Chapter Eight
All that was left of the saloon tucked under his arm, Jess let the pair of whiskey bottles glide into his saddlebags and then gave the reins a jerk to loosen them from the hitching rail. Pulling Traveler into the street, Jess took a step backward and felt an arm brush against his side. Hand in a fist, he jumped, looking into a face just as a surprised as he.
A kid not much over the age of ten gave his hat a nervous tip. "Excuse me, Mister."
The only offer of forgiveness Jess could give was a smile. The boy taking that as a cue to run, Jess watched only for a moment as the legs pumped the kid down the street. And then Jess' eyes only saw the ground. Jess knew he was too jumpy, but turning his hand into a rock because he ran into a kid, that was a reality in its own self. Jess' nerves were taking him too far.
Somehow he needed to be stronger, get his backbone back in shape.
Anyone got any ideas?
Hearing the familiar voice across the street give a friendly greeting to a parishioner, Jess stared at the black coat with the distinct white collar and shook his head. Sorry, Padre. Goodness and mercy ain't gonna cut it. But something else just might.
Switching his gaze to a certain storefront, Jess retied Traveler and took the short walk to the gunsmith's shop. The door given a rattle at his entry, Jess stared at the man behind the counter. Too bad he hadn't been in the saloon a few minutes earlier, then the man would already know there was no use trying to get noise out of Jess' lips. Well, it shouldn't be too hard. Just find the one he wanted, and point.
"What'll it be, Mister?"
Jess gave his left hip a tap.
"Lefty, huh?" The man waited for Jess' single nod before tossing the next question out. "New or used?"
While the bright handle and the even shinier hardware sitting out on display held his eye longer than the rows of candy would have attracted a child, Jess eventually switched his gaze. The plain brown handle that was sitting in a matching toned holster had the right kind of look. It was obvious that it was used, but that suited Jess even more. He didn't need what hugged his hip to stand out for others to take notice of. He only needed it to fire.
Jess finally pointed to his choice. That one.
"Used, then." The gunsmith picked up the gun, giving a long look down the sights. "Still a good iron, though. I serviced it myself when it came in. That'll be fifteen bucks."
Ouch. But at least I ain't empty. Thanks again, Slim.
The day Jess broke from his white-walled prison was similar to the last time Jess walked out of the Laramie bank with something new and green tucked in his pocket. If Jess had known there was a closet in that blamed number ninety, he might have taken off before he had. On a hanger was one of Jess' light blue shirts, still cleaned and ironed by Daisy's hand. His sweat-stained hat was there, too, dusted off and ready to wear. Folded next to his boots on the floor was a pair of jeans. The moment he fastened his belt buckle in place, Jess felt the difference on his left side and pushed his fingers into the pocket. While Jess didn't smile, the gratitude was still there. Slim had left him fifty dollars.
The horse he rode home didn't trim too much off of that original number. Not when he specifically avoided the bigger livery stables and went straight to the blacksmith shop. A good smithy always knew who had the best mounts to sell, for the right kind of price. One dinner and two whiskey bottles later had taken a little more from his stash. But now, if Jess really wanted an iron sitting on his hip, he would have to shell out close to the rest.
I reckon security's worth going broke over.
Left hand counting out the proper coins, Jess gave the number a jingle in his palm before slapping it on the counter. He would have liked to say it felt good on his hip as Jess walked out of the gunsmith's shop. It didn't. Different would have been a better word to use. But at least the rest of the west could see that Jess was packing iron now. Maybe the only man in the west that needed to see it was Jess. With a gun now within his reach, Jess' legs could be sturdier, his knees could forget they ever knew how to shake, except there was still one vital part to remember.
So what that I ain't perfect. No one's gotta know I can't use it the same as before.
But that thought made Jess want to use the gun even more, and he didn't want the kind of usage to be merely rocking the hammer back and pulling the trigger. Jess wanted to use the gun with a proper point, aim and fire.
While the desire grew stronger with each mile, Jess rode two days and nights away from Rock Springs before he allowed his fingers to stretch in the gun's direction. It wasn't a necessary reach. No outlaw or rattlesnake was taking a leap for his face. Jess had merely reached his limit. He had to go for the iron, he had to feel the hammer drop beneath his thumb, had to squeeze the trigger.
Traveler tied a safe distance away, Jess eased the gun out of the holster and rotated his left hand, eyeing the iron as well as how each finger curled around the butt. It wasn't as if Jess' left hand had never held an iron before. He had fired using this finger against the trigger, more than once, yet the difference was stark. His right hand being dead, the left was all he had. And it could never measure up to Jess' original skill.
I reckon that could change with some practice. It ain't like my right hand was perfect with my first coupla bullets.
Feeding his gun was the hardest part. While his thumb and forefinger was able to push each bullet in, he had to use his right arm to hold the handle still to be able to turn the chamber. Bullet after bullet, turn after turn, a clock could have ticked more than one full circle before Jess searched the land around him for a target.
There were definitely plenty of rocks to scatter. Picking up six to match the six pieces of lead, Jess lined the fist-sized targets in a row on top of a flat boulder. With everything ready, Jess eased his legs to the proper stance, set his jaw to the right hardness and then eyed the stone he wanted to take flight.
Even though he couldn't use it, the fingers on Jess' injured hand twitched, stabbing him with pain, but also making him suffer with a stab of envy. He knew what was happening. Jess' gun hand was yearning to touch the iron, even if every part of Jess' being knew it couldn't hold it.
Get over it, Jess commanded. That's why I'm here. To teach the left how to be the right.
Steadying his breath, Jess lifted the gun and gave it the exact point. Or at least he thought he had. The rock that was supposed to have grown wings likely didn't even feel the bullet's wind. Taking a closer step, Jess tossed the second piece of lead. While a rock did skip into the dust, Jess' jaw couldn't slack enough to smile. That particular stone hadn't been his aim.
Offering the last four, Jess stared at the rocks ahead of him, his stance just as stiff as when he fired the first bullet. He had only made one more hit, and it wasn't even enough to drop the rock to the ground. While he could thumb the hammer each time with accuracy, the lead coming out had none.
Dadgum.
The refill complete, Jess gave the rocks his most intimidating stare. If only the blue daggers were silver bullets instead, then he would have blown each rock from their perch without a single blink. But there was no sense imagining the impossible, especially since there was danger there. If Jess went any further inside the pictures of his mind, then his right hand would be whole again.
Anger and envy alive more than ever, Jess gave the iron its point, but stopped before pulling the trigger. Jess knew that if his fury rose any further, he would never give a proper aim. If any of his former colleagues ever lived long enough to put the rules of a gunman's life into print, this would be near the top of a gunfighter's user handbook. Don't let anger pull the trigger. True, it was what started most gunfights, but it wasn't what won them. A level head, a steady hand, and a good measure of dumb luck was what it actually took to walk away when the smoke cleared.
Jess wasn't sure he had a level head anymore, his steady hand for certain was gone, and he figured he left his dumb luck back in Laramie. All of these things considering, maybe he should just quit.
Nah. I reckon I just need something larger to shoot at.
But finding something in this hole of land that appeared to be forsaken by everything but its original creator would be difficult. Eyes giving a full rove over the rocky hillside, Jess' boots shifted to view what lay behind him. Fed by a mountain stream, this side was greener. A pair of pine trees stood side by side, spreading their arms upward as if in continual praise for what rained down on them.
They might not be so obliging if I change that rain to lead and knock their cones down. But then Jess gave the upper limbs a squint. What was clinging to every branch was too small of an aim, including the chipmunk that was having a feast in the tree's center. Dadgum.
Shifting his stance again, Jess started to peel his gaze away from what grew from the ground and what might be crawling on it when something fluttered by, just missing his nose as it slowly made its way to the earth. His eyes could have darted back up to where the leaf had been plucked from, but it was better to view where it had fallen. While it wasn't the season for green to turn into orange, last night's wind stripped enough leaves from the maple tree's canopy to cover the ground. Some of the leaves bigger than Jess' face, he had his targets.
Lining a group of leaves along the base of the hillside, Jess gave the largest one his hardest scrutiny. He was going to hit it. Everything in his being said that he was going to hit it. The anticipated breath held, Jess felt for the iron and pulled, firing a short second later. The hole was clear to see. He hit the leaf dead center.
While the next shot wasn't as perfect, he kept the bullets burning until the remaining five were used. Stepping back to observe, the corner of Jess' mouth was given permission to rise. His bullets had crocheted the leaves into a group of dainty doilies.
The thrill growing alongside of confidence, Jess put six more bullets into his gun. Now he was ready to make the rocks start skipping the beat to a gunfighter's tune. Readied, Jess gave the long, cold stare and drew the pistol. Every bullet poured out in a steady stream. Every rock took some kind of leap.
The success making him hungry for more, Jess grabbed for another handful of lead. Even with the echo of the gunfire still throbbing inside of his ears, Jess didn't miss a different sound mixing in. Or maybe it was merely the hard-earned instincts that had kept Jess alive all these years. The clop of hooves and the boots that were leading it tingled along Jess' spine. Holding his breath he listened for even stricter clarity. It was getting closer, with each nearing step trying to be quieter than the last.
Someone was coming, but that someone wasn't coming direct. There was a bigger threat attached, because that someone was circling him.
Seeing a large man through the tree leaves, fully armed with rifle and what sat at his right side, Jess shrank back. He hated to think that he was cowering behind a boulder out of fear and not just merely looking, but Jess would have been lying. While his left was holding too tightly to his gun to feel the dampness in its center, it had to be there. Even his dead hand was growing slick with sweat. Jess' skin a million prickles, he craned his head to get a better view.
Dadgum he's a big fella. Like a buffalo.
A memory jarred his mind with the sharpness of his face being slapped. There was someone that he had recently seen resembling that man's size, someone that harmed him. Jess quickly shook his head. No, it wasn't this man that caused his pain, it wasn't a large frame that crippled him. A new image starting to take shape inside of his brain, Jess could finally see the man that stood so menacingly above him. He could see the gun that was held to his chest, watched as the trigger was pulled, exploding fire and lead inside. And then the gun moved to his head, scoring both cheek and neck with pain. If only the scene stopped right there, but the worst was yet to come. Jess' hand was about to take its hit, and the man performing the devil's assault was as clear as he had ever been. Tall, thin, black hair and eyes, he loomed low over Jess and raised the knife, strengthening its power so the blade wouldn't just cut, it would maim.
If the approaching buffalo hadn't cracked a twig under his boot, Jess would have relived the torture so vividly the same silent scream might have been jerked out of his clamped jaw. Retreating further behind the boulder, Jess could no longer catch a glimpse of the man but he had seen enough. While the big fellow wasn't behind Jess' injuries, Jess had seen him before. He knew he was there, somewhere.
Dadgum, think!
From the back corners of Jess' mind he heard a shout, Slim's desperate plea, and the man's connection was complete. He had Slim! While the fists, boots and bullets smacked into Jess' frame, he felt the distinct pulling of Slim's soul. There was reason they weren't together. Someone was holding Slim down, fighting him, subduing him, keeping him from saving his partner's hide. It was when Slim called his name and Jess searched for Slim's gaze that he saw the man. It was actually plural, with more than one hold on Slim's frame, but there was only one man that stood out. Large, hairy, like a buffalo, but with a far more menacing stomp.
Jess' eyes raced through the brush, and while he couldn't find him, he could hear him. No longer like a whisper, the boots crushed the ground like a buffalo would, and Jess could already feel the far more menacing stomp.
They're after you, Jess!
Instead of getting rid of the threat, it had increased. Because now Jess knew who was on the other side of Slim's warning. The men he had made dance on the streets of Laramie might have beat him and shot him to pieces, but they weren't finished with him yet. They were coming for him, and despite leaving a different scent in Rock Springs, they had found him.
At least now I know that I can hit what I'm aiming at.
But how many were there? Jess could only picture two, but somehow he could remember all five. His gun filled with six bullets, he should be able to trim the number of enemies down. If there were doubts, all he had to do was remember the lace doilies.
Another crunch, a closer step, Jess was ready to take on the first. Coming away from his protective shield, Jess looked past the surprised face to the iron that was at an even point with his. Fear a far worst enemy than anyone toting a gun, Jess fired. He also dropped straight to the ground. The bullet taking a hard bounce on the rocky ridge behind him, the lead came right back, striking Jess in the head.
.:.
"Is he awake?"
"He moved, that's about it."
The voices startled him, but where a normal body would have flinched, Jess kept his frame still. Whoever belonged to the voices was watching him, studying for him to be awake. A woman and a man. The fog that settled over his head took Jess' mind to Daisy and Slim, but there was no comfort in imagining Daisy's mothering touch or the protection that Slim's presence offered him. He wasn't anywhere near home.
Then where am I?
"You think he'd take some water?"
"Can try. Hand me that cup, will you, Dear?"
The glass to his mouth, Jess felt a large hand lift his head. If he didn't need the water so much, Jess might have merely let the man pour it through his lips, but the moment the trickle hit his tongue, Jess began to guzzle the cup.
"Easy, now. Slow down, Jess."
Huh? He knows my name? Slim? Is that you, Slim?
"Well, he's definitely awake now. He's trying to say something. Can't make it out, though. It's not even a whisper, just the movement of his lips."
"Let me try."
Someone new bent over him, for there was a pleasing aroma wafting into his nose. While he had already dismissed it, he could put the comforts of home away for good. Daisy wore a soft scent dabbed behind each ear. This was deeper, muskier, and more beautiful.
Some saloon princess got her painted nails in me?
He lifted his lashes, and seeing nothing beyond a watery blur, he gave a gentle bat down and back up. It was still too hazy. But even if the blue underneath all of the gray fog wasn't useless, he should be able to put the voices to some names. Nothing was familiar. But maybe that was merely a response to the pain in his head, the blamed fog that was somehow getting thicker.
They know my real name. Don't that mean I oughta know them? The new thought was so strong, his entire body jerked away from the bedding and the increasing pain almost dug oblivion's grave all over again. Almost. He was too afraid to drop back down. Dadgum. Is it someone that's gonna kill me?
They're after you, Jess! Slim's warning again, but now it was so urgent it tore through his mind with Jess' raspy tone. And maybe they've got their hands on me. To hell with the pain, I gotta get up!
"Stop thrashing, Jess, you'll make it worse."
The woman again. There was something in her voice that had the ability to tickle his senses, touch him like no other could. Even though it was the man's hands that were lowering his body back against the bed linens, Jess could sense she was strong, yet completely feminine.
Oh, no. Tell me it ain't Orleta and that dadgummed doc that's got a hold of me. I ain't back in them white walls with that stupid ceiling staring down at me at all hours. Please, tell me I ain't!
"He's opening his eyes again. Jess, can you hear me?"
Who? He squinted, searching, smelling, failing to grasp the name of the woman. All he knew was that she was beautiful. Well, he could strike off Orleta. She looked more like a prune stuck too long in pickle brine. Who are you?
"Something's really wrong with him, Jim. I don't think he can speak."
Jim? Well, I got one name. What's the other?
"Jess. If you can hear me, nod your head."
He turned his gaze toward the man's voice, deep and commanding, as if he were someone in authority. Maybe he was, like the leader of the gang that crippled him. But no, that couldn't be right. That sinister voice had already made a return to his mind. This wasn't it, but while there was a familiar ring, Jess' head was hurting with the kind of severity that made him unable to know where the bell's clapper belonged. The hand's strength going deeper into his shoulder, Jess understood the grip. Jim was encouraging him to answer, almost begging Jess to comply. But he couldn't nod when there wasn't any recognition beyond a first name.
Finally, Jess shook his head.
Understanding the movement of the lips, Jim offered a smile, a friendly flash of teeth. "Jess, it's Jim Dark. Don't you remember me?"
Jim Dark? Yeah, I know Jim Dark. He's the fella that faced the Reeves brothers. You really that Jim Dark?
Jess' eyes given a hard blink, he peeled his hand away from his side and pressed his thumb and forefinger into his eyelids. When the smear of liquid was brushed away, the last of the fog went with it. It really was Jim Dark leaning over him. Then that meant… His eyes given another blink, Jess turned his blue on the woman, and dadgum, she really was beautiful. June.
She smiled at recognition's birth. "I'm glad you remember."
But there was something that he didn't know and it made Jess' fingers stretch higher, reaching for the newest throb. What happened?
"You've been unconscious for the last day and a half, Jess. You were hit by a bullet."
Jess' eyes leapt back to Jim. Someone shot me?
Jim shook his head. "You took a shot at me."
But I… Jess winced as he searched his memory, the fresh pain bringing on even fresher fear. I remember. Someone was circling me. A big fella, the one that held onto Slim. He was coming for me. He was gonna shoot me, but I was gonna meet him first.
Jim watched as Jess' lashes crashed down. "What is it, Jess?"
Slowly opening his eyes, Jess stared at the face of the man that had been coming for him. Dadgum, that was Jim all along. And I dadgummed shot myself.
"I'm sorry if I startled you, Jess. I heard the gunfire, with it being so close to the house I didn't know what I could be riding into, so I crept around cautiously."
It's the same as I woulda done. You did the right thing, Jim. Too bad I can't say the same about me. Dadgum, I coulda killed a former lawman. I coulda killed me.
"Looks like you've been through a lot, Jess. I'd like to know about it."
"Not yet, Jim. Let him rest." Watching the shades of torture flicker over Jess' face, June let her palm rest against his cheek. "Go back to sleep, Jess. Things won't be as rough when you're head heals."
If only my head was the only thing that's gotta heal. He tried to force his right hand to flex, and as Jess' body contorted to the pain, there came the willingness to succumb back to darkness. Maybe it is best to go out. It don't hurt when I'm out. Dadgim, I don't even remember when I'm out.
"Shhh," she soothed, dropping low to offer a touch of her lips to Jess' cheek. "Find that place, Jess. Quiet and soft."
And so dadgummed beautiful.
"That's it now, Jess. That's it," June said, pulling back only when she was certain the cradle Jess was in had the covers tucked up and over.
"I wonder who's after him."
Turning, June eyed her husband, his stance too solid to find comfort in. "You think someone's after him?"
"He's running, June. Take it from a man who's done it more than he'd want to admit. It's obvious."
"I wonder from whom."
"I'd imagine it's whoever hurt him in the first place. That hand injury isn't new. The scar on his chest might be as much as a month old, the one on his arm, the same. Someone's shot him up pretty bad. They could be coming after him to finish the job."
"Jim," she said, her lips beginning to tremble. "Do you think they'll come here?"
"I don't know," Jim answered, taking a look at his own bum hand. "I just wonder if…"
Circling his wrist with her tender touch, June wrapped the other around Jim's waist. "You can tell me. I'm not afraid when I'm with you."
"I wonder if he's safe anywhere."
"You're stronger than you were when we last saw him. And so am I."
"It's not that, Honey, well, maybe not altogether. When there's trouble about, I'll always wish my hand was like it used to be. But my thoughts aren't all selfish ones. I'm thinking about how Jess must really be feeling. If there's someone after him or not, if Jess doesn't feel safe at the Sherman ranch where he belongs, then he won't have security anywhere he goes."
"Are you going to send a wire to Slim?"
Jim stared at Jess' pale skin a full minute before shaking his head. "I'd like to, but for Jess' sake, I won't."
"But Jim…"
"June, as I already said Jess is running from someone. What if that someone's waiting around Laramie for word to break on his whereabouts? What if that someone's waiting close by, watching for me to ride out? We're two days out of Rock Springs. I can't leave you two alone that long. I won't."
"Oh, Jim. What can we do?"
"I aim to help him, June."
"But how?"
"He needs time, Honey, time to recover, time to heal inside and out. Since I know how he feels more than anyone else, I'd like to give that to him if we can."
Her smile igniting the loving glow in her eyes, June nodded. "All right, Jim. As long as Jess needs. But I must admit, my skin's starting to prickle like it did when you told me the Reeves were after us."
"I'll take a ride into the hills and have a look around. Will that make you feel better?"
"As long as you come back home with a smile on your face."
Kissing her, Jim's fingers gave June's cheek a similar caress. "I will. There's still enough lawman in me to smell if some hard cases are close by. I'll be in before dark."
Giving the bumps on her arm a rub, June watched her husband leave and then sat beside the patient's bed. Jim was right. Jess really was afraid of something, more than likely, of someone. His left hand sitting in a hard knot even as he slept was rather strong evidence. Easing her fingers along the fist, June gently loosened the grip and then laid the open palm over his chest. He groaned, but mercifully he remained inside of slumber's security. If only he could have the same assurance while awake.
"You're safe here, Jess. I promise you, no matter what. You're safe."
.:.
He heard the rider, but of course all of them had. What good was a no-good outlaw if he couldn't catch the drumbeat of hooves a mile off? The kind of instinct that kept them out of jail cells put rifles in two different clasps. The third man moved more nonchalantly, easing his body toward the sound as he let a pair of binoculars run the distance from his face to the mount passing below on the road.
The binoculars lowered from his eyes, Rip silently whistled a slow stream of air through his mouth. "You know who that was, Toombs?"
The man next to him stretched in the saddle to get the last view before the man on horseback disappeared. "Nope. Who?"
"Jim Dark."
Toombs shook his head. "Don't know him."
"I do. He used to be a lawman, four, five years ago. He got shot up pretty bad by the Reeves brothers. While he was in the same schoolhouse with the lot of them, my stepbrother was the same age with the one Dark killed. Jake Reeves."
"So there's something personal between you and Dark?"
Rip shook his head. "If my stepbrother were here he might say different. But me, I ain't got no qualms with Dark. Besides, I make it a point to leave lawmen, former or current, alone. Keeps the prices on wanted posters from going too high over my name."
"Well, if there's no point dropping in on Dark for a gun-inspired howdy, then what's your next move?"
"I'm still after Jess Harper. I haven't given up on finding him yet."
"But where is he? We've been wandering over every back trail and main line the last week with nothing gained but saddle sores."
"Once Bisbee returns from snooping through Rock Springs, I'll have a clearer answer on that. Come on, Toombs, let's get some coffee."
Coffee, beans, some jerky too, all had been eaten and put away by the time Bisbee made entry to the outlaw camp. The embers still strong enough to make flames rise again with added fuel, Bisbee rubbed his hands over the growing warmth.
"You'd think you'd at least leave coffee boiling for me," complained Bisbee.
"Didn't expect you until tomorrow."
"A thunderstorm was brewing east of town so I hooked north and then hit the upper loop. Wouldn't you know it turned out to be a shortcut to Saddleback Peak?"
"No, I didn't know. We've only been camped here a day ourselves. Here." Rip handed over a whiskey bottle. "Will that loosen your tongue enough to get what I want out of you?"
Bisbee took a long drink, but it wouldn't do any good at opening him up, not when the real reply was just a simple shake of his head. "Didn't find him, Rip. Some folks said that there was a stranger passing through Rock Springs, but it wasn't Jess Harper. Someone named Rex Helfer."
"Description?"
"Dark hair with a full beard, lefty too. Sorry, Rip. Ain't Jess Harper. In fact, they know him in that town, so there'd be no doubt if he'd ridden through or not. Harper used to be a deputy there at one time."
Toombs' mouth exploded with laughter. "Did you hear that, Rip?"
"I ain't got cotton balls sticking out of my ears. What's so funny about it?"
"At sundown you were saying that you didn't mess with former lawmen, and that's what Harper is. A deputy!"
"There's always room for exceptions when you're playing the game of death," Rip answered.
"You sound annoyed, Boss," said the last man in the bunch, the one that listened more than spoke.
"I am, McKinley. I guess I was wrong that Harper came this way. I don't understand though. My senses usually don't miss."
Toombs spread his large hands wide. "He could be anywhere by now, Rip, and all this time we've wasted running over ground that compares to nothingness."
A grumble passed through his lips. "I never waste my time."
McKinley gave his iron a hard clutch. "Then where is Jess Harper?"
"If I knew, we'd be breathing down his neck. Or better yet, I'd be cutting it off. John the Baptist can't be the only one ever having his top parading around on a platter."
"How in all this world do you know what the Bible says, Rip?"
The black eyes flickered at Bisbee. "The devil knows about Jesus, so why can't I?"
"Too bad your mind's not working along the same line for Jess Harper, then you'd know right where he is."
As if Bisbee's bottle landed in the flames, Rip exploded, leaping at the man to pin him to a boulder. "I can pare any one of you down, you know."
"Rip."
He glanced at the hollow tone of Toombs. "Yeah?"
"He's not the only one with a beef against you," Toombs answered, rubbing the tight wad that was his hand, but also giving McKinley a nod, so that the other man would hold onto the butt of his gun. "And I'd imagine you couldn't strike the whole lot of us without feeling my fist over the side of your head first."
"All right, all right," Rip said, stepping back. "I get it. We're all a bit edgy. I've got the fits because I thought I was onto Harper's trail and it turned out that it wasn't. You're all mad because you've been stuck in Nothingville for too long. With all that irritation among us, it's natural to lash out. But let's forget about each others' throats awhile and just focus on the main event for a second. Why we're here. Can anyone tell me his name?"
Toombs flashed a smile. "Jess Harper."
Rip's hand caressed the gun at his side. "He's still going to die."
Returning the whiskey bottle back to his lips, Bisbee sloshed a portion into his belly. "But that puts us right back to the first question. Since he wasn't in Rock Springs, then where is he?"
"Camped under a lonely star's my thought," Toombs said. "Speaking of a lone star, you think he went back to Texas?"
"No. Most men don't wanna remember where they were born, they just want folks remembering where they die. For Harper that's in Laramie."
Bisbee shook his head. "But he's not there, Rip. Toombs checked, McKinley checked, I checked, we've all checked."
"I know."
"Then why don't you give up on Laramie?"
"Because Harper's ties are to Laramie. You heard that old lady blubbering about him being like her son. That's why I don't want to stray too far away from there, because Harper ain't gonna stray too far from there."
"I don't know, Rip. I have a feeling Harper's on the run. From us, from his injuries, from his own self, maybe. Any man on the run's gonna be putting miles behind him. If that's the case, there's a good chance that Harper's clean outta the territory. Like so far that we'll never find him."
"Even if he is, Bisbee, I'll find him. And when I do, no matter where he is or who he's with, I'll kill him. I'll kill everyone attached to him if I have to."