Mornings Chapter 2, a laramie fanfic

Mornings 2

Jantallian

Before reading:

Further snapshots of the start of the day for our heroes. These new ones are in episode order or where my own story fits in with them – except the first one, for obvious reasons. With regard to day and night in some stories, I have not necessarily followed the episode exactly, because episodes tend to telescope timeline. Instead I have tried to give a reasonably realistic timescale to the story (see notes at the end.)

1. I'm the Emperor of the Castle (starring … guess who? After Duck Rustler)

2. Fishing for Facts (after As the Sparks Fly)

3. Judging by the bars (The Lawbreakers)

4. Cutting Conversation (The Iron Captain)

5. A Breezy Start to the Day (Death Wind)

6. Uninvited Guests

I'm the Emperor of the Castle

(After Duck Rustler)

Sunrise.

Light filtered through the drawn curtains and leaked under the front door of the living room of the Sherman Ranch and Relay Station.

Gradually everything became brighter and brighter.

Except the eyes of the most recent inhabitant.

The moment these eyes opened they were already gleaming and twinkling without assistance from anything as mere as the sun. The eyes were brimming with humour and replete with satisfaction. Everything had worked out to plan – time to take a look around at the new home so successfully acquired.

Well, almost everything had worked to plan. The proposed survey of the new kingdom was somewhat hampered by the fact that the view was cut off by swathes of rather battered blue linen, in the form of an ancient shirt or two lining a deep box. The box was on a low chest under the window and immediately above it nothing much was visible bar the curtains and two wooden walls.

A quack sounded. It did not sound like a chuckle.

There was a harsh rustle of feathers against wood, the sharp scrape of webbed feet on a narrow rim and a sudden crash as the wooden box overbalanced. Its occupant, undeterred, had already risen above this crisis to the extent that previously clipped wings would let him and was surveying the confined space between ceiling and floor in search of a suitable perching place.

Excellent! The broad, flat top of the piano stool. A little slippery, owing to the leather cover, but what is that to a duck whose very nature encompasses 'slippery' in all its forms? With almost the dignity of a general (or emperor) selecting the command post from which to view the success of his latest campaign, Napoleon the duck flapped up to his chosen eminence.

This was shortly to prove a mistake.

Meanwhile the mallard fixed those bright eyes on the door behind which his chosen human had retreated the night before. There had been some brisk exchanges, before everyone had gone to bed, over where the duck was actually to sleep. The crusty old man pointed out that the duck had a perfectly good pond to inhabit now. The two boys protested vigorously on the grounds of danger from foxes, wolves, wild cats and other marauding predators – as if anything on four legs was going to be able to twist fast enough to catch a dodging duck. A cage with the other animals had been suggested. Someone mentioned hen coops. A sharp rap of a webbed foot and an indignant quack had put paid to these suggestions. The tall blond man who had helped to dig the pond was adamant that the duck was not coming into the bunkroom with his new human. This was a considerable set-back, but it could be worked on. There were plenty of hours in the day for that and the sun was only just rising.

At which conclusion, the bunkroom door opened.

The oldest inhabitant came out.

Disappointment!

And disapproval.

"Y' can git down off my seat, y' flying feathered dinner!" the old man ordered sharply. "Y' gonna be twice as much trouble as y' master an' that's sayin' somethin', 'cause trouble is his middle name."

Napoleon did not entirely follow this speech, but he recognised an adversary when he saw one, especially if the said adversary was going to use that red-rag-to-a-duck term: 'master'! He also knew from the previous night that his new human, Jess, needed the services of this provider of food and drink. It would be as well to keep on the cook's good side – especially as he did not relish the prospect of this rustler-up of victuals trying to turn him personally into a meal. Maybe that wouldn't happen – his ally Jess was resolute in his defence – but it was better to err on the side of caution.

Napoleon hopped down off the piano stool with a quack which might have been a polite apology. Or then again, maybe not.

Another quick survey of the room suggested that the table was a good big surface, but fortunately for him his wings were not yet up to it. Ditto the back of the chair Jess had sat on at supper. But, with a little bit of scrambling, he managed to get up onto the seat. This was not only a place of comfort and contact with the one he was waiting for but had the added advantage of partially concealing him from the unenthusiastic gaze of the cook.

"Well, I guess Jess is gonna have t' put up with whatever y' doing on his chair!" the old man commented. Then he stomped off into the kitchen, from which issued sounds of various metal things being moved about briskly. This was hardly music to a mallard's ears, but he did remember that there was a sink full of water in that room and filed this information away for use in the not too distant future.

The bunkroom door opened again.

Napoleon looked hopefully round the end of the tablecloth.

The tall blond man came out.

Disappointment.

But at least no disapproval. Not yet, anyway.

The man walked swiftly over to the box and picked it up off the floor.

"Jonesy, where's the duck?" he called.

The old cook appeared in the kitchen doorway.

"Good mornin' t' you, Slim," he said in tones which suggested that he himself ranked rather higher than a missing mallard.

That would have to be dealt with – later.

"Sorry! Morning, Jonesy." The tall man obviously had good manners, but also responsibility for the happiness, or maybe the orderliness, of his household. "Can't have it wandering off. Not after all the fuss yesterday. Besides, goodness knows what Jess'll do if it's gone missing."

"Maybe get outta bed a bit quicker?" Jonesy suggested caustically.

Slim grinned. "You believe in miracles? But maybe we'd better find it for him. He could waste half the day searching instead of working."

"Y' got nothin' better t' do than chase after ducks at this time in the mornin'?"

"Can't see how it could have got outside, but I'll have a look when I've shaved." This statement indicated just how little Slim Sherman knew about determined ducks.

"Don't bother," Jonesy told him, "It's sittin' on Jess's chair."

"Really?" Slim gave a chuckle. "I guess he'll find it all right when he eventually gets up for breakfast."

"Huh!" The old cook stomped off again, but presently there was a rich, pungent smell permeating the room. This had nothing to do with the duck – fortunately. Napoleon was to come to recognise it as strong, black coffee and an essential ingredient of his new human's life.

He settled down to wait again.

The other door, the one at the back of the living room, suddenly opened.

A tousled head peered round it.

It disappeared again.

There was a pause. Then the sound of heavy but soft things hitting a wooden floor.

"Get up, Mike!"

"Gerrroff me, Andy!"

"Get up! Don't you remember? There's a duck in the house."

This generated a thud, followed by some reluctant shuffling and muttering. Presently the two boys emerged in what might have been an enthusiastic rush if they hadn't been yawning and rubbing their eyes. They made beeline for the box.

"Slim! Jonesy! Quick!"

"Help! Help!"

These cries of horror dragged Jonesy to the kitchen doorway again. The devastation in the boys' expressions prevented him from prevaricating as he had done with Slim and, besides, he didn't get the chance. Slim himself came charging through the front door, expecting to find some major disaster had occurred behind his back.

"What's the matter?"

The boys were too choked up to do more than moan softly and sadly, determined that the news should not disturb Jess's rest.

"The duck's gone!"

"Jess is gonna be so upset!"

"Going to," Slim corrected automatically.

Even as they spoke, the bunkroom door crashed open for the final time. Jess Harper bounded into the room clad, rather fetchingly, in nothing but his drawers, with his hair sticking up on end and his gun in his hand.

"Someone yelled f' help!" he rasped out, his voice not having caught up with the fact that the rest of his body was more or less awake.

"It's ok! Calm down!" Slim told everyone in tones which were authoritative rather than soothing.

"What's wrong?" Jess demanded, his swift glance already having ascertained that Andy, Mike, Jonesy and Slim were all undamaged.

"Your duck's gone," Mike blurted out with a sob.

"The duck ain't goin' nowhere!" Jonesy assured them all. "That web-footed varmint knows when he's on t' a good thing!"

"But the box –" Andy began to protest.

"There y' are, little fella!" Jess beamed delightedly. He hastily shoved his gun into the waistband of his drawers, then scooped Napoleon off the chair and tucked him under his arm. "Just gotta get dressed an' we'll go see how y' pond's doin'."

As the bunkroom door closed behind the pair Slim gave a heartfelt groan. "I knew that creature would get in there somehow!"

"Too right!" Jonesy agreed. "Thinks it owns the place already."

From the other side of the door a quack, which sounded suspiciously like a chuckle, indicated that the emperor was indeed in charge of his newly acquired castle.

Fishing for Facts

(After As the Sparks Fly)

Andy Sherman stirred sleepily, then wriggled and stretched his arms above his head. His hands touched damp grass. His eyes snapped open.

The ceiling seemed to have turned into a canopy of leaves above him and he certainly wasn't lying on the comfortable mattress of his bed in the bunkroom at the ranch. No-one was snoring. No-one was shuffling about and trying to dress quietly. There were no bunks. And the top bunk could not therefore be occupied by the mysterious Texan drifter who had become his brother's latest employee and – much more important! – Andy's friend and staunch supporter. It was entirely due to this staunch support that Andy was not sleeping in a house or in a bed.

He was not entirely sure that the lack of a bed was such a good thing. He was stiff and a little sore from sleeping on the ground in a bedroll, something of which he had not had a huge amount of experience. But he was in the bedroll on the grass under the trees and that meant …

"Yippee!"

Andy's shout had the tethered horse and pony nearby snorting and stamping in surprise. A chuckle sounded at the same time.

"Guess Slim and Jonesy'd be real surprised t' hear y' greetin' the day that way!"

Andy rubbed his eyes, sat up and looked around. He was in a sheltered bay of grass surrounded by trees and bushes on a little bluff above a small lake. In a carefully constructed fireplace of stones a small blaze was crackling cheerfully. Jess was squatting beside it, turning over something in a pan resting on one of the hot stones. A delicious smell of bacon wafted across to Andy.

"Jess? Is that really you?" Andy asked with a grin. "I guess Slim and Jonesy wouldn't believe their eyes if they saw you actually get up first to cook breakfast either!"

"Good job they ain't here, then!" Jess grinned. "Don't want 'em gettin' ideas about early starts, do we?"

Andy scrambled out of the bedroll and shook himself like an enthusiastic puppy. An overnight expedition with Jess! He never thought Slim would agree, but after the effort Jess had made in tackling the bank robbers who had held Andy hostage, Slim clearly trusted his employee to take care of Andy the way he would himself. It was immediately apparent that this included the ordinary daily routine Andy hoped to avoid away from the ranch.

"Get washed!" Jess jerked his head towards the lake shore. "An' hurry up or I'm gonna eat your breakfast as well as mine."

This dire threat was sufficient to galvanize Andy into action, even though the water was a lot colder than the water from the pump at home. He didn't really think Jess would be so mean, but on the other hand he had had plenty of experience already of the Texan's apparently insatiable appetite. Presently they were both seated beside the fire demolishing a simple but hearty repast.

"How come you're up so early?" It was a reasonable question, given Jess's usual reluctance to part company with his bed in the morning.

Jess laughed. "When y' travellin' on y' own, Andy, there ain't no-one else t' get breakfast. No point in lyin' around waitin' for it to be ready."

"But no-one's making you get up at dawn to do that, either."

"True. I guess when y' out in the Big Open, y' move at her pace. Get up with the very first gleam o' the sun. Go to sleep as soon as the last glimmer fades. No lamps but the moon an' stars out here and they ain't givin' light t' work by 'cause it's time for most things to be sleepin'." Jess paused and lifted his eyes to scan their surroundings. "And now the world's gradually wakin' up and comin' to life. Wouldn't want t' miss it."

Andy nodded in understanding but said nothing. Instead he let his eyes and ears appreciate what Jess had said. Life all around them was indeed stretching its muscles and spreading its wings and filling the air with flashes of colour and cries and calls.

"Keep still, like y' part of the grass," Jess murmured.

There was a rustle in the bushes just below them. A fallow doe with a fawn at her heels moved silently out of the dappled shadows. Fortunately the wind was blowing off the lake and the faint smell of wood-smoke from their fire was not enough to disturb her. As they watched, mother and baby stepped delicately down to the water's edge and dipped their heads to drink. For several minutes all was quiet and beautiful, the gold and chestnut of the deer's coats glinting in the rays of the rising sun, the water still and silver grey, the green of the trees and grass glowing with its own luminescence.

Then a jay called in the woods. The doe flung up her head and, quicker than the eye could see, she and her fawn were gone.

Andy sighed, but his experience of wild creatures and his empathy with them made him understand the precarious nature of life for very young animals. He knew they had been lucky to share this moment before the deer took fright.

Jess, who had been sitting cross-legged, got up without using his hands, stretching mightily as he did so.

"Where'd you learn to do that?" Andy asked, impressed by his strength and flexibility.

Jess grinned rather ruefully. "Plenty o' practice before I was your age and plenty o' teasin' when I couldn't manage it."

"Friends teased you?" Andy asked cautiously. He had already learnt that Jess did not talk readily about his family.

"Pulled m' leg something horrible, if I couldn't get m' legs to do it," Jess joked, but turned away to stack their plates and the pan together. "I cooked. You wash!"

"You're worse'n Jonesy," Andy complained, even though he knew this allocation of labour was fair.

"Worse than." Jess had already caught something of Slim's correction habit. "There's hot water enough left after I made the coffee, so y' don't need to disturb the lake, no more'n those deer did. Don't want you frightenin' off the fish after we've come all this way."

"More than!" Andy muttered under his breath as he got on with the task. Jess, meanwhile, was preparing their rods and digging for bait. He had already tended to the horses before Andy awoke and the lake had been undisturbed for some time. In the calm water, the fish should be rising. Once their camp was tidy and the fire smothered, they were ready for a morning's fishing.

Andy was delighted to have Jess all to himself for the whole morning, because it was a splendid opportunity not only to find out more about Jess's past but to get answers to a number of questions Andy was pretty sure it was not a good idea to ask Slim. He particularly hoped to enlist Jess's support for his own attempts to gain more independence. He reckoned Jess hadn't been confined to a ranch house even when he was younger than Andy; after all, he'd said that first day that he couldn't remember a time when he wasn't on his own. Maybe Jess could convince his brother to loosen up a little? Although the recent bank robbery by the O'Rourke gang and the consequent peril in which Andy had been placed were not likely to have changed Slim's opinion much, despite the whole series of events had started at home.

Fishing, however, was not a chatty occupation. It wasn't until they began to prepare their noon meal that Andy was able to try to obtain Jess's help. First of all, though, he had a task he could do without help.

"Let me."

Jess had just got his knife out of his boot in order to gut the fish they had caught. He made no hesitation in handing it over to Andy and letting him get on with the messy business as neatly as he could.

"You get the coffee," Andy instructed. "You make it better than I do. Well, you make it the way you like it, I guess."

"Y' can always put more water in it," Jess suggested mildly. He was searching in his saddlebag for another knife and, having found it, made short work of cutting some big leaves in which to wrap the fish they were taking home. "These'll come in handy for the guts too," he suggested, laying them down beside Andy. "Always a good idea to keep y' camp as clean an' tidy as y' can. They can go on the fire later."

Andy grinned to himself. 'Clean and tidy' was not a phrase readily associated with Jess Harper, but it was evident that his general 'battered and begrimed' treatment of clothes did not extend to other areas of his gear or campsite. Quite apart from the smell, it was good practice not to have anything close to the camp which would attract vermin or scavengers.

Presently the fish were gutted and several intended for their meal were lying on the hot stones surrounding the fire. Andy had cleaned up the detritus and washed himself and the knife in the lake. Coffee had brewed and they were sprawled in the shade, well clear of the fireplace. Jess lay back and tipped his hat over his eyes, after enjoining Andy to keep an eagle eye on the cooking of their meal.

Watching as the Texan visibly eased every muscle reminded Andy how much of Jess's life, and indeed Slim's, was spent in sheer physical labour. He ventured to ask, "Are you glad to be able to stop and do nothing, Jess?"

Jess tipped the brim of his hat with one finger and regarded Andy thoughtfully. "I was workin' very hard at relaxin', not to mention leavin' all the cookin' to you." The hat dropped back to its former position.

Andy grinned and tried again. "I mean not having to do fencing and branding and all that stuff."

"All that stuff pays my wages," Jess pointed out, his voice slightly muffled by his face covering.

"But if you were on your own, on the trail, you could decide what you wanted to do and when." It occurred to Andy belatedly that it might not be a good idea to encourage Jess to think about the pleasures of freedom, but Jess's response put the joys of being a drifter very much into perspective.

"Mostly y' travellin' and takin' care of y' gear an' y' horse, and trackin' and huntin, lookin' for y' next meal and somewhere safe t' sleep for the night." Jess tipped the hat up again and winked at Andy. "There's a lot to be said for meals regular an' a roof over y' head."

"I'm glad you like it." Andy was sincerely happy that Jess seemed to have settled at the ranch, despite one or two occasions when his drifting days had caught up with him. "I guess you appreciate it the way I do freedom – when Slim gives me any!"

Jess gave a sympathetic nod and a grunt, but made no other response, so Andy went on, "I just wish he'd trust me to do things on my own."

At this, realising that Andy needed someone to listen not someone who was busy taking a well-earned nap, Jess sat up and reached for his mug and the coffee pot. "How're those fish doin'?" he reminded the cook at the same time.

"Nearly ready," Andy told him. "I don't think Slim would trust me even to cook over an open fire."

"He's probably got more experience of y' burnin' his dinner than I have," Jess suggested with a grin.

"Maybe. But –" Andy hesitated, but then took the plunge. "D'you reckon he fusses too much about me?"

"He's y' kin. Protectin' you is what he does."

Andy recalled the latest evidence of this protection, when Slim and Jess had stopped the bank robbery and saved the hostages, including himself. Admittedly they were aided by, in Jess's words, 'an old lady, a cash bag and an umbrella' but Andy felt that his own contribution had been overlooked.

"I used that trick you taught me to protect myself when we were in the bank."

"So y' did. All the same, a gang of outlaws ain't something y' want to have t' tackle on y' own." When Andy nodded in agreement, Jess continued, "That kind of situation was real scary f' all of us. Unless y' tellin' me you weren't afraid?" He was watching Andy's reaction closely.

Andy had the good grace to admit that it had been terrifying, although he obviously thought that this would make him an even less likely candidate for independence in Jess's eyes. He was surprised, therefore at the reaction his confession evoked.

"But y' kept thinkin'," Jess pointed out. "Y' didn't freeze up except when it was necessary and, however y' felt, you were ready to grab the first opportunity. Andy, it ain't wrong t' be scared. If y' have no fear, y' gonna end up dead real quick! Fear is respect for somethin' that's outside y' control and more powerful than you are. Acceptin' what has to be ain't bein' a coward. It's knowin' how to judge a situation that counts. Knowin' when t' act and when to roll with it."

"How can I know if I never get any practice?" Andy objected. "It's like you being able to stand up the way you do. I want to stand on my own two feet!"

"I think y' on the way to doin' that now," Jess reassured him. "But maybe y' need to look out for times when y' can do somethin' without bein' told? It's takin' responsibility that makes people trust you."

Andy thought about this. It made sense. "Ok," he nodded, "I know there's work Slim must need help with, but he just seems to want me to stay around the yard or inside with my books."

"There are worse things!" Jess said with feeling. His own experience of growing up had been so different. "If y' want t' be responsible, it's gonna be a good idea not t' go complainin' when he does give y' somethin' to do. Even if it ain't to y' fancy."

"Yeah, like soaping more harness!" Andy grumbled. But he knew that Jess was talking sense. And when he thought about it, he knew there were jobs Jess and Slim did all the time which weren't their preference. Jess, for instance, would rather not look after the coach passengers; and he didn't mind shoeing horses, but didn't like 'tinkerin' with iron' in the smithy; and he had a permanent feud with the chickens. But Andy had never heard him make excuses and he didn't complain much, although he sure did curse the chickens!

As if reading his mind, Jess suggested, "Y' could work out one or two jobs Slim don't like and take them on?"

"Ok." Andy was willing to try.

"Maybe he don't like soapin' harness?" Jess added slyly.

"Jess!" Andy exclaimed indignantly.

Jess shook a warning finger at him and pointed out, "Y'know a man is nothin' without his horse, Andy. It pays to pay attention to the harness." Although he'd had to survive without one, in terms of the assets a man could have a horse came top in his estimation. "Y'd sure need a horse if something nasty was chasin' y'!"

"I guess standing on my own two feet wouldn't be such a good idea then!" Andy agreed laughingly.

"Yeah. Knowin' how to judge a situation can mean knowin' when t' stand firm and when t' run."

It was an ironic statement, given Andy's next choice of topic. He figured Jess was far more likely to answer his questions about adult life than Slim was. Now seemed an ideal opportunity to relieve his own burgeoning curiosity about the opposite sex. He had relatively few opportunities to meet girls or to observe adult interactions between the sexes, although he could not fail to notice both Slim and Jess had been indulging in a special kind of conversation with Mrs Mulholland's niece, Lucy, during the celebrations following the abortive bank robbery. Andy thought it might be what was called 'flirting'. In fact, since Jess's arrival at the ranch there had been a decided atmosphere of competition every time there was a pretty young lady to escort off the stage. Suddenly Jess's lack of enthusiasm for welcoming passengers seemed to evaporate and Slim spent even more time than usual undertaking this duty. Not that anything ever seemed to come of it. Not at the time anyway. Although there were those nights when the pair of them arrived back very late from an outing to Laramie ... it surely couldn't take all evening to load supplies and pick up the mail?

Andy was aware from the kids he met at school that his own home situation was quite unusual. Most of them had a mother and a father living, some had elder brothers or sisters who were married too. This led him naturally to ask, "Did you ever think about getting married, Jess?"

Jess almost dropped his coffee in surprise: it was certainly not a question he expected. He hastily took a gulp to give himself time to think before he responded: "Andy, we were just talkin' about fear. There's things y' can't help bein' afraid of. For me, it's bein' left afoot and bein' hitched too tight to a good woman."

"I thought good women were people like Mrs Mulholland?"

"Yeah, right!"

"I can see why you might not want someone like her, but there must be some young ladies out there."

"Sure there are, Andy, but it all depends on where and how y' meet 'em."

"Maybe that's why Jonesy was so disapproving of Abbey," Andy recalled thoughtfully.

"Abbey?"

"Yeah, Abbey O'Neill. I don't know much about her really, but Jonesy said nothing good ever came out of a bar and Slim got mad and yelled that he wasn't good enough for Abbey, she needed someone better than a struggling rancher with debts and a doubtful future."

Jess frowned. "Slim owns his own spread. He works hard to make the ranch and the stage franchise pay, even if it is a struggle sometimes. Life's always gonna be hard on a small ranch. But I'd've said he was a sure thing for any woman wantin' good, steady prospects with a man who takes his responsibilities real serious."

Andy shrugged. "It was a long time ago. Things have got a bit better since then."

"So nothing came of it?" Jess asked curiously. "And there's been no-one since?"

"Well, there was a girl whose father owned the stage line," Andy told him, "but something happened with the line itself and I don't think Slim's ever seen her since."

"He don't seem t' have much luck with women," Jess murmured, half to himself.

Andy meanwhile was feeling the conversation had veered a little off course from his own search for elucidation. "It must be fun going to dances and being able to choose your partners. You must have danced with lots of pretty young women."

"Yeah, right. Dancin' is fine. It's what comes after!" Jess replied, recalling more than one dance which had nearly ended in dancing as far as the altar. It was not that he was against matrimony in principle – just that certain women had rendered him extremely cautious. It was his firm conviction that running was a better option than getting hog-tied.

"So what does come after?" Andy enquired hopefully.

"Another dance," Jess answered quickly, not wanting to bias Andy before he even got started on the perilous path of potential partnership.

"With the same girl?"

"Well, that depends."

"Depends on what?" Andy persevered.

"Depends on how good a dancer she is ... and if she enjoys dancin' with you ... and how much you like her ... and how much she likes you. And how many other fellas are waitin' to dance with her, of course."

"But suppose you do like her and she likes you and you dance all the dances together. What then?"

If Jess had been the same age as Andy, he would have rolled his eyes at this point. As it was, he just resorted to "It depends" again. And Andy just folded his arms, raised his eyebrows and waited.

"It depends," Jess explained slowly, trying to simplify the complex etiquette of social interaction between an eligible couple, "on how she came to the dance and who she came with. If she came with her kin or friends, she's gonna go home with them. Then, you have t' call on her the day after. If not, y' might escort her, see she gets safely home. But it ain't likely that a ..." He paused, struggling for a suitable adjective, "... a girl from a good family is gonna be there on her own."

"Suppose you did take her home," Andy persisted.

By this time, Jess was feeling beleaguered. How could he explain to Andy that it all depended on where the home was, how long the walk or buggy ride lasted, who was home when you got there and whether or not you were going to be invited in. Not to mention what might or might not happen after that. Quite apart from trying to avoid giving Andy the wrong impression, he had a serious apprehension that Slim was going to kill him if he was too explicit. At the same time, he could sympathise with Andy's quest for information about the routes through this uncharted land, so full of potential pitfalls.

"Well, you might sit on the porch for a while with her."

"Sit on the porch?" Andy's tone was frankly disbelieving. Sitting on the porch was how the adults in his household ended the long working day when he himself had been packed off to bed. "You mean just talking? What about holding hands and kissing and stuff like that?" At this point, Andy had decided tactful enquiry was going to get him nowhere and it was time for straight questions.

"Yeah. Y' might be doin' that stuff, but probably not if it's the first time y've met her."

"But what's it like? I mean, how d'you know a girl wants to kiss you?" Holding hands seemed simple enough, but anything more intimate was frankly baffling.

There was another pause. If thoughts were sounds, Jess's would resemble a stampede at this moment. The last thing on earth he wanted to do was either to put Andy off or to give him the wrong kind of encouragement. Eventually, after what seemed like a century to them both but was in fact probably about thirty seconds, he said gently but seriously, "Kissin' usually comes from wantin' to be as close together as y' can be, Andy. People who ain't family mostly keep some space between them, but when people are beginnin' to care for each other, that ain't so. An' closeness comes from trustin' and bein' trusted."

Andy nodded, his expression thoughtful. Then he drew a deep breath and ventured, "Is it ... enjoyable?"

"Well, if it ain't, people wouldn't do it, would they?" Jess chuckled, trying to lighten the moment a little. The experiences which had made him wary of close relationships were not something to be shared. Then he went on, "But sittin' on the porch and talkin' – that's part of buildin' the closeness. If y' hopin' to see more of a girl, then gettin' to know her is important."

"An' that's when you decide if you want to get married or not?"

"Well, maybe not right away," Jess smiled, before trying to give his young friend a balanced view of a complex institution. "I guess people have plenty o' reasons for decidin' to marry. It ain't just a question of likin' and walkin' home from dances or even wantin' t' kiss someone and all the other stuff. There's a lot more to bein' married. If you think about it, everyone has their own ideas about what's important to them." Before Andy could ask, as he undoubtedly would, what Jess's criteria were, Jess steered the conversation away from his own experiences. "Have you thought about the reasons why y' brother ain't married yet?"

Andy shrugged. "Jonesy says it's because he already has a cook, a gardener and a nurse around the place. And I help with the house-cleaning, so I guess he just don't need one."

"Doesn't," Jess corrected, since Slim was very much in his mind. There was no way he was illuminating Andy further on the marital duties of a wife. He figured that kind of education was Slim's job! Instead he turned their joint attention to the things which really mattered.

"Jonesy ain't here to cook, so supposin' you save the burnin' questions and prove y' can get our meal without burnin' it. Serve up that fish. I'm starvin'!"

Andy was torn between a sigh and a laugh, as he delivered his final thought for the morning: "If you do ever get married, Jess, it won't be because she's a good dancer. It'll be a girl whose cooking you trust!"

Judging by the bars

(The Lawbreakers)

Darn! An' tarnation saddle it!

He'd fallen asleep with his boots on. The consequent discomfort was considerable and he sure as hell ought to know better than to do any such thing; necessity might compel it in some circumstances, but no-one in their right mind would do so willingly. As he struggled blearily to consciousness, Jess could think of no very good reason why he had failed to remove the offending items before hitting the mattress.

'Less y' had a helluva lot more t' drink last night than was good f' y' comfort? Come t' think of it, the mattress ain't that comfortable either!

It was the far from melodious snores ricocheting in the immediate vicinity of his head and the fact that something cold and upright and rigid was sticking into his back which reminded Jess he was not in his own bunk – and why. He rolled over cautiously, trying not to draw unnecessary attention to himself.

He needn't have bothered. The snores continued with undiminished vigour.

A swift survey through slit eyes showed, as anticipated, bars all around him. An' they ain't the kind y' can drink at neither!

He was in a jail cell. As expected. And the one next to him was occupied by the snorer, who was lying on his back with his arms folded and a smug smile on his unshaven face, indicating a blissful disdain for his circumstances. The man looked like a dishevelled drunken reprobate, locked up till he sobered up, but appearances were totally deceptive. Their brief conversation just before dawn had revealed a scheming mind at work, although it ended with Jess telling his fellow prisoner "Why don't you shut up!" and turning away to sleep. There had been no point in staying awake for the whole night plus the six or so hours which would pass before they were let out. In any case, Jess was playing hard to get - plenty of time for more negotiation now that the day had come.

Jess eased up slowly and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. As he did so, he realised not only had he slept in his boots but there was an empty liquor bottle wedged in one of them. Jess hastily hauled it out. It had served its purpose, despite being the cause of the snores emanating from his sleeping companion.

Judge Barnaby Cade!

When that gentleman woke up, Jess knew he would have to be one hundred percent alert and ultra-careful, while also managing to appear … how did Jonesy put it? ... as unsavoury a character as he is! In other words, greedy, dishonest and, in Jess's case, a bit stupid, but not so stupid that he wouldn't be worth hiring. No small task when you considered the Judge's reputation for sharpness and the versatility to weasel his way out of anything. Even if he took Jess on as a guide, complications would be added by the highly probable interference of the other members of the gang, for they were hardly likely to let the Judge or anyone else ride off unopposed with $41,000. But the chief danger was the challenge of out-witting not only the Judge, but the infamous and ruthless Chawcktaw Johnson, who Jess did not for one minute believe had simply disappeared from the trail or conveniently dropped dead. It was certainly going to require a lot of low cunning, quick thinking and sheer bravado on Jess's part if he was to survive the anticipated search for the proceeds of the payroll robbery.

Ain't no use belly-achin'. Y' volunteered for this, remember?

He would just have to play his role as a ne'er-do-well youngster with a dubious reputation – not the first time he'd been thought of as such – and use all his previous experience, not to mention his survival skills, to complete his mission successfully. He had promised justice for Slim's murdered friend – and to keep from getting any bullets in himself which might need digging out. Slim was relying on him. So were the sheriff and Captain Reeves of the United States Army. Besides, Jess needed that finder's fee for Andy's saddle and the new breeding stock and when he had set his sights on helping those he cared for, he was not deterred by the odds against him.

He lay back down and folded his arms behind his head, grinning a little to himself despite his aching feet. Gonna be some place I shouldn't be, doin' something I shouldn't! Only now, it'll be on the right side of the law. After all, it wasn't the first time he'd ridden with outlaws nor the first time he'd found himself behind bars.

Nearly noon.

They wouldn't be behind bars for much longer.

Then the fun would start!

Cutting Conversation

(Iron Captain)

"Out."

"What?"

Jess regarded the pointing finger with a mixture of bewilderment and resistance.

"Outside!" the stern voice repeated.

"Jonesy! I ain't finished m' breakfast yet!" Jess put every effort into this plaintive appeal.

It had absolutely zero effect.

"Y' already drank three pints o' coffee an' ate enough t' bust the springs on any stagecoach," he was reminded with all the certainty of a cook who keeps tally of the response to his work. This observation brought chuckles from his companions at the table.

"What springs?" Jess objected immediately. "You ever travel on a stage with any sign o' workin' springs? I got bruises t' prove it if y' wanna take a look."

This distraction attempt earned him a giggle, hastily smothered, from Andy and a frown from Slim. Jonesy took no more notice than a river in flood takes of a mud dam.

"Out. Side."

"Why? What for?" Suspicion was written all over Jess's face. "I already had a wash. A good 'un. Hot water 'n all," he added hastily and then for good measure: "Heck, I even shaved first thing!"

"An' now y' gonna getta haircut," he was told.

This statement had an immediate effect. The three other residents of the relay station were treated to the extremely unusual but highly entertaining spectacle of Jess Harper completely bereft of words.

For about sixty seconds.

Then …

"T' hell with a haircut!" Jess exploded, quite forgetting his manners and Andy's presence.

"Language, Jess!" Slim reprimanded him, albeit mildly because he was mightily amused by the fact that Jess – normally so tough and unflappable – was totally disconcerted by this simple proposal.

"No doubt y'd look fine in hell with hair that length," Jonesy informed him caustically. "But y' representin' the Sherman Ranch now an' the stage line, so y' can quit hollerin' an' git out there on the porch. Ain't messin' up the livin' room while we're doin' it."

"If I'm representin' the Shermans, then the boss has got t' order it!" Jess was clutching at straws here.

Slim leaned back in his chair and let his gaze rest on his ranch hand's head, taking a prolonged survey of the said hair length which seemed to last several minutes. This done, he assumed a very serious expression and began, "Taking everything into consideration, Jess, I don't see –"

"Thanks!" Jess didn't let him finish, but leaped to his feet, his own chair crashing backwards as he did so.

"Don't smash up the furniture," Slim ordered, "and take it with you when you get out there on the porch for Jonesy to do his wors – er – best!"

"But you just said you didn't see any need!" Jess protested indignantly.

"No I didn't," Slim told him. "You interrupted before I could finish. I was going to say I didn't see how you'd got away without a haircut for so long. It's definitely hampering your efficiency."

"Oh yeah?" Jess snapped back. "I suppose I shot Dixie Anderson with m' eyes covered?"

"You probably could," Slim conceded, for he had developed a healthy respect for Jess's skill with a gun, "but the court will want to see your face when you're giving evidence."

"An' they ain't gonna see more'n the end o' y' nose if I don't take y' in hand!" Jonesy added, waving the comb menacingly. Or at any rate, as menacingly as a comb could be waved – and that was quite a lot if you were a Texan whose thick thatch of hair was naturally as resistant to discipline as its owner. "Now git movin'! Outside!" For good measure, the old cook seized the scissors which he had left safely on the mantelpiece.

"You sure y' know what y' doin' with those things?" Jess asked sceptically and in an attempt to delay the inevitable.

"I suppose y' think everyone around here cuts their own hair?" Jonesy retorted coldly. "You ever tried that trick?"

Actually Jess had, with disastrous results. And besides, in parallel with his dislike of being doctored, he was very wary of anyone but a barber getting anywhere near his head while armed with scissors. No more than he would allow anyone, even a barber, around his face with a razor. When he had to shave, he preferred to trust his own hand. Whatever he usually did, though, it was not yet apparent to Jess that he had met his match in Jonesy.

Slim, meanwhile, was wondering what would happen when Jonesy had finished cutting hair and insisted on Jess changing from his working shirt and pants into something a whole lot tidier as well. For Jonesy would succeed in his mission, Slim had no doubt of that, because he himself had a lifetime's experience of his old friend's expertise, not just in matters domestic, but in persuading – by whatever means necessary – recalcitrant small boys and not so small but equally recalcitrant cowboys to do as he said. It was therefore with well concealed amusement that he heard Jonesy's final threat.

"I ain't takin' aspersions o' my cuttin' skills any more'n I do about m' cookin'! And if you ain't out on that porch in the next ten seconds, y' can count on goin' hungry for a week when y' get back from givin' evidence in court."

The pause which ensued was as tense as any before a gunfight.

Jonesy stood stock still, scissors and comb in his hands. Jess reciprocated with a glare. Eventually, however, he bent and picked up the chair. He walked quietly out onto the porch. They heard him set down the chair gently. It creaked as he sat on it.

Somehow, despite this unexpected restraint, the atmosphere was reminiscent of the dust settling after a raging bull had just stamped through the living room and out of the front door.

Not even the prospect of shearing the forelock of so fierce a creature could deter Jonesy. As he followed his victim out, he remarked under his breath: "Reckon y' can behave like a gentleman if y' want to an' if anyone can make y' look like one, I can!"

A Breezy Start to the Day

(Death Wind)

They say in the seconds before death your life flashes before your eyes. They also say 'live every day as if it were your last'. And they say that a near-death experience is like being born again. They probably say all these things in Greek, Latin, Chinese and the indigenous languages of assorted tribes throughout the world.

As far as Jess Harper was concerned, the only thing flashing before his eyes this morning was a cloud of spitting sparks. The sparks were the precursors of a massive headache. The headache prefigured dizziness seriously hindering his ability to stand upright. The dizziness brought on waves of nausea the like of which he had not suffered since he was on a ship at sea.

All minor consequences for a man who had merely been flattened by a flying door, battered and buried under storm-driven debris and nearly suffocated as the breath was driven out of his lungs.

First, he just needed to get out of bed. And second, avoid at all costs anyone finding out and trying to doctor him. Then he could live this new day as if it was his last. As for being born a second time, birth can be an uncomfortable experience and, when he sat up cautiously, hot pain immediately stabbed through his shoulder and ribs.

Darn'd things had better not be busted again!

Jess was philosophical about this. His ribs had been damaged often enough for him to be able to feel the difference between mildly inconveniencing and totally incapacitating. This morning, he was experiencing somewhere between the two, but reckoned that if he watched how he bent and lifted, it would probably be ok in a few days. So all he had to do now was to persuade his feet to stay on the floor and his legs to remain vertical above them.

This was less easy than it sounded, given sparks, dizziness and a stomach which was convinced it was on the ocean instead of firmly in the middle of Wyoming. He had to exert all his formidable willpower in order to stay upright, let alone pick up his clothes and somehow get into them. He was balancing precariously on one leg when the door flew open.

"Come on, Jess! The yard looks like a tornado hit it," Slim joked breezily. "No time to waste today."

The door swung shut again. Jess regarded it balefully.

Like I ain't noticed the state o' the place last night!

Last night, though, he had been running on adrenaline and the long-ago training which enabled him to ignore pain of the beating he had sustained by being flattened and buried. They'd done a good job shoring up the porch, taking down the shuttering Jonesy and Andy had hammered in place and pulling up the stakes which had anchored the stage. Not to mention hastily moving the two corpses into one of the sheds, where they would not be falling over them all the time. And where Andy wouldn't be confronted with them as an all too clear reminder of the violence which had been added to the hazards of the storm.

Guess someone's gonna have t' cart them into town and get the sheriff t' do the paperwork.

The thought of the probable effect on his aching back and ribs of twelve miles of rough trail in each direction in an unsprung wagon made Jess wince visibly. Fortunately there was no-one to see. And it made him sympathise more than usual with what Jonesy had to put up with nearly all the time.

"Jess? You ok?"

It was Jonesy himself. The ranch's resident medical expert looked Jess up and down. As usual, Jess had no intention of admitting to any pain or injury and gave his best impression of a man getting up with reluctance when his rightful slumbers had been rudely interrupted.

"Yeah." Jess just managed to avoid saying "fine", which would have alerted Jonesy to his physical state immediately. He added hastily, "Thanks."

Jonesy frowned, not entirely convinced but willing to give Jess the benefit of the doubt. "Slim's rarin' t' go," he warned.

"What's new?" Jess managed to summon a grin. "Now, if y' were tellin' me he was sittin' quiet with his feet up an' a nice mug o' coffee …"

"Huh!" Jonesy snorted. "I suppose that's some kind o' hint, is it? Well get y' carcass out o' here – I ain't servin' y' coffee in bed!"

The door shut firmly after him.

Jess sighed and immediately wished he hadn't. His ribs were not going to put up with too much heavy breathing today and that would not make work any easier. He certainly felt like a carcass – one which had been pounded with a meat hammer! The hammer which was currently thumping inside his head.

The door opened with a reciprocal thump and Andy yelled, "Hey, Jess! The animal cages are blown all over. Can you come and help me put them back?"

"Sure, Andy." Jess summoned up his most co-operative tones. "Are the critters alright?"

"Few bruises and some cuts," Andy informed him over his shoulder as he dashed away.

Yeah, I can sympathise with that! But I'm gonna be fine!

Following the boy cautiously, Jess tried not to limp and managed to give the impression he was still half asleep – his usual state first thing – instead of being vividly awake in every inch of his battered body. He slumped into his chair and reached out for the full mug of coffee in front of him.

"Right, now you're up, we've got a herd of loose horses to find, round up and get cleaned up before the morning stage arrives," Slim informed him briskly.

"We have?"

"Slim!" Jonesy admonished, "That's Jess Can't Start the Day Without a Pot o' Coffee Harper, y' talkin' too." As he spoke, he carried through a fresh pot of newly made revival liquid and filled Jess's mug up again.

"Thanks, Jonesy!" Gratitude was doubled as the full pot meant he would not have to move again for a little while. At the thought of moving, something else struck him: "How y' gonna round up horses when there ain't none left to ride?"

"I'm not, you are," Slim told him rather smugly. "I know you can whistle up Traveller, so once you've got him, he'll find Alamo and then we can round the rest up. Now get a move on!"

Jess poured himself another mug very deliberately. Jonesy had meanwhile deposited a plate of breakfast in front of him, but for once his stomach was too busy in the fantasy world of seasickness to be interested in food.

"Let the boy eat!" Jonesy admonished again. "He ain't no good t' y' faintin' o' hunger."

"It's ok, Jonesy." Jess pushed away the plate and pushed up from his chair, using every muscle he possessed to keep upright and steady. "It won't take long. Keep it hot. I'll eat when we get back."

"Be time for the stage by then," Jonesy sniffed. He looked suspicious too, so Jess made tracks for his hat, his gun-belt and the door, moving with as near his usual easy stroll as he could.

Outside, Andy grabbed his arm and dragged him round the house to help with the animal crates. Jess bit back a yelp of pain. Slim uttered a yelp of protest, as the animals were nowhere near the top of his list of priorities.

"Give us a hand," Jess suggested. "It ain't gonna take long with three of us."

Before they got started, Jess went out to the pasture and summoned Traveller with the piercing emergency whistle which meant: "I need you right now!" Restoring order to Andy's menagerie was quick work for three sets of hands and Jess was quietly thankful that by some marvel the animals and birds were all relatively unscathed, unlike himself. This was partly because they had taken the precaution of moving the cages into the best shelter they could before the storm reached its height, but it was still something of a miracle.

"Not a sparrow falls," Jess murmured softly as he straightened up from shifting the final cage. There was something about the hairs on your head being preserved somewhere in the bible as well. Right now he felt as if his hair was about the only part of him which was functioning normally and even it was covering a persistent headache and only marginally less persistent sparks before the eyes.

Bendin' down sure ain't helped none! But it had set Andy's mind at rest and that was worth a great deal of pain. Just gotta keep goin' an' it'll be fine!

Traveller, however, had not reappeared.

"The wind was blowing up from the south, so they'll have turned their tails to get away from it," Slim observed cheerfully. "You'll maybe have to walk up to the far boundary, the north end."

"I will?"

He did.

To his huge relief, this time his whistles summoned the faithful steed before he had walked the entire distance. Even better, Alamo was close behind him. Jess had not felt like lugging saddle along with him and vaulting on as he usually did was not an option, but fortunately he'd trained Traveller to kneel for him to mount. He was blessing his own foresight in this as he got astride and was carried gently back to the yard.

Slim was waiting impatiently, worrying about the arrival of the first stage while they were still devoid of horses. So as soon as they had saddled up he led the way north in search of the missing herd and the stage horses. Again fortune favoured them. The horses evidently remembered the ranch as a source of food and had not gone far. Nor did they pose much of a problem to drive back into the paddock. This gave Jess a little respite, since Traveller's gait was smooth and in any case the bay knew his rider very well, well enough to sense that all was not right with Jess – not for the first time. Sometimes animals were more perceptive than humans!

Once they had recaptured all the horses, Slim drove the pair of them into a whirlwind of activity in order to get a team watered, fed and groomed ready for the incoming stage.

The arrival of the stage itself mercifully meant a break for coffee.

For everyone except Jess.

Slim looked his employee up and down and observed, "You look as if you've crawled out from under a bush. I'd better see to the passengers. You change the team."

So he did that.

The stage eventually rolled away. Jess was propped up against the barn door when Jonesy appeared with a mug in his hand. Jess hastily straightened up and strolled over to lean nonchalantly on the corral fence instead.

"Y' breakfast's dried up an' there ain't much left o' the meal the passengers had."

Jess gulped down the coffee as if it was the water of life. "Just bring me the coffee pot!" he mock-ordered, summoning up a convincing grin.

"I guess y' can walk as far as the kitchen door." Jonesy seized the mug from Jess's clasp and headed back to the house.

Jess was half way across the yard when Slim came out of the front door.

"Let's have a look at the damage in the yard now," Slim said with the air of one blown along by the force of his convictions and the list in his head.

Damage! Jess couldn't sigh comfortably, but he sure wanted to! Instead he followed Slim in the direction of the pile of debris under which he had been buried.

"Good!" Slim exclaimed unexpectedly.

What the hell's good about it? Jess nearly said it out loud, but restrained himself as Slim was looking very pleased.

"I've been meaning to replace that door for years. It sticks and it was falling off its hinges."

Y' tellin' me - it flew off!

"I'll get my tools and the wood to make a new one. You get on with clearing up that lot." His boss pointed to the pile of miscellaneous objects on top of the door. "It's easy enough - won't take you long to break it up." Slim bustled away in the direction of the tool store.

Jess looked around. Sure enough, the axe he'd used to kill the bounty hunter was still lying safely on top of the barrel where he'd put it when they'd moved the body. Jess picked it up reluctantly. Not just his ribs and back made him deliberate. He was recalling with a shudder the honed reflexes which had enabled him to focus and fling in one deadly action. It was something he had learnt young, an integral part of his physicality, but he never liked killing with a blade, whether he was holding it or not. Something about the primitive ancient skill made him doubt how civilised he was.

He walked over to the pump and washed the dried blood off the axe. He was glad Andy had not noticed it. Sudden death was not something any kid growing up on the frontier could be shielded from, but it was a stark reminder of a horrible way to die. Time to put the axe to its proper work and there was certainly work to be done.

The door was, as Slim pointed out, flimsy, and disintegrated under a couple of blows. The rest of the debris was mostly smaller and didn't require much effort to reduce it to manageable pieces. Nonetheless, a while later Jess's muscles were aching in chorus since the axing was not much different from all the stake-pounding he had done yesterday. Jess walked over to the barn and replaced the axe where it should have been hung up originally. He figured maybe the wind had shaken it loose because there was no way he or Slim would leave a bladed tool lying on the ground in the yard. Whatever the reason, he was thankful it had been there and he had been swift enough to save Tom Cole.

Slim, meanwhile, was sawing and hammering vigorously. Once the new door was finished, he called Jess over to hold it up while he fixed the hinges. Jess had just been starting for the kitchen to see if Jonesy could rustle up some more coffee and wasn't about to give it up without protest. He grunted irritably and grumbled under his breath, but decided that Slim really did need some help. So he stoically lifted the door into position while Slim dealt with the screws.

"Great. That's got the yard back into working shape," Slim said with satisfaction.

Yeah. Wish I was in the same shape. It was not often Jess Harper admitted to needing any kind of consideration of his injuries, but it had been a hard morning's work, every bit of him continued to ache and his skull was still being axed by the headache. Yet habits die harder than gunmen. It's gonna be fine! he reiterated stubbornly to himself.

"Right, come on. We'd better load those bodies on to the wagon while Andy's tidying up in the vegetable garden and salvaging what he can."

Slim headed energetically for the wagon shed. Jess trudged after him.

They wrapped the bodies in some old tarpaulin before lifting them into the back of the wagon. It was not a pleasant task, not least because the bodies were unwieldy and pretty heavy.

"Pity they didn't live to stand trial," Slim remarked. "But Tom should get justice even without these two. Good job he managed to grab that axe, since he didn't have a gun."

Jess looked at him in surprise but made no attempt to correct the last statement. He wondered instead if Slim was remembering why Tom did not have a gun and why he was incapacitated by a head injury. For himself, he just felt a quiet satisfaction in having been able to help the Coles and hoped their future would be better than if they had continued to run and live in hiding.

Now it was only necessary to make the run into Laramie to tie up the loose ends.

"I just need to check inside to see if Jonesy needs anything from town. The team are already harnessed. Just hitch them up, Jess, will you?" Slim requested.

Jess did that.

He was leaning against the lead horse, enjoying the warmth and solid support, when Slim strode back from the house. The boss was smiling happily.

"Everything's fine inside, including supplies. Jonesy says he'll have the meal ready for you when you get back from Laramie."

"No."

"Of course he will. Jonesy wouldn't let you go hungry, even if you haven't travelled far."

"No!"

"No? What d'you mean, no?"

"I ain't goin'!"

It was the last straw!

"Jess, what's stopping you? It's not much of a job."

Jess heaved in a painful but heartfelt breath. No way was he going to admit the real reason for his refusal. He needed to think quickly of something else essential or at any rate vital to him which would keep him at the ranch.

"I ain't had my breakfast yet!"

Slim stared at him in perplexity. Certainly Jess had been late getting up, which cut down time at the table. Jonesy had insisted on him having something to eat, but, now Slim came to think about it, even at the speed Jess usually ate he had not had time to consume very much breakfast. Which, if you knew Jess Harper at all, was a major calamity and not likely to render him willing to wait until dinner for substantial victuals.

"Ok, I'll go instead." Slim jumped up into the driving seat and picked up the reins. "But I think your breakfast will be pretty dried up!"

It was dried up hours ago!

Jess was remembering Jonesy's earlier comment as he watched the wagon round the bend and disappear in the direction of town. He was smiling slightly because Slim hadn't argued about taking on the task himself, but just got on with it. Slim's entire focus, particularly this morning, was on the organisation and efficiency which made all the difference to the success of the ranch and relay station. Practicality might have been Slim's middle name or watchword. Even when it came to emotional decisions like encouraging Andy to let Flash loose, Slim would always weigh the pros and cons to make the most reasonable decision. It was odd, therefore, that he had disappeared into the storm for so long yesterday. Jess knew now that he had been forced at gunpoint to help the bounty hunter catch his horse, because Slim had told the tale over the supper table the night before. He had made nothing of dealing with three violent criminals in the face of the threat from the tornado.

Maybe all that activity was why he hadn't wondered where Jess was?

Maybe.

Jess thought of them all crowded into the root cellar. Of the evil shriek of the approaching twister. The force of the wind battering everything in its path. The fear of all shelter being ripped from around them. The sheer helplessness of human beings in the face of the true power of nature.

The sounds and pressures and feelings he had sensed and experienced as he lay alone, half-conscious, pinned down by the weight of the door and the debris. Lay hoping and praying the others had made it into the root cellar.

A time to hold on to life with those close beside you. Not a time to think of what might be happening to anyone else.

Maybe.

Presently he shook himself as if shrugging off a cold blanket. He debated for a few minutes whether he needed coffee or medication most. One look at him now and Jonesy would know something was up. Since Jess was vigorously opposed to anyone doctoring him, he was going to have to do something about the medicine himself. It might make him feel capable of getting as far as the kitchen without giving his condition away, in order to obtain the longed-for coffee. He headed further into the barn and the shelf with the lineament and other herbal remedies which Jonesy produced.

It was there that Jonesy found him not long after. Jess had hauled off his shirt and was attempting, with considerable difficulty, to rub some embrocation into his back and ribs.

"What'n tarnation are y' doin', boy!" Jonesy rapped out fiercely. "An' what've y' done t' y' ribs this time?"

Jess groaned. He groaned out loud because it didn't matter now. The fate he had been trying to avoid all morning was upon him. No way's Jonesy gonna be convinced I'm fine!

"Turn round! Lemme see!"

Jess turned and leant his hands against the barn wall because it seemed easier than standing up on his own. Jonesy ran his fingers gently over the dark bruises covering ribs, shoulder and spine.

"Breathe in an' out. Deeper."

"Ouch!" Jess hissed as the deeper breath caught him painfully.

"Well it don't look as if they're broken this time," Jonesy reassured him. "I'm gonna put some arnica paste on y' bruises before y' burn y' skin off with that horse liniment. An' while I'm doin' that, y' can quit pretendin' and foolin' us all that everything's fine and tell me what really happened."

"Had an argument with a flyin' door," Jess said with a grimace and a slight shrug. "An' a few other things joined in."

"Hold still!" Jonesy continued rubbing with skilful fingers. "That's it. I'll unbutton y' shirt so y' can get it on without stretchin'."

"Thanks, Jonesy."

"Don't thank me! We should've looked for y'! Y' couldn't've been far away."

Jess shrugged again. "Every minute counts when there's a twister on y' tail." He knew that from the encounters he had had with this phenomenon in Texas. "Y' did the right thing, keepin' the woman and Andy safe."

Jonesy said nothing, remembering who else had been in the cellar, but he patted Jess firmly on his good shoulder and kept close beside him as they made their way back to the house. Once inside, Jonesy installed Jess in one of the rocking chairs and dosed him with feverfew for the headache. He was not sanguine about adding coffee to this mix, but Jess was already nodding.

"Sleep while y' can," Jonesy told him softly. "I'll wake y' when Slim gets back, 'cause I'm guessin' y' ain't gonna explain anythin' to him."

"You neither," Jess muttered. "No-one ain't sayin' anythin'. It's passed now, like the twister."

Jonesy shook his head but moved quietly back into the kitchen, leaving Jess to recuperate in the blissful quiet in front of the fire. As he went, he heard a final sleepy growl from Jess:

"What he don't know about won't hurt him. I'm fine!"

Uninvited Guests

Nothing got Jess Harper out of bed in a hurry. That was a given at the Sherman Ranch and Relay Station. Well, almost nothing - short of fire, an Indian raid or someone announcing a sudden and severe shortage of coffee. What strange occurrence could it be, therefore, which had Jess descending from his bunk with extraordinary rapidity when it was scarcely dawn, so very incompletely dressed?

The answer …

No. Slim Sherman was woken by the unprecedented activity of his partner, not by the answer. Woken with the distinct feeling that something was seriously amiss.

He was quite right.

The bedclothes seemed heavier this morning. And warmer. And … smellier? And since when had the counterpane possessed a pair of beady black eyes? Eyes staring straight into his own. Beady black eyes separated by a narrow white flash and surmounted by a tasteful topknot of white hair.

Oh heck!

Barely breathing or moving his lips, Slim whispered: "J-e-ss!"

His frantic appeal totally failed to alert his companion, who was busy dealing with the answer to the riddle of his own swift awakening.

"Napoleon! Y' disobedient little duck! Those are my clean shirts! Again!"

It was not by mistake or lack of intelligence that the mighty mallard failed to distinguish between the clean and worn shirts of his personal pet. He could, in fact, tell the difference quite easily. The dirty ones were the ones with rips in a heap on the floor. The neatly darned ones in the drawer were clean. Napoleon just preferred the drawer as a nesting place.

Jess preferred his duck, however devoted, to sleep in the palatial duck-house which had been constructed for him and his wives beside the much enlarged pond. Napoleon, if the inclination took him, did no such thing. Then he would infiltrate the ranch-house with the cunning of a raiding Indian and appear in the most unexpected locations at the most inconvenient times. No-one had yet worked out why you could shut a duck in a duck-house at night and find him outside it in the morning. Or indeed how. Old Man Patterson had warned them about the mallard's escapology skills. Jonesy said the dratted bird ought to be renamed 'Geronimo'.

While Jess was reprimanding the mallard and mentally running through the options he had for finding a shirt which was even marginally fit to wear, Slim maintained a masterly inactivity. This was so unlike him that Jess should have noticed at once, but he was too concerned with his uninvited guest. Slim was, of course, similarly preoccupied.

"Good job Jonesy ain't here!" Jess told Napoleon, "or y'd be endin' up in the pot for sure this time."

Napoleon gave an indignant quack, followed by another which clearly conveyed the sentiment: "You are my hero and you wouldn't let him!"

A faint but agonised "Sssshushhh!" from the still occupied bed urged the pair to be quieter, but neither man nor duck took any notice.

"He – e - e – lll -p!" Slim made another attempt. This was even more feeble as he was trying hard not to move his ribcage when he breathed.

"Slim's gonna kill me," Jess pointed out crossly to his duck.

"Yeah, right!" Slim whispered, but nobody, except possibly the owner of the beady black eyes, heard him.

"He ain't gonna be pleased at all," Jess stated, quite truthfully although it was not because of the battered shirts he was currently sorting through. "Y' know he sets store by bein' smart when we handle the stages."

Napoleon gave a slightly apologetic quack. He understood how close his pet was to his partner and would not intentionally have caused friction between them – provided Slim recognised who was really in charge of the yard and ranch-house.

"We're gonna be in trouble again!" Jess concluded gloomily. "Y' ain't just got me outta bed at an ungodly time but y've left me with nothin' but yesterday's work clothes." He could quite truthfully have added 'and the day before yesterday and the day before that.' Instead he muttered resignedly: "Oh darn it!" (which he really should have done sooner). "Might as well get dressed in 'em, I suppose."

He began to struggle into the least awful clothes which he had sorted out, his back to Slim and the predicament his partner had woken up to.

"All clean and fresh smellin' is what we're meant to be," Jess fumed as he hopped from one foot to another, pulling on his pants. "An' I'm gonna smell like Andy an' Mike's animal house after we spent hours lookin' for that darn'd skunk of theirs!"

"S- s – s - skunk!" Slim hissed valiantly from his bed where he was still pinned down by his unwanted visitor.

It was to no avail. Jess was hunting for his socks under the bottom bunk. This achieved, he sat on the floor and pulled them on. Napoleon, sensing that things were about to get more lively, fluttered down and landed next to him on the pile of unwashed clothes, quacking cheerfully as he did so. The noise made Slim hold his breath completely.

"Now y' get the right idea!" Jess grumbled, but it was really impossible to continue to snarl at the duck when that particular specimen of Anas platyrhynchos was so happy to be with him. All the same, he was not going to let Napoleon get away entirely scot-free. "Come on! Y' goin' out on y' pond where y' belong."

Having tucked the mallard under his arm, Jess rose from his cross-legged sitting position with the facility of one who had spent a good portion of his childhood in wigwams. As he went out of the room, he called over his shoulder, "Get up, Slim! It ain't like y' to let Napoleon an' me beat y' out of bed."

The door closed with a decisive click.

Slim heard footsteps cross the living room and the sound of the front door being unlocked. There was a brief scuffle, obviously Jess pulling on his boots, and a sudden yelp of "No y' don't! You are goin' outside!". The front door opened and shut. Boots thudded across the yard and faded into the distance. There was silence.

Slim lay utterly still.

He could be hours! All those extra chores, with Jonesy in Laramie and Andy and Mike visiting friends. Extra chores – especially cleaning out the cages of the boys' joint menagerie.

That was how the whole debacle with the escaped skunk had arisen.

Slim went on lying utterly still.

The skunk went on regarding him with its beady black eyes. It seemed quite comfortable.

Probably enjoying the cosy warm atmosphere! Slim thought sourly. Maybe it'll doze off and I can jump out of bed and leg it?

The skunk showed no signs of dozing off. His only hope was Jess and Jess was ironically absent, when he was usually the last adult to leave the bunkroom. On the other hand, a sudden appearance might just disturb the skunk with a disastrous result.

Slim remained lying utterly still.

Come on, Jess!

Eventually the boots returned, the front door opened and banged shut again – making Slim's unwanted guest twitch slightly, to his great consternation – and then, by the sound of it, Jess went in the kitchen.

Making coffee! Typical! Slim was in no state to consider his partner's mood without a good dose of the black elixir. He'd just better do it quietly.

No such luck! Jess indulged in a surprising and totally uncharacteristic outburst of cheerful singing, accompanied by a less than melodious clanking and crashing of pots and pans. As his choice was a Rebel song, with a plaintive melody and regrettably ribald lyrics which certainly did not originally belong to it, this performance definitely did not endear him to Slim. The singing was abruptly interrupted by the sound of something falling heavily to the floor and slightly muffled cursing, followed by a yell of: "Mungo, get the hell out of it!" and the unmistakable impact of the kitchen door being flung open.

The skunk raised its head slightly.

Slim held his breath. Mungo and the skunk were arch enemies. It would be just his luck this ill-fated morning if the large aggressive ginger cat suddenly chose to leap in through the bunkroom window.

Instead, the bunkroom door flew open with a crash and Jess's head appeared briefly round it.

"Get up, slugabed! It's your turn t' make breakfast! I'm starvin'!"

So what's new? Slim asked silently as the door creaked shut and latched with another decisive snap. He just hoped the skunk didn't think it was a gunshot!

There was further prolonged pause.

Then the door opened again, relatively quietly this time, as Jess came back into the room.

"Slim? What's up? You ok? Y' not sick are y'?"

Slim should have been more moved by this solicitude than he was. His mood, however, was largely governed by having lain rigid and almost without breathing for so long while a skunk sat within inches of his head. As it was, he just kept silent.

Jess was silent too as he surveyed Slim's situation. When he did finally speak, he said: "I see y' found it then." It sounded as if he was trying not to laugh.

"Don't jus-s-s-st s-s-s-tand there – do s-s-s-s-omething!" Slim hissed through gritted teeth.

"Well I sure as hell ain't pickin' it up!" Jess assured him, still grinning. But he was not entirely without appreciation of Slim's dilemma, having once had a close encounter with Mephtis mephtis in an enclosed space. He had no wish to repeat the experience in the bunkroom of the ranch-house where he hoped to be sleeping that night.

"F-f-f-food?" Slim suggested breathlessly but hopefully.

Jess shook his head. "We spent an hour tryin' t' lure the little varmint out with food yesterday. It's probably been huntin' since then and, unless it's real hungry, food ain't gonna work now either."

"Tr-r-r-y!"

A tasty bowl of eggs and honey totally failed to move the unwanted guest.

"Told y' so!"

If looks could kill, Jess and the skunk would be sharing a coffin.

"Maybe it wants somethin' live? They eat frogs. I'll see if I can catch one."

The prospect of introducing live frogs into the equation did not endear Jess any further to his partner. But it was too late. The Texan had already vanished through the bunkroom door once more.

The front door banged.

Footsteps thudded into the distance and faded away.

Silence.

Slim and the skunk continued eyeball to eyeball. Neither blinked. Slim was, however, sorely tempted to turn his head and see what was going on when he heard Jess's return, which was accompanied by the kind of endearments he usually used if talking to his horses or his duck. It seemed an odd way to address a frog or frogs, but Slim was willing to overlook this eccentricity if it extracted him from his current painful and hazardous position.

It turned out that Jess was actually talking to Napoleon.

"There y' are, little fella," he said as he propped open the bunkroom door. "Do y' dance an' get him to chase y' outside!"

Light dawned.

Napoleon, for some reason best known to the mallard's mind, liked to tease the skunk and bait it when it was shut up in its cage. While this enraged the black and white bandit, it did not feel threatened or afraid. Fortunately for all concerned!

Jess put the duck down on the floor.

Napoleon obligingly flapped and fluttered provokingly.

The skunk bristled and launched itself from Slim's chest.

Duck and pursuer departed in a flurry of feathers and fur.

Slim heaved a shaky sigh. As he eased his aching body into a vertical position he felt as if he had been trampled on by a herd of buffalo, not a single small skunk. He stretched mightily: every muscle creaked like those of a seventy year old and his joints cracked and popped. He wondered when he would be able to breathe deeply again without fear. But he was free!

"Thanks!" he told his partner.

Jess shrugged. "Ain't lettin' y' lie in bed all day while I do all the chores. Y' can start by gettin' me some breakfast!" He turned and left the room for the final time that morning. The door creaked shut and the latch snapped loud as a coda to the morning's noises.

Slim sighed again. But he could not deny his partner a good meal when Jess had finally succeeded in rescuing him, even if it was with the aid of their other uninvited guest. At least the disastrous start to the day was finally looking less gloomy.

He threw off the bedclothes and swung his bare feet to the floor.

There was a splash.

There was a sensation of something sticky and slimy.

Slim looked down.

At his feet - submerged in a bowl full of the skunk's rejected breakfast!

Acknowledgements:

For all chapters: The great creative writing of the 'Laramie' series is respectfully acknowledged. My stories are purely for pleasure and are inspired by the talents of the original authors, producers and actors.

Thanks as always to Westfalen for excellent beta-ing, especially sorting out my convoluted sentences, and for gifting me with ideas for the mornings in 'Mornings 2'.

Notes:

1. I'm the Emperor of the Castle - shoving a gun into the waistband of any garment? Please do not try this at home! But picking up a duck one-handed is far from easy.

Timelines of stories:

3. Judging by the bars (The Lawbreakers) – It's a busy night before this morning! But if Jess is 'arrested' before dawn and they are not being let out until noon, they wouldn't spend the whole night having the relatively brief conversations in the episode. I have assumed that Jess does get at least some sleep (or pretends to).

4. Cutting Conversation (The Iron Captain) - Surely at least one night passes between Slim and Jess capturing Prado and the trial taking place? Prado is not wanted in Laramie specifically, they have to take him in to jail and then it would take time to set up the court.

5. A Breezy Start to the Day (Death Wind) – At the end of the episode we see them taking down shutters and repairing the porch, but there must have been much more damage (where did that door come from?) which would take longer than the end of an already long day. In the episode no-one asks where Jess is while they are in the root cellar or afterwards enquires what had happened to him.