Chapter Thirteen

Slim wasn't sure what he felt first when he wakened. Pain could have easily stated its presence, as it was loudly screaming in his ear. But it wasn't the feel of the bullet that left a portion of his head on the floor. Terror was so strong that he couldn't push it away from his being. What was wrong?

Everything over his blue awash with pain's terrible fog, Slim scrunched his lashes tight and then pried them back open. The view wasn't much better, but at least now Slim could discern a little light. It must be coming through the window, for it was shaped too squarely to be any kind of lantern glow. Again he blinked, begging his vision to snap out of its distortion, but even as clarity began to take control, still everything was askew in front of him.

Able to move his arm, Slim pushed his fingers into his cheek, rising until he landed a thumb over one eye. He rubbed twice, taking a smear of blood with it. That must have been the hindrance. The shower of blood made more than his head fuzzy, but had affected his vision. But as Slim opened both lashes wide, he realized it wasn't the fault of blood, not the remnants of oblivion, not even the throb of his head was to blame. The house was a complete mess.

Reaching for the overturned couch, Slim ran his slick fingers upward until he found the solid edge and clung tight. The hoist upward made him sway, but he was determined to keep his feet. Unless Rip was standing behind him, ready to drop a load of lead into his back. Fist formed, Slim started to turn, but there wasn't a single jaw to pound into. Looking through the open window, Slim saw that every horse was gone. The outlaws would be the same.

So if it wasn't his own pain hammering a worrisome staccato through his veins, not Rip and his treacherous bunch taking up residence in his home, what was wrong?

Needing something more than the couch for support, Slim stretched his arm toward the mantel and as he made contact, his heart seemed to lurch out of his chest. His mother's picture was gone. Finding it upside down on the floor, Slim reached for the frame and turned it over. For a moment he wondered if the broken glass across his mother's face was the reason of this strange ache inside of his core. But it was so much more, so very painful.

Hugging Mary's picture to his chest, Slim crept past the fireplace. At its end, with his hand clinging to the hidden compartment, still closed as not even an outlaw of Rip's caliber could know Jess' professional gun was inside, Slim froze. Now he knew why he felt like this, and his beloved mother's picture fell brutally to the floor for the second time that day.

"Daisy!"

Slim ran the distance to her, but because of the blood pouring off of his temple he stumbled more than he ran. But when he got to her side, Slim could barely move. Lying on her stomach, Slim couldn't see any breaths. The one exposed cheek had death's countenance, as did the utter stillness, yet he refused to declare her gone. Not Daisy, and certainly not like this!

His knees hitting the floor, Slim gently put his hands on her shoulders, praying without words as he turned her over. It wouldn't be long until Slim's lips added praise to his silent plea. She was alive. But looking at the wound, he couldn't help but wonder for how much longer.

Jumping up, Slim's head rang with pain, anger, mostly fear. He had to do something. He couldn't just stand there and watch her die. Taking a step, the severity of his injury bowed Slim toward the ground. If he could hardly walk, how could he get all the way to Laramie? Eyelids drooping, Slim searched through the throb for an answer. He wished it had come as rapidly as each wave of pain, but at least he found it. Bill Bates! The man's cabin was only four miles away. He could make it that far, if by nothing else but having the sheer knowledge that he had to.

Riding so hard Slim couldn't even see the ground, he peeled his gaze away from the blur to watch for the particular bend that he was waiting for. It was just ahead, no more than a mile. But that mile felt like it would never end. Even when the outside of Bill's cabin came in sight, help seemed so far away.

"Bill!" Slim screamed the moment he saw the burly frame exit his cabin. "Help me, Bill!"

Hands on Slim's mount to slow them down to a halt, Bill grabbed Slim's arm before he fell from the saddle. "What happened?"

"I need the doc. Get the doc!"

"Sure, enough, Slim," Bill answered as he started to pull Slim toward his front door. "Why don't you lie down inside until I bring him back here?"

Grabbing Bill's collar to make him stop, Slim put his face within an inch of Bill's. "Not me. It's not me!"

"Slim, what're you saying?"

"Daisy's been shot! I've got to get back to the ranch. She might already be dead for all I know. Just go get the doc!"

If Bill hadn't thought to put Slim back into the saddle, Slim might have never made it there, but with the leather seat underneath him, Slim could ride. He did ride, in a worse frenzy than how he had ridden out of the ranch. With his horse heaving and sputtering, Slim landed, literally at the hitching rail off of the porch. Picking himself off of the ground proving to be too futile to try again, Slim crawled through the door he had left open. If Buttons had been sitting there howling to the ceiling, Slim would have immediately done the same. But there was the dog, lying beside Daisy, head nestled on her shoulder. She was still alive.

Time was seemingly endless until the noise of a buggy with an extra set of hooves arrived. Doctor Sweeney and Mort hurrying inside, both paled at the sight of the house, the disarray, the blood. Because one was a doctor and the other a sheriff, neither man blanched all the way to where sickness formed. With more reason than what was around them, they each had to do their job. The doctor was left alongside of the Lord to perform the needed miracle and Mort steered Slim toward the fireplace.

Sitting down beside him, Mort stared at the bloody line on Slim's head before finding the blue eyes. "Who did this, Slim?"

"Rip," he said, spit and loathed it all in one snap from his tongue.

"Alone?"

"No. The whole bunch was with him. I've got a few more names. Toombs is the buffalo. McKinley was tall and thin. Bisbee was a name I remembered from before. Corbett, he's a new one. And they're all guilty of…"

Slim's mouth slowly shut. What were they guilty of? Everything, of that there was no denying, but Slim didn't want to utter their most heinous crime. While the attempt of death could be slapped over their hides, so far it didn't go all the way. Slim looked toward the bedroom, which at the moment was an operating room. Was that still the truth? Or was Rip and his gang now guilty of murder? Daisy's murder.

Mort eased his hand onto Slim's shoulder. "I'll find them, Slim. I asked for a twelve-man posse to meet me out here. We'll head for their trail the moment they arrive."

"What about Mike?"

"The Campbells were in town when Bill rode in. He'll be with them for the time being."

"Good. There is something to be thankful for in all this. Mike was in school and not here. I figured I was the only one due a bullet. I didn't think that they'd want Daisy's life too. But since they went that far with Daisy, I'd imagine they would have shot Mike too."

"Why'd Daisy get a worse blow than you, Slim?"

Slim's fingers reached for his torn scalp. "I don't think he meant it to be a graze. Rip shot me point blank. There's no way he should've missed putting the bullet straight through."

"Then I'd imagine he thinks you're dead."

"I don't care what he thinks about me. All that matters is Daisy and…"

"And?"

"Jess!"

"What's this about Jess?"

"Jess is the reason why Rip did this, Mort," Slim answered, waving his hand over the room. "All of this. We were the lures, their bait to get him back here."

"But no one knows where Jess is. He could be in Texas, Canada, Mexico or any other unknown place on a map."

"That doesn't matter. That Corbett I mentioned knows Jess, or at least he used to a long time ago. Because of that, now Rip knows something about Jess' character that he wouldn't have got anywhere else. They know what this will do to Jess. He'll come home."

"But how will he find out?"

"Talk flies higher than a bird," Slim answered, suddenly afraid of another route, this one more direct. "Mort, this is very important. I don't want Jess reading about this in a newspaper. What happened here at the ranch will not get printed in the Laramie Gazette."

"I'll make sure of it, Slim, even if I have to jail Waldo to make an agreement stick."

"Thanks," Slim said, standing at the sound of multiple hooves on top of the ridge, but while Slim took hold of a six-shooter, Mort's hand remained empty. It wasn't the outlaws making a return.

Mort motioned toward the door. "There's the posse. I best be going."

It was both the deep tone of Slim's voice and his outstretched hand that kept the sheriff from taking another step. "Mort, if you find them, you can haul every other hide off to jail, but bring Rip straight to me."

Mort had been a lawman for a long time. He could say that he had seen it all, heard it all, done it all. But this was a new one for him. Slim was asking for full retribution, but what made his request even more striking, was that Slim wanted to handle it personally. Mort would never agree to a lynch mob, he wouldn't even hand a man over to be beaten, but there was something personal on Mort's side of this too. Slim was a friend, Jess, the same, and Daisy, that dear woman didn't deserve any of this. While Mort might not have known what kind of vengeance was in Slim's mind, he didn't shake his head, he didn't scowl or balk. Mort nodded as he walked out the door.

As one man left the house, Slim suddenly sensed another presence behind him. Fear made him hold his breath, close his eyes, yet he couldn't turn. He knew it wouldn't be Daisy's spirit standing there. It was the doc, Slim knew it was just the doc. But Slim also knew the moment he turned there the answer would be. It would be written on Doctor Sweeney's face, or in his bowed head, or even in the way he balled his hands.

Not wanting that kind of image to permanently be burned into his vision, Slim's mouth pushed out the painful request. "Doc?"

"She's hanging on."

Now able to turn, Slim stepped toward the doctor. "By a thread, by a rope, by sheer grit, by what?"

"I'm afraid I don't have a proper description to offer you, Slim."

"So it's that serious?"

Doctor Sweeney nodded. "The bullet didn't make a soft landing. But I do admit it could have been worse. A little higher and there would be nothing left for me to do but shake my head."

"But she's not out of the woods."

"No. And she won't be for a long time."

"How long…" Slim's words caught inside his sob, he had to fight with everything in him to keep the mournful choke back. "How long do I have to hold my breath?"

"Every day she's alive is a positive direction. As much as I hate to say it, I still have to give you the other kind of truth. She could also pass at any time. There's been damage to a lung, Slim. At her age, there might not be any way her body can remotely try to repair it. And then there's the threat of infection, her susceptibility to pneumonia. It'll be a long haul, Slim. If two weeks can pass, then I'll be able to offer you a more encouraging word. But for now, sit with her, stay with her."

"In other words, don't let her die alone."

Doctor Sweeney gave a single nod. "Before you do, though, let me look at your head."

"It's nothing, Doc."

"You're sounding more like Jess with every injury," said the doctor, immediately growing a shade paler when Slim turned into a block of ice beside him. "I'm sorry, Slim."

"It's not you, Doc. It's the men that are after him. If Jess finds out what they've done, he'll come. And they'll kill him."

"Don't hold the shovel in your hands yet, Slim. Sheriff Cory's out there, maybe they'll uncover the outlaws' hiding place with the sound of a hundred bullets."

"I hope so."

He said it, but did Slim really feel any hope? He couldn't even feel the full caliber of his head injury anymore. The heaviness on Slim's shoulders that said Daisy could die any day, or a time even closer, like any moment, had the kind of weight that blocked out everything else. Slim did feel the hot and cold flashes that came with fury and fear, but dreading Daisy's death, that stole everything else away, including hope. It was gone.

The bandage getting tightened around his forehead, Slim traced his fingers along the added bulge and slowly closed his eyes. He had received the same grim report as Daisy. Well, maybe not that Slim could die at any time, but the part that if the bullet hit an inch over, Slim wouldn't be standing there, stooped over the basin at the kitchen pump. He would be dead.

"There's a significant powder burn at your hairline, Slim," Doctor Sweeney said as he reached into his bag. "You'll need to reapply this salve twice a day. Think you'll be able to remember that?"

"You're not going to be here?"

"I'll stay the night and examine Daisy in the morning. You know there's only one doctor in Laramie. I'll stop in as often as I can, but I can't make my bed here."

"But Doc, what if something changes and I…"

"Slim, if something changes, there won't be anything I can do. It'll be time for goodbye. Now, why don't you get a change of clothes and meet me in Daisy's room? Mercifully the outlaws didn't trash the bedrooms like the rest of the house. We'll pull her chair up alongside the bed and you can rest and be with her at the same time."

Somehow able to nod, Slim moved with feet that clopped like pieces of firewood toward his room. One brown shirt off, Slim reached for his darker shade but then paused. He hadn't worn blue in a long time. Since Jess favored the shade, Slim had left his blue shirts alone and kept with the chocolates and tans. But now he found himself reaching for the bottom of his drawer.

After the button and tuck, Slim layered his leather vest over the top and then added a clean bandana to his throat. It was this that he wore the day he met Daisy. Maybe he should tear it from his back and throw it in the trash, for God forbid that he would be wearing it the day he lost her. But Slim kept it buttoned and tucked.

If Slim had shared the reason, some wisecracker might have laughed. The blue, so much like his partner's eyes, so much like Jess' character, it made him feel closer to Jess. Slim needed to feel closer to Jess. Daisy was dying.

Slim sighed as he walked toward Daisy's room, he sighed again as he sat beside her stillness. He could have sighed all night long, but he let the second one be the last. No amount of forcing the heavy air out of his chest was going to give him any relief. Jess might have if he were there. They could exchange worried glances, put a comforting hand on the other's shoulder. Slim could pray while Jess deemed it sufficient enough to only bow his head. Slim could stay awake while Jess slept, and then a few hours later Slim could nod off while Jess kept his eyes on Daisy's shallow breaths.

But there wasn't any comfort here. Not in the doc's presence, not in Buttons lying at Slim's feet. There was nothing without Jess. And that nothing would remain, as long as Jess was gone. But shouldn't he be home, even with the threat of death from Rip's hand? He should be there. Daisy was dying.

Seeing the physician taking Daisy's pulse, Slim focused his eyes on the white hair. Something that doc had said was making its repeat through his damaged skull. Maybe Slim did have a shred of hope after all. Mort and the posse could very well hunt Rip down. There were twelve of them, Mort said, plus the leading badge made thirteen. That was far more guns and ammunition than what Rip carried with him. If handcuffs got slapped and jail keys were thrown away, Jess could come home, he could sit on Daisy's other side. They could keep the vigil strong together, or if the inevitable happened, they could mourn together.

Slim carried this thought with him throughout the hours of darkness and into the earliest light. And there it died.

Mort didn't find Rip or the any of the cohorts he rode with. There wasn't even a trace of his trail.

.:.

It had been a day since Doctor Sweeney's buggy had rolled away. He would be back tomorrow, so the doc had said. If there was a tomorrow. That was what Slim said, but only after there was no one left in the house to hear it.

She was getting worse. The in and out breaths had been quiet soon after the bullet's removal, but on into the night and the next day they became louder, raspier, they had to be more painful. Fortunately Daisy couldn't feel if they were heavy or hot. Slim could only guess the feeling inside of her chest. Was this change the precursor to her death? Doctor Sweeney would tell him tomorrow. If there was a tomorrow.

Coffee all that Slim had put inside of his stomach since the shooting, he went for another cup. It didn't matter how many times Slim had looked at the torn up house, he still had to pause when he entered it. At least he didn't have to stare at its original shambles anymore. Slim could thank Adam Tolliver and Larry Blayne for sweeping it clean. And he had. The two teenagers showed up at Slim's front door that first night, offering to pick up the pieces. Of course Slim let them, even helped gather broken pieces of furniture, but with the sweeping and the gathering and everything else that came with cleaning up a mess such as what Rip left behind, Slim's house looked rather empty. It felt that way too, just worse.

A tin cup up to his lips, Slim began the steady pour down his throat, but mid-gulp, his belly protested. It needed more, in fact, by the caliber of Slim's inner roar, it was begging for more. But what could he possibly have in the house? Uncooked beans, jerky, and some hardtack that would taste as if it were a hundred years old. Not exactly what his stomach was calling for.

Opening a cupboard, Slim stared at the empty shelves. He couldn't even make flapjacks. Both the flour bin and sugar container had been dumped to the floor. Unable to take the time to milk the cow, her calf was greedily taking the fill, which also meant no butter, no cheese. Nothing. The gurgle in his stomach getting louder, Slim looked toward the kitchen door. The pair of chickens fighting over some multiple-legged delicacy, they were creating quite the fracas. Seeing the feathers fly made Slim want to eat one. Or both. But killing, plucking and cooking would take all day. Slim didn't have that long.

Still staring at the feathered frenzy, it took Slim a full minute to realize that a chicken produced something other than meat.

"Eggs, of course!"

Where was his brain? Wrapped underneath a thick bandage, that was where. But Slim would never get out to the coop. There really was something wrong with his brain, and it angered him with such ferocity that Slim came close to slamming his palm across his forehead. He should have never left her.

"Why did I leave her?"

Hearing the haggard breaths take a fearful turn, Slim raced to Daisy's bedroom. She was awake! While that might have made his heart take a joyful leap, seeing her head thrash against the pillow sent his heart in the other direction, diving so low that his boots might not be able to hold it.

By her side in an instant, Slim's hands cupped the pale face to still its repeated roll. "Daisy?"

Feeling the tender touch, her chin turned into Slim's palm. "Jess?"

He almost choked on his gasp. "No, Daisy. It's Slim."

Daisy's lips barely parted a second time. "Jess?"

Her eyes barely slits, Slim followed the direction of her gaze. She wasn't looking into his face, but staring at his hands, or more so, the arms that were holding her. It was the blue shirt he had on. She thought he was Jess!

"Daisy, listen to me. It's Slim."

"Jess?"

"No, Daisy. It's Slim," he said, leaning his face so that it hovered over hers. "It's Slim."

Her brows turned into a painful scrunch. "Slim?"

"Yeah." He smiled, a forced one, but nevertheless a smile. "I'm right here, Daisy."

"Jess," Daisy asked again, trying to look beyond the man above her. "Where's Jess?"

Slim took a sharp intake of breath. Could he really break a heart that didn't have much life left inside of it? He thought of his mother, dying from a broken heart and couldn't bear to think of causing Daisy's sudden turn for the worse. But then again, lying to her about Jess would break her being even more.

Pulling one palm away from her cheek, Slim clung to her hand. "I'm sorry, Daisy. I don't know where Jess is."

"Oh, no." She sniffed, as if tears were close by. "I need him here. I need all of you here with me."

Tears really were close by. They were smarting in Slim's eyes. "I know, Daisy."

"Promise me you'll try to find him."

By the imploring eyes alone, Slim knew this request was coming, yet still he sighed. "Daisy, I can't leave the ranch. I can't leave you. I've already promised the doc, but I've also promised myself, and you. I can't leave to go look for him."

"Jess. Oh, Jess. Please… get Jess."

He knew by the sudden drop of her chin that Daisy fell back into the quiet land of darkness. As Slim had occupied one of those lonely beds in the past, he knew that oblivion was a painless, free of fear place. She was safe there, for as long as Daisy kept holding on. And since there had been only one real thought on Daisy's mind, Slim knew what she was holding on for.

"She's waiting for Jess."

Walking toward the window, Slim pulled the lace curtain just far enough from the pane so he could look at everything on its other side. His eyes immediately drawn up, Slim saw the large frame leaning against a tree, rifle perched in a readied point on his arm. It was Bill Bates, forever on the lookout. From this vantage point, his eyes couldn't latch onto the other guard facing the northern path, but Slim knew Charlie Frost was out there, just as ready and watching. In a few hours a new set of deputies would ride in for the overnight shift. This was Mort's doing, to keep the ranch free of Rip and any of the men that were vile enough to call him boss. So far it had been. Bill did more than just stay in one place. Every time his position was changed, instead of riding home, Bill took the long route around the ranch's entire perimeter and then gave the report of his findings directly to Slim. They were nowhere, at least nowhere close.

Was it safe for Jess to come home?

The short breaths drawing his gaze back toward Daisy's bed, Slim gave his lower lip a hard chew. She needed Jess. She hadn't even needed to say it aloud for Slim to recognize that as truth. And then there was the harder truth, much more difficult to swallow. Yet Slim had already downed it once, he might as well go through it again.

"She's waiting for Jess," repeated Slim, except now there was an additional piece. "She's waiting for Jess so she can let go, so she can die. And I don't know where he is."

.:.

There was a tomorrow. If Doctor Sweeney was surprised that he didn't ride in to find an empty bed and a newly turned grave, he didn't show it. But it was impossible to not show the deeper lines of his face, to not stifle the discouraged breath coming through his lips, or hide the negative sway of his head.

"She's getting worse," was his solemn reply.

"Doc, do you think she'll…?" Slim couldn't say the dark word in front of the doctor, although he had thought it enough times that it should have come out of its own accord.

Doctor Sweeney knowing the word even in its silence, he shook his head. "I'm afraid her lung is weakening, Slim. There's fluid in there, maybe even blood."

"She's going to…" He still couldn't say it, but this time his lips didn't make the sound of a question, but left it as a hard, hard statement.

"Could very well be. Like I said before, each day that she lives is something positive. But there's no point offering false hope. It doesn't look good, Slim. I'm so sorry."

The grim report kept him from eating, kept him from sleeping, yet there would come a next day. At least he was given one more tomorrow. His fear for the next one made Slim finally break one promise, trying to fulfill another.

Riding into town, Slim chose to make his dismount at the sheriff's office, but he wouldn't need to take his stride inside. It was as if Mort was already expecting him. Standing outside, the star was covered by a pair of arms folded across his chest.

"Slim, I thought the doc told you no strenuous activity for the better part of a week."

"It's been four days. Besides, riding into town isn't strenuous. Sitting by Daisy's side is."

"Who's with her now?"

"The Campbells are there until I get back. Sarah brought over a box of supplies this morning and is cooking enough food to last several days. I hated to leave, especially since I haven't had much opportunity to see Mike, but with more than one sitting at Daisy's bedside, I decided I could take off for a few hours."

"How's Daisy doing?"

"No better. Doc says she's worse. Her breaths are getting more rattled every day."

"Pneumonia?"

"Not yet. Doc greatly fears it though."

"I'm so sorry, Slim. I wish there was something that I could do."

"Thanks, Mort. I'm afraid what I need is to know where Jess is. During the brief moments she's awake, Daisy keeps calling for him. And every time, I have to answer the same. I don't know where he is."

"I've been doing some of my own sleuthing and have come up short. I've sent out over a dozen telegrams, but none of the sheriff's that I've contacted has seen him. I'm beginning to feel that he's completely left the territory."

"I know. Me too."

"You ever hear back from Jess' sister?"

"Yes. Right before Daisy was hurt the letter from California came in on the stage. She hasn't heard from him either."

"Well, I'm afraid I'm at a loss, Slim. I keep thinking about Texas, but who could I contact there?"

"There are no Harpers left in Texas, Mort. And that would include Jess. I know him well enough that he wouldn't go home."

"Then I really do have nothing. You know, in all this time he's been away, someone must have seen him, someone must know where he is."

"Well, if you find that someone, send him my way, I'm almost desperate enough to…"

"To what?" Mort asked, unable to decipher the strange expression on Slim's face.

His eyes stuck on the stagecoach and the older man climbing into its seat, Slim waved his hand toward Mort. "It's nothing, Mort. But it also might be everything. I've got to go!"

His boots pounding against the road made more than one head turn his way, including the stagecoach driver that slowly was easing his frame back down to the road. "What's the matter, Slim?"

"Wait up, Mose!"

"Is it Miss Daisy? Is she better?" The next question so hard to come out, it choked on his tongue before falling out of his mouth in the softest whisper. "Is she worse?"

"I'm afraid so, Mose. But that's not what I wanted to tell you. I wanted to ask you if you've heard any more about Rex Helfer."

"Haven't seen him again. Buddy Jones was riding shotgun with me and he asked about him in the saloon. Someone said he don't come into Sheridan very often, that he's got a job on a ranch nearby. Don't remember the name of the place, though."

The sigh was the sign of his defeat. "Thanks, Mose."

"If you want me to check personal, I'll be heading up there in a week."

Slim shook his head. "No. A week will be too late."

Still standing in the street, the stagecoach passed him, several riders, friends and strangers alike went by, and through every clip-clop, wheel roll and the other daily noises that made up Laramie, Slim wasn't listening to any of these. He was tossing a pair of names back and forth in his head.

Jess Harper. Rex Helfer. Jess Harper. Rex Helfer. There was a similar ring between them, for sure. But that could also be a coincidence. And yet…

Slim's eyes wandered toward the telegraph office. He had to try. He owed it to Daisy. He owed it to Jess.

.:.

"Hey, Jess."

He would have frowned at the improper use of his name if Luke Kerrigan's voice wasn't so serious. Looking across the yard to where the blonde rancher had just dismounted, Jess saw that the pinched expression was evenly matched with his voice. Something was wrong.

Walking toward Luke, Jess saw the envelope in his hand and cringed as it was held outward. "For me?"

"Yeah. It's from Laramie, marked important."

Turning his back on Luke, Jess held the telegram in his hand, a hand that shook so badly that he could no longer hold the simple sheet. And this was his left hand. Closing his eyes, Jess read again the message that was now printed over his entire being.

Rex Helfer. If your name is really Jess Harper, you need to come home at once. Daisy is dying. Slim Sherman.