Deliverance
The
ribbon of road was dusty and pock marked with the sign of wagons and riders that
had traveled the route before him. Dry
days with the merest of breezes had served to make the reading of sign more
difficult and many trails led away from the right path but his experience showed
through and he singled out tracks made by three horsemen riding north.
Jess
was certain these were the tracks left by Wes Denton and his cohorts, so he
stuck hard to their trail realizing that the colder trail Tobias Tibbles’ left
much earlier that morning would be harder if not impossible to distinguish from
the many tracks made by other travelers throughout the day. But by keeping an eye on the short-trigger men he trusted that
Tibbles would have a chance of making it safely back to town.
Willow,
cottonwoods and quacking aspen crowded a small stream that chuckled over a rock
bed snaking along the road, which gradually headed northwest.
When their trail abandoned the dirt track, Jess followed the gunmen
across the stream and continued northwest as they hugged the tree line along the
far side of the stream. He was grateful for the filtered shade the golden canopy
provided as the leaves whispered and danced in a light zephyr that set the most
adventurous of them free to play chase as they whirled down around him.
The
gunmen’s trail was clear for the most part but by the shank of the afternoon
periodic gusts of wind had reshuffled the light soil and leaves, obliterating
the tracks and he questioned himself for sticking to the tree line.
Was it just the random jerks of wind or were the three curly wolves on to
him? Had they covered their own
tracks? Cutting for sign he picked
up the tracks again and dogged them once more.
Camping
on the trail of a man who packs his gun loose was risky business let alone
dogging the trail of three badmen. Leaving
a clear trail wasn’t healthy and men of that caliber knew it and would soon be
watching their back trail. Jess
knew it too and combed the country with his eyes as he tailed the gunmen, in the
off chance they had backtracked and intended to dry gulch him.
A
gentle slope dotted with granite slabs and boulders and large sandstone
formations turned the stream further west, away from the road in search of
adventure elsewhere and he approached the giant stone guards with wary attention
despite the clear trail that lay beneath his horse’s hooves.
Clouds
shifted slowly above the ridge as the sun began to circle down and a breeze
skipped in that smelled of rain. Was
it a faint whiff of something troublesome in the air or the change of landscape
that bothered him? Jess trusted his
instincts—they served him often enough that he seldom disregarded them—so he
reined easy, vigilant as the stony sentinels he now nosed the bay gelding among.
Wide
beams of sunlight descended through breaks in the clouds, some striking the
weathered rock formations collecting dense shadows beneath them. Now
in the heart of the stony hillside a flash caught his eye just as a moving cloud
stole the light from the sunny slope. He
drew up, speaking softly to his horse in the cover of a massive boulder, and
waited. Was it the flash of
sunlight on cold, blue-tinged steel or was it something much less sinister?
He
let his right hand drop back and loosened the thong that held his forty-five in
place. Moments ticked by as he
studied the rocks above for movement and strained to listen for the sound of
shifting pebbles under hooves but only the faintest whispering of grass came to
him.
Jess
shifted and re-shifted in the saddle doing his best to ease the growing tension
in his muscles. He snatched the
canteen from the saddle horn and took a deep pull to dampen the tightening in
his belly, then with a squeeze of his legs, horse and rider slowly moved out of
the protection of the boulder and into a vast interruption of smaller stone
shapes and brushwood. He rode wary
over the ragged rocks and through the low ground cover, ever watchful for the
slightest movement and alert to the lightest of sound.
He
felt the puff of a bullet pass his cheek before he heard it. His
reaction was instantaneous with no time for thought. In
a headlong dive Jess quit the saddle, leaving his hat hanging in the air and
sending the animal dashing into the cover of scrub trees.
As the ground came under him he slapped leather and rolled, palming his
gun and returning fire as he scrambled to his feet.
A
volley of bullets fired from a rocky outcrop above him kicked gravel at his feet
as he tried for the cover of an impressive boulder, then ducking and running
Jess changed course and made for a low earth and stone breastwork of doubtful
shelter.
Bellied
down, tasting gravel behind the miserable lip of bedrock, Jess’ eyes hunted
for better cover within reach but the large boulder he had first tried for was
the only suitable cover. His mouth
quirked in annoyance. Why hadn’t
he pulled his Winchester from the saddle scabbard? With
no rifle and only enough ammunition in his gun belt for two reloads he was
caught short.
A
man hunting a new position moved among the broken columns and Jess fired.
The gunman cried out and staggered a step then recovered and scrambled
behind boulders as Jess tried another shot, the hammer of the revolver clicking
on an empty chamber.
If
you can’t hit it in five shots it’s time to get the hell out of there. That
thought was like hitting the nail square on the thumb and he reflected on it
with grim amusement. Trouble was he
couldn’t. The bushwhackers had
him pinned down like a butterfly on a board.
His
face was etched in desperation, adrenaline coursing through his veins. Jess
worked feverishly ejecting spent cases from the cylinder and thumbing cartridges
from his gun belt into the empty chambers as lead zinged off his small stone
defense sending lead and slivers of rock on erratic paths.
With
loaded revolver Jess turned his attention back to the gunmen’s place of
concealment, his eyes darting among the slabs and columns, seeking a target.
A shot came from within a jumble of boulders and he replied sending the
gunman shrinking deeper into the dark comfort of shadow and stone.
The
zing of a bullet smacked into rock carving a scar across the course-grained
surface of the sandstone inches in front of Jess’ face. Flinching, he gave a startled gasp as a fractured piece of
jagged stone bit him drawing blood on his cheek. He swiped at the small raw wound, leaving a crimson smudge
across his jaw line.
From
the rock outcropping, a gunman showed himself as he lifted a thirty-thirty to
his shoulder. Jess threw a bead on
him and let lead fly, catching the gunman before he could site his rifle.
Through tattered shreds of gun smoke Jess watched as the gunman swayed
and clawed at empty air before pitching forward, tumbling off the rock face.
The
day was growing old and with furrowed brow Jess looked into a darkening sky
filling with grey clouds that spilled in over the Medicine Bow Mountain Range as
the evening began to slip away. A
cool sage-tinted breeze touched his face, stealing warmth from the line of blood
that had inched down his cheek.
As
he pulled the neckerchief from around his neck and mopped what he could from
cheek to chin, his scowl deepened. There
was a gnawing in his mind. Something
wasn’t right. The men in the
rocks had certainly unraveled a load of cartridges his way but had there been
enough flying lead for three guns?
From
his vantage point Jess had a handle on the position of two men. One
gunman lay at the base of the rock formation with a sure case of lead poisoning.
The other gun tipper was injured, though how seriously Jess didn’t
know, and lay crowded in the shadows of boulders.
Where was the third man? Was
he still in the rocks above?
Stuffing
the soiled neckerchief into his hip pocket Jess quickly glanced around at the
scrub trees and rocks to the rear of his breastworks. Was the third man circling around behind hoping to get the
draw on him? He shook his head as
if too free his mind of the tangle of nagging question marks, and turned his
attention back to the fight before him.
A
vaguely disquieting thought suddenly occurred to him. Had there only been two gunmen hiding in the rocks all along?
Had Wes Denton left them here to slow him down while he had gone ahead in
order to take care of Tobias Tibbles on his own?
It was just a hunch, an idea he hoped was wrong, but now there was no
room in his mind for vacillation.
He
cursed the stupid blunder he had made of riding into the gunmen’s plan so
blindly. The fix he’d gotten
himself into fueled him with an anger that raged in the blood that pounded in
his temples as he drove three spent cases from his revolver with the ejector and
shoved bullets into the empty chambers. He
fumbled with one of the shells and it disappeared under his hip.
Seething
with frustration, Jess struggled to control his temper as he lifted his hips
high enough to hunt the ground for the dropped cartridge.
The challenge of staying hunkered down behind the meager cover in which
he had so little faith while searching for the precious shell only served to fan
the flames of anger he felt towards himself, but as he hunted for the cartridge
that had vanished beneath him, a plan formed in his mind.
The
large boulder he had first tried for was his only chance and his only hope of
getting to it was to burn some powder, fast and furious.
If he could make it hot enough to keep the gunman pinned down, he could
chance it.
The
plan was full of holes, but it was the best he could summon and with any luck
would get him out of the tight spot he’d found himself in and hopefully he
wouldn’t be too late to see Tobias Tibbles safely home to his waiting family.
Wearing
a jubilant grin, Jess swiped the recovered shell across his shirtfront to clean
it of dirt, then blew the remaining bits of dust off before he settled it into
the last chamber and closed the loading gate.
Without hesitation, he was on his feet and moving as he thumbed back the
hammer. The gun bucked in his hand
twice as he zigzagged across the open ground toward the chosen cover before the
bark of a pistol answered his, its lead whining past his ear.
Making
one last push for the boulder, Jess held the trigger down and fanned the hammer
of his revolver spraying the rocks with lead.
He hoped the rapid firing would keep the gunman’s head down long enough
to allow him to reach the cover of the vast boulder, but light flared from the
muzzle in the rocks again.
The
ground seemed to tilt and he started to fall.
Though Jess knew he was hit pain hadn’t yet registered.
He tried to stiffen his knees but they buckled under him and he went
down. Suddenly a fearful and
excruciating pain screamed in his left ribcage and he clamped his jaw tightly to
stifle a reflexive moan. An overwhelming need to inspect his wound and staunch the flow
of blood pulled at him, but his only hope now was to play the hand he had been
dealt and he lay still and waited for the shootist to make his next move.
Agonizing
moments later, there came the dry crunch of boots on brittle grass and loose
gravel as the wounded gunman timidly approached.
A snarl of agony attempted to spread across Jess’ face but he steeled
himself from the torment and lay unmoving with his face in the dirt and his gun
hand imprisoned beneath him still clutching the revolver.
He tried to replay it in his mind but he couldn’t be sure how many
shots he had fired. Was his six-gun empty?
The
trim athletic build of a man with gun in hand stretched tall against the sullen
grey sky as Jess stole a look through nearly shuttered eyes.
A dirty neckerchief was tied around the thigh of the gunman’s right leg
and the minor wound stained the man’s pant leg.
With
a slight limp, the shootist made his way along Jess’ prone frame running his
green beady eyes over him until they settled on the dark red sand at Jess’
side. A triumphant leer swelled the
young man’s apple cheeks and he tilted back his head and laughed.
Garret
was buoyed with a feeling of superiority. This was the proudest day of his life. He had made wolf meat of the great Jess Harper.
The lofty opinion he now held for himself didn’t come without some
appreciation for the man at his feet, for it was with envy and despair that his
rivals often spoke of this lean, blue-eyed, dark-haired man from the Texas
panhandle. A man who had not only
learned to handle a gun faster and more accurately than most, he had learned
from the mistakes of others and so had avoided landing in a shallow grave.
At least until now, marveled Garret as he shoved a sand chafed boot under
Jess’ belly and booted him over.
The
wicked grin Garret wore froze in place at the sound of a clickety-click and he
stood in stunned revelation staring down at a cocked forty-five with steady
challenging blue eyes behind it.
Jess
winced at the endless waves of misery that lay behind the shifting of the broken
rib as he moved, but he kept his gun steady and concentrated on the young
man’s midsection, even when his body wanted to rebel as he gained his feet.
“Drop
the thumb buster, Garret,” he said as he fought to keep the guttural sound of
pain from his voice.
Garret’s
smile dwindled to one with no substance behind it as he glanced at his
forty-four, forgotten in the grip of his hand during his brief period of
triumph. Disappointment,
humiliation and the rage of actually being caught flat-footed with gun in hand
mingled in his mind, then his smile grew insolent.
The
defiance in his eyes collapsed but the smile lingered as Garret realized his
face had betrayed him. The echo
from the gunshot rang clearly through the bitter slow swirling gun smoke that
had been discharged from Jess’ revolver and hung over the two men as if it
didn’t want to disperse even as the young gunman’s own consciousness began
to melt away and he stepped beyond the boundaries of his life, ended
by an incurable trigger finger itch.
Jess
stood there staring, unseeing over the young man’s body, his own body bruised,
battered and bleeding while his fingers took over the function of his brain and
he emptied the spent cartridges from the wheel and replaced them with the last
two rounds from the belt loops.
Then
with some relief and a hollow feeling in his gut Jess holstered his revolver and
plucked the neckerchief from his hip pocket, tucking it inside his shirt over
the nasty gash. A grimace fell
across his face, due as much to the sad song of his spirit than the physical
anguish of his wound. He had tasted
the bitterness of taking another man’s life again and one so young at that,
and it weighed heavy on his heart even if the man was asking for it.
----------------------------------------------------------
His
horse stood with head low, waiting wearily in the scrub trees as Jess retrieved
his hat from where it had fallen and went to him. He scratched Traveler’s neck and spoke softly as he made
sure the saddle was still in place and secure and the horse was uninjured.
Finding
no damage to horse or rig his thoughts began to prowl restlessly on which way to
ride. Would it be wiser to hunt Wes
Denton or ride back to the road and search for Tobias Tibbles? He
tried to entertain the thought that Tibbles was already safe at home with his
family, but the upshot of it was, wishing wouldn’t guarantee the outcome.
Just
on the threshold of making a decision on which direction to ride, a pistol
exploded, the sound muffled by distance. Despite the fact Jess was in grievous pain he deftly caught
his foot in the stirrup with a bound and settled into the seat.
The
ground swept by beneath his horse as he rode at a brisk pace northeast toward
the road, toward where the sound had come. The movement of the horse punished his ribcage as horse and
rider negotiated the rough terrain and he slumped in the saddle. The land finally leveled as they gained the road and the
horse’s hooves hammered the dirt track in the artificial dusk of angry blue-grey
clouds.
As
he rounded a bend in the road, a brockle-faced cow dragging a lead rope behind
her was having a go at filling the hide that hung over her bed-slat ribs as she
greedily hunted patches of grass. A
dark form sprawled in the dirt a brief distance further down the road, and the
infant hope that Jess carried of seeing Tibbles safely returned to his family
vanished. With gun in hand he
covered the rest of the distance cautiously then swung down and stood next to
the saddle a moment as he scanned the surrounding vegetation, but saw nothing in
the weakened light beneath the low hanging branches.
Jess
holstered his revolver and stood over the figure with a dizzy, spinning nausea
in his stomach. His broken word to
Faith lay at his feet and the pang of bitter disappointment rode him like spurs.
Trauma and blood loss drained away
his strength and now failure struck him hard.
The weight of it all drove him to his knees beside the man who lay
twisted in the dirt.
Tobias
lay sprawled, the curvature of his gangly frame all out of kilter.
It looked like he had plopped down on his bony rear with one foot out
before him, the other bent at the knee bringing the scruffy ten-hole ankle jack
back by his rump, and then twisting his torso part way around he seemed to have
leaned over to take a real close look at the worn sole.
With
respect for the sodbuster, Jess grabbed the man’s shoulder to straighten him
out and was rewarded with a hideous grunt.
Shocked, he rocked back on his heels then suddenly realizing what it
meant reached out again, but a faint noise from behind stopped him.
“I
must have only creased him. Guess
he’s a lucky man or has an awfully hard head,” said a low cold voice from
within the trees.
The
small hairs on the back of his neck stirred as Jess got to his feet with great
effort and turned slowly around, holding his hands hat-high and empty.
Stepping
onto the road from behind a veil of foliage, Wes Denton faced Jess with gun in
hand.
Tumbleweeds
huddled together for protection as a feeble wind began to sputter and cough then
pause intermittently as if to take a breath. With each gust that assaulted them, the men tipped their hats
into it to shield their eyes from the dust raised from the road.
“Looks
like the boys did you some damage,” Wes said using the muzzle of his six-gun
to point at the torn and soiled shirt.
Jess
winced and placed his hand over the injured ribcage, “No more damage than they
got in return.” His voice was
strangled with pain, “If they were your friends you may want to go read over
‘em.”
“Sorry
to hear that but I think I’ll pass. Big
Enough Brady was all right but he didn’t have sense enough to spit downwind.
I’ll tell you one thing though,” Wes laughed. “I’d
a rather taught a bull to give milk than argue with the man about it.”
The
first patters of rain thwacked the parched earth kicking mushroom puffs of dust
into the air. Wes stuck out his
hand as if to check to see if the falling moisture was actually wet.
“Now you take Garret,” he continued.
“That boy had a lot of promise, but I fear I was going to have to put a
window in his skull sooner or later anyway. He
was getting too puffed up with himself. He
tried to brace me a couple of times. I
could have beaten him in a fair fight. Trouble
was he always favored a shade-draw start.”
Jess
was rankled by Wes’s ho-hum attitude towards his companions.
“Well, it’s you who’s got the draw on me, Wes.
How you want to play it?” he asked as a little tic worked the side of
his mouth.
A
smile flickered across Denton’s face like the flame of an oil lamp in a light
wind. “We can play it one of two
ways, Jess and I’ll let you decide for old time sake.”
He nodded at the crumpled man on the ground. “You can hand over your gun butt first and let me finish my
job and then we’ll just go our separate ways…or…and this is the one I
prefer,” he said interrupting himself, “I can holster Blue Lightning and
we’ll have us a fair powder burning contest. Then
while you’re on a damp cloud shaking hands with St. Peter I’ll finish my job
with Mr. Tibbles here.”
“You’ve
got her money. Why don’t you just
ride out and forget the job?”
His
face turned deathly serious. “I’ve
got principles Jess. You know
that,” he snapped.
The
peppering of cold raindrops came closer now, deepening the color of their shirts
across the shoulders and splattering off their hats as they stood facing one
another. Wes’s eyes showed a
dangerous ferocity and Jess shivered in the chill damp, his side screaming with
the slightest movement. He knew he
was in no shape for a showdown when he could barely stand erect, but it wasn’t
in him to step aside to save his skin and let Wes finish Tobias Tibbles off
either.
A
coughing spasm seized him and he doubled over in agony holding his side as the
tearing pain caught him with each convulsive rush. “Reckon I’m in no condition right now to get in your way,
Wes,” he wheezed as he put the finishing touch on the not wholly concocted
attack, and in fits and starts set himself straight again.
Wes’s
eyebrows shot up and then shaking his head, he said, “You disappoint me
Jess.”
“There’s
nothing I would like more than to beat you at your own game, Wes.”
He gasped as a genuine bolt of pain seized him and he let it settle
before carefully lifting his forty-five from its leather. With
his finger in the trigger guard, he let the gun point down, then rolling the
revolver he cradled it in his upturned palm, butt facing the gunman and offered
the weapon to Wes.
It
irked Wes to think he wasn’t going to get the chance to top Jess Harper in a
gunfight, after all, the one thing he had learned from Garret was he could
ensure the outcome. At that
moment—his face lit with bitter triumph—he made up his mind to blow out Jess
Harper’s lamp no matter what and stepped forward to secure the revolver from
him.
As
Wes reached out for the forty-five cradled in his hand, Jess let the weapon fall
from his palm, spinning the revolver in a backward roll on his trigger finger
and cocking the hammer as it came under his thumb with the grip landing in his
palm.
Eyes
blinking in surprise, Wes staggered back a step before recovering.
His lip curled with disgust, “Damn you Harper.” In
a rage the gunman leveled his weapon and fired as Jess took a fast step to the
left pulling the trigger of his own weapon. The
sound of the two guns fired as one.
Wes
lay writhing on the wet earth as quiet descended, his mouth and eyes clamped
shut his left hand grasping his right shoulder. The
gunman’s forty-four rested within reach and Jess kicked it away, a wave of
pain capturing his ribcage for the effort.
As
the knife like agony began to dull, Jess retrieved a strip of rawhide from his
saddlebags and tied Denton’s hands securely around a small dripping tree.
“You’re not much of a prophet Wes, but you were right about one
thing. It is damp.”
The constant stabbing torture from
the fractured rib and loss of blood from the jagged wound drained him of his
vitality as did the nasty weather, but it was the afternoon blunders and the
responsibility of now riding close herd on a man who had suffered a head injury
and a cold-blooded killer, that made his very soul ache. Jess wanted to put this day behind him, just pick up the
pieces and go home. But
unfortunately it would be a long miserable ride back to town.
As they sank into an ugly drizzly
dusk Jess managed to keep the hurt at bay and saw to the needs of Tobias then
Denton before gathering the three saddle horses, who now stood patiently ground
tied with heads low, their ears either cocked out to the sides or lay back
against the neck in an effort to keep the moisture out. Every little while, one of the horses would waggle his head
vigorously releasing droplets in a heavy spray.
Tobias’s “milk-pitcher,” tied to the apron-faced saddle horse
he had rented from the livery that morning, mooed her complaints.
Jess
had his complaints too but he kept them to himself. Rain drummed on his hat and beaded on his face, dripping off
his nose and chin as he rechecked the girths on each mount.
The leather cinch straps were soft and tacky, soggy leather against soggy
leather, requiring extra effort to tighten the cinches and his cold wet hands
refused to grip the latigo firmly enough to keep them from slipping.
They
had prayed for rain, now Jess prayed for it to cease. The wind gusted, cold and unsympathetic to his wishes and he
trembled as he worked. The
frustration with his inability to do simple tasks eroded his patience and he
aired his lungs at the sodden leather and the nasty weather, effectively taking
some of the chill out of the task but doing nothing for the soaked latigo.
The
tall loose-jointed man perched unsteadily on a low rotting log, his knees up
around his ears. He didn’t seem
to notice his eyeglasses were dotted with multiple rings of droplets that
blurred his vision. Jess looked at
Tobias skeptically. “Do you think
you can ride?” he asked as he helped the shaky man to his feet.
“If
you can get me aboard I’ll stay in the tree,” Tobias answered half-swooning
as his skull rang and hummed. “How
‘bout you? No disrespect, but you
don’t look like you could ride nothin’ wilder’n a wheel chair yourself.”
The
wet spectacles undermined Tobias’s sagacious expression and Jess had to smile.
Tibbles’ concern was justified, he felt awful and figured he didn’t
look much better, but he had ridden in worse shape before and wasn’t too proud
to pull leather where he could find it. “I’ll
manage,” Jess said “It won’t be the first time I choked the horn and shook
hands with grandma.”
Once
Jess felt Tibbles was secure in his saddle seat, he untied Wes’s hands from
around the tree and skinned his revolver. “Get
up,” he said, taking up the mare’s reins.
With
a slack-lipped expression Wes got to his feet, remaining defiantly next to the
tree staring at his mount. “Step
across your horse,” Jess ordered as he motioned Wes to the near side of the
mare. “And do it nice and
easy.”
Wes
obeyed and as he found the saddle seat Jess instructed him to put his hands
behind his back. “How do you
expect me to ride with my hands tied behind my back,” he grumbled as he
complied.
Jess
retied the gunman’s hands with the soaked rawhide before answering. “If
you keep a leg on each side and your mind in the middle you’ll have no trouble
waltzing with the lady,” he said as he turned to mount Traveler from the off
side and with a little grit and grunt, Jess steeled himself from the discomfort
of his broken rib and forked his own saddle. Leading
the mare, Jess turned Traveler and showed the way toward town.
The
trio sagged in their saddles as they plodded down the road in the slanting rain.
The men rode in silence, in their
own thoughts and in their own misery, the strong arm of the wind moving them on.
The
thirsty earth soaked up the moisture until she had her fill, then rivulets of
water began to follow the men, sticking to the wagon ruts for the most part
until gathering in some common low ground where a puddle shivered in the wind.
As
the total darkness of night came down, time seemed to lose its circadian rhythm
and Jess began to wonder if time weren’t standing still. But the tempo of the horses’ hoof beats and the rocking
motion of Traveler’s round rump switching rhythmically from side to side with
each stride told him that they were making slow painful progress.
Chilled
to drowsiness, Jess let Traveler have his head as they led the way down the road
and when the horse took authority and abandoned the dirt track for a trail
headed directly south toward the Sherman Ranch Jess was not immediately aware of
the adjustment in direction.
“Where
are we?” The rusty voiced
question jerked Jess from the edge of sleep. He
had only been in that twilight state just before sleep comes, but it felt as
though he had been deep in sleep and suddenly thrown from some terrible
nightmare.
Still
feeling he was partially in the grip of a bad dream, it took a moment for him to
get his bearings in the dark as the drowsiness sloughed away, but once he had
identified the familiar path Traveler had taken, he heaved a silent prayer of
gratitude and stroked the horse’s neck.
“It seems we’ll be stoppin’ at the relay station for the night
Tobias,” he answered. “It
won’t be long now.”
The
rain was beginning to slack off as the three horsemen approached the small,
warmly lit frame house. The orange
light from a smoky oil lamp spilled out through a window and pooled below the
sill as if hesitant to adventure further into the darkness.
At
the hitching rail, Jess dropped from his saddle hugging leather for a brief
moment before bolstering enough authority in his weary muscles to persuade
Tobias and Wes to leave their saddles as well.
Jess herded the tiny knot of men to the door and another shaft of light
escaped out the door onto the porch, greeting them like a small dog bounding
around their ankles as they entered the welcoming warmth of the house.
The
ranch house was quite rough but cozy, warmed by the natural woods that softly
reflected light from strategically placed lamps in addition to the flickering
light from the stone fireplace. Muted
sounds leaked from one of the bedrooms and Jess called out.
Daisy
whooshed from the small room, closing the door lightly as she placed a finger to
her lips to silence the men. Jess,
forgetting Daisy and Mike would have gotten home late that afternoon, was
startled upon seeing her and could only gawp at her casual yet elegant
handsomeness as she hurried across the puncheon floor to greet him.
His
rain dampened clothes clung to his skin, smelling sour in the heat of the
crackling fire and she drew up short. “Jess,
you look awful,” she admonished, her nose wrinkling.
“Well,
you sure are a sight for sore eyes, Daisy,” he said, his voice cracking as his
eyes went moist. Jess felt almost
lucky his grungy appearance had held her at bay, preventing the hug he knew
would have pained his rib considerably. “Where’s
Slim?” he asked, a wince flashing across his face as he caught his side.
“Oh,
Jess, you’re hurt,” she said, her face going pale. She reached to unbutton his soiled shirt. “Let
me have a look.”
Jess
waved her off. “It can wait,
Daisy. Have you seen Slim?”
Stepping
back, Daisy gave Jess a measuring look. “He’s
been out looking for you since late this afternoon.
Mort’s been out looking too.”
“Well,
I wish ‘em luck,” Jess said with a sheepish grin that changed to a grimace
before fading to a thin line.
Not
completely satisfied that Jess was at all alright, she hesitantly turned her
attention to the two strangers, giving each one of them an appraising once over.
“You must be Mr. Tibbles,” she said with a gracious smile to the tall
stoop-shouldered man wearing water-spotted spectacles and a neckerchief tied
about his forehead. “I’ll take a look at that head wound of yours as soon as
you’ve put your wife’s mind at ease. She’s
resting in my room.” With a quick
flourish she added, “There are towels in the bottom drawer of the dresser and
I’ll see if I can find you something dry to wear.”
Jess’
eyebrows bunched and twisted. “Mrs.
Tibbles is here?” he asked pointing to the floor.
“Why
yes,” she said, sounding almost as if it surprised her that Jess was
bewildered at this bit of news. “Slim
met us at the stage when it stopped in town and told me all about what you two
have been up to. Then Mike and I
went over and introduced ourselves to Mrs. Tibbles and her children.”
She patted Jess on the arm, “I’ll tell you all about it later, but
first you three must get out of those wet clothes and put on something dry
before you catch your death.”
She
began to shepherd Tobias in to see his wife.
“If you’ll take care of this gentleman,” she said indicating the
man whose hands were tied behind his back, “I’ll get Mr. Tibbles settled and
then I’ll see to your wounds.” Her
eyes scanned the damage that had become quite evident among the three men.
“It looks like I will have my hands full tonight.”
Jess’
eyes trailed them to the bedroom door before turning to focus on Denton.
He nudged Wes to the rocker in front of the fireplace.
“More likely than not, the law’ll hang you out to dry.
But Daisy’s right. We
don’t want you catching your death before you go to trial.”
A
familiar mean curl of the mouth and seething anger exploded across Wes’s face
as an unexpected hard blow to the jaw drove Jess against the mantle of the
fireplace.
“You
won’t live to see me ride under a cottonwood limb Harper,” Wes said, his
tone savage.
The
rawhide twang flapped loose around one wrist as Wes swiftly slipped his hand
into the top of his boot and drew out a blade of steel that gathered light from
the fire. The pungent sweaty odor
that danger produces was heavy in the room and Jess sought to control the
flaming rage rising in his mind and heart as Wes moved in, poised to attack.
The
knife came in a sideways arc catching Jess’ shirt as he barely slipped out of
reach of the blade. He circled, the
blade following in chopping outward arcs. Then Wes thrust suddenly, coming in
with a long stride. Jess stepped to
his right and as the blade drove past him into empty air he struck Wes on the
jaw with a right cross, knocking him against the table.
The
sudden eruption of violence brought Daisy from the bedroom.
She froze in wide-eyed alarm, the squawk of fear that emitted from her
mouth muffled by her hand. Her hand then dropped to her breast and she turned ever so
slightly with the urge to flee back into the safety of her room, but she shook
off the initial horror and hastily marched past the fracas into the kitchen, her
face frightened but determined.
Furiously,
Wes wheeled and stabbed vacant space again as Jess moved back in retreat. The
glittering steel slashed and stabbed the air, pressing him first one way then
another. Twice the blade snatched his shirtsleeve and a thin red line
filled the knife’s path across the back of his forearm.
Denton
feigned with the knife, but instead slammed Jess with a fist to the cheekbone
that sent him to the floor. Wes was
on him like lightning, the cold steel coming down like an ice pick.
Jess
shot a hand to Wes’s throat robbing him of air and stalling the downward
thrust of the knife. Before his
assailant could recover Jess seized Denton’s wrist and the battle of will was
on as the blade wavered over him, clutched in a deadly power struggle.
The
men scuffled for control of the knife, Jess’ eyes igniting in pain from the
punishment the fractured rib was taking. He
squirmed beneath Wes’s intense determination, the pain making him want to cry
out to God to make it stop.
The
veins in both men’s necks stood out, their faces turning red from the ferocity
of the fight. Beyond the grappling
hands, Jess looked into ugly venomous eyes.
He clenched his teeth and his boot heels drummed the floorboards as he
battled the slow downward progress of the blade. His fatigued muscles trembled, begging for relief.
Drained
of strength Jess let go, wrenching his body hard to the side.
The point of the knife plunged, penetrating the floorboard with a hollow
thud near enough to his neck for him to feel the blade’s shiver.
Grunting,
Wes rocked the knife handle, forward and backward trying to wrench the blade
from the floor as Jess sought to thwart his attempts. Dog-tired
and hampered by the other man’s weight astride his middle, Jess shot a hand
towards Wes’s throat again but managed to do little more than jam the other
man’s chin up and back with the heel of his hand. Wes
retaliated with a vicious fist to the jaw that slammed Jess’ head to one side.
Drawing
the blade free of its imprisonment, Wes raised the knife to his ear for the
final strike, the orbs of his eyes like the unblinking eyes of a snake. Jess
mustered up what resistance he could for the anticipated thrust of the knife,
but suddenly Wes keeled over, and from out of nowhere the black bottom of a cast
iron skillet bulged into sight.
In
deep conversation Slim and Mort stepped out of the blackness into the warm light
of the house. Slim pulled up short
just inside the door as though his feet had lost their train of thought and Mort
plowed into him.
Both
men’s jaws dropped like a tailgate on a wagon as they stood there agape,
watching Daisy with skillet in hand anxiously hovering over a man that seemed to
have more limbs than he knew what to do with. It appeared this strange fellow was trying to scratch his ear
with his knee, when out from the pile of arms and legs peered Jess’ eyes, lit
to pinpoints of blue brilliance by the fire light.
Jess
took in Daisy’s concerned face as she brushed a cloud of hair out of her eyes,
then focused on the two men dripping by the door in rain-spattered dusters.
The cold fist that had begun to close in on his heart just moments before
abruptly released its hold and his heart took off into a carefree gallop.
“You feller’s better put your jaws in a sling, your apt to step on
‘em,” he said in a somewhat strangled voice as he commenced to worm free of
the unconscious man’s weight.
The
sound of Jess’ stifled voice set the men’s feet in motion.
Mort cantered across the floor to check on the condition of the man laid
out cold atop Jess while Slim scurried to Jess’ aid.
“You get into more trouble without even trying, than anyone else I
know,” Slim chided as he offered Jess a hand up.
“You all right? You look like you crawled through a barb wire fence to fight
a catamount in a bramble patch.”
Jess
rose on shaky feet, his voice tight with pain.
“Right now I’m feelin’ pretty good considerin’ the shape I’m
in.”
Mort
picked up the knife and studied the fine edge. “It’s a wonder you didn’t land in the middle of a
funeral procession today,” he said shaking the point of the knife like a
finger at the weary man. “Riding
out alone after three gun-tippers without even giving us a nod is kinda like
grabbing the branding iron by the hot end.
You should know better than that, Jess, especially after the run-in you
had with these curly wolves in the saloon.
Next time you lock horns with some hombre and you wind up cleaning the
saloon floor with the south side of your pants, I’m gonna lock the cell door
and throw away the key.”
Jess
nodded, he knew his friend was right on all counts. ”You made your point, now why don’t you focus the point of
that knife somewhere else.”
Feeling
as though he had lost a considerable amount of steam and his legs were about to
desert him, Jess aimed for the rocking chair as the light of his consciousness
whittled down to a narrow beam. His
vision grew faint and he drifted off course as though someone had stolen his
rudder.
“Oh
Jess!” Daisy’s breath caught in
her throat as he teetered towards the fireplace and she reached out to steady
him. Her hair had come undone on
one side and she brushed it back with her free hand. “Slim!
Help me get him to bed so I can
tend to his wounds.”
Being
on short sleep rations, Jess would have been happy enough just to fall asleep in
his clothes. All he wanted was to
escape the day and sleep off his tiredness, but when Slim helped him back out of
his shirt and jeans he allowed it without protest.
Soon
Daisy was at his side and as gently as it was doable she treated his wounds and
bound the broken rib. At length the doctoring was completed and leaving the room
they bade him a good night. As the
door swung silently shut sealing him in hushed darkness, Jess rolled into a
loose fetal position and the memory of the day slipped away as he gave himself
to the blessed womb of sleep.
He
slept undisturbed, oblivious to whispered activities within the small ranch
house throughout the night. Morning
found him healed of the desperate tiredness but drowsy and reluctant to stir.
The house was flooded with soft busy steps and the stream of voices
intrigued him, but he remained secure in his blankets for a time longer.
As
a little more of the drowsiness began to slough away, a gnawing hunger grew in
his belly and he started to test his physical limitations in anticipation of a
stroll to the kitchen. His
fractured rib offered him the most grief but he found overall he felt good
enough to fidget.
The
sounds of laughter and friendly argumentation that ran through the house
heightened his curiosity and Jess tossed off the covers swinging his feet onto
the floor. He wore a pair of cotton
waist-high drawers cut off at the knees and his ribcage was bound tight by white
cloth, under which his rib still protested mightily. He
rested, gripping the edge of the wild-grass mattress as he listened to the hum
of conversation before reaching for his pants.
Jess
had managed to slip one leg into his trousers just as Daisy entered the room.
As she came in voice first, he
attempted to portray the image of health as he proceeded to tussle with the
garment’s other leg, but blinked with incredulity as a stream of giggling
youngsters tailed her through the door and he felt a rush of heat rise to his
face. The show of well-being was
out the door and it was all he could do to hide the blushes that reddened his
cheeks.
Feeling
naked and cold before them and without a thought for his painful rib he hastily
retreated under the blankets again, dragging his denims in behind.
A feather of dark curl licked his forehead as he pulled the covers up
under his chin.
Daisy
gave him a teasing grin as his face reached its deepest hue.
“You’re color is much better, but—,”—he heard the words before
she even said it—“–you’re not to be getting out of bed.”
The
ample, but handsome woman wore a white apron over her jacket bodice, which was
the color of smoked glass, and a matching open overskirt over a rose-blush
underskirt.
She
leaned down, plumping his pillow before brushing the unruly lock of hair from
his forehead. He caught a heavenly
whiff of her unique scent, a combination of some floral fragrance he couldn’t
identify blended with the absolutely scrumptious aroma of venison and onions.
As
she straightened, she tugged the form-fitting bodice that had ridden up a
little, back down. “If there’s
anything you need, just holler and someone will get it for you. We have more helping hands than we know what to do with,”
she said, indicating the sea of bubbly faces.
“Now, would you like something to eat?”
The
mention of food excited his taste buds. “You bet! I’m
hungry enough to eat a saddle blanket.”
A
titter ran through the jagged line of girls that had formed around his bed.
“Well, I think I can do better than that,” she laughed, and with a
twinkling eye Daisy swept out of the room on her mission.
Jess
had so many questions he had wanted to ask her but she hurried out of the room
much too quickly and left him feeling utterly alone as he met the questioning
eyes of the small flock of lasses that for some reason, failed to pursue Daisy
back through the door.
An
uneasy silence hung over the room for one awful moment as he scanned his
restless audience. Then something
unseen among the girls sparked a commotion of voices.
His
eyes followed the conversation around the room but the words ran together like
rain and his ears couldn’t make heads-nor-tails out of it. Eventually
he concluded that the two littlest tykes were speaking a language of their own
that he didn’t savvy and the rest of the gals spoke fluent gibberish. He
was grateful when the babble abruptly died
as a small knot of boys trooped through the doorway led by Mike.
The
six girls scowled at the newcomers while Jess feasted his eyes on the tray of
food Mike proudly carried into the room and settled in his lap.
The fare consisted of thick slices of venison roast herded along by
onions, carrots and potatoes slathered in sop.
“How’re
you feeling Jess?” Slim asked as
he slipped in through the door. Standers
occupied nearly all available space but he found room behind the boys.
“Daisy says she’s gonna keep you in bed for at least a week.”
Jess
opened his mouth as if to speak, but thought better of it and shoveled a
burdened fork into his mouth and gave Slim a “you-won’t-catch-me-ridin’-the-bed-wagon-for-a-whole-week”
look instead.
He
felt a little uncomfortable with all eyes on him as he ate, but he was so hungry
and the food so delicious he didn’t let the discomfort interrupt his meal and
while he savored his first bite of food in more than 24 hours, Jess primed a
second load before he finally spoke.
“You
know Slim, your cookin’ ain’t exactly hard to swallow, but I gotta hand it
to the women for puttin’ flavor in a fella’s grub.”
“Did
I hear a compliment on my cooking,” Daisy asked as she plowed her way back
into the room, “or was that merely a criticism of Slim’s kitchen skills?”
“Reckon
it’s a compliment to your cookin’, Daisy,” he answered his voice warm with
gratitude. “I’d try anything
that comes from your stove.”
Laughter
broke out and ran around the room like a dog chasing its tail and he cocked his
head in wonder at the inside joke they were all sharing.
“If
you’re sure, I’ve got a couple more things in the oven you can try,” Daisy
said in a teasing hesitant tone as laughter raced around the room again, and
with a twinkle in her eye she slipped back out the door.
The
situation was too delicious for him to pass up and as if hugging some wonderful
secret, Mike crowded closer to the bed, clearly unable to repress his
excitement. “Wait ‘til you see
what Aunt Daisy’s got warmin’ in her oven this time, Jess,” he said all
smiles and smugness working the corners of his mouth.
With
great anticipation, Jess quickly finished off his venison and moments later
Daisy worked her way back into the room followed by Tobias. Each
carried identical bundles that appeared to be no larger than a small loaf of
bread wrapped in flour sack towels.
A
whisper of excitement ran through the room as Daisy bent over and held the small
bundle low for him to inspect. Poised
with fork in hand, Jess looked down at the offering. His eyebrows bunched and twisted as amusement broke out on
the faces of the onlookers, for within the folds of the flour sack towel was a
tiny baby, as wrinkled as an old boot and waving its arms like a capsized
beetle.
He
gaped at the infant then at his fork, staring at the utensil for a moment as if
its purpose had escaped him, then back to the small bundle Daisy offered him.
Laughter burst through the room again and with a last glance at his fork,
he caught up their laughter and echoed it.
As
the laughter died down Tobias stepped forward looking as messed up as a grass
rope on a cold wet morning, but wearing a grin that was so big he couldn’t
have hidden it behind a hill. “Take
a gander at this one, Harper,” Tobias said displaying the second bundle. “My
girls are comin’ in bunches now.”
For
a time, the onlookers discussed among themselves how to tell the infants apart,
but eventually they drifted out in a tussle of opinions as to whom the infants
would look like. Jess was glad they
had moseyed out when the subject was broached as he sure didn’t want to
speculate on that one.
Slim
lagged behind to fill Jess in on the activities that had taken place after he
had ridden out of town on Denton’s trail. “Mort
and I met the stage when it made its stop in town and told Daisy about the
situation. She and Mike decided to
get off the stage in town and meet Mrs. Tibbles and the children.
They all hit it off so well, Daisy rented a horse and wagon at the
livery, and invited the whole-kit-and-caboodle to spend the night at the ranch.
It was a good thing the kids were bedded down in Mike and Daisy’s rooms
by the time you rode in last night.”
Noise flooded the room as Slim stepped out the door. The closing of the door behind him muted the squawking of playing children and Jess leaned back against his pillows. His ribcage complained considerably yet a smile came easy to his lips.
The End