Chapter Four

There was a cot in the corner. No blanket, but I came equipped with that. My folded arm would have to take the place of a pillow. And then all I had to do was close my eyes and wait for the first snore to escape my lips.

Well, not quite.

I did drape the blanket over half my body, my arm bent backward to prop my head up, but while I set about lowering my lashes, I couldn't close my eyes beyond their normal blink. I reckon what I couldn't close was my mind. The first night out, I'd been teetering on the edge of consciousness. The only thing that had kept me in the saddle was my anger, my internal pain and a punch that I desperately wanted to throw. When all that simmered down, I could do nothing but tread along a dangerous path. Because of a coupla bottles of whiskey, that second night had been spent on an even blacker route.

Now on number three, my thoughts weren't gonna welcome peace. It was understandable to blame my brain. After all, I kept picturing the face that'd put me here. And while Heckard Channing's thin cheeks and beady eyes did waver a bit in front of me, it was the look of an old friend that kept me staring at the wall. What'd Slim have to look so smug for anyway?

"You won, ain't that the right score? I left," I said to the dots of blue across from me that was supposed to be his smirking eyes. I reckon they were really bird droppings. It was possible, for there was a sizable hole in the far edge of the ceiling and a nest against the stone chimney. But that kinda logic didn't sway me away from keeping the conversation going with what I saw inside my imagination. "May the Almighty bless your dadgummed hide, for you got what you wanted outta this. All I got was kicked in the teeth. And everywhere else."

I didn't need the reminder. Like I said, my mind was throwing fits, but so was my body. I might pretend I can heal overnight from hard knocks and bullets alike, but I don't. Dadgum, my head! It's gotta be split like a cavern up there. Reaching for the strongest throb, I barely allowed my fingertips to probe the lump. It was smooth, no scab to indicate I'd been burst open during the attack. But that was only one hit. I'd been dealt an entire stack of them.

The cut on my chin urging me to touch it, I picked at the crust. Dots of blood bubbling up, I wiped the back of my hand across it, but when the trickle turned into a rush, I had to cup my entire jaw with my palm. The tighter I held on, I felt my teeth react and I pushed my tongue against the stab. Dadgum, it moved.

If I gotta go to the dentist because of that Heckard Channing, then he better be prepared to need a whole team of doctors to tend to his mouth, head and everywhere else!

Needing to punch something, I balled my fist and let it fly into the wall. I knew the shack wasn't in the greatest condition when I walked in. Now I knew for sure that it'd seen far more years than I'd first thought. My fist went right through, all the way to my elbow. Sitting up so I could ease my arm back to the inside of the room, I was suddenly reminded of another part of my body'd that'd seen too many boot tips.

My air feeling like it was hung up in my lungs again, I slowly let the painful breath out and then gently pressed my fingers into my left side. With nothing abnormal bending under my touch, I switched to the right, kneading until I was certain that I didn't need some kinda wrap around my waist.

Exhausted, I flattened against the cot and stared at the ceiling. There were so many flashes of red up there, I woulda thought blood was raining down on me. Even after I clamped my lashes tight, I saw the blood, even more red than before. It took me a moment to recognize that it was actually a bulls-eye and I was the target. And there in the middle were those same blue dots. Looks like my pompous partner will be staring at me, laughing at me forever.

"Slim! Why'd you do this to me?" It started out as a scream, my tongue flinging it out so sharply I coulda spit an actual knife, but the harder the pain was throttling me, inside and out, I started to sputter. There wasn't anything welling in my eyes. I woulda felt that rare burn, maybe even cursed it so the tears would shrink back to where they'd been formed. No, I wasn't crying, but the sound was there, so soft, so tortured, that my voice was soon whimpering my plea. "Why'd you do this to me? Why, Slim? Why?"

I fell asleep then for an hour, maybe two. I didn't bother to check the watch that was somewhere in my gear, for there was no need for time, only fear as I was jerked so hard outta the bunk, my boots were running the moment they hit ground. The second shot stilled me and as I leaned against the doorframe, my eyes were allowed to keep going into the darkness so I could get a feel for what was out there.

Another blast echoed through the trees with a pair coming on its heels so fast I wasn't sure I actually counted both. The sound of more bullets being let go, my jaw hardened as if I was trading lead like someone else musta been. This wasn't just a gunfight. It was an all out war.

I thought of the half-breed first. Since he talked about keeping in stride with the wind, I looked into the canopy of leaves to find the direction. It was blowing outta the west and if he was following the dark as he liked, he shoulda been far outta hearing range by now. This sound was coming from the north. And it was rather close.

That ranch I'd passed through didn't line up right enough for me to figure something was going on at the rancher's front door. The town I bypassed, that did gimme cause to wonder if I'd misjudged the distance between here and there. Barroom brawls do turn messy sometimes. But if that were so, shouldn't somebody've stopped it by now? Multiple triggers were still being pressed.

As I continued listening to the back and forth, I held my rifle close. With every blast, my body swayed a little in its direction, for a large part of me wanted to rush into the dark to see if either side needed help. The sound of bullets came at me like a call, kinda urgent in a way, and I was almost to the point where I moved all the way off the porch to start my heated run when the last gunshot exploded. And after the echoes died, there was silence.

It was a chilling kind, like what accompanied death and standing there among its eerie presence, I couldn't help but shiver.

For a long while I kept my stance, listening for anyone's approach. When I finally felt I could ease my grip on my rifle, I returned to the cot and sat down. It was another long while before I could rest my head. It was even longer after that when I let my lashes stay lowered. I reckon by then there wasn't much point to let the hands of sleep rock me like I was a baby. I did feel that kinda warmth envelope me, but when the first bird found its favorite perch and started warbling just outside the shack's front door, I lifted one eyelid.

The morning's light coming through the window, I wiped at the droop of each eye and stood. Wanting to flex some of my aches away, the stretch of my entire frame came natural. It was just as natural to then pick up my rifle and take its wide eye to the golden square and look out. No one coming to call, I stepped outside to give a more thorough stare. I was alone no matter which direction I looked. But even with that satisfaction to hang onto, I had to give one more look, my longest yet. To the north.

It wasn't in me to forget about what I'd heard in the night. Someone'd been in a fight, which meant someone was gonna be on the losing end of things. If he didn't have anybody there alongside him, he could need a grave dug. As many shots were fired, maybe more'n one man had taken that final fall.

"Come on, Trav," I said, getting in the saddle. "Let's hope I don't gotta polish up my memory skills for a burial today. I almost always get the surely goodness and mercy part wrong."

I kept us slow going through the trees, but once we had the rows of trunks behind us, I slowed even further, for it looked like I was about to step directly on the battlefront. No wonder the shots had sounded so loud. Yeah, it was closer than I'd figured, but each blast was given an extra punch by the rocky slab that was behind them.

Suddenly my forehead grew a coupla trenches. This section of land was where I'd planned on camping last night. If I hadn't been watching out for my horse through those trees, if I hadn't ridden right up to that doorstep with its invisible welcome mat, I mighta been right in the middle of somebody else's fight, so thick with lead that I coulda been wearing more'n one bullet's mark right now.

Off my mount, I gave him a loose tie and then began searching for victims. I saw the shell casings first. Both rifle and pistol slugs had been thrown and while I knew how far each could jump when the next bullet was in a hurry to be fired, I could guess by the scattered array on the ground that there'd been two men positioned here.

My hand tracing the rocks where they musta crouched behind, I looked for a sign that there'd been a hit but not a single drop of red was in sight. I quickly changed the direction of my gaze. I've been in a lotta fights far off from nowhere, which makes me kinda an expert in being able to pick the perfect place to tuck down when the bullets come sneaking up behind me. Even when I've never been over a particular piece of land before, I somehow can eye the exact rock that can become my personal fort. I reckon I was looking at that perfect place now, but that don't mean it was all that secure. I've been shot in a lotta those far off fights before and considering the side of the fight where I was standing didn't lose any blood, the other side had.

Gritting my teeth, the grip on my pistol just as tight, I walked across the clearing. Even before I scanned this section of land, I'd been eyeing something brown. At first I figured it was just a rock lying there. The closer I got, I realized what I was looking at. A boot. It was by itself, though. There wasn't a foot inside, no man next to it. Just a boot.

I dunno where it came from, but I had a sudden image of a man running so fast away from death that he ran right outta his boots. If he's gonna have that kinda guts, I sure hope he made it all the way out. Twisting my frame, I started looking for the pair. There it was, not too far from the first, just more hidden by a dip in the ground so that only the toe was peeping out.

Since I'd already been walking in that direction, I kept my stride going toward the boots. Picking up the first, I tucked it under my arm. You never know. Maybe I'll run into a poor fella that's wandering around with nothing but holey socks on. When I bent toward the second boot, my hand couldn't do more'n hover over it. It was full of blood.

The first boot forgotten, it slipped through my clasp and landed beside the other. If a man lost that much blood, then he ain't gonna need his boots anymore. I couldn't help it, my head already started to bow. But I reckon I better wait for the body to be tamped under my foot before I try remembering Psalm twenty-three well enough to say it aloud.

My sigh buried inside my chest, I continued toward the set of rocks I'd earlier pegged as being the right size to hide behind. I slowed outside of the natural cut in the stones and lifted my gun. No point going in without a proper howdy in hand, just in case there was a loaded rattlesnake or the like back there. After all, the kind that fights with bullets instead of brains just might be the kinda fella I don't wanna run into. My thumb ready for action, my finger then settled in its place, I took that last step and as I saw the bootless man, my hand went so limp, the gun dropped into the dirt.

I forced my mouth outta its gape so I could sputter his name. "Slim."

We were only about ten feet apart, but I ran the distance, immediately dropping to my knees when I reached him. I could tell just by that first look that he wasn't on this side of light. I could also tell by that first look that he wasn't on the other side of life. The breaths were there, too quiet to be comforted by this fact, though. Dadgum, Slim'd been hit three times.

With the bullet tearing a hole front and back through his ribs, the leg looked the worst. I knew it wasn't, though. It was where the blood was seeping through his vest that scared me.

"Slim?" Staring at his eyes to see if the lashes could offer me a simple flutter, I gave his cheek a pat. "Slim, can you hear me?"

He was too far gone. In darkness, yeah, but if the fear that was gripping me was telling me any kinda truth, he was too far gone period.

I tried one more time. "Slim!"

If picking him up didn't kill him, I knew there was hope. Going low so I could tuck Slim's body over my shoulders, I purposely positioned his head so his lips were near my ear. The first puff was almost instantaneous. The second was torturous to wait for. I swear it took the amount of time that I heaved five solid breaths, but then again, my air was pumping rather hard in and outta my lungs just then.

With every step I listened. When I didn't hear it, I hurried faster, inwardly begging for that next breath to come. I felt it as I reached my horse but it was too soon to give thanks. I had to move Slim into the saddle, and since I wouldn't be able to hold him up, I was gonna have to drape him like a corpse.

It hurt him. Even amid his unconsciousness, I heard Slim groan. So fearful that this was his way of entering eternity, I stuck my hand against his chest. The rhythm was there, but I couldn't just pull away the moment I felt his heartbeat. I had to count it, study it, make sure it wasn't about to stop. After a minute I switched the position of my hand and pulled the reins free.

At least I didn't have to take him far. But as I began to walk back to the shack, my eyes kept returning to the place of battle. What was he doing out here in the first place? I scratched my chin just once after that thought, because I did have a bigger question to ask. The more I repeated it inside my head, those same fingers started curling into a knot. Who shot him?

Reaching for the iron that was still hugging his hip, I pulled it free and checked its insides. It was missing a coupla bullets, as was the belt that stretched around his backside. It definitely looked as if Slim wasn't merely passing through, but had purposely positioned himself to fight.

But who was he shooting at? And why?

Slim's only enemy shoulda been me.

The shack again in front of me, I laid Slim over my back and then eased him onto the cot. My hands couldn't leave his body yet. He was very close to the edge of his grave and I didn't wanna let go in case it was his time to let go. But I was gonna have to. I couldn't just stand there and watch him die. I had to do whatever I could to make sure he didn't.

"Hang on, Slim," I said, giving his arm a squeeze and then my boots were in a hard pound back outside.

I took the hooves even faster, surprising myself as we rode toward the main road and the town that sat at its end that I knew more of Psalm twenty-three than I realized. Although I reckon in this case I wasn't saying it like it was a life-ending vigil. Every word was uttered as a prayer and if I had to go all the way to heaven to make sure it was heard, I would. About an hour later, it wasn't heaven's gates that I rode into, though. I'd hit the town.

Off my horse before the dust could settle, I grabbed the arm of the closest man, swinging him around to face me. "You live in this town, Mister?"

"For ten years," he answered, staring more at the grip I had in his flesh than at my eyes. Maybe that was a good thing. That blue musta been glowing like fire.

"Good. Then you'll be able to tell me where I can find a doc."

"There ain't no doc here."

If I thought my eyes were fire before, they musta turned into bolts of lightning. My voice was the thunder. "Whaddya mean there ain't no doc here?"

"This is a small town, Mister. It's just as I said. There ain't no doc here. No sheriff to keep order, either."

"Then is there someone that does any kinda patching?" I asked, watching as the fella shook his head. "What about a nurse? Dadgum, I'd even settle for a midwife."

"Sorry, Mister. If there's any real doctoring that's needed, people go on into Sheridan."

My head snapped toward the north. "That's gotta be a day away!"

"A day and a half."

"That's too far!"

"Mister," he said, his voice rising in tone like mine. "I got me a baby at home. If my arms ain't able to rock him when he's up howling tonight, my missus is gonna holler louder than the kid."

"Sorry." And since there wasn't any reason to take my frustration out on the fella, I let him go.

He left, rather abruptly away from my outburst, but I didn't blame him. I woulda ran away from my temper, too. But what I couldn't do was run away from my fear. There was no doc closer than a day and a half's ride away. Three days if I counted coming and going. Slim didn't have that much time. A half day might be pushing it. Dadgum, my hour's ride might be all that he's got left. And I still gotta ride that full hour back.

The saddle underneath me again, I gave Traveler a kick. "Gotta get back to him, Son. And it's gotta be faster than we came."

I'd slowed up a lot by the time I hit the timber. I still felt the urge to hurry, but I could also sense the solemnity around the place. I didn't wanna disturb that. I didn't wanna take away Slim's peace if he'd already found it. My fingers even crept up to my hat right after I dismounted, pulling it to my chest to show the proper respect as I walked through the door, lest Slim's stride had already gone over the golden threshold to whatever existed beyond the sky.

It took only a second for me to hear the hitch of his breath. I ran to him, expecting his blue eyes wide enough to collide with my own, but Slim wasn't outta his dark enclosure yet. For all I knew, he mighta been deeper inside than when I'd left. The only difference now he was rolling a bit, kinda thrashing against his pain.

I put my hand on his forehead. There was a fever there, too. Dadgum!

My eye was drawn to his chest. The bullet wasn't a direct hit there. The spread of the blood only looked as if it covered his heartbeat. Pulling the buttons of Slim's shirt apart, I checked where the actual hole was. It was up a little bit. Not close enough to his shoulder to say only his flesh was damaged, but it had to be far enough from his heart to have kept his throb going this long.

The ribs, I barely gave a glance at. If it were me with that kinda wound, all I'd ever ask for was a pair of bandanas to stuff in each hole and then I could get back in the saddle, chop a load of wood to fire up the morning coffee or go off to a dance in town without a single complaint. Slim might not wear the same kinda hide as I do when he's been on the wrong end of a gunfight, but he's near enough the same to know that if all he suffered was this one, there'd be nothing to worry about.

But then I touched his leg. I knew Slim was out. I mean really out, but the moment my fingers started spreading the flesh apart, he sucked in a draft of air so fast it sizzled. No wonder. The bullet was still in there.

"Oh, God," I said and while I did look up, my eyes couldn't stray far from Slim.

Yeah, I could keep praying. I could even get down on my knees and beg. I reckon I could go so far as me making some cockamamie vow to turn into some kinda saint or something. But I knew it wasn't gonna fix Slim. Sure, it wouldn't hurt to pray or to get on my knees, although it might make me squirm a little, knowing I was saying something I didn't mean. But then again, I reckon the Almighty woulda seen right through any cockamamie vow coming through my lips anyway. But it didn't matter how far I took my plea. I knew the bullets weren't just gonna fall outta Slim. No angel in glowing robes was gonna do it either. Nope. I was gonna have to do it. Me.

Pulling the knife outta my boot, I held it tightly in my hand, the breath taken a deep one, a shaky one. There was no more time to wait. If I didn't get the bullets out soon, Slim'd be gone.

But not forgotten.