Chapter Two

"Doc?"

"In a moment, Slim."

A moment longer would be too long. Six hours had already passed. The natural comfort of daylight had faded into the more disturbing shade of darkness. He wasn't near the window, yet Slim could feel the oppression that lived inside nighttime, pressing against his frame, clawing to get beneath his skin. Maybe it was because the source wasn't outdoors where everything sat in subdued shadows. Every lamp might have been lit in the doctor's office, but the real black was right there. The very color of death.

"Doc?" Slim tried again. "Please."

"One more minute, Slim. Let me get this stitch tied."

Slim would hold Doctor Sweeney to that minute. His head began to tick off one to sixty. The doctor would have mercy on him. At number forty-two, Slim stopped, for the sigh pulled the doc away from Jess' side to wipe the blood from his hands on a towel so white, it likely would never be that shade again. Doctor Sweeney's hands had been coated with red.

Eagerly Slim turned toward the weathered face and immediately held his tongue. If the count was still going, likely he had seven more before the promised minute was up. Slim spent the final ticks staring at the one who held the answers. Or maybe the doc was silently sharing to Slim anyway. He didn't like the look on Doctor Sweeney's face. Slim had been staring so long at Jess' expressionless cheeks that anyone should have a brighter countenance. Doc Sweeney didn't.

The time now expired, Slim offered one more plea. "Doc?"

"He should have died."

Slim knew that wasn't all. There was no patience in waiting for the rest, yet Slim didn't add pressure to the room by grabbing the doctor's coat and shaking out the remainder of what needed said. The air was already heavy, so very stiff. Slim was carrying his share of the weight, all right. But in watching Doctor Sweeney, the way his shoulders were slumped, the way his wrinkles appeared deeper, the way his white head was lowered, the physician carried his own burden. Slim wouldn't heap more on the older man. But it would get heaped on him. In fact, the world was about to come crashing down on him.

Doctor Sweeney finally cleared his throat. "He's going to wish he had."

Slim's long legs needed only one step to be directly in front of the doctor. "What do you mean? He's going to be all right, isn't he?"

Doctor Sweeney's gaze flickered to his patient back to the tight brow in front of him. "No, Slim. He's not."

His fingers raked through his hair to hide their tremor, but nothing could disguise the shudder that jumped from shoulders to feet, and then settled in his voice. "He's going to die?"

"I didn't say that. He'll live."

The doctor's words suddenly catching up with him, Slim choked out the repeat. "But he'll wish he was dead."

Doctor Sweeney nodded. "The bullet in his arm didn't cause much damage. If that was all that had hit him, Jess would already be on his way home. The one in his chest, now that was more extensive. While it missed the heart, it tore quite the hole through a major artery. I barely got it sewn together in time. With plenty of rest, it should hang together until his body knits the rest of the way on its own."

"But Doc," said Slim as the doctor took a necessary breath. "That doesn't sound so bad. I mean, we all know how Jess hates to stay down, but I'll make him rest. Daisy'll make him rest. He'll rest until he's well!"

"Slim. It's not Jess' chest that's the problem."

Slim's eyes jumped to the bandage on Jess' throat. "His neck?"

"In a way, yes."

"But the wound was so small. There wasn't even a bullet in there. I saw you pull out something else, like a splinter."

"Several splinters, Slim. I needed to be careful or I would do irreparable damage, so I took the fragment of a stick out little by little. But even with the kind of precision I used, I don't know how bad it'll be."

"How bad what will be?"

"His voice. Right now, it's gone."

"Gone?" Slim's voice rose, as did his fear, his temperature, everything was about to blast a hole through the roof and explode into the sky. "Doc, please, I've got to have real answers!"

"I'm sorry, Slim. Usually no one wants to hear medical terms, but the shortest version possible. In this case, I'm sure the longer way is best. I'll tell it as straight as I can and if you don't understand, just stop me and I'll fine tune my explanation. Jess was impaled by the sharp end of the stick into the center of his neck, directly into his larynx. If that word sounds too complex, then think of it as Jess' voice box, as the larynx is where the vocal chords live. Cartilage, muscles, ligaments and the membranes that make it work, every piece was damaged. Even his esophagus suffered from the hit. Right now there's too much swelling to know if the injury is too much to heal."

"But Jess hasn't been awake all this time, how do you know that he can't speak?"

"I saw the damage, Slim. I doubt he could even utter a whisper at this stage. He's mute."

"Forever?"

"It's a high possibility."

Turning, Slim dropped his gaze to his partner's still frame. The only part of Jess that showed life was his breath. Even that was as quiet as silence. Was this really all the louder Jess would ever be?

Some would define Jess with being loud, and they would be right. His grit being a real growl, his bite and bark the same ferocity, his head a steaming teakettle. All of this came from Jess making sound, showing his character through his voice. And it was gone? Forever?

Listening for that familiar tone, Slim closed his eyes. It wasn't difficult. Every shout that Jess ever made in his presence was echoing inside Slim's ears. It was like the roar of a waterfall, repeatedly dropping the notes from Jess' tongue to the stream that flowed through Slim's soul. But then it suddenly changed to a whimper, a call so soft Slim wasn't even sure it was there. It had been, only existing where Slim's thoughts occurred. As much as Slim wanted him to part the thick curtain, Jess hadn't wakened, hadn't offered him hope by saying his name.

Maybe he never would. Doc said Jess was mute.

Slim hardened his hand into a knot. What was wrong with him? This was agonizing news, true, but it wasn't death. Jess could live with silence, couldn't he? He would hate it, sure, but he could live with that. They all could.

Fear tossing another punch, Slim's eyes jumped back onto the doctor. "What did you mean, 'in a way, yes'? Isn't Jess losing his voice the worst?"

Looking away from the tortured blue, Doctor Sweeney shook his head.

"Doc!"

"Slim." He sighed, the ominous kind that made every loved one shudder while in the doctor's presence. "It's Jess hand. There was so much nerve damage that he'll be lucky if he can hold a fork or spoon in the future."

It was draped over a chair, tossed there like it was forgotten, no longer important. How that thought burned through Slim's hide as he stared at Jess' gun belt. "You're saying Jess will never draw a gun again?"

"If he works at it, there's always hope for recovery. But I will make no false promise. In all my years of practice, I have never seen a hand in worse condition that wasn't amputated. Miniscule bones were broken, tendons were damaged, the nerves destroyed. Jess will never draw a gun again. He will never even hold one, Slim."

He'll wish he was dead.

Truth from Jess' point of view hadn't been seen yet, but Slim didn't need to. He knew his partner, knew how often he resorted to gunplay. Not because Jess was talented at the pull, draw and aim, but because it was his life. Sure, Jess threw away the gunfighter's title a long time ago. But he still used it, depended on it, and thrived by it. In a way Jess needed his gun in his hand as much as he needed the air around him, coffee in his cup and a plate full of good eating.

But there was one more thing to add to the list. Jess needed his family. Right now, more than ever before.

Slim's mouth open to inhale a necessary dose of air, he finished by giving his jaw a pop.

"When I can I take him home?"

"That's another thing, Slim. Jess won't be going home."

"Doc, I can't take many more blows to my chest."

"I know, Slim. And I'm sorry, but all of this needs to be said. Jess needs extensive recovery. With the way I run around from one end of the county to the other, it's nothing I can give him here. I'd like to send him to the hospital in Denver where skilled doctors and nurses can give him around the clock care."

"Daisy's a nurse! There's no greater care than her!"

"Slim, I'm not denying the skill that Daisy possesses. You know that if there's ever an emergency that I can't attend, I feel confident having Daisy in my place. But this is bigger than Daisy. It's Jess."

"You're right, it's Jess," Slim said, voice rising along with his arm that pointed to a ranch house twelve miles out of town. "That's why I won't agree. Jess is not going to a hospital. He's going home."

"Didn't you hear me? Jess needs around the clock care. Daisy cannot tend to Jess twenty-four hours a day for a couple of weeks. Depending on his overall recovery, it could be as long as a month."

Now the finger slammed into Slim's chest. "What Daisy can't do, I will."

"Slim." Putting both hands up, Doctor Sweeney gave a firm wave. "Stop."

"No, Doc, you stop, I insist that…"

"No, Slim." The right changing positions, he put the hand on Slim's shoulder and dug in for a gentle squeeze. "I hear what you're saying, but I also need you to listen to me. I understand how you feel. Really, I do. But Jess' best interest in ever gaining any kind of recovery is in a hospital where he can be tended by trained medical professionals."

The open eyes too much to look into, Slim stared at Jess' closed ones. If only he could have limited his gaze upon those dark lashes. It was impossible. Slim had to look at Jess' entire frame. He had to see Jess in an entirely new way.

Through all the bullet hits and fist strikes Jess had taken before this, Slim had never seen his partner so fragile. Even Jess Harper in his newborn stage, kicking and mewing to beat the band would be stronger than he was now. There didn't seem to be a part of Jess' body that wasn't injured. There really wasn't. He had been beaten to near death even before the lead went in. Then there was what the bullets had done in his neck, his chest, his arm, and the knife, his hand. Only one wound wasn't bad.

Slim sighed. The doctor was right. This was beyond their capabilities. But that statement went two ways. A very painful way.

"Doc, this is going to kill Daisy to have him be sent away. It'll kill all of us."

"You want Jess to get well, don't you?"

The admission should have been easy. It was the most difficult thing Slim ever said. "Yes."

"Then he needs to go to the hospital. If you agree, I'll wire Doctor Ingram immediately about his condition. He's a personal friend there, the chief of the medical staff. The hospital can have a bed, nurses, medicine, everything ready for the moment he arrives."

Still staring at Jess, his prone position showed Slim's next concern. "How will I get him there?"

"Train's the only way."

"Train?" Slim jumped his blue back on the doctor. "But how?"

"When a medical case of this caliber is needed on a train, a baggage car can be reserved for the patient so he can lie still."

"But he'll still be jarred something fierce." Watching the unchanging emotion on the doctor's face, Slim tried the last resort. "Jess hates trains."

"He'll never know he was on one. Laudanum will keep his pain invisible so the sedatives can keep him asleep the entire journey. I'll show you how to give him both."

Hands beginning to dampen, Slim folded both into a knot. "Doc, are you sure there's no other way?"

"Slim. I've bent the rules for you and Jess many times. If this was like all of those other days where I turned my back and shook my head, I'd already be doing so. Trust me, Slim. Jess needs to be in the hospital."

"All right, Doc. I'll make arrangements right away."

"Good. I'll get the wire written and have it sent out as soon as Cy opens shop in the morning."

Understanding was far away, yet Slim nodded anyway. While the oppression in the doctor's office was worse than a brewing thunderstorm at midnight, Slim had forgotten it was night. Stepping into the darkness, Slim paused on the doctor's step, taking in the black, but also taking in the pure emotion that assaulted him. Both were the same shade.

A heavy dose of air into his lungs, Slim started toward the train depot just outside of town. Trains didn't arrive in Laramie regularly. He had always been grateful for that. It kept him and the rest of the Overland crew in business. Tonight, he feared that the next one wouldn't come in soon enough.

The man was half asleep behind his desk when Slim rattled the bell above the entry. Upright with a snort, he pushed his glasses back to their place of usefulness and gawked at Slim. That wasn't all that unusual. If a railroad clerk asked for a ride on a stagecoach, the man behind the ticket desk would likely gawk just as hard.

"When's the next train to Denver?"

"Tuesday. Seven-thirty, a.m."

Unable to recall the current date, Slim searched the calendar on the far wall. Church was yesterday. He remembered because Daisy made a fuss over what Jess was wearing. She was always making a fuss over Jess' choice of "good" clothes.

"A bandana in place for a tie, Jess? Surely you could dig in your drawer for the real thing."

"As long as there ain't a rope around my neck, Daisy," said Jess with a peck on her cheek, "it's a good looking tie."

He would have smiled at the memory if Slim was suddenly stricken when a thought so chilling he shivered. What would Daisy think about what Jess was wearing around his neck now? A bunch of bandages. And that wasn't the only place that was adorned in knotted white.

"Mr. Sherman?"

"Huh?"

"I asked if you wanted a ticket for the seven-thirty. Tomorrow morning."

"Tuesday is tomorrow, isn't it?"

"Has always followed Monday as far as I know."

Slim gave his head a clearing shake, if there was such a shake, that is. "Yes. I need a ticket. But I need more than that. I need a baggage car reserved for a medical case."

"Kinda short notice for that."

Slim's temper measuring the same, his hands grabbed hold of the stiff collar across from him. "I don't care how short it is. I've got to have room for Jess!"

The man nodded as far as he could with Slim's grip on his neck. "I heard something about Harper being down and out."

"He's more than that. Jess has to get to the hospital in Denver."

"Well, I can send a wire to the Glenview Depot to see if there's room. Should be arriving there by midnight. But like I said, kinda short notice for there to be."

Slim's eyes returned to the calendar. "When's the next train out then?"

"Not until late Friday. You know trains don't arrive and depart here often. Laramie didn't make the railroader's map, Medicine Bow did. This is just an out-of-the-way spur line."

"I know that!"

"I just thought I'd give the reminder. Not all stagecoach men know up from down."

"I know up from down, straight and sideways."

He cleared his throat. "Yeah, well, if that's true, maybe you should buy your ticket up north to get exactly what you want."

"I can't go to Medicine Bow. What I have to be is on the train leaving Laramie in the morning. I'll pay double if I have to."

The mustache given a twitch was Slim's first indication that he was getting somewhere. The second was when he removed his hands and the clerk didn't immediately brush the wrinkles from his shirt. He was reaching for what looked to be a train ticket.

"All right, Mr. Sherman. Providing there's room…"

"Make room!"

"All right, Mr. Sherman. Providing room can be made, the cost will be fifty dollars for the baggage car, twenty-five more for your ticket."

"Hold on, now. I won't need a seat on the train. I'll be riding with Jess in the baggage car."

"You still have to buy a ticket, Mr. Sherman, no matter where you'll sit."

Slim's fingers drummed on the counter for three long seconds. "All right. Seventy-five dollars."

He almost choked on speaking the amount aloud. It was the slap of a stamp against the ticket that the clerk was filling out that kept his throat from cracking at the same volume. When Doctor Sweeney said take the train, Slim's mind never even wandered toward the cost, only that he had to get Jess there. For Jess, Slim would have been willing to pay any amount. But Slim had always been a man with light pockets. It was only natural for him to stagger when told how much he would have to pull out of his collection. Apparently, he was expected to do it now.

The clerk lifted an irritated brow. "Well?"

"Well, what?"

"The fee, Mr. Sherman."

"I don't have that kind of cash on me."

Wearing a hint of a smile, he shook his head. "No cash, no ticket."

"Look, this is an emergency. Can't you make exceptions?"

"No cash, no ticket."

"All I have to do is go to the bank in the morning and withdraw what I need. Do you really think I'd board the train without paying?"

"Never can tell about you stagecoach men, Mr. Sherman."

If Slim was Jess, the clerk would be flying through the glass window courtesy of Jess' fist right about now. Slim wasn't Jess, but he still came close.

Left hand slamming against the counter, the right brought a finger close to the clerk's nose. "All right. And if you close shop before I come back, with your seventy-five dollars, I'll bust your door down and write out my own ticket if I have to!"

His boots pounding an angry rhythm against the boardwalk, Slim knew no other sound. Except the other kind of pound, the one that was steadily thrumming against his chest. It wasn't until Slim's stomp went past the hotel that he began to wonder if the second hard clop wasn't there in his core after all. It seemed to be working the ground just as hard as he was. Slim's shoulder a quick rest stop for his chin, he knew why. Mort.

"Say, Slim!" Pace increased, Mort waved a hand toward his friend. "Wait up!"

"Sorry, Mort, don't have the time. I have to get to the bank."

"It's closed, Slim."

Stopping, his boots spun toward the dark building. "It can't be!"

"It's well past the hour of closing."

"No!"

"What's wrong, Slim?"

"What's wrong?" Slim echoed the sheriff's question, although with his voice born out of a violent thunderclap, it would roll around town more than once. And every addition that Slim tacked on would carry the same booming punch. "How can you even ask that when you know just as well as I do what happened to Jess? Wait. Don't answer that. Answer this instead. What're you doing in town? You should be leading a posse over every hill, down every valley, across every stream until you find the men that did this!"

"I have, Slim. We had to call it off at sundown."

Looking all around him, it was as if realization had to strike Slim twice in the same night that the time on the clock really was ticking through the darkest hours. "Did you find them?"

"I wish I could tell you otherwise, but no. Not a trace of a trail was found. There are obviously plenty of marks where it happened, but beyond that? It's as if they didn't exist."

"They did, Mort. I saw it, I felt it, I lived it. What Rip did to Jess will never leave my mind. Ever."

"I went through the posters, Slim. I found this one. Name's Bradley Ripkin."

Grabbing the printed sheet from Mort's hands, Slim held it toward the light splashing out of Windy's nearest window. "It's not him."

"You sure?"

"Of course I am, Mort. If this Ripkin even remotely resembled the man that attacked Jess, I'd unload my entire iron right here into his face."

"Well, I'll keep searching."

Slim shook his head. "You won't find him. But I will, someday. No one will deny me that vow."

"Don't tell me you're going out on your own."

"I can't."

"If you promise not to jump on me again, I'd like to get an answer of my original question. What's wrong?"

"I have to get in the bank," Slim answered, and in that reminder, he hurried the final stretch toward the locked door.

"Slim, I already told you it's closed. And if you think I'm going to let you break in…"

His fingers gripping the tight doorknob, Slim pushed his shoulder against the door. "I'm only going to take my own money. What's wrong with that?"

"Slim!"

He wished he could have brushed Mort off of him, but even if Slim had been successful against the firm hold Mort was using, Slim could have never brushed away his own conscience. Those wore talons, and right now it was piercing to the point where blood could have flown.

Eyes going down, Slim shook his head. "I won't break in, Mort. I promise. But I've still got to get money out before morning."

Mort's fingers dipped into his pocket. "How much?"

"Way more than you carry, Mort."

"Try me."

"Seventy-five dollars."

Mort whistled. "You're right, I don't carry that much. All I can give you is fifteen. You're welcome to take it if it'll help."

"Keep it, Mort. A drop in the bucket's not going to do me any good. I've got to have the whole thing." Slim turned away, staring at a single board with a knothole the size of the ten dollar piece that Mort clanked in his hand. Naturally even this had to remind him how many more coins and bills he needed. "I've got to have all seventy-five. Seventy-five!"

"Slim," said Mort, with the gentle and even tone a father would offer his child. "Talk to me, Son."

The smarting in Slim's eyes brought a pinch to his nose. "The seventy-five goes toward a pair of train tickets. Jess has to go away for awhile, Mort. To a hospital in Denver for around the clock care."

"It's that bad?"

"Worse. Doc doesn't know if Jess will ever hold a gun again."

"Oh, no. You said there'd been a knife wound to his hand, but I never would've thought it'd be that serious, that any of this would be that serious. Jess is always fine!"

"He's not this time."

"What's Jess say about going to the hospital?"

"He can't."

"I should've known he'd still be unconscious."

"It's not that, Mort," Slim answered, the breaking of his soul all over again breaking in his voice. Again it seared his inner being. Even crying the tears of the heart was a sound that Jess may never make again. "He just can't."

"Slim?"

The heavy sigh coming, Slim pushed the words out with it. "Jess' voice is gone. He's mute."

"He can't be!"

"As far as Doc can tell, he is."

"Oh, Slim. I don't know what to say. I feel like nothing I'd say would help at all. But if there's anything I can do. Anything, don't hesitate to ask."

"Well, there is something, Mort," Slim said, his eyes following the lines of the bank's front door.

"Not that, Slim. I can't close my eyes that long, not even for a friend as good as you."

"I'm not asking you to let me break into the bank. But your authority can get Mr. Wilcox out of bed, can't it?"

"This is an odd time to mention it, but I've always wondered what fancy duds bankers wear to bed. Let's go find out."

As it turned out, neither Mort nor Slim would make that discovery. Despite the late hour, the older man wasn't retired to the upstairs portion of his large home, but sitting in his front study with a book in his hands. A fast explanation all that was needed, a few minutes later Slim was standing beside the bank vault, being handed a large portion of what had been filed under his name.

Now he just had to put something even more valuable inside of his pocket.

Slim slammed the entire amount on the counter. "There. Satisfied?"

With a sly smile along with a single nod, the depot clerk gave Slim the tickets. "I hope your ride is a smooth one, Mr. Sherman. I guarantee there'll be no teeth-jarring bounces like what a stagecoach would offer."

Not in the mood for turning the other cheek, Slim returned the clerk's shifty grin with a flash of his teeth. "Obviously you've never ridden a train before. I'll be lucky if my teeth are still showing when I return home."

With a pair of specially marked tickets in his hand, Slim stepped through the doorway back into the night. It was the sound of the door's closure that made his next move all the more real, all the more difficult.

He had watched Doctor Sweeney work on Jess. He had held his jaw at its tightest while the bullet from Jess' chest was coming out. He had felt his heart and everything attach fall to the floor at the doctor's grim prognosis. And then there was what followed. The ordeal in getting a place secured on the train, getting the money from the bank to pay for it, the stress alone had its own significant measure. However. None of this was the most difficult part on this night that would never end.

Telling Daisy would be.