Chapter Thirty-nine

Slim sat on the porch chair sipping the last swallow of his coffee, enjoying the quiet of late evening, and listening to the crickets chirp, the horses nicker, the cattle lowing in the distance. After the day they had experienced at the hands of Bud Carlin and his gang, the serene sounds of his ranch soothed his spirit.

With a slight moan, Jonesy settled into the chair next to his. "I looked in on Andy. He's sleeping good."

"Your back's been through a lot today, Jonesy. Why aren't you in bed?"

"Same reason you're not. Hard to relax knowing we got that bad penny sacked out in the bunkroom."

Slim smiled at the mildly insulting name his old friend had attached to their newcomer.

"Once he got over the shock of you telling him he'd be bedding down right here and not in the bunkhouse, he sure didn't have any trouble getting to sleep," the older gentleman continued. "Out like a light."

Slim's expression turned serious. "He's exhausted, Jonesy. You, Andy, me… we're tired, all right. But he's plumb worn out."

"Seems unlikely he'd be more done in than you or me. He's young, I'm old. And you're the one got your head bashed with a rifle butt and your jaw walloped by that scalawag."

"It all just stunned me for a few seconds. Didn't even knock me clear out. I'm doing all right."

Slim rocked his chair back onto two legs, braced against the house. "But him… I bet he'd been traveling for a long time without any good rest. Maybe quite a way without even getting any actual sleep."

"Why do ya think that?"

"He sure looked like he was wanting some sleep bad when I found him trying to stretch out for a nap by the lake. And I didn't let him get beyond leaning back against a log. Came at him with a rifle. And Andy told me he fell asleep sitting at the dining table in the short time it took to bring him a piece of pie. Then there was everything that happened with the Carlin gang here… you said you saw him get walloped pretty good himself. And that Clint had an anvil for a fist."

Jonesy nodded. "He slammed hard onto that floor too after Clint socked him. That punch stunned him for a minute too. Not like you, but he saw stars for sure."

"And then that shootout at Baxter Ridge. By suppertime he looked like everything had taken a lot out of him. Half expected him to fall over into his plate. I don't know how he stayed on his feet as long as he did."

"I have a feelin' he woulda kept going as long as he needed to," Jonesy said.

"Yep, I'm sure he would. Now that he knows he can let go, he's sleeping deep to make up for it all."

Jonesy gazed out across the ranch yard. "Wonder how long it's been since he's slept in a bed."

The blond rancher shrugged.

Jonesy glanced at him, realizing Slim didn't catch the deeper intended meaning of the comment, and he would need to get more specific.

"He's a drifter, Slim. Now, I admit he's got his likeable points. But that boy's packing trouble in both pockets."

"You're making up your mind about him pretty fast, aren't you?"

Jonesy harrumphed. "Well, let's see now. He came in here, trespassing after you ordered him to leave, and asking where to find a place with saloons and gambling. He taught Andy how to deal off the bottom of the deck. He packs a punch like he's had far more experience fighting than a man oughta, especially at his age. He told us he was looking for his friend, who as it turns out, just happened to be a member of the Carlin gang." Jonesy's frown grew deeper. "And he sure wears that holster of his low." He looked out the side of his eyes at Slim. "Doesn't all that tell you something? About what kind of man he might be?"

"Maybe all that is part of the picture. But you're leaving out a lot. Like how he risked his own life to save mine."

Jonesy cast a worried glance. "He killed three men today, Slim."

"He didn't want to. He did it to save me."

"Yep. But think about it… Those men were outlaws. Every one of 'em real good with a gun. But he took them all down. And from what you told me, he made every one of his shots count in a way no regular cowhand coulda done. Not many a man could hit their target with a handgun instead of a rifle from as far away as you said he was from that Clint fella."

"He's bulls-eye accurate, that's for sure. And it's darn lucky for me that he is."

"So you're not having any second thoughts about him being here?"

Slim considered that for a moment. "No. And I'll tell you why."

Jonesy cocked an eyebrow, listening closely.

"I'll admit, when I first saw him out there by the lake, I reckoned him to be some kind of criminal. Even when I had a gun aimed at him, he was so gall-darned cocky. Most any man would be at least a little on the nervous side with a rifle pointed at him. But he was calm as could be, standing there with that smirk on his face, hands on his hips. It was like he was as used to being on the wrong end of a gun as he was on the right end."

Jonesy watched Slim, glad that he had at least given some consideration to all this.

"I practically accused him of being a horse thief when I checked the brand on his bay. But he wasn't mad. Or if he was, he sure kept it hidden. Just offered to show me the bill of sale to prove he bought the horse in Texas. Then I did the same thing here… Without knowing a thing about him, without giving him so much as a chance, I accused him of being a thief, of planning to steal Andy's money and Pa's gold watch."

Slim dipped his head shamefully. "Told him to 'git!' Snapped it at him like I was shooing a mangy stray dog off my property."

Jonesy could hear the remorse in the voice.

"Think about all that, Jonesy. After I treated him like that, he still rode to Baxter Ridge and put his life on the line, fighting to save me."

"Maybe he just likes to fight."

Slim grinned. "Oh, I think it'd be a safe bet that once in a while he likes to blow off steam with a fistfight, against someone who deserves a few good jabs. But that wasn't what today was about for him. I could see that when Carlin ordered him to hit me."

"What do you mean?"

Slim looked thoughtfully into the distance as the memories of the day passed through his mind. "You were behind him during that whole mess, Jonesy. You couldn't see his face. You should have seen the look in his eyes. He hated having to punch me."

"I couldn't see his face, but I heard it all. You had to order him to hit you. Had to downright yell it at him. Several times."

Slim nodded. "I believed Carlin when he said he'd kill you if Jess didn't beat on me. I think Jess believed it too. But he still had trouble making himself go through with it. I could see how torn he was, between wanting to keep from hurting me, but wanting to keep Carlin from hurting you."

"Yep, he pulled his punch those first two times. Tried to spare you the worst of it. Till Carlin made him use full force."

"I'm sure he wouldn't hesitate to belt a man if he had good cause, like defending himself or an innocent. But that wasn't the case with me, since I wasn't any threat. And every time Carlin made him hit me harder… the look on his face…" Slim shook his head. "It was like Carlin was making him do something that went against the heart of who he is." Slim scowled in anger as he recalled it all. "Carlin was using him. Using him as a weapon. And there was nothing he could do about it. It was tearing him up, Jonesy. It hurt him as much to throw those punches as it did for me to take 'em."

"Well, I don't know about that. But he did reach out to you when you reeled."

"See? If there was any wickedness in him, he wouldn't have done that. He'd have gotten a kick out of laying that haymaker on me."

"The way that Clint fella enjoyed slamming a fist into him."

"And that's not the way it was." Slim looked over at his old friend. "Jess is a good man, Jonesy."

A short silence settled between the two men.

"He might be at that. Time will tell." Jonesy stood up. "But till it all bears out, you'd best keep on your toes about him."

Slim looked up questioningly. "You're really that concerned?"

Jonesy took his bowler off and scratched his head. "Well… that boy leaves a lot to think about. Now, it's a fact that he saved your life. And mine. Likely Andy's too. I know that. We all owe him a debt for that. Oh, but that holster of his…" Jonesy sighed, a worried look on his face. "It's still worn low. Mighty low. And tied down. It's still cut away. It's still greased." He replaced his hat. "And it still holds a forty-five with a flattened hammer."

The old man turned toward the door. "Yep, plenty to think about." With that, he went into the house.

Slim sat still, staring into the night. It was true about that holster and the gun. He had noticed the flattened hammer too. That Colt had been modified for quickly fanning shot after shot. In fact, Slim had also noticed something Jonesy didn't. When he took that six-shooter away from Jess at the lake, he had noticed the gunsight was filed down. Only one reason for doing that─to make sure the forty-five could slide fast and smooth from the holster without being slowed down with the sight snagging on the leather. Slim didn't want to admit it, but most everything about Jess pointed to one word. Gunfighter.

Slim eased his chair forward, so all four legs were once again steady on the floor. Jess Harper. He had never heard the name before. But he wondered if the marshal in Laramie had. It might be a good idea to ask Jeb Cochran if he knew anything about this stranger Slim had so impulsively offered a job to and brought into their home. Maybe too impulsively.

Had he made a big mistake? Why had he been so quick to accept Jess and want him to stay? He didn't even know if the man had any experience doing ranch work. He could only hope Harper would be half as handy working cattle as he was working a gun.

Jonesy was right. There was a lot to think about. Slim knew it would be a while before he would be able to sleep tonight.

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Shortly after dawn the next morning, Slim and Andy began the chores while Jonesy prepared breakfast. After the first of the work was taken care of, they took their usual break and returned to the house for the morning meal. They washed up briefly outside and then entered the kitchen.

Slim glanced around the room and beyond, noticing the bunkroom door was still closed.

"He's not up yet?" A bit of agitation seeped into the question.

"You're the one who said he was exhausted," Jonesy replied as he spread the fried potatoes around in the cast iron skillet.

"I'll wake him!" Andy started for the door, but Slim caught the back of his shirt.

"I'll see to him. You help Jonesy set the table."

Slim walked none too quietly into the bunkroom and straight to the top bunk where Jess was still sacked out.

"Jess, it's time to─" Slim sucked in his breath.

Before he could say anything further, he found himself staring down the barrel of a forty-five.

Jess immediately jerked the gun up, easing the hammer back into place.

"Sorry, Slim."

His eyes wide, Slim clenched his jaws as he watched his new hired hand replace the gun in the holster hanging from the bedpost. How a man could awaken from a sound sleep and draw a weapon that fast─cocking it, no less─was a shocking sight to behold. A terrifying sight.

"Guess I ain't off to such a good start here, huh?" Jess said sheepishly.

Slim drew a deep breath. "I'm glad you look before you shoot."

"Always." Jess' baritone rumbled with the dry gruffness of morning.

His dark blue gaze met the light blue. He could see a coldness there that spoke volumes about Slim's feeling toward having an employee draw a gun on him in his own home. Jess couldn't tell what that tone in his boss' voice had meant, but he assumed he would be sent packing now.

"Breakfast is ready." Slim turned and walked out of the room.

Jess jumped down from the bunk, wondering how soon Slim would send him away. He dressed quickly, making sure to tuck his shirt in, and ran his fingers through his unruly hair in an attempt to tame it some. As he walked into the hearth room, he found Andy and Slim were seated. Jonesy stood beside Slim at the head of the table, pouring coffee.

"Good mornin', Jess!" Andy greeted him with a big smile.

"Mornin'." Jess glanced at the table, completely set for four.

Assuming the Shermans were expecting a guest to join them for breakfast, he figured something might be waiting for him in the kitchen for him to take to the barn for his meal. He hoped Slim would still let him eat while he got Traveller ready to ride out for the next town. Slim would probably tell him to git when Andy wasn't present.

"If you can wait a bit for your morning ablutions, we'd like to get started on breakfast before it gets cold. Sit down." Slim motioned to the seat at the side of the table, across from Andy.

He couldn't help but notice that Jess had made sure to buckle on that gunbelt before leaving the bunkroom. He would have to have a talk with the man about that. He didn't want Andy's day to start with seeing guns at the table.

Jess' expression showed his surprise at being invited to have breakfast with the family. A slight grin touched his lips, as he laid his hand on the back of the chair to scoot it out from the table. "Figured y'all were expectin' company."

"Nope. Just some Texas stray Slim rustled in." Jonesy moved to the other end of the table and poured coffee for himself.

He then turned to serve Jess, and found the young man still standing. His hand remained on the top of the unmoved chair, his face a mask of uncertainty.

"That was a joke, boy," Jonesy said, frowning. Doesn't this drifter have a sense of humor?

But Slim understood Jess' reaction. He knew it had something to do with geographic location. And war.

"Go on, Jess. Have a seat," he said kindly.

Jess glanced first at Slim, then at Jonesy before he pulled the chair out and sat down. Jonesy poured a cup for him and then took his seat, setting the coffee pot down near Jess. He had already discovered last evening at supper how much of the black beverage Jess could be expected to put away.

They began the meal, and Slim noticed Jess' reticence and apparent lack of appetite, which was surprising considering how the man's capacity for and love of food was displayed at suppertime when he had wolfed down more than any of them. He knew what caused that mood and the waning of the previously robust desire for food. There was no use in avoiding the underlying issue.

"You been up this far north for long, Jess?"

"No," Jess replied uncomfortably, pushing fried potatoes around on his plate with his fork.

"I suppose there's some folks up this way that still don't take too kindly to Southerners," Slim said as he watched Jess and saw the muscle twitch in his jaw. "But as far as we're concerned in this house, the war is over."

Jess doubted that, considering the remark Jonesy had made.

"You'd be surprised how many places it ain't," he replied quietly.

Focusing on the large bowl of scrambled eggs Jonesy passed to him, he missed the smile the old man had given him as he tried to make amends for his previous joshing, which had exactly the opposite effect intended.

Joking with each other was a common occurrence in the Sherman household. Jonesy had been trying to make Jess feel included. But it was too early to do that with humor about being a Southerner, he now realized. It had gone so wrong and left Jess feeling unwelcome at this northern ranch.

Out of politeness more than hunger, Jess added a small spoonful of the eggs to his plate and passed the bowl to Slim without looking at him.

For a while the only sound heard was the movement of silverware across china. The others ate, but Jess hadn't taken a bite, although he did have some of his coffee. He kept his focus on his plate. Jonesy occasionally glanced at Jess and Slim. Slim did the same with Jess and Jonesy. Andy's eyes never left Jess. The boy could sense something was wrong, but he didn't understand what had suddenly made Jess so serious.

Jess just stared at the untouched food on his plate, as he tried to decide if he should wait until Slim fired him, or just say he was leaving and take off as soon as this awkward little morning gathering ended. He wished he could just get up right now and walk out the door, but the Southern manners his ma had taught him nudged at him to stay in his seat.

Slim decided this wasn't going well, so he might as well try being forthright and get everything out in the open.

"Did you fight, Jess?"

Jess reckoned his answer to this question, added to the way he had pulled a gun on his boss, would definitely spell the end of his employment with Slim Sherman before it even began.

It wouldn't be the first time he had been turned down for a job because of his Texas accent, which often led to the question of whether he had fought for the Confederacy.

When his search for Frank Bannister expanded beyond the southern border states and led him up north, he had hoped finding ranch work would be easier as he got farther away from areas where his gunfighting reputation made it hard to get hired. But instead, he found many Northerners were reluctant to pay a Southerner. Either they were fed up with the abundance of former Confederates going north to seek jobs that were not available in the devastated South, or they were unwilling to hand over money to a man who they thought may have actually shot one of their own. He had been lucky in Nebraska to come upon that ranch with a foreman who was a former Confederate himself and readily added Jess to the payroll.

Because of the tough time finding ranch work, many times Jess' source of income had been poker winnings or gun-for-hire jobs. He wasn't like Caulder; he would never hire out to kill a man. His gunhawking involved protecting wealthy families who could pay for his services, guarding shipments and funds transfers, and fighting in range wars. He always tried to align himself on the side of the righteous, but wasn't sure he succeeded every time.

He had figured Slim and Jonesy for the sort who wouldn't look down on him for where he came from, but now he wasn't so sure he was right in how he had sized them up. Best to just lay everything on the line and be done with it.

Jess raised his head and looked Slim directly in the eye. "Yeah. I fought. For the Confederacy. Texas cavalry."

Andy nervously glanced between his brother and his new friend.

Still looking at Slim, Jess took a short breath. "You?"

Slim maintained the steady eye contact. He nodded. "For the Union. Infantry."

Jess leaned slightly forward in his chair, his forearms braced on the table. "Rank?"

Slim likewise leaned forward. "Went into the army as a private and left as a second lieutenant." He paused. "You?"

"In a private. Out the same." Jess' eyes narrowed. "Kinda hard to git field promotions where I was."

Slim noted a slight edge to the voice with that statement and wondered what it meant. He was curious about the part of the country where Jess had served and why promotions were withheld there, but thought it best not to ask.

An uncomfortable silence fell over the room as no one talked, or ate, or so much as moved a fork. Jess glanced across the table at Andy and found the boy staring back, wide-eyed with worry.

Finally, Slim sighed heavily.

"Is this gonna be a problem, Jess?"

Jess eyed him for a very long moment. As Slim waited for an answer, Jonesy nervously looked back and forth between the two men, and Andy held his breath, scared that Jess would leave.

Finally, still staring at Slim, Jess replied.

"Not for me."

He turned his eyes to his coffee cup, took hold of it near the rim, and shifted it back and forth. "Might bother you, though. Ya seem t' be kind of a hardrock."

Slim's spine stiffened. He frowned severely and was about to snarl back with an equal insult when he noticed a smile tugging at the corner of Jess' mouth. Then it spread across his lips and up to his eyes, as he raised them and again looked at Slim.

Slim relaxed and allowed a big grin to overtake his own features as well.

"Got a feeling I'll have to be. Bossing a hotshot like you."

Andy looked again from brother to new friend, and seeing the laughter sparkle in both sets of blue eyes, he began to giggle. A chuckle came from Jonesy too. It looked like Jess Harper was going to fit in just fine at Sherman Ranch.

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Eating resumed, and conversation flowed easily from that moment on, among all four at the table, including the new hired hand with the restored appetite.

But one fretful image lingered in the back of Slim's mind. The way that gun had so quickly sprung from Jess' holster into his hand, cocked and aimed in less than the space of a breath. No regular cowhand could have done that. Slim himself had plenty of experience with firearms─from the war, from a couple of battles with Indians, from posse work, from protecting his property. He was faster on the draw than the average man who carried a gun. But he wouldn't have been able to even come close to what Jess did with that Colt when Slim startled him from sleep.

It was cause for some concern. Enough to ask Laramie's marshal to check on Jess Harper.