Oath of I'm Fine
Part Nine
Chapter Thirty-three
The year: April 1870
Jess Harper's age: 24 years old
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"That's him."
"You sure?"
"Gotta be. Fits the description the boss gave us. Around twenty-five or so. About six feet. Lean. Muscled. Dark hair. Good lookin' so all the girls flock to him. Yep, you can see 'em all starin' at him."
The barrel-chested, middle-aged man named Fordham kept his voice quiet. "And just look at that pearl-handled gun. That's one high-cost weapon. Don't no regular cowpoke invest his hard-earned dollars in a custom-made grip like that." He squinted his eyes. "Woo boy! Take a gander at that flattened hammer. And just look at the way he wears that fancy iron."
His slightly younger friend nodded. "Mighty low." His quiet tone matched Fordham's. "Got the holster cut away some too."
"Watch the way he moves, Andrews. The way he walks. Like a gall-durn cougar stalkin' its prey. He was a shock rider for the South in the war, Boss said. So he knows how to move like a predator. Smooth. I tell ya, that boy is pure muscle and reflex. And every one of 'em ready for whatever comes." Fordham chuckled quietly. "Smart too. Look at the way he's checkin' every little detail and every single man in the saloon."
"Wouldn't 'a noticed that if ya didn't mention it. Even now I ain't so sure that's what he's doin'."
Fordham eyed the dark-haired cowboy across the room with admiration. "That's 'cause he's so slick about it. But I tell ya, that's gen-u-ine gunslinger all the way."
"He ain't looked in our direction though."
"Don't count on that, Andrews."
Draining his beer in a long uninterrupted series of swallows that he hoped would build his courage, Andrews nodded, wiping his sleeve across his chin. "Guess that's him all right then."
Fordham looked at the third man sitting at their table, his hat tilted low over his forehead, shadowing his face so much his eyes couldn't be seen. "Jericho, how come you ain't said a word? You know what the man looks like, don't ya?"
The lanky, bearded, thirty-year-old remained still, his unblinking eyes glued to the guy in question, who took a place at the far end of the bar and ordered a whiskey. Jericho Cutchinson's hard stare had latched onto that black-hatted, blue-shirted man and stayed there from the moment he walked through the batwings. Cutchinson's cold gaze focused on the face with the angled eyebrows and slightly crooked smile, as the two prettiest gals that worked in the saloon quickly sidled up close on each side of the gunhawk, one of them stroking his left arm as the other caressed his back and then toyed with the curls at the nape of his neck. Jericho sneered at the way every woman in the large saloon immediately had moved in closer, those two latching onto the man right away, and the rest openly gawking at him. And every male in the place gave a wide berth as the Texan passed by, danger obviously striding along with him.
"Well? Jericho, is that him or ain't it?" Fordham demanded.
Cutchinson said nothing. The other two men studied him, wondering at the silence of their compadre who appeared to be deep in thought, or memories, or both. They hadn't known him long, so it was hard to read him. They had only met a few weeks ago when all three landed jobs at the same ranch, just three miles beyond the mid-sized city there in the far northeastern corner of Colorado.
"Well, I don't know if that's him or not," Andrews said, watching the man at the bar who talked and laughed with the two women fawning over him. Andrews looked to Fordham and then tilted his head toward Jericho, shrugging at the way their friend seemed to be pondering the deepest meanings of life. "We gotta make sure somehow, Fordham. But one thing's for danged certain… For being as young as he is, the one we're looking for has got hisself quite a reputation as a fast gun."
"He's earned every bit of that reputation."
The affirmation had come in a low rumble from the previously taciturn Cutchinson. He tossed his whiskey back and set the shot glass on the table. Suddenly standing, he headed straight out the saloon's front entrance.
After a moment's hesitation, Fordham stood, letting one of the nearby girls know to leave their drinks be, as they intended to return. Andrews followed, and the two of them quickly made their way out the swinging doors. They caught up to Cutchinson just as he untied his horse from a hitching rail a little farther down from the saloon and prepared to mount.
"Hold on, Jericho!" Fordham called, to halt the intention to ride out, as he and Andrews hurried toward Cutchinson. "So it sounds like you're tellin' us that is Jess Harper. Right?"
"Yeah. That's him."
"Then why are ya takin' off? We gotta talk out the plan. We got a job to do." Fordham cast his view around to be sure no one was in hearing range.
"A job that comes with a plentiful bonus," Andrews added. "And it's all three of us that the boss says should do it. He wants that gunslick dead. You ain't gonna turn down your share of a twelve hundred dollar bounty for that man, are ya?"
Cutchinson let his left hand, still holding the reins, drop to his side. "I am."
"What in blazes, Jericho?! Why would you just ride away from money?" Fordham stared incredulously at the younger man. "You must not be clear in your thinkin' on this."
Cutchison glared. "Fordham, I know more about what's happening here than either of you two. I've fought against Harper. I've seem him in action, in battle. And I also saw him in a town in Utah Territory when he got called out by a top 'slinger. And a while after that, I was in Nevada and saw the same thing happen. He gets called out a lot. You know that. You'd both heard of his reputation even before he got here. And he has never lost. He's just been getting faster and more aware all the time. And I know how smart Harper is. I've seen the damage he can do."
"Then you understand why the boss is terrible mad at him."
"Sure I do. I was part of that range war in New Mexico four years ago. I fought for J.D. Kerr."
Andrews fidgeted with his holster. "That range war was the reason Mister Kerr sold out and moved up here, ya know."
"Yeah. And I know, as well as Kerr does, that Harper made the difference four years ago, turnin' the tide against him in that range war. Harper was the one that trained those sodbusters and laid out their plan. He lead them in the battle.
"But then─"
"Look, Fordham, I've seen Harper fight. With his fists. With his rifle. And with that pearly Colt of his."
Cutchinson heaved a breath of disgust mixed with trepidation. "Never seen a man so sure with a gun." His eyes narrowed. "Dead-eyed on his target. And that draw of his…" He shook his head. "Never seen a hand move so fast in all my gunhawkin' days."
Fordham's brow scrunched tight in aggravation. "But he's sick now, Jericho. Hurtin' and sick from that infected wound he got when them two drifters went gunnin' for him last week. You know that. Doc's nurse told Mister Kerr," the hefty man insisted. "So Harper's gotta be off his game, way slowed down."
Cutchinson's eyes narrowed. "Does he look slowed down?"
Doubt flashed across Fordham's face. "Well, no. Looks strong as an ox. But we can still take him easy, once he rides away from town. Three against one."
Cutchinson snorted. "Four against one wouldn't matter. Not with Harper. You forgetting where those two that ambushed him last week are now? Six feet under a shady tree. And I know he took down four that tried to get him in Arizona. One ended up with a limp. One ended up with a useless arm. Two ended up with headstones. And Harper rode away from it all without a scratch."
Andrews' eyes were wide with worry.
"And there's been other men that've mysteriously turned up dead in what looked to be shootouts. When Harper just happened to be in the area. In Texas, New Mexico, Arizona, Colorado, and who knows where else. Nothing's been pinned on him for those. No one saw him shoot 'em. But it's sure a coincidence, ain't it?"
Cutchinson pulled his gloves on. "Over the past four years that I've known of him, Harper's been in lots of scrapes, including some with outlaws, bounty hunters, the law, range wars─and he's survived them all. And I'm not even telling half of the experience he's had with a gun. He was busy even before Kerr's range war. And don't forget, he's the one who took down Sharp McElroy."
Andrews' mouth dropped open. "That was Harper?!"
Cutchinson nodded. "The man is tough." He again turned toward his horse.
"Now just a hide-tannin' minute there, Jericho." Fordham grabbed hold of Cutchinson's arm. "Of the three of us that Kerr trusted enough to tell us about this job he wants done, you're the one with the experience as a hired gun. You said you'd be the lead for us in this."
Cutchinson jerked his arm from the other's grasp. "The only reason I agreed to go in on this was because of Harper getting shot during that ruckus last week. But now…" He scowled. "For one thing, it was his left shoulder that took the bullet, not his gun arm. And for another… appears he healed up mighty quick. There he is, up on his feet, walking tall and proud and strong. Like always."
"But we'll be better than those two yahoos last week," Fordham argued. "We'll ambush him. Sneak up on him."
"They did sneak up on him. They didn't go after him here in town in front of a bunch of witnesses, you fool. They tried when he was alone on the road out in the country. One with a sixgun, the other with a rifle. Didn't matter. Somehow Harper still figured out they were after him. And when they went to take him down, he was ready. It's like… I don't know… it's like he's got an instinct for it. There's a way that he just… knows. They were lucky to even manage getting some shots off. But they didn't have enough luck to keep 'em out of boot hill. That's where Harper sent 'em."
"But, Jericho, we─ ." Andrews cut off his appeal when the man aimed a glower at him.
"And like I said, I know I'm not in Harper's class. Don't mind admitting that. And you two saddlebums are amateurs. Can't count on you being much help." Cutchinson shook his head again. "I got me some places I want to go and people I want to see before I push up daisies. Including a pretty gal waiting for me in Colorado Springs. I'm not taking any chances with the likes of a healthy Jess Harper."
He stepped up to his horse. "You fellas can try to finish him and split the whole twelve hundred between the two of you." He lifted a boot into the stirrup and swung himself up onto the horse's back. As he settled into the saddle, he looked down at the two men. "If you live through it."
Jericho Cutchinson spurred his chestnut and headed out of town, riding quickly away in the opposite direction from the prospect of any further association with the Kerr ranch or Jess Harper.