Chapter Nineteen

The corridor empty, without even a single cell marring the view, every step sounded hollow in Jess' ears as he walked toward Hermiston's office. Coming close to killing a man far worse than sharing a whispered conversation with his best friend, Jess figured the warden had something mighty special planned for him. Thirty days in the iron box, maybe? He had seen it a couple of times. A tight, compact space sitting in the middle of the desert sun with only a few holes to breathe through, a coffin would have more comfort. But then again, no man received a wooden bed to lie in for all of eternity in Yuma. A hole was dug and the body was thrown in. No Bible readings, no bowed heads, there was nothing but the cruel burial to declare the dead man's end.

Which sentence would be his fate?

Jess cringed. Was it five minutes ago, maybe less, that he had thrown that word in Spinner's face? If only Jess had stopped right there and not allowed revenge to take control, then he wouldn't be walking a dangerous trek to the warden's office to learn what kind of death awaited him. It would have to come. There could be nothing else.

Jess looked down to his stripes, this time wearing Spinner's blood and he gave a repeat of his earlier question. "What've I done?"

"Save your questions for the warden."

"What for?" He barely gave Hogan a glance. "Like he'd ever show mercy to me."

"He doesn't show mercy to any prisoners. Now get inside."

The door already open at his entry, Jess had a clear view of inside. The warden sat at his desk, ink pen at work on the sheet in front of him. But Jess' eyes only narrowed to deliver a pair of blue darts in the head honcho's direction, not an entire rifle's worth that he wanted to give. There was someone else in the room that Jess' face turned to, and his blue burst wide open.

Even with Hogan's hand attached to his arm, Jess hurried toward his partner. "Slim!"

"Jess!" Slim's pace cutting the distance in half, he searched his partner from top to bottom. "You all right?"

"Yeah," Jess answered, and as Hogan let go of him, he brushed at the place on his arm. "What is this?"

"I don't know. I was just escorted here a minute ago myself."

Figuring that his punishment was rising higher than the sun could ever climb, Jess didn't think it mattered that he could add another notch to the bunch and he kicked Hermiston's desk. "You heard me. What's this all about?"

"Let me finish writing this."

The glance to Slim couldn't tame him. "No. Tell it right here and now."

Hermiston sighed as he tapped the paper with his forefinger. "This pertains to you, Harper. Or I should say, the both of you, so just be quiet until I'm finished."

"The both of us?"

Again Jess looked to Slim, and as he watched the nervous gulp go down his partner's throat, Jess' neck developed a similar lump, but his refused to go down. This wasn't only about him, and unless Slim had throttled someone in his own corridor today, this wasn't about the punishment that was coming for attacking Spinner. This was somehow bigger than everything they had done, bigger than everything they had been dealt in Yuma. And blast that weakness for coming back, Jess' knees began to wobble.

"That's what I said, Harper. Give me another moment, will you?"

"Sure. Take a coupla moments, an entire hour, maybe. What do you care how much we suffer?"

Hermiston's shrug might have developed into something further, but Jess' mouth was too busy running over the warden.

"I don't suppose you're sick of having us in this stinking prison. Maybe you're writing up our release to some other corner of hell. They say Garden City's just as polluted as here." Jess saw the sly smirk growing on Hermiston's face and the tremors in his legs made a leap, scurrying up and down his spine. "Is that it? Are you sending us to another prison?"

"No," Hermiston answered, finally dropping the pen onto his desk. "I'm sending you home. My signature was all that was needed, and I just signed all the necessary papers. And there were a lot of them."

Jess' jaw too far on the floor to pick up, Slim provided the necessary question. "What?"

"I said I'm sending you home. You've been acquitted of all charges."

Slim's finger went into his chest and then bounced to point at Jess. "You mean we're free?"

"That's exactly what I mean. A telegram arrived here fifteen minutes ago that said new evidence has been found, clearing you of all charges. Signed by a pair of judges no less."

"I don't understand. You mean we can just walk outta those doors?" Jess' eyes never left Hermiston until he nodded. Then Jess stared at Slim. "Is this some kinda trick?"

Slim reached out a trembling hand toward the warden. "Can I read the note?"

"Here," Hermiston said, offering the single sheet.

"It really says we've been cleared, Jess. It has both Judge Shaffer and Tom Stephens' names signed onto it."

"Dadgum. That makes it kinda official."

"Very official."

"But how, and who made it happen?"

Slim handed the telegram back. "It doesn't say."

"So we can leave, we can really leave?"

"That's what I've been trying to make you understand," Hermiston said, but as Jess leapt toward the door, he held up a hand. "Hold it. Since you no longer are in need of your stripes, strip them off."

Jess fingers went to the buttons, but then his shoulder was given a hard tap. "What?"

Hogan threw a finger to the same corner where they had originally dressed in black and white. "Over there. Your old clothes are long gone, but you'll find something from the newest inmates in the closet."

"Dadgum, I ain't wearing Spinner's clothes," Jess said, and while his feet had been moving in the direction of the closet, he spun back toward the warden's desk. "Wait a dadgummed minute. What about me pounding Spinner into the ground a little bit ago? Don't I get a hundred lashes or a hundred days in the bake oven for that?"

Pen back in his hand, Hermiston gave a dip to the inkwell and then slid the tip across the paper in front of him. "Let's just say it'll be wiped from your record, on account of what happened with you and Timeon."

"You feeling guilty, Warden?"

He shook his head. "No. Prisons aren't meant for fun and games. They're meant for suffering."

"You're telling me," Jess said, again starting to turn toward the closet, again turning back toward the warden. "Hey. Since we're finally recognized as a pair of innocent men, ain't you gonna apologize for turning our backs into strips of meat?"

"Didn't you disobey my order? Innocent or guilty, you still violated the no talking rule. You get nothing but my signature letting you go."

Slim gave his partner a nudge. "Come on, Jess. Let's get changed."

"Dadgum, wouldn't I love to put every punch I gave Spinner in Hermiston's face instead," Jess said as he tossed aside his stripes. "Is that a blue shirt in the corner?"

"Yeah. Kind of darker than what you wear, though."

"Give it to me."

"Did you really throttle Spinner, Jess?"

"Mighta killed him if I was given the chance."

Slim shook his head as he slipped a checked shirt over his shoulders. "You're not a murderer."

"Maybe not anymore. But before I was told I was cleared, I was just another one of Yuma's prisoners. It takes all kinds to fill its cells."

"I know. But we were always innocent, Jess. Remember that."

"I reckon. I need a different pair of pants. These ones'd look better on a horse."

"I'll try them on. Take this lighter pair."

"Thanks. Kinda snug, but I reckon I've lost enough weight in this place to be able to fasten them. There. Do I look better, Slim?"

He nodded. "Do I?"

"Some."

"Only some?"

"Your shirtsleeves run a mile past your fingers."

"Oh well. I can roll them up. Besides, it doesn't matter what we look like, we get to leave without a black and white uniform on."

"Mine's all sorts of colors now."

"It is?" asked Slim, craning his head to look at the heap on the floor.

"Yeah. Red and brown marked both top and bottoms real well."

The memory of the night before the holdup coming upon him with the softness of a feather, Slim allowed the smile to stretch into his cheek. "But no holes, right?"

"No bullet holes, anyway. Come on, Slim. I can finally say let's get outta here and mean it."

Hermiston waiting for their return to his desk, he placed a pair of documents in each hand. "Here are your papers. You'll need them to prove your innocence if any lawmen in the territory recognizes your faces without first reading about your release. Mail is slow around here."

"Maybe if it was delivered by Gila monsters, it'd go faster."

"Your jokes are still sour in my ears no matter what your papers say, Harper."

"I reckon. Slim?"

"Just a moment, Jess." Too long to read the entire page in one sweep of his eyes, Slim focused on the warden's signature at the end. "So this is it? We can really go?"

"As soon as Hogan unlocks the door."

The click sounding, the door came open, and instead of running through it, Jess' shoulders gave a small lift. "But what can we do? Where can we go? We don't have anything in these parts, don't know anyone either."

"What you do outside of these prison walls is none of my concern, that is, unless you go and break the law."

"Not me. I ain't gonna ever spit on a sidewalk again."

"And I hope to never see either of you again. Make these papers permanent."

"You have my word, Mr. Hermiston," Slim said, giving Jess a hard nudge with his shoulder.

"Oh, right. Me too, Sir."

They had been punished by the blazing ball in the sky many times since being brought to Yuma. Maybe they should have been used to the glare as they stepped out of the prison, but as the heavy doors closed behind them, leaving the protective ceiling, walls and the slightly cooler temperature, their right hands immediately rose to shield their vision from the sun.

"Dadgum. If this place makes me cry one more time, I'm gonna…"

"Jess, it's over."

"Not quite. What're we gonna do, Slim?"

"Let me think a minute."

The minute quick to be taken up, Jess turned back toward the prison's front door and looked to the highest part of the wall. "It don't feel right, just walking clean out like that. I mean, I didn't even get a chance to say goodbye to Davey."

"I know what you mean, Jess. I did get to nod at Deuce. The way the guard grumbled as he took me out of my cell, I didn't think I'd ever be coming back to that particular corridor."

"You think they'll ever let father and son be in the same stretch of cells again?"

"Probably not. It's Yuma."

"Yeah. I sure feel for them."

"Me too," Slim said, and rustling the papers slightly in his hand, the idea was born. "When we get home, we can write them a proper goodbye."

"I reckon. It'll be awhile though, the way Gila monsters carry mail and all."

"You know something, Jess? I never thought of getting out like this. But it doesn't really feel any different. It feels, I don't know, the same, only without the bars or the guards."

"I know why. Look around us, Slim. Dadgum. Is there even a word for how bad it looks here?"

"Desolate, Jess."

"I reckon. Say, Slim. You didn't answer me before."

"What'd you ask?"

"What're we gonna do?"

"I guess we have to walk."

"Walk! Dadgummit, Slim, this place has killed your mind far more than it has mine. You know how far it is from here to Laramie?"

"I didn't mean walk all the way home, Jess. We'll have to walk to town, send a wire to the ranch and see if Ben can transfer some of my money to whatever bank's there. Then we can get a stagecoach to Laramie."

"That might take a coupla days, a week even."

"It might," Slim said, turning, even though he didn't want to see any part of Yuma's view. "But at least we're out."

"You see any shade around other than Yuma's walls? I'd just rather sit in some kinda shadow until the sun goes down."

"No, but the first dark patch on the ground, we'll stop in it."

The angle of the sun not favorable for shadows, it took the partners a couple of miles before they could find a place of rest. The heat sapping them of the little energy they possessed, the two partners decided to let it be their campsite throughout the night.

"Make sure there ain't any Gila monsters around. I don't want one crawling on me while I sleep."

"I'll keep an eye out."

"Ain't you sleepy?" asked Jess as he nestled his back into the rise of a sandy dune.

"I still have a hard time sleeping since the no talking rule. I forced my eyes open so much that they're hard to close for awhile. I'll nod off eventually."

"I know what you mean, but I reckon since I ain't seeing bars in front of me, I'm gonna sleep rather soundly. Kick me if something happens."

"I will."

As it happened, something happened within the first hour after a soft snore escaped Jess' mouth.

Looking into the darkening hues of the desert, Slim gave Jess' boot a kick. "Wake up."

"Huh?"

"Someone's coming."

Instinct made Jess' hand slap at his empty hip. "Dadgum. And we ain't got any kinda weapon."

The shadows were deep, but not to the caliber that he couldn't make out the approaching number. "Three horses. One rider, two trailing."

"You reckon someone's wanting to create a breakout at Yuma?"

"Could be. There's always that kind roaming around. At night, even more."

"Just what we don't need, more outlaws to mingle with."

"It might not be," Slim said, although there wasn't much confidence in his voice.

Jess' hand rubbed up and down his sleeve. "I don't like this, Slim. You'd think I'd lost all my nerve."

"You didn't, Jess. Your nerves just have to remember what life was like before Yuma."

"I know what it was like then. I had a gun."

"I know. So did I." Slim's frown went deeper. "He's coming this way."

"Hopefully he can't see that we ain't carrying."

"He can't. Not from there, but the closer he gets, he'll know. He'll know we're from Yuma too. We reek of that place."

"Dadgum."

"Wait a minute…"

"What?"

The sun was gone, yet Slim still shielded his vision as if his eyeballs were frying from staring into its light. "That looks like…"

"Who?"

"It can't be though…"

"Who?"

"It's…"

"Slim!" Jess' shout echoed back with force, but then the rest of the returns went dim. Everything around them went quiet. Even the man in front of them went still.

"It's…" Slim swallowed away his gape. "Mort?"

"Well this is a fine evening! I was hoping I'd find you two out here somewhere, but I wasn't sure if you'd been set free yet."

"The warden let Jess and I go a few hours ago."

Their stare as hot as if the sun was still melting his back, Mort cringed. "Do I have a rattlesnake creeping up on me or something?"

Slim shook his head. "No, Mort. It's…"

"Oh. I get it. What am I doing way down here in Arizona? Well, I figured you boys might want to ride back home. It's a long stretch from here to Laramie."

"That's what I told Slim earlier today. But Mort…"

"What's the matter?" Mort looked from one pair of blue to the other. "Why are you two staring at me like you don't even remember who I am? It's me! You're old friend, Mort Cory!"

Giving his mouth a wipe, Slim found more than a few short words of his voice. "We thought you were dead."

"So that's what's got you two looking like something taken straight out of a Halloween story. Jud's letter telling you I wasn't really done in obviously hasn't arrived in Yuma yet."

"No. Mail's weeks behind down here," Slim answered, giving the sheriff's hand a hearty shake. "What happened to you, Mort?"

"Long story."

"Can't you tell us just a little bit of it?" Jess asked as he gave Mort his own version of a tight grip.

"I'll tell you the parts that won't make me cringe in its memory. Although I do have to say this part, the one that makes me cringe the hardest. Wiley is dead. He was killed by one of the men that really did hold up those stagecoaches."

"So you got them?"

"One's still at large. But I'm not going to lose any sleep over him. Spinner's in Yuma, the other two are dead, including the leader that made all of this happen, Buck Brooks."

"Buck Brooks!" Jess' exclaim made him turn back toward hell. "Ain't he supposed to be in Yuma?"

"He was before Spinner broke him out."

"Dadgum, this story's gonna make me sicker than Gila monsters do. Maybe you better not tell it after all."

"You down Brooks yourself, Mort?"

"No, Slim. He was hung in Montana."

"Is Brooks the one that almost put you in the grave, Mort?"

"He did, Jess. But that's one of the parts I'd rather not remember. Let's just say I was out of commission for a few weeks and that brought Lon Matthews back from Denver. Did you know he married up with Fran Erickson?"

Jess pointed to his partner. "Slim read about it in the gazette, but all talking about her's gonna do is remind me of Gila monsters."

"What's all this about Gila monsters?"

"Nothing," Jess answered with a snap like a Gila monster's teeth. "All right, Mort, you were at the part where you were almost in your grave. So since you ain't cloud-sitting then you musta come outta it, so what happened then?"

"A few weeks of nothingness, but then Lon and I caught Brooks and we dug up the money."

"So then you sent the warden a telegram saying we can come home. Dadgum, I gotta hand it to you, Mort."

"No. I'm afraid it was more complicated than that, Jess."

"How so, Mort?"

"Well, Slim, I had to prove you boys weren't involved in the robbery, in the deaths of the men, all of it. As it turned out, I came mighty close to not finding the right kind of evidence to spring you. Mighty close."

Slim tapped the papers that set them free. "You mean it wasn't just a clean cut to clear us?"

"No."

"But you're sure that we've been cleared?" Jess hugged his arms to his chest to ward off the sudden chills that were attacking him. "I mean, we don't gotta go back?"

"No, Jess. You don't have to go back. Since you're out, with papers to prove it, then the proof I found was enough."

"You're gonna have to tell me, Mort. I can't just shake off the memory of that place this quick."

"You were Brooks' target all along, Jess."

"But I didn't die. I wasn't even hurt that bad."

"Brooks didn't want you dead, Jess. It was just the opposite. He didn't want a bullet to land on your head, he wanted the blame to fall there instead."

"What about Slim? The blame fell just as hard on him."

"I'd imagine they expected him to die in the crash. When he didn't, Slim turned into another victim of the frame up."

"I can see all of this making sense, Mort. But how in the world did you prove that Jess wasn't the mastermind of the entire robbery like that prosecuting attorney flung in the jury's faces at the trial?"

"When Spinner was working at the depot, he learned of all the men that were set to ride on those stagecoaches. He wrote every name down. Jess' was circled. But it was what was written in pencil beside Jess' name that clinched it in Brooks' handwriting. He wrote that Jess had to live to take the blame, that it would be his own reputation burying him."

"Dadgum. I'm kinda sorry Brooks is dead. I'd like to give him a share of Yuma, right straight outta my hands."

"A lot of people suffered because of him, Jess. That's why he was given a rope."

"Mort, there's something I don't understand."

He turned toward Slim. "What's that?"

"How did you get here so fast? We were just let out earlier today, and the warden said the telegram had come fifteen minutes before that. I know the mail's slow, but telegrams shouldn't go the same route."

"I didn't want to wait for McLaughlin to complete his investigation, so I left right after I handed him the evidence. Despite my arguments, he said it could take a week or so. While I knew that it would be easy to find a match of Spinner's handwriting in the Cheyenne depot, confirming that Brooks wrote the note by Jess' name was going to be more complicated. He was already dead by the time I found it."

"How did you find it?"

"I don't know, Slim. When we get home, I'll have to ask McLaughlin."

"Home." Slim's lashes dropping, he sighed. "How are things at home?"

"Fine. Fran's been staying at your place, so you won't find a speck of dirt."

"Dadgum. She better not've hung lace doilies everywhere."

"Don't know about that. But there is something of interest you boys should know."

"What's that, Mort?"

"Patterson fired Winslow, so therey'll be a new vice president residing over the Wyoming branch of the Overland company when we get back. And this is just from what I picked up around the whiskey bottles, but it sounds like thery'll be a public apology for accusing you two of being involved in the robbery, and that your ranch will be reinstated as a stage stop."

"So everything's gonna be the same as before?"

"Close to it, anyway, on account I can't answer about the lace doilies."

"Dadgum. Home seemed so far away for the last coupla months and now, it feels like it's just over that ridge."

"I'd imagine you two want to start before sunup."

Slim waved a hand toward the stars. "I wouldn't mind riding now in the dark."

"That suits me. The sun down here's hotter than—well, you know more about hell than I do. Mount up, boys. The north star will guide us all the way."

"I'll be glad to look at heaven's view for awhile," Slim said as he swung up into the saddle. "At least until the sun comes back up and starts baking us again."

It was back up, but with the morning hours dotted with fluffy clouds, it wasn't frying any of their edges yet. Throughout the night the conversation hinged on being downright gossip as Mort filled the boys in on the happenings of Laramie since they had been gone. It was the telling of the supposedly true story of Mrs. Sorenson's laundry getting caught in a whirlwind and having her bloomers land on the barbershop's red and white pole that sparked off the long stretch of tall tales, with the taller the better. It felt good to laugh, to let the heaviness attempt to lift from their shoulders. The trail of made up yarns couldn't do it, though. Maybe nothing could. Ever.

Jess turned back, probably for the hundredth time already and stared at the southern horizon. He couldn't see it, but he knew it was out there. "Dadgum."

Sensing the reason for Jess' imitation cuss, Mort pulled his horse closer to the two partners. "You want to talk about it?"

"No."

"Then we won't."

"Since we've left what usually goes around in sewing circles behind us, you can pick silence or…"

"No!" The two partners shouted in unison.

"All right, no silence, no Yuma, so what's a safe subject?"

A rumble of thunder coming from his insides, Jess gave his stomach a pat. "Food."

"Now that I've become an expert on. Did you know I can smell a steak frying from a mile off?"

Slim pulled up on the reins. "Wait a minute."

"What's the matter, Pard?"

Looking all around him, Slim took a deep breath. "How far are we from Yuma? It's still too close for comfort, but really, how far away are we?"

Mort shrugged. "Fifty miles, maybe. Why?"

"Just seeing if it's true," Slim answered, taking another breath in.

Jess' own inhale done long and slow, he shook his head. "I can't smell it."

"Can't smell what?"

The blue eyes locked together, their voices blended as one. "Yuma."

"So saying that it can be smelled fifty miles off really is wrong," Slim said, taking another breath to confirm the truth.

"There's something else wrong in what they say about the prison, Mort. The graveyard doesn't stretch a mile long either."

Mort frowned. "I thought you boys didn't want to talk about it."

"We'll finish in a minute. But there's something else to tell you about Yuma."

"What's that, Jess?"

"Thanks for getting us outta there."