Chapter Seven
Where does a man go when he doesn't have anyone anymore? His first thought was Francie. Family. Home. They were the kind of sentiments that held hands with each other, so it was an understandable thought. But so was the next one. Jess couldn't ride to the west coast for the same reason he wasn't returning to Laramie.
They're after me. Slim said it, but I reckon my brain's tossed those same kinda words around enough even before he hollered through the dark to know what I gotta do. I can't let them land on Slim's doorstep. I can't let them land anywhere.
But who exactly were they? Jess couldn't put a name on anyone. Well, there was Ken Corbett. But Jess knew the man well enough to immediately strike him off of a threatening list. He was too cowardly to come calling with his gun. He was the type to ride along and watch, then tell the witness's tale a number of times over, but Corbett wasn't made of killer's stock.
However, any number of others could be.
Since he warned me, it's gotta be somebody Slim's seen. The next thought made him tremble. Did whoever it was threaten Slim even though I wasn't there? What about Daisy? Mike!
He almost turned his horse around, pummeling the ground until he was outside of the ranch house to make sure safety was still intact. But the hooves remained in a steady clop in the opposite direction of home. Jess shook his head. It would be better if he didn't label the ranch as if he belonged there anymore. Jess knew his future, his terrible fate. Jess couldn't go back to a warm meal, a decent cot or the love that surrounded the hearth, even if that very request had been the last thing Slim fired off of his tongue.
They're after me.
And Jess was in no condition to fight them.
He looked down at his hand, looked to the torturous pain he was getting used to, looked to its immobility too. Despite enduring the throbs until they melted into the background of his being, Jess would never adapt to being crippled. He had always hated that word. Because of his current condition, he hated it even more, going so far that Jess refused to accept it, refused to have his hand define him. But it was too late. Being crippled had already claimed him. Wasn't that why Jess was leaving everything familiar behind him? Wasn't that why Jess was leading Traveler on an invisible path that no one could follow?
Jess knew the answer. What he didn't know was where they would ever land. Right now they were just riding, drifting, leaving.
A man could go a long ways and never find solid ground. Maybe I don't want anything like that. There ain't nothing wrong with the Big Open. He gave Traveler a gentle rub through his mane. You don't mind, do you, Son? It'll be like it was a long time ago.
But somehow the Big Open felt even bigger, even more open than when Jess first entered its unending acreage. This change and the unease that went with it wasn't the fault of darkness. Jess figured he would be experiencing the same heaviness against his shoulders if the sun was blazing at its hottest. The unfamiliar emotion existed because of a pair of related reasons. He had left his partner behind, Daisy and Mike the same. The gist was this: Jess was alone.
Well, maybe being alone ain't the proper way after all. It ain't just the great outdoors that've changed. I have. In more ways than I'd wanna admit. So if I don't wanna be alone, then what? I doubt many'd wanna have me around. It'd have to be someone just like me. Dadgum, like there'd be anyone… Dadgum, wait! I could join up with Knute. Two mute fellas oughta get along real well. We always did before, anyway. I reckon he wouldn't mind my hand being dead. Likely he'd pay it no mind. Maybe he'd even teach me to do the same someday. There wouldn't have to be any kinda fighting anymore, we could just, live.
The thought was more appealing than trotting off onto the road of no man's land, but Jess didn't tug on the reins to change directions. Jess had no idea where Knute was. While Jess had asked his war buddy to keep in touch, there had only been one letter since Johnny Duncan had been buried over a year ago. The envelope wasn't even postmarked. By now Knute could be in California, Mexico, or getting a frostbitten nose up in Canada. But the most likely thought was that he went home to the good old south. Not for Jess, though. Too many dark stars residing over that wide space, Texas would never see Jess' return. That left Jess right back where he had been.
Riding, drifting, leaving.
I reckon for now I'll just ride, and wherever I end up, I'll stop.
Except that in this particular now, Jess' stop was coming soon. He had been riding all night, hurrying away from the land that he had memorized. Since enough miles had been passed that Jess would be considered a stranger among the current scenery, Jess would welcome the sunrise from the ground.
Hopping out of the saddle, Jess took a step and swayed. His fingers pressed into his forehead, but no touch would quell the lightheadedness, not when his hunger had climbed out of his stomach, slamming into his skull to take up residence there. Because of the injury to his throat, Jess had been on a liquid diet in the hospital. The taste of the broth, which equaled to dirty dishwater on Jess' tongue, had done nothing to keep his ribs apart. Since making his escape from the white walls, he hadn't consumed much better, especially when water didn't count. Thinned down to where his waist looked like it belonged on his twenty-year-old self, not a short step past thirty, Jess knew he needed to start adding, not subtracting.
The mere thought of eating beefsteak with all the trimmings made him drool. Hearing feathers ruffling as a pair of birds took flight into the dawning rays changed the desire from cow to chicken.
What I'd do for a pair of plump thighs sizzling over a flame right about now. Dadgum.
Watching a rabbit take a sudden hop, the imaginary taste on his tongue made another switch. It didn't matter that the other two flavors would have been preferred over this, no steer or hen was in his view. The rabbit still was. Waiting for the exact moment to go for the kill, Jess' hand went for his gun. The pain bowing him in half, Jess fought for the control of his legs so that he didn't drop all the way into the dirt. His spurs digging into the ground, Jess' mouth parted to pant away the last rolls of torture.
Finally able to think beyond his pain, Jess' eyes fell to his right side. There was no gun sitting on his hip, not even nestled inside of the belt at his waist. There wasn't even a rifle adorning his saddle. Likely there never would be again.
The rabbit gone, his hunger not, Jess dropped his hand into his saddlebags. Whatever had been packed during his last outing was all that he would currently be carrying. While there was an old shirt making enough stink for a skunk to be proud of on one side and a stash of rawhide, a razor and a tin cup on the other, nothing edible existed.
His stomach growled its protest. Dadgum.
Eyes taking a full pass over the surroundings, Jess searched for any sign of a nearby town. Even a wisp of smoke coming from a chimney would do. At least the visible mark of man would mean food of some kind. Aside from rolling hills dotted with trees, a gentle stream and that blamed rabbit making another appearance, the land was just as empty as Jess' belly.
Taking another hop in front of him, Jess kicked a small stone at the rabbit. The miss large enough to call it a country mile, Jess shook his head. It was a fool's attempt anyway. But maybe something else could work. His hand making a return inside of the saddlebag, Jess pulled out the strips of rawhide.
Learning how to make a snare must be part of every boy's growing up years. Fortunately Jess' lesson alongside his pa and older brother was never forgotten. It might have taken an entire hour to accomplish, but finally Jess reached the point where all he had to do was crouch behind a boulder and wait for the rabbit to take the jump. This part of the hunt Jess wouldn't allow his inner clock to time. He would have given up if Jess had known how many minutes ticked by, but because he didn't allow his patience to be discouraged, the wait paid off.
If Jess had sound, when the catch was made, he would have whooped loud enough to scare the rest of wildlife off for miles.
His fire stoked to last the duration of cooking, Jess watched every drip sizzle and spark until he deemed dinner done. The smell turning him into a ravenous wolf, Jess ripped half of the rabbit from the spit and took a large bite. Jess' lashes lowering as the delicious juice dribbled down his throat, he savored the meat a few seconds longer and then finally swallowed. He immediately choked it back out. No wonder Orleta had been strict on giving him nothing but what fit into a bowl and spoon.
Dadgum! Doesn't my dadgummed throat know I gotta eat?
Trying a smaller bite, Jess chewed until the meat no longer had taste, but there was still pain in its drop going down. Look, throat, for sure as I'm starving, I ain't licked!
Mashing the meat with his good hand, Jess squeezed until every bit of juice and fat poured into his cup. The wolf now gone full wild, Jess was grateful that there was no one to see him run his tongue up and down each finger. Satisfied that his thumb no longer held any leftover grease, Jess lifted the cup to his mouth and drank the rabbit's every drop. The water in his canteen going down even more easily, he poured an extra dose into his mouth. Even if it could never be called an actual meal, it would have to suffice.
And it would have to suffice for the rest of the day. Jess didn't even attempt to make another catch before nightfall.
His bedroll down and a small fire left to smolder into ashes, Jess encouraged sleep to come with the drooping of his lashes. The roar underneath his buttons brought one eye back open. Clamping his hand on his belly, Jess kneaded the ache away. He sighed, for while the pangs would subside as he slept, they were guaranteed to return even meaner in the morning light. But it was still dark when Jess' head shot upward.
The crunch of a stick making his heart race, Jess leapt away from the fading coals and crawled to a stump, hunching behind its security. Hearing the distinct swish of a body passing through leaves, Jess' belly gave him a different kind of assault, this of fear.
They're after you, Jess!
But who? How many? And why?
None of the answers given to him, Jess barely let his eyes come above the stump and looked for the shiny nose of an iron poking his way. Nothing was sparkling at him, not even the glittering eyes of an animal. While he did search for teeth and the kind of jaws that would snap a man in half, Jess knew better. What he had heard was the sound of man, not wildcat, coyote or bear.
They're after you, Jess!
If the unnamed assailants were really coming for him, they were definitely taking their time. Not another step found its way to Jess' ears, but that didn't stop the cold sweat from taking the slow trickle down each cheek. Sounds that belonged to the night shouldn't have startled him, yet his head shifted, searching to identify every one of them. A ruffle of wind off to his right, Jess went down to his chest. Was the man circling him? Or maybe it was a group and he was being surrounded.
He hated this feeling, something that he wasn't immune to, but pushed aside most of his life anyway. He couldn't do that now. Jess was afraid, wearing the kind of fear that shook his knees and teeth so hard that his entire body rattled. He had no gun, no ability to use it even if he had. He had no voice to toss an angry threat with. He had nothing. The next thought was even more fearful. Maybe he should just expose himself, let it be done with.
Suddenly making his stand, Jess closed his eyes, waiting for the bullet, or the laughter that would precede the blast. Even as he held his breath, expecting the onslaught, the time stretched so long the air had no choice but to be pulled in and then back out. Everything around him was quiet, everything was still, everything except the hard beating of his heart.
They're gone.
But as it would turn out, it was only a single man. Finding the footprints, Jess searched the ground until he found the direction. The man had been in a steady line from the stream that Jess had camped near and then disappeared into a deer trail. Was it possible that the man wasn't there to kill, but merely filling a canteen?
Sleep forgotten the rest of the night, Jess was back in the saddle at first light. If the nighttime intruder was someone packing a grudge toward him, Jess wanted to know. Following the boot prints, they made their change at the road for the steady stride of hooves. With Jess' mount taking the trail at a gallop, it didn't take long to make the connection. Seeing the swish of a brown tail, Jess pulled up. The lone rider was ahead of him, letting his mount take his fill out of a different stream. Just like any drifter or cowpoke would do.
Feeling the eagerness beneath him, Jess led Traveler up to the creek's edge a short distance away. When the nose dipped down, Jess turned his head to see if an introduction was going to be handled by gunpoint. Making eye contact, there was no hatred in Jess' view. There wasn't even a gun in his hand. Jess didn't know the man, yet even with the threat diminished, Jess didn't want to stay in the stranger's presence. The moment Traveler's drink was complete, Jess urged his mount back to the road. At the first bend away from the stranger, Jess took a look behind him. There was no one in his shadow, but sudden familiarity gave him a firm kick in the gut. It wasn't that Jess suddenly remembered the man. No, he knew the land.
Rock Springs lay a mile beyond the ridge.
Again Jess looked behind him. He should have turned his mount, bypassing every familiar ground, but Jess' fear had yet to fully subside. He didn't want to be around the stranger. But to swap one for a bunch of strangers? He was crazy. Yet the direction his horse was headed said somehow the latter was better.
Pausing on the edge of Rock Springs, Jess scratched his fingers through his growing beard, measuring the length of the dark hairs. There was more to the messy stubble than Jess being unable to use his razor. Wearing a pair of ugly marks on his cheek and neck, Jess wanted the scars to be covered. What went even further, Jess wanted his face hidden. His fingers gave another stroke along his chin. It might not be a thick enough disguise. There just might be someone that would be able to see beneath the fuzz. Ma Poole came to mind.
You know, Trav, it might be kinda nice to see her again.
His mind unable to let go of the older woman, Jess rode onto the main street, smiling, as he could imagine the harrumph that would come through her lips the moment recognition was made. Jess' smile quickly faded. Pausing outside of the boarding house, Jess gave the surprising view a critical stare. The sign was being pulled free.
Tapping on the nearest shoulder, Jess pointed to Ma Poole's name. Where is she?
"What?"
Irritation making the line of Jess' mouth too hard to mouth the question, he pointed again to the sign and then at the porch chair and the patchwork quilt that was folded way too neatly in its center. Where is she?
"Oh. You haven't heard?"
He shook his head, and somehow Jess could see the sympathy pinched in the lines of Ma's face when she spoke that very question, hearing her voice as if it were yesterday, not five years ago when Jess made his first stop in Rock Springs.
"Funeral's in the morning," she had said.
The similar reply was even more chilling than in his memory. "Funeral was yesterday."
His head lowering in sorrow, Jess formed the single word on his lips. How?
The man tapped his chest. "Doc said it was her heart."
Eyes diverting back to the sign as one of the handlers let one corner drop to the ground with a thump, Jess pointed again to Ma's name. Why the sudden change?
"When Ma started feeling poorly, Miss Delaney bought the place a month ago. She wants to give the place a fresh look."
Probably ain't gonna be free lemonade, then.
Unable to read that thought, the man shrugged, giving Jess the opportunity to pull his horse away, leaving Rock Springs faster than how he arrived. But the town wouldn't get too far behind him when Jess stopped again. The cemetery, already sprawling in size, had grown in his absence, more than he expected. But life in the west was a hard one, with difficult people and difficult circumstances. Something that Jess knew all too well, knew it all too well right here in Rock Springs. Weren't there three burials during Jess' stay? Four, if Jess counted the death that brought him to this place in the very beginning.
Passing the graves of Vic Stoddard, Curly Troy, and Deputy Grant, Jess stopped at Hatch's stone. He stared at the sheriff's name, reading the first and ending dates. What a waste of a good life. Jess' head lowered. Considering how he now lived, could that same thought be echoed over Jess' name someday?
Forcing his feet to move, he found the freshly turned soil and marker that had been erected only the day before. Where he could have simply slid his hat from his head and solemnly mouthed his goodbye, Jess dropped beside the stone, head lowered, but eyes open. He had so much more to give than a parting word.
I dunno what I was expecting from you, Ma. You woulda given me a free lemonade and tried to set me straight. I reckon that much woulda been true. But I doubt I'd have listened. Just like you said when I asked what you'd do if you'd been in my boots when facing Curly Troy. Something like, 'I wouldn't listen if she told me.' But whether or not I woulda listened to your take on my new life, I'd still have an opportunity to think on it. And dadgum, have I thought on it. I'm nobody now, Ma. Dadgum, I sure wish you were here to give me a free lemonade and try to set me straight. I need someone to.
"Son?"
The surprise hitting him straight in the chest, Jess turned. At least he knew in one glance that the man wasn't about to kill him. He was wearing a collar. Dadgum.
"Son?" He repeated, staring into the blue eyes first before moving down to the unkempt beard, giving a lengthy gaze at the scar along his lower cheek that couldn't yet grow hair. If the man was sitting at any other grave, recognition might have been impossible. It was when his eyes returned to the soft shade below him that something triggered in his memory. Because like now, he had been beside her that day. "Jess Harper?"
It took a full minute before Jess nodded. Yeah. And you're the corker kinda sermon giver.
Kneeling down, the reverend put his hand on the weary shoulder. "I'm sorry you missed the service yesterday. She was a good woman."
Jess nodded. One of the best.
Sensing the emotion was far greater than Ma Poole's death, the reverend gave an encouraging rub, trying to bring the troubled blue back to meet with his. "What's the matter, Son? Ma wouldn't want you grieving like this."
Jess started to shake his head, but then forced the movement still. Dadgum. I can't lie to a preacher.
"Jess?"
Opening his mouth, Jess pointed to his throat, offering a shake to his head. I'm mute.
"Oh, no. I'm so sorry. How'd it happen?"
Putting his left hand in the shape of a gun, Jess pointed at the ground and then forced his index finger near the mark on his throat. Kinda strange to describe. Stabbed by a gun, yet not by a bullet.
Understanding wasn't at a hundred percent, but the reverend didn't need every detail of Jess' injury. What he remembered was quite clear. He did a powerful lot of singing that Sunday morning in church and now that powerful voice was silent. Dear God.
Bowing his head even lower, the reverend saw the odd curl of Jess' fingers and immediately reached for his right hand. The response fearful, and loaded with pain, he kept his hand from making the connection. "And this?"
Jess shook his head. Doesn't matter. It's crippled.
"Jess. Whatever it is that's happened to you, it's not the end. Otherwise you would've died with these injuries."
I don't wanna hear a corker of a sermon, Padre, so whatever you've got in mind, save it for Sunday when I'll be long gone from here.
"I won't preach," he said, resting his hands on the bent shoulders. "But let me pray for you, Son."
Since it seemed unavoidable, but maybe it was better to say it was out of necessity, Jess nodded. Listening to the words coming from the reverend's mouth, Jess found his head bowing alongside of the reverend. Was Jess begging alongside the prayer? It didn't matter. The reverend's words would be the ones that were heard. Not his. And then after what seemed like the span of forever, here came the petition of healing specifically offered for his hand. At the moving plea, Jess stared at the center, at the despicable red line. It didn't fade, didn't disappear, not even a portion of pain let up.
Jess' brows scrunched in the moments following the "Amen". I shoulda known even that'd be useless.
Seeing the hard lines through Jess' face, the reverend nodded his understanding. "Not everyone gets an instant miracle, Jess. Others get the Lazarus treatment."
The furrow parted as Jess raised an eyebrow. Huh?
"You can read about it in the gospel of John if you've a mind," the reverend said, not surprised when Jess shook his head. "Well, allow me to offer the short version anyway. You see, Jess, Jesus raised Lazarus from the grave, but not when his family and friends expected him to. Some said Jesus came too late. But in the Lord's eyes, even with those four days stuck in the tomb, he was right on time."
I still ain't following.
"Let me see if I can create a picture that you'll understand. You're a rancher, correct?"
Former. But I'll nod it out anyway.
"When a calf or foal is born, they get up right away. Even with a little wobbling, they're able to stand, walk, jump and run within a short time after birth. But human babies have much longer time to wait until all of those things happen. What I'm getting at is that not everyone gets the miracle as soon as the prayer is prayed over them. Not everyone gets to be a calf or a foal on day one. For reasons we don't understand, sometimes what we ask for comes later."
I reckon what's true is that not everyone gets a miracle at all. Especially when the afflicted is a sinner named Jess Harper. I've done too much to be touched by grace.
"Jess, don't darken your heart so much."
It was already dark long ago, Padre.
"I said it about Ma Poole, now I'll say it about you. You're a good man, Jess."
Nah. Not in the way you mean.
"That does give me a thought, about goodness anyway. There's a pretty familiar passage in Psalms. You probably know it. Number twenty three, but I can tell you're chafing too hard for me to quote the whole thing. Just this one line, all right? Surely goodness and mercy will follow me all the days of my life."
Dadgum. That corker of a sermon's gonna get at me anyway.
"Wherever you go, Jess, know that God's goodness and mercy goes with you."
And there it was. Dadgum.
Not wanting Jess' frown to etch even deeper, the reverend pulled away. "Are you going to stay in Rock Springs?"
Jess shook his head. I shoulda never come. Blessings don't follow me. Death does.
Watching Jess stand, the reverend gave his left arm a pat. "Take care of yourself, Jess. Wherever you go, all right?"
What else could he answer with other than a nod? Offering his to the reverend, Jess gave one last look at Ma Poole's grave and then started to walk away. He stopped. Hunger taking another loud roll through his stomach, Jess pressed his hand into its flatness. It wasn't going to work at this hour. Too near noontime to tune out the roar.
Jess' eyes wandered back toward town, wondering if the diner had soup on the stove. Even if it was just broth, it had to carry more flavor than the bowlful of mystery than the hospital served. But then again, merely thinking about a spoonful of that watered down garbage was making his stomach groan with desire.
If I'm that bad off, then I reckon I oughta do something about it.
He did. But where soup had been his original thought, seeing the waitress walk by with the special, fried chicken with mashed potatoes smothered in gravy, Jess instantly forgot soup even existed. It was a challenge to describe to the woman what Jess wanted, but after several points and gestures, she understood. No chicken, but an entire plate of mashed potatoes, buried under gravy.
If only he could have taken a week's worth in his saddlebag. But while the leather would have never held onto this kind of pleasure, it could hold another type. A bottle or two should suffice for the next week on the trail, maybe longer if he took small sips.
Leaving the diner behind him, Jess went into the saloon. Most saloons carried a similar scent, yet it was strange that at his first sniff, his thoughts jumped to Stockman's Palace and home. The memories given a stir in his mind, Jess almost expected to see Slim waiting for him at the bar, or maybe Mose, Mort, another stagecoach driver, or any of the other Laramie men.
But not anymore. Although the man sidling up to him at the bar was willing to challenge that thought.
Leaving enough coins on the bar's top to buy two bottles of whiskey, Jess gestured to a glass to start off number one. It was when Jess brought the cup to his mouth that the man beside him stepped closer. He felt the stab of his hand, needing to move, wanting to move, but unable to move toward a holster that wasn't there. Unable to mask the pain, Jess' grimace grew a deeper pinch as the whiskey slid down his throat. The man was smiling, genuine, not with a snaky curl. He was no threat. But then again, it could just end up being a different kind. Jess would rather be drinking alone.
The last step taken to be by Jess' side, the man tipped his hat back with his thumb. "Do I know you, Friend?"
Jess shook his head. No, and I'm actually happy to say that I don't know you.
The dose of beer flying past his lips, he gave Jess' shoulder a gentle jab with his own. "Come on, no need to be stuffy. I've been around to see faces and remember them. Even if I don't know you personal, I might know your name. What's your name, Mister?"
Jess' eyes drifted to the bar's top. Nobody. That satisfy you?
The stare getting too close for comfort, the man took a step back and eyed Jess through the mirror. For some reason the scars at his cheek and neck seemed brighter in the reflection and as he narrowed his gaze on the puckered mark on his throat, the man leaned in close again. "You a mute?"
There was no point denying it, especially when this was a stranger. He nodded.
"Sorry as I'll ever be, Mister."
Sure. If you're so sorry, leave me alone.
He held his hand out. "I'm Pat Gifford."
You don't read a man's mind very well, do you? Jess stared at the hand so hard he hoped that it would retreat backward with fear. It didn't. Jess finally offered a second nod and the fingers fell to the bar's top with a thump. Jess Harper.
Unsatisfied, Gifford jutted a finger at Jess' chest. "How about you spell your name out for me?"
How about you leave me alone?
"What's the matter?" Asked a younger man, bending around Gifford's shoulder. "Can't read or write, too?"
Jess' skin burned at the laughter rippling through the saloon. If I had my right fist, I'd write my name over your face.
"Get him a pencil and paper, Donnie. Then we'll know if he's just as dumb as his tongue."
Staring at the teenaged no-account, Jess slapped his whiskey glass against the bar. A crack growing from top to bottom, the leftover liquid began to seep through the lines. No longer having anything to hold, his left hand was rising, ready to grab the young man's collar. That was when the tittering started to wane.
"Hear, have another glass," said Gifford.
The tension in the room easing, Jess looked around from face to face. It had been five years since he had worn the deputy's star, yet there were a few men that he knew. He even remembered their names. But it was obvious by some of the blank stares, the humorous twitches of others, that no one knew him. No one but the reverend, that is. But Jess doubted he was ever seated around a table of whiskey glasses. That was only reserved for someone like Laramie's parson, and he would be tearing the place apart, not hoisting a bottle in the sky to toast the world over.
These men really didn't know him. And as a stub of a pencil and a torn piece of paper were being pushed toward him, here came the opportunity for the reveal. Yet Jess kept his left hand sitting still.
The question being offered grated against his spine worse than how the laughter had rolled, because it was something that he hadn't yet faced, but needed to. He used to be a man that could put fear into the no-accounts of the world with nothing more than the sound of his name. Jess wasn't that man anymore. He was crippled. Since the fear, his draw, and reputation were gone, shouldn't the name go the same route?
You wanna know who I am, huh? Grabbing the pencil, Jess' left hand scratched out a group of crude lines. Satisfied with what he saw, Jess slid the answer to the closest hand.
Gifford giving the name a glance over with his eyes, he then held up the paper so that the men within reading distance could see it. "Rex Helfer."
Now that you know, you gonna leave me alone?
"Well, it's nice to meet you, Helfer. You aiming to stay in Rock Springs?"
Jess shook his head. Passing through. As soon as I finish this last drink, I'll be going.
But in reality, Jess didn't merely pass through Rock Springs, he left a standing mark there. Fear of the unknown and a grumbling stomach was the original guide to the town, and while the reverend might have argued what the true meaning of Jess' short stay meant, to Jess it was neither an anxious ride nor the meeting with the reverend that would leave the biggest memory behind. It was what Jess left in the saloon. A new name.
They're after you, Jess!
The echoed taunt would stop right here. If whoever Slim was warning him about came into this place looking for Jess, they wouldn't find his name there, not even his description. If he was lucky, no one would find Jess Harper ever again.
Lifting up the glass, Jess gave the closest one a clank. That's right, boys, I'm Rex Helfer. Hell fer leather, hell fer one, hell fer all. Hell, I'm hell fer none.