Howdy, pards!

I had a couple of days without other commitments, and the afterburners of my imagination kicked in overtime on this Part Six. So it ended up taking more than a couple of chapters to say what I want to put into this short story about the the way Jess' life gets newly tangled up at this age. Hope the extra chapters are okay with you. (My internet connection doesn't always cooperate, so it might take a while for all of them to be uploaded.) Happy reading!

6/16/23 Update: If you've read this chapter before, you might notice I did just a bit of tweaking and reposted it. Nothing changed in the plot; I just felt a need to smooth out and clarify a small portion of it.

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Oath of I'm Fine

Part Six

Chapter Seventeen

The year: spring 1866

Jess Harper's age: 20 years old

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It had happened again. And again. And…

Five more towns. Five more fights. Three more men wounded. Two more men dead. By Jess Harper's gun.

He didn't want this. May the Almighty help him, he didn't want this!

Jess sat on a log under a tall cottonwood tree six miles outside the last town he had been run out of. Jaws clenched. Staring into the tall, wind-blown grass. His patient horse's lead held loosely in his hands.

He didn't want a reputation like the one he now had. But a lot of men did. And they saw taking him down as the best way to earn it.

He always remained alert while traveling through the countryside, but he found most men didn't want to challenge him there. They wanted an audience, so they would have witnesses to outdrawing Jess Harper. So the very places he needed to go, towns or cities, were the most dangerous for him to be.

He had gotten good at sizing up the men who called him out. He'd been able to scare away four of the younger ones, like he had that Cyrus Workins in Houston. And he had talked down three in their mid-twenties or so, guys he could tell with one glance weren't as good with a gun as they thought they were. And for three others who wouldn't scare and wouldn't back down, he could tell they would be good, but not quite quick enough to kill him. So he'd been able to take them down with a well-aimed shot to the shoulder or hand.

But there had been two very steady men. He immediately knew they were good. Real good. Not just from the type of holster and how it was worn. Not just because of the gun each carried. Not just from the way they positioned themselves in relation to the wind and the sun. But their very presence in the situation. The confidence. The knowing. It was obvious they were experienced gunhands, they knew gunfighting. And one of them was a well-known professional. Jess knew they would be too fast for him to choose his aim. He had no choice, once those two men had pulled their guns, but to draw as fast as he could and simply fire at the best target to ensure his survival, the chest. One of those gunfights happened last week. One was yesterday.

He had stopped by the mid-sized town about noon. All he had wanted was a meal, some trail supplies, and maybe a poker game to bring in enough money to stuff in his nearly empty pockets to hold him until he could talk somebody into hiring him on at a ranch or a cattle drive. But once again, some braggart trying to prove something had called him out. This time before he even got as far as the saloon.

As always, he had tried to talk the man down. As always, he had not drawn his iron until there was no other option. As always, he waited until the challenger had slapped leather first.

This last time it wasn't some twenty-year-old hoping to build a name for himself. It was a man about thirty-five, wanting to hold onto his reputation as the fastest gun in the state. And he was fast. Dadgum fast. But this time─against Jess Harper─not fast enough. And once again, a crowd had stood in awe. Once again, the whispers had built to become outspoken congratulations for the handsome blue-eyed gunslinger.

Gunslinger. He hated the word. Hated that folks attached it to his name. Those watching had no idea of the pain in the pit of Jess Harper's stomach when he looked at that dead man, of the ache in his heart, of the feeling like a piece of him had been ripped to shreds and scattered there in the street with the fallen man.

He had thought the days of having to shoot another man to stay alive would have ended when his military time was done. The only men he had any interest in shooting were those in the Bannister gang. And the admiration some people were showing toward him when he won a gunfight was making him downright sick.

Occasionally, he managed to spend some time in a cafe or saloon, once in a while winning a hand or two of poker until the local lawman would find out he was there and send him on his way. He was shocked at how often he was recognized, and how often he was being called out.

A couple of weeks earlier, when he was seeking some comfort, some distraction from his anguish, he stopped by a saloon and was surprised no lawman had come to run him off. He won a hand of poker, giving him enough money for some food for him and grain for Traveller, with a few dollars left over. He had just finished a small supper and was intending to leave when one of the girls serving drinks struck up a conversation with him.

Hazel was beautiful, nineteen, sweet, easy to talk to. And he was feeling a serious need for someone he could talk with. She suggested they sit in one of the saloon's quiet booths that were reserved for customers to have some degree of privacy with one of the girls. The depth of his loneliness was driving him to such a desperation to understand what had happened to him since Houston, that he had agreed to buy the big bottle of overpriced whiskey required to secure the table. Being tucked away in a dark booth at the back of the large room away from the crowd was safer anyway, in case someone in the bar might take notice of him.

The girl's boss liked her, so he allowed their conversation to continue in the private booth after her shift ended, without Jess having to buy another bottle. He ended up spending most of the evening with Hazel, sometimes listening to her tell about her hometown and family; sometimes answering her questions about his background, as vaguely as he could; sometimes just enjoying quiet time with her that, for a short while, made him feel less alone. He talked some, drank a little, and sweated from the southern Texas heat and his pent-up tension. Hazel was a good listener, and finally he had opened up about wishing he wasn't recognized so much. He vented his frustration and sincere bewilderment about why it kept happening.

"What do you expect, Jess?" she had cooed, as she ran her hand across his chest in a suggestive caress. "With your looks… the way you move…" Her finger gently traced the length of his throat. "That stone velvet voice…" She ran her hand down his arm. "And your… talent…" Smiling, she reached up and smoothed the dark, sweat-moistened locks of hair over his forehead. "You leave plenty to remember. No one is ever gonna forget you, darlin'."

Jess explained he had to get going. He stood up and thanked her for her time and the conversation. After tipping her generously, he gave her a smile and a quick kiss and started for the door, leaving her disappointed that nothing further would develop from their time together. As he passed the bar, he didn't fail to notice that one of the town deputies had taken a place there. The man followed him outside and stood on the boardwalk, glaring at him as he mounted up and watching him all the way as he rode down Main Street and out of town.

No one is ever gonna forget you.

The certainty in Hazel's voice had surprised him. Jess wasn't sure if he should believe her, or if the girl just wanted to flatter him into spending more money─on her. But if it was true… As he rode along, he briefly thought about trying to completely disappear. Maybe into California or Mexico.

But that wouldn't help him find Frank Bannister. The only way to do that was to search where Bannister was known to make his raids and to frequent towns where he might hear some news of where the gang had last been seen. He had to be careful about trying to gather information. He never knew if a member of the gang could be listening in, or even be one of the men he might ask about Bannister. The gang had been spotted near Fort Worth. Then their last raid had been near the New Mexico line. And then there was nothing seen or heard of them for the past two months. He had no idea which direction to head.

As he now made his way due north from the southern part of Texas, he began to think that sheriffs and marshals were passing warnings about him along from one town to the next. He was never welcome and often was met by the local lawman as soon as he rode into town, with the badge toter usually waving a shotgun and issuing him an order to stay on his horse and ride on out. And every attempt to get a job at a ranch or on a trail drive had ended up the same, with a "we don't need the kind of trouble that comes along with you, Harper."

With a heavy sigh, he stood up and patted his horse's neck. "Traveller, I been thinkin'. I ain't been able to find any of the Bannister gang here in Texas. Maybe they ain't around here anymore. All's I been able to do here is git myself in more and more trouble. And even with it bein' my home state…" His voice lowered, along with his eyes. "… well, I ain't actually had anything close to what you could call a home for years… I still ain't wantin' to be leavin' it."

He swallowed hard. "But I reckon there ain't nothin' left for me here."

He raised his head. "Maybe it's time we move on, Trav. Maybe I'll pick up word of the Bannisters somewheres else. And maybe folks ain't even heard a' me outside a' Texas. Things might could be better in Colorado or Kansas or somewheres like 'at."

Scratching Traveller's muzzle, Jess gazed out across the prairie. "There's a lot a places out in the Big Open. Bound to be plenty where nobody's seen me b'fore, don't ya s'pose? What do ya think, boy? You wanna head to Colorado? Or Kansas maybe?"

Traveller nuzzled Jess' cheek.

"I'll take that for a 'yep.' All right, Kansas it is."

Jess hop-mounted and headed north again, this time at an angle so he eventually would be positioned to traverse the Panhandle at its easternmost edge and then head straight up toward Kansas.

"We're gonna have to be livin' off the land agin, Trav. That sack of oats I bought a few days ago… I used up the last of my money on it. I got only a mighty small amount of 'em left for ya, son. Sorry for that."

As they made their way through the huge state, still being shooed out of one town after another whenever he sought work, oats for his horse, or shelter from a storm, a new feeling began to develop alongside the sorrow Jess Harper felt over the turn his life had taken.

Anger.

It wasn't boiling yet, but the undercurrent was there. He was a man who knew ranch work, knew it well, could do it better than most any man. He was willing to work hard at honest labor. But there were plenty of men looking for ranch work after the war. Ranch owners could pick and choose who they wanted to hire on. And nobody was willing to take a chance on hiring the trouble that would come along with Jess Harper. Honest labor wasn't coming his way. Gunfighters and edgy lawmen were. And it was dadgummed unfair.