Chapter Fifteen

"She's getting better."

Slim's head snapped up so hard he had to run his hand along his neck to ease the pain. "What'd you say, Doc?"

The white head giving more than one bob, he grew a smile. "Daisy's getting better."

"But how?" Jess asked, leaning forward, needing to see for himself that Daisy's breaths weren't as difficult to draw and release. "When I came home yesterday, I thought she wasn't gonna make it through the night."

"I'll listen again if you need me to," the doctor answered, putting his stethoscope against her chest. "Mmm-hmm. The lung is completely clear."

Jess grabbed the doctor's sleeve. "So she ain't gonna die?"

"I'm positive we can put that dark threshold behind us."

"What happened to make the change, Doc?"

"I'm not sure, Slim. I originally told you the longer she lived the more hope there was. But seeing as much as I have over the years, it could be that this is just one of those stories right out of the Good Book."

Jess' eyes wandered to the nightstand and the leather bound cover that sat in its center. "Could very well be, Doc."

Turning away from his most critical patient, Doctor Sweeney focused on the other one in the room. "Jess, do you mind if I look at your hand?"

Holding it out, Jess shook his head. "Nah. Go ahead."

"I noticed you were flexing your fingers, pulling your thumb toward the palm. I'm amazed that you have that much mobility. How bad is the pain?"

Jess winced as the doctor's probing hit the scar. "It's there."

"Yeah, but how bad?"

"It ain't like it used to be. Every night before I go to bed I give my hand a massage, rubbing up and down each finger, squeezing the fleshy part around the stab. It hurts like the blazes when I do, but I keep doing it."

"Does it seem to be helping?"

"Dunno. I don't try to use it much."

"Hmmm."

"Dadgum, why do docs always say that?"

Doctor Sweeney smiled. "Because most of us doctors don't say 'dadgum'."

"Well if you were the kinda doc to say dadgum, then what'd you be saying dadgum for?"

"In this case, what I was getting at is that you seemed to be moving your hand involuntarily. Like you were doing it without thought. You couldn't do that if you couldn't use it. Here, Jess. Take this tongue depressor from me."

"I can't."

"Try."

It would be a whole lot easier to do this if there was a beautiful woman on the other side of the request, like when Jess was encouraged to test his voice. But maybe he didn't need June's smile to get Jess' hand to respond. He needed to know if his ability was completely gone, if the massage was useless, if hope really could be discarded forever.

His fingers stretching to where the pain began to leap from his hand all the way up to his shoulder, Jess slid his thumb alongside the thin piece of wood and then put his forefinger on top. Lifting was easy, giving Jess the courage to grab the tongue depressor into his palm.

"I did it," Jess said, mouth flickering with a grin, but he couldn't let his teeth flash, not yet. "Doc, do you think I can ever hold a gun again?"

"I didn't think you'd ever speak again, but listen to you."

"Yeah, this whisper is just a booming roll of thunder. But forget about how I sound. I asked about my hand. Can I ever hold a gun again?"

"I don't know, Jess. I really don't. I'll tell you this, though. I never would have thought you could do that much. Keep up with the massaging. You just might have something there. By the way, was that Doctor Ingram that started that therapy or someone else?"

"Someone else."

"Another doctor, then?"

"Nope. As a matter of fact, Doc, I left the hospital before any of them could say anything about my hand."

"I see," said the doctor, giving his nose a scratch. "Well, Jess, your methods don't always seem to be right, but in this case, I won't argue."

"Thanks."

Popping open his pocket watch, Doctor Sweeney nodded toward the door. "I'll be on my way. I have a pair of chickens to pick up over at the Donahue's, my fee for setting Benny's broken arm the other day."

"Say Doc, since you're heading that way, I wonder if you'd do me a favor."

"Sure, Slim."

"Will you drive out to the Campbells and tell Mike the good news, then have Sum bring him on home? It's about time we were all back together."

"I will, Slim. You two have a good day."

"It'll be the best we've had in a long, long time, Doc," said Slim as he walked the man to the door. "Thanks for everything."

"My pleasure, boys. See you in a few days."

Slim waited until he heard the buggy wheels turning onto the east path and then returned to Daisy's bedroom. He couldn't help but pause in the open doorway. There was Jess, standing at the foot of her bed, staring at his hand, opening it, closing it, flexing it and finally he touched the center line. The wince strained Jess' entire face, but Slim noticed something else alongside the pain. It was that old Jess Harper determination. Seeing his partner's jaw go tight made Slim feel as good as hearing that Daisy was going to live.

Sensing Slim's eyes on him, Jess dropped his hand back to his side. "Kinda different feeling, ain't it."

Slim nodded, but whether Jess was talking about his hand or the news about Daisy, he wasn't going to press. But he would still like to start a conversation. Having something between them just might bring more than a couple of short lines out.

He gestured toward the kitchen. "Want any coffee, Jess?"

"Got anything stronger?"

"I think there's still a bottle hidden in that old boot. Come on."

Tin cups filled with amber brew, Slim sat at the hearth and pointed Jess to the couch. There were several sips taken, mostly from Jess' cup before a word came out. And only then it was Slim muttering about needing to add a log to the fire so the embers didn't die back too far. The flicker returning to a blaze, Slim put his cup to his mouth and looked at the blue eyes across from him, forcing his sigh to stay buried beneath his drink. His tongue, though, that couldn't stay still, with or without the strength of whiskey flowing over it.

"Jess."

He lifted a shoulder. "Sorry, Slim. Kinda hard to process all this. Thinking that I was gonna come home to Daisy's funeral, and finding out she's gonna be okay."

"I understand, Jess," Slim answered, reaching up to take Mary's picture in hand. "You know, Ma died of a broken heart. I have a feeling that you coming home, helped heal Daisy's."

"Dunno."

"She might say different when she wakens."

"I reckon that'll be one time I won't complain about Daisy saying mushy stuff over me. I'll be too blamed glad to blush."

He smiled. "You and me both."

"Slim."

Even through Jess' whisper it was easy to hear the change in pitch, and Slim immediately shuddered. "What is it, Pard?"

He stared into the fire, knowing that the sparks were doing a similar dance in his eyes, because they were also beginning to burn in his veins. "Yesterday you steered away from answering me. Don't do that today. I wanna hear the truth. Why'd Rip do this to Daisy? I can understand putting a bullet in you. I reckon you woulda been fighting mad with that bunch here. But why try to kill Daisy? She's a woman, a good woman. She don't deserve anyone's bullet."

"They want you, Jess."

They're after you, Jess!

It came out differently, one shouted into the night, this newer one softer, more fearful, and yet the warning was exactly the same. But now Jess had a name to put over the man leading the pack. Rip. It sounded like death, because he was death, and in wanting Jess' grave, Rip didn't care how many others he put into the ground first. Daisy. He shot Daisy! And for what?

Jess' thumb moved toward his chest. "Me?"

"Rip did this to get you out of hiding. To bring you home."

"I reckon it worked," Jess said as he quickly stood, walking toward the window. "But Slim, there ain't nobody out there. I woulda seen them, heard them, smelled them, anything!"

"I figure the guards Mort put up have kept them back. But if you got by, couldn't they?"

"I know the land better than I know my name, I doubt they do."

It was strange to feel a chuckle in the back of Slim's throat, and while it would have been out of place to laugh, Slim couldn't help but smile. He believed that Jess did know the land as well as his name. Only which name?

The smirk went a little higher. "Why Rex Helfer?"

"Thought it sounded good. How'd you figure it out anyway? Wait, don't tell me…"

"Mose," said the partners in unison.

Jess nodded. "He sure gave me a hard stare that day he was in Sheridan. I reckon I oughta be thankful that he did."

"I know I am. He also said you had a job there. Where've you been working?"

"The Kerrigan ranch. Remember, they offered to pay back for that walloping they gave me when Matt Grundy was doing the run around. They ain't all that bad of fellas after all."

"Can you work okay, I mean, with your hand?"

"I get by."

"Jess." The seriousness in Slim's voice brought him to his feet, made him walk to where Jess stood, and it made him put his hand on his partner's shoulder. "I want to know some truth. Are you going to leave again?"

"I dunno."

"No, you do know. So answer me plain. Are you going to leave again?"

"No," Jess answered, sighing, but at least he wasn't crying. "I reckon I'll stay home. But maybe it'll be you wanting me to go."

"Why would I do that?"

"Rip's gonna come back eventually."

"I know."

Jess held out his hand, hating that it was starting to shake all over again. "And if I ain't ready for him?"

"You don't have to be, Jess. As long as you've got someone to help you win."

Jess shook his head. "As much as I believe in your ability, Slim, you ain't gonna be enough. Not with the likes of Rip and the ones that ride with him."

This was the kind of truth that made Slim's stomach twist, but thankfully there was an anecdote. He wasn't alone either. "Don't forget there's someone else watching."

Jess almost blurted out the Almighty's name, but Slim's finger pointing to the ridge changed the direction of his reply. "The guards?"

"Bill Bates is on top. Right now Charlie Frost is on the other side of the house. He's been switching daytime duty with Roy Allen. And Mort's not far away."

"How many does Rip have?"

"Five. With six on our side, that gives us an advantage."

Jess shook his head. "Without my gun hand, just call it even."

"Let's not call it anything until they come."

Jess nodded, but both partners knew they would come. It was only a matter of when.

.:.

He had the sweetest smile of the bunch. Or at least that was what Rip had told Bisbee on more than one occasion. While he had examined his features more than once inside of a cracked mirror, Bisbee wasn't sure that was truth. He always figured it was because Rip didn't lower himself to the sneaking and seeking part of the outlaw business. Besides, McKinley was too quite, Toombs was too big, Corbett was too new, so that left Bisbee. But since this excuse did get him away from campfire smoke more often than the others were allowed to roam, maybe he should be grateful that dimples grew in his cheeks. Bisbee had definitely been the fortunate one to get to watch that beautiful woman work a few weeks back, even if he was pushed off the place by her husband's rifle. Seeing her curves up close had been worth it.

But this time Bisbee wouldn't be so lucky. There wasn't a feminine figure behind the store's register to make his eyelids remain forever wide, but a bald man, roughly sixty in age. Picking up a box of shells, a blanket to replace the one Toombs bled all over, and some chewing tobacco, this purely for him, Bisbee set the items on the countertop.

"That gonna be all, Mister?"

He looked over his stash and shook his head. "No. I reckon the missus oughta appreciate something pretty. How about enough lace to adorn the neckline of the dress she's working on?"

Bisbee's dimples deepened as he watched the clerk measure the ruffle of white. Nothing says anti-outlaw faster than claiming a wife. Of course it didn't matter that Bisbee had never put a ring on any woman's finger, but as long as the storekeeper thought he was of the softer set, the older man's tongue just might flap a little easier his way.

"Say, Mister," began Bisbee as he fingered the lace. "I was wondering if you could help me out. My wife and I are new to Sheridan, and we're looking for a fellow that did us a good turn on our way here. We'd like to thank him."

"What's his name?"

"That's the thing. He never offered it to us. I thought he was being stubborn, but my wife didn't think he could speak. Any mutes live in these parts?"

"Not that I know of," answered the clerk as he wrote up the bill. "That'll be two dollars and a half."

"Well, maybe he was just passing through. Any strangers around?"

"There's always strangers, Mister. You'll have to be more specific."

Bisbee shrugged. "Not much more to offer you, except that this fella has a bum right hand."

"You know," said the clerk, giving his chin a thoughtful rub. "That sorta sounds like the man that the Kerrigans had working for them."

"Had?"

"I heard he left a few days ago."

"You said he left? Where to?"

"Didn't hear that part. Someone said he got an important telegram."

"What's his name?"

"Rex Helfer."

His eyes went even wider than if the clerk really had been a primped and proper female. "Rex Helfer?"

"That's right. Anybody should be able to remember an odd name like that."

"You're darned right he'd remember. Thanks, Mister!" Bisbee said, taking up his wrapped package. "My missus will also be obliged."

"Anytime, Sir. Hope you catch up with your friend."

"So do I," muttered Bisbee behind his growing grin. "So do I."

The man was still grinning when he left the telegraph office, although Bisbee was trying to keep the glow to his face subdued. After all, he had just killed a man. Fortunately the telegrapher went down silently. No screaming, no kicking, no visible quake. And since Bisbee pulled the body into a back room, even took the time to mop up the blood from where it poured out of the slit neck, the surrounding attentions shouldn't be drawn to the place of murder anytime soon. Bisbee gave his mouth a swipe with his sleeve. That would remain as long as he quit grinning. But it was growing harder to contain his expression as he nearly ran toward the saloon. He had found Jess Harper!

The batwings hit hard by his palm, he hurried toward his boss lounging in a corner booth, alone. "Rip!"

If Bisbee didn't sound like he was being strangled, he might not have looked away from his beer glass. As it was, Rip poured the rest of it down his throat before giving the excited man his gaze. For all Rip knew, the Sheridan law had caught their scent and they had seconds to flee through the saloon's back door before six-shooters and handcuffs came at him. Considering how long it had been since he had downed one, Rip didn't want to leave even a trickle of bubbles in the bottom of his mug. The seat across from him getting filled, Rip eyed the flash of teeth. This was big, even for Bisbee.

"What is it?"

Bisbee slapped the table's top. "He was right here!"

Rip narrowed his eyes. "Who was?"

His tone too loud to make the reveal, Bisbee inched his face closer to the dark eyes and lowered his voice to the level of the man that they were after. "Jess Harper."

"You telling me he's been in Sheridan this whole time?"

"No. But for the last couple of weeks, he was."

Rip looked around the room. It didn't appear that anyone was leaning an ear in their direction, but one could never tell about a nosy bartender. And if the glass-polisher caught enough of the private conversation, then that thought about six-shooters and handcuffs could still come true. Motioning with his head toward the door, Rip and Bisbee made a prompt exit. But they wouldn't go far, the need to hear Harper's story made Rip push Bisbee into the closest alleyway.

"Come on, Bisbee, spill it. Where'd you get this news from?"

Bisbee pulled his bloodied knife away from its sheath. "Let's say an obliging fellow volunteered it."

"Who'd you have to kill?"

"The telegraph operator. But before he fell, there was what the storekeeper said."

"You kill him too?"

"Didn't have to. He was more willing to share what he knew."

"Blast it all, Bisbee, don't dawdle with it. Tell me everything you know!"

"He's been hard to find because Harper quit using his name. He's going by Rex Helfer now."

He snapped his fingers, and then inched his hand close to Bisbee's throat. "I know that name. In fact, you know that name better than I do. You said that he was in Rock Springs!"

"Yeah, I know. We musta just missed him."

"We didn't just miss him, you did. If you woulda got your facts straight then, Bisbee, Harper would've died long ago."

"Don't get your hackles up over me, Rip. I'm the one that's bringing you the truth about Harper right now."

"You're right, Bisbee, you're right. It's just knowing that Harper's practically been under my nose this entire time!"

"Yeah, and it gets worse."

If there wasn't smoke coming out of Rip's ears, it soon would. "How so?"

"Harper's not here in Sheridan anymore. Considering the day he got Sherman's telegram and the day we rode away from Laramie, we musta rode right on by each other. He's heading on home."

"I don't believe this! I just don't believe this!"

Bisbee stared at his boss. He had heard others call Toombs a raging buffalo, but the big man was nothing compared to how Rip was fuming right now. Watching the red cheeks clash with the already dark demeanor, Bisbee felt it best to place his hand on his sidearm, lest Rip be mad enough to take his fury out on the only man within killing range. Bisbee wouldn't have to worry too long, nor would his gun get pulled, for Rip kept his inner heat lowered just enough that bystanders didn't need to go running in terror. But that would never be said for Harper. What Bisbee viewed would only be a fraction of what Rip would unleash on Harper. This long wait just might be worthwhile after all.

"We leaving town right away?" Bisbee asked.

Rip's eyes wandered to the saloon's upper level. "I don't figure Toombs will wanna be disturbed just now. But he can always play catch up. Yes, Bisbee, I'm leaving right now. You?"

"I ain't gonna miss this reunion. I'll go tell Corbett and McKinley we're riding."

.:.

Rip was past the beginning thoughts that Toombs had completely deserted him in favor of a shapely woman named Mirabelle. He was proven wrong. A mile outside of the Sherman ranch where they waited out the night on cold coffee and hardtack, the large man finally rejoined the group. In truth it was the perfect timing. No arguments could be made in the journey from north to south, which helped them to ride unseen and unheard on an unknown path. Now all they needed to do was make the final plan in how to kill Jess Harper. But it would be more than one man. Two guards, a partner and maybe even a lawman would have to go down with him. It was the only way.

"To kill one, you've gotta kill them all," said Rip right before they found their bedrolls. "But make no mistake, I get the main one. I kill Jess Harper."

.:.

The daylight still young, Toombs sat behind a boulder and eyed his target. It wasn't very often that he was paired off with someone with as much bulk as he wore. This other fellow appeared to be a notch shorter, but it was close enough to declare them as equals. Toombs almost laughed aloud. That wasn't altogether true. While the man that was standing guard on the ridge over the Sherman house had a rifle in his hands, Toombs was decked out with even more artillery. Yet he wouldn't fire a single round. This was a strict order direct from his boss. If Toombs fired a shot or pulled the opposing lead out of his gun, then Toombs would be considered a failure.

But that wouldn't happen. Toombs knew the only way to get back to Sheridan and inside the arms of the only woman in the west that would bat an eye at him was to win. It was true that having Mirabelle waiting was its own form of motivation, yet there was another reason that Toombs' excitement was growing with every single breath. Being paired off with a man in similar shape as he, this wouldn't be just any fight, it would be pure combat with fists, boots, maybe even the crash of heads together. Yes, Toombs smiled, this was going to be a fun man to kill.

.:.

Corbett eyed his target. He was actually glad that the man had a slightly larger build than he. Killing him would make him shine brighter in the eyes of his new boss, might even solidify him as a real member of the gang. That would suit him just fine. Rip might have been a hard man to please, he was even harder to get along with, but Corbett could dodge the man's scowls, and he would continue to do so just for the status that it would give him. Being part of the gang that killed Jess Harper would give Corbett the kind of reputation he craved. There was also another exciting notch to put in his hide when Harper fell, having a lifelong story to tell. In fact, Corbett was already working the starting line in his head, this very moment that he was living. It would be a dark beginning, but that would only lure the listeners in as he told how he killed one of the guards outside of the Sherman ranch house, clearing the way to get Harper. But this is where it would get tricky, in spinning the future yarn and in his current actions. Corbett knew he had to do it without gunplay on either side. While it might sound impossible, it wasn't. But whatever way Corbett chose, he knew one thing for sure. This killing was going to fun.

.:.

Chickens. It seemed like there were a hundred of them when they were scurrying around at his feet. Hungry for their breakfast, the chickens that were somehow multiplying before Jess' eyes pecked at everything, even the tips of his boots.

"All right, I'm feeding you, I'm feeding you," Jess said, tossing the cracked corn in wide circles around him. "There. And the first one of you that ain't grateful for what you get, you're going in the stew pot tonight."

Apparently none of the hens were willing to make the sacrifice, as their obedience was rather quick to come. Smiling as the cacophony was reduced to a more tolerable level, Jess threw out an extra handful of feed, keeping their beaks down and pecking instead of open and squawking.

He might have noticed the change in the air even with the chickens going berserk. With more silence around him than when Jess first stepped out of the house, it was obvious now. Alarm made him open the kitchen door and bend his ear inside to listen. He could hear Mike talking to Daisy, and while having her soft responses float to him through the bedroom door made his heart swell, he couldn't dismiss what his heart was actually telling him. Something was wrong.

He closed the door, grateful that there was security inside of the walls. Knowing there should be the same outdoors, more precisely on the ridge above him, Jess looked up. A chill promptly ran down his spine. Where was Bill Bates? With his burly frame, he was always easy to see. He wasn't now. Turning, Jess couldn't remember if it was Charlie Frost or Roy Allen's duty today, but it didn't matter which man was supposed to be posted on the north side of the house. He wasn't there.

There was another man that Jess couldn't see, he couldn't even hear his approach, but even in that silence, Jess knew what was wrong. Rip. It had to be. The scent of death was too strong, the fear of him, even stronger. How Jess hadn't sensed it at dawn's arrival, he didn't know, but it was obvious now. The day that the partners had talked about, had worried about and had fully expected, was here.

His hand slapping down, Jess' face pinched with frustration. Why hadn't he loaded his left hip before he stepped from the house? The answer was as simple as how the chickens darted and flapped in front of him. He didn't need a pistol when all he could perform was the kind of chores that kept kids busy. He didn't need a rifle attached to his side when it was Slim that went out riding and—

Jess' jaw went slack.

Slim!

While Slim had purposely stuck close to the ranch house, he couldn't ignore every reason for him to get saddled up. Like this morning, when Slim rode off to check how much feed was left in the high pasture. If it wasn't green enough, Slim would bring the horses back home with him to get them settled in for the upcoming winter. If the grass was still an edible length, he would wait another week and check again.

Jess looked again to where Bill Bates should have been perched. His absence was a cold reminder of how Rip and his cohorts worked. If Bill was dead, if Roy or Charlie was the same description, their source of protection was gone. It was just the two of them now. Or considering as Jess was standing alone, only one.

Hearing movement, Jess turned to meet the sound and saw a thin man making his approach. A louder step in his ears, Jess shifted his gaze and saw a man with a name he recognized. Corbett. It didn't surprise Jess that the no-account would join up with the likes of Rip, it just stuck in his craw even tighter that a man from his past was going to be able to parade around with having more than just the story of killing Jess Harper, but being a part of it. Again Jess turned, watching as another man emerged from his hiding place. He wouldn't have to stretch his neck far to see the next one, the biggest of them all. All four were coming for him. But where did that leave the leading one?

The crack of a rifle preparing to fire raised his attention higher. The sight above him made a stark scene crash into his memory so hard it was as if the bullets were slamming into his frame all over again. As was the knife. He was looking at the man that crippled him, and with that rifle, Rip was holding a life in his hands. But it wouldn't be Jess' life, at least not yet. The rifle's nose was poised in the distance, readied, yet it was waiting, watching. And then Jess knew who Rip's target was. He could just make out the rider on the hilltop. Slim was coming.

How could he warn him? His voice couldn't carry that far. At this range, Jess might as well be mute. But in another second, Slim would be dead. He had to do something, Jess had to offer all that he had.

Hands cupping his mouth, Jess opened his throat wide. "Slim!"

Surprisingly it wasn't just a whisper. Jess' voice produced an echo. But the gritty ricochet off of each hill would come too late. The trigger being pulled, Slim's body was flung from the saddle.

And then Rip turned to look at Jess, just not in the sights of his rifle. Steps coming toward him, the outlaw joined the rest of his gang, but it was obvious by the main man's face. Only one of them would do the killing.

Rip.