Chapter Two

The cave I settled in was cold, drafty as if there was a backdoor to it somewhere. While I mighta been shivering more'n I like, I didn't see no use in looking for someplace warmer, not when I'd be moving on after I got a coupla hours of sleep. If I could nod off, that is. Tugging my jacket's collar up higher to my neck, I eased my head onto the earthen wall. I figured I'd merely sit there and think. I did, but envisioning my first ride onto the Sherman ranch was short lived, for the moment after I mouthed the line, "getting a crick in my back" my spine had more than a crick in it. Dadgum, it was as if that mangy bunch of coyotes were kicking me all over again.

I rocked forward. One hand wrapping around my waist, the other searched for the deep throb that was coming outta my shoulder. My head barely able to be held up any longer, my chin fell against my chest and I lowered my entire frame to the ground. The sigh was all I could get outta my lips before the sweet hands of oblivion guided me into its black hole.

Too bad they couldn't've held me there forever.

My senses not as deeply buried as the pain wanted them to be, I heard the step and went for my gun. Since the fella that emptied my holster back in Laramie never gave it back, I actually had a grateful thought that Slim left my fancy iron wide open for me to take. Hammer back and finger poised for a killing pull, I waited until the body was within range and then flung my lashes wide. Somehow the empty click echoed in the back of the cave.

Dadgum, I shoulda remembered that.

Heckard Channing's smile going wide, his boot clamped onto my right wrist. "I didn't figure I was done stomping you to pieces yet."

"So you have been following me."

He shrugged. "Not all the time, no. But I was sitting in Sherman's barn while you were packing up. You don't take your messages seriously, do you?"

"Where's Slim?"

"A calf was injured. He went out to tend its cuts not long after we shook hands, completing our deal."

"I don't suppose you had a hand in that injury."

"I might've. A broken strand of barbed wire can wrap around a body pretty tight."

"You don't care what you stomp on, do you?"

"Let's just say I get the same amount of personal satisfaction as I do pocketing my payment. And I get a lot of personal satisfaction in watching you suffer."

"Why?" I winced as he added pressure to my wrist, forcing the gun to drop to the rocky floor. "You don't know me."

"That doesn't matter. Any type of worm squirms just as wildly when he's being wrapped around a fisherman's hook."

"You could be described just the same. And react the same if you'd let me up so we can go one on one."

Heckard laughed. "You, fight me?"

"That's the size of it."

"You wouldn't stand a chance. In fact, I don't think you can even stand." He smiled, a rather suspicious kinda curl, and then as his boot left my wrist, it went straight into my knee. "What do you say, Harper? Think you can get up?"

Anger had gotten me a lotta places before, but it wasn't gonna get me on my feet now. My gun, too, had gotten me a lotta places before, but even as I picked it up and dropped it back inside my holster, it wasn't gonna get me what I wanted. I reckon that meant he was right about me not having much of a chance. I was more'n done for and he knew it. And that fine fact made everything worse, because Heckard Channing was just the kinda man to keep on kicking after his opponent fell in his grave.

His boot swinging for my face, I was spared an inevitable fracture as I pulled my chin to my shoulder. While his foot missed, his hand didn't. Knuckles across my cheek, he opened his hand wide and grabbed my jaw, tightening his grip as he jerked my face close enough to feel his hot breath puff along with his threat. "Get out of Laramie, Harper. Do not wait for another escort or you really won't survive it."

"I thought Slim didn't want me dead."

"All he'll know is what I've told him. And that's you leaving Laramie. I could kill you right now and he'd never know."

"Slim sure knows how to work with nice fellas."

Heckard tapped my jaw with his thumb. "He hired you, so that should be explanation enough."

I wish it was, that way I'd understand why Slim's turned against me. "You're on a whole other level'n me."

"You're right there. And I'm glad you know it. Now, are you gonna get on your horse and ride?"

Hadn't I already agreed to this once tonight? Making my head nod again, I felt his hand rip free of my flesh. "I'll go."

"It's a funny thing, Harper. Here I am looking into your bloodshot eyes and for some reason, I just don't believe you. That's why I'm gonna take it upon myself to make sure you'll go."

Dragging me to my horse, he lifted me into leather and tied my wrists to the horn. The slap he gave Traveler woulda made any animal buck and run. It was a good thing it was my faithful pal underneath me. He still jumped, but it wasn't the kinda reaction that made him play the game of a spinning bronc.

Sticking my feet in the stirrups, I prayed I wouldn't fall. While having my hands stuck to the saddle I know the ground wouldn't've met my face, but there was no guarantee I wouldn't wind up between a set of churning hooves. With that kinda smack to his hide, Trav was in a hurry to get outta there, and if I became a victim, well, I reckon we both woulda gone all the way down together.

But that ugly scene didn't happen. I remained upright, bouncing some, but not any harder than what causes a few bruises in some unmentionable places. When the foam started to flicker toward my face, I tested my voice in Traveler's ears. He heard the calmness, the security that I offered and trust began to slow his legs. It took a coupla more miles to pass before the heaving sides settled and while I wished there coulda been a proper time of rest for the both of us, I gently coaxed him to keep going.

"He's gonna be watching for sure, Son. We can't stop."

The steady rhythm making me sway, I felt my head start to drop and my eyelids were quick to follow. I've slept in the saddle before, only this ain't the normal kinda sleep that a saddletramp's used to. This is gonna be me traipsing the depths of hell, where a mind is so tortured by the darkness that he ain't sure he's ever coming back out. Enough time passed that I musta been teetering on that permanent edge, but then the midday sun decided it'd take a crack at pulling my hide away from that final fall.

The groan was what finished lifting my lashes. I could hear the pain in my voice before my body remembered what it felt like. When it struck brand new, somehow worse than when the blows'd actually been given to me, I started to bow back into it. I didn't care that the darkness was willing to claim me. But then I had to ask myself, was I willing to let it?

My eyes wouldn't be opened if I was.

My elbow up, I buried my face for a moment and then let my jacket's sleeve take the remaining blur away. My sigh a grateful one, I looked around me. Traveler was stopped at a stream and by his relaxed stance I reckon he'd been hold up here awhile.

Giving my eyes a coupla more blinks, I looked up. I knew where I was. Through a coupla pine trees I could see the high bluffs that marked the north rim of Wind River Canyon. It was far off, though. It wasn't as if I was standing right beside it, but knowing that I wasn't completely outta the territory, I made a sudden turn in the saddle and wondered if Heckard had his eye on me. I couldn't feel his stare, but my injuries coulda been masking that tell-all discomfort that hit my skin when somebody's gun was breathing down my neck. If Heckard was doing just that, I was certainly sitting where an easy bull's-eye could be drawn.

Heckard. I wonder what his ma'd been thinking when she crowned him with such a title at birth? Maybe she had one of those women's intuition like things when he first popped out. He's certainly a heck-of-a bad guy now, so if she had, she sure got it right. And since Heckard's name seems too fitting to swap places with Channing, I reckon I can forget the standard practice to use a fella's last name more'n his first.

My teeth into the knot, I pulled on the rope until I felt the strand loosen and then let the wiggling of my wrists complete my escape. At least now I could fight back if Heckard was in the kinda position to pull a trigger. Pulling my rifle out of the scabbard, I made sure it still had its full set of teeth and then gave my sidearm the same kinda ammunition.

With that kinda security leading the way, I slid away from the saddle and bent to the creek's edge. If there was any lingering darkness tugging at my core, the chill was the kinda trick to take the rest of it away. Both hands in, I splashed a dose directly into my mouth and then rinsed enough times that no more drops of red went back into the stream.

It was too bad I couldn't wash all of me that way. Sure I coulda gone stark naked and jumped in, but no amount of scrubbing was gonna reach where the blood was in a continual flow. Dadgum, why do I gotta have a sensitive heart? You'd think after everything I've gone through from birth until now that I'd be so hardened up that I'd not care about a thing that people do to me. Well, one'd think that, all right. But it ain't the truth.

Another swallow of water and then I stood, slowly giving a turn to my surroundings. Surely if that blasted fool that Slim hired was around, he woulda paid me a visit by now. Part of me wished he would so I could shoot more'n one hole through his filthy hide. The other part knew it was better for me to just ride away.

But to where?

Everybody knew me in Cheyenne. Medicine Bow and Casper would have less glances thrown my way, but while I coulda got lost in the larger towns, it wasn't a crowd I was looking for. The smaller set had more appeal. But then again, most of those smaller sets knew my name just as much as Laramie and Cheyenne did. Riding shotgun as often as I have, I reckon I've stopped off at all of them.

"We're gonna have to put some real miles behind us," I said, giving Traveler a pat. "I hope you're up to it, 'cause I ain't all that sure I am."

While I knew the saddle was my next step in getting outta the territory, I couldn't make that hop just yet. Even if only for a moment's time, I needed this right here, this silence and I stood in its solemn presence. It's what a person does when grieving, so it ain't like my bowed head's got this all wrong. From an outsider's view, I reckon I do look as if I'm standing over a grave, my sorrow screaming outta my being at the injustice, the cruelty of losing a loved one. The only thing is the friend that I'm mourning over ain't dead. It kinda feels like he is, though.

All the things we used to do together, all the things we still had planned together were gone. Yeah, there'll always be the memories, but they're kinda marred now. There'll always be that dark cloud hanging over the fun times, the busy times and the hard times that I thought brought us closer together.

Slim mightn't be dead, but he sure is gone. Dadgum.

And I miss him.

It took me another minute to pull my eyes away from whatever was in front of me and get in the saddle. Where to go, though? I dunno. I reckon I'll find out sometime later.

It was dusk when that sometime later arrived and I made the decision to put up in a hotel instead of laying my bedroll down beside a campfire. I was more'n beat and I reckon the only way I was gonna get some solid Z's outta my head was to have a real pillow underneath it. I did have some money on me. I never go to town with empty pockets and while I hadn't stuffed enough in my jeans yesterday to sit around a poker table, I didn't intend to go bare just by buying a coupla drinks. I'd already checked to make sure none of the fellas that wrinkled my hide turned the contents of my pants inside out. While it wasn't a sizable load, I still had enough to jingle a tune if I put it all in my hand.

A hitching post seeing a secure tie of my reins, I read a few of the nearby signs. Mrs. Johnson's Boarding House mighta been inviting if the windows weren't boarded over. The hotel was lit up, almost too lit up to think a body could get a good night's sleep in one of the upper rooms, but that was to be expected when connected directly to the lobby was a saloon, gambling hall, the works. Dadgum, the music musta been shaking the walls.

There was something else that was gonna shake. My head. Whatever was going on inside the Pink Parasol was too much for me.

Taking my glance farther down the street, I saw another brightly lit window highlighting its painted name above the double doors. The Drifter's Paradise. That sounded a bit tamer. Even if there wasn't a place for sleeping attached, I could always get a room after the Pink Parasol's front stoop was rolled up for the night.

The batwings separated, I stepped in. Never setting eyes on this particular hole-in-the-wall town before, I didn't expect to have a hand suddenly waving my way. Although a gun doing the same motion, I wasn't so sure. Heckard Channing might find the lonely places just as appealing to stop and rest in.

The barroom empty of familiar faces, I walked to the bar and waited for the bartender to notice me. I didn't see both of his eyes until I showed that I wasn't there to sip on the leftovers.

"What'll it be?"

"Lemme have a whiskey," I said and then switched the smaller coin for the larger one. "Wait. Go ahead and leave the bottle."

Full bottle and empty glass in hand, I searched the room for a solitary table, finding it in the far corner of the room. Chair kicked out with my boot, I took my seat and then immediately took my first drink. The second wasn't far behind either. Letting the wince finish running its course through my frame before I tossed another shot down my throat, I paused at the next when I heard the soft steps approach.

I gave her a glance. She was pretty and I woulda been branded a liar if I said I didn't give her more'n a glance. After all, the sparkly top of her dress was cut in a way that a fella couldn't help but look straight at as she walked. But there was nothing stirring in me to do more'n look. No. That'd be a lie too. My ire was starting to churn when I realized that particular sashay was coming for me.

The sequins danced in my eyes as she bent low, draping her arm over my shoulder. "You look like you need to pour your troubles out the same as the whiskey. I'll listen if you'd like."

I didn't like. The cup was given a quick drain and then I added enough so that a coupla drips went over the rim. "I keep my troubles to myself."

"I felt your stare. And to be fair, I gave more than a thorough stare in return. You're a handsome man."

"So?"

Her fingers traced the purple bulge along my cheek. "You know, your bruises would've been a turnoff for some of the other girls. They'd think that you're too much trouble to touch."

"And they'd be right."

"Doesn't it make any difference to you that I don't mind what kind of ropes have you tied? And in case it interests you, my fingers are nimble enough to work through any knot."

"It don't interest me at all. Look, if I wanted that kinda attention, I woulda gone over to the Pink Parasol. Since I don't, I'd rather be left alone."

"Suit yourself. But come nightfall when I'm purring in someone else's ear, you'll realize what you're missing."

I doubted it, at least the nighttime part of her invitation, but in less than a minute's time, I regretted not letting the feminine chatter continue to fill my ear. The male kinda chatter was gonna undo me.

A fella with a wide mouth and an even wider mustache making his entry, he tromped his boots straight to the man at the end of the bar, the same man that was nearest my lonely table. "Harry, hi!"

"Bill! How long's it been? A year?"

"Not quite. Ten months, I reckon."

"That's right! We parted ways at end of Callison's trail drive."

I turned away from the friendly backslaps and hearty handshakes and tucked my hat down a notch. While that stopped me from seeing the goings on between the two men, I could still hear them. Dadgum, why'd I have to be sitting front row to a coupla long lost pals?

"How's life treating you in all that time, Harry?"

"Not so good, lately. Been out of a job the last couple months. Can't seem to find anyone hiring for more than a day here and there."

"I'm sorry to hear that. That's gotta be rough for you and Rebecca."

"It is. We put off the wedding until I can get something solid coming into the bank."

"If that's the case then you should head on toward Laramie."

"What's in Laramie?"

"I hear there's a rancher out that way looking to replace his hired hand that he had to let go. I could give you a letter of reference, since you worked with me on the Circle C."

I barely glanced at the fella that was supposedly after my old job. He was fatter than me, but that didn't mean he couldn't handle what ranch work demanded. Some of that circumference could very well be muscle. But this was the killing fact. He was gonna get married? Nah, that'd never work, what with the ranch house having the one bedroom and the bunkhouse not set up for that kinda living. There was also Ben to consider. He was the better cook in the house and if a female moved in, where'd that leave him? Oh, what'd I care? Go on, Bill or Harry, or whatever your name is, ride to Laramie and get fatter on the beeves that are marked with the Sherman brand. Put a ring on the woman's finger before the first paycheck falls into your hand. Change the look of the ranch forever. Like I said, what do I care?

I grabbed the bottle and put it straight up to my mouth. The tip back was glorious, for as the liquid continued to pour down, the glow in the room grew brighter. Ah, this felt good. It tasted good, too, and with every glug that went into my gut it got better, tasted better, because my life was better like this. I've felt this way before, but I wanted to get used to this kinda pleasure like it was brand new, where a head grew so tipsy that it forgot what was going on inside the heart. With another long swig the room was spinning, or maybe I was. My boots certainly felt like they were nothing more'n featherweight.

The smack of my lips telling me to gimme more, my mouth took on the shape of the bottle's top as I popped the tip inside. It took me a coupla seconds to realize I was only swallowing air and then I let the bottle crash down. Literally. The broken shards of glass were all over the table's top.

"Hey, watch what you're doing!" barked the bartender.

"Sorry. I'll pay for it. Well, for a new one anyway. As long as it's full." My fingers dug in and then jumped outta my pocket. Looking to make sure I had the right number, I attempted to flip the coin onto the bar's top. It missed. "Lemme have another bottom."

"The only bottom you'll get is when your bottom hits smack dab on the floor."

"Now that ain't very nishe thing t'shay. I'm perfectly c'able of walking, sitting and drinking. So gimme that bottom."

"Not until you pay for it."

"I tossed you a coin."

"Yeah, well it's on the floor now. I don't pick up discarded cash."

My hand thumped my chest. "Neither do I. Who does Slimman think I am anyway? Shrowin' my money 'round like I'm a nobody."

"You're drunk, Mister."

I reckoned I was getting that way thirty minutes ago. Now that it was thirty minutes later, I'd imagine I was past being drunk, but on the verge of keeling over. Oh well. Might as well go all the way. But to get there, I reckon I'm gonna have to pick up what I'd lost. Bent down, my fingers reached for the coin and my entire body went flat. At least the bartender was wrong. It was my chest that went smack dab, not by south side.

Dadgum. Certainly I ain't filled up that far already that it's time for bed.

A spittoon close by, I reached for it and even though it wobbled enough to come close to sloshing its contents on the floor, it was enough of an aid to get me upright again. Well, I swayed a coupla times. But I got there.

"All right." The coin was given a hard slap with my palm to the countertop. "Gimme that bottom. And make shhhure it's a loaded one."

It was full and dadgum, ain't it the most beautiful bottom or button or whatever it was? Holding it high, the lamplight made the air bubbles glitter and I gave it a shake just so I can gaze at the kinda sparkles that really make my heart start pumping. And then with an unusual amount of exaggerated flair, I pulled the cork free. "Bottles up!"

I dunno what happened then. Well, I know that I didn't do anything that woulda caused the girls in the room to start screaming or the bartender to shake a shotgun's nose at me. I kept the saloon in one piece, sticking to my corner as I slowly drowned myself in an amber puddle. Somehow I could still feel the slosh of the whiskey as I added it to what was already boiling in my middle and I realized it didn't feel so good anymore. But that didn't make me put the bottle down. At least I musta poured a thousand more shots into me, for that's how hard it hit me when my head finally crashed down.

Blinking through my fuzziness, I saw the empty tables, the quiet bar, the lack of frilly lace and the dimmer light. Well, it wasn't exactly the easiest route to go, but I'm gonna get that loneliness that I wanted after all. Dadgum. Only now that I getta enjoy the peace, I'm gonna have to spend every hour of it submerged in a barrel of whiskey. Oh, that smell. Too bad I gotta relive it every time I hiccup. Maybe another drink'll wash all that foulness down. I reached for the bottle but my fingers came up short. The sigh, the groan, whatever it was put a layer of darkness over me and I figured I might as well fall into it. My head already against the table top, I pressed my cheek closer to its hardness, my lips slightly parted and I embarrassed myself further by the stream of dribble coming outta each corner.

Picking up a whiskey glass that didn't really need polishing, the bartender gave it a second going-over anyway as the doors began to swing. "Evening, Sheriff."

He lifted his watch. "I think it's morning by now."

"Could be that. Ain't it your bedtime?"

"Almost. I was finishing my rounds and saw the light over here and thought there might be trouble. It's the Pink Parasol that hosts the all nighters. You're usually closed up by now."

"I've been waiting on this feller to realize he's had enough whiskey before I blow out the lamp. I didn't want him going head-first into a spittoon if I put him in total darkness, although I reckon he's lying in a self-made black hole by now."

The lawman pointed a finger. "How long has he been out?"

"Not too long. That boy can really hold his liquor. His head must've been about to explode or maybe his gut was, depending on whichever keg was lit off first."

"You just gonna let him sleep it off right there?"

"Yeah, I think so, Sheriff. He looks to me like the kinda feller that's down on his luck, not a troublemaker. A jail bunk will only sour his hide more. Let him sleep right where he dropped. Chances are, he'll still be right there come noontime when the girls wake up."

"It's your saloon, Chuck, but if you hear any thrashing around in the night, come get me right quick and I'll turn the key on him."

"Sure thing, Sheriff," Chuck said, watching as the badge made his full exit before giving the glass that was in his hand a rub with the outer edge of his apron.

But when that cup was returned upside down to its straight row on the bar's top, Chuck's eyes turned on the only glass that wasn't where it belonged. It had been drained about an hour earlier, with the remaining guzzles coming only out of the bottle. Chuck's scrutiny was quick to change to the taller item in the table's center. It was true that the stranger already paid for it, but there was enough left inside to sell another couple of glasses. He might as well cork it up for another day.

Stepping to the table's side, Chuck reached for the bottle. His wrist was suddenly caught in a vice.

"Don't. I might wanna 'nother ship."

"Sorry," Chuck said, leaving the bottle where it was. "I didn't know you were still awake."

"Not by much," I mumbled and then took that other sip, even if I didn't really want it.

"I don't know how you do it, Mister. Your insides must be made outta iron."

"Then my stomach should give leshons to the reshta me, then nothing elsh'd feel. Ever."

"What's that?"

"Nothing."

Chuck nodded. "Sounds like the usual story."

"There ain't nothing ooshal to mine."

"If you think you'll stay put, I'll blow out the light and go to bed. I have to open up at nine."

"I ain't going no place."

"Good. I can bring a blanket if you'd like."

I hiccupped. "I'm fine."

"Uh-huh."

"I am, really. Right after I have another drink," I said, failing as I poured a dose of whiskey over my nose.

"Look, Mister. I know it ain't my business to butt into your personal life, but considering your condition, add in the fact that you look like you've seen some heavy fists across your skull recently, you need someone that can pick you up, steer you in the right direction. In other words, you need a friend. If you have one in these parts, just say the name and I'll make sure they know you need a hand come morning."

I drug my head a coupla times back and forth over the table top. No. I don't got any friends. The only one worth having was gone.

But not forgotten.