Chapter Two

Wiping the sweat from his face, Jess' nose lingered in his sleeve as a nearby pungency was making it tickle. Something smelled like a dirty, old cigar. Knowing Slim never took a puff, Jess angled his head around. The only other man he could see was Ben, and with an apron tied nearly up to his armpits as he threw out the noon dishwater, that etched off the thought that Ben was idling the hours away by chomping on a thick piece of tobacco.

Another waft coming his way, Jess followed the invisible path until he saw the horse and rider atop the ridge. "Company's coming, Slim. Might wanna get a rifle close."

"It's leaning against the far wheel," said Slim, his eyes following the nod of Jess' head. "You think he's been up there watching or coming in this whole time?"

"Dunno. Can't tell who he is, though. You?"

Narrowing his eyes, Slim nodded. "Yeah. His name's A.J. Spinner. He works the night shift at the Cheyenne depot."

"So he's one of us, right?"

"As far as I know. But you remember what Mr. Winslow said. We're pounding on axles and wheels, not reinventing what makes the driver's seat so hard."

Jess' boots landed on the ground with a thud. "I remember. Dadgum, that fella smells like an old boot not even fit for dog chewing is on fire. What kinda cigar is that?"

"A cheap one. Come on, Jess, button-up. He's getting within earshot."

"He's been within nose-shot for the last hundred miles."

Smiling, Slim hooked the hammer in his belt and then greeted with a tip of his hat. "Afternoon, Spinner. Didn't expect to see you out our way. Did the boss send you calling?"

"No. I had to drop off some papers at the Laramie office and while I'm headed back to Cheyenne, I thought I'd stop in for a minute. You two have quite the jobs ahead of you tomorrow."

Slim shrugged. "No worse than others."

"I'd say it's worse than others. Along with the drivers, you two are gonna be sitting in the hot seats, right on top, where any good rifleman within range could take a perfect shot."

"I ain't worried about it," Jess said, feigning his actual work by dipping a paddle in a bucket of axle grease. "Why should you?"

Spinner's eyes on the house, he immediately noted the lack of a feminine touch. "You must not be family men, then."

"No," Slim answered, giving his head a tilt. "What about you? I heard that you tried out for one of the guard jobs but didn't qualify."

"No wife or kids, it was just that my rifle didn't measure up to be the best that kept me off the list. But maybe that makes me one of the lucky ones. My lack with a rifle, not my lack with women."

Jess barely gave the chuckling face a glance. "How so?"

"Even though no one knows about this but us company men and the law, the news could still travel. As I said before, you two are gonna be prime targets for anyone wanting a swipe at the money. If something goes wrong, Laramie's gonna have several funerals to attend."

"Nothing's gonna go wrong," Jess said, confidence rising, as was the volume of his voice. "Because no one knows about it but us company men and the law. And that's how it's gonna stay."

"I'm sure you're right. Well, I better get riding. Dark will be upon me before I hit home. Good luck, boys. I'll sure be thinking of you out there."

"Thanks, Spinner," answered Slim, giving the man a parting wave.

"Was it just me or did that visit seem kinda odd?"

Craning his head around the side of the stagecoach, Slim stared into the distance where horse and rider were about to take a disappearing turn. "No, I guess not. He's been working for the company for awhile now, adding up the figures instead of doing the duties that get all the glory. I guess he's just envious that he's not able to be on board like us. Think about it, Jess. If we get through this without a hitch, there just might be quite the publicity afterward."

"I don't risk my life for any glittering reward, and that goes for money as well as having my name in the newspaper."

"I know, but some men just might walk a little taller, smile a little brighter having that kind of attention. And the five hundred the company's handing out to us when the job's done doesn't hurt either."

"I reckon. Say, we haven't talked about it at all. What're you gonna do with your share?"

"I don't know, Jess," Slim said, his voice growing soft. "Let's have it in hand first, all right?"

"You worried?"

Wanting to push the undefined emotion he felt inside away, Slim smiled. "Only that we're not going to get the stagecoaches finished by dark like I promised."

"We will. Come bedtime, I'm gonna be patting my full belly and ready to count sheep, not hanging off the top of no dadgummed stagecoach."

.:.

Hand draped across his stomach, Jess' head rolled on the pillow, allowing his blue eyes to find the matching set of his partner as he was at work jerking off each boot. "Ben sure outdid himself tonight."

"I was about to say the same thing about you."

"I reckon. At least I didn't have to loosen my belt after all that pie went down, so there's that."

"Yeah," Slim said, sighing, but if there was any contentment left in his being from indulging in the sundown fare, it was being overshadowed by what Slim really was pushing past his lips. "I guess Ben wanted to give us well-heaped plates, considering it's our last meal here awhile."

"Did you hafta say it like it sounds so, I dunno, dadgummed permanent? Having the last meal's kinda close kin to getting our tombstones writ."

"I emphasized it being here."

"Not so I could tell."

Pants coming off, Slim draped the jeans over the foot of his bed and then gave both pillows a fluff. "It does make a man think, though. I mean, along the lines of what Spinner said today."

"You ain't getting cold feet, are you?"

Looking down at his socks, Slim gave every toe a wiggle. "No, Ben sewed all the holes shut."

The desired laugh unable to rise high enough to be emitted, Jess propped himself up on one elbow. "Seriously, Slim. What we're about to do is kinda daunting. I know there's gonna be four more men in each stagecoach keeping a rifle close, but if there is somebody itching for even a small percent of what we're guarding, you and me'll be the first ones going down."

"I know." Silence held out for a lengthy note, Slim ended it with another sigh, quieter this time, but still felt all the way into his core. "I wrote a letter to Andy and Jonesy."

"Oh, yeah? When'd you send it?"

"I haven't."

"Why not?"

"I gave it to Ben. If something goes wrong, I mean, if you and I don't come back, then they'll have a proper goodbye."

"Dadgum."

"I know I shouldn't be talking negative, but it's hard not to think of what could happen. Don't you have any concern, Jess?"

The frown worked itself up to Jess' forehead, furrowing each line as his eyebrows scrunched in thought. He preferred looking at the hardest jobs from the top view instead of whatever was wallowing down in the bottom. One of the few times he failed at keeping his eyes away from the floorboards was his trip with Father Elliott, or Padre as Jess called him. That ordeal turned out all right. Jess could still visualize his head in a shake, watching the man of God walking straight into a mass of Indians with nothing but a cross in hand. Again, that turned out all right. The padre survived, Jess wasn't even scratched and there was peace instead of war.

If only Jess could know that this ordeal was going to turn out just as fine. But while Jess knew how to pray, he even knew the direction that the Almighty lived, Jess knew he didn't have the kind of faith in this journey that the padre had possessed in his. The words might have come out this way earlier in the day, but Jess couldn't truly say that nothing was going to go wrong, and believe it.

"Jess?" Slim prompted, leaning closer to his partner in case his voice wasn't enough to open Jess' mouth.

"I heard you, Slim. I was just chewing on the answer." For another minute Jess laid in silence, staring at the nothingness that was the bedroom ceiling, and just when he thought it would be better off just to pull the blanket up and over his head, he shifted his gaze once more to find his partner's blue. "I reckon I'd be lying if I said there wasn't something in my belly instead of food."

Since it had already been said once, Slim offered Jess' tease back at him. "You're not getting cold feet, are you?"

"Nuh-uh. Having holes in my socks never've bothered me."

The pillow behind his back given a tug, Slim launched it into Jess' face. "Or having holes in your shirt and jacket and hat."

"What's wrong with that?"

"Nothing." Slim sobered, dropping his tone as well as his head. "Just make sure there are no holes in your body when this is through, all right?"

"I'll make that promise if you agree to the same."

Nodding, Slim held out his hand, and his eyes had to widen in surprise that Jess actually took the offered shake. "Agreed."

"We might be going different directions on those stagecoaches, but we're still in this together, Slim."

He had already given his promise, but there was nothing wrong with taking it even further with a nod. "All the way to the end, Jess."

Whenever that would be.

.:.

It was like any other morning. The sun not staggering in its rise, it broke through the horizon without the warning tones of red in the sky, promising perfect blue all the way to its set. Songbirds blinked away their slumber and practiced their chirps until the melodies flitted higher than their wings could flutter. Flapjacks and bacon hit frying pans over stoves bursting with enough heat to blister the bottoms of every coffeepot in the territory. Children rushed to school, drunks tottered home, chores were began and the first of many beads of sweat rolled down a freshly shaven cheek. It was like any other morning, except it wasn't like any other morning at all to the group of twelve men inside the Laramie stage office receiving their final instructions.

The deadpan drone of Gene Winslow stuck in their ears, they couldn't help but glance at each other, studying the stoic expressions and knowing that even without a mirror that their faces were just as etched in stone as the man next to him. Every one of them would have been a bit on the loco side if they didn't admit to having some fear, but these were hardened, seasoned men when it came to dangerous work. They wouldn't openly say what was making their hearts throb a louder rhythm in their chests even if Mr. Winslow asked each man if he was feeling all right. They would nod in resolute form, clutch their irons tighter, and walk in the same brave, unison stride when told, "Let's go, men."

The stagecoach that would be guarded with every fiber of his being behind him, Slim gave his partner a clap on the back. "Well, Jess. I guess this'll be it for awhile. I see you've got Rusty, Hank, Kelly and Jake on your team."

"You've got some pretty good names on your side, too. With Tex holding the reins, the money in your box's already there."

"Not quite." Slim tried to flex the tension between his shoulder blades. "Looks like the money's being placed right now."

Nodding, Jess held his rifle in a readied position as he shifted his gaze around town. No one was paying attention to them. Jess wasn't expecting trouble to offer them a wide-open stance this early on, but it would have been wrong to not give the street a thorough stare. There wouldn't be a single glance meeting Jess' narrowed blues in return. To the entire town of Laramie, this was just another morning, where stagecoaches were boarded and set out for destinations beyond their view.

"All right, it's loaded," the vice president said, giving the seat an extra thump with his palm. "I guess there's nothing left on my end but to send you off. Gentlemen, I wish you the greatest luck a man could have."

There were a few murmurs of thanks as each group of four entered the stagecoaches, but there would be mostly silence as the men took their positions. They didn't feel that luck was going to have any role in getting this job done. Maybe if their irons wouldn't need to be fired then they could say that perfectly dressed lady was along for the ride, but then again, that would better be suited as being called a blessing. No, luck wasn't what they wanted. These men merely desired for the trip to start and then soon end. But a lot of time and space would have to fit between the two. A lot of time and space.

The reins in hand, Tex looked down at his armed sidekick. "It's time to roll, Slim."

"Right."

Sensing his partner's inability to offer the parting word, Jess pushed any goodbyes away by giving Slim a literal shove toward the shotgun's chair. "Take it easy, Pard."

"You bet, Jess. I'll see you in Denver in three days."

Swinging up to his side of the coach, Jess jabbed his finger in Slim's direction. "I'll only show up if you're buying at the saloon. Oh, and that includes the fattest steak in town, too."

"Fine, but I get the tallest beer."

"Dadgum."

His smile was genuine, of that there was no reason for pretense, but as each team of horses was given the hearty command to start the journey, Jess felt the lifting of his cheeks weaken. It had started, this ride through hell. Jess would only smile again when he and his partner were safely on the other side of it.

Whenever that would be.

Jess' body jerked at the first turn, taking them out of Laramie. It wasn't from a hard bounce or that Zeke was encouraging the team on a reckless run, Jess just wanted one last glimpse of Slim. Hand up in the air, he waited until the returning wave disappeared and then let his gaze follow the path of the billows of dust.

There wasn't a sign of anyone coming behind them. Nothing lurked ahead, alongside or anywhere else. But why should there be? After all, only the men on board knew what was hidden there.

Or at least, that was everyone's prayer.