Chapter Four

It felt like someone was kicking him in the head. As Jess spread his fingers across his damp hair, he knew it couldn't be an actual boot, for the throb continued without the bones in his hands getting splintered by a pair of marauding leather and spurs. Lifting his lashes, Jess had to blink several times before the blue could see anything but a blur. When clarity came, he let his lashes fall again. It was far worse on this side of his nightmare.

A stout stick close enough to reach for, Jess used it as a support and pushed himself upright. Taking a step, he gasped, but even with a second whoosh of pain coming through his clamped teeth, Jess didn't think anything was broken. He just felt brutally beat from top to bottom and everywhere in between. Even if some vital part was reduced to a limp rag or had been completely ripped away, it wouldn't have stopped Jess from clopping alongside the stick until he got to the stagecoach. He had to know if they found the money.

It would only be ten seconds more before Jess' tight jaw went slack as he stared into the cut open space that used to be the driver's seat. "Dadgum. How'd they know?"

Hearing a groan, Jess hurried to the closest man and bending down, his kerchief wiped at the bloody brow. "Kelly, you still living or just pretending to be?"

"Jess?"

"Yeah, Kelly, it's me. Just lie low. You've taken quite the blow to your head. Looks like somebody drove a rifle into your skull. Me, I took the easier hit by getting bounced by the ground."

Eyes barely able to flash some color, he searched for Jess' ever-present blue. "Who did it?"

"I wish I knew."

"Did they get it?"

"All of it."

"Oh, no." Kelly's hand turned into a fist. "What about Slim's half?"

Jess stared into the uneven lines that made up the southeast horizon and sighed. "I wish I knew that too."

"Maybe they got through, all right."

Eyes back on Kelly, Jess tried to offer a smile, but it couldn't grow enough to be noticed. "We can hope. Rest, Kelly, so I can check the others."

It was obvious by the mangled position of Rusty's body what had happened to him. Kneeling beside the dead man, Jess felt the talons of guilt pierce his frame. Jess knew a bullet could have given Rusty's life over to the grave if he hadn't called Rusty to the top. Enough lead was certainly flying in every direction for it to happen, but it wasn't a gun that did this killing. It was Jess' command that pulled Rusty out of the stagecoach, taking him straight through death's door.

Lowering his lashes, Jess gave his head a slight shake. "I'm sorry, Rusty."

Suddenly seeing other faces, other names behind his closed eyes, Jess walked back to the stagecoach and flung open the door. There was no need to wonder about this death. Hank must have been wearing three bullets in his middle.

Anger taking over his every breath, Jess slammed his fist into the stagecoach's side. "I let my guard down for one second. One dadgummed second! And this is what happened!"

"Jess?"

He whipped around so fast Jess fell to the ground. The hit reminding his entire body of the assault already given to him, Jess couldn't regain his feet, even with his stick as a guide. The call coming again, fainter than the first, he wouldn't lie still. Crawling, Jess followed the whisper until he saw a hand, slightly moving against the ground like it was reaching for him, beckoning him to the last man's side.

Jess' heart sank. Without seeing the man's face, without knowing his injuries, still Jess knew that someone else was going to die today.

"Slim?"

He roughly shook his head. He knew it wasn't Slim lying there. It was Jake's blonde head matted with blood in front of him, but somehow all Jess could see was Slim lying just the same, unconscious, maybe even dead.

"Jess?"

The stronger cry pulling him faster across the ground, Jess paused by Jake's battered body. He had been right. The man wasn't going to make it. Jess' jacket coming off, he folded it under Jake's head and then dabbed at a bullet's line that had lacerated a cheek, so close to where Slim's scar sat on his face that Jess began to tremble. Again he had to remind himself that he wasn't hovering over his partner's dying body. But Jess couldn't help but wonder.

Was it within the mercy of the Almighty to have Jess say goodbye to his best friend, even while separated by twenty or more miles?

He choked on the man's name before rattling it out. "Jake, I'm here."

"Jess." He gulped, likely tasting a large dose of blood along with his spittle. "Jess, I gotta tell you something."

Cupping the man's chin, Jess turned Jake's face so their eyes could meet. Strange, but Jess had never noticed before how strikingly blue Jake's eyes were. Just like—No! He couldn't put his thoughts on Slim anymore, at least right now. This moment belonged to Jake and whatever last words were there on his tongue.

"What is it, Jake?"

"I saw one of them, Jess."

Vengeance giving him a kick in the gut, Jess closed his hand into a fist. "Who was it?"

"I didn't recognize him, but I'd never forget him. He was sitting on his horse, kinda tall, like. He had all the appearance of a leader. Dark hair, black hat with a thick silver band, and his rifle, it was a Sharps. There's something more, Jess. This wasn't just any Sharps, but it had some kind of emblem on it. Kinda shiny, kinda pretty, not hard to miss."

Nodding the information into his brain, Jess squeezed the man's shoulder. "I'll get him, Jake. I'll get all of them no matter how long it takes."

"Thanks, Jess, I…" He couldn't help but move. The pain was wracking his body so hard that Jake began to bend into it. That flex toward his middle would be the severing line that separated his body from his soul.

Recognizing the man's end was right in front of him, Jess bowed his head and offered a prayer for peace. It would be answered. Jake's gasp would be his vision changing from dark to light as the golden gates opened up to let him in.

But being left behind, stuck on the side of cruelty and hate, Jess couldn't feel any touch of gratitude against his soul that Jake's suffering had ended. There was something far greater for Jess to feel, and one day soon would get released. Someone else was going to suffer, something fierce.

Jess had already given the vow to the dying man. Now everything else that had ears would hear it too. "I swear I'll get you for this!"

Eyes red from tears that refused to be shed, Jess looked around him. Four of them were gone, which meant there were four graves to dig before he could head out after them. As Jess' gaze continued to sweep across the destruction, he suddenly realized what else was missing. The horses had long since scattered, but this wasn't the only thing that made the heaving of Jess' chest start to slow with defeat. There wasn't an iron left in sight. Jess could tell by the boot prints that someone had scoured the land. Out of all of the guns on board, and not a single one could fill his holster.

"Dadgum."

As he tamped the soil over the final grave, Jess tossed the weakening shovel aside and stared at the stagecoach. There would be no repairing it, not here, not at the ranch, not anywhere. It was firewood, nothing more. Although as Jess walked around the heap, he realized there would be something of use. Pulling the tarp from the back of the coach, Jess gave it a whack against the stagecoach's frame to release some of its dust. At least he could use this and some of the broken wood to act as a travois so Kelly wouldn't have to stumble along the road.

"Kelly?" Jess called, searching for the man's breaths when there wasn't any response. He was still alive. "Can you hear me, Kelly?"

It would have been nice to hear a voice other than his, in reality it was a good thing that the man didn't answer. Jess was going to have to pick him up and roll him into the litter's center. Knocked out as he was, Kelly wouldn't feel any pain. But for Jess, with every movement of his muscles and limbs like he was being bounced along the ground all over again, it was unfortunate that Jess couldn't do all of the work in the same unconscious state.

The sigh he heaved a great one, Jess wiped the sweat from his brow, but then Jess wondered if there was any point in raising his sleeve to his face. This wasn't going to get any easier. There was more to endure than putting Kelly in place. It was a long six miles until the next relay station.

If he got there by dark it would be a miracle. Maybe he should strike that thought and replace it with more truth. If Jess got there at all it would be a wonder. The moment he lifted the travois and took a step, Jess staggered, and the hard jerk of his body made his lashes flutter as his head lolled toward his chest. His inner anger gave it a hard toss.

"I gotta get going. I gotta get to Slim!"

That was the thunderclap into his ears that put strength back into Jess' legs. His jaw going tight, Jess started forward, pulling Kelly along behind him. With three miles traveled, it wouldn't have mattered how many times Jess repeated the chant. He wasn't going to make it before dark.

Hearing the sound in the distance, Jess' hand immediately slapped for his hip, but as his fingers came up empty, he remembered. All of the irons were gone. "Dadgum!"

Dusk heavy around him, even with narrowed lashes Jess couldn't make out any details of the man on horseback. But if he was wearing anything resembling the description that Jake gave him about the supposed leader of the gang that hit them, Jess would have to find a weapon. He looked at his fists, gripping into the rods that kept Kelly out of the dirt. He knew how hard they could swing, but even they didn't feel sufficient. The man responsible was going to pay a far heavier price than having a couple of teeth roll onto the ground.

The horse's hooves pounding hard to reach him, the light around him didn't have to fade any further, and finally Jess could see the tan hat with a simple, leather band. It wasn't him.

Falling to his knees, Jess looked up into a cloud of dust. "Help me."

Hands first went to Jess' face, but with the rough shake of the jaw in his clasp, the stranger followed the point to the travois. "He's worse off than me. I hope he's still alive."

"He's breathing, all right," he answered as he bent over the unconscious frame, and then his face immediately blanched. "It's Kelly."

Jess blinked, but it wasn't just dust on his lashes that needed clearing. His entire blue seemed to be fogging over. "You know him?"

"Yeah. He works for the stage line, just as I do."

Stumbling as he pulled himself to his feet, Jess reached for the man's arm to turn him, to be able to look into his unfamiliar gaze. "Who are you?"

"Leif Gardner. I work at the Ferris Relay Station. Rogue Ferris is my boss."

While Jess had never swapped any kind of howdy with him, he knew that name well enough to believe Gardner's to be true. "I'm Jess Harper. I was riding shotgun on the special run outta Laramie."

He looked from one bloodied temple to the other. "What happened?"

"The stagecoach was hit by some road agents a coupla miles back. Outta six of us, we're all that's left alive."

"And the money?"

Jess' blues narrowed. There really was no point in having his bristles grow. Of course Gardner would know about the fifty thousand they had been carrying. He worked for the Overland company, and the Ferris Relay Station was the next place they would have landed. They were even scheduled to hide the stagecoach on the man's property overnight. There was no threat in this man. Although Jess couldn't be sure. Wasn't this subject what he and Zeke had been talking about a minute before the guns started firing? One of their own could be pulling a gun on him.

But Gardner wasn't holding a gun, only Kelly.

Jess finally gave up his suspicion and swallowed. "It's gone. All of it."

"Wow. Someone must've been really brazen, taking on the lot of you."

"They were."

"Well, jawing will get us nowhere. I sure am sorry, Harper. I wish I could haul you both in on my horse, but I can't. Wait here and I'll get the boss and the buckboard."

Nodding, Jess sunk back to the ground. The dimming pink of the west pointing him to the left, Jess wished he could stare through every hill until he saw the most important piece of that southern ground. He wouldn't keep his gaze stuck to the horizon for long, and not because the feat to see Slim still in a gentle sway atop his stagecoach was an impossible one. Kelly groaning inside of his sleep, Jess gave his shoulder an encouraging rub, hoping that the touch would help him dive deeper into darkness and not creep closer to where the pain was.

Sighing when the man's lips went still, Jess returned his gaze to the south, his fear begging to be eased, but couldn't. "Be in better shape than this, Slim. Please."

.:.

He knew he was in bad shape the moment he moved. Likely Slim would be in better condition if he were lying flat, staring up to a pile of dirt over his face. There wasn't a part of his body that wasn't suffering some kind of pain. But there at his head, it was the worst. His fingers daring to crawl through his hair, he mentally offered a nod. The absolute worst.

A rock sitting sharply in his side, Slim rolled away from its painful pierce and quickly regretted the change of position. Another rock, this even larger, pressed so hard into his stomach that it threatened to overturn everything he ever ate. Long drafts of air doing nothing to quell the feeling, Slim ran his hands along the rock until he found a crevice. Digging each finger in, Slim pulled himself upright. He immediately went back down. The only difference was that this spin and drop took him onto the cushion of grass and the soft dirt that grew it, otherwise, another hit to one of those rocks and he would have done more than go unconscious. Slim just might have stepped across the earthen threshold to one that equaled Paradise.

His ankle was broken.

Slim's body begged him to stay down. He couldn't let it. Not until Slim knew what had happened to the rest of the men, to the money. But then again, did Slim even have to look? He could sense what was around him. Death had a silence like nothing Slim had ever heard, and the eerie quiet was screaming so loudly in Slim's ears that if he could translate it out of his mouth, Slim's shout could fracture the earth and bury everything around him.

A few minutes later, clinging to a stick that worked as a crutch, Slim wished that it hadn't merely been a gray part of his imagination. They were all dead. Two had taken their fall outside of the coach. By their positions, they must have exited on purpose to try to sway the battle in their direction. Each had a bullet hole where it counted the most. Inside the coach wasn't any better view, although Slim noted less blood. Percy, the oldest of the group by ten years wasn't stained with red at all. But he was still just as dead. Neck at an ugly bend, he must have taken a precarious fall somewhere in the hard hits against the stagecoach.

Slim reached out a hand to close the last man's eyes. Likely he never knew what hit him. Mercy at its finest, among torture at its cruelest.

He had already known Tex' fate, but seeing the man's lifeless body again made his passing even more final. Why had neither of those bullets hit Slim? He had felt their heat zinging past and then experienced the close call a dozen times more. Being the only man left alive, it was natural to take on a new emotion. Guilt was piercing his flesh even harder than if all of those bullets had made their mark up and down his frame.

"I'm sorry, Tex," Slim said solemnly, his head bowing as if in prayer, but in truth, this was his grief. "Some of that lead should've been mine."

Suddenly Slim's heart took on such a leap it could have belonged on the inside of the wildest stallion. "What about Jess?"

He turned toward the west, although with the light swapping places with dusk, maybe by now Jess would be rolling more southerly and be settling in for the night at Ferris' place. He hoped so, but Slim couldn't feel any of the uplift in that thought. Since this coach had been brutally attacked, why should Jess' coach be allowed to go free?

"Oh, Jess. Please be in better shape than I am." The hard throb against his chest seemingly going still, Slim looked around him. "Please be in better shape than all of us here."

Wanting something other than a cane by his side, Slim pulled a rifle from the stagecoach and gave its insides a check. It was empty, same as the belts that the men wore, but if anybody came calling in the night, they wouldn't have to know the irons didn't have any teeth. Tucking the rifle under his arm, Slim hobbled to the rear of the coach and pulled a canteen free. At least this was full.

Water going down his throat, Slim replaced the cap and then put his hand into the hole. It was futile to check. He knew this even before his fingers crawled through the broken space, that not a single stack of cash would fill his clasp. And he was right. They had it all.

The bitter anger made him spit. "How did they know?"

Again thinking of Jess, worrying over his partner and the money in his care, Slim's eyes followed the western hilltops until he was only seeing a deep blue. No, not quite. The brightest stars were beginning to shine, ready to turn the dusky hues into solid night. He would have a long wait until he knew the answer to Jess' fate. Certainly throughout this stretch of darkness, maybe even longer if no one rode in this direction anytime soon.

Slim sighed as his eyes trailed farther up, to wherever the front door of heaven sat. With the horses long gone, his ankle unusable, all that Slim could do was wait to find out how many of his friends crossed that far away threshold this day.

His back to the overturned stagecoach, Slim laid the rifle across his lap. The ache severe, it wouldn't take long for his head to find a resting place on his chest. He didn't know if he merely dozed off or if the complete darkness that belonged to unconsciousness wrapped him up tight, Slim only remembered waking with the crunch of a stick. There was a stranger standing over him.

Slim pointed the rifle at the man's forehead. "Who are you?"

"My name's Curly Gray," he answered, doffing his hat to point to his crop. "See?"

Slim nodded, but the rifle didn't waver. "The color of your hair doesn't tell me much."

"Maybe this'll do. I'm the owner of the Grayline Mine. This here's the trail up to it."

Somewhere in the middle of his throbbing skull was a snap. Remembering the name and where the stagecoach took its fall, Slim's eyelids fell to slits. Even among the shades of night, Slim could see that he didn't resemble anything close to a road agent. He looked like a miner, dirty with a fragrance to match. There was nothing sinister in this view, just concern. Curly Gray would be safe, maybe he would even come close to being an angel in disguise.

Lowering the rifle, Slim held out a hand. "I'm Slim Sherman from Laramie. I was riding shotgun on the stagecoach."

Handshake complete, his lips held out a long hum. "Doesn't look like there's much left to guard."

"There's not," Slim said, unable to stop the painful hiss as he attempted to move his leg. "I need some help, Mr. Gray. A lot of it."

"That you do, Son. That you do." Pulling his eyes away from the strained blue, Curly's jaw grew slack as he took in the entire scene. "Are you the only survivor of this wreck?"

"Yeah. I don't know how, though. I got knocked around pretty rough myself."

"So I see. I don't suppose you can walk on that ankle."

"No. It's broken," Slim answered, giving his side a gentle squeeze. "And that might not be the only part of me that fits that description, either. I landed in some rocks, and I think they did more than bite me."

"Well, I'll get you on up to my mine for the night. It's too far to travel to Stony's in the dark and staying here ain't gonna do your busted body any good."

"Thanks."

He nodded, but then was quick to clap his hands together. "Well, I reckon there's something to do before I can even think of supper and a cot. Or giving you one and the same."

Slim watched the man pull a shovel from his gear. "I'm sorry I can't help you do the burying."

"I reckon I'll be agreeing with you by the time I'm done. Five graves in ground like this. My back's gonna have a fit."

Slim listened to the shovel tear through the hard soil. Again and again each pound imitated the throb of his chest when the first bullet rang out. And then all of the others that followed. It must have sounded like a war going on before the smoke and dust went still. Slim didn't know where the time sat on a clock at that beginning point of ambush, which made it impossible to know how many hours had passed from the moment Slim lost his place on top of the stagecoach to now. He began to wonder if Curly Gray was within range of the constant roar of gun battle. But then there was this next thought. Considering the route of escape had to go along this road, could Curly give him a direction where the hooves of thunder rolled? Slim knew he couldn't fight them today, but a couple of tomorrows from now and he would be ready to be on the trail, hopefully with Jess by his side.

He leaned toward the shuffle and scrape across the ground. "Mr. Gray, when you were on your way up here, did you see or hear anybody hightailing it away from the road?"

Giving the ground over the last grave a stomp, he shook his head. "I figured by all the lead the stagecoach is wearing, and what some of these poor boys died from, that it was somebody's doing. You don't know who, huh?"

"No. There were a couple of them if I was counting the gunshots accurately. They targeted us on the main road. I gave a hard turn to try to avoid them, then we landed here."

"I wondered why you were so far off the beaten path. That musta been quite the ride, Son. As you can see, this ground is rather mean."

"So were the men that did it."

"What were they after?"

Slim's tongue hesitated on the answer. "Money."

"Kinda figured. Not many men'll do this kinda work for free. I guess I didn't give you an answer. But that's in part as there ain't none to give. No, Son. I didn't see or hear anyone making a hard skedaddle no place."

"I was afraid of that."

"Likely there'll be tracks come daylight if the wind don't blow them to pieces. It's been picking up the last hour, all right. Don't think it's gonna storm, though. Too starry out."

Nodding, Slim gave another look to the sky, even though he knew he could stare forever and still not see how many newcomers were standing on the other shore. "Please, not Jess."

"What's that?"

Slim rapidly gave his head a spin. "Just agreeing with you."

"Well, agree to this all the more. Get up now. As long as I can push you up on my mule, you can ride on home."

Slim did get seated on what felt like an old swayback. Again it wouldn't take long to nod off. The back and forth motion that came too close to a rocking chair had him out before Curly Gray started huffing to the tune of a sharp incline. It wouldn't be until the older man's hands began tugging on his waist that Slim's lashes parted. The view was so black, Slim wouldn't have known he was aroused if Curly wasn't grunting in his ear.

"You're gonna have to lean on me. If I have to drag you, we'll both be going down. My mule weighs less than you."

"He always did say I was big enough to eat hay," Slim said under his breath.

"I hope you're mumbling about obliging. I said, you're gonna have to lean on me, so lean on me!"

"Sorry." Clearing it, Slim gave his throat more volume. "Right."

When his one boot hit the hard slab he realized why everything resembled the deepest pit. He was inside the Grayline Mine. It was an eerie feeling being swallowed up by the earth, like he was being lowered into his grave. He tried to shake it off, that there was nothing to fear in this place. This dark hole would be his hotel room for the night, not a permanent lodge.

But then, like how all of his thoughts were so easily being turned toward, Slim thought of Jess. The panic of an impending grave for his partner instantly made Slim want to flee, but his ankle wouldn't let him run. Neither would the old man. Slim was leaning on him as instructed, but the miner was stronger than he wanted his guest to believe, for Slim wasn't doing much work, being mostly carried into the inky hole.

Squeezing his eyelids tight, Slim tried again to shuck loose from the dread. It couldn't be done. Eyes closed, it was an even darker view, an even deeper sensation inside of his chest.

His fear increasing, Slim couldn't help but wonder if this emotion being fed to his insides by a giant spoon was because at the same moment Jess was experiencing similar darkness. Because he was being lowered into a grave, because his partner was dead.