Chapter Five

The yawn split his face wide. The shake of his head could have sent both halves to the floor if he wasn't careful and Slim's fingers rose upward to quell the rattle before he watched his eyes roll around like marbles underneath him.

Hearing the rooster crow, Slim didn't bother to search for the proper time. It was sometime in early dawn, which meant that it was time for him to get up. Not that he had slept long enough to call it getting up anyway. The couch might be comfortable when all he wanted to do was sit in its center and feel the welcoming warmth of the fireplace against his outstretched socks, but to get any actual hours of sleep in, Slim would have been better off if he tossed his bedroll in a desert. Except he couldn't even venture farther than the barn without worrying so hard that his insides shook. All Slim could do was to keep going without sleep. The other option wasn't even a solid enough option to call it as such. But if that were true, why did Slim keep thinking about him?

He yawned again, its finish loud in the empty room.

Bedroom door coming open with a creak, Jonesy peered onto its other side and slowly nodded. "Thought I heard you awake."

Slim peeled his hands away from his face. "How's Andy this morning?"

"Better. He's sitting up."

"That's good."

"I told him I'd whip up some flapjacks for him, but I wanted to wait and see if you'd like a stack too."

"No. I'm not hungry."

"That's getting to be a repetitive thing. You not wanting to eat, I mean. There a reason, you think?"

"Jonesy, I've got a persistent pain in my gut from a brother who won't talk to me. For two days now he won't even look at me when I go into the room. That's reason enough."

"Thought maybe it was because of the other one you sent away."

Slim stood, the loose buttons at his chest getting a rapid fasten. "If I want a sermon, I'll go to church."

"I reckon the preacher'd say about the same thing. How does that go again? 'And the Lord said to Cain. Where is Abel thy brother? And he said, I know not. Am I my brother's keeper?'"

Reaching for his hat that rested by the door, Slim slammed it onto his head, his walk outside abrupt, his steps in rather a straight line for his horse. He knew he couldn't run from truth, whatever the truth actually was. He had about a dozen different versions of it pounding against his body every way he turned. But Slim could at least put some ground underneath him. And fast.

Slim used the rarely touched piece of leather to churn the dust underneath his mount. But it was so hot he eventually had to stop and the stream became refuge for man and animal. The cool water ran off of his lashes, nose and chin. Cupping another bowl in his palms, Slim tossed it into his face, surprised there wasn't steam rising as the air around him could have produced blisters.

He could have said the same about his stomach, what with all of the heat that had settled there. No wonder he didn't want to eat with the way it churned. Filling his hand, Slim swallowed the small amount and then worked his fingers into his abdomen. Likely it would settle down when Andy did.

Like he told the boy, he couldn't stay silent forever. But on the other hand, didn't pain have the ability to go on and on, at least this side of heaven?

Slim shook his head. It was time to move on, anyway. This was a ranch, a working ranch, and sitting idle had never been Slim's method. But neither was working alone.

The grueling sun still at a pound against his back, Slim braced his feet against the hard soil to allow the muscles in his arms to move the rock that was in the way of his fence post. Pa must have moved a hundred of them this size and larger with nothing more than a bean sprout beside him to help. Yet how come Slim's struggle was this lofty, when he was the perfect match in body, size and shape to the Sherman that had already met his Maker?

Because for the last year, Slim had become used to having a similar structure by his side.

Anger replacing what the afternoon light produced, Slim almost put his boot into the rock. It would have been an instant break if he had. Instead, Slim heaved the rock so that it rolled down the hillside, the loud splash into the lake not even able to bring a spark of pleasure to his face.

Jess would have teased that Slim's belly would have flopped even harder than that. And then bet him his day's wages to prove he was right.

That made the edge of his mouth tickle, but not for long. "I won't think about him. He's done. Gone."

Just like Slim was about to be. It was the hour for lunch, but even while Slim would refuse a full plate again, he would at least acknowledge the mealtime, if only just to give his back a break. Medicinal purposes would likely go down better anyway, and the bottle wasn't out here, but stuck in the back cupboard that only his height could reach.

His horse beside him taking the needed fill from the water trough, Slim stripped his shirt so that he could douse more than his face underneath the pump. Looking at his reflection, mottled by the drips coming off of his chin, Slim debated putting his entire head underneath the water line. But even that wouldn't likely give him relief. Not when it was more than the sun turning him red.

Suddenly a hand stretched into his vision, at the end was a towel. Taking it up, Slim put it into his burning cheeks but kept his gaze on Jonesy.

"Slim."

"What?"

"I've got Andy pried open far enough to talk to you. But you better do it quick. Oh, and wash up a bit more. You look like you've been floating in lava. The way he's been feeling, that boy doesn't need to see you all aglow, but even tempered, and ready to listen."

He turned toward the shower. "Get me some soap, then."

It did feel good to chuck pants and longjohns and just stand under the bucket's steady drip. When the last of it went over his head, the slide down his chest to land at his feet made Slim look down. All of his toes were hidden by the suds. Never before had he scrubbed so hard that there were leftovers, not even when he had a supper date with the prettiest girl in Laramie. What exactly was he trying to clean anyway? Jonesy said that he needed to shed some of the heat so he didn't look like Terry Mulligan's best ringside match, but the way Slim had rubbed up the bar of soap into his palms and then spread it over his entire frame, he must have been attempting to clean something far deeper, like his soul.

"There's nothing wrong with my soul," Slim said aloud, giving his head a nod to go with his firm statement. But Slim was still unconvinced enough that he slammed his hand against the shower door, making the entire structure rattle.

"I thought I told you to clean up your temperament?" Jonesy called from the kitchen door.

"You did. It's down there in the soap somewhere."

"Well shake off the rest and get dressed, Andy's just finishing up with his cookies. Never gonna be a sweeter time than this."

He hoped so. Stepping back into the sunlight, Slim patted himself dry, letting the sun handle the remainder and then put the clean jeans and shirt that Jonesy had left on the fence rail for him. He felt like he was getting dressed for an occasion, a dance or something alike in town, not just to meet his own brother, but in reality, this was something special. A way that could reunite the pair together. That is, if Slim took the right path.

"Oh good, you're ready," Jonesy said when Slim walked into the house and then used his thumb as a directory. "I'll be in the kitchen while you two have a go at it. Maybe then you'll want some of the beefsteak and potatoes that I served Andy and me."

"Maybe," was all he could utter. And then with a slight rap of his knuckles against the partially open door, Slim walked into the room that had been shared since Andy grew out of the cradle.

"Andy." He was surprised at how soft it came out. Every time Slim said his brother's name in his head, it came out a shriek. Like what was expressed when Slim saw his bent body on the rocky floor.

The return was even softer. "Slim."

"You feeling any better?" Slim asked, sitting down next to Andy, yet he still refrained from putting his arm around the boy.

He nodded, but it was obvious that Andy intended on that answer staying quiet. This other, had to come out with a pound. "Why did you send Jess away?"

Ouch. Andy went right for the jugular.

Slim tried to swallow around its sudden throb. "He's not the right fit in our family, Andy. I'm sorry I didn't see that early on. It could've saved us a lot of hurt. It could've saved you from almost dying."

"I don't believe that, Slim. And neither do you. Jess belongs with us."

"Not anymore. I know it's hard for you to see it right now, but it's better this way. This is how Pa wanted it, after all. Just the two of us."

"I think Pa would've accepted Jess. It's you that's always looking for his faults."

"Andy…"

"I'm not finished, Slim. I haven't been able to understand why, but you've been mad at him since Jubilee. Please tell me why."

The sigh was hard to get out without making its sound a rumble of thunder. "It's complicated, Andy."

"I doubt it. You're only saying that because you don't wanna see the right answer."

"Andy, there's something that you can't see either. But I think it's time I show you. Jess' characteristics have changed you. I know you took off with his gun. You were target practicing. Alone. And you were pretending to smoke. These things would've never been done before he came to live with us."

"All right, so I did go off to shoot. If you wanna punish me for that, I'll take what's coming. But what's the matter with pretending? You and Jonesy always encouraged my imagination when I was little."

"But you're not five years old anymore. These aren't play games about cowboys, Indians or even bank robbers. You're trying to be like Jess."

"So? Jess is different than the rest of us."

Sarcasm could have taken a lesson from Slim's eye-roll and tone. "Well, I'm glad you finally noticed."

"But I don't think you really do. I don't have to pretend to be a rancher, like you, Slim. I already do the work of one so there's no use make believing I'm gonna soap harness, ride fence or any of the other things we do every day."

Slim sat still, his mouth trying to open to get more of what was going on inside of his head into the open, but all he could do was keep his tongue locked behind his lips. It must have been a mere minute, as the shadows never changed around the windowsill, but Slim had to wonder if an entire twenty-four hours had slipped by him.

"Slim?"

His eyes found his brother's. "Hmm?"

"Is it really because of me that you sent Jess away?"

This was his truth, the source of his pain. "Yes."

"Why?"

Hadn't he already gone over the reason? He cleared his throat, going for the bluntest end. "You came close to dying out there, Andy."

"But not because of Jess."

"You said you didn't remember what happened out there."

"I still don't. But I know enough to tell it to you plain. Jess hasn't hurt me, Slim. You have."

He shuddered. The strength hard enough to rattle his teeth, Slim brought both hands up to cup each side of his face. In the next moment they were covering his eyes. What did he think, that he was about to cry? No, perhaps not where tears were concerned, but Slim certainly felt weak. Or maybe it was him weakening.

Eyes tied to his brother, Andy sensed the exact second there was change. "Go after him, Slim. He can't be that far yet. Please, bring Jess home."

He finally found his voice, but it wasn't more than a rasp. "I can't do that Andy."

"But Slim. He's out there all alone. He doesn't have anyone but us."

"No, Andy. He has himself, the Big Open. He'll make out all right."

"No. Slim, no he won't." Andy's hands came up to his face, the eyelids getting pressed, but nothing could stop the tears from slipping through until they coursed down his face like a river at flood. Surrendering to his emotions, Andy's head lowered, pulling the sobs out of his throat one by one until there was nothing left but a wobbly croak.

"Andy, you're breaking my heart." Slim brought his arm around Andy's shoulder, but the stiffness underneath prevented him from pulling him tight to his chest.

"Shouldn't I? You broke mine." Andy sniffed, twisting his frame so that it no longer was touching Slim's. A hard breath in place to stifle the next sob, Andy turned his face toward the door. "Please, go, Slim. I wanna be left alone."

Nodding, Slim steps to the door were as wooden as the floorboards, the sound, like his middle, hollow.

Jonesy, hands full of a steaming plate, immediately set the dinner down. It wasn't going to be eaten, for sure. "I take it by your face that it didn't go well."

Slim shook his head. "I'll just, um, go out for awhile. Keep that warm, or something."

"Or throw it away," Jonesy said when Slim made the full retreat back into the afternoon heat.

Slim ran his hand over his damp face, not allowing the thought to move past the far corner of his mind that he was removing anything other than droplets of sweat. Looking up into the sky's inferno, Slim frowned. Rather early in the year for the signs of drought to be nailed into the earth. Likely he was facing some hard times ahead. Ranch and otherwise.

How accurate that prediction was about to become, and the weather could only be blamed by the smallest fraction.

Slim's walk toward the barn drew to a stop, his head drawing back upward, but not to take another view of the blazing ball. He heard hooves, gentle at first, as they rounded the top bend just above the slope toward the house. But then when they switched to a downhill run, Slim couldn't stop the grin from spreading. He knew that gait, knew it so well that he could even picture the man on top.

Stepping into the horse's path, Slim's tongue formed the name. It didn't get very far. "Je…"

The saddle was empty. Holding up his hands to put a stop to the running mount, he kept one attached to the bridle, the other was left to wander through the mane, giving a soft pat. And then he reached for the seat, touching the saddle that was wet with blood. Some of it had dried, but the amount, like a pool in the leather's center, was unable to harden. Old, but not old enough.

Slim closed his eyes. "What've I done?"

And he said, what hast thou done? The voice of thy brother's blood crieth unto me from the ground.

Where had that come from? Well, Slim knew it was out of the Bible, and if memory served its purpose, was the follow up verse to what Jonesy quoted just that morning. He had ran away from it then, but this wouldn't be his reaction now. He would be running toward it now. Slim had to find Jess.

All he took was the time to put Jess' gear away, feed and put the tired horse in his stall and then ready his own. And even that didn't take the allotment that it normally would have, for Slim put enough bounce into his boots that if someone had been sitting inside of the barn door with pocketwatch in hand, it would have been a world's record.

Leading his horse into earth's brilliance, Slim reached for the pommel to give his body a boost upward, when again he was stilled by hoof beats. The only difference was that this time the direction was from Laramie. And then instead of looking up into an empty seat, Slim was looking up into the face of the sheriff.

"You're here just in time, Mort. I was just riding out."

"Feeling the need to run, are you?"

Nothing could have been blanker than the expression on Slim's face. "What?"

"Slim." Mort shook his head, half blaming his tongue for his reckless choice of words. The other half equally as guilty for what was about to come next. "I'm sorry, but I'm here to arrest you for murder."

"Murder?" Slim took a step backward, surprised that he was able to do it without stumbling with the way his knees were suddenly knocking on each other. Somehow he knew, but he had to put it out there. "Who, who is it, that I'm… I'm supposed to have killed?"

"Jess. He was found dead this morning. Bullet hole to his back."

"No." His eyes closed, but it didn't block his vision. All he could see was Jess' face. No, that was wrong. All he could see was Jess and Andy's faces together. His two brothers. He shook his head with such force that some of the connecting lines between his skull and neck crackled. "That can't be."

"It is, Slim. A preacher passing through found him, buried him, and then rode into Laramie to tell me."

A preacher? Is there anyone more honest than a preacher? Why couldn't it have been someone as untrustworthy as the Dixon boys? Still, Slim couldn't wrap his hands around those kinds of words alone. He had to have something solid to fill them instead.

"I've got to have more evidence than a stranger's say so!"

"Slim." Mort turned, reaching for what was hanging off of his saddle. Jess' coat, stained in violence's most horrific shade, surrounded by the same kind of hole, and his hat, both came into Mort's hands. "I have these."

Slim stared at Jess' hat at such length it seemed that he was memorizing the sweat stains. He didn't need to. He already knew each one. And then the jacket went into his clasp, his thumb pushing through the blood-crusted circle. This was pretty hard evidence to dispute.

"And you think I did it?"

"Everyone in the saloon heard you threaten him. This morning he was found dead. It doesn't take much thought to believe it was your bullet that killed him."

"What about Bailey Brown, or Scottie? I doubt their opinions have changed much since Jubilee."

"Both of them are in Cheyenne. And I have the best eyewitness account there is. The marshal broke up a brawl over a saloon girl last night, and they were both in it, and jailed. They spent the entire night locked up."

"I didn't do it, Mort. I swear."

The sheriff stood still, as if there was enough contemplation to actually mull over. He finally let out a sigh. "I'm sure you didn't, Slim. But the law itself won't be satisfied with my opinion alone. I'm afraid there's going to have to be a trial, and until then, you're going to have to be in my company."

"If the Browns aren't behind it, then somebody else must be trying to kill Jess. Remember the rifle aimed at Andy's back, thinking he was Jess? And then there was that gunman in town, challenging Jess to the draw."

Slim left out the part that it was these two incidences, and then the final straw, that made Slim kick Jess out of his life in the first place. And now he was dead. Slim knew he wasn't guilty of murder, but his guilt was almost as ugly. Maybe he should take the blame and swing from the end of a rope.

"I haven't forgotten anything, Slim. I can't forget your threat, either, and something did happen to Andy."

Those were his own words, spoken to Jess with his hands clutched so close to Jess' throat he could have choked him. Every man in that saloon heard him, saw him, and understood him. The very threat now haunted Slim like his soul had become a real ghost. Maybe that was what he was destined to become.

Slim swallowed, but it couldn't go down. "I can't just ride off with you without…"

Slim's head angled toward the bedroom window. Andy had to be told. Just five minutes before his brother had said that Slim had broken his heart. This news would shatter it. And like Jess being sent away, this was all Slim's fault.

His hand raked through his hair. "I've got to tell Andy."

"Go ahead, Slim. I've known you long enough that you're not gonna flee to Canada when my back's turned."

"Thanks, Mort. I'll just be… well, a couple of minutes anyway."

Jonesy's head swung toward the door when it opened, his face trying to form a smile as if everything was all right, but at the sight of Slim, every line around his eyes and mouth were etched deeper than they had ever been. "Slim? What's wrong?"

"Come into the bedroom with me, Jonesy. This is the kind of news I don't think I could say twice."

Stopping at the foot of Andy's bed, Slim stared at his brother, who still had trickles of moisture clinging to his cheeks. This would only start the flow all over again. He reached into his pocket for a handkerchief, but before he could pass it over, he clutched it hard in his hand.

"Slim?" This was from Jonesy. He had tried to keep his lips sealed, but the wait was too torturous to bear another second. "What is it, boy?"

"Jess is dead. He was murdered this morning."

Andy's head whipped up to drill him with his eyes, but that expression didn't last long. Like Slim expected, Andy immediately crumbled, his body taking on the kind of quake that would never see a recovery. Neither would his heart inside.

"You've gotta be mistaking," Jonesy said, his hands instinctively reaching for Andy, even while his eyes stayed locked with Slim's.

"I wish I was. Dear God, how I wish I was. Mort's outside, and he brought me the news. And something else."

Jonesy's jaw grew slack. "There's more?"

Slim nodded. "I'm being accused of it."

"How can that be?"

"The day Andy was hurt, I threatened Jess. But I didn't do it."

Lightning suddenly struck the floor as Andy leapt out of the bed, his finger in a vicious point toward Slim's chest. "You did too, Slim! You did! You killed Jess when you let him ride out of here. You did it, Slim! You did it!"

.:.

His body was flush with the ground, as that was the only position that he could be in without another horrific assault to his flesh. He wasn't in his grave, of that he could be certain. But there was no light, only darkness, so maybe he was a captive of the dirt after all. No. He was in too much pain.

But where was he?

He tried to shake his head, but that only got him a scrape to his cheek. He must be against rocks, for there was sharpness underneath his skin, and cool. At least there was that relief. The heat before had been insufferable, reminiscent of the place he was bound, he reckoned. Or maybe, just maybe now it was night.

He fought to lift his lashes, accepting only the slit that finally obeyed. Darkness was what surrounded him. There was literally nothing else. Fearing that he had been tossed into a six-foot hole while still alive, he put his hands against the dirt and lifted. The excruciating stab against his back stopped him from gaining more than an inch. The slap back to his chest was almost as severe.

Well it didn't matter where he was, grave or no grave. He had no hope that he was going to make it. Not this time. Not when he was alone.

"Why'd you do it, Slim? Why?" Jess' lips brushed against the soil, the taste bitter. "Why, Slim? Why'd you do it to me? Slim? Slim…"

.:.

Biblical texts used: Jonesy- Genesis 4:9, Slim- Genesis 4:10