Slim frowned and listened to the wind howl.
The wind, biting through the night and rushing around the cliffs of the canyon, it cut through the rock and sounded like the wolf they had hunted. It pushed it shoved and it scattered the snow into piles brushing clear the high places and piling it up in the lowest of low places. The tops of the tall pines swayed with it and high up on the cliff sat a man, rifle in hand.
His old eyes gleamed down at the hazy gray below, and his heavy coat brushed at his cheeks. His shoes were moccasins and his coat was stitched together fur of a buffalo and a fox around his neck. He had a coonskin cap to cover his thin gray hair and his pants were dear skin. His face had aged and hardened from the punishment of being in the harsh air for too long, and his hands were large and strong from years of hard labor. His eyes were blue, but so very blue they almost looked white, and on his left hand he lacked half a pinky.
The large man stood and turned away from the cliff heading back for the warmth of the fire he had for himself. He put his gun down and pulled off the heavy mittens catching up a cup. Tomorrow he would go and see about the young men troubling his mountain. They had come too close to his secret and he planned to let them return not to their home. He would finish them in the morning.
…..
Slim's head snapped up off his knees and he looked around slightly embarrassed that he had allowed himself to fall asleep. Sitting up he fixed up the fire and warmed the old coffee. Jess groaned softly his hand clenching and unclenching softly as his eyebrows worked up and down.
Slim poured a cup and took a sip looking out over the land of snow and at the very soft purple of the morning sun. They had worked their way fairly high up onto the mountain and it was time to come down. The wolf could have the high ground.
He tossed his coffee aside and rose quickly to get Jess ready. His head snapped suddenly, his body twisted and at the same time he fell crashing for the earth and landing close to the fire as the rifle boomed from the ferns so very close. The old man cursed his horse and his lousy luck and quickly pushed into the clearing. His muzzle just touched Slim's bloodied hair and he brushed it slightly. He had every intentions of pulling the trigger, not it a great hurry to get the job done, but his eyes lifted to the soft groan and he froze solid where he sat.
"Jess…" He whispered. "Jess."
He was off his horse in a minute crouched next to Harper and was peering into his face his hand hovering over his head, afraid to touch him.
"Jess, my boy," he whispered his hand seeping into the thick chocolate brown hair and he gently rubbed the head.
He started to cry as Jess groaned softly and his hands shook as bitterly he looked at his rifle. Walking to his horse he pulled the great bay into the camp area and lifted Jess off the ground. He moved the slighter man with ease, putting him up on the saddle. He was behind him in a moment and his rifle once more turned for Slim, but because he had been nice to Jess, the gun was slowly un-cocked and slid back into a brand new sheath. The aged man looked ahead a moment before he started his horse away slowly from the camp.
….
The sun was high overhead before groggily Slim groaned and his eyes parted. His vision was fuzzy and out of focus, taking him a moment before he could raise off the ground slightly. His hand went to his head and his fingers pushed through his hair until they were stopped by dry blood. He hissed, and gently pulled his hand away struggling to rise. He got one knee under himself and then another before his eyes darted across the camp.
His mouth dropped flabbergasted.
"Jess?" He hollered and winced cradling his head. Yelling was defiantly out.
Determination struck and he put his feet under himself, blanking a moment when his wobbly legs finally stood. He chanced opening his eyes and found himself looking at the lazy sun. Pain shot through his head and with a groan he fell once more to the blessed darkness lingering about.
….
Jefferson Tilbit, pulled Harper slowly from the saddle and carried him gently into the house cradling him lovingly in his arms. He watched his boy sleep a moment before he took him inside the house and laid him with care in his bed. His hands once more ran through Jess' hair and he smiled fondly at him going to fetch a pan of water and a rag to battle the raging fever.
His talked softly to Harper as he worked telling him of the years missed between them, and how he thought the war had captured his boy. His boy Jess. Then his lips quivered and he brought himself close to tears when he apologized for nearly killing Jess himself. He promised to make him better and he promised things would be right between them, making sure to do everything possible to insure their time together.
The sun sank low and he lit a candle going to the fire to get a plate of beans, when Jess stirred.
"S-slim…?" he slurred, his head rolling and his eyes hazily looking around confused.
"Jess?" The old man dropped in front of him and took his hand. "Jess, my boy." He smiled. "Jess."
Harper frowned and looked away. A million questions flooded his head at once, but he was exhausted and it hurt to talk, so he chose the one he found to be the most important.
"W-where's… Slimm…?" He mumbled, and Jefferson frowned.
"He's gone boy, I sent him home. It's just you and me now. Just you and me."
"No…" Jess rolled his head with a huff.
He never finished his thought however for it was simply too much work and as he struggled to speak Tilbit softly stroked his head trying to calm him.