Chapter Fourteen

There was a fight. One so severe it almost became a deadly one. Two men were bleeding at its end, but neither would die. A bandage was tied around a knifed arm and another was secured to a bullet-clipped side. Considering the size of anger was larger than the body it lived in, the wounds should have been more serious. It was only because there were three other men watching that prevented the two graves from being dug.

But even after the flow of blood was ceased and the weapons were stored away, the conversation was still simmering. This the men could endure, mostly because the three that had been doing the watching and listening felt a similar irritation as the buffalo that was raging back and forth.

"You said Harper would come!" Toombs screamed so loud the echo came back twice.

Rip's frown was born for two reasons, Toombs was still throwing punches at him, albeit this time only vocal, and that he was having a difficult time buttoning his shirt with a thick bandage around his waist. "All right, I was wrong. Harper's obviously farther away than I thought."

"You ever think he's dead, Rip?" Bisbee asked, not waiting for his boss to peel his eyes off of Toombs to look his way. "A man in his shape oughta have some pretty low thoughts. Maybe even suicidal thoughts."

He skipped over Bisbee to stare at another man. "Corbett?"

"I'm afraid I don't know him well enough to say if he would or wouldn't dig his own grave."

Rip shook his head. "I don't think he's dead."

"Why?" Toombs bellowed out more than his hot breath. "He's nowhere, so why not being dead?"

"You saw the Sherman ranch. They've got it guarded for a reason."

"Yeah." McKinley thrust his thumb in his chest. "For us! I told you who I saw yesterday riding to Laramie. Sherman's alive! And you can bet your last dollar he's told the sheriff who done it."

"How in all the blazes did you miss him, Rip?" Toombs stepped closer to his boss, even if Bisbee's hand was pushing against his middle to keep the pair from having a second go around. "You shot him point blank. No one misses when they're that close."

"That woman whimpered at just the wrong time, it distracted me."

Toombs snorted. "That sounds familiar. You said the same when you missed blasting a hole in Harper's skull. If you'd done it right that day, we wouldn't be in this mess today!"

"All right, so it ain't been buttery smooth, but in case you haven't noticed, Toombs, you and I ain't sitting on a jail bunk, or worse, dangling from a rope right now. We're still breathing freedom's fresh air."

His hackles lowered a notch. "You speak a valid point. But it seems to me that I made a similar sharp point. More than once, I might add. Give up on finding Harper."

"I won't do that, but I'll tell you what we'll do in the meantime. We'll relax for awhile, let the guards have their guard down, and in doing so, we can get something else in return."

"What's that, Rip?"

"Pulling back a ways will give Harper some time to contact Sherman or the other way around. After all, we did make a hefty mark at their place. The woman's dead, of that there's no doubt, and a son should come to her funeral. One of these days we'll run into him, and after some rest up north, I think we'll all be more than ready to meet him."

Toombs dared to grow a smile. "So we're going to Sheridan?"

"As soon as you pack your gear."

"I'm more than one step ahead of that, Rip. I never unpacked it."

If Rip was the kind of man that complained, they would have stayed put another day. But since he never liked to announce how high his aches or pains were climbing, add in the fact that Toombs was overanxious to get riding, the outlaw gang left their campsite that very hour.

The steady pace set by one particular man, and obeyed by every other member of the bunch, they made good time. It was on the middle stretch of ground that it happened. Or as it turned out, didn't happen. None of the five men on the trail to Sheridan would know how close they came to meeting a single rider on the trail to Laramie.

.:.

Pulling up on his reins, Jess immediately melted Traveler into the closest shadow. Since the rifle didn't swing his way, he didn't think the man perched on the hillside across from him had seen his approach. Slowly walking his horse away from the ridge and that potential set of seeing eyes, Jess searched the other close points around him. There was another man, all right, sitting against a tree trunk. Fortunately the man's back was to him, but since the clop of hooves could change that at any moment, Jess pulled his horse away, down into a gully.

From there, Jess knew he could ride a longer swoop around the hillside, tie his horse at the base and sneak into the Sherman's back door. But why would he have to tiptoe at all? At the first glance of the rifle barrel glinting in the sunlight, Jess' head rang with the fearful thought that it was the men that wanted more from his hide than maiming him. He still hadn't shucked Slim's call that they were after him. But these weren't outlaws surrounding the ranch. Jess recognized the burly frame of Bill Bates straight away. This was a trusted friend ready to send a warning shot into the air, maybe even into flesh. By the looks of the other man, he was willing to do the same. Why was the ranch being guarded?

Alarmed by the sight, Jess wouldn't sit still and think about the answer. Dismounting, Jess eased Traveler in a quiet stride until he reached a clump of trees, the perfect ground for keeping his mount hidden from the gazes above him. The brush low here, Jess would have to come close to crawling to get by, but he was no stranger to sneaking. After all, Jess had been dodging some kind of shady character his entire life.

At the last stretch, which would also be the most dangerous one, Jess looked up before exposing his frame. The guards weren't staring his direction, but all it would take was a flash of movement and both rifles could take their aim. If their instructions were to fire at any intruder on sight, they certainly could. Jess wasn't exactly the man that they would remember. Looking at him, he would be nothing more than a stranger. Listening to him, even if Jess could call out louder than a whisper, they wouldn't recognize him any better. He would just have to run and hope some of that long ago luck was still there for the taking.

His eyes now on the target of the outer bedroom door, Jess rushed to its frame and put his back against the flat surface. The guards still in place, Jess pushed some of the tight air out of his chest. It couldn't all be released, not when Slim's telegram sat so heavily in his shirt pocket.

Stepping into the bedroom, Jess quietly closed the door behind him. He might have stared longingly at his old bunk longer if his eyes hadn't caught a hold of his reflection in the mirror. How different he looked, but there was something else in that thought. How different he was. His crippled hand rising, he stopped short from exposing the scar to the mirror's front, instead, his fingertips barely brushed against the hairs on his cheek. He couldn't see Daisy wearing this unfamiliar skin. She had to see him, know him, maybe even touch him. If she even could.

While the left might not have been all that confident in shaving without drawing blood, Jess did take his razor in hand. Scraping off his disguise came in slow and unsteady strokes, but the beard did fall away, and not a single drop of red fell from his chin. But as he examined his smooth face, Jess' thumb came to an abrupt stop as he touched the mark on his cheek. The scar was so faded he had to bend toward the light just so or he would have never found it. Too bad the other one wasn't the recipient of the same blessing. But then again, Jess' cheek hadn't been operated on. Twice. Pushing the bandana aside, Jess sighed as he viewed the mark that would never disappear. This would have to stay behind the blue and white print forever.

Giving the dusty patches of his shirt a hard pat, Jess stepped out of the bedroom and suddenly stopped. There was nothing in the main part of the house. Appearing to be clawed by some kind of cougar's paw, the couch sat not in its usual corner, but in front of the fireplace. The rest of the room was as solemn as any graveyard.

"Dadgum."

There was one exception, and as Jess' eyes fell on the broken glass that covered Mary Sherman's face, Jess rushed toward the mantel. Even under the cracks she was still wearing that soft expression, the small smile, but somehow it felt cold. But this emotion couldn't be coming from Mary. She was among glory, without sadness. No, the chill was right there in the room, and it was fear.

The sound of a step alerting him, Jess set the frame down and reached for his left hip. The blue eyes across from him were so stunned, Jess' fingers never made it to the handle. There was more than the widened eyes that made Jess' lips grow into a circle. Slim looked awful. A bandage around his head was partially unraveled, showing the stain of blood. It also revealed part of the wound underneath, and its aftermath, the bruising, the scab, the potential scar. But there was more than this. The natural lines of Slim's face were darkened, almost hollow, as if he had suffered a great deal. Jess knew he had. The message inside of his pocket wasn't just sitting against his chest, it was burning a hole right through it.

Daisy is dying.

The shock finally abated enough to get Slim's tongue to work. "Jess! How'd you…?"

"I reckon since I know how to sneak outta jails and hospitals and such, I know how to sneak in too."

Another dose of shock hit Slim, but this time it made him rush toward Jess instead of freezing his feet against the floor. "You can talk!"

"Not very well, but it's better than being mute. What's with the guards, anyway?"

"After what happened here, Mort thought it best to keep watch. But I have to say, I'm not so sure I feel very good that you were able to get past them."

"Like I said, I know the right way to creep around a watchful eye. It makes it even easier when it's a place I kinda know well, as well as home, anyway." Jess' eyes roamed around the house. "Who did this?"

"His name's Rip."

He shook his head. "Ain't familiar."

"But your hand is. And your throat."

Jess' left hand reached for his neck. "The man that did this to me, his name is Rip?"

"It is. He was here a few days back, along with his gang. They shot me, tore the house apart, and then shot Daisy."

"Why?"

He had only known of Jess' arrival for a minute, which made a valid reason that Slim didn't have an answer ready. What pressed against Slim's aching skull was that he didn't want to reveal the truth. Not yet, anyway. These men were after Jess, wanted him dead, and to get him, Slim and Daisy were used as bait. How could Slim say that?

Slim finally gave his head a shake. "That's not what's important right now."

"Daisy, is she…?"

"Hanging on. That's about all I can say."

"Where'd the bullet hit?"

He made the point into his own flesh. "Here. Doc said her lung was damaged."

"I better go see her."

"Jess."

His stride stopped outside of Daisy's bedroom, Jess turned. "Yeah?"

"Thanks for coming, Pard."

While he couldn't match the slight smile tugging at the corners of Slim's mouth, Jess nodded and then stepped through the doorway. He had been prepared for this, throughout the ride from Sheridan, Jess knew that Daisy was dying. He had even heard the reason that put her life at such a delicate balance over the grave. She had been shot. Considering his current health, there might not have been anyone in the entire world that understood bullet wounds more than Jess. He was prepared for this. Yet he wasn't. No amount of knowledge or experience could really prepare Jess' heart for what he saw.

Daisy was dying.

He sensed it the moment he stepped up to her bedside. Jess didn't need to hear the painful breaths that rattled in and out of her lungs, although the sound did get inside of his pulse and add a fearful wallop to his chest. There was no need to view her ashen cheeks. He didn't have to touch her, whisper her name or let loose a rare tear. He knew.

Daisy was dying.

Kneeling along her side, Jess grabbed her wilted hand and folded it close to his heart. "I made it, Daisy. I'm home."

Staring at her face to watch, to literally count every breath drawing through her nose, Jess saw the flicker. It was higher though, near her lashes. But after a minute of complete stillness, he figured it was just a wishful thought, until he felt pressure against his palm.

"Daisy?" Hearing the soft moan escape her parted lips, Jess brought his whisper a little closer to her ear. "Daisy, it's me, Jess."

The little flicker returning, her eyelids lifted until she could see the color of blue, the very path that led to an otherwise hidden soul. "Jess?"

He smiled. "I'm here."

"Oh, Jess." The tears smarting, with another heavy blink they fell, making extra bright rivulets over her pale cheeks. "I knew you would come. I just knew it."

"I'm sorry if it took awhile," Jess said, somehow grateful that all he could do was whisper. The soft sound silenced the cracks of grief. "I was a long ways off."

"But you came. For me. Now I can close my eyes and…"

Jess stared at how Daisy's mouth pinched tight, suddenly afraid, more afraid than Jess had ever been. "And what?"

And die. That was his own insert, there inside of his mind, but Jess could hear Daisy's weak voice saying those words as if she had expressed them herself. She hadn't. In fact she hadn't said anything more, but was lying still, except for how she was squeezing Jess' hand as if he was her lifeline, as if he was the only thing keeping her from falling into the permanent abyss.

"Daisy, are you all right?"

She barely shook her head. "It hurts."

"What does?"

Her fingers brushed against her nightdress. "My chest."

"I'm sorry. I wish there was something I could do. But I ain't got anything to give."

"Your love is enough."

Her eyelashes down again, Jess allowed his head to shake. It wasn't enough, not when he was the reason that she was suffering. No amount of love could cover that kind of wrong. The heaviness in his being with its equally difficult to bear companions named grief and guilt, Jess' frame began to lower toward Daisy's bed. His head bending into her shoulder, Jess gasped, coming so close to crying aloud that he had to suck the sob back down inside of his core. But even if Jess had given in to it and let out the emotional torrent, Jess knew it would never really be released. He would carry this pain forever, even inside of his version of eternity.

Jess' lips in a rare quiver, he let loose of one part of his soul anyway, the confession. "This is my fault, Daisy. I thought by leaving here I was protecting you, Slim and Mike. But I was wrong. I woulda done anything to spare you of this."

"No, Jess."

Startled, Jess pulled back far enough to see that Daisy's eyes had returned to slits. "What?"

"This isn't your fault. And I won't die having you take the blame of something you didn't do."

"But Daisy, you ain't gonna…"

"Jess."

He didn't want to look at her, for Jess knew if he did, the moisture in his eyes just might do a blamed thing and fall over his lashes. Sniffing to keep them back as long as possible, Jess found the color of her gaze. "Yeah?"

"My time is coming. I know it is, and I'm not afraid."

"Daisy, please don't talk like that." He sniffed again, but it wasn't going to help this second time. The tears were brimming. A moment later they were falling, but so was Jess, his left arm circling Daisy's shoulders, he buried his face into her neck. "I don't wanna lose you, not when I've just come back. I don't wanna lose you."

"Oh, Jess. My dear, sweet Jess."

Daisy's voice even softer than what came through Jess' mouth, she summoned the only kind of strength that could get her to move. The mother in her able to put one arm around his waist, she pulled him even closer to her, like she was cradling a baby, protecting her child, loving her son. If she could only stay like this forever, there would be no fear, no tears for any of them. But she could feel what was coming. The pain was becoming too much to bear. Putting her lips against his cheek, she breathed out the greatest endearment she could offer him and then with a frightening sound coming from her chest, her head tilted against the pillow, her arm lightly dropped to the mattress. And then everything went limp.

He pulled back, looking for the sign of life, or maybe what he was about to find was the sign of death. "Daisy?"

Jess didn't have to search long to know. Dropping his head against the chair's cushion, Jess' fingers brushed away the remnants of his tears. No more needed to drop. Daisy had only fallen into oblivion, not into her casket.

Checking the bedside table, Jess grabbed a folded cloth resting on the edge of a pitcher. Still damp, he gave a gentle squeeze and then began dabbing Daisy's forehead, along each cheek and ended at her chin. If only he could take that very cloth and wipe away whatever was harming her lung. If only he could erase the damage of the bullet, take away her weakness. If only she was healed.

The tears not yet gone, Jess wiped his cheek against his sleeve and replaced the cloth into its basin. The slight splash as it landed sent a pair of droplets out of the bowl. His sleeve reaching out to brush a different kind of droplet away, his hand paused on the leather cover. And in that pause, Jess' finger rested across the gilt script.

He had wanted to offer her something, and while Jess felt his love was inadequate, he knew there was plenty in this Book. There was comfort in there, too, for her, for even him. But what could he find to give? What did he even know?

Picking up the Bible, Jess' thumb wandered through the pages. They might have kept flopping, one after the other until the back cover slapped shut if there wasn't a thin ribbon sitting in the middle. Opening to the marked page, Jess searched the top corner. Psalm twenty-three. How fitting, but also, how startling.

Jess had been present at enough life-ending situations to know what preachers usually read to both the dying and those left behind. Although knowing all of those odd thy, thou and eths by heart, men with collars didn't have to follow along with what was written under Jess' fingers. But Jess didn't know anything beyond the first five words. Jess would have to read each line, meticulously as if he had never uttered a single word of it before. Maybe he hadn't.

It was useless to clear his throat. The only sound he could make was a whisper, yet the rumble was made anyway. He had to have some kind of noise to get him started.

"'The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want. He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: he leadeth me beside the still waters. He restoreth my soul: he leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name's sake. Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me. Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies: thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over. Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life…'"

And there Jess stopped. It was almost the end, so he should have kept going, but somehow Jess wasn't just sitting by Daisy's bedside, he was also sitting beside Ma Poole's grave with a reverend giving him a very short, but very loud corker of a sermon.

"Wherever you go, Jess, know that God's goodness and mercy goes with you."

Jess stared at the words, wishing that they were sitting among a hollow hole on his inside. They were sitting atop his soul instead, and they were brilliantly lit by flame. He had thought the reverend wrong. Jess frowned. The reverend had to be wrong. Goodness and mercy hadn't followed him one bit. Or did it? Something had gone with him all these miles. It couldn't have been just bitterness and anger along for the ride. Otherwise he wouldn't be here, being touched by something, by someone. Otherwise, Jess would be dead.

"Better me with an early tombstone than you, Daisy."

Jess sighed. Oh, how he wished that Daisy could pull out of the darkness to answer him. Likely she would have offered him a scold, albeit gently, the words feeling like the softness of her hand resting on his arm. Maybe from the depths she was doing this anyway. The war of emotions inside of him could have thrust out a bitter tone, his fist could have closed tightly in anger, but as he watched Daisy breathe, Jess' mouth was forming a smile.

"But if I was already gone, I couldn't be with you right now. I reckon you needed me, Daisy. I guess I had to live for this. I had to live for you, even if it's just this one last day."

Looking down, Jess saw that his finger hadn't left the place where he had quit reading, and inwardly reading the words that forced his stop, he rushed the last line out. "'And I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever.' Amen."

His eyes coming away from the small print, Jess looked at Daisy's face. She seemed to still be in the place that was deeper than sleep, yet her expression wasn't blank. There was peace among that darkness. Jess feared that her soul was viewing the golden stairs, maybe even walking toward the bottom step. But the next thought wasn't quite so startling. Maybe it was nothing more than comfort, coming from the Psalm, coming from his voice.

Jess promptly shook his head. He knew there was nothing soothing in his whispered rattle, but he wouldn't dismiss the Psalm. Hadn't the words stirred his being, even the tiniest bit? Jess knew the answer, but this wasn't about his needs. Daisy was what mattered, and if he had delivered even the slightest amount of comfort from her Bible, he couldn't shut the Book now. But what else did he know? There had to be something other than repeating Psalm twenty-three a hundred times over.

Where had the reverend said that Lazarus story was? Jumping to the New Testament, Jess skimmed through the gospels, pausing when he reached John's account. As it sounded familiar, Jess' eyes started running down each page. He wasn't even sure he wanted to read it. Miracles weren't for him. But couldn't it be for Daisy?

Jess looked to the ceiling, or wherever the Lord sat on his throne. "Couldn't it be for Daisy?"

Wanting it, hoping for it, even begging for it, Jess whispered the story of Lazarus to Daisy*. It was lengthy, but he wouldn't close the Bible until he reached the end, where the miracle took place. It was quiet in the room when his lips stilled, somehow even quieter than before he began. It was as if there was a moment of expectation, a certain need of something more.

Nodding, Jess knew he had to offer what was missing. "I know I ain't gonna get a miracle, Lord. But even if the reverend in Rock Springs'd tell me there was still a chance, I'd rather you give it to Daisy instead. I ain't nobody, but Daisy's everything. Let her get the Lazarus treatment. I'm fine with staying in the tomb."

.:.

*The story of Lazarus is found in John 11:1-44