Slim
rubbed his tired eyes and waited for the coffee to heat up. Mort had left a few
hours earlier after deciding that he could do more for Jess if he was in town.
Slim hadn’t slept a wink.
He was only
mildly aware of the burning on his tongue as he drank deeply – he needed to
think and he hoped that the strong coffee would impart to him some of the same
miraculous effects it usually had on Jess. Besides, he didn’t think that he
could stomach anything solid after last night. He had made Mort repeat the story
three times and he still couldn’t believe it himself.
He knew that
Jess had been in trouble before he made his grand entrance on the Sherman Ranch
a few years back but Slim always believed that a lot of that trouble was of his
own making. Oh sure, there had been several individuals who just wanted to get
Jess out of some misplaced vendetta, but there usually was a reason, if only
because Jess had a tendency to jump into situations of which he knew none of the
particulars and generally sided with the underdog. Not to say that Jess was a
troublemaker – Slim knew him well enough to know that trouble just had a way
of finding him and he wasn’t one to back down when pushed.
This time had
been different – Mort’s account had Jess shooting a man in the back, in cold
blood, then turning tail and running away. Or so it appeared. If Slim had been
standing when Mort told him, he felt he would have fallen over, he was sure of
it. As it was, he had gripped the edge of the table until his knuckles turned
white and Mort had asked him if he was okay.
‘Jess?
Shoot a man in cold blood and in the back then run away from trouble? Heck –
Jess run away, period.’ The thought alone was
absurd. In the years that he had come to know Jess, not once had Slim ever seen
his best friend back down from anything if it was the honourable thing to do.
This was the same man who would take on five men at once, not seeming to care
whether or not he came out on top. No, Jess was no coward - he would never shoot
another man in cold blood, especially not in the back; he didn’t need to with
his quick draw and deadly accurate aim. This was different, though, and Slim
needed to know more.
“What are
you talking about, Mort?”
Slim could
tell that Mort was having as much trouble with the information as he was.
Mort told him
about a man by the name of Durbin, a man without conscience, so patently cruel
and violent that his parents disowned him while he was still in his teens.
After murdering them along with the town’s sheriff and deputy, he had
set fire to his family’s farmhouse then left the area and no one had dared try
to follow him. He eventually made a name for himself throughout Texas and much
of Wyoming as a ruthless killer with no loyalties. It got to the point that,
rather than risk being killed by him in one of his drunken rages or left to the
law to face a hanging rope, his own gang decided that it was safest to shoot him
- in the back if necessary - and not look back.
That is
exactly what they had done. Even
though the man was wanted in more counties than Mort could count, Durbin’s men
had not waited around long enough to worry about any bounties they could have
claimed on his life. To Mort, that fact alone said a lot about Durbin’s
reputation.
Enter Jess.
“Slim, from
what I’ve been able to find out - and it isn’t much - Jess stumbled across
Durbin after he’d been shot and brought him to the closest town. Jess offered
to pay for his care even though the doc didn’t hold out any hope for the man
– must have been shot up pretty bad.
“Before
Durbin could recover enough to learn anything more about the man who’d rescued
him, Jess paid the doctor for his services and headed west. I don’t reckon
Jess knew who it was that he’d helped and it seems as though he really
didn’t care. He was still on the drift when this all happened. Probably felt
he didn’t need any attachments and you know as well as I do he’s not one to
wait around for gifts of gratitude.”
Thinking back
to his initial encounter with the young drifter, Slim had to agree that, at that
time in his life, Jess would have felt the man had needed his help and he would
have given it, no questions asked. With Jess, even now, that’s all there
usually was to it.
Evidently,
the gang learned of Durbin’s miraculous recovery and decided that it was
safest to court the enemy they knew rather than try to get rid of the man again.
The only problem with their plan was having to explain away the young drifter
who had unwittingly helped Durbin. That was when they had concocted the story
that Mort told Slim.
They branded
Jess a coward; but a dangerous man nonetheless, a man to be reckoned with, one
who was willing to shoot one of the meanest, most violent men in Texas and walk
away. It was said that Jess ambushed him, shot him in the back, and headed west.
The men who were actually responsible for shooting Durbin had then taken the
credit for nursing him back to health and Jess was none the wiser.
“What about
the doctor? He knew the truth.”
Slim’s
sense of justice would not allow him to believe that a doctor could turn his
back on the only person who had helped an injured man, regardless of who that
injured man happened to be. The lies that Durbin’s gang had spread about Jess
were sure to lead to his death and no self-respecting doctor would allow that.
“Slim,”
Mort shook his head, wishing his friend could understand the type of man they
were dealing with. “The doctor never had a chance. The only reason I was even
able to find out this much was because Durbin put a bullet through one of his
own men then left him for the county marshal. The poor man was half-dead by the
time the marshal got to him…I reckon he wanted to make his peace with God or
something because he gave it all up before he died. He made it very clear that
Durbin is out to find Jess and kill him – as slowly and painfully as he
can.” Mort paused and looked Slim straight in the eyes. “He’s out for
blood.”
Mort had
stayed long enough to make sure that Slim wasn’t going to do anything foolish
without his help then he had decided to get back to Laramie. Without a deputy in
town, he couldn’t risk staying away for too long. He promised to check back
with Slim later that day.
Slim was
still numb. When Jess knew what he was up against, he usually stood a pretty
good chance or at least managed to stay alive. But this time, Jess had no idea
what was coming his way and Slim couldn’t be sure that his pard hadn’t
already found out the hard way. He was thankful that Daisy and Mike weren’t
around. At least that was one less thing to worry about. He knew that they
wouldn’t be able to get back to the ranch until the roads cleared up and last
night’s rain had ensured that, even if Mike was feeling better, they would
have to stay in town for a few more days.
Slim finished
his coffee and gathered as many supplies as he felt he could handle. He hoped
that he wouldn’t need to use most of what he had packed, but he knew that Jess
would have returned by now if he were able. The man never missed three meals in
a row unless he had a darn good reason and Jess had not eaten since breakfast
the previous day. Even rain couldn’t keep him away that long.
Before
leaving, Mort had offered to ask a neighbour to ride out to the Sherman Ranch to
take care of the stage and Slim was now grateful for Mort’s clear thinking. He
realized that his concern for Jess and his lack of sleep were starting to
seriously cloud his judgement and that it would only get worse until he found
Jess. He still clung to a faint hope that he would find the younger man in a
ditch somewhere, cursing a broken ankle or some other irksome injury. How many
times over the past few years had he rushed out in a panic only to find Jess
hobbling home with a bump on his head and Traveler’s reins in his hand? Slim
actually grinned at the thought, ‘If only Jess could see me now – he
always says I worry too much… Well, Jess, here I come!’
The
dawn sun was just rising above the horizon as Slim rode out through the mud
towards it. He never saw the saddled sorrel that sauntered into the yard less
than ten minutes later. And he never met the rider – his neighbour - who rode
up to the ranch a couple of hours later, unsaddled the weary horse, and put him
in the barn then went about the business of greeting the morning stage and
serving coffee to Mose and his two lone passengers.
Chapter 7
The
warmth was wonderful. He promised himself to thank Slim for making such a great
rip-roaring fire as soon as he decided to get up. He wasn’t sure why Slim
wasn’t yelling at him to get out of bed – with Daisy away in town, wasn’t
it his turn to make breakfast? Oh, and how he looked forward to breakfast. Why
was he so hungry?
Breakfast
could wait, though – this was heaven. He tried to roll over and snuggle deeper
into the blankets. The dream had been marvellous... instantly his eyes flew open
and he shuddered in pain. His side was on fire and his head was pounding. It
took only a moment to realize that he was not in his bed and that the warmth
that he felt was not from his blankets or from the fireplace. He felt a rush of
heat on his cheeks and a wave of dizziness and he remembered where he was – he
wondered how long he had lain there. He distinctly remembered it had been dark
and he had felt very cold, wet, and had been in tremendous pain. He tried to
remember what had happened… Where was Traveler? Had he been thrown? Was Mike
okay? Where was Slim?
Jess Harper
was panicking.
He closed his
eyes and forced himself to calm his breathing. This was not the time to be
panicking. He tried to sit up as he had the night before, hoping to survey the
extent of the damage in the early morning light. As he leaned forward, he
noticed a growing dark crimson stain on his side and the blood that covered his
hands. He gingerly touched his forehead and was mildly relieved to find that
there was no fresh blood on his fingers. He looked at his surroundings, trying
with great difficulty to recall how he had gotten himself into this predicament.
He could remember the fence but he didn’t think that he had done a very good
repair job. He rubbed his aching temples and willed his foggy brain to work.
He remembered
thinking about home and needing to talk to Slim. ‘Slim! Where are you?’
Why did he need to talk to Slim….Mike! He knew that something was wrong with
Mike but he couldn’t think of what that was.
He’d worry about that later. Right at the moment, he was too tired to bother. He felt himself falling back into the grass. His last thought was that Slim was going to be angry with him – it was his turn to make breakfast…
Mort
Cory was one worried man. He couldn’t tell Slim how serious the situation
really was. Even though Slim had met and, in some cases, dealt with many of the
dangerous people who had tangled with Jess over the years, there was still too
much decency in the young man to imagine anyone as horrific as Durbin or the
terrible things that he was capable of doing. Jess was far more familiar with
violence than Slim ever would be and for once, Mort wished Slim could
understand. Durbin was beyond reason and much of his violent hatred was being
directed right at the man whom Mort considered one of his best friends. He felt
powerless and he hated that feeling.
Mort
scanned the dozens of wanted posters that he had scattered across his desk –
the same desk that his friend and oft times deputy had so casually leaned
against just days earlier, joking about an old wanted posted with his own name
typed across the top. Jess had been cleared of the charges long ago but every
once in a while an old yellowed copy would show up. He could now chuckle about
it but that had only been a recent change – he was fiercely protective of his
good reputation, a reputation that he credited to Slim and Mort’s friendship
and support.
Looking down
at the Durbin posters, he read the captions: “bank robbery”, “murder”,
“arson”; the list went on and on. And these were only the most recent
posters, the ones that could be shared with the general public in the hopes of
bringing the man to justice.
Mort walked
over to the empty jail cells and gripped the bars, longing for them to give him
the information he needed. He couldn’t even get a posse together until he knew
for sure what he was looking for. He knew Jess would not be missing unless he
was in trouble and Mort feared that Jess had no idea as to the full extent of
the trouble that he was in. He walked over to the gun cabinet and rechecked the
same rifles he had loaded only minutes earlier. All he could do was wait.
*****
Slim
scanned the same muddy fields for the third time. He had started along the north
fence and had come across Jess’ shoddy attempts at repair work from the
previous day. He felt a wave of relief at the thought of Jess getting any work
done – although the repairs were not Jess’ best work by far, he was glad to
see that his friend had at least been there and not dead in a ditch somewhere.
He pushed that thought to the back of his mind and urged his horse onward.
He decided
that if he still had not found Jess by noon, he would go back to the ranch to
see if his weary partner had returned home. If Jess wasn’t there, he would
need to find Mort…
Rough
hands were pulling at him and he was powerless to stop them. He tried to open
his eyes but a gloved hand slapped him across the face - hard. Normally, Jess
would have been more than mildly offended at such a gesture, but it had not been
a normal day and he was definitely not feeling up to dealing with the insult
with his usual panache. He tried to look up at his attacker to show his
irritation but the tears that were freely flowing from his stinging eyes
prevented him from seeing more than a blur of movement and he was not in a
position to see more than his assailant’s long legs.
He
could only gasp in pain as he was hoisted onto a horse and tied unceremoniously
to the saddle. He was thankful that someone had finally found him but he could
not understand why his rescuer was being so rough – couldn’t he see how
banged up he was?
In his dazed
state, he caught a glimpse of the taller man and mistakenly thought that it was
Slim who had found him. Jess gritted his teeth and glared, hoping to let Slim
know just how unhappy he was with the way he was handling the situation. He
never had the chance to realize his mistake as the butt of a rifle connected
with the base of his skull. His last thought was to wonder why his best friend
was hitting him over the head before he returned to blessed oblivion.
‘People
don’t just disappear,’ thought Slim as he
wearily approached the ranch house. His heart skipped a beat when he saw smoke
rising from the chimney and he distinctly recalled not having stoked the fire
before heading out at dawn. He could just imagine the story he was going to hear
when he got into the house – Jess hated being cold and the house had been an
icebox when he had left it that morning. He and Mort had had other things on
their minds and neither of them remembered the fire until it was out.
He
had been riding his horse hard since dawn and he knew that he had to take care
of him before he could even consider going into the house to ream Jess out.
Besides, Jess would never let him live it down if he didn’t take care of Alamo
before taking care of himself. Jess was just that way. Slim smiled at the
thought as he walked into the barn.
Sure
enough, Traveler was settled in his stall and munching on a bucket of oats.
Although it looked like he hadn’t been rubbed down with the care that Jess
usually took and the blanket that was draped across the horse’s back wasn’t
the usual one, Slim could imagine that Jess’ hunger had won out and the poor
man had needed to take care of his own needs. He took his time brushing down
Alamo and watering the rest of the horses. He was glad that he could finally
relax – he might even consider taking a nap by the fireplace later in the
afternoon. He hadn’t slept much over the past couple of nights…
Slim whistled
as he walked to the house. He scraped the mud from his boots and stomped on the
porch step before removing them. He had learned long ago that it was never a
good idea to startle Jess and he wanted to make sure that Jess would hear him
coming in. Slim swung open the door, fully expecting to be greeted by the smell
of fresh coffee and a scowling partner.
The house was
empty.
Slim rushed
to the bedroom that he shared with Jess and was sickened to find it exactly as
he had left it. If Jess had spent the night out of doors and in the rain, he
would have definitely needed a change of clothes and a shave – even exhausted,
his pride didn’t allow him to stay grungy if he could help it. Stunned, Slim
walked into the kitchen and his eyes rested on a small note that had been tucked
under a dirty coffee cup:
Slim
– Mose and 2 passengers on the stage. Made coffee and built a fire. Afternoon
stage not coming – road’s too bad. Unsaddled and put the brown horse in the
barn for ya. Say hi to Jess –
-Craig
Slim sank
down on one of the chairs and stared at the note. Now he knew that Jess was in
trouble. He put his head in his hands and tried to reason out the best way to
find him. The sound of hooves hitting the muddy yard caused him to jump up and
he greeted Mort and two strangers at the door.
“Any news
on Jess yet, Slim?” yelled Mort from his horse. He hadn’t even bothered to
dismount.
Slim just
shook his head as he quickly pulled on his muddy boots and damp jacket. He never
said a word as he went to the barn and saddled Traveler. Mort just waited for
him, cringing as he saw which horse Slim was riding – Jess’ horse.
“When,
Slim?”
“Don’t
know, Mort. Craig left a note saying the horse was here when he came to meet the
morning stage.”
Slim grabbed
the reins and urged the horse on. Traveler didn’t need any more persuading –
he took off at a full gallop, nearly sending Slim toppling. Mort and the other
two riders followed the excited horse and rider.
It didn’t
take very long to find where Jess had fallen – merely yards away from where
Slim had turned back only hours earlier. Traveler stopped and wouldn’t go any
further as Slim jumped down in the tall grass. He knelt close to the ground
until he found what he was looking for. It was a small clearing and it was
obvious that something or someone had spent a fair amount of time in the damp
brush. Slim walked toward the trampled patch of grass and gasped as he saw the
large puddle of blood and a pair of muddy black leather gloves. He sank to his
knees and felt the sticky liquid – his friend had been there and not that long
ago. The blood was still wet.
“Mort! Come
here!”
Mort jumped
down, rifle in hand, and joined Slim. They both stared at the bloodstained grass
for nearly a full minute, realization dawning on both men. There was nothing on
the ground that could have caused that kind of injury – no sharp rocks or
stones, no broken branches. Even if Jess had been thrown – Slim had seen that
happen before – that wouldn’t account for the amount of blood on the ground.
Mort walked back to the two men who had followed silently. He spoke quietly and
both headed off in opposite directions.
Slim had not
moved. He seemed to be transfixed on the trampled patch of grass. Mort gently
tugged his sleeve.
“He got to
him, Mort. Durbin got to him.” Slim’s expression was forlorn, his eyes
haunted.
“We don’t
know that for sure. We’ll find him, Slim.” Mort could see a muddy trail
leading away from the puddle that Slim was still staring at so intently. “See
that? Looks like someone had a horse. Could be someone found him, Slim.”
Slim finally
looked over at Mort, as though seeing him for the first time. “Huh?”
“There’s
a trail leading off past those trees. Could be someone found Jess and took him
somewhere.”
“Well, what
are we waiting for?” Slim ran back to the horses and came back to Mort,
handing him the bridle.
The path had
clearly been made by at least one person on horseback and a lone walker. Slim
couldn’t tell who had walked across the field but he knew that it had not been
Jess. The boot prints were enormous, dwarfing Mort’s and Slim’s own
footprints in the wet mud. Whoever had left them had not cared whether they were
followed or not – a fact that did not escape Mort Cory. There had been no
attempt to cover the obvious tracks. He looked at Slim but the taller man was
staring at the ground, oblivious to the frown of concern on the older man’s
face.
“Where does
this lead, Slim?”
“It’s
just a field. I haven’t been out this way much, especially with all the rain
lately. This area floods a lot so Jess and I moved the cattle up to the west
meadow over a week ago.”
He closed his
eyes at the memory. He and Jess had had a great day, well, at least he had. As
usual, Jess had met his match in an ornery old heifer and he was not going to
have any of it. Slim had learned from experience that it was best not to cross a
difficult female but he still wasn’t sure which turned out to be worse – a
strong-willed heifer or a mule-headed partner. Jess had spent the better part of
the day tugging and pulling the big animal out of mud hole after mud hole but he
had finally managed to get the heifer to the west meadow. Slim hadn’t even
needed to get out of the saddle once all day and he had not hidden his amusement
at his pard’s struggles. Jess had refused to speak to him for the rest of the
evening, preferring to scowl by the fireplace as he tried to warm his frozen
feet and hands while Daisy and Mike played checkers.
Slim hoped that he would have the chance to do that again soon.
Mort had just
bent over to reach for something on the ground when a shot rang out. Instantly,
he and Slim were flat on their stomachs in the mud. The source of the gunfire
was nowhere to be seen.
“Durbin?”
Slim whispered urgently.
“Durbin,”
Mort answered through clenched teeth. He was furious. How could they have left
themselves open like this? His concern for Jess was starting to jeopardize his
judgement. Slim was already too far gone to worry about insignificant things
like a mad killer on the loose, but he was the sheriff and it was his job to
make sure this type of situation didn’t happen. He could only hope that the
Marshal’s deputies who’d followed them – his small posse – would take
his advice.
He didn’t
have to wait for long. More shots rang out as a giant lone figure rose up from
the tall grass only a few yards away – it was Durbin. Mud-covered as he was,
Mort could still make out the evil grin on the madman’s face - the same evil
grin that he had stared at on every single wanted poster he had memorized the
night before.
“Stay down,
Slim.” Mort slunk forward on his belly, hoping to use the cover of the tall
grass as much as possible.
“Mort,”
Slim whispered tersely, but Mort was already moving.
As Slim
watched, the sheriff stood up in the grass and started firing his rifle wildly.
The lone figure let out a roar and started to fire back. The man was a giant and
Slim knew that Mort didn’t stand a chance if this continued. Out of the corner
of his eye, Slim could see two horses approaching as the two men who had
followed Mort earlier began firing their rifles. Mort turned to look at Slim,
desperately trying to get him to understand his plan. Slim understood and
flattened himself to the ground.
If Mort was
going to cause a diversion like this, he was not going to waste it. Slim pushed
forward, his arms aching at the strain and the cold, wet ground. He could see
the crazed man less than ten feet in front of him. Frantically, he searched the
ground for any sign of a horse or Jess but there was only more grass and brush.
Slim heard a
howl and turned in time to watch one of the deputies fall from his horse. He
hoped that the man was still alive but he did not hold out much hope for him.
The other rider was nowhere to be seen. Mort had disappeared again and Slim
prayed the sheriff had not been hit. The giant in front of him was shooting
wildly and Slim decided that it was best to stay still for a while. He only had
his handgun and he knew it would take a miracle to make the shot from his
position in the mud. His heart nearly leapt out of his chest when Mort grabbed
his leg. The sheriff’s arm was stained bright red and Slim reached over to
him.
“Don’t
worry about me, Slim. Just a flesh wound… Do you see Jess anywhere?” Mort
asked tersely, trying to reload his grimy rifle with one hand.
Slim
reached over and took the gun from the sheriff and deftly loaded it for the
injured man as he spoke, “I can’t see anything, too many darned bushes. I
think one of your men got hit, can’t see the other one anywhere. Got any
ideas?”
Mort shook
his head. “It’s gonna take more than one bullet to take me down. Those two
men are the marshal’s top deputies – I told them to try to take Durbin down
whichever way they could. I’m going to try to get closer and see if Jess is
somewhere around here. No point in shooting until we know what he’s done with
Jess.”
Slim watched the injured man crawl away. He could tell that Mort was in more pain than he was letting on but he was glad that his friend was working so hard to help him find Jess.
Jess
awoke to the sound of gunfire. ‘Who could be shooting a rifle now?’,
he thought, disorientated. He tried to shift but the pain and the ropes that
bound him prevented any movement. His arms were cramping behind his back but
that was not his biggest concern – he could hardly breathe and his chest felt
like it was on fire. He carefully opened his eyes, unsure of what he would see.
He could not recall how he had gotten hurt or where he was but instinct born of
experience told him to stay quiet until he knew what was going on.
He glanced
around to get his bearings and found himself looking up at the inside of a tree.
Confused, he cautiously turned his head from side to side, trying to make out
his surroundings. He was in a half-sitting position and propped up against a
large tree, a dead tree from the looks and smell of it. The bark was wet and
slimy and the wood felt soft as he pressed his back against it. The movement
caused him to cry out in pain and he could feel something warm running down the
back of his neck. ‘Please let that not be a spider,’ he thought. He
hoped that the dead tree was not home to that kind of vermin – he hated
spiders.
He leaned
back against the trunk and looked up at the twisted branches above his head.
There was something vaguely familiar about them – what was it that Slim has
said… ’Better get out to the north pasture and hack down that dead tree
before one of our senseless heifers gets tangled in the trunk’…
He
knew he had to be on Sherman land but he couldn’t understand why he was here
and how he had come to be tied next to a tree trunk. It dawned on him that his
repair work on the fence had been shoddy but surely Slim was not resorting to
such extreme measures as this to get his point across…
Jess tried to
think but he was finding it increasingly difficult as his chest burned. He
wanted to breathe, needed to breathe, but the fire in his side was devouring
him. He arched his back and pushed against the tree again, trying to bring a
measure of relief to the heaviness in his chest. If only he could get his arms
out from behind his back – it was almost impossible to draw breath in his
cramped position.
His situation
called for desperate measures and he could only think of one option; he just
hoped that the tree was as dead as he and Slim had thought. Jess braced himself,
sucked in as deeply as he could, leaned forward, and smashed himself backward at
the soft wooden trunk with as much force as he could muster.
Although he
did not succeed in improving his ability to breathe, he caused enough commotion
to distract a crazed giant who had been firing wildly at his two best friends.
Under any other circumstances, Jess would have laughed out loud at the thought
of trying to bash a tree down using his back.
Instead, he welcomed the darkness that enveloped him, as the wet wood above him
broke clear in half with a resounding crunch.
*****
Slim
just stared as the tree that stood less than thirty feet away suddenly snapped
in two. The sound of the splintering wood caused Durbin to turn and fire his
rifle in the direction of the fallen tree. That was all the distraction that
Mort and Slim needed. Both men shot up in unison and fired at the tall giant
until they emptied their guns and rifles. Amazingly, Durbin just turned to look
at the two stunned men and stood for what seemed like an eternity. Blood poured
from his chest and mouth but the grin never left his face. He raised his gun in
an attempt to fire a final shot but he never had the chance as the bullet from a
single rifle shot hit him squarely in the forehead. He fell backward and lay
still.
Both Mort and
Slim turned in time to see the man who had fired the fateful shot. It was
Mort’s friend, the deputy who had been shot off his horse only minutes
earlier. He raised his rifle in salute and collapsed in the tall grass.
Mort
gave Slim a pat on the shoulder, dropped his empty rifle, and headed toward the
fallen man. The marshal had sent him because he was a crack shot with a rifle
and Mort was very relieved that the marshal had been right. As he approached, he
saw the other half of his posse sprawled in the grass – the second deputy
never had a chance. Mort feared that he would find the fallen rifleman in the
same condition.
Slim ran
toward the man who had desperately tried to kill him seconds earlier. He prayed
that the dead man had not succeeded in killing his best friend before his own
demise. It was obvious that Durbin would not be getting up again – no one
would ever have to worry about his recovering from this attack.
Durbin was dead.
Stepping
over the dead man, Slim cautiously approached what remained of the twisted tree.
He saw the dark matted hair first; the black hat lay only inches away. Slim
frowned as he neared his friend’s motionless body. He carefully lifted the
shattered wood and branches away and gently turned him over. Using his knife,
Slim cut away the frayed ropes that bound Jess’ bleeding wrists. He noticed
that fresh blood had trailed down from the back of his head and soaked the top
of his damp shirt and bandana. Kneeling down next to Jess, he very carefully
rolled him onto his back and gasped at what he saw – the faded blue shirt was
filthy and covered with dark red blood. A jagged cut above his brow was
bleeding, his bottom lip was split and badly swollen, and a nasty purple bruise
covered most of his right cheek. As Slim pushed the damp hair off his friend’s
forehead, he could feel that Jess was shivering despite the feverish heat
radiating from his battered body. Reaching down, he took off his coat and
wrapped it around Jess then carefully lifted him into his arms with the
tenderness he normally reserved for picking up a child.
Jess
never stirred.