Chapter Six

"Can you make it, Slim?" Mort's grunt pushed past his question, making his breaths short as he lifted Slim from the saddle.

"Not very well, but I think so. As long as Jess doesn't let go of his end."

"I ain't. Dadgum. And here you said you've been getting skinny on my cooking."

"On your cooking, yes, but not on Ben's."

"I reckon that's why you never let me tie an apron around my waist anymore. Can you reach the doorknob, Mort?"

"Yeah, as long as you've got a tight hold, I can open the door."

"If it's as tight as my jaw, we're good," Jess said, going forward when he heard the hinges creak.

Slim's weight drooping him at the waist, Jess missed the fact that Mort's chair was filled, that a pair of legs were propped on his desk and the most important feature in this scene, that there was a rifle pointing right at him.

"In the corner chair, Jess," Mort said, arms stretching around Slim's shoulders to ease him down.

"All right, I gotta turn around or Slim's gonna sit on me. There."

"You comfortable enough, Slim?" Mort asked, wiping at the sweat that drained from his brow. "I could get a pillow."

"No thanks, Mort, I'll be…"

"That's not where a criminal goes."

Three heads spinning to the left, Mort's jaw went slack. "Winslow."

"I figured you'd be hesitant to bring them in, Cory. So I just decided to wait here and make sure that you did."

Fists poised on his hips, Mort couldn't help but huff. "They're here, aren't they? Maybe not before dark set itself in solid colors, but I got them here."

His head nodded along with the rifle. "I see that, but they're not locked up. Why, it looks as if you've only invited them over for supper."

"I don't see any need for cell doors clanging shut," Mort said, putting his badge between the rifle's point and his friends. "And for the record, if it's supper they want, supper they'll get."

"I showed you all the necessary need on the road this morning. But if I must repeat myself, I'll say it however many times I have to until you make the arrest."

"Mr. Winslow, let's be reasonable about this. These boys haven't done any…"

His hand slapped the desk with as much fury as if the gun had gone off. "Then why are they the only ones alive? I've heard that the only other survivor is Jed Kelly and his head's in far rougher shape than whatever Harper claims to have. If they're so innocent, why aren't they dead or at least close to knocking on that underground door?"

"Look at Slim." Jess' chest performing in anger's most violent form of heaving, he pointed to his partner. "Do you think anyone'd willfully put himself in such a mess?"

"I think most men would do just about anything for his share of a hundred thousand dollars, even taking the kind of fall that would make him look like a victim. Just like you did, Harper. Sherman's problem was that his tumble went a little more out of control. Maybe that's because he's not as experienced at this outlaw business as you."

"Why, you…"

"Jess," warned Mort with his deepest voice, "let me stay between you. Or as it should be, let this badge do its duty."

"I don't think I can, Mort. If he keeps going like he is, my fists are gonna flatten him, no matter what's between us."

"Let everything he says bounce off the star, Jess. It's made sturdy enough."

Standing, Winslow repositioned the rifle to rest in the crook of his left arm. "I see that you value your badge, Sheriff. Maybe we should find out how much. Arrest them both, right now, or I'll take that badge right off your chest."

Slim watched as Mort's fingers rose, but the moment the prongs began to loosen, Slim hauled his battered body out of the chair. "Don't take it that far, Mort. We'll go to jail."

Jess' eyes gave Slim a sharp slap. "Speak for yourself!"

"Jess," Slim said, tugging at his partner's arm, so stiff and ready for a fight that even his touch couldn't make him bend. "Let's just get back there before Winslow makes it worse for all of us."

"Dadgum, I ain't gonna…"

"Jess."

How Slim could sound like his father when he had never had that kind of experience before? Yes, there had been the rearing years of Andy, but this tone was far different than anything Jess had heard come from Slim's lips before. For a moment, all Jess could do was stand still, staring in the blue eyes that held the combination of love and sternness, the kind that could make even the rebellious feet of a teenager to move in the desired direction. But was the memory of Jess' pa enough to make him start to walk? His hesitation seemed to prove its own point, but then Slim's head gave a swing toward the back room. With eyes cast to the floor, Jess obeyed as if he were being toted to the woodshed.

Although like any rough-neck son would do, he did balk before getting behind the bars, only taking that final step to make room for Slim as he leaned into Mort's side. "Dadgum."

"I should've let him have it," Mort said as he ran his thumb across his tin title. "It'd be better than this, anyway."

"No, Mort. If you did, then there might be an unfriendly face on the other side of these bars, a face that I wouldn't want to see."

"I suppose you're right, Slim. But it's hard to listen to the loudest man in the room when my own being's screaming even louder."

Slim nodded toward the inner door. "He's upset. I know it's no excuse, but I can't imagine how I'd feel if I lost a thousand dollars. The company's lost a hundred times that much. Considering this whole venture was Winslow's responsibility, the executives and presidents are crawling all over him to have someone to point his finger at."

"Yeah." Jess grunted as he put a fist into the wall. "Us."

The silence too difficult to let linger, Mort handed Slim an extra pillow for his cot. "Better lie down, Slim. I'll go over and get Doc Sweeney to come and take care of your ankle."

"Tell him to bring a large bottle of laudanum along with. I reckon this is one time where I ain't gonna cry foul about being poisoned. Downing that stuff'll be the only way I'm gonna sleep for a long time."

"Either of you want any food?" At the pair of head shakes, Mort clanked the keys in his hand. "All right, I'll be back in a bit with the doc."

With the sheriff's sigh leading the way, the iron door went shut, the lock went turned, and two heads bowed in despair.

.:.

"Dadgum." Jess paced the small square that had been called home for two days. "Why'd I ever give up smoking?"

"Because I told you to."

"Yeah, well, I had to have some say in it or I'd still be blowing more'n steam outta my mouth. Can't have whiskey, gave up smoking, so how'm I gonna ease these squirrels from building a nest in my gut?"

"Neither whiskey nor tobacco's going to ease your gut for long, Jess," Slim said, stretching his leg. Stuck to the corner cot, it seemed giving his lower limb a flex was all he could do since Doctor Sweeney put a cast around both foot and ankle. "Nor will it touch my leg."

"I know. But I still wish I had something strong going down, and no, coffee ain't gonna cut it no matter how strong Mort makes it. I need a light, or a stick of dynamite between my teeth, or a… Dadgum. Why didn't I think of this before? Dadgum, dadgum! That's it!"

Again Slim stretched, only this time it was to rise higher on the bunk. "What?"

"I remember something about the robbery," he answered, and then with his hands in a tight grip of the bars, Jess pressed his face between the open space. "Mort!"

In the room in a hurry, Mort looked from one pair of blue to the other. "What's wrong, Jess?"

"I know who did it! Listen, I went straight into nothing right after the crash, but something stirred me outta it long enough to make some of my senses twitch. I smelled cigar smoke. Just like a pair of old, wet boots were sizzling over a fire."

"A lot of men smoke cigars, Jess. It'd be impossible to pin a thief to a wall just by how bad his breath smells."

"But there's only one that's gonna smell this bad. Spinner. It had to be Spinner!"

Slim snapped his fingers. "That's right. He was at the ranch while we were redesigning the stagecoach seats. We didn't show him what we were doing, but if he looked long enough from the ridge, he could've figured it out. And that day he visited, he was smoking a cigar that smelled like a pair of wet, old boots were sizzling over a fire."

"I'm sorry, boys."

"What about? Go drag Spinner outta that Cheyenne depot and hang him up by his toes until he talks. And if that don't work, bring him in here so he can be a better punching bag than that wall over there's been. I can spill his guts and the truth at the same time."

"I wish I could do just that, but Spinner has an alibi, Jess."

"How tight? If it's got even the slightest bit to unravel, somebody's gotta give it a tug. I'd be honored to put it in my hand."

"I'm afraid it's the tightest kind, Jess. The day I picked you both up, Winslow hired a detective to interrogate every employee on the line. He just finished giving everyone the once-over yesterday. A.J. Spinner was witnessed as coming into his shift at his regular time and was there all night long. There's no way he could have been where your stage was wrecked and in Cheyenne at roughly the same time."

"Dadgum, I was so sure!"

Mort let his head slowly nod. "I know. Well, if you think of anything else, let me know right away."

Unable to pull away from the bars, Jess kept his gaze locked with the sheriff's. "What about Kelly, Mort? He offer any insight to the robbery?"

"No, Jess. His only memory is in the moment he woke up and someone hit him over the head. He didn't see anyone, hear anyone, nothing."

Jess' eyes suddenly widened. "Jake did."

"What's this about Jake?"

"He saw one of them, Mort! Dadgum, I've been so caught up in all this madness that I forgot about this too. Before Jake died, he told me about a man he saw on horseback. He described him as some kinda leader. Tall in the saddle, black hat with a thick silver band. Oh, and there's some kinda emblem on his rifle. A Sharps. That can't be hard to find."

"While I believe there's someone carrying that description out there, Jess, no one's going to be parading around these parts after what he's done with all of his tell-tales wide open. He wouldn't be just hard to find, he'd be impossible to find."

Jess' fist bounced off his thigh. "You make it sound hopeless, Mort."

"It only sounds that way, Jess, but it's not. That said, though, I don't have anything to perk you up after looking over both crash sites yesterday. The tracks that I did happen across led to nowhere. I'd imagine they left those on purpose. The route they really took, they really wiped clean. But don't give up. They're out there, and I'll look to my dying day if I have to. I know you two aren't guilty."

"Thanks, Mort," Slim said from his cot, trying to ease the frustration of his brows by continuing to stretch his painful leg. "It's good to know that someone believes in us."

Mort smiled. "I guarantee there's more than one in this town."

"As long as they don't talk to Mr. Winslow, that is."

The corners of his mouth already down, Mort nervously shuffled his boot. "I suppose I should warn you about someone who has been talking to Winslow. It's just a rumor right now, though. Someone named Chesterfield's due in anytime."

"The detective you mentioned?"

"No, his name's McLaughlin."

"Then who's Chesterfield?"

Mort eyed the one who asked and then shifted his gaze to Jess. "Some mucky-muck on the Overland's payroll."

"Dadgum. As serious as you sound, he's gotta be some fella. What's he gonna do, come shake us until the money falls outta our pockets or something?"

"Something like that, Jess, and I hear he uses the kind of tactics that a man toting a badge won't use. I guess that's why McLaughlin's not the one coming to visit and Chesterfield is. Of course this is just the word going down with the whiskey shots, but sometimes that's the most reliable kind. The Overland's plan is that if you give them what they want to hear, your sentences might not be so hard to endure."

"Dadgum. But we don't got any answers at all."

"I know, Jess. Just be prepared for when he comes, even if silence is all you'll give him."

"When'll that be?"

"Too late in the day now to expect him, Jess. I'd watch for him tomorrow, though."

.:.

From the moment the sun lit the eastern sky enough to turn the inside of the cell walls gray instead of black, Jess perched himself in the window to watch for the unwelcome guest's arrival. It didn't matter that Jess didn't know what Chesterfield looked like. Anyone resembling a city dude would gain his attention. He saw one step off the stagecoach, but Jess' eyes didn't have to start an intense scrutiny. This man immediately turned and helped an even finer dressed woman down. The husband and wife then went inside the hotel to charm the clerk for the best room Laramie had to offer.

It was within that same hour, though, that Jess' back began to straighten at the sight of a man on the front step of the bank. Since he didn't go in through the front door, out went the thought of him making Mr. Simpson happy with a sizable deposit. All it seemed that he was there for was to use the large front window as a mirror. His perfectly positioned tie getting an unnecessary tug, his palm sliding over his hair and then a pat to the briefcase under one arm, it seemed he was ready. Polished boots given a spin against the boardwalk, he pointed his nose toward the sheriff's office.

"He's coming, Slim. And it looks like the rumors left one part out."

"What's that?"

"He's a bigheaded snake."

"Most higher-ups are."

"You're my boss. So what's that make you?"

"Very funny," Slim said, using a crutch the doctor had brought over to help him to the barred door. "You still want to give him a bowl of sour applesauce like we talked last night?"

"Don't you?"

"Yeah."

The steps making their approach, the door to the jail room came open. The suit in front of them, a silent message passed between the two partners as their similar blue collided. They had talked well past the darkest hours of this. While fists could never be offered, they weren't going to go down without a fight. And sitting in stone silence while being raked by an expensive tongue wasn't their idea of a fight.

"Give it back, pound by pound," Slim said at the time of their original nod.

"Better than that, we'll be the one to throw the first punch."

Promise kept, Jess put himself directly across the bars from the freshly shaven chin. "Well, look it here. Company. Most prisoners don't get to see more than a cleaning woman's mop. We must be of the privileged set or something."

Throat cleared, he gave each man a nod. "Sherman, Harper."

"You seem rather forward, Mister," Slim said, keeping his voice cool even while he felt the temperature rising in the man beside him. "Calling us by our names when you haven't bothered to offer yours. Although I must admit we have an advantage. We hear it's Chesterfield. Is that right?"

"Yes. I'm Rick Chesterfield," he answered, flashing an identification card in both men's faces. "Special Investigator for the Great Central Overland Mail covering Montana, Wyoming and Colorado Territories."

"He ain't just a bigwig, Slim, but a bigwig with a big handle."

Slim gave Jess a sideways glance. "He's not all that impressive from where I stand."

"Me either. In fact, he looks about as important as the loser of last week's frog jumping contest."

"Go ahead and spew your smoke, gentlemen. I'm not easily offended."

"Looks like your suit'd be easily ruffled," Jess said, giving the silken kerchief blossoming out of his front pocket a tug. "How about that?"

His nose producing a snort, Chesterfield swatted Jess' hand away. "I'm not that, either."

"Not from where I'm viewing," Slim said, grin so close to his mouth that he gave one edge a lift.

"Let's put the sharp tongues aside and get down to business. Now, where's the money?"

Looking at Slim, Jess tipped his head in Chesterfield's direction. "He didn't just get down to business. He opened up the door, walked right in and helped himself to supper."

"Your jokes are useless behind bars, Harper. In fact, your entire being is useless behind bars. So why don't you come clean? Where's the money?"

"I don't know."

"You must've hidden it somewhere out there. While you must think you're rather smart, all anyone else can see is how much of a dumb move that was. You'll never get your hands on it. Never. So tell the truth, Harper. Where is it?"

"I don't know."

"All right. It's obvious that you weren't in this alone. And no, don't look at Sherman. I'm not talking about him."

"I don't see nobody else in jail with me other'n Slim."

"That could change, Harper. Doesn't it stick in your craw a bit that whoever else you had on your side is running free? Give me some names and I'll make sure they get their due time behind bars."

"I don't got any other names because I wasn't in on the robbery with those that did it. Say, that's an idea. Why don't you go blow your breath in their faces awhile? You might make them squirm, but not me."

"I can make you squirm, Harper."

"Wanna bet?"

"Sure. I bet you one hundred thousand dollars. Now, where is it?"

"I don't know."

"Don't you understand what you're up against? All you have to do is start singing and things can go easier on you."

"I don't know the words to the song."

"Listen to me, Harper. You too, Sherman. The money won't open this cell door. It can't loosen the noose around your neck. It can't make your life any happier while in prison. But I can. The company is willing to make things easier on you if you cooperate. So talk."

"No."

"Sherman?"

"Same as what he said. No."

"One last time! Where's the money?"

"I don't know."

"All right, then there's this." The man's hands flexed toward Jess' face.

"If you think you can pound some truth outta me, go ahead. But I'll tell you right now, it ain't gonna get you any answers than the same ones you've already heard."

Hands lowering, the rest of Chesterfield flinched.

"Well, look at that, Slim. He said he was gonna make me squirm, but it looks as if it's the other way 'round."

Slim couldn't help but chuckle. "Not so polished now, are you, Chesterfield?"

"Never was, Pard."

"All right, Harper, Sherman. I figured this could be the easy way, but since you're choosing the uglier road, so be it. Since Laramie's judge is out of town, the company has requested Judge Shaffer from Butte, Montana to hear the case. And I hope the sentence is sure and swift." He turned, giving one last glare, his ugliest one yet. "And permanent."

The slammed door was still chiming its echo when Slim turned toward Jess. "Nice fellow."

"Yeah," Jess answered, kicking his cot into the corner. "Makes the men I used to run around with look closer to angels."

"The devil wears all kinds of clothing, Jess."

"I reckon, but what kinda outfit'll Judge Shaffer be wearing?"

"I don't know." Already bowed, Slim shook his head. At the sound of the door coming back open, he whipped it back up. There would be no point letting his eyes start to smolder or put a sharp edge to his tongue all over again. It was just Mort. "Lunchtime already?"

"In a bit. I guess the rumor mill was close to being truth. That city dude from the Overland company told me what he was fishing for while he stormed out. I'd imagine by his expression he didn't have a single nibble."

Slim threw his hands out wide. "How can we offer him a nibble, Mort? We don't have any idea where the money is!"

"I know. I said as much to the back of his striped suit before the office door went closed."

"I doubt Slick Rick'd hear anything but what he wants to. Maybe we shoulda gave him some cockamamie place to go dig through for awhile, get his pressed suit mussed up."

"That wouldn't serve any purpose, Jess, other than being able to smile a little while we're in the lockup."

"Yeah. I reckon it'd take more'n that to make me feel any better than what we're about to face. Like a piece of a rope, perfectly fitted around my neck."

"What do you think, Mort?" Slim asked, the fear starting to make his collar feel uncomfortably tight. "Are we gallows bait?"

"I wish I had something positive to say, but I…"

"Then you better not say it," Jess interrupted with a head shake.

"Probably not, but I'll tell you this much. I'll do everything within my power to keep your necks from stretching."

"So we can keep a jail bunk warm?"

"Yes, Jess, that's about it. But it goes further than that. As long as you're in one of those cells keeping a jail bunk warm, I can keep trying to haul you out of the pen someday. For sure, if you're buried, I can't go to digging you out."

He hated sounded so desperate, but as it was the heaviest emotion inside Jess' core, it was all he could release. "You have any leads, Mort?"

"No more than what you've already told me."

"Then you might as well pull the black blankets over our eyes, because once that trial starts, we're dead men."

"Have you heard when the judge comes?" asked Slim, hobbling back to his bunk.

Mort wished he could lie, or at least hold off his nod. He couldn't do either. "That was the real reason I came in here, not just to badmouth that stiff-shirt named Chesterfield. Judge Shaffer arrives in Laramie on tomorrow afternoon's stage. The trial starts the day after."

"And I reckon it finishes on the same day, too. Dadgum. We better start thinking about what we want for our last meal, because I know whatever's gonna be served in that courtroom ain't gonna be good."