Slim's out of the wagon in a flash, fear clutching at his heart. He's seen horses that flipped back on their riders before, it's near to a death sentence. A man in his unit during the war had a jumpy horse that landed on top of him after a rifle shot went by it's head and it reared. Both of his legs had been broken, and most of his ribs. He'd lingered for two days in agony before he'd died. If Jess was under there…
He barely stops at the fence, tearing the loop off and throwing open the gate so hard it slams back against the rail. The stallion's body is blocking the view, and it's not until he steps around it's flank that he sees Jess must have managed to roll free before the horse came down on top of him. He's struggling to sit up when Slim reaches him, one hand cradling his left arm protectively. Slim crouches beside him and looks him over, heart thudding wildly in his chest. He'd really thought Jess was a goner for a second there, the man has the devil's own luck.
"Jess, you okay?" He asks, putting a supporting hand on Jess's back to guide him up. Jess winces, mouth tight with pain.
"Yeah, fine. Think I might've popped my shoulder out." From a quick look Slim reckons Jess is right. Despite that Jess starts to try and stand, struggling to his feet with only one working arm.
"Woah, woah, take it easy Jess." Slim says, rising with him, hands hovering nearby in case he takes a tumble. Even if Jess says he's fine he'd sure like to check him over after a fall like that, make sure he didn't hit his head on the way down. Jess just ignores him though, stumbling towards where the mustang is still laying on the ground.
"Gotta see- gotta see if he's alright." He mumbles. Slim swallows. He'd seen that stallion's leg as he passed by. It had been broken, broken bad, and the fact it hasn't even tried to stand is a telling sign. He sees the moment Jess gets a good look at it, his shoulders stiffening, feet stumbling to a halt. Slim steps up beside him, taking in the grisly sight. The horse must have hit the paddock railing as it came down, it's right foreleg broken so that bone is sticking out of it's skin, awful and white against it's dark coat.
For a long moment Jess just stands there, looking down at the horse as it pants, it's nostrils flared wide and leg tacky with blood. Slim knows animals, and he knows that injury isn't one a horse can make it back from. Jess must know it too.
"Jess…" Slim says softly. Jess nods shortly, a tight pained little movement.
"Yeah. I know." He turns suddenly, blue eyes dark with something Slim can't place. "Gimme your gun." He grits out. Slim looks at him warily.
"Jess, you don't have to be the one to-" Jess just sticks his good arm out.
"Yeah, I do. He's my horse, my responsibility. Now give me your gun." There's not much good fighting Jess when he's like this, and right now Slim's more concerned about getting him inside and checked over. Silently he slides his pistol out of it's holster and hands it over. Jess takes it, kneeling awkardly by the stallion's head. He runs a gentle hand down it's sweat-damp neck, whispering something Slim can't make out in it's ear. Then he gets back to his feet, levels the gun, and pulls the trigger. The gunshot echoes out across the yard, an awfully final sound to it, and Jess's face crumples into something terrible for a second.
"It wasn't your fault." Slim says, the words slipping out of him before he's realized. Anything to make that look on Jess's face disappear. "I saw what happened. Horse just spooked, nothing you could have done about it."
"No, I shoulda listened to you yesterday Slim, shoulda turned him loose like you told me too. But I didn't, I just hadta break him, hadta have my way, and now he's dead. I just- I wanted it too bad. What a goddamn waste." The curse falls sharply from his mouth, and Slim's eyebrows rise in surprise. Jess had a bit of a mouth on him when he first got here but he'd reined it in, not wanting to set a bad example for Andy. Slim doesn't comment though, figuring if there was ever a time for cursing it's now. Jess shakes his head in disgust, but the movement must shift his shoulder because he pales suddenly, swaying a little on his feet. Slim steps in quickly, taking his gun back from slack fingers, and wrapping Jess's good arm over his shoulder. At that moment the door to the house flies open, Jonsey stepping out with a rifle in his hands.
"What's going on out here, you and Jess alright Slim? We heard a gun shot."
"Jess's shoulder is hurt Jonsey, that horse threw him bad. Help me bring him inside." Slim calls back, hitching Jess higher on his shoulder and heading for the house.
Jess doesn't fight it as Slim and Jonsey get him inside and sit him down at the dinner table, letting his body follow their directions while his mind wanders. He keeps thinking about that dead stallion out there, the blood turning dirt to mud underneath it's head. The same way that Henry Albers' had outside the saloon, the same way it had in Texas all those years ago.
"Jess, we gotta get your jacket off, take a look at that shoulder." Slim cajoles, pulling Jess sharply back to the present. He looks up to where Jonsey and Slim flank either side of his chair, fussing over him like two mother hens. Andy stands in the kitchen, ladle in his hand and his young face white with worry. Jess hates to make him worry.
"We'll have to cut it off." Jonsey says over Jess's head, apparently deciding his input isn't needed for the conversation. Jess sits up a little bit straighter at that, ignoring the way his bruised body protests the movement.
"No way you're cuttin' up my jacket it's the only one I got. Just-just help me take it off."
"It'll hurt." Slim warns. Jess nods grimly, bracing himself. He'd popped his shoulder out of it's socket once before, roping a particularly ornery bull while he'd been working a ranch in New Mexico, and he knows what that particular agony feels like. Still, he has to clench his teeth hard to keep from letting out a groan as Slim starts to ease his arm out of the sleeve, the pain swelling as he rotates it back far enough to slide the jacket loose. He's sweating by the time it's over, shirt clinging to his skin with it. Slim looks him over, shaking his head with a frown. "We're cutting the shirt off, and I don't want to hear any arguments. It's not worth hurting you that bad over."
"Don't worry, I'll stitch it up for you Jess. Good as new." Jonsey chimes in encouragingly. Jess sighs. This isn't even one of his good shirts, so it doesn't seem worth fighting over.
"Fine, just do it." He concedes a little grumpily.
"Andy, get a knife, and that bottle of whiskey Jonsey keeps hidden in the cupboard." Slim orders as soon as Jess acquiesces. Andy nods, spinning on his heel and disappearing back into the kitchen. A moment later he reappears, the requested items in hand. His eyes are still wide and scared, so Jess offers a pale smile, hoping it'll calm him a little. Jonsey takes both the tools, setting the whiskey on the table and using the knife to carefully cut along the seams of the shirt sleeve. Luckily once the sleeve is loose the rest slides off pretty easy. It'd been a warm enough day that he hadn't put on a long-sleeved undershirt so there's no need to ruin any more of his clothes but he shivers a little, the air cool against his naked sweat-damp skin. Slim bends over him to take a closer look at Jess's hurt shoulder, brow furrowed. After a moment he leans back, shaking his head.
"Yep, that's dislocated alright. I'll ride in to town and get the doc."
"No need, I know how to get it back in so might as well just get it over with. Ain't the first time it's happened to me." Jess grunts out. Slim hesitates, then nods, eyebrows drawn in a worried furrow.
"Fine then, we'll try it here. Andy why don't you head out to the barn and start graining the horses. They should be mighty hungry by now." Andy stiffens indignantly.
"But Slim-"
"No arguing, you're not going to do Jess any good here. He won't be able to do his work for a bit so you can help by taking over for him. Go Andy." Slim orders, his voice brooking no objection. Jess is grateful, this likely won't be pleasant and he doesn't want Andy to have to watch it. Andy frowns but slouches over to the front door, taking his hat and disappearing outside. Slim waits for the door to close behind him, then turns back to Jess expectantly.
Jess does his best to remember how to vacquero in New Mexico, a grizzled old man with a face like boot leather from years out in the sun, had done it. He directs Jonsey to find a long strip of cloth while Slim clears off the table. Then he has them lie him down on top of it, wrapping the cloth under his injured arm and across his chest. The idea is that one person takes the ends of the cloth and pulls in one direction, and another takes the injured arm and pulls in the opposite, letting the shoulder slide back into place. Jonsey and Slim both look skeptical when Jess explains it, but they don't have much of a choice. In the end Jonsey decides to take the cloth, figuring it'll be easier on his back, while Slim will take Jess's arm. Before they get started Jonsey picks up the whiskey bottle Andy had brought out, handing it to Jess.
"For medicinal purposes." He says somberly. Jess takes a slug, letting the whiskey burn down his throat. He doesn't figure it'll do much, knowing what's coming, but it can't hurt to take the edge off. Bottle corked and set aside there's no more excuses for delay. The two men take their positions, Jonsey behind Jess and Slim in front. "You ready?" Slim asks, carefully wrapping his hands around Jess's wrist. Jess manages half a grin.
"As ready as I'll ever be." Slim nods, then starts to pull. The pain, which had faded to a dull throbbing thing as long as Jess had kept still, rears it's head again with a blinding vengeance. He bites down on his tongue and puts all his will power into not writhing away from the awful pressure in his shoulder, Slim's firm hands a comforting warmth around his wrist. It feels like each second is stretching into hours, and he throws his mind away from his body, searching for anything to distract him. As if drawn by a magnet his thoughts turn again to the horse laying dead outside in the corral.
He knows, deep in his gut, that he had killed the animal as soon as he saw it. Sure, Jess had put the bullet in his head, but that was a mercy. No, Jess had killed him as soon as he'd bought him off that rancher in Cheyenne. Killed him with his damn stubborness, and his pride. It's like he'd told Slim so many months ago, after Mac had been lynched and he'd tried to leave: everything he touches turns to trouble. Slim hadn't wanted to believe it, but there's no two ways about it now. Suddenly Albers' words spring to his mind unbidden, it's in your blood, Harper, no way to change that. Jess had thought, hopaed maybe, that he'd changed. That this place, Slim and Andy and Jonsey, had helped him change. That he could be someone new, someone better. He can see now that isn't true, no matter how far he runs his past won't let go. It'll keep following him till it draws blood again, his or someone else's, and Jess knows with a certainty that overshadows anything else that he'd rather die then let anyone here be touched by the ugliness of his life. He was a fool to think things could be different.
It'll hurt bad to go, hurt for a while, but it'll hurt worse if he stays and someone gets dead because of him. It's then, the agony burning away the haze of indecision that's been hanging on his shoulders and leaving him strangely clear-headed, that Jess finds the answer for the question he hadn't dared to to ask himself until now. He has to leave Sherman Ranch.