Chapter Eleven

"You'd think he'd be homesick by now."

The last of the rabbit on his plate going down, Toombs gave his satisfied belly a pat. "Who, Rip?"

"Jess Harper."

"You still gnawing on him?"

"Why shouldn't I be?"

"Well, if you're gonna waste the effort of your teeth on Harper's invisible hide, can I have your dinner?"

"Yeah, go ahead. Whiskey goes better with my irritated gut anyway," Rip said, giving the bottle next to his boot a rise up to his lips. "Yuck. Where'd you get this jug, anyway?"

"Stockmen's Palace in Laramie."

"Tastes like half of it's filled with rainwater." Rip gagged, yet took another swig of brew anyway. "Laramie, huh?"

A large bite taken out of his boss' rejected rabbit, Toombs pushed the wad into the corner of his mouth. "Yup. I thought I might as well pick up some toe-warmers while I passed through. Nights are getting chilly."

"Forget about your cold toes. And eating. Is there any news from Laramie that I might be interested in?"

The entire lot went down in one gulp. "No one's heard anything about Harper. You ready to give up on finding him?"

Another drink taking the slosh into his mouth, Rip shook his head. "No."

"But Rip, how long are you planning to wait?"

"As long as it takes."

"I was afraid you were gonna say that."

The sound of annoyance able to seep past the sound of Toombs' chewing, Rip took the few steps so that he was standing at the man's stretched out legs. "How about if I make you a deal?"

"I'm listening."

"If we don't get a break about Harper's whereabouts soon, I'll forget him. We'll go so far that we'll almost be outta Harper's territory altogether, on up to Sheridan and have us the grandest time we'll ever see."

"With women and beer and everything else?"

"As much of everything you can fit into our stay."

Wiping his greasy fingers on his thigh, Toombs thrust out his hand but then promptly sprang the palm upward. "Wait."

"For?"

"How long is this soon you mentioned? One day, two, tell me it ain't gonna be a week?"

"One day."

"So the end of the day tomorrow?" Toombs asked, and waiting for his boss to finally nod, Toombs grabbed Rip's hand. "Deal."

Toombs would have been lying if he said he wasn't counting down all twenty-four hours. While he wouldn't have minded seeing Jess Harper's tombstone erected, and spit a hearty stream in its center too, Toombs could go on living without doing so just the same. Too bad Rip wasn't of the same mind. Oh, Toombs understood his boss' need for blood, but it was this constant waiting that was getting to him. They would set camp on one hill and stick for a week, ride a day or two and then camp again for another week.

Toombs rubbed his dotted arms. "And it's getting chillier every sundown."

Looking toward the horizon that full day later, Toombs gave a contented sigh. This was it. With the colors starting to fade, Rip would call it the end and their saddles could be fitted again. Sheridan, he said. With a particular woman he knew that lived in the most clandestine establishment the town had to offer, Toombs' excitement grew until he could taste the high-priced whiskey and the ruby lips that would pour it for him.

But then every bubble in his imaginary glass was about to burst.

The crunch of approaching boots, two sets, no less, made a pair of six-shooters get cocked and aimed. But the close punch against the trigger wouldn't last long. The irons were allowed to melt back into their holsters when Bisbee's face rounded a thick tree trunk.

"Nice way to get shot, Bisbee," McKinley said from his boulder's perch.

"Sorry. Was just so eager to get here that I forgot the welcome whistle," Bisbee answered, picking up the speed of his steps when he saw Rip dropping his backend beside the fire. "Say Rip, I met up with a fellow I think you oughta meet."

"Ain't toting a badge, is he?"

"Nope. But he's toting a name in his hip pocket that you'll do well to remember. Jess Harper."

Leaping upward, Rip's hands reached for Bisbee's collar and hugged tight. "You found Jess Harper and kept him for yourself?"

"I didn't say that, Rip," answered Bisbee with a coughing choke. "Ease up, will you?"

"Fine. I won't squeeze it out, but you better spit it out fast."

"Coming back up from searching through Jubilee I met up with a fellow that knows him. And since I figured you'd like to say a similar 'howdy', I brought him along."

The position of his hand changing to slap Bisbee on the back, Rip's mouth split wide. "Well now, that is happy news. Bring him in, bring him in!"

Bisbee gave his arm a wave toward the crouching shadow. "Come on. You're free to walk in without lead attacking."

"Evening," he said, the slight jab of his thumb against the rim of his hat showing off his nerves. It wasn't every day that he met up with a head honcho of this kind of caliber. But with good enough reason, he could forget about the dampness in the center of each palm. And he had good reason. "My name's Ken Corbett."

"The name's Rip. The big guy's Toombs, the skinny one is McKinley. You already met Bisbee. But it ain't our names that matter the most. It's another one that's been stuck to the roof of my mouth for far too long. Jess Harper. I understand you know him."

"I originally met up with Harper some years ago. But I saw him in a Denver hospital a little over a month back."

"I read that myself in a newspaper. Who says you didn't just read the same bit that I did?"

Taking a few steps, Corbett pointed to the limp still stuck to his leg. "See that? I broke it pretty bad awhile ago. Harper was in the hospital when I was. I saw him there. Talked to him, even."

"Well, now. It sounds like you're a bit closer kin to him that I first thought. So tell me, you know where he is now?"

"No. But I know some details about him." Corbett waited, watching the dark eyes drawing down to slits. "Some very important details."

"Let me guess. It's gonna cost me to get it outta you."

Corbett shrugged. "Nothing wrong with that is there?"

"Depends on your price."

"I'll be honest. While a wanted poster has been made out for me in the past, I'm not built on leadership material. Since I need somewhere to land, I'd like a place on your team."

"How big a place?"

"I'm not greedy."

"I did lose a man awhile ago when I was visiting Sherman's. I guess I wouldn't mind having his place filled. Bottom of the barrel all right with you?"

Corbett thought about shrugging, but released a nod instead. "Fine."

"All right. You're in, Corbett. Now tell me about Jess Harper before I shoot you off the team."

Gulping his anxiety down, Corbett hurriedly pushed out the answer. "He's mute and his hand's so messed up, they say he'll never use it again."

"Well, now. It certainly sounds like I did a number on him. A cripple twice over! But while that makes me feel taller than that tree looming over us, I wanna grow taller. I still want Harper dead."

"But Rip," protested Toombs in more ways than one, with the loudest the approaching stomping step. "Corbett already said he doesn't know where Harper is. What about Sheridan and our deal?"

"In a minute, Toombs," Rip answered, his growl for the one man diminishing to nearly purr toward the other. "Tell me more of what you know. About his hand, I mean."

"I have a feeling I know what it'll do to him. When I met up with Harper in the hospital, I kinda shared the thought that every gunfighter that ever lived through his bullets is gonna come calling."

"You telling me Harper is scared of his own shadow?"

"He's run off, doesn't that say enough for itself?"

Rip rubbed his jaw. "I'm not sure what it says."

"I know he ain't at home. Before I hit the Jubilee road I took a sniff down Sherman's way. He's not there. Hasn't been for a long time."

"We already know that. Tell me something I don't know!"

Irritation rose along with Corbett's fear. "You're forgetting that I know Harper personally. I know how he acts, a little how he feels. He's a peculiar fellow, being rather protective of those around him. If he's afraid for his life, it's a sure bet he's gonna be afraid for Sherman's life."

"Hmm. So that's why he's hiding so hard."

"But that brings up another point. If Harper wants to hide, he'll do it so well that you'll never see him."

"I'll find him."

"Sorry, Rip. No one's that good."

"But you're saying Harper is?"

"He is."

Turning his back on Corbett, Rip worked both hands into a knot. If the newcomer could see the way the fists were being shaped into a pair of rocks, he would swear that he was about to get knocked straight into midnight's darkest dreams. To the three members of Rip's gang, they knew why the rough hands were really formed. Rip's thoughts were only on Jess Harper. But was Rip adding his own name inside of his head, going so far as to label himself as a failure in his desire for Harper's blood? That was something only the number one outlaw could know.

Toombs knew better than calling his boss such a degrading term, but his anger couldn't stop fitting some interesting titles over Rip's head. Since he had more reason than anyone else to get on the road to Sheridan, Toombs chose to stay up well past the hour of retiring. They needed to talk, needed to get straight what was before them. And it better be the straight stretch north.

Sensing the heavy steps behind him, Rip poured a second cup of coffee. "Toombs. Wondered if you were awake since I couldn't hear you snoring."

He took the cup and flung the liquid into the fire, making an instant steaming spit in the flame's center. "I'm not the only one that toots through his nose. You ever listen to yourself sleep?"

"All right, don't get the dander underneath your beard aggravated."

"It was worked up long before this."

"What do you mean?"

"Sheridan. Harper. You don't have to tell me which one wins, Rip. We had a deal."

"I know. Why do you think I'm up? I'm thinking about just that."

"And what's the result?"

"I know you're eager to get to Sheridan. What's her name again?"

"Mirabelle."

"Ah, yes. Tall and shapely, with bright red lips and hair so black it shines in the dark. Did I get her appearance right?"

"Yeah. And the more you remind me about her, the more I'm gonna pound in your skull that we had a deal. We shook on it. The day is over. Let's call it quits on Harper once and for all!"

"I'm not sure you remember exactly what the deal stated, Toombs. It seems to me that what we agreed on was if we didn't get a break on Harper's whereabouts today, we'd head out. But we did."

"I didn't hear anything like that," Toombs said and then tapped the air in the newcomer's direction. "Corbett said the same thing we did. Harper ain't around these parts. Seems to me like that's the end right there. Sheridan here we come."

"That's where you're wrong."

"What?"

"Corbett knows Jess Harper, remember?"

"Sure he knows him. But he doesn't know where he is. In fact, I'm inclined to believe he's right. Harper's nowhere to be seen because that's exactly how he wants it to be. No one's gonna find a man that's determined to stay in the shadows."

"I can and will."

"I don't think so. Too much time has passed without real word. It's over, Rip!"

"I'm not giving up!"

"He's mute and he's crippled. Can't you be satisfied with that?"

"No! I will not have any satisfaction until Jess Harper is dead!"

Toombs looked around him. The back and forth shouts had pulled the other three heads away from their bedrolls. They were watching him, watching Rip. If they took sides, would there be any contest? Four against one had easy odds. Three to two, not so safe. Two against two, everyone could end up dying.

Eyeing the other men's deep scowls, Toombs went ahead and offered the dare. "Then why drag the rest of us along?"

"Because none of you can stand on your feet without me."

Ready to take the dare all the way, Toombs stepped within an inch of Rip's face. "Want to try me out for size right now?"

The gun out of his holster in a flash, Rip shoved the iron's sharpest point into Toombs' bellybutton. "You lost already. Anyone else willing to press me?"

Watching the others shake their heads, Toombs pulled away. But he wouldn't storm completely off even if he would rather hop on his horse and churn the hooves all the way to Sheridan's front door. Rip was right. Toombs was a henchman, nothing more. With that low-lying thought, Toombs dropped his heavy frame against the underside of his saddle, the closest he would get to a bed tonight, or however many nights were yet to come. He might have closed his eyes in full defeat if McKinley wasn't walking toward Rip. He knew the quietest of the bunch wasn't about to blow Rip wide open, but it might still be something interesting to listen to. He leaned slightly closer as McKinley stopped in the very place Toombs had vacated.

The dark eyes wandered over his skinniest companion from head to toe. "You gonna argue the point too, McKinley?"

"Nope," he answered, watching as the gun in Rip's hand was finally given its release. "I was just wondering if you had something in mind about finding Harper or not. I know what I am, and that's why I won't argue, but Toombs does make a valid point. You can't drag us around looking for Harper forever."

"I know. All I have to do is find the right way that suits Harper's character. There are ways to dig a man outta his hole."

"Just to drop him in a new one, huh, Rip?"

"I wouldn't take the time to bury him. Leave that to Sherman and… Wait."

"What?"

Rip's excitement exploded like a July fourth firework. "That's it, that's it!"

"What's it?"

Rip spun to find the large man still rolling the heated breaths through his chest. "You see, Toombs, I was right to wait until the last minute of this last day. Corbett is the answer to finding Harper after all!"

Propping himself back upright, Toombs stared at Rip's glittering eyes. "What do you mean?"

"Don't you see? It's Sherman and the old lady."

"We already paid them a visit, remember? They don't know where Harper is either."

"They don't need to know where Harper is, Toombs. But they'll still find him for us."

Toombs shook his head. "I ain't following you, Rip."

"Sherman and the old lady are the key to finding Harper. She was the one that said Harper was like a son to her. And that Sherman, remember how he fought you to try to keep me from blowing Harper into his grave?"

Remembering the feeling of Sherman's back underneath his backside, Toombs grunted out his laugh. "He sure wasn't standing around looking at birds flying over."

"Add that to what Corbett said about Harper being protective of Sherman. That's gotta apply to the woman too. You think you can wait for Mirabelle awhile longer?"

"Depends on how much longer."

"Shouldn't stretch out that far. In fact, I guarantee it'll be soon. Listen Toombs, all we gotta do is hit the Sherman ranch. And Harper'll come running."

Skeptical, Toombs tilted his head. "What kind of hit?"

The gun coming back out of Rip's holster, he spun the chamber, making the reflected firelight dance over it with every turn. "The kind that doesn't leave any survivors."