Chapter Nine

They stood outside of the prison, wrapped in so many chains that even the slightest movement from head on down, they clanked. Considering his normal stride was encumbered by more than one row of iron links, Slim's rattle was louder than the menacing tune Jess could clamor. His limp was the culprit. Making him slower than Holloway preferred, the jingle of Slim's lower half would turn into a full chorus when he was jabbed in the back by a rifle's pointy nose.

"Hurry up."

Jess bit his tongue. The amount of times Jess had crashed his teeth down to silence the bitter retort that seemed to permanently sit on the tip, it should have been severed by now. He did taste blood, but Jess wouldn't give Holloway the satisfaction of a single spit. If he did, Slim just might get another wallop from behind.

It had happened before, not long after noon on the first of the ten day journey. Holloway stopped them for an overdue break, for water, among other things. Jess had completed his behind-the-stump business, but Slim's slowness hindered him from even getting to the nearest bush.

"Since you're so reluctant to move," said Holloway, "go right where you're standing."

"Ease off!" Jess shouted, lunging at the rifle that seemed to never be far from Slim's back. "Can't you see he's hurt?"

"Sheriff Cory said it was fixed by a doc. So what's his hang up?"

Slim barely turned his head. "It can't mend just like that. It still hurts."

"So grit your teeth and walk. We haven't got all day."

The gritted teeth were easily accomplished. Both men had been wearing the tight frown since the curt introductions were swapped in Laramie. But adding a swift pace with the clamping of his jaw, especially when Slim's entire body was stiffened by being chained inside an uncomfortable wagon bed, would be impossible. When Slim's forward step wasn't any faster, the rifle returned to his back. Jabbing, poking, forever prodding, but when Jess' irons began to clamor to the tune of his inner fury, the rifle's eye became fixed on him.

"You might as well get this straight right now, Harper. I'll use this if I have to. Everywhere but a death hit. On you, or on him, whichever punishment is best suited for the occasion. And just so you know, I'm about to plant this butt over another butt in ten seconds if Sherman doesn't do his business."

Jess looked away when Slim dropped his pants. It riled him even further that Holloway never blinked. And that was just the beginning of the trip. Every day something would be worse than the torture of the day before. Since they weren't granted the luxury of a tumbleweed wagon, with no hats, no covering but the clothes on their backs, they were wide open to every element, and as the air grew hotter, more painful to endure, even the sun mimicked Holloway's rifle and beat on them without mercy.

All those hated memories looked rather different now that the prison was in front of them. No matter what the tin star could do to them, both men would rather go back with Holloway. What they were facing was a far worse view than anything out in the desert.

This was Yuma.

"Get up," Holloway said, again giving Slim a tap on the behind, and again, Jess clamped his teeth on his tongue.

They moved dutifully forward, like a pair of cattle being escorted to slaughter, complete with eyes rolling around, searching for an escape, even if they knew there wasn't one. Up the stairs Jess clanked, Slim shuffled, and then reaching the main entrance, they were forced still. Just when Jess figured Holloway was about to pound the request in his partner's back to open the door, a uniformed guard appeared on its other side, pulling it wide.

"You're late," he said stiffly.

"Couldn't help it," Holloway answered, giving his charges a pair of taps between each shoulder blade. "One's lame. Hermiston available?"

"In his office."

"Then let's get there. Sherman, Harper, no dawdling when the big man's waiting."

"And here all these days on the trail I thought that was you," Jess said, not surprised that he received another poke, this time so that it would hurt when he sat down. "I sure wonder what you'd look like with that thing wrapped around your neck."

Holloway gave one last push to enter the warden's office, to both of them as he didn't like the glint coming from Jess' eye. "You'll never find out."

"Marshal Holloway," the warden said, not bothering to stand, not bothering to offer a handshake. He must have been too important for that. "I've been expecting you since yesterday. I thought maybe you'd been into some trouble."

"No. It's just a long stretch from Wyoming, Sir."

"Wyoming, huh? It's a lot hotter down here than what they'll be used to. Oh, well."

"Here are their papers, Mr. Hermiston."

Brows scrunched, he read each man's page as if he was studying them, one more particular than the other. "Which one's Sherman?"

As if being called upon by an officer in the Army, Slim's back went immediately straight. "I am."

"Well now, Mr. Sherman," said Hermiston, giving the sheet a tap that a woodpecker would have been proud of. "I understand you're a rabble-rouser."

"I see nothing of the sort, Sir."

Jess glanced at his partner, hiding his wince as he expected another thwack from behind. It didn't come. But then again, with the passing over of their records, they were out of Holloway's hands now. They were in prison.

The man in charge leaned closer to Slim. "So you deny you being sentenced to contempt of court?"

"No. But I paid my fine."

"That may very well be, but paying what's due doesn't wipe your record clean. You'll be watched, Sherman." He swung his beady glare to Jess. "I've already read your history. Very colorful."

Jess' teeth flashed, but a smile it was nowhere near. "I'm glad you like it."

"You will also be watched, Mr. Harper. Carefully, I might add." Raising his hand, Hermiston gave his fingers a snap. "Guards!"

Jess watched the pair approach. "Dadgum, one for the each of us."

"Silence unless you're spoken to, Harper."

"Yes, sir."

"I said silence!"

"But you spoke to me, Sir."

Cheeks like beets, he tore the drab garb from the guard's outstretched hands and flung both top and bottom in Jess' face. "Over there. Put them on. You too, Sherman, and be quick about it."

Jess' hands raised, he gave the bracelets a twirl. "Ain't gonna be easy with these on."

"Holloway. Take the shackles off the prisoners."

Jess thrust his wrists toward the marshal's badge. "Kinda nice to have someone boss you around for a change."

"You have no reason to be so smart, Harper. This is your home now, and I get to ride away from here. Maybe I'll go bask by a cool, clear lake and fish the rest of the day away. And what is it that you'll be doing? Oh wait, I know. Rotting in prison."

He thought the days stuck in Holloway's presence had built up all the hatred Jess could muster for a single man. He was wrong. Jess could have easily tacked on the extra dose by the unnecessary blabber that came from Holloway's mouth, but it wasn't the thought of him sitting lakeside that made his insides roil. He hated Holloway even more for being right. But that wouldn't be the worst emotion Jess would feel today. There was still another to come, because Jess was going to hate Yuma even more.

With a simple turn to both ankles and wrists, the shackles fell to the floor. It was instinctive to reach for the burn that had existed since first being latched into place. They were raw now, weeping from where the skin had been excessively shaved and Jess' thumb started to circle around the loudest ache. Jess wouldn't even get more than that single moment to rub his abused wrists.

A guard's palm smacked him into the shoulder. "Warden said to get changed, and he doesn't like to be kept waiting."

He looked at the man, features set as severely as any Texas brute that Jess wondered if the guard should have been behind bars himself. Jess might have let the last dose of retaliation in his veins go to the bald man with a distorted nose, but he needed to stay with Slim, even if the temptation was stronger than the scent of whiskey directly under his nose. The other guard, maybe not quite as ugly as the one behind Jess, was pushing Slim just as firmly, and instead of standing on fighting ground like Jess was more than willing to do, Slim was limping forward.

"At least we get a room to change in," Jess said at their entry into the small square with no windows. "Smells like an outhouse, though."

"Stripes," Slim said, scrunching the shirt with one hand. "They really go all out in this place."

Jeans cast aside, Jess pulled up the pants and tied the oversized strings at his waist. "You ever been in a prison before, Slim?"

"Yeah. When Frank Buckley was serving his first year, I visited him. It was near his birthday. Jonesy made him some cake. I said I'd come back, but never did."

"That's how it is when you're in one of these fancy hotels. Once you take a look, you never wanna go back. Until you have to."

The shirt missing a pair of buttons at the bottom, Slim started to tuck the tails into his pants. That was when he noticed the long ago blood stain. "Nice. I've got a used pair."

"I reckon they're all hand-me-downs. Only yours looks a lot older. See how much they're faded compared to mine?"

Nodding, Slim shoved the leftover fabric down his pants. "Someone didn't get the memo."

"How's that?"

"You're the one usually wearing the holes and stains."

Jess wished he could offer his partner a smile, but somewhere along the trail to Yuma, he had lost the spark that would have made him famous if there was ever that kind of competition to enter. "Slim."

"I know, Jess. Holes and stains and alike have never bothered you."

"That ain't what I was gonna say, I was gonna…"

"Hurry up in there!" The door swung wide, revealing a rifle and a pair of bulging eyes. "You're not dressing for a party!"

"Keep your shirt on," Jess snapped back at the guard, leaving the buttons of his black and white shirt left open over his bare skin. "And I'll do the same."

"No back talk," he said, forcing both men out of the closet-sized room. "Now step over to the far wall and stand over the white X. Harper first."

Jess eyed the rifle that waved in front of him. "What for?"

"Your picture needs to be taken," Hermiston answered from his desk. "Since there's always a chance of a successful prison break, every prisoner has to have his face in print. That way the newspapers and law offices for miles on end can have your smile available for everyone to see. And you aren't properly fit for photographs without wearing your prison gowns. So get on the X like you were told."

Jess tugged on both tails. "I reckon these ain't my best colors."

Grinning at Jess, the guard gave Jess' shoulder a tap with the nose of his gun. "How do you feel about red? You'll be bleeding all over your clothes, top and bottom, if you don't do as you're told."

Stepping over the mark, Jess stared ahead of him. He was only going to look into the nothingness that was the wall, but then Hermiston was standing in his view. Apparently he didn't just sit behind a desk all day thinking up ways to irritate his prisoners. He also knew how to take photographs.

"Stand up straight, Harper."

Firming his back, Jess made the line of his mouth just as hard.

"Fix the hair over your forehead. It looks like a mop."

Hand up, Jess flipped the wayward curl where it belonged. It flopped right back. "I reckon you're just gonna have to take what you can get."

"No talking. You'd think I was taking a toddler's picture and not a hardened criminal."

"I reckon that's because I'm not a hardened criminal."

"That's not what your papers say, Harper. But since you're literally sitting up and begging for a response. Give Harper what daddies do to their misbehaving toddlers."

He expected the gun to whack him. It was a piece of leather. The strap going over Jess' backside, he forced his teeth to the kind of tightness that wouldn't let out a single wheeze. Jess didn't flinch as the sizzle hit his rump a second and third time, but his hands were altogether different. Jess couldn't stop them from rolling into their own tight wad. The only thing that prevented him from taking a swipe at the guard was that he was done giving Jess the switch and he stepped out of Jess' reach.

"Now that's perfect, Harper. Stiff as a board, with enough red in your cheeks to make you not look pasty. Keep that shot steady. All right. That's it! You're next Sherman."

Jess didn't watch Slim's experience getting his photograph taken. His eyes couldn't let go of the guard that had struck him, and inside Jess' mind was his own photograph getting taken all over again. This time, he was connecting with the guard's jaw, breaking every bone so hard that they rained onto the floor.

The guard's jab against his side brought Jess back to reality. "Where do you want them, Mr. Hermiston?"

"They go in rows three and four. Sherman's number thirteen. Harper's twenty-two."

The door of the warden's office going closed, Slim nudged Jess' shoulder. "You all right?"

"Just fine," Jess lied.

"You were going to tell me something when Broken Nose came to call."

"My name's Hogan. Get it right."

Slim let his shrug go stiff. "Sorry. When you don't know a name, it's easy to make one up by what you see."

"Then consider your name Dunce Cap. Although in this instance, you don't sit in a corner. You sit in a cell. That way, Duncie."

"Why, you…" Jess' hands rose and stretched, dangerously mimicking the grip of a tight strangle.

"Don't, Jess."

Hogan spun, and easily catching Jess' right hand, he jerked it hard around his back, allowing the other arm, and his rifle, to crash into Jess' neck. "I know all the tricks, Buddy. Got it?"

Nodding, Jess' chin bounced off the rifle's barrel. "So my name's Buddy, huh? Not a bad choice."

As he released his prisoner, Hogan pushed Jess in front of him. "You'll be in my sight from this moment on. Now get moving!"

"Jess."

He almost expected that father-like expression to be set into the lines of Slim's face, but as he turned, all Jess noticed was the deep etches of concern. "Yeah?"

"Aren't you going to tell me what you wanted to say earlier?"

"Oh. I was gonna ask if you remembered what you said to me when we were talking about holes in our clothes that night before hell came to call."

He hated that it was already hard to picture his home when he closed his eyes, but even without the familiar image of their shared bedroom, the words walked into both ears and out of his mouth. "Something about making sure there are no holes in your body when this is through. That right?"

"That's it."

"Why'd you want to bring that up again?"

"To make sure you still keep that promise, Slim."

Eyes back open, the rifle in the guard's hands was all Slim could see. "I will, Jess. And you the same."

He was quiet, too quiet, and it stretched out for so long that it seemed as if nothing would ever be said between them again.

"Jess?"

"Sure, Slim."

Unsatisfied, Slim opened his mouth, but with a solid door suddenly in front of them, his jaw clamped tight. The warden said they would be in rows three and four. Painted above the locked door were those very numbers. Hogan giving the door a triple pound, the sound of the lock being released brought the heavy door open. An even bigger man stood on the other side.

"Thirteen and twenty-two's all yours now, Moose. I've got to get back to the front office."

Slim and Jess' eyes met, but Jess' mouth was the only one that could form the fitting nickname. "Moose?"

"Inside, boys. Which one of you is thirteen?"

"I am."

A nod not merely good enough to send him forward, Moose pushed Slim ahead first. "You'll be on the left."

As if the prison's image wasn't already unbearable enough. From the outside look to what was seen in the walk to the warden's office up until now, the long corridor that held each prisoner hostage was the most horrific scene yet. It must have been over eighty degrees inside the tight walls, but shivers still coursed down their spines. The same could have been said for their stomachs. The smell was enough to overturn them both.

"New blood's coming," said someone that they couldn't see. "I can tell they're scared from here."

"Who ain't?"

Slim turned toward the face that said that and couldn't hold back his cringe. The man's stripes were so tattered, likely just rolling over on his bunk would add another tear. Fear made Slim want to ask how long he had been within Yuma's walls, but then Moose was grunting out another command to move. One after one they walked past cell doors, some empty, but most held a man inside, and somehow, each man looked worse than the one before.

As the next was passed, a pair of gaunt eyes stared at him, but in reality, they were staring straight through him. "Jess?"

Nerves tight, he almost jumped straight back into Moose's arms. "What?"

"You've never blamed me for losing my temper in court."

"Why should I?" Jess answered, noticing that several men were leaning close as if the poor souls ached so much for conversation other than a prisoner's painful chant that they were hanging on his every word. "Everyone there expected me to turn into an overturned teakettle."

"But not me. The calm one, the steady head, that's who I was supposed to be. But I blew it. It might've been my testimony that put you here."

"No, Slim. You know I breathe my own fire, even if I somehow kept it calm when I was questioned by that windbag of an attorney. Besides, none of that matters anymore. I reckon we were guilty even before the judge and jury sat down. Winslow had a big hand in that."

"I guess. But still…"

"Stop here, Sherman."

Since this was the ruling for his partner, Jess' feet slid to the same halt and eyed the number alongside the bars. Thirteen. "Looks like we've come to your hole-in-the-wall, Slim."

"Yeah," he said, staring past the rows of iron to the small space on its other side. "For twenty years."

It was soft, mumbled even, but Jess couldn't let something his partner said pass him by, especially since he didn't know how long before he would hear Slim again. "Huh?"

"Oh, I was just thinking how much different everything will be at home in twenty years. I mean, Ben's in his seventies. Likely he'll be gone. Jonesy, I don't even want to think about how far along in years he'll be if his chariot hasn't swung down to get him by then. And Andy. That boy'll be a man. Older than I am now."

Nervous men rambled. But this wasn't just nerves. It was Slim's heart, poking through the dingy stripes on his chest, showing his fear, but there was also a wisp of a dream in that look and Jess didn't want his partner to lose that far away expression. There was hope in the depths of his blue, and if prayers could lift out of this corner of hell and into heaven, Jess prayed that Slim's little glint would remain.

Sigh kept silent, Jess finally nodded. "Yeah, I reckon he will at that."

"It seems so very far away."

"You'll get there," Jess said, even as he stung with the lie. But maybe there shouldn't be the blistering of his hide. Wasn't this how his prayer would be answered? If Jess told him what prison was going to be like, his ideas of a twenty year span would change. And the hope, the little hint of a dream, would die. Jess couldn't let it go.

But maybe it was about to happen anyway, right here, right now, for Slim had just stepped into his prison cell. The key turned in the lock, sealing him away from whatever Wyoming sunshine was left in his being.

"Keep going, Harper. Your room's up the hall a bit."

The ugly face leering above him, Jess continued through the narrow walkway. Every cell that he passed made his heart dive lower into his gut, for each cell took him farther away from Slim. That they were going to go through this together was the only light in this entire world of darkness, and if they were separated, it couldn't be endured. None of it.

Since his earlier prayer hadn't been finished that long before, Jess silently added, "please."

"All right, Harper. This one's yours."

Stopping, Jess immediately turned away from the bars that would hold him for close to eternity and looked for the number thirteen. He couldn't see it. "Dadgum."

"Get in."

As Jess stepped inside, he took in the small space with one glance. He couldn't properly measure it, but it couldn't have been more than nine feet in length. The width slightly shorter, Jess noticed that the cell wasn't a proper square. Where he had expected row after row of open bars for every prisoner to stare at each other, three of the four walls were solidly built and painted a dingy gray. Only the doors and a few random windows were made out of iron rods. While the added privacy was welcome considering the waste pail there in the corner was his outhouse, the closed walls made the cell feel like he was in solitary confinement.

It was far worse than any nightmare that had already assaulted him. He would never make it. Twenty years for Slim. Sixty for him. Jess might as well change that thought right now. They would never make it that far. Aside from what Jess' hands were wrapping around, there was only one thing to cling to. Mort. He was their only hope, their only way of a true escape, but it didn't do much to ease the anxiety, the pain of being in Yuma.

The moment the lock was turned, Jess sunk to the floor and pressed his face against the bars. There were two others in the same position. The man directly across from him must have sat no other way, ever. The iron bars were imprinted into his cheeks. The other was merely curious as to the newcomers, trying to get the best look at Jess' haggard expression as possible. But Jess wouldn't study this fellow con beyond the first glance. Again he was staring down the corridor, trying to remember which set of bars were Slim's. He couldn't find him, couldn't see him, but maybe there was a little more hope in his being. Wasn't there something about a mustard seed? If so, Jess' seed had already been reduced to a grain of sand. Yet it hadn't blown away. Had it?

The tiniest speck of faith made Jess' mouth part. "Slim?"

"I hear you, Jess."

He lowered his head and lashes, as if a torrent were about to take over but couldn't. "Thank God."