Chapter Twenty

Hand draped across his stomach, Jess' head nestled into his pillow as he released a long sigh through his lips. "Ben sure outdid himself tonight."

Boots clomping onto the floor, Slim eased onto his bunk. "I was about to say the same about you."

"Dadgum, Slim. I woulda hurt his feelings if I didn't eat everything he put in front of me."

"Uh-huh. That's the only reason why you outdid yourself, then?"

Turning so that his blue looked straight into his partner's eyes, Jess grinned. "No."

"Well, I won't kid you about it anymore," Slim said, and lying down, gave his own stomach a pat. "I put away a couple of platefuls myself."

"It's sure nice to eat real food again."

"Are you going to say the same when we have to go back to work tomorrow?"

"What, I ain't gonna get real food tomorrow between work? What's breakfast, lunch and supper gonna be, then?"

"Of course it'll be real food. I meant that if you'll think it's nice to work hard again. We were gone from here almost three months. The work is, to put it plain, a lot!"

"So? Do I look so scrawny that I ain't gonna be able to do my share?"

"No."

He blew out the lamp, and listening to the silence, realized it was finally a comforting noise again. Well, almost. Turning enough on his bunk that the frame whined with his weight, Slim looked to see if there was any blue sparks among the dark room.

"Jess?"

"Huh?"

"I thought maybe you were asleep. You were quiet."

"Just thinking."

"About?"

"Yuma."

"Oh."

Jess propped up on one elbow. "Will I ever be rid of what happened there?"

"You want me to lie and say yes?"

"Sure."

Slim smiled. "You know I don't lie."

"There's always a first time."

"I know, but now isn't the time. No, Jess. You will never be rid of Yuma. Neither will I."

"Does that make us weaker men, though?"

"It does if we let it."

"I'd rather it make me stronger."

"Then let it make you stronger."

"I don't know how," Jess said, flopping back down so that his head met his pillow again. "I still feel kinda weak kneed."

"It was only a week ago that we were let loose. Nothing heals overnight. Not even you and gunshot wounds."

"Almost."

"Don't go getting yourself shot to prove your point."

"I won't. At least not tomorrow anyway."

"Good."

Closing his eyes, Jess listened to the silence and realized it wasn't such a hateful sound anymore. Well, almost. Head back off of the feathery square, Jess searched to see if Slim's eyelashes were down or if his blue beads were still glued to the ceiling. It was too dark to tell.

"Slim?"

"Huh?"

"I thought maybe you were asleep. You were quiet."

"Just thinking."

"About?"

"The ranch."

"Liar."

A tickle worked itself out of Slim's mouth. "There's always a first time."

"So you admit to being a dadgummed liar?"

"All right, I was thinking about Yuma."

"When ain't we?"

"You've got a point."

"Slim?"

"What?"

"Nothing. I was just thinking it's kinda nice to be able to talk to you, even when there ain't much to say."

"Yeah. I know, Jess. But there is something to say."

"What's that?"

"Goodnight."

.:.

Before Yuma, if Slim caught Jess wasting time by sitting in the saddle, he would have given his partner a good-natured scolding. Even a not-so-good-natured scolding might have passed through the boss' lips if Jess was whiling the hours away by fishing or sleeping or both. After Yuma, there wouldn't be any scolding at the idling that Jess was doing, especially when Slim was doing the exact same thing.

Atop a ridge that overlooked the ranch, two horses stood side by side taking the grass height down several notches. The two men out of the saddles, they stood in a similar position, looking over the country that was called home.

"Did I hear that deal right, or are my ears still clogged up from all that silence we hadta endure in Yuma?"

"You heard it right. Donahue is going to sell us back our cattle. Same price."

"But they're that much fatter from eating on his range the last few months. Ain't he out something?"

"Nope. He'll be gaining next spring. You see, Jess, Donahue will get half of next year's calves for free, on account it was his bulls marrying up with our girls while we were away."

"I reckon he'll be taking up all the young heifers so they can start to multiply when they're old enough."

"Yeah, but that'll leave us all the steers we can eat."

"Dadgum!" Jess thrust his hand into Slim's. "You sure do know how to make a good deal, Pard."

"I try," Slim said, finishing the handshake with a wink. "But I think we ought to get back in the saddle. We can't bring any of our herd back here if the fences haven't been checked and mended."

"How can they get run down when there ain't been anything in the fields to test them?"

"Deer, elk, bear, they were still here. Not to mention weather, the wind, hailstones the size of your fists and so on."

"I reckon there is all that and so on," Jess answered as he put the leather chair underneath him. "Wanna split or ride together?"

"I'd rather have the company if you don't mind."

"Nope. But don't expect to lead the way. I was born to ride first."

"So that's why you always ride ahead of me. And here I thought it was because if any bullets start flying, you'll naturally take the lead first."

"Why not? As fast as I mend from bullet holes."

"True," Slim's answer put a smile into his cheeks, but then the curl suddenly dropped to a hard line. "Did you see that?"

Holding up on the reins, Jess gave his head a bend. "Looks like a rifle barrel, glinting in the sun through the trees over there."

"I don't see it now. Could be our eyes are messing with us?"

"Couldn't be. We ain't in Yuma."

Slim carefully urged his horse forward behind Jess' mount. "Ben said that there've been a lot of strangers roaming through the property since the robbery."

"Yeah, but the money was found and returned to the company."

"Maybe not everyone reads the newspapers."

"Dunno."

Slim shook his head. "I know it was worth a thought, but this isn't about the hundred thousand if what we saw really was a rifle. An iron being out like that means the man behind it's ready and willing to use it. How about we ride up and find out if he's still waving it around?"

"Fine by me. Remember I get hit first, though."

"No. You don't get any new holes. Remember that."

"We'll see if the stranger knows about that. Come on."

.:.

Trevor Dawson was an angry man. He had been a rich man for two months. It was true that he had never pocketed a dime of it, but he was still a rich man. First the number belonging to him was twenty-five thousand. Then when Spinner was jailed, it went up to thirty-three and some change, and then when Welch was buried, the big ticket was split in half. But now, every bit of it was back in the hands of the Overland company and he was left being an angry man.

He smacked his hand against the tree trunk he was hiding behind so hard that his skin broke.

Wiping the smattering of blood on his pants, he checked the contents of his rifle. It was still as loaded as the last time he looked, but he wanted to be sure. The two men that were responsible for his anger, his expensive loss, were riding up to his position now.

"Buck said he was worth gold," Dawson muttered to himself as he caught a glimpse of Jess' hat through the trees, but the view wasn't clear enough to pull his sights to fire a hole through it. "But now he doesn't look like he's worth half a dollar."

Dawson knew there was no money in killing him now. It was the anger that he wanted to trade for some other emotion. Considering how loud the crash from fifty thousand to zero was, the anger couldn't completely be abated, but Dawson wanted to have the final say in this never ending journey. He wanted to be able to laugh over their graves, maybe even offer a spit to their tombstones and then ride away as the lone survivor among a bunch of dead men.

The lone survivor. Who in the gang would have thought that Trevor Dawson would be the only man standing when all of their cigar smoke cleared away? But then again, who would have thought that when all of that thick char dissipated, he would be left as an angry man with empty pockets? He was supposed to be rich. They were all supposed to be rich.

After all the time he spent running from the law, Dawson wasn't sure where the date sat on the calendar, but it had to be getting close to when the money could be used as a washrag if he so desired. There definitely would have been enough bills to play with. Blast that plan that would never be.

They were all supposed to lay low for three months. Three months! That was where it all went foul. Those three, stupid months!

As Dawson waited for the approaching horses to creep within a better firing range, his heated head was naturally fed the memory of the day when that original plan was spoken. If only he could have screamed in Buck's face what he knew now, what would happen when those three months were over. The others would still be alive, and he would be rich.

"Ninety days."

Every cigar around the table was suddenly dropped, and while the circles of smoke followed the shape of every mouth, it had been Dawson's lips making the odor spew the hot bursts in Buck's face. "What'd you say?"

"Three months. Hear me out before you go uncorked. There's more than one, but if for no other reason but to make Spinner not look like a guilty man, it has to be this way."

Spinner stood up to pace the small room. "You mean I have to keep working that rotten job for three months?"

"That's the plan."

He flung a hand toward the other two men at the table. "And what if we don't go along with that plan?"

"Then you won't get your share of the money."

The silence hung in the room heavier than the smoke ever could.

"I don't have any problem with it," Welch finally said as he took up his cigar again.

Spinner snorted his nose, but it had nothing to do with the stench around him. "Of course you wouldn't, Welch. You have a step-ma just down the road that you can laze the hours away at. I have to go cross-eyed staring at a bunch of numbers all night. For three more months!"

"Calm down, Spinner. It won't be that bad, and it'll go a sight easier knowing that the money's not far away."

"Yeah, like you and the others riding off with the money while I'm left sitting in Cheyenne. How's that for being far away?"

"No, that's not how it'll be at all. None of us will pad our wallets with anything, not yet anyway. Listen, we'll hide the money somewhere close, but somewhere that a bunch of no-goods like us won't find if they come hunting for it. And then we'll each go camp somewhere awhile and when the time's up, we'll divide the loot."

"Can't we pocket it right away, Buck?" asked Dawson, pulling out the coins in his pocket to slam on the table. "That's all I have left from our last holdup."

"No. We don't know what the Overland company's got on that kind of money. They could have a way to trace it, what with those big bills and all, so no, we can't spend it right away. That's another reason for the three months other than getting Spinner off the hook. Things have to cool down, way down."

"I can't buy much booze with seventy-eight cents, Buck."

"I know you like your hot liquid, Dawson. How about we make another plan to lift some cash, some smaller bills anyway, after some of the smoke settles from Laramie?"

"Where at? It's gotta be close enough for Welch's step-ma to not get suspicious when he doesn't show up for meals."

"Casper sound close enough?"

The heads nodding, the last of the cigars were turned to ashes and the four men went on their way.

The four men went on their way, all right. One to Yuma, two men to the burial grounds and the last one was running from the law. Although since Sheriff Cory left the territory a couple of weeks back, that run around had slowed down enough that Dawson could creep closer to Laramie to learn what was happening. He didn't trust the newspapers to be much more than gossip, but it was true. Slim Sherman and Jess Harper were set free from Yuma prison.

That was the final straw, as they say. His anger out of control, he had to let some of it ease. And this right here was how he was going to do it.

Ready to take that life, or as it would turn out, two lives, for both Jess and Slim were coming into his sights, Dawson lifted the rifle and made a perfect aim.

.:.

The terrain getting rougher for hooves to tread upon, the partners dismounted. There was no complaint in having to give their muscles a climbing workout to wherever the stranger sat. They would have been forced to drop soon anyway, for being higher up like they were would only make them a larger target, that is, if the man that was behind that iron was looking for the center of a bull's eye.

"Strange that there hasn't been another glimpse," Jess said, trying to see through every inch of brush.

"He could be watching, though. It's like I can feel his stare."

"You ain't the only hide that's prickling."

"All right," Slim said, giving a group of trees a nod. "Let's try over there."

Their boots soft against the ground, they knew the sound of their steps wasn't going to give their positions away. But trying to pitter-pat wasn't going to help the two men reach any kind of safety. Their senses were right. The rifle's eye was staring right at them, and the man's dark gaze was a firm match. And since Jess was in the lead, the first hit would have an obvious landing.

He saw it before it was too late. At least, Slim prayed it wouldn't be too late. "Look out, Jess!"

Slim's arms around Jess' waist, the dive and drop to the ground was made complete with a roll of both bodies, necessary to miss the successive bullets that were fired at them. Their landing coming at a rock not large enough to hide behind, for a moment they would be fully exposed to whoever was pulling the trigger. Slim went flat, preventing his death from coming too soon. Jess would rather take death head-on, and he stood.

The bullet bouncing in front of him, it jumped up to clip his shirt and Jess' hand slapped his hip. How good it felt to finally be able to bring his hand back up with an iron in his clasp again. Looking for the puffs of smoke that signaled the rifle's blasts, Jess pointed his gun to the flesh behind it. He fired a rapid trio so both partners could hurry to better shelter, but all he did was peel some bark back. The man was positioned well.

"Did you get a look at him?" asked Slim, dodging a bullet and then offering a pair back in the direction that they flew.

"No. He's playing sneaky," Jess said as he slammed his back against a boulder. "And deadly. Dadgum, he aims to kill us."

"I wonder who he is."

"Maybe somebody that thinks there's a bounty on a coupla cons outta Yuma."

"But we're cleared!"

"Not every bounty hunter cares about details."

"Do you want to try to get him to talk so we can find out what he wants?"

Firing, Jess winced as a returning bullet screamed between them. "I don't think he's willing to do anything but shoot."

"Then I guess we better shoot back."

"That's what I've been doing since you threw me outta the way of that first one. And this time, I think I'm gonna make it stick."

Jess' jaw in a tight grip, he barely let his body come away from the shelter and then pulled the trigger. The grunt sounding louder than the bullets being released, he knew he had made the strike. But the bullets still came running.

"I musta only winged him."

"My turn," Slim said, allowing his head to peek far enough to see flesh. The red on the man's shoulder was evident and Slim switched the point of his gun to go a bit farther to the left of what he was viewing. Pulling the trigger, the yelp burned in his ears. "Got him."

Hands busy with a reload, Jess barely twisted his head back. "Did you down him?"

"I think so."

"I wanna know so."

His partner standing, Slim grabbed his arm, but pulling him back down, Slim could not. "Don't go getting yourself shot."

"I won't."

Unable to believe him, Slim also rose, ready to pull the trigger if their opponent was prepared to do the same. "Easy, Jess."

"I certainly I ain't gonna run up and check his pulse."

A cautious step taken, and then another, Jess' thoughts were leaning in the direction that the man had been put to rest after all. But that was quick to change. He was only lying low long enough for Jess to be in such a direct line of fire, there couldn't be a miss. The man taking his jump into the open, the triggers on each gun received equal pressure.

In a gunfight between two solidly built reputations, the winner was always who had the fastest draw. At close range, with the guns already drawn, the winner was still the one who performed the fastest. As it was this kind of fight, where the smallest fraction of time meant life or death, it was Jess that put the final bullet in place. The other bullet hit dust, as did the man. As some would say, he bit it rather hard.

Slim hurried to his partner's side. "You all right?"

"Yeah."

Kneeling down, Slim turned the dead man over. "I wonder who he is."

"Dunno. Somebody that wanted our blood, but nobody that we know."

"Let's see if his wallet tells us anything," Slim said, fishing in each pocket until he came up with the folded leather. "Trevor Dawson. Never heard of him. You?"

"Nope."

"Maybe Mort will know who he was. We have to take him to town anyway to get the boot hill treatment."

"Yeah," Jess answered, but his voice sounded so far away, Slim had to bend his ear to find it.

"You sure you're all right."

Fingering the newest hole in his shirt, Jess nodded. "You know something, Slim?"

"What?"

"I'm finally thinking about something other than Yuma."

"What's that, Jess?"

"How good it feels to be alive."

.:.

I brought several minor Laramie characters into the story. In case you couldn't pick them all out as you read, they are as follows.
Charlie Webb, he was never seen, but named as the "sweet-talking lawyer fellow" at the end of Bitter Glory.

Tom, Judge in Man from Kansas; Since all we got was "Thank you, Tom," from Sarah Willoughby, I gave him a last name of Stephens.
Also in Man from Kansas was Willie, town drunk.
Deputy Wiley (Although I have no idea if that was his first or last name), from Rimrock.
Tex was on top of the stagecoach in Run to Tumavaca.
Rusty was Jess' stagecoach companion in Street of Hate.
Kelly was the shotgun rider in Men in Shadows.
Zeke was the stage driver in The General Must Die.
Sheriff Lon Matthews and Fran are from No Second Chance, although I added to their original characters that they later married. By the way, in the ending credits it gives his full name as Lon Matthews, but watching the episode more than once in preparation for this story, I never heard him called anything but Lon.
The rest of the extra characters are my own creation.

This goes to show that in many aspects of life, you should never say never. I figured after writing one "novel" length story (Surely Goodness and Mercy) that I would never write another big one again. Well… looks like I did! And as this one is bigger by two thousand+ words and three chapters, maybe that means the next long, long story I write will be even bigger than this one!

Yuma was actually very challenging for me to write, but I did enjoy going through each step to get our boys to the end. I try not to paint torture in giant letters, yet still make the reader aware of the pain and suffering that Slim and Jess are going through. Sometimes that's very difficult to do. I obviously have no problem injuring our boys, but when it goes to greater lengths in how badly they are hurt, it gets harder to write. I want it to be exciting, not gruesome. I hope I succeeded here. I'm not even sure! I know what was happening and what the outcome would be, so in writing those painful parts there's not much of an emotional swing for me. If this was someone else's story that I was reading and when I got to the part of Slim being drugged I might say, "No, no, no! How can you do this to him? This is awful! Why did I read this!?" (I really have said that in the middle of some stories, although I won't reveal which!) Anyway, it's not my intent to hurt my readers, but to have the readers share in the hurt of Slim and Jess. And so I will repeat my earlier line, I hope I succeeded here.

I had no idea how to write a courtroom scene so I turned to a professional writer's guide that said to not worry about making every detail correct in legal terms, but to focus on entertaining the reader by drawing them into the courtroom to see and feel what was happening with every character involved. There was another point that I thought was very well made and that was to not make the scene too long or too serious, so I added a touch of humor to an otherwise very serious situation and brought in Willie to "break" up the back and forth between the lawyers and whoever was sitting on the witness stand.

I honestly had no idea that sassparilla is actually spelled sarsaparilla. Since the vintage bottle I own says sassparilla, I went with that just so I wouldn't confuse the readers if they didn't know the actually spelling either. I saw it printed online as also being sasparilla, so apparently the misspellings vary. When Jonesy is drinking sarsaparilla in Bare Knuckles, I tried to read what was printed on his bottle, but my dvd of season one wasn't clear enough to read it and that particular episode never came on Encore Westerns or INSP while I was writing this story, so I couldn't take Laramie's version of the word and make it stick.

After writing Yuma for over two months and more specifically…(I recently learned that in the detailed properties section in my word document that I can find out how long I spent working on a particular project) …140 hours, I think it's finally time to quit and publish this thing. And so I will leave you all with this. Thank you for making it through another one of my stories. All of you that open these pages with me in our little corner of Laramie are a blessing. I hope you enjoy every moment spent with Slim and Jess like I do. -CW