Chapter Five

Said the shepherd boy to the mighty king…

Slim wished that he could ride hard. His poor horse would be arguing against that thought. Alamo was working hard, even if his legs weren't performing the life or death race that Slim wanted to be on. Looking ahead of him to the earlier line that the pair had forged, Slim shook his head. He couldn't put his spurs into Alamo's sides just because there was a trail to follow. Even through the broken snow, they were forced to keep a slow pace. It was still coming from the sky. Harder now, it was growing faster than what had built up overnight.

It was sitting so ominously above him that Slim couldn't help but cast his eyes into the cloud. Slim also couldn't help the dark curse that built up inside of his chest, only stopped from coming through his lips by the triple wrap of the scarf around his face. But maybe he didn't need to let the four letters be flung into the sky. Wasn't leaving it stuck inside of his core sufficient?

Listening to Mike take the blame for Jess being held by a killer's talons, Slim was quick to offer his assurance. He would repeat it, again and again if need be. This wasn't Mike's fault. There would be no quick offer of assurance to give himself. Slim was taking the blame. Hadn't Jess said it close enough yesterday? Slim knew the weather in this country. There had been enough signs ahead of the first snowflake that he knew the storm was going to pound on them hard. They should have forgotten the Christmas tree, or at least waited to see if the snowflakes waved a final farewell before Christmas Eve. Then they would all be together. And none of this would exist.

While Slim's boot couldn't stop kicking into his hide, there would be no going back to change anything. Everything in front of him did exist. The snow, the wind, the fading trail, and the beasts of nature weren't the worst of it. Jess was being held by a killer's talons. And even that wasn't the worst of it. This was. Slim was trying to catch up with them before it was too late.

.:.

"Now how many fools are really going to be out in a snowstorm?"

Brushing the thick layer from the brim of his hat to aid his view, Jess glanced at the man sitting the saddle. "You really want me to answer that?"

Singer shook his head, and his fist, toward the lower ground. "Not me. Him. Take a peek and tell me if you know him."

He didn't need to look beyond Singer's glove to find the answer. "It's my partner. Slim Sherman."

"What's he following for?" Hopping into the snow, Singer grabbed Jess, pushing both bodies behind a white teepee that must have been a tree. "Surely the boy told him that nobody was to come snooping."

"I reckon Slim ain't the kind to listen to what no goods like you've gotta say."

Singer smacked his hand across Jess' jaw. "Keep that up and your lip will never stop bleeding."

He shrugged, but in that gesture, Jess was able to see through the snow-covered branches enough to know Slim was doing more than trudging into their steps. He was getting rather close, too close for Singer. Hearing a pistol perform its hammer pull, Jess reached for the barrel to stop the slug from hitting his partner. Pushing the tip toward the snow, the lead was prevented from taking a hard bite out of Slim's hide. It would be Jess' skin taking the gouge for him. Singer belted Jess across the mouth a second time.

"I mean what I say, Harper!"

"So do I. You aim that gun at Slim again and I won't just bend your arm, I'll break it!"

"Why did I have to trade a kitten for a cougar?"

"Dunno, but that's what you've got. And if you wanna see if my fangs are real, I'm ready to oblige you!"

"Since I'm holding the weapon, my threat will be a lot louder, and a lot more real, so you better shut up, Harper, or the next crash against your face won't come from my hand. It'll be this iron and if you think your teeth wear a gap now, wait until I'm through."

Hearing the shouts above him, Slim pulled Alamo to a halt. His sidearm coming out of his holster, Slim rocked the hammer back and aimed. With no flesh beyond the trigger's point, Slim didn't fire. Maybe it was a good thing that Slim couldn't find a piece of the outlaw's body. Seeing any color of fabric, he might have pulled the trigger. He could have easily hit Jess instead, or even if Slim had been right on target, made a reflexive bullet land in Jess' chest.

Taking a step, Slim lowered his gun toward the snow. "Singer!"

"I hear you. And as long as you hear me, toss your weapons aside. I'll only talk to you, not the barrel of a gun."

He had expected this, but letting his guns take a flying leap was hard to make happen. "I want to hear from Jess first."

"Well, if hearing the same command out of him will make you obey, I don't see why not. Go ahead, Harper. Tell him to throw his gun wide."

"Give it up, Slim. Both of us don't need to get shot."

"You're hit?"

"Not enough to count. But he could put the next one somewhere less comfortable."

"All right, Singer." With a sigh, Slim gave the gun its proper chuck and then let the rifle at his horse's side take the same route down. "I'm empty."

"All right." Singer stepped into the open, but while he could have turned his gun on Slim, he kept the iron pointed at Jess. "Let's make this quick. I want to get this territory out of my sight."

"I'm sure the territory will be just as happy to lose you."

"Funny. But while making me laugh might warm my innards a mite, it won't keep this conversation short, so cut out any unnecessary chatter."

"I'm fine with getting straight to the point."

"Great, but let me start off. How many of you are out there?"

Slim motioned to his chest. "It's just me."

"And now that you're here, you're going to start dropping tears, moaning and carrying on that you'll trade places with Harper. Am I right?"

"Not at all."

"Well, that's a change of pace anyway. At least I don't have to feel sick two times in one day. All right, Sherman. What're you here for?"

"I want Jess. Let him go."

"Won't do that. I need a hostage so fellows like you stay far off. I traded the kid for him, you should be happy."

"I won't be happy until Jess is freed."

"Can't do that. Harper and I made an agreement. Since he's willing to stick with it, why can't you?"

"You don't need him."

"You're wrong. I do. He's going to take me out of this whiteout and into someplace warmer and there isn't a thing you can say or do that'll make me give him up."

"Please, Singer."

"Please? That's all that you've got to give? You should've seen Harper's display of affection. Down on his knees with his hands balled together, he might've had you bawling. But don't try to match his plea. I don't want to hear anymore drivel. So hear this instead."

Mike's warning about Singer killing Jess burned his ears. Hotter than the sound of the gunshot, Slim felt the pain through his head, down his neck, and when it reached his chest it exploded. Had Jess just experienced the same, only with a real bullet instead of fear?

"Jess?" Slim stared above him, trying to see if the snow was turning crimson. All he could see was the ominous shade of black, rising into the flurry of white. "Answer me, Jess!"

"I'm fine, Slim. He didn't shoot me. He's just showing you that he can. And will."

"You bet I will," Singer shouted, moving his gun so that the straight line was meeting up with flesh instead of snow. "So what'll it be?"

"Let him go."

"Nope. That's not one of the choices. It's either one of these. A bullet in Harper's shoulder, set deep to where it's sure to fester or having you gone. Pick it right now!"

"Jess."

"Do what he says, Slim. Go home. Have a merry Christmas. I got the only gift I wanted. Mike's safe. Now make sure you're the same and go home."

"But Jess…"

Slim stopped. There really was no use in going on, arguing, or whatever they could have called the back and forth conversation. What Jess had said was the whip crack against the ground. Nothing could top it. Nothing should. In one simple statement, Jess had given everything.

Merry Christmas.

In other words, that was the end. It was good enough to call it Jess' silent goodbye.

Slim didn't know if there should be a merry greeting offered in return. He knew he couldn't just turn and go. But what could he say? For centuries "Merry Christmas" had been said to young and old, rich and poor, in good times and bad, all the way through the hardest battles in war. Right now the familiar phrase didn't seem to cut it. He parted his mouth to give Jess some kind of vocal handshake. Whatever it was would never come out, for the reply remained stuck in the back of his throat. Slowly closing his mouth, Slim stared at the tree that hid Jess from view. It was good enough to call it Slim's silent goodbye.

As Slim turned Alamo, he heard the hard push of a man's hand against a back. Afraid of being the reason one of the bullets in Singer's gun would tear loose in Jess' flesh, Slim kept his horse moving through the trail, but Slim had to look up again. It was the same as how Mike described. Jess was being forced to lead the way through the snow. With every step Jess took, he sank deeper, worked harder, climbed higher. Frowning, Slim shook his head. Where exactly was Jess taking the outlaw? Singer mentioned they were headed for a pass, but there was nothing among these hills but rough terrain. It didn't go anywhere. Except…

Suddenly Slim's face turned whiter than the snow around him. Summit Pass!

Watching Jess breaking through the frozen version of Hades, sometimes bending with the uneven ground beneath him, it was as if he was seeing his father instead. Bending with pain, the elder Sherman held the wounds that were given to him at Summit Pass. Inflicted with his own pain, Slim rubbed his chest, but then everything went still. Maybe even his heartbeat followed, for Slim was no longer seeing his father's final fall, he was watching his partner walking to his grave, walking to Summit Pass.

Slim pulled up on the reins and leapt out of the saddle. "Jess, no! Don't do it!"

But Jess didn't stop, he didn't even turn to look his way. But why should he? Jess had already given his goodbye. There was nothing else to offer, nothing else for Jess to do but keep going. And die.

A narrow path between boulders reached, Jess and the outlaw behind him disappeared. Lowering his head, Slim listened to the storm. His grief was making the same noise, but only there on his inside. How could he ride away? How could he go home? How could he tell Daisy and Mike?

Mercifully Mike was in bed. But Slim still had to cast Daisy the awful glance, offer her the slow shake of his head when she implored with her eyes the moment he walked through the door. While Slim kept his tongue held, he would talk to her before the night was too deep. Right now he had to shed his frozen clothes. But no matter how much he took off of his outside, Slim couldn't shed his frozen heart.

"You're back," Mort said, watching the slits of blue barely turn his way.

"Yeah," came the muttered reply. "How're you feeling?"

"Better. I won't be going anywhere anytime soon. Hope you don't mind an added guest for Christmas."

"You know you're always welcome here, Mort," Slim said, looking at the bed that the sheriff was in. Jess' bed. "You can stay right where you are as long as you need."

Mort pulled his upper half away from a pair of pillows to look at the lowered shoulders. The visible heartache was even starker, even more fearful. "Slim. Talk to me, Son."

"Jess is with Singer. He traded places with Mike."

"I figured that was what happened by what Mike told me. But I couldn't understand it all. What's Singer's reasoning?"

"He wants a hostage, a sure way to get out of the territory."

"The snow should be all he needs. No lawman is going to be fighting feet of snow. He'll have a clean break all the way!"

"That's not how Singer sees it. He wants every piece of insurance he can have. So he's taking Jess with him."

"Well, I know it's nothing any of us wants to face, Slim, but Jess is strong. He's endured worse than a winter storm, worse than an outlaw like Sylvester Singer. He'll make it through, all right."

Both hands in a tight grip, Slim slowly shook his head. "No, Mort. Neither of them will."

"Slim." A chill crept into Mort's bones far deeper than what would have set in if he was outside. "What is it?"

"Jess is taking Singer into Summit Pass. With the storm growing worse like it is, he'll never make it to the top. Neither of them will."

"They'll die up there?"

At Slim's nod, he turned away from Mort's gaze. It wasn't the tears smarting in his eyes that he wanted to hide. Mort was a close enough friend to have seen the blur of his vision before, to understand the sudden pinch of his thumb and forefinger over his lashes. It was for something more personal that Slim turned away.

How many times does a soul cry out for what should have been done, but wasn't? Everyone was plagued with something. For years Slim wore the burden of not being able to say goodbye to his pa. That burden was doubled now. They might not have been close enough to see the depths of their similar blues, but Jess had been within hearing range. Slim should have given Jess more than silence. Now there was nothing left but continued silence. But then again, there was the heart.

Stepping to the window, Slim pulled the curtain back. It was dark now, too dark to find anything beyond the flurry of white outside the pane, yet Slim continued to look into the night. There was no brilliant star to guide his gaze to Summit Pass, but somehow Slim's face was pointed just right. Would it happen this night? Perhaps it would come sometime tomorrow. But it would come. Neither of them would make it to the top.

Slim's eye releasing one droplet of his pain, he gave the parting word, hoping that the true sentiment could travel by his heart, all the way to Summit Pass.

Merry Christmas, Pard.