Chapter Six

Jonesy looked into the face of the third stage driver that day, the repeat on his tongue feeling as old as the number of candles that belonged on his birthday cake, if he ever chose to count that high. "Yes, it's true, all right. Jess was back-shot and Slim's been arrested for it."

But because it was the third go around, his nerves feeling the roughest grate, this time Jonesy tacked on a piece that he hadn't told Mose at nine or Frankie at noon.

"I don't know why you've gotta come hounding at me for the gossip when it's up and down the line already. And if that's not enough, open up a newspaper."

Jonesy ought to know. A passenger, whether it was willfully done or an accident, left the morning's Gazette on the porch chair. The headline was printed in the biggest, boldest print thought possible for a small town press. Jonesy had picked it up, read as far as necessary, and then sent the entire spread into a ball.

"Someone sure went outta his way to make sure no one missed this. I wished I could've missed it altogether," he had said at the time.

Since the direct-from-the-horse's-mouth version had already traveled to great lengths since the sun had made its rise, Jonesy figured the entire territory knew the story that was in a steady pound right over his heart. They didn't need the newspaper beyond it being fodder for what turned raw food cooked come suppertime. And Jonesy refused to relay it any further.

But of course, the allotted number of stagecoaches already being rolled through for the day would prevent that more than anything else.

The dust of the last still showering his boot-tops, Jonesy tugged on the lines, leading the front pair of horses into the corral. The next two didn't come quite as willingly. Well, it was Fidget, anyway, the mare most prone to act up, and her tail-twitch must have been contagious for her partner started to do the same.

Jonesy gave them both a hard look. "Now how'm I gonna keep this ranch in order when you won't cooperate?"

Jonesy could have given the entire ranch the same kind of look over, repeating his question with cupped hands so the back fence would be able to hear him. He had already spent most of the daylight on foot. Coffee breaks were nonexistent to a lone worker. Likely it would be this way for some time. Andy was still gimpy enough to not be towing a line, and already Jonesy felt like he was carrying the weight of six.

"But it won't be forever." Jonesy shook his head as he separated Fidget from the other. "Couldn't be."

He had a lot of faith that Slim would be acquitted. There just wasn't enough evidence to put a rope around his neck. Or was there? Jonesy hated to think about it, but think he had, because the prosecutor could be calling Jonesy up front to tell his side of things. And how could he lie after putting his hand on the Bible's gilt letters? He couldn't. Jonesy would have to say the truth. That Slim went running like a madman at dawn, right around the time Jess was supposed to have been shot.

Yes, there was a solid finger pointing that Slim could have done it. But Jonesy knew he hadn't.

"You don't shoot a brother down. I don't care what Cain did to Abel. That boy didn't shoot Jess."

Of course the horse didn't need to hear his argument, but Fidget was along for the ride, following Jonesy's slow step into the barn. Why not tell it to her anyway? The way the animal bobbed her head, Fidget must have been in agreement that Slim was innocent.

Jonesy's face grew within a pair of inches from the blinking eye. "But here's the sticky part. You and me ain't gonna be on the jury. Twelve supposedly unbiased men are. And they just might not think like the two of us."

The horse nickered.

"Oh, I suppose you're right, friends and neighbors that know Slim pretty well shouldn't be feared, but it's also those types that are unpredictable. One day they're on your side, the next, pffft." Jonesy lowered his head. He didn't think the truth could sink him any further, but it did. "Just like what happened between Slim and Jess."

This time Fidget pawed the ground.

"Does make a body wanna stomp their feet, doesn't it? Come on, let's get you brushed and looking like a proper lady. Maybe then you'll be less persnickety. Too bad Slim started out like you that first morning, then we likely wouldn't be in this fix. Aw, Jubilee. The way it started all of this mess, it might as well be called Misery. I've a mind to not go next year unless they change the name proper. You happy now?"

The whoosh of air went over his head so hard his hat shifted. "Well, neither am I. Talking to a horse like it's my only friend."

But Slim didn't even have that. Sure there was Sheriff Cory to keep his jaw flexible, but a jail cell didn't exactly have the comforts of home.

Jonesy felt the tickle against his palm as the lump of sugar was taken. "Considering what that boy's up against, I reckon I shouldn't complain. And that better be the last complaint I hear outta you, too."

Leaving the barn behind him, Jonesy wished that he could go into the house, put his hands into some uncooperative dough, and then sit back and smell its rising, but he had hay to pitch yet, and if he survived that, some wood to chop.

"I wonder if I could find me a hired hand," he said, his head slowly moving to the right as a sound started to trot down the hill behind the house.

Finding the image that went with the noise, Jonesy squinted ahead, separating actual features from shadows. The man on horseback had the kind of shape in his upper half to do labor, but while temptation was mighty strong to hand over thirty for the first month, there was a different look about the fellow that told Jonesy that he needed something a whole lot stronger in hand. An iron.

Stepping into the doorway, Jonesy waited until the rider came to a stop, watched the shifting eyes as he dismounted, all the while keeping the shotgun mighty handy just beyond the stranger's view. "Can I help you?"

His presence filled the entire porch. "Not me, no."

"Well you must be here for something. Lose your way, maybe?"

He shook his head. "I just have a short message."

"And that's?"

"Go to the Rockland cabin. Take a wagon. And forget you ever saw me."

The man was on horseback before Jonesy could finish rubbing his chin. Looking up to the hillside where the black with four, full socks disappeared, Jonesy let out a whistle.

"Something the matter, Jonesy?" Andy asked, the crutch under his arm at such a precarious position it wasn't aiding his steps out of the bedroom.

"Not sure. A fellow just stopped by and said I needed to go to the Rockland cabin."

"Where's that?"

"A couple miles past the north gate. It's been abandoned since the year your ma died. I wouldn't be surprised if it's barely standing up by now."

"So what would be there?"

"I don't know, but I think I'm gonna find out. Wait here, Andy. I'm gonna go get the wagon hitched up."

At his age, Andy knew he shouldn't pout, but his lip formed that kind of shape anyway. "But I wanna come."

Jonesy kept his gaze locked with the set of brown. "You think you're up to it?"

The crutch was discarded to the floor. "I know I am."

He really hadn't wanted to leave Andy alone anyway, so he gave the motion with his hand. "Then fill us up a couple canteens."

The ride shifted from fairly smooth to bumpy just outside of the Sherman property line. A road had existed at some time, but since a wheel hadn't churned the way to the Rockland cabin since the war had stopped warring, it was in rough enough shape to not notice the old lines. Concerned that the horses would stumble, or that his back would jar beyond liniment's help, Jonesy kept the team at a walk.

This made the light fade to near nothingness by the time they arrived. And Jonesy had forgotten to pack a lamp.

Head up toward the sky and then a shake as the team grew stilled, Jonesy eased out of the wagon. Andy didn't go at a much quicker speed, but apparently there was more life in his legs than Jonesy's when they reached the cabin's front door.

"Not so fast, Andy. Let me go first," Jonesy said, taking up his shotgun. "Or better yet, let the iron go first."

The double barrels pushed through the door's crack, and while a mouse reacted with a squeak at the entry, there was no other sound on the other side. Jonesy slid his tongue around his bottom lip before he let his leg go the way of his gun, and finally at the holding of his breath, Jonesy's head followed. It was dark inside, more than what existed outside, but it wasn't dark enough.

The gun crashed to the ground, his gasp, not quite covered with the palm of his hand.

Afraid, Andy ran forward to squeeze next to Jonesy in the doorframe, his mouth uttering a far deeper cry than what came from Jonesy's lips. "Jess!"

He would have rather discovered the most grueling detail with Andy still more outside than in, but it would have been impossible to keep the boy back when he was already racing toward the tattered bedding where Jess lay. Yet with his head tilted, belly down, and arm hanging limp, appearances said that the one way was certain. Jonesy reached underneath for the sign that would tell of the other way.

Surprise brought a spark to Jonesy's eyes. "He's alive."

"Oh, Jess! Jess!" Andy started to put his arms around Jess' waist, but was immediately held back.

"Easy Andy. Don't go crowding in until I can see."

He had to light a match and once its tip changed from dark to bright, Jonesy almost cast the flame to the ground. Instead he held it closer, allowing the flutter of his lashes against his skin be disgust's only response.

Jess was bare to his waist, the gaping hole in his right shoulder as bold as a painted target. Jonesy barely put his fingers toward the outer edge and cringed.

"He's in real bad shape." Jonesy's hand rested against Jess' chest, counting the beats, his grim expression was its revealing.

Andy tugged on Jonesy's arm. "He's not gonna die, is he?"

Jonesy shook his head. He hated to mislead, especially when it was about a life that could go either way. But if he lied, trying to cheer up a broken heart and then at the sudden turn toward worse, that heart would fall apart all over again. Maybe the safest answer was right in the middle. "I don't know. We'll get him home and then I'll decide. You think you're up to handling his feet?"

"I'd take his entire weight if I had to."

"Good boy. Now let's get to it or the moon'll be center-high before the house is in view."

It wasn't quite that length when Jonesy lit the bedside lamp. The silver stream still had an hour to rise before it reached the point of trickling through the parted curtain and splash a bit of white onto the floor. But the fact that Jonesy got Jess back to the ranch at a quicker pace than how they had left it didn't make his gut any sweeter that they had brought him home in time.

All that jarring wasn't good for him either. Where the blood had been dried at Jonesy's first inspection was now in a flood down Jess' back.

Absorbing the stream with a towel, Jonesy rested it against the strongest pulse. "This doesn't make a lot of sense."

Andy leaned in closer. "What doesn't?"

"Well the sheriff said Jess was shot in the back, his jacket showed the same. I know this isn't his front, but this wound is in his shoulder, far enough from what makes him tick so that he wasn't taken out with the bullet's crack."

"Then he'll be all right?"

"Oh…" Here they were again at this lie or not lie line. Jonesy knew he had to keep his toe from stretching either way. "I didn't say that, Andy. All I know is what Sheriff Cory said and what I'm looking at are two different places. But no matter where it's located, Jess is still in a hard time. See all this blood, Andy? Imagine what came out when it first happened."

"I'm scared, Jonesy."

"You're not the only one."

"I know it's late, but shouldn't you be going off for the doctor?"

Jonesy's palm formed a solid knot and then at its release, worked into Andy's back. "There are some things here that are above your head, even above mine, so I can't spell them all out for you. But there's one thing you need to take great hold of. Trusting in me. Can you do that for me, Andy?"

He slowly nodded. "Of course."

"Then you're gonna have to trust that what's best for Jess right now is not a doctor's care. But yours and mine."

"But what if he dies?"

"Then the Almighty had this day planned out for him a long time ago. But we're gonna do everything in our power to see that the Good Lord has a lot longer for Jess to go. And the first step in seeing that happen is to get the bullet out. Stay with him, Andy, while I go boil some water and get a knife ready. In the trunk over there, get the clean sheets out for bandages. We'll be needing lots of them."

Andy took Jonesy at his word. When he returned to the bedroom with the sterile knife and a pan holding water shooting steam straight up into the air, the entire stack of sheets was on the bed next to Jess'.

He gave the boy a smile, but then Jonesy would have to etch his mouth into a far deeper shape. It was time to put the knife in.

Jonesy was thankful that oblivion was a merciful place when the tip went into the flesh, but after a few seconds of probing, he pulled it back out. "Huh."

"What's wrong?"

"The bullet's not in there."

"Who would dig it out?"

"I don't know." Jonesy shook his head, the backside of his eyelids trying to recapture the image of the stranger standing outside of their front door. "But I have the feeling the man that was here this afternoon knows a lot more than he wanted me to think."

"You think he shot Jess?"

"Well Slim certainly didn't. But why would a man that wanted Jess dead turn around and then save his life?"

Andy had no answer, but even while Jonesy had several years up on the boy experience-wise, neither did Jonesy.

"I guess all I can do now is clean it up," Jonesy said, reaching for the bottle of whiskey, now no longer hidden. "Good thing I've got something stronger than my liniment."

He winced with every drop that was poured over Jess' wound, even developed the sting of tears when Jonesy started to wrap the bandages tight. He told Andy it was just the alcohol's fragrance, not used to such an assault coming into his nostrils as he generally never took a drink, but Jonesy figured Andy, and himself, knew better. They were both thinking of Slim, there in jail, unable to share in the emotions that they were experiencing. Jonesy and Andy were still doused under the chilly stream of worry, but they had more knowledge than Slim did. Everyone else, too, except for that mysterious man.

And that was exactly how Jonesy wanted it to stay.

He clutched Andy's arm. "I can't stress this to you enough. Not a word to anyone about Jess being alive, understand?"

"Why, Jonesy?"

"That's just one of the things you're gonna have to trust me about."

"You're gonna tell Slim, aren't you?"

"I will. As long as I don't think Jess is about to part the curtain, I'll take the wagon in just after breakfast."

.:.

Slim pushed the tray away from him, the checkered napkin that had been lying over one knee getting a toss in the center, covering up the portion that he hadn't eaten. Actually it was most of the plate that had gone untouched. The eggs, delivered to him cold, had just seen a pick by his fork. Now the bacon, that he ate. It was hard to not have some form of rumble behind his belt buckle when his fingers touched the grease. But after the two slices went down by the aid of a gulp of coffee and the tips of his fingers went in and then out of his mouth, Slim was done.

Hearing the steps approach, Slim's mouth turned straight, needing its firmness to back him up if Mort remarked about his lack of appetite. But it wasn't the sheriff returning for the plate. Slim jumped up at Jonesy's entry, quick to make the locked door his support.

He purposely kept the emotions that existed at home away from his features, settling for shadows around both eyes as he had shook hands with Sheriff Cory. Now that he was seeing Slim surrounded by several rows of iron, he didn't need to force the light off of his face. It came upon him naturally, as did the pang in his gut.

Jonesy mimicked Slim's hands, wrapping them around the bars in front of his closest friend. "Slim."

The smile was there at his lips, but it had no ability to shine in his eyes. "Jonesy."

He had wished that he could say that Slim was looking well, considering, but that would be stretching truth's boundaries so far that they would snap. Slim's chin was scruffy, eyes were puffy, and there was obviously more hollowness to him than the lack of food, as Jonesy noticed the almost full tray when he walked into the room.

Instead, Jonesy opted for the truth, at least where it personally counted. "It's good to see you, boy."

"You too. How's Andy?"

"Keeping his head up. You'd be right proud of him." But of course, there was added reason for this.

"I'm glad," Slim answered, knowing that if he was asked the same question, he wouldn't give the same answer.

Taking a deep breath, Jonesy leaned his head as close to the bars as he could without touching the ominous posts. "How long until the trial?"

"Judge has been delayed. Next week, sometime."

Good. They needed all the time that could be given to them.

"I've got something to tell you. And right now I don't want it to leave this cell." Jonesy's finger angled toward the door that separated office from imprisonment. "Not even to Mort Cory. You and me and Andy are all that'll know."

"Know what?"

He looked up to the barred window, and then over his shoulder, but even while there wasn't an ear anywhere within hearing range other than Slim's, Jonesy still took his vocal pitch down to its lowest possible level. "Jess is alive."

Slim's on the other hand was closer to an exclaim. "What?"

"Shhh. You heard me. He's hurt real bad. I'm not sure he's gonna make it yet."

"Jonesy, you're not fooling me? Jess really is alive?"

He nodded. "The bullet came from behind him, all right, but he wasn't back shot like we thought. Higher up and away from his necessaries."

"But he still could die?"

"If you could see him, you'd understand, Slim. He hasn't stirred since I found him, but don't ask how, that's a side story too long to tell when we've only got a few minutes. He's far too pale and thin. Blood loss is to blame, and more. I think all of his oomph that has sustained him over the years has been used up."

"What does the doctor say?"

"Slim, I haven't told the doc."

"But Jonesy…"

"What'd I tell you before? Keep your voice down. Like I told Andy, you've gotta trust my way of thinking."

"Yeah, but Jonesy, if Jess is close to dying…"

He wasn't prone to interrupting, but Jonesy ran hard and fast into Slim's words. "Wouldn't you rather him stay closer to living?"

"What do you mean?"

"Think this through with me, Slim. Someone shot Jess, and it wasn't you. That same someone could come back, you know, and make sure this time it's permanent."

"You think that whoever shot Jess doesn't know he's alive?"

"That's my guess. Pretty good one, I'd say. And I'd hate for this to be true, but I wouldn't be surprised if whoever it is, is out there watching, maybe even listening. That's why no one, no one else is to know. If the doc is seen coming out to our place, it's gonna raise suspicion. If Mort Cory starts asking certain questions, it's gonna raise suspicion. But me coming in here, that shouldn't raise a brow. Why wouldn't I come calling on my best friend stuck in jail?"

"You make a valid point, Jonesy. But still…"

"Trust me."

Slim closed his eyes. He did. But being locked in a jail cell when he should be sitting by Jess' side, or out hunting down the man that shot him made him want to rebel against that trust. He wanted to shake the bars so hard that they fell down around him. He even wanted to put his fist into another close friend and then snatch the keys out of Mort's pocket so he could ride free. Yet none of these things he could do.

The sigh was his burden, extremely heavy. "I'll do my part to keep Jess safe."

"Good. But do me another favor and eat. Slim's all right for a name, but Skinny just sounds awful."

"All right, Jonesy, I'll pad my ribs," Slim said, taking up the tray, suddenly realizing that there was actual desire in what he looked at. Amazing what could change with a little knowledge. Actually it was a pretty big piece of information. Jess was alive!

The fork stabbed enough eggs that the tines went invisible. But there was one more detail he had to pass on before he could wrap his tongue around them. "And Jonesy…?"

"Yeah?"

"If Jess comes to, tell him I… well I mean…"

"Yeah, Slim. I'll tell him."

.:.

From his hillside perch that oversaw the entire front street of Laramie, he pulled away from the tree's trunk that had been his support, but he refused to step out of its shade just to watch an older frame walk into the sheriff's office. "I see Jonesy's keeping the vigil with Sherman. Too bad I can't crawl down there and get an earful of what they say."

"Probably just turn your innards green. All that hayseed's probably saying is a bunch of frou-frou trying to keep Sherman's spirits up. As low as he is right now, can't be done."

Bailey Brown shook his head. "I don't know."

Scottie nudged his brother with his elbow. "You're worried, ain'cha?"

"How can I not be?" Bailey answered around the cigarette he was puffing on, his second in just a matter of minutes. "This isn't exactly working out as planned. One more hitch and we could be the one behind bars, not Sherman. Then Pa'll be coming to serenade, not Jonesy."

"Look. It's not that complicated. Madison is already out of the territory, so there's no reason to think that he'll be questioned any further. Besides, we burned his preacher's get-up, so there's no threat there. Even if Cory runs into him someplace, Madison's beard'll probably have grown back. Did you know I had to pay him fifty extra just to shave?"

Bailey stamped out the cigarette's short stub and then reached for a fresh one. "Yeah. You told me."

"And we made Madison ride into Laramie on a plain bay instead of his usual black with socks, so that connection is wiped."

"I know, I know."

Scottie tossed the barely-lit cigarette to the ground. "Then stop eating these things. We're in the clear."

"There's still a mighty big thing you're overlooking. Harper. We couldn't find his body, remember?"

"Of course I remember, idiot. I was the one that hired Madison to twist the tale to Cory in the first place. I was also the one that found Harper's hat and jacket and put a bullet hole right in its center. I even killed that jackrabbit so I could have a lot of convincing blood, too."

"So? I'm the one that shot Harper, not you."

"Relax. He's dead, he has to be. Shooting a man in the back is a death sentence. If not immediate, then later on."

"But Scottie, we won't know that unless we find him."

Scottie stilled his brother's hand over the packet in his pocket. "Then we'll find him and drop his carcass into dirt like we said has already happened. That way you can be sure. And not reek like the middle of a saloon. Remind me to not be downwind of you for the time being."

"But where're we gonna look? We've already covered a several mile radius from where I shot him."

"We'll just have to go over it again."