if you can bring it on home."

Jess flashed his teeth. "Sure, why not?"

He glanced at the small, golden gun atop a pedestal that sat in front of the sheriff. He didn't need it, didn't really want it. Jess hadn't started a collection from using his gun, not even putting a notch in his iron back in the days when he was using it for the wrong kind of purpose. He wasn't about to change that attitude now. But there was a difference in all of those gun draws of his past. There was a young boy rooting for Jess to take that trophy in hand.

His eyes glittered at Andy's newest whoop. This was kind of fun, at that. Wouldn't hurt to show off, just a little. The iron in his clasp refilled with its teeth, Jess' finger gave it a fancy twirl before it became reseated in leather. Not only the boy in his life seemed to utter an ooh, but there must have been a half-dozen or more ladies that were suddenly fanning their cheeks.

By the time he was through, Jess just might get a full-out swoon.

"Here comes the final round!" Mort Cory shouted from the street's center. "Bailey Brown versus Jess Harper. It's not just about hitting the mark this time, but whoever cleanly hits their target and does it the fastest, wins. The six-gun goes first this go around, but unless it's a straight-on tie, rifles won't be necessary. It's all down to this right here. Line up, boys."

The stare beside his was cold. He felt it, but Jess refused to return it. Everything right now was to be focused on the cans across the street. The eyes that were observing him would do better if he would do the same. His lashes getting a slight lower to hone in even further, Jess' hat bobbed a single time. He was ready for the starting call.

Hand tingling over his hip, at the sheriff's shout he pulled, pointed, and shot, the reports out of his gun and the bullets performing a perfect match. And then given a variation on the previous spin, the gun returned to its home at the very moment Bailey Brown's last target was triggered. Jess already knew, but he kept his stance stilled, waiting for the sheriff's finger to point his way. It came.

"It's over!" Andy screamed, his leap so high that Slim caught him mid air to hoist him atop his shoulders. "Jess won!"

There was no use counting how many backslaps Jess received, but by the time the trophy was handed through the throng, the entire town of Laramie, well, mostly the men and the few aforementioned, giddy females, had given Jess their congratulations. Keeping one arm around his biggest fan, Jess stepped onto a beer barrel, cut in half and upside down and hoisted the trophy to the sky.

All this convoluted pomp was worth it for the joy spilling out of Andy's mouth. Jess could only catch a few words out of the hundred that must have run over his eardrums, but the emotion beside him was what mattered. Jess had made the boy happy, and right now that was a far greater treasure than a fancy carving that was splashed with some golden paint.

"Had any fudge yet?" Jess asked when the crowd began to disperse.

"Yeah, but there's room for more," Andy said, tugging on his arm. "Want to come along?"

"Actually my throat's got a hankering for something wet instead. You go on over to the tables and I'll catch up with you in a bit."

"All right, Jess."

His foot started toward the display of all things edible, but Andy couldn't help but watch Jess go into the Stockmen's Palace. For obvious reasons he had never been in there, but at the moment, the appeal was just as strong as putting some more fudge between his teeth. Boots changing directions, Andy slowly walked toward the bustling building, head darting over his shoulder with each step to make sure he wasn't about to get tanned. He found his breath when he couldn't find Slim, and then he made the boardwalk underneath the batwings his chair.

He might have taken his fill with one look and left if the man that Jess had beaten at the shoot-off wasn't within five feet of him, shooting his mouth just as hard as what had gone out of his gun.

"Harper." The voice growled as he looked up to his brother, Scottie. "Who is that no-account anyway?"

"He's no no-account. A friend of Sherman's, or ranch hand, not sure which. But he's definitely not a no-account. He's got a past."

Bailey's lean away from the bar rail was twofold. The way his back was bristling, he needed to be upright, but this way, he could shift his eyes past Scottie to view Jess Harper at the opposite end of the bar. "What kind?"

"Gunfighting."

The whiskey acted like a streak of lightning down Bailey's throat. "So he's a cheat."

"Well, if you wanna call it that."

"I do." Bailey's head spun to find the badge that he knew was in the room. The star had been at the poker table, his presence to keep things from getting out of control when the last hand didn't go the way the dealer wanted. Bailey's steps took him so close he was bound to interrupt, cards, chips and all. "Sheriff, are you gonna let that stand?"

"What stand?"

"The shooting match. It ain't right that a professional took the prize. That's one of the reasons why the rules strictly say that only Laramie men can enter, so no outsider with a reputation can come in and flaunt his stuff."

"Jess Harper qualifies. He lives in Laramie."

"Well he certainly doesn't qualify with me."

"It's your right to feel that way, Bailey, but while we're on the subject, maybe I should be questioning you."

"About what?"

"About the fact that you've been out of Laramie for the last nine or so months. Maybe you shouldn't have qualified for the contest."

"That may be, but I've made my bunk in Laramie far longer than he has."

"All right, cool off. I don't want any trouble, Bailey. You hear?" Mort's finger stayed in Bailey's chest, but when only the man's heated breaths were on the other side, his eyes shifted to the older brother. "That goes for you too, Scottie."

"We hear, all right, Sheriff," Scottie answered, nodding through a long draw from his beer.

"Make sure that it sticks," Mort said, his boot angling toward the batwings done reluctantly. If old Willie wasn't lying like a doormat outside of Windy's right now, then Mort wouldn't have left Stockmen's Palace. But since the poker players gave him a grumbling promise of obedience, it was about time he put the drunk behind bars, lest the pitiful man wandered in the street and became imbedded with hooves from head to toe.

Bailey waited until the sheriff's back was far enough outside that the doors that marked his exit stopped swinging. "What'd you agree for?"

"I didn't agree to anything, or are your ears in need of cleaning? All I said is that we heard what Cory said."

Bailey's mouth responded to the tickle and smiled. "So you'll help me with Harper?"

"It doesn't set well with me to have my brother get beaten by a pro. Sure, I'll help."

"Go around on his other side."

The last droplets of beer going down with a smack of his lips, Scottie nodded toward Harper. "Guns or fists?"

"Both, if this doesn't work out. Get going."

There were a lot of men lined up, some guzzling the brew, others just sipping it, but Bailey used his clout, attitude and muscular, to move through the crowd to where Harper stood. He knew Harper had eyed him, but the contact wasn't more than a brief lift of his steely blue. Even that hackled him. The last straw was when Harper put the whiskey up to his mouth, its flow down so smooth that not even the lines around his lips twitched. On his tongue it had been fire, just like how Bailey's insides burned when Jess' name was called as the winner. Maybe it was about time for a redo.

"You know, Harper. Shooting at targets is a lot different than facing a man. I'd be fine with finishing the contest out in the street."

"Contest's over." Jess' hand pushed the trophy to the bar top's center. "And it looks like I already won."

He eyed it first, but as his jaw contorted to the position of locked, Bailey slapped the trophy off of the bar, striking a bottle that resembled a waterfall as its brown contents rained to the floor. "Not anymore."

Jess stuck his chin over his shoulder. Since Scottie was behind him, a bullet, or its less offensive part, the gun butt, would also strike from behind if Jess' hand even flirted with the handle on his hip. "You know, I already used my gun enough today. I ain't opposed to letting my fists get some work in."

"Harper, that'll suit me just fine," Bailey said, giving his brother a nod.

And that would be who Jess aimed for first. Jess' entire body at its hardest position, he spun, the hit against Scottie's nose bringing an instant stream. But the set of hands digging into his vest was about to toss him a barroom mile.

.:.

"Where's Andy?"

Slim had been looking since the hurrahs had dwindled to silence. Most of the townsfolk had moved on to Laramie's west entry to where the horse race would start and eventually end. Slim wanted to be among the watching revelers, but only if Andy was by his side. They had to have one part of this day together.

He looked at Jonesy, putting his second-place pie in the wagon's bed and gave a repeat. "Where's Andy?"

Jonesy nodded toward the place. How the older man's expression could be so calm when Slim's eyes were about to pop like corn over some leaping flames away from his face he wouldn't begin to analyze. All that Slim could understand was that his little brother was sitting on the ground at the saloon's batwings. If Slim could judge by the way he was perched, he must have been watching pure sin on its other side. And it better not be a saloon girl doing a particular sashay to get a fellow to follow her upstairs. Slim wasn't ready for that kind of conversation just yet.

"Andy."

That was as far as Slim's irritation could spread. He leapt, the spring of his steps barely getting Andy's body out of the way of what was hurtling through the double doors. Slim wouldn't need to look twice. It was Jess, all right. And the moment he scrambled to his feet, Jess was running back in, the immediate table being overturned its own evidence that the fight hadn't ceased.

Well, at least it wasn't a painted lady. But this was reaching up to tip over a similar scale.

"Stay here," Slim commanded, grateful that there was an older set of hands that could take the place of his own. By the sounds from the other side of the wall, his words would have been impossible for a young boy to obey, especially since Andy had already had more than a sample of that kind of raucous display.

It took Slim all of three seconds to figure out what was going on when the batwings were swinging behind him. Now the minute details, those would keep until the blood stopped flowing, but what was obvious was that Jess was getting his first shave of the day by the Brown brothers. And as the blade was by the pair's equally sharp fists, more than the top layer might come off.

Slim's long arms attached to the brother closest to him and if Scottie's nose hadn't been a fountain before, it was now. The second jab would become a perfect shiner, but Slim was about to get one of his own. Bouncing off of the wall at the shot to his face, Slim barreled toward his opponent, but the tight ball going into his stomach would only drop him to the floor. The man on top of him might have been heavy-set, but Slim's muscles weren't made out of marshmallows. Lifting the man's entire frame off of him, Slim tossed him over a table that met its demise as it crashed to the floor. Something similar smashed over his back. By the remnants that fell around him, Slim figured it was a chair. Turning, he caught a glimpse of Bailey's wild eyes before he put his fist into the man's lips. He shrugged at the sudden switch of opponents and kept the dance going with Bailey as Jess continued the match with Scottie.

Neither would get much farther.

The smoke from Mort Cory's gun was able to overpower every lit cigarette in the room. The blast itself helped, but to keep the entire crowd's attention longer, Mort had to make his voice the same. "That's enough!"

"Sorry, Sheriff." Jess' heaves were broken by the blood that trickled off of his lips. "But 't'weren't my doin'."

"Slim?" At least this name he could trust.

"I was just trying to prevent Bailey and Scottie from rearranging Jess' furniture too badly. Was two against one when I came into the thing."

Mort's mouth grew firm as he directed his gaze to the Browns. "I should've known. What'd I tell you about causing trouble?"

"Couldn't help it, Sheriff," Bailey said, but if he would have let the full excuse trail outward, he might be looking at too many days behind bars. One would be bad enough, and by the look in Sheriff Cory's eyes, he and Scottie were definitely going to have that.

"Jail for the two of you." The confirmation brought Mort's hand, close enough to the grip of a cuff, around Bailey's wrist.

Slim saw Jess' cringe. Heck, he was feeling his own bodily flinch as he didn't want Andy to witness the turning of an iron key. His thumb darted between his chest and Jess'. "And us, Sheriff?"

Mort sighed, the firm line of his mouth given permission to rise just a little. "Why don't the two of you go home?"