The Grave of Slim Sherman
Chapter One
He was still getting used to this. Pounding the same dust on the trail beneath his horse's hooves, breathing in the scent of wood smoke, far different than what curled from a campfire's center for this drift came out of a chimney, and immediately recognizing every sound that went with the sights around him. There was something else to add on, something more important than actions and sounds, because this came from within. He was still getting used to having a sense of belonging. He had a home now. Not just some place to return to when a job was done, but a real home.
Riding up to it now, Jess' chest took on the unfamiliar swell that was quick to leap into his face, lighting his features more than what a sunny day could do. His edges were still too rough for a grin to spread, but the expression couldn't be hidden in his eyes. The pair of blues sparkling, Jess pulled up on the reins. He was home.
Oh, how quickly this inner glow would fade!
Hopping to the ground, Jess' head whipped to the left so hard a lasso could have snagged him tight, jerking him in just the right way so that there was no mistaking the change at the base of the hill. There were three graves instead of two.
Heartbeat fast, steps slow, Jess walked toward the freshly turned dirt. There was a marker there, rather crude, as it wasn't even a cross, just a slab of wood thrust into the soft soil. Any lettering carved into the wooden flesh must be on the other side, for all Jess could see was the uneven texture, dotted with splinters that needed smoothing out.
Because of age, one name had been knocking on his skull from the moment of the grave's discovery, but Jess no longer thought it was Jonesy lying in the ground. Slim would never leave such a marker in place. He would have taken great care to fashion a piece of wood that would sit in the place of the stone that would come later. There would be flowers adorning the top, maybe an instrument, something that would show a portion of Slim's heart for the man that he had buried there.
And Andy, precious little Andy. What would be sitting at his grave? Being new to this family, Jess couldn't offer a proper description, but letting his lashes fall, Jess knew it would be brighter than this. Even with the irreparable grief at the loss of his little brother, Slim would do more than pat the soil down. Wouldn't he?
His steps closer, Jess walked even slower. There could be an answer that would hurry his boots to read the inscription instead. It was nobody's grave. A drifter, a passenger, a no-account, it was merely somebody that died somewhere near the Sherman's front door. It wasn't Slim, Andy or Jonesy. It couldn't be. His heart would have told him something was wrong the moment his horse's hooves started pounding the dust over the homeward trail. His pulse would have never been throbbing out the happy tune of Jess' return, but the melancholic drumbeats of dread. But then again, wasn't Jess still getting used to all of this?
A hard lump in his throat, Jess took the last step. The rock went down so fast that it hit his belly with the kind of punch that would have bowled him over if he wasn't frozen in shock. Perhaps not every part of his body was encased with ice, for something was welling in his eyes. And that feeling in his chest, the tender emotion so rare, rapidly was replaced with the intense ache he had known most of his life.
Slim. It was Slim!
"No." His mouth barely formed the word, even if his insides were screaming so loud that his echo would never stop. Likely it would go on for eternity anyway, right there in his core.
It was Slim.
Staring at the marker, Jess' lips, now moving in complete silence, read the full name and what came below. Strange that only now he learned the date of Slim's birth. What was even more striking was the date of his death. Two days ago.
The exact day Jess had ridden out.
"I'll be right back," he said to Andy that morning.
"You're sure?"
Jess' head gave a reassuring bob. "Sure, I'm sure."
"I just can't help but remember…"
Although it didn't get finished, Jess pictured the scene inside of Andy's mind and the name that went with it. Roany Bishop. As it were, the crazy man hadn't been too far from Jess' mind either. The incident hadn't even been behind them for ten days.
"I know, Andy. But you gotta understand a renegade like me. I'm still getting used to all of this."
"You mean having a home?"
Again Jess nodded. "I've always said it's easier to ride away than come back."
"But not anymore."
Now Jess' head gesture switched directions. "Not anymore. I'll be back in a coupla days. In fact, just as soon as I see if those mares that fella's got for sale are worth buying, I'll head back. Deal?"
The worry leaving Andy's face, he smiled. "Deal."
He had been true to his word. Two days, the same amount in nights, that was all that Jess had been absent for. But what had been missed in those two days? Slim was dead. He had obviously missed everything.
Leaving the grave behind him, Jess walked back to the house, his steps quicker than how he had made the painful discovery. A lot of times Jess could say that the hard stamp of his boots against the ground were performed in anger. This time it was fear. Of the unknown, of what would be waiting for him, and it squeezed his middle just as hard as how the discovery of Slim's death had struck. This blow would pierce just as deeply inside Jess' flesh, maybe even deeper.
The door opening to a cold room, Jess stepped inside, unable to stop the shiver that ran a race through his being. Jonesy sat alone at the table, a medicinal bottle beside his left hand, a partially filled glass sitting just as close, but it was the right that held Jess' longer stare. Jonesy's fingers were wrapped around the white handle of Jess' gun, put away, but definitely not forgotten. Most definitely not forgotten.
"So you came back. That took nerve." The glass taken, Jonesy sloshed a portion over his tongue, the wince and the cough that went with it surprisingly suppressed. "I suppose you saw it outside."
He nodded, and with his throat wearing a large portion of what carpeted a desert, Jess could barely breathe out his question. "What happened?"
"You happened, that's what."
A finger found his chest. "I did?"
"You heard me right. If you'd've never stepped foot inside that door in the first place, Slim wouldn't be in that grave right now."
"Jonesy, I don't understand."
"No, I don't suppose a no-account like you would. So why don't you just make like the no-account that you are, and ride back outta here?"
It was hard to peel his eyes away from Jonesy, from the professional gun that he held, but he had to. As Jess searched the room over, his heart pounded with such severity that the pain wasn't reserved for his chest alone. Every part of his body where a throb of his pulse existed hurt like the blazes, especially there in his head. Someone else was missing.
He felt his hand growing tightly to a fist. "Where's Andy?"
"Aunt Ella's. I figure that's the best place for a boy to be, at least until the funeral."
"When?"
"Why should I tell you? You ain't gonna be there."
"But Jonesy, I gotta be at Slim's funeral. We're friends. At least, I was getting to think that we were."
"No. If you feel like you owe Slim anything, then do so by letting us grieve in peace. Besides, Andy and I don't need you, don't want you at all. Friends. I'd just as rather go spit on your boot."
"Can't you at least tell me how he died? If somebody did it, I wanna know."
"I already told you whose fault it is."
"Yeah, mine. But I didn't put a bullet in him, I didn't make him sick or whatever else mighta happened. At least tell me that much!"
The grip on the handle changing, Jonesy picked up the gun, its point landing on Jess' chest. "Does this show you anything?"
"He was shot, by my gun?"
Allowing only a single nod, Jonesy thrust the gun forward. "Take it. You won't be coming back."
Jess eyed the gun, and the man behind it, but he couldn't force his fingers to stretch toward the iron. "Jonesy, I just wanna know how it happened."
"Slim's dead, that's the only explanation a gunslick like you deserves. Now are you gonna get, or am I gonna have to fire this thing to get your feet moving?"
Not really expecting a bullet to pierce the ground at his toes, Jess' boots remained still. He would, however, offer his word, lest Jonesy's finger was starting to itch. "I'll go."
"Make sure it's a far enough stretch the wind can't flap you back around. I don't even wanna breathe your scent again."
Goodbyes always more difficult than Jess could stand, his lashes dropped, where the only thing his eyes could see was the floor. "Jonesy, tell Andy that I…"
"No." The snap of Jonesy's tongue brought Jess' head back up, putting a glare inside the glistening blue. "I won't tell him anything that you've gotta say. Likely'd just be a pack of lies anyway. I thought you were getting?"
Nodding, Jess turned, his boots now ready to perform the walk to the door, and all the way out of the life he had grown to love. He was quickly stopped by the tapping of the pistol's tip against the table.
"I said for you to take this. It's taking everything in me to not pull the trigger on you. If you leave it in my hand much longer, I ain't making any promises that I won't."
His hand finally able to reach out, Jess took hold of the gun barrel. For a moment their eyes met. Jess held on, watching, studying, but not understanding what he was seeing. He hoped that Jonesy couldn't see into his soul, either. It was a dark place, there inside of Jess' being. Even darker now. And it would grow even darker when Jess tucked the gun into his beltline. It turned into midnight's deepest gloom when the door shut behind him. It would become the blackness of hell when Jess mounted up.
The ominous shade wasn't only with the one riding out, but the one forcing another shot of whiskey down his throat. In fact, it had been there in the room all along, darkening the walls, marring the windowpanes, stifling the air.
And its name wasn't death.
"You did good," drawled a deep voice from behind. "Real good."
Smacking the glass onto the table top, Jonesy dared to stand, to turn and face the man that was leaning against the bedroom doorframe. "You know what's gonna happen to that boy, now?"
Rubbing his knuckles, the stranger shook his head. "No. And I don't care."
"Well, I do. Jess'll go back to the life he lived before."
"So?"
"Likely, he'll die."
"Do I have to repeat myself? So?"
Giving his head a shake, Jonesy pulled his eyes away from the homely face to stare at the man that was gagged. It wasn't only his tongue being held hostage, for he was tied with multiple wraps of rope to a chair in the bedroom's center. There was also an invisible strand, spreading from his core, all the way out the door. That piece had just been severed, and Jonesy, knowing that he was the one making the cut, felt a pair of water droplets burn the backs of each eye. One able to trickle around to dampen a corner, Jonesy didn't even bother to blink it away. After all, his eyes weren't suffering through this kind of emotion alone. The blue he was staring into was even wetter than what Jonesy wore.
"I'm sorry, Slim. I'm so sorry I had to let him go."
"You can't tell me he was all that important." The stranger reached for the bottle, chuckling before he tipped his head back for a lengthy swig. "Didn't you say he hasn't even lived here a month?"
Jonesy lifted both shoulders. "A day, a week, a month, I figure any of those're long enough to figure if a fellow's safe to have around. Take you for instance. You've only been here a couple days and I already know you're not fit for housekeeping."
The room seemed to wince with the crack of knuckles across Jonesy's cheek. "Hold your tongue, old man, or I'll hold it for you."
"Jonesy!"
Reeling backward, he might have tumbled all the way to the ground if the strangled call didn't startle his frame harder than the slap. Grabbing the table for support, Jonesy's body shifted to the struggle coming through the kitchen door. A fight really wasn't the best definition, especially when the man that Andy was up against was wearing enough beef on his hide to moo along with the best of them. With the large hands pinching into both shoulders, he could have squished Andy into a ball and bounced him inside instead of the rough jerk that was given. Either way, Andy's hardened fists would never reach the man's chest to give the desired pound.
The sting on his face immediately erased, Jonesy hurried for the flailing limbs. "Let go of that boy!"
Square jaw given a pop, he jutted his chin toward the amused man in the corner. "Tomlinson?"
"Ease up, Butch. The kid doesn't need that kind of restraint anymore."
Abruptly released, Andy's body pushed into Jonesy's. "What happened to Jess?"
Tomlinson must have been true to his word after all. The outlaw must have been holding onto Jonesy's tongue, for no answer could get out of his throat.
Andy's hands digging into Jonesy's vest, the added tug was its own heartfelt plea. "I know he was here. Why'd he leave?"
"He had to, boy."
Although no amount of swallowing could actually push his fear down, Andy gulped as he looked at Tomlinson. "Had to?"
"He'll mess everything up," the man answered, jabbing a finger in Andy's direction. "And so will you if you don't settle down."
"I won't!" Andy shouted with the kind of defiance he would have never known how to use if he had never met Jess Harper. "I won't settle down!"
"You obviously remember my warning about your tongue, old man, so you best share the threat with the kid. Keep him quiet. He's giving me a headache."
"Andy." Jonesy's tone soft, but severe, made the young eyes lock with his own. "None of us want to, but we have to do what these fellows say."
"Not if it makes Jess leave. We can't let him ride out. We just can't."
"He already has, boy."
Jonesy sent a puff of steam Tomlinson's way. "I thought you wanted me to quiet him."
"Then hurry it up," Tomlinson answered, giving his fingers a triple snap. "I still hear the kid yapping."
"Andy." The softness hadn't changed, only a little more severity was added, yet it had the power to pop tears into Andy's eyes. "It's difficult to explain what had to be done. But just look at your brother, tied up in knots, and maybe you'll understand that it was the only way to keep us alive."
Finally nodding, Andy ran his sleeve across his face. "But he'll come back, won't he?"
Tomlinson laughed, loud snort through his nose and all. "Not after what Jonesy said to him. What was that again? Oh, yes. 'I never want to breathe your scent again'. Something like that. But believe me, kid, it was very effective. Harper's not coming back here. Ever."
"No!" He jumped back as if he were slapped. Tomlinson's hand never left his side, Butch's either, but Andy felt the sting, so sharply that he recoiled out of Jonesy's arms, straight to the front door. "He can't be that far yet. I'm going after Jess!"
Jonesy felt as much, yet he couldn't have been too horrorstricken, for he was moving, taking swift strides to stop Andy from making it outside. He would come up short, far too short, for the boy's legs began to pump underneath him, kicking up dirt as he ran for the road.
"Jess," Andy screamed, so high pitched the birds in the air paused their flight to look down. "Jess, come back!"
On the porch, Jonesy cupped his hands across his mouth. "Andy, stop!"
Tomlinson stepped around Jonesy, ready with his pistol if the sidekick's legs would prove not long enough. They were. Snagged before the upper bend could be reached, Andy's heaving frame was tossed over Butch's shoulder. Tears and sweat down each cheek, Andy's face scrunched with fear. He could tell by the way Butch was holding him that something was about to happen, something far more fearful than having Jess ride away. He could also sense the same coming from Jonesy. Both tears and sweat made a sudden stop.
"You shouldn't have done that, Andy," said Jonesy, the visible tremble in every part of his body. "These men only know how to hurt people. Including you and me."
"I'm sorry," he said, truly sincerely, but it wasn't enough, and it definitely had come too late.
Tomlinson's frown wasn't just thundercloud dark, but was about to produce the actual reverberating clap. "Butch, I hoped it wouldn't come to this, but it has. Take the kid far away. Somewhere he can't be found."
Jonesy's mouth dropped. "You can't let him kill the boy!"
"Did I say that?"
"No, but it's what you meant."
"I'm glad that you can read my mind, old man. And since you think you're so good at seeing what's between my ears, maybe this will make you forget."
Rearing back with his pistol, he twirled the iron so that the butt would do all the work. When he crashed it into Jonesy's skull, the round hat took a leap to the ground. The body would hit dirt almost as quickly. The lights dimming, Jonesy staggered as he reached for the blood sliding down his forehead. There would be another knock, this one not splitting the skin wide, but growing a purple hue, for Jonesy was struck a second time, putting him down, putting him out.
He could feel the separation, could hear the muffled cry, but from his position in the bedroom, Slim couldn't see Andy being carried away. The open doorways of both bedroom and front door allowed him a clear view when Jonesy dropped. That image would be enough to ignite his fire. Lying there bleeding, crumpled as if nothing but forgotten laundry, Slim snapped. If only the binds around him could have had the same description. But the way he felt inside, he could get it done. Maybe even in one hit.
The fury growing hotter with each second, Slim rocked the chair. All four legs clopped louder and harder with the next push of his body, until finally the chair could no longer stand. Over to the side with a jarring crash, Slim expected immediate freedom, but his fight had only begun. Wiggling against the ropes, Slim flexed his muscles, hoping to bust though each knot. All that would get busted was his hopes.
The pistol up to Slim's temple, Tomlinson's thumb dropped the hammer back. "You know, Sherman, I could've had your friend killed, your brother, too. It's true that you'll never see them again, but you should be grateful that I let them live."
His teeth chewing a hole through the bandana, Slim offered the man a menacing growl.
"Go ahead and act tough. It'll do you no good."
It was difficult, but Slim ground out the man's name. "Tomlinson!"
"Very good, Sherman. But that only means I need to stuff a bigger wad between your teeth. Not a single part of you will go free. Until I have that payroll in my hands, you'll stay just like you are, stuck on your side, tongue bound just as tight. And in case you have any more ideas, don't. Like I said before, I could've had your friend killed, your brother, too. This much I didn't say, but hear it now. I will kill the old man if I have to. I'll kill you if I have to. I'm getting that payroll, no matter what I have to do."
