Chapter Nine

Let us bring him silver and gold…

"Jess!"

It was hard to know who to hug first. As it turned out, the choice was picked for him. Mike leaping into his arms, Jess swung the sack of potatoes over his shoulder and then leaned forward to pull Daisy into his side.

"Merry Christmas."

"Ain't it a day late?"

"If Christmas is in the heart where it's supposed to be, then you're right on time."

"I reckon if that's the case, then Merry Christmas, Daisy," Jess said, giving her cheek a kiss. "Ain't you gonna let go, Tiger?"

"No."

Daisy pulling away, Jess wrapped both arms around Mike, hugging him against his chest. It wasn't long before Jess could feel the rocky movements that depicted tears. It wasn't much longer and Jess wouldn't have needed the shaking against his body to know the sobs were close to being released. The little droplets were warming his skin.

Sliding his fingers along Mike's shoulder, Jess gently pried the tear-stained face away from his neck to look him in the eye. "What's all this, Tiger?"

He sniffed, gulped and ran his sleeve across his nose. "I thought you'd died, and it was all my fault."

"Well, I ain't dead. Dadgum, I ain't even hurt, at least not so that it needs talked about."

"I know. But nothing would've happened to you at all if I'd just stayed home like I was supposed to."

"Do you hear anybody throwing blame at you?"

Mike's shoulders rose. "I guess not."

"Then nobody's blaming you. Especially me. In fact, I remember telling Slim before we knew you'd met up with Singer that when we found you that I'd give you a hug the size of a bear. That was the only kinda punishment that you were owed. And I reckon since I just gave you that, Tiger, all that's left is to forget about everything that happened. You reckon you can do that?"

He nodded. "I'll sure try."

"Well," Daisy said, clapping her hands together. "I best get busy! Another Christmas dinner to cook."

"Another one?" Slim stopped her turn into the kitchen with his hand. "But we only had one turkey."

"You understandably didn't notice all the leftovers yesterday, Slim. We have enough to feed ten Jess'. But I have to reheat it, make the potatoes fluffy again, oh, and stir up some eggnog, just the way you two like it. And if you don't let go of my arm, I'll never get it done!"

"I'll help, Aunt Daisy!"

"Good, let's start at the turkey. Hurry now, Jess must be starving."

"You could say that more'n once and it still wouldn't suffice," Jess said, smiling, but then as he looked at the sheriff leaning against the doorframe, his eyes immediately dropped. "I'm sorry, Mort."

"For?"

"For not bringing the money back."

"Do you hear anyone throwing blame at you?"

Jess' shoulders rose. "I guess not."

"Then nobody's blaming you. Especially me," Mort said, giving Jess' back a slap. "I would like to know what happened out there and why you two came in on foot."

"We'll tell it around the fire, Mort," said Slim, stamping his boots so he wouldn't make tracks indoors. "I've had enough cold to last my lifetime."

"You have? Does that mean we can move the Sherman ranch down to Texas?"

Laughing, Slim shook his head. "Nice try, Jess. But no."

"Dadgum."

"How bad is Singer hurt, Jess?" asked Mort from his position around the fire.

A gulp going down, Jess pulled the coffee cup away from his mouth. "Busted a coupla ribs and got his head tapped a bit. I don't think it's gonna catch up with him though."

"With Alamo underneath him, Singer's going to be easier to spot. When I can get back to town, I'll send out wires to every town within a couple hundred miles."

"His goal's down south," Mike said, peeking around the fireplace. "I was afraid he was gonna take me all the way to Mexico."

"Well, that's something to go on, anyway, but with the snow so deep out there, I don't know how I'm going to get into Laramie."

"Ever been sleigh riding, Mort?"

"Not since I was a boy."

"Then you'll get your chance to do it as a grown man. Unless another cloud comes barreling out of the north, I can take you home."

"You can't go now," said Mike, doing more than peeking around the corner, but stepping into the open, with his hands holding a plate of deviled eggs. "We're ready to eat our second Christmas dinner!"

Mort patted his stomach. "I guess I can fit another one in."

"Dadgum," Jess said, looking at the full table. "And here I thought all this was gonna be for me. I gotta share?"

"Oh, Jess." Daisy laughed as she filled the coffee cups. "There's plenty for everyone."

"Yeah, but the way I feel and looking at the turkey with all them fixings, I'll be fatter than a pig set to roast before the day's through."

Her fingers cupped around Jess' chin. "And I wouldn't have it any other way. I'm so glad you're home, Jess."

"Me too. Ain't somebody gonna say grace so I can dig in?"

.:.

Curtain lifted, Slim looked out into the moonlit night. The silver beams made the snow almost as brilliant as the sunlight, but even if a man could be fooled by the appearance between night and day, there would be no mistaking the temperature difference. It was below zero out there. Not fit for man, not fit for beast, not fit for anyone.

Letting the curtain fall, Slim blew out the lamp and tucked in under the covers. "I wonder where Singer's held up for tonight."

"Hopefully in an ice-lined coffin somewhere."

They could see each other, what with the silvery stream unable to be blocked by the thin material at the window and Slim turned toward Jess' position. "Could be."

"Could also be that Alamo's in the same condition. I still say you shouldn't have done it."

Slim yawned. "It's done, so let's stop talking about it and go to sleep."

"I can't."

"Why not?"

"It's these dadgummed pajamas you got me for Christmas."

"What's the matter with them?" Slim asked, patting another yawn away.

"They feel funny."

"You never wear anything but longjohns to bed, Jess. Or you just wear your jeans. Of course a nightshirt's going to feel different."

"It looks like a dress."

"It's not. They're pajamas."

"So."

"So, what?"

"It looks like a dress."

Propping up on one elbow, Slim looked toward the man on the top bunk across the room. "Settle it for me, will you, Mort? Tell Jess he doesn't look like he's wearing a dress."

He lifted one eyelid. "It doesn't look like a dress, Jess. It looks like a nightshirt."

"Which looks like a dress. Same thing."

Slim scratched the back of his neck. "Then take it off."

"It's a Christmas present. I might offend you."

"You won't. Take it off so we can sleep."

"Nah. I'll stick it out."

"Why?"

"It's a Christmas present."

"Then go to sleep!"

"I can't."

"Jess, for the love of summertime, take off the nightshirt so you can sleep."

"It ain't the dress that's bothering me right now, Slim."

Wanting to put his head down, Slim pounded his pillow into the perfect shape. "Then what is it?"

"I hear something funny."

Mort laughed. "First it's his dress that's funny, now it's his ears. Was there a pair of muffs to go with your dress, Jess?"

"Ain't nothing of the kind. I mean it. I hear something outside."

"You're not going to fool Mike tonight, Jess. Santa, sleds and reindeer aren't going to work beyond December twenty-four. And tomorrow is twenty-seven."

"I ain't trying to fool anybody. I hear an actual crunch in the snow." He sat up in bed, twisting his legs to the edge, and the blamed tails of the nightshirt dangled over his knees. "Now tell me that it don't look like a dress."

Yawning again, Slim started to pull the blankets up to his neck. "Which do you want me to answer, Jess. The sound or the dress?"

"Quit calling it a dress! It's a nightshirt."

"Hallelujah," said Mort, offering a light handclap to go with the expression of praise. "Now that you've figured out what you're wearing, can't we go to sleep?"

"No." On his feet, Jess' socks padded against the floor. "I wanna know what I'm hearing."

"Slim, if he says it's a roly-poly man in red with elves along for the ride, can I toss a pillow at him?"

"You can toss anything you want at him, Mort," Slim answered, watching as Jess stood illuminated in the moonlit window. "Well, Jess, what is it?"

"Dunno yet. I see a shape, though. And for your information Mister Smarty-Pants Sheriff, it ain't a red man with a bunch of pointy-capped elfs in tow. It's something on fours, coming down the hill. It looks like… well, I'll be dadgummed."

"What?" Mort and Slim said in unison.

"Slim, come quick! It's Alamo!"

He wasn't just out of the covers in a flash, Slim was out the front door and into the frigid temperature in the same amount of time. At least he remembered to grab his jacket off the hook before his stocking-clad feet hit the porch.

Up to the rail, Slim held out his hand to the frost-covered nose. "Come, boy. That's good, now. Where'd you come from?"

Jess' eyes trailed up the ridge. "The moon's bright enough to show the way. South."

Mort limping up from behind, his eyes followed Jess' gaze. "I wonder what happened to Singer?"

"Could be nothing. Alamo coulda just let loose while Singer was tucked in a cave somewhere. Or it could be something worse."

Boots retrieved from inside of the door, Slim grabbed Alamo's reins. "I need to get some feed into him and warmed up. You coming along, Jess? I could use some help."

Holding out both arms away from his sides, Jess shook his head. "This is why I don't wear dresses to bed. There's too many times when I need to have pants on. Lemme find some boots, though."

"Well, since you don't need me, I guess I'll get back where it's warmer."

"Go ahead, Mort," Jess said, grabbing his boots from his bedside, stomping them on as he went through the door.

Turning at the sound of spurs against the frozen snow, Slim laughed. "You're a sight. You could've at least grabbed your coat to throw on over that thing."

"You're the one that got me pajamas for Christmas."

"Quit complaining. You're impossible to shop for, and pajamas are one of the few things you didn't have."

"But don't need."

"Maybe you'll change your mind in the summer, when it's hot and sticky and you'd rather toss your underwear a mile than keep them on another minute."

"We'll see. Alamo okay, Slim?"

"Seems to be. Just cold. Hand me that blanket, Jess."

"Sure," Jess answered, but his eyes would soon wander far away from Slim giving his horse a comforting rub with the blanket. "You know something, Slim. I got this same feeling that I had when Singer fell into the hole. I turned away, ready to make it home by Christmas, but I had to go back for him."

"I have the same feeling, Jess."

"What do you wanna do about it?"

"I guess we'll have to saddle up and go look for him."

"Now or morning?"

"It's too cold now. We'll have to wait until a few hours after sunup."

Nodding, Jess gave Alamo's nose a gentle rub. "I'm sure glad you got him back, Slim."

"Yeah. You don't realize how important your mount is until he's gone."

"Well, you're sure treating him right. If you wanna bed him down in some pajamas, I know where you can get some."

"Jess, why don't you go back to bed?"

"Like this?" Jess held up his hands. "I'll never sleep in this thing."

He did. Wakened by a plop against the outer wall, Jess' tousled head pulled away from the pillow to check the hour. The sun was shining, with a few clouds making shadows darken the all-white earth, but there wasn't anything ominous in the puffs above. There might have been in the sound, though.

Shaking his head, Jess eyed Slim as he buttoned up his shirt. "What's that sound?"

"Mike. He's throwing snowballs at a picture he drew of Singer."

Jess' fingers raced through his hair and then patted down every strand that had sprung up overnight. "Killing another outlaw, huh?"

"I can't help but wonder if he might've already met that fate. Last night's cold was the worst of all."

The nightshirt tossed wide, Jess tucked his regular blue top inside his snug jeans. "Don't I know it? And I had to spend it in a dress."

"You did sleep, you know," Slim said as he handed Jess a pair of scarves. "You were snoring when I came in from tending Alamo."

"Was not. That musta been Mort."

"Was not."

Jess turned his frown toward the sheriff. "You gonna tell me I was snoring, too?"

Mort shrugged. "Why not? You were."

"Dadgum. Now I don't got anything to complain about, except for the all that cold out there. Is it any warmer today, Slim?"

"Not much. That's why I want you wearing the extra scarf I handed you. Here. Take one more."

"I reckon if I can wear a dress to bed I can look like an Eskimo," Jess said as he spun the scarf around his neck. But then he had another thing to spin, and it wasn't the second scarf Slim draped over his bed. His gun in hand, Jess spun the chamber. "Just don't make me wrap this thing up. It's gonna be ready to point the whole way out. Singer ain't gonna get the chance to make another threat at me, at you, at anyone."

.:.

The gun given a spin, Jess returned the iron to his holster. "He surely ain't gonna get the chance to make another threat at me, at you, at anyone. Now."

Nodding, Slim pulled his fingers away from the stiff neck. "He's dead."

"Did he freeze to death, Slim?"

"As far as I can tell. I don't see any new injury on him. If I could wager a guess, I'd say he fell asleep in the saddle, and where he dropped, he died. Looks like Alamo turned right here and headed home."

"Yeah," Jess said, lowering his voice to where the grit seemed to be pulled straight out of his core. "I know it's over, but I still feel like it ain't."

"Why? Singer's dead. You can feel his body yourself if it'll make you feel better."

"It ain't that, Slim. It's just that this is kinda different than how we usually go about this sorta thing."

"What do you mean?"

"There was no fight, with guns or fists. There wasn't any blood. He just lay down and died."

"Not every battle is won that way, Jess. I heard of a fellow that took one step out of the bank he had just robbed and dropped over dead. Heart attack, the doctor said."

"Man ain't always the one doling out justice. That what you're trying to tell me?"

Slim looked toward heaven. "Yeah, I guess so."

"Whether it was a bullet outta my gun or a bullet straight outta the blue, I know it's what Singer deserved. I don't understand it, though."

"What, Jess?"

"What was the purpose of me saving him, when all Singer was gonna do is die a coupla days later?"

"Think of it this way, Singer could have let his gun down in appreciation of you saving his life. But he didn't. He didn't change, he didn't want to. You might have rescued him, but you couldn't save him, not when he really didn't want to be."

"That's all right." Jess smiled, his thoughts turning to Mike. "The one I saved was enough."

Picking up the saddlebags, Slim put them over his shoulder. "Well, we can't bury him in this snow, but we can take him back to Laramie. The money too."

"You can take him back to Laramie. Me, I'm going home and eat another Christmas dinner."

"Save a glass of eggnog for me, will you, Jess?"

"Sure. We'll toast the day away and then get ready to welcome another year in."

Slim motioned toward the dead man. "You suppose they'll be plenty more like him in it?"

"Gotta be, or it wouldn't be Laramie."

.:.

Merry Christmas, everyone! I pray that it will be a blessed one. If your day is spent alone, with family, friends or here with Slim and Jess, may your hearts be filled with the true gift of Christmas, the birth of Jesus Christ and the love He has given. I truly hope that the coming New Year will be happier, healthier and with more Laramie than this past one has been. Thank you all and God bless. - CW