Oath of I'm Fine
Part Ten
Chapter Thirty-eight
The year: late August 1870
Jess Harper's age: 24 years old
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The hair stood up on the back of his neck, and he came to high alert. Every movement he made was being watched. He could feel it.
But why did they care that he was here? He was doing nothing more than riding down the street. Just wanted to get a good meal. Maybe a poker game. A night in a real bed. And some information. To see if anyone here had ever heard of Pete Morgan.
What the heck is goin' on with this town? A ma snatched her kid back into the house at the sight of me. Barkeep did the same with that purty saloon girl. Nobody on the street. Except a couple men with rifles.
As he rode by one of them, the man stepped out from the boardwalk to take up position behind him. The one ahead yelled for him to stop.
Jess had been in enough scrapes to know stopping in a frontier town, caught between two men with guns, was not a good position to be in. Even if it was a lawman ordering him to halt. He thought he caught a glimpse of the sun glinting off a star on the man's chest, though he wasn't sure. The guy didn't say he was a lawman. At any rate, Jess had been thrown into jails before, and one time was even locked up unjustly for quite a spell until he was cleared. He wasn't about to take a chance on it happening again. He needed to get out of this town. Now. He would rather take his chances with his best friend─the best horse he had ever known─and take a chance against those rifles, than take a chance with an entire town that seemed to have already decided he was guilty of something.
He spurred Traveller down an alley and onto a back street leading out toward the direction he had come in. As the bullets began to fly, he hoped they wouldn't hit him or his horse, but hope was all he could do. He wouldn't shoot back when he had no idea of the kind of person he might hit. He didn't want to shoot a lawman or a good citizen just trying to protect their town. He didn't want to hurt anybody. And he didn't want to give them a real reason for jailing him. He felt the gust of one bullet going through his jacket sleeve and leaned low in the saddle as he fled, glad to put this riled and strange town behind him. Thankful, and surprised, that no one followed him.
By the time he put plenty of distance between Laramie and himself, he was feeling the strain. He had been on the trail for so long. That bartender fifty miles and a half dozen towns back had told him Pete Morgan mentioned he was headed into Wyoming. And two days ago he had been having a bite to eat in a café in a different town and heard that Pete was in Laramie. He knew nothing beyond that, but he had wanted to hurry and get to the town before Morgan moved on. So he had ridden long days, stopping often enough to make sure Traveller got enough sleep and sustenance. The bay got the rest he needed and took in plenty of sweetgrass and water. But last night Jess had trouble sleeping, didn't get much at all. And from yesterday afternoon on, he hadn't eaten anything other than some beef jerky. The lack of food combined with lack of sleep was taking its toll on him.
Traveller hated the deep wagon ruts on the road, and Jess was concerned about his mount hurting a leg, so he decided to cut across the range. He would camp somewhere for a while, see if he could grab some sleep and find something to eat—some berries and morel mushrooms, possibly bag a rabbit or squirrel. Then maybe take a chance on trying Laramie again. Or maybe he would head straight west to the next town. Maybe Pete had gone that route by now anyway.
Coming upon a beautiful scene, a nice stream flowing gently into a small lake, he and Trav both helped themselves to a drink of the cool water. There was a log lying near the water, in the shade of some trees, and Jess' body was just begging him to settle down for a nap. He walked his horse over to a tree to hitch him there so they both could close their eyes for a while.
The sign on the tree was impossible to miss. "Sherman Ranch─No Trespassing."
So apparently some rancher thought this little section of the world was for his own personal enjoyment and nobody else's, huh? Jess had been raised in a family that never owned property or much of anything else. But he had also fought range wars over water rights. He understood how vital it was for ranchers to be sure their beeves had access to plenty of water. Still, the idea of this rancher thinking he didn't need to so much as temporarily share the land with anyone, not even a wanderer in need, rankled him.
Well, Mister Sherman, here's what I think of your claim to this free-flowin' water and this fine grass planted by the Almighty, not you.
Jess Harper tied his horse to the tree at the exact spot of that sign.
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Slim had seen the man ride onto his range and carefully followed him from a ways off. Why didn't he stay on the road? Must be up to no good.
He watched the man for a while and was at least appreciative that he seemed to think highly of his mount, making sure the horse had water even before he himself drank. Of course, rather than out of concern for the animal, Slim caustically thought it might be that the man wanted to be sure his horse was strong and ready for a quick getaway if trouble came after him.
Slim tied his own horse in a pasture far enough from the lake and behind some trees so he wouldn't be seen as he continued to assess the rider and his possible intentions.
What the heck?
The guy had the nerve to be hitching his horse right beside the "No Trespassing" sign!
That told Slim all he needed to know. The man obviously had no regard for laws or the rights of landowners. Most likely, the guy was on the run, with his face on some 'Wanted' poster.
And now, that saddletramp was settling down by his lake! Making himself at home like he owned the land. Slim's jaws clenched, and a deep scowl formed.
I'm no bounty hunter. Got no interest in taking you in. But you're not staying on my land, you gall-darned outlaw.
Pulling his rifle from the scabbard, the tall rancher quietly made his way toward the trespasser.
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Jess jerked at the sound of the command "keep your hands where they are."
Dadgum! No one had got this close to him without him knowing it since Father James walked up to him in that cemetery five years ago. How could he have let this happen? Just too blamed tired. And too relaxed by the soothing sight of this peaceful little lake. There was sure no peace coming with that voice though. He couldn't see the source of it, since his hat covered his eyes from his preparation for a nap. He hoped there was only one angry man standing there.
"What are ya doing here?"
"Gittin' a crick in m' back." Jess didn't even try to hide his aggravation. "Let me know when I can git up."
It was only a minute later before Jess' gun had been appropriated from him, and the two men stood staring at each other.
It wasn't the first time Jess had looked down the barrel of a furious man's gun. As usual, he calmly weighed the situation, just waiting for his chance to turn things in his favor. It would come. He just needed to stay alert and ready, but appear easygoing and get the guy to relax enough that he'd let his guard down.
Who does this guy think he is? Questionin' how I take care of my horse. And checkin' the brand… practically accusin' me of bein' a horse thief!
So it's his ranch, private property. So what? It ain't like I'm rustlin' his cattle. All's I want is a drink and a little rest.
Thinks he's so high and mighty. Well, he sure is tall, I'll give 'im that. I'm near to six feet. But he's gotta have three or four inches on me. I could still out-fight 'im.
I'll git my chance. Come on and slip up, Mister Dadgum Landowner. And I'll have my gun back in no time. Yours too.
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Slim trudged back up the hill toward where he'd left his horse. He guessed he should be glad the saddletramp didn't shoot him. In fact, Slim was shocked to see the man actually toss his rifle and handgun close to Alamo. That action, the fact that the guy didn't keep either of his guns, puzzled Slim. Maybe he wasn't some desperate outlaw on the run.
Still, the man hadn't won any respect from Slim. He had ignored the order to ride on the road and took off straight across Sherman range while Slim watched. Dang cocky son of a gun.
And he practically called me a coward. "Stay outta those woods. Jack rabbit in there, and he looked real mean." Saying I couldn't handle so much as a small critter like that. It was his way of making the point that I sure didn't handle him. And gosh darn it, I didn't. Other way around.
Slim gritted his teeth. Most irritating of all was the fact that the man had lured him into a false sense of security, acting like he was a simple traveler who stopped for a drink. Slim had glanced away… and the cougar pounced. Grabbed his rifle and kicked him down flat. Took all three guns away from Slim─his own sixgun, plus Slim's forty-five and rifle.
He's no ordinary saddletramp. A regular cowpoke doesn't have reflexes like that. Doesn't plan like that.
And sure doesn't have a gun like that.
In the short span of time the man's forty-five was in his possession, Slim had noticed how special it was. Balanced to perfection. Custom-made grip. And flattened hammer. Nope, this guy was no ordinary cowboy. And if he also wasn't an outlaw, it left little to the imagination what he actually was.
Slim had arrived at the place where his guns had been deposited. He stooped to pick up the rifle and then a few feet away, the handgun.
Glad that fella's moving on. Last thing I ever want to see again is that smirk of his.