Surely Goodness and Mercy
Chapter One
"Jess!"
He tried to lunge with his shout. With Slim's arms pinned behind him, tighter than how a calf was contained when planting a blazing brand on its hip, he didn't get far. Rolling both shoulders, Slim tried to fling the men off of his back. There might have been success in one. A thinner man, not from age, just having an extra wiry kind of body, was holding onto his left side. It was the man on his prominent right that wouldn't easily be broken free. He must have been part buffalo.
His chin roving in that direction to give his eyes a better sample of his captor, Slim searched for the pair of horns that should be atop the man's head. It didn't matter that there were none. The scruffy beard and the hot puff of air against his neck was enough evidence that the man had the resemblance of a raging bull.
Slim's nose gave his own snort. He wasn't far off the same description. Not when the other three in the bunch had a hold of Jess.
"Jess!"
Again the shout tore from his mouth. Again the men behind him intensified their grip. Stuck in a manmade truss, there would be no rescuing his partner. Slim would keep trying, but the end result remained the same. Unable to win his battle, he was left to watch the other. It was far, far worse. They were beating Jess to death.
At first he was putting up a good fight. But that was Jess Harper, all the way. He could be up against an entire mangy pack and while he might not come out looking like a winner, Jess was the type that got up and declared himself the winner anyway. That fact wasn't so true now.
Yes, Slim noted again, Jess fought back with the kind of tenacity that those living outside of Jess' league murmured in awe about. A solid fist in a jaw, then an elbow in a gut, a kick up with his foot, he was doing all right. The multiple streams of blood coming from his enemies meant that they also knew it, that they needed something stronger. That was when one of them cut Jess down with a bullet. The moment Jess' body dropped, recoiling from the pain in his right arm, Slim thought they would ease off. It only increased their play.
Building momentum for the strike, balled fists rose up and then crashed back down. With three men wearing two hands each, there never was a second that Jess' flesh wasn't bending with their blows. The loud smacks were against his face, the duller thuds were his ribs, the harder clops belonged to his belly, and these weren't even the worst sounds. Through every hit brought some form of response through Jess' lips of pain, agonizingly brutal pain. The earliest pummels pulled a hardened grunt out, like a gruffly uttered four-letter word without the proper pronunciation to define it as such. Somewhere in the middle they became more muffled. And this last hit was nothing more than a wheeze.
It was too late for mercy, so the sputtering that sounded fearfully like blood coming out of Jess' lips couldn't be the reason the three peeled away from Jess. Maybe they had just had enough. Or maybe they were gearing up for something worse. The thought made Slim writhe, but he wasn't going anywhere. The other three had let up, not the two that held him.
"Jess!"
For a moment his eyes caught the blue. Somehow they still held their fire. Boring into his similar shade, Slim held onto his partner in the only way possible. The men behind him, the men around Jess, all seemed to be determined to rip apart the blue line, even make a permanent end. A gun being fit into a hand, the aim went for Jess' chest.
Fear being a powerful friend, Slim lunged, dragging the two men along for the ride. "No!"
A single pair of dark eyes whipped his way, glittering like coals at the bottom of a campfire. "No?"
"You can't kill him."
Now the coals grew brighter as a dimple formed in one cheek with his smile. "Why not?"
Slim's boots doing nothing more than digging into the earth as another man joined the subduing pair at his rear, he clamped his teeth shut as abruptly as how his body was stopped. Why, indeed. What reason could he throw out at a group of outlaws? Slim doubted telling them that a hangman's noose would be fitted for each throat would sway the man's decision. He couldn't throw pity at them. Jess had tucked Daisy and Mike close to his heart, but truth was truth, Jess wasn't a family man. No wife to mourn over his grave, no child to grow up without a father. He was just Jess Harper, former gunfighter that got into more trouble than if he still paraded around wearing the notches of that kind of profession.
He stared at the man even harder than before. What could he say? That Slim would retaliate if he pulled the trigger? Well, that was truth, all right. Slim could start writing a vow over his heart and then snap every word off of his tongue like a whip so the outlaw could feel the early pieces of his wrath, but not even that would make the man change his mind. Slim could see it in the black, red-flecked depths. This man not only wanted death, he would make sure he would have it.
The grin given a higher flick at Slim's silence, his chin began to bend. Slim's own blue widened, nearly begging the man to not let go of his gaze. Because if he did, Slim knew the moment that sinful glare returned to Jess, he would pull the trigger.
And at that moment, he looked away from one set of blue to the other.
At its blast, Slim's knees bowed with weakness, as did his stomach. The shock made the lurching of his middle stop before it escaped with his groan. It stilled everything but his heart. There, it was a roar. But what of Jess'? Slim's eyes strained to see. What of Jess' heart?
The dark blue shirt that Jess had pulled from Daisy's laundry basket that very morning was rapidly changing shades. Blood all over Jess' front, Slim couldn't pinpoint the location of the hole. Was the center just enough above his heart to allow it to not stop? Maybe he should count the buttons. If one was gone, then that was where the lead landed.
One, two—Where's three? It should be in sight, unless the bullet flung it clean away from the fabric. Did that mean the bullet went right into the button hole? Slim squinted his eyes, counting the top two buttons, still not finding number three. If that was where it landed, the lead would be so close to the heart that even if Jess lived through its firing, he might not last one minute longer. He might not last another second.
Pain rushed through Slim's body. He had to know. And the only one with the answer was standing over his quiet frame.
"Is he dead?" Slim tossed the question, expecting the toss back to be a glare, a bullet, anything other than the silence that it was. For thirty grueling seconds he waited. "Well?"
"Not yet." The gun's hammer being dropped, the aim went for Jess' head. "But he will be."
"No!" Slim shouted, again fighting, again losing. "You've done enough to him. Can't you see? Jess can't hurt you now."
"Really?" The devils tongue at work again, the man behind the readied iron gave the roof of his mouth a click. "He's still conscious. That puts me in a rather interesting position. To pull the trigger, I mean."
There it was, the admission that Jess was still alive, but instead of praising God, the chords of Slim's soul were flowing in a different direction than heaven.
Give up, Jess, Slim inwardly begged. Please, pull the black cover over your eyes! You don't need to keep up the fight. Give up!
Even as his entire being silently screamed at his partner, Slim knew there wouldn't be obedience even if the shout had been fired from his mouth louder than thunder's boom. Jess wouldn't give up. Not for anything. Not for anyone. Certainly, not for the likes of these.
The volume significantly reduced, Slim barely parted his lips. "Jess."
A blast of profanity followed the gun blast. "Well, that was a stupid hit."
"What's the matter, Rip?" asked the buffalo behind Slim's ear.
Well, at least Slim got a name out of one. He would tuck it into his fist and hang onto it for the rest of his life if he had to. Rip. Likely a nickname to some longer handle. Or it could have been a play on what was etched on tombstones. There was a high chance that Rip had laid a lot of bodies to rest. But where it really boiled down to was in having an unforgettable name. Most leaders of the pack wanted a title for the sake of importance. And Slim certainly knew he was staring at the number one man.
He had assessed as much the moment his eyes landed on Rip. Jess must have sensed the same, for when his steps began in the direction of the ornery group outside of Laramie's livery, Jess' aim had been for this very man.
"You've got your gun pointing the wrong way, Mister," said Jess, his fingers not even flirting with the handle beside his hip.
"Where's it supposed to point, then?"
"Anywhere that ain't gonna get flesh stung. There's women and children walking the streets."
"So are you saying that I should point it to the sky? What about the little birds fluttering by? It ain't right to scare them, right? Then maybe I should drop my gun toward the ground. But wait, a gopher might get mad. Got any other solutions?"
"Yeah. Why don't you holster the thing? Or better yet, throw it away."
"Nah. I won't do that. In fact, I think the position of the gun's been all wrong from the start. It should be pointing at you."
"Careful." Now Jess' hand did begin to hover over his pistol's handle. "I just might blow your brains out."
"And my friends?" The man gave a slight wave of his hand, and the gun that was in it, to the surrounding circle. "Where'll you put their bullet holes?"
"Anywhere that I aim it at."
The smirk was a saucy one. "You ain't that good."
Jess' mouth returned his own smile. "No?"
"No."
"Suit yourself. And in case you don't get the full meaning, finish dressing by holstering that iron."
"Make me."
He could do that. But putting a bullet in each man might be kind of tricky. There were five of them. While he had six bullets and a partner to back him up, Jess couldn't guarantee that each pull of his finger would offer a proper hit before one bounced around his own flesh. But he couldn't back up now, not when the challenge stood in front of him as large as any gunfighter against his reputation. He had to deliver, with lead.
Something that Dixie Howard said in his gun-rearing days came back with a whisper.
"Show them what you're made of, Jess, but don't stoop down to their level."
Of course that was long before Dixie went bad. But in those days the man, Jess' mentor, could be trusted. That advice could work here. And it should. After all, it had been awhile since Jess had played a part in a tap dance. Might be rather fun.
His gun out with a flash, Jess peppered the ground with the insides of his gun. Each pointed-toe getting in on the action, the leaps and yelps were the perfect accompaniment to his staccato of bullets. The last jump, the last piece of lead, Jess left it with the supposed leader, but this time it was no longer at the ground. The sharp ping took the gun out of the man's hand, landing it with a thud amid the rolling dust clouds.
Jess stared at the reddest face across from him. "Now, move! All of you!"
He received a single nod, but perhaps multiple vows were in that gesture. The eyes certainly depicted this to be so, but Jess could never be driven to fear by what went unspoken between men. He wouldn't have even flinched if the entire gang flung death threats his way. He kept his stance solid, his jaw in its natural granite, and his eyes in a steady stream of blue until the men were mounted and out of sight.
New bullets sliding back into his iron, Jess looked away from his working fingers to see the sheriff running up the street. "Howdy, Mort."
"What was all that ruckus, Jess?"
"A bunch of no goods. One of them was flashing his gun like a fool, twirling it so that if it went off, a bullet coulda gone anywhere, or into anyone. I shot up their toes and told them to ride outta Laramie. Ever since Mike got hit by that fool's bullet last year, I ain't got any feeling for men that play with their guns."
Mort concealed his frown with the scratch of his chin. "I understand, Jess. But right now, you're not wearing one of my stars."
"Do I need one to put a group of rough-necks in their place?"
"I guess not, Jess. You know I have a high amount of faith in you."
"Then what? Ain't their kind better outta Laramie?"
"Yes. I would've tried to use talk first, is all."
"Bullets speak louder, Mort. Always do."
"I know, Jess," Mort said, and then with a head turn he saw the size of the crowd forming. While Jess was the firm gun hand in town, he had to show something similar to his citizens. Just without the draw, aim, and fire, that is. "All right, folks. Whatever there was to see has been gone for a good few minutes. Back off to your business. If there's anything further for you to know about today, I'm sure it'll get printed in the Gazette."
Jess smiled as he watched Mort herd the townspeople like sheep. The frown came as soon as he turned. Slim wore one bigger than he.
"What's the matter, Slim?"
"I'm not saying you shouldn't have, Jess. My blood was irked, too, with the way that one man was showing off his pistol spinning. But acting off like you did. That could come back to bite you, Jess."
"Nah. Likely they'll be outta range before we're done in town, especially if we end the trip dirtying up a coupla whiskey glasses at the saloon. Come on, Slim. Teaching certain fellas a valuable life lesson makes a man thirsty."
"Just make sure you don't get taught one yourself."
What was that about famous last words? Slim shuddered. He hadn't wanted to be right. In fact, he thought by the time they had reached the fourth mile out of Laramie that Jess' guess was going to be the correct one. Those men were gone. They held no grudge, no threat. But the moment the two partners reached the halfway mark between Laramie and home, the lesson was about to get dropped.
Swarming out of the brush, a pair of rifles and three side-arms were pointing their way. The demand: "Get off your horses." Quickly followed by, "Drop your guns."
As soon as the irons hit dirt, the attack started. Had it just finished?
Slim barely glanced at the buffalo behind him as the man offered another mention of his name. Even though a question had been given to him, Rip was merely standing still, staring at Jess. Was the outlaw reliving the beginning moments too? The paused seemed worthy of the stretch of time.
"Rip, you hear me?"
"Oh. Right. That dimwit you've got your hands on distracted me a moment. He sounded so much like a whimpering pup I wondered if I needed to take him home and adopt him. Anyway, instead of shooting a hole in a skull, I landed the lead outside his cheek."
Buffalo craned his head over Slim's tussled hair. "Looks like he's bleeding there. More than once."
"He is." Rip nudged Jess' head with his boot, making the blood pour at a faster rate. "Impaled by debris, I think. One in a more serious position than the other. See his neck?"
"Yeah. You've done it, Rip. Just slowed down the last breath, is all."
"That's all right," Rip answered, finally dropping the gun in its seat. But his hand was quick to hold another weapon. This one long, shiny and sharp. "I'm actually glad I didn't put a hole up high. I almost forgot to slow one more thing down."
Rip kneeling, Slim watched as the knife's handle began to tighten in the outlaw's grip. "What're you doing?"
The dark eyes leapt onto Slim's lighter shade. "This friend of yours, he's got a reputation."
It wasn't a question. It was stated as a hard, hard fact, as if the outlaw knew Jess, even if there hadn't been any introductions. But of course Rip could make a solid guess by Jess' actions a few hours earlier. Jess had pulled his iron and popped the lead at each foot with perfection. Not many men, even gunmen, could have scattered the boots as Jess had without leaving a scuff mark, without springing a leak. Only Jess.
Lowering his lashes, Slim stared right back. "He wouldn't deny it, so neither shall I."
"You called him Jess. He got a full name?"
Surprise slapped Slim across the jaw. So they really didn't know. And now he would be revealing the truth. "His name's Jess Harper."
"Of course! I should've known. Jess Harper. Your name's been spread far outta Texas. Far outta everywhere for that matter. Fancy that. And I've cut the big name down. But there's one more thing to cut out. The name's gone. Now will go the talent."
Slim saw the aim of the knife blade and made one last attempt to lunge at the man that held it. Gaining a short distance, one more man was added behind him, keeping Slim from advancing. Dropping with the weight against his back, Slim dug his knees into the dirt, trying to crawl to Jess' side with four men along for the ride. But then the stupid buffalo promptly sat on him, crushing him to the ground.
"This is so you'll never lift an iron again." Rip's grin turned into a laugh as the knife crashed into Jess' hand.
Jess' head jerked away from the ground, increasing the view of the inside of his mouth as Jess' lips spread as if he were emitting the most spine-chilling scream ever uttered. Yet the pain was so immense, so brutal, Jess couldn't even make sound. It was a silent scream, like only bodies that were dead and buried understood.
His own body feeling the torture as if it passed from one partner to the other, Slim recoiled with the pain. But no matter how much it hurt, no matter how much he felt the assault, the agony, the heartache, Slim couldn't take his eyes away from Jess as he writhed. He couldn't squeeze his lashes shut, trying to shut off the torment to Slim's body and soul, to the even more hideous version what Jess endured. He had to keep his eyes locked on his partner.
Suddenly Jess went still and Rip backed away. One by one, each man removed his hold on Slim. Everyone but Buffalo.
Slim searched for the blue of Jess' shirt but all he saw was red. All he saw was Jess' life, draining away in a puddle on the ground. He heard a clop and shifted his gaze. Rip was mounted, three others were doing the same. It was obvious that they were done with Jess, were done with him. Why? Was Jess dead? There was no real torture to a man that had already stepped beyond the line of life.
Panic beginning to seize him, Slim fought with the weight that pinned him down. "Let me up!"
"Sure, 'nuff," said the buffalo, and doubling his fists that furthered his description by resembling giant hooves, he raised both high over his head.
In his fight, Slim had come away from the ground five inches. The whack against his lower skull dropped Slim down to where he had started. Giving his head a shake, he begged the darkness to stay out of his brain. He had to stay awake. He had to get to Jess!
Five different horses and their riders scattering into the hills, Slim pulled his body upward. Any other knock like the one that roared in both ears and dribbled blood down his neck would have made each footfall like that of a drunkard. Friendship gave Slim the ability to run the distance without waver. It was the same friendship that came close to jerking a sob out of his parted lips when he reached Jess' side.
Jess was dead. He had to be.
Slim kneeled down, assessing, fearing, praying. Suffering through each blast out of Rip's gun and everything that came before, Slim knew what Jess' body had received, but seeing the wounds up close was almost too much for Slim to withstand.
He had been shot three times. The arm, the chest, his neck, well, the last one must not have been a straight attack. More like a ricochet that sent something sharp piercing a hole inside Jess' neck. A similar mark roughed up Jess' cheek. While blood might have been pouring freely, offering its own form of hope, Slim knew it was too soon for it to grow cold and still.
His heart throbbed out the repeat. Jess was dead. He had to be. No man could live through that. Not even Jess. The invincible, heroic Jess Harper had finally fallen.
"And for what?" Slim shouted into the dissipated dust cloud. "All because some hothead couldn't keep his gun holstered in town!"
If Slim had hoped his outburst would raise a dark head from the ground, the fleeting emotion was quick to depart. Jess seemed to be even quieter, stiller, paler. Was there no breath? Leaning over his partner, Slim felt for the puff of air and searched for the rhythmic rise and fall. He saw none. He felt none.
"Oh, God. No."
Jess was dead. He had to be.
Three times now, he had said it. First his mind, then his heart, now his soul. Yet Slim couldn't leave fear as the final word. He had to know the truth, he had to clasp it in his hands and grip it so tightly that his own blood poured into the dirt. And he had to do it now.
His hand reaching for the hole in Jess' chest, Slim wanted to press into the blood, feeling for the steady pound on its other side. His lashes fluttered to a close. What if it was emptiness instead? He hated having this kind of weakness. The dread of the latter response was taking too long to drop his palm. And in that length, which if counted was really only a couple of seconds, Slim's eyes began to pull away from the center of Jess' body to another bloody mass.
Anger flared his nostrils and promptly folded the hovering hand into a knot. The final act from Rip had been so cowardly, so cruel. But it was here that Slim's fist began to unfold, began to probe. Slim touched Jess' hand. Startled by its stiffness, Slim almost pulled away. An act so cowardly, so cruel, deserved the opposite. Jess needed Slim's mercy. Gently putting his fingers along the knife's handle, Slim pulled the blade out of flesh, bone and earth. Unlike the response when it went in, there wasn't a single flinch, not even a whimper came through Jess' lips.
The knife discarded behind him, Slim brought the same hand along the marred, ashen cheek. "Jess?"
Now he dared go lower, fingering the piece of skin that had been torn away at his throat. "Jess?"
Going even lower, Slim reached for the biggest pool of blood. "Jess?"
What he had been searching for now underneath his hand, there was nothing left for Slim to do except bow his head.