TINDER
By Nachuma
Buckets of thanks to Badger for her wonderful beta
skills, her gracious encouragement and her (gentle) nagging.
CHAPTER 1
Jess Harper shook his head
and stared up at the cloudless sky, trying to remember why he was lying on his
back in the dirt. A sudden shout and a
passing breeze brought him back to the present and he rolled as swiftly as a
cat, landing in a crouch behind his partner who was waving what appeared to be
a saddle blanket wildly into the air. A
flame-colored shadow caught the corner of his eye and he turned, wincing at the
pain in his shoulder, to see the bared teeth of the outlaw heading for
him.
“Move!” he heard Slim shout
as the two of them ran towards the corral fence behind them.
They had barely cleared the
fence when the sorrel reared to a stop before them, ears flattened and teeth
bared, to glare for a moment before pivoting on one hind foot and racing for
the opposite rail.
“He’s gonna make a durn good
cuttin’ horse,” Jess said admiringly.
His partner frowned at
him. “Maybe I can sell him to pay for
your funeral,” he said.
Jess chuckled and reached down
to retrieve his hat through the corral fence, using it to fan the dust from the
seat of his britches. “It’ll take more
than that to kill me,” he said cheerfully.
Slim
“I don’t know about that one,
Jess,” he said worriedly. “He’s a mean
one.”
Jess hung his hat on the pump
handle and dunked his head into the cold water, coming up blinking and shaking
his head like a dog. His black hair,
dripping water, formed ringlets framing his angular face as he swiped the water
out of his eyes with one black-gloved hand.
“He’ll be fine…” he started, when a whirlwind in blue jeans raced out of
the house behind them.
“Boyohboy, Jess, I thought
you were gonna fly all the way to
Jess gave a mock-glare as the
boy came nearer, a small, dapper older man sauntering behind.
“You don’t think I can ride
him?” he asked.
The boy watched the red horse
as he raced and bucked his way around the corral, fighting the saddle and the
shadows and his own thoughts.
“I don’t think *anyone* is
gonna ride him,” he said, wide-eyed.
Jess chuckled again. “Well, not right now,” he said wryly. The three watched as the horse continued his
solo fight. “Not until he settles down
some.”
“That’ll be sometime in the
next century,” the old man grumbled as he joined the others. He studied Jess’s dusty figure. “All right, let’s see the damage.” He leaned a gentle hand on Jess’s
shoulder.
Jess flinched and turned,
clutching his side. “Hey, warn a fella
when you’re gonna do that, huh?”
“What, and give you time to
pretend it don’t hurt?” the man said sourly.
He tugged the younger man gently towards the house. “Come on, let’s give that outlaw some time to
quiet down before you try to kill yourself again.”
“Ah, Jonesy…” Jess muttered
as the old man led him firmly towards the house. The other two watched them go.
“Jess isn’t really hurt, is
he, Slim?” the boy asked worriedly.
Slim smiled. “You know Jess, Andy,” he said fondly. “He’s made of India-rubber. He hits the ground and bounces.”
The boy climbed the bottom
rung of the fence to watch the horse as he gradually slowed his circuit of the
corral. “Jess’ll ride him,” he said
positively.
Slim studied his young
brother. The boy was small and wiry,
built more like Jess than Slim’s solid height, and sometimes Slim felt a pang
of jealousy that the boy admired Jess so much.
But, he reminded himself, there were worse folks he could be copying. Jess had proven himself a good man, and a
good friend.
He tapped the boy’s arm
lightly. “C’mon,” he said. “Let’s give this fella some time to cool off
and go see what Jonesy’s doin’ to Jess.”
The kitchen was warm and dark
after the glare of the corral, and they stood in the doorway for a moment to
let their eyes adjust to the change in light.
Jess was sitting bare-chested, stiffly straddling the ladder-back chair
at the table while Jonesy piled towels and bottles behind him.
Andy let out a small yip of
surprise that made Jess twist in his chair, frowning.
“Boy, you’re gonna be sore tomorrow,”
Andy chirped. Jess’s right side was a
mass of shadows, with barely-formed bruises not yet ripened.
Slim frowned at his friend,
and Jess glowered back.
“Don’t you start,” he
warned. “Havin’ to put up with Jonesy’s
liniment is bad enough.”
“Nothing’s broke,” Jonesy said
over his shoulder to Slim, pouring a handful of a thick, evil-smelling lotion
onto the bare shoulder nearest him. He turned back to Jess. “Maybe this’ll
remind you to stay on top of the critter, not underneath him.”
Jess shrugged one-shouldered. “Not exactly my choice,” he said ruefully. He started to stand, snagging his shirt
left-handed, but the old man pushed him back to his seat easily.
“And just where do you think
you’re going?”
“Got to finish before I
stiffen up,” Jess said.
“You’re not goin’ anywhere but
to that there chair,” Jonesy snapped, pointing to the rocking chair in front of
the fireplace. “Once that devil cools off,
Slim’ll put him up. I don’t think
neither of you is ready for another fight today.”
Jess opened his mouth to
argue, but one look at the stubborn set to Slim’s jaw made him shut his mouth
quickly.
“You just sit there,” Slim
said firmly. “You won’t do us any good
if you get yourself all busted up just before branding time.” He softened his tone and offered a small
smile. “’Sides, there’s plenty of time
to break that outlaw later. Maybe by
tomorrow he’ll have stiffened up some, too.”
Jess snorted.
* * * * *
The afternoon went
quietly. Jess had dozed off in the
rocking chair after Jonesy had finished his repairs, agreeing to some binding
around his ribs but fighting a sling for his sore shoulder. He had pulled a well-worn long-sleeved
undershirt on over the bandages and left his torn shirt in the mending
basket.
Jonesy moved around the small
kitchen, muttering and grumbling to himself as he prepared the evening
meal. Andy and Slim headed outside,
silently agreeing to share Jess’s chores and let him sleep.
Slim leaned against the
corral once more as the bright fall day cooled to a chilly evening. Clouds were gathering on the northern
horizon, and the wind was starting up, soughing in the treetops and kicking up
dust eddies in the yard. There was a faint grumble of thunder in the distance,
felt more than heard, and the air seemed to tingle.
The sorrel had quieted during
the afternoon, allowing Slim to remove the saddle, but now he paced the length
of the far fence, watching the shadows lengthen and yearning towards the open
fields.
Slim sighed. He knew what the horse was feeling, and, to
some extent, he understood what Jess saw in the outlaw.
His friend was only
half-tamed himself. It wasn’t that long ago
that he had ridden in to the small way station, a drifter with a fast gun and
no ties to anyone or anything. It was
Andy, Slim acknowledged, who had touched the man’s soul, who had offered him
pure, uncomplicated friendship, and a sense of belonging. It had taken a while before Slim, and then
Jonesy, had followed suit—before they had trusted the young drifter—and even
longer for Jess to learn to trust them.
Slim turned to look at the buildings
behind him. This was his legacy—his
father had homesteaded the land, built the house and barn and bunkhouse,
started the ranch that his sons now struggled to keep up. Slim knew that without Jess and his hard work
and unswerving loyalty they would have lost the ranch. Jess, who had tied two very different
brothers together and formed a bridge for them to work and laugh together again
after years of struggle. Jess, who had
taken four disparate characters and made them into a family, just because he
needed one so badly himself, even if he didn’t know it.
* * * * *
Dinner was normally a
boisterous affair with everyone talking over the day’s events and planning for
the next day, but they were all exhausted that night, in between work and worry
and the threatening sky.
“Storm’s brewin’,” Slim said
around a mouthful of food. “Stock’s
getting jumpy. I put the spare teams in the barn to see if that’d quiet them
some.”
“You get that outlaw bedded
down too?” Jess asked.
“He needs a name,” Andy
interrupted. “He’s not an outlaw.”
Jess raised an amused
eyebrow. “You got one picked out for
him?”
“Tinder,” Andy said
quickly. “’Cause he flares up so fast.”
Slim laughed. “You got that right,” he said.
Jess leaned back in his
chair, wincing slightly at the tug on his sore ribs. “All right, Tinder it is,” he smiled.
“I got him in the back
stall,” Slim told Jess. “He was gettin’
the others more worked up, so I thought I’d keep him as far away as I
could. No sense in askin’ for trouble.”
* * * * *
They made an early night of
it, all tucked up and in bed almost as soon as the last bite was swallowed, not
even Andy complaining about the early hour.
Stormclouds continued to
build, and the wind started in earnest, breaking against the small house and rattling
its boards. Slim drifted into an uneasy
doze, feeling the house quiver and hearing the grumble of the distant
thunder. Lightning flickered through the
black clouds, and the trees bent and sighed.
The house slept.
CHAPTER 2
It was late…or maybe early,
Jess couldn’t tell which. He awoke
suddenly, one minute asleep, the next at full alert, the ache in his side flaring
as his muscles tensed. He forced himself
to lie still, heart pounding from the loud crack of thunder that had awakened
him, and listened to the sounds around him: wind howling and trees whipping
into a frenzy. Lightning flickered through the room, illuminating the restless
form in the next bed. Slim, roused only partway by the nearby thunderclap,
grumbled wordlessly and subsided back into sleep.
Jess rolled to his side,
catching his breath at the sudden sharp pain of his sore ribs and
shoulder.
He was bone-dry and wide-awake,
so he eased himself out of bed, tiptoeing past his sleeping partner and
snagging his jeans on the way out. He
closed the bedroom door behind him, hearing house-rattling snores coming from the
room Jonesy and Andy shared. The fire in the stove was banked low and the room
was cold enough to raise gooseflesh. Hopping
on one foot, he managed to pull his pants on.
Lightning flickered on and off, but there was something else…
Something was wrong. All senses alert, he pulled his gun from the
holster where it hung by the front door and padded in stockinged feet into the
kitchen.
The window glowed with a
faint red light, and the shifting wind carried the smell of woodsmoke. Galvanized, he raced to the side door and
flung it open to see…
…smoke rolling off the barn
roof and the telltale flicker of flames from within.
Over the shriek of the wind he
could hear the muffled screams of frightened horses from behind the closed
doors. Turning a wild eye towards the
bedrooms behind him, he shouted, “SLIM!
JONESY!
* * * * *
Jess raced into the night, oblivious
to the cold night air biting through his thin undershirt and the freezing
ground on his stockinged feet. The smell
of smoke, the unholy glare and the screams of terrified horses had thrust him
into a nightmare he had thought long forgotten and he paused for a moment at
the barn door, steeling himself to face what he knew was to come. Another shrill whinny and loud thumping of
horses kicking at their stalls brought him back and without further thought he
flung open the barn door.
A blast of smoke and overheated
air hit him and he staggered briefly, reeling from the onslaught of heat and
memory. The fire seemed to be contained
to the loft at the moment, though he knew the stored winter hay would turn the
building into an inferno in short order.
He groped his way to the nearest stall, feeling his way through the
smoke till he found the latch. Fists
clenched tightly, he pushed the latch open and stepped aside as the frightened
horse bolted past him towards the freedom of the open door.
The air was clearing slightly
with the door drafting the smoke outwards, and he could make out shapes through
the haze and his burning eyes. He went to
the next stall, where a terrified mare huddled in the back, refusing to come
toward the flames. Trying to ignore the
sound of the fire overhead, he stepped inside and reached for her halter.
It was getting hotter and
fiery debris was raining down from above, peppering his neck and
shoulders. He shuddered the fragments
aside, intent on his task. The horse reared, pulling on his injured shoulder,
and he cursed and reached out a hand to soothe and stroke her sweating neck, to
bring her down and get her out of danger…
He felt rather than saw a
shape beside him, and suddenly a damp cloth was flung across the horse’s
face. Blinded, she dropped her head and
stood, trembling, in the stall. Slim’s lanky shape was beside Jess now, and he grabbed the mare’s halter
and pulled her towards freedom, sending her outward with a slap on the rump.
Jess didn’t wait to see the
mare leave; he had already moved on to the stalls on the far side. The latches were burning hot now, but he
ignored the pain and opened door after door, making sure they were empty. He could sense Slim across the way doing the
same for the stalls on the other side; out of the corner of his eye he saw his
friend heft two saddles, one in each arm, and head outside.
Jess hesitated, blinking
through the pain in his eyes. He was
finding it hard to breathe, and for a moment he wished he’d taken the time to
get his neckerchief; the air was thick with smoke and the back of his throat
was burning. He slipped to his knees,
but before he could pull himself up he felt a strong arm under his shoulder,
lifting him to his feet.
Slim’s face was covered by a
soot-encrusted bandanna, with only his blue eyes and smoke-darkened hair
visible, but he looked like an angel to the exhausted man. Jess struggled to his feet and leaned against
his partner for a moment as Slim moved his arm to circle his shoulders and
bustled him towards the door.
The yard was a scene out of
nightmare. The night sky was screaming
with rage, trees bent almost double and branches whipping the air. The fireglow was brighter now, working its
way through the roof and illuminating the hovering clouds overhead, competing
with the blinding flashes of lightning that ripped through the sky. Thunder
rose to a crescendo.
Andy was standing at the pump
by the watering trough, working the handle frantically. His hair was rumpled and sticking out at odd
angles, his clothing a mixture of oversize coat and longjohn bottoms tucked
into too-large boots. Jonesy, face grim
in the reflected light, hauled buckets of water from the trough to the house,
flinging the water onto the kitchen roof, closest to the barn. The wind caught water and smoke and sent them
in random directions, spraying house and men indiscriminately.
In the comparatively fresh
air of the yard, Jess doubled over and greedily sucked air into abused
lungs. Slim thumped his back
briefly. “You all right?” he shouted
above the roar of the storm and fire.
Jess, unable to speak, waved a weak hand, and Slim, with a worried glance
back at his partner, raced to the trough to continue with the bucket
brigade.
Jess was having a hard time
catching his breath. He felt the
pinpricks of freezing air on fireholes in his shirt, and he coughed and retched
black phlegm onto the trampled earth.
Still coughing, he staggered
towards the trough to grab a bucketful of water and head back to the barn.
Slim grabbed his arm. “It’s no use.
We have to save the house. If the
wind shifts…” he shook his head.
Jess tried to take a deep breath
and doubled over coughing, feeling his already-sore ribs grating inside his
chest. He nodded, trying to catch his
breath, feeling the cold mud seeping through his socks and the suddenly icy
wind penetrating his thin shirt.
Unexpectedly, the wind hesitated;
and in that one brief silence a terrible scream came from the barn.
Jess bolted upright and
turned to run; Slim grabbed his arm as he started to move. “It’s no use,” he said again.
Jess turned to stare, seeing
nothing but blackness in front of him.
“Tinder,” he said hoarsely.
“Where did you put him?”
“He’s in the last stall,”
Slim said flatly. “There’s no way to
reach him. I’m sorry.”
Jess stared at him blankly
for a brief moment, then turned towards the barn. Slim held his arm tightly. “You can’t go in there.”
Jess ignored him, tried to
pull away. Slim tightened his grip. “Jess!” he shouted, shaking the arm he held,
“the house. We have to save the house!”
Jess stopped for a moment,
his eyes dead. A chill raced up Slim’s
spine at the look on his friend’s face, but he had no time to spare. “Get a bucket!” he called, turning towards
the trough.
Jess blinked and suddenly seemed
to be back in the present. He paused and looked around at the night: the two
men racing back and forth with buckets, the boy pumping for all his worth, the
horses wheeling and galloping into the darkness; and, behind him, the sound and
smells of the fire and the doomed horse.
He closed his eyes for a second, just a brief, prayerful instant, then,
with a deep breath, he ran to the trough, flung himself in full-length and,
before Andy could say a word, pulled himself out and ran full-tilt into the
barn.
As he disappeared into the inferno,
he thought he heard Andy scream his name.
The barn was fully ablaze,
flames leaping overhead from rafter to rafter. His vision narrowed to the path
directly in front of him; everything else seemed to disappear—the wind, the roaring
and snapping of the fire and the death-throes of the building. There was a narrow pathway lit by flames on two
sides, and in the back of his mind was the scream of the outlaw horse.
He pushed his way towards the
back stall, dodging bits of flaming hay and falling boards; his socks smoked
and his feet blistered but he moved on obliviously. His lungs screamed with heat and lack of air,
and he felt light-headed, disembodied. He
pulled his shirt up in a half-hearted attempt to cover his nose and mouth,
holding it in place with one shaky hand.
As he reached the rear stall,
a section of the roof fell in front of him, missing his head by inches. He ignored the heat slapping his face and the
thousand beestings of embers landing on his arms, conscious only of the stench
of singed hair and burning flesh and the screams now echoing in his mind.
The stall was aflame, the
latch near white-hot. The sorrel was
backed against the far wall, eyes so wild that only the whites could be seen, mouth open in a soundless scream, and Jess knew there
was no way he could reach through the flames, no way he could soothe the
terrified animal enough to lead him to safety.
His hand reached of its own
volition to the gun tucked into his waistband; without thought, he pulled and
cocked the weapon.
The horse was flinging
himself within the stall in a paroxysm of fear; Jess stood, blocked by flames, five
feet away, revolver in an astonishingly steady hand as he took a deep breath,
blocked out all distractions, all fear, all pain, and focused on the broad
forehead moving within the smoke-filled space.
He held his breath and squeezed the trigger.
* * * * *
Slim had been called from the
house by Andy screaming Jess’s name, and turned in time to see Jess running
into the burning barn. Terrified and furious,
he grabbed his bucket and ran after his partner.
The barn was engulfed in
flame, nothing visible inside but white, yellow, blue flames. Slim blinked furiously, trying to see through
the glare, looking for his friend. He
threw the water into the doorway in a hopeless effort to get through and stood,
staring into the fire.
It seemed forever that he
stood there, frozen; suddenly, from inside, he heard a single shot. He jumped and his heart seemed to stop.
A bucket of water flew past
him, and then another, and he turned to see Jonesy and Andy both running back to
the trough. They formed a line, passing
filled buckets to Slim as he stood at the door, peering into the interior.
Together they cleared a small
path, Slim leading the way into the doorway, buckets coming faster and more
frequently, until Slim saw a dark shape weaving through the brilliance
inside. He dropped his bucket then and
ran, through the heat and flame, through the light and sound of the collapsing roof,
and grabbed the staggering form and pulled it out into the darkness and cold of
the roaring night.
CHAPTER 3
Slim lay on the cold and
muddy ground in front of what had been his barn and tried to slow his heart and
his breathing. The wind whipped past,
shifting directions on a whim, blowing smoke and debris in miniature dustdevils
through the yard. He was aware that Andy
was beside him, nearly sobbing, and Jonesy was kneeling on the ground on the
far side of the dark shape he still held in his arms.
“Jonesy?” he called, voice hoarse
with smoke and fear. He managed to drag
himself up to a seated position and reached out a shaking hand to the filthy
figure beside him. It twitched, and
moved faintly…and coughed. And
coughed. And coughed. Convulsing and retching and shaking and
coughing, all at once. Slim closed his
eyes and drew a deep breath. Behind him,
with a crash and a roar, the roof of the barn caved in and flames shot skyward.
Jonesy sat back on his heels
and watched as Jess moved weakly and batted away his hands.
Slim was exhausted and
furious. He pulled himself to his feet
and staggered back to the water trough.
“Andy!” he called sharply. He
watched as his brother dragged himself away from the prone figure and moved
back away from the fire. “The wind is
shifting. We still have a chance to save
the house.” Andy looked back once more
at Jess, then turned back to the pump. After a few minutes, Jonesy rose and
joined Slim with the buckets.
It was later…maybe minutes,
maybe hours…that Slim saw another figure at the pump—a slight, filthy figure in
muddy jeans and a once-white shirt, working the pump handle doggedly. Andy moved between pump and house hauling
buckets to the two older men.
The sky was lightening, the
first streaks of dawn appearing on the horizon.
Andy and Jonesy were staggering, barely managing to hold the buckets. Jess took a bucket to Slim, pushing Andy
gently towards the trough. “Sit,” he
rasped. “I can do it.”
Slim took the bucket from his
partner without a word and handed it back, empty. The sky lightened, showing a heavy
cloud-laden sky. Lightning continued to play
around the treetops; no one seemed to
notice. They trudged on.
The first raindrops were
ignored, or maybe not even noticed. The men
were so wrapped in their world of smoke and fire and water that it wasn’t until
the few drops merged to become a drizzle and then a steady rain that the
exhausted men paused and looked up.
The barn—what was left of
it—burned desultorily, charred beams with occasional flares of brilliant flame
that sizzled as the rain hit.
The roof of the house smoked
and smoldered, hot spots steaming in the morning light. Slim shook himself and looked around.
Andy slumped to the ground by
the water trough, face blackened with soot and eyes closed. Jonesy clung to the side of the house for
support, still trailing his empty bucket.
Jess stood unsteadily, face upturned to the rain which was coming faster
now.
Slim wavered a moment, then gathered
his strength and walked over to Jonesy.
“Take Andy into the bunkhouse,” he said quietly. “Get him warm and dry and put him to
bed. Jess and I’ll be there after we
check the house.”
Jonesy nodded, head wobbling
as if it took too much strength to hold it upright, and headed over to the boy. Slim watched him go and moved over to his
partner.
Jess looked like a
sleepwalker in the gray morning. His
face was streaked with mud and soot and his shoulders were slumped, but he
tried to straighten as Slim approached.
With the immediate danger
past, Slim felt his anger overwhelm him.
“What the hell did you mean, going into that barn?” he hissed, moving
close.
Jess opened his eyes,
startlingly blue in the grimy face. His
voice, hoarse and raspy with smoke, was nonetheless steady. “I wouldn’t leave anything to burn to death,”
he said flatly, eyes challenging the taller man.
Slim’s temples pounded. “And what if you’d got trapped there, too?”
he yelled.
Jess drew himself up, trying
to stand straight and tall. “I had more
bullets,” he said quietly, and walked away.
Slim felt as if he had been sucker-punched;
he stared, mouth open, at Jess’s retreating back, then turned towards the
bunkhouse. Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw Andy disappearing into the
building.
CHAPTER 4
Jess made it as far as the
kitchen door before he passed out, legs slowly folding as he spiralled into a
small compact heap in the mud. Slim
reached him in three long strides and gathered the limp form into his arms,
carrying him like a sleeping child into the cold and musty air of the
bunkhouse.
Andy had been washed and
wrapped in a blanket and was seated on the lower bunk of one of the
double-decker beds lining the wall, watching Jonesy on his knees in front of
the ancient pot-bellied stove. The older
man was cursing quietly and trying to get the draft to work when Slim kicked
open the door and deposited the muddy form onto the nearest bed. Both Jonesy and Andy were on their feet
immediately, Jonesy issuing orders like a drill sergeant and Andy, exhaustion
forgotten, hopping to fill them. Slim
stood back, feeling oddly in the way as Jonesy shouldered him aside to put a
large pot of water on the stove.
“Jonesy?” His voice was
barely recognizable.
The older man didn’t spare
him a look. “First I gotta see what’s
under all this dirt,” he said, leaning over the bed and fingering the burn holes
in Jess’s ruined shirt. “Help me turn
him over.” The two eased the injured man
over and laid him flat on his stomach.
His back was worse—stiff with
mud and soot and charred fabric, with raw red patches of skin showing
through. Jonesy took a deep breath and looked
around. “Andy—bring me all the spare sheets and towels you can find, and then
go fill all the pots and pans with water and put ‘em on the stove. We’ll need lots of water.” He looked down at the still figure on the bed
and frowned. “*Lots*.”
Andy raced off on his
errands. Jonesy watched him go and
beckoned Slim over with a jerk of his head.
“This ain’t gonna be pretty,” he said softly as Slim knelt beside him. “We should probably keep Andy away till I can
get him cleaned up some.” He sighed deeply.
“But if we’re all stuck in here, he’s bound to see and hear some
things…”
Slim swallowed with
difficulty. “He’s growing up,” he said
softly.
“He’s gonna have to grow up
pretty fast now,” Jonesy muttered.
Andy skidded to a stop in front
of them, arms full of linens. “Just drop
‘em over here,” Jonesy nodded towards the table in front of the stove. “’N get that water going.”
“Right away.” Andy dropped
the linens and headed for the small kitchen area, checking shelves and cabinets
and gathering pots and pans.
Slim watched his brother for
a moment, then turned back to his friend.
He felt the door open and close behind him as the boy headed outside to
the pump.
Together, he and Jonesy
carefully peeled off Jess’s soaked and filthy undershirt and jeans. The cloth was stuck to his skin in places,
especially on his shoulders and forearms. “Get me some warm water and a towel,”
Jonesy said, not looking up. Slim
stumbled over to the stove and returned, holding the items like an offering. Jonesy soaked a towel in the warm water, gently
wringing it over Jess’s shoulders and back, wetting and loosening the
cloth. Blood and soot ran in rivulets
down his back and into the bedding.
Jonesy patiently teased the
cloth away with infinite care. Slim inhaled sharply at the sight of the blistered
skin—red and swollen, charred almost black in spots—that crisscrossed Jess’s back,
forearms and shoulders. Jonesy gently
turned Jess’s hands palms up and heaved a deep sigh.
“What?” Slim burst out.
“Not too bad,” Jonesy said. “He was takin’ care.” He shook his head
slightly. “Burned hands are a hell of a thing.
If they’re bad enough, they can end up useless. I seen it before—hands twisted into claws or
scarred so bad they can’t bend.” He turned
back to the basin, dipping a cloth and wringing the water onto the burns over
and over, cleaning and soothing. “This is gonna take a while,” he
muttered.
The door slammed and Andy’s
voice broke in. “I filled all the
buckets and pans I could find,” he said.
“There’s more in the house, but…”
“Might be a good idea,”
Jonesy said blandly, glancing up at Slim.
“Why don’t you and Andy go check out the house—see if we can move back
there. It’d be a sight more comfortable,
and warmer, too.” The look he shot at
Slim was half-warning, half-pleading, but his voice stayed calm. “At the very least, you can get us some dry
clothes,” he added, “and there should be some leftover stew on the back of the
stove if there ain’t too much soot in it.
Bring back anything you think we might need.”
Slim nodded, placed the basin
carefully on the floor by the bed and headed for the door, taking Andy’s arm as
he went. “But I want to help Jess!” Andy
resisted, looking towards Jonesy and Jess.
Slim took a deep breath. “You *are*
helping,” he said gently. “It’ll
help Jess to be warm and dry. There’s nothing we can do here but get in
Jonesy’s way.”
“That’s right,” Jonesy
nodded, dipping his cloth in the warm water again. “I can handle this. You get us a warm bed and something to
eat.”
Andy let himself be pulled
towards the door and into the raw and rainy day.
CHAPTER 5
The house was filled with
smoke and water dripped down from innumerable pinholes burned in the roof. The soot and ash that had drifted in had turned
to mud and everything was coated with a slick layer of grayish-brown. The air was thick and heavy and both Slim and
Andy were coughing harshly before they got past the kitchen. Slim pulled his bandanna over his nose and
mouth and headed into the back rooms, throwing the windows open to pull in the damp
but somewhat-cleaner air. The acrid smell of wet ash and burned wood permeated
everything.
Andy looked around mournfully
at the smoke- and soot-encrusted furniture.
“I guess we won’t be sleeping here tonight,” he said solemnly.
Slim emerged from his bedroom
with an armful of clothing, still coughing through his bandanna. “We’re gonna have to do some housecleaning,”
he said, looking around.
Andy looked insulted. “We?”
“I think Jonesy’s gonna have
his hands full for a while,” Slim said shortly, then bit his lip at the
distress on Andy’s face. He softened his
tone. “You know what a chore it is
keeping Jess in bed,” he said lightly.
“Housecleaning might be easier.”
Andy threw Slim a small smile;
Slim looked around. “Well, it looks like
we’ll be camping out in the bunkhouse for a while,” he said, trying to sound
cheerful. “We’d best get whatever we can
to make it more comfortable.”
The two of them managed to
amass a large pile of necessities and a few luxuries, ranging from bedding and
dry clothing to food and Jonesy’s large stewpot. Slim ducked into the back room and returned
with a large wooden box that he added to the pile quietly. Andy looked away quickly. He recognized Jonesy’s medicine chest and
hoped that it would be all that was needed to get Jess up and about again. But he’d seen the look on his brother’s face
and he was terribly, desperately afraid that this time it would take more than tonic
and liniment to put things right.
By the time they returned to
the bunkhouse, the stove was radiating heat and the room was noticeably
warmer. Jess, now stripped and clean,
was either sleeping or unconscious, back and shoulders swathed in bandages made
of torn sheeting, with a blanket pulled up to his waist. Jonesy looked over as
the two entered with their load of supplies.
“Took you long enough,” he grumbled.
“I take it we’re staying here for a while?”
“It’s a real mess,” Andy
said, looking worriedly at Jess’s still figure.
“Smoke and soot and everything.
And there’s holes in the roof.”
He put his crate down on the floor and paused. “How’s Jess?”
Jonesy sighed. “About as well as can be expected. He’s sleeping—like you should be.” He looked at the brothers. “Both of you.
It’s been a long night.”
Andy frowned. “I think I’m
too tired to sleep.”
Slim looked over from the
cabinet where he was storing the supplies. “I know what you mean. But try to sleep anyway. We’ve got lots of work to do and we’ll have
to be rested.” He closed the cabinet door
sharply.
Andy frowned but headed over
to the bunk where his abandoned blanket lay.
He looked around the room one more time, studying the three men
intently, then sighed, wrapped himself in his blanket and curled up, back to the
door. His breathing evened out in seconds.
Slim watched him for a moment, making sure he was asleep, then turned to
Jonesy. “What can I do?” he asked quietly.
“We’ve got to keep him warm
and dry. Get him off this wet bedding
and closer to the stove.”
Slim surveyed the room
briefly. Two sets of bunkbeds were perpendicular
to the wall at the right, with three single cots behind them. The stove squatted in the center of the room,
and the kitchen/storage area was to the left, with its small table, chairs,
storage cabinets and shelves. The bed
Jess lay on was directly behind the door; a slight draft ruffled the damp curls
on his forehead.
Slim stalked the length of
the room and picked up the first cot, kicking the table out of the way and
placing the bed next to the stove. He
took the clean sheets and blankets he and Andy had retrieved from the house and
made the bed, taking great care to smooth the sheets. That done, he gingerly lifted his partner,
biting his lip as he tried to avoid the bandages and raw spots, and placed him gently
on the clean bed. Jonesy followed,
pulling a chair to the far side.
“I’ll need some more clean
dressings. And keep the stove hot…we’re
all chilled, and Jess is already starting a fever.” Jess coughed as if in response; Slim could
hear the crackle in his lungs as he struggled to inhale. “Maybe put a pot to boil,” Jonesy added,
still not looking up. “I got some herbs
might help clear his chest. And fill my big broiler pan with warm water so’s I
can soak his feet.”
Slim waited a second longer,
but Jonesy seemed to have forgotten his existence as he tended the injured man,
and so he wandered blindly to the stove.
He couldn’t bring himself to
look into the fire. It was still too
close, too soon; and so he fled to the porch to see what of the woodpile had
survived.
He stayed outside longer than
was necessary, staring blankly into the gray and smoky day, thinking nothing
and feeling everything. By the time he
returned with an armload of firewood, Jonesy was standing by the stove, pouring
a handful of dried herbs into his largest stewpot. His medicine chest gaped open with bottles
and bags strewn haphazardly across the table.
Andy, curled into a small ball of misery, snored quietly on his bunk.
Slim looked down at his
unconscious partner, burns and bruises now hidden but still visible in his
memory. “Will he be all right?” he
whispered.
“Now how would I know that?” Jonesy
snapped. “He needs a doctor.”
Slim nodded, chest
tight. The horses were scattered over
the hills, and probably too traumatized to be easily caught. “Morning stage should be here in a couple of
hours,” he said quietly. “I’ll have them
send the doc back.” He closed his eyes,
trying to plan. “I should probably try
to see if I can get some of the stock back before then,” he said, half to
himself. “It’ll be a hard trip if they have to use the same teams…”
“You’ll get into some dry
clothes and go to sleep,” Jonesy said curtly.
“No point in everyone getting sick because you’re too gol-durn stubborn
to know when to rest.”
“And you?” Slim retorted,
stung.
“I got some more work to do
here,” Jonesy replied tiredly. “I’ll
sleep when I’m done. Now don’t argue
with me!” he snapped, seeing Slim’s mouth open.
“I’ll wake you when the stage comes.”
Slim wanted to say it was his
place and his responsibility, but he was suddenly so tired, so worn down, that
his arguments turned into a jaw-popping yawn and his eyes drooped of their own
volition. “All right,” he said softly,
dropping onto the nearest bed and pulling a blanket up to his chin. “Just for a little while…” he was asleep
before he finished his sentence. Jonesy
watched him with a curious mixture of fondness and impatience, and turned back
to the young man on the bed before him.
His saturnine face lengthened even further as he checked the fever-flush
starting to show on Jess’s face. “Hang
on, boy,” he whispered as he pulled his chair closer to the bed. “You got to hang on, ‘cause I don’t know
what’ll happen to them two if you don’t.”
Closing his eyes as if in
prayer, he sighed deeply and drifted towards sleep.
The room was silent, the only
sound the soft hiss of falling rain on burning embers.
CHAPTER 6
It was the coughing that woke
him…guttural and harsh, making his own throat ache in sympathy. Slim lay still for a moment, trying to
remember where he was. Weak sunlight peered
through the dust-streaked windows, and the stove popped and hissed
contentedly.
The coughing was louder now,
and longer, and he sprang upright as memory returned. The room spun dizzily for a second and he
clung to the side of the mattress till it righted itself, then swung his long
legs over the side and onto the plank floor.
Jonesy was in the same
position he’d been when Slim had fallen asleep, looking as if he hadn’t moved. The
large stewpot was on the floor alongside the bed, and the room was fragrant
with the earthy scent of herbs. Slim
stood, noticing for the first time that his boots had been removed and he was
now in dusty socks. He padded quietly
over to the other bed and leaned over Jonesy’s shoulder to stare at his prone
friend.
Jess didn’t look good. He lay partly on his side, propped up on a
nest of pillows and bedding, his breathing laborious and noisy. His face was
deathly pale, with hectic spots of fever-red painting his cheeks and deep pools
of blue-purple shadows under his eyes.
His hair, in matted curls, clung to his forehead as he twisted his head
from side to side, trying to escape…something.
He coughed again, deep and ratcheting, and lay for a second, mouth open
and panting before twisting aside again.
Slim clenched his fists helplessly
and watched as Jonesy placed a cool cloth gently on the pale forehead. Without
looking up, the older man said, “coffee’s on the stove. I ain’t had time to make any breakfast, so
you can cook up some bacon if you’re hungry.”
Slim had never been less
hungry in his life. He swallowed dryly
around the lump in his throat and shrugged his shoulders, trying to ease the
knots that tightened his back. “Has he
woke up at all?” he half-whispered, keeping one eye on his brother who was still
sleeping restlessly.
Jonesy shrugged. “A few minutes. Not really sure if he was
awake or not. I got him to drink some, then he passed out again.” He shook his head worriedly. “Burns is nasty things…even the ones that
ain’t so bad hurt like hell, and things can go downhill in a hurry.” He looked up then, noting Slim’s pale and
frightened face. “Not all the time,
though,” he amended quickly. “And Jess
has fought through worse things before and come up smiling.”
Slim swallowed hard and
turned away. Jonesy watched him worriedly. “You ain’t really mad at him, are
you?” At Slim’s puzzled look, he added, “Fer what he said just before he passed
out. ‘Bout shootin’ that horse, and havin’ more bullets…” Slim stared.
“Andy…kinda let it slip. He said you were yelling at Jess.”
Slim tried to swallow around
the lump in his throat. “No…I don’t
know,” he mumbled, looking away. “D’you
think he meant it?”
There was a long silence—so
long that Slim was about ready to shake the answer out of the old man when Jonesy
finally said, so quietly that Slim could barely hear, “yeah, I think he did.”
Slim felt fury boiling in him
again, mingled with fear and despair. He
stalked to the door and pulled it open roughly.
“I’d better see about the stock,” he said.
Jonesy looked over. “Might want to put your boots on first,” he
said mildly.
Red-faced, Slim grabbed his boots from their place by the fire and
stormed outside.
He sat on the steps and
pulled on his boots, stiff with dried mud and ash, and surveyed the ruins of
the yard. The barn still smoldered
gently, tendrils of smoke wafting in the now-gentle breeze. The rain had stirred the ash and mud into a
cement-like paste that coated everything in the yard: the abandoned buckets,
trough, some charred tack and pieces of board.
The acrid stench of wet and burned wood almost covered the faint,
sweetish smell of burned flesh. Slim’s
stomach roiled at the thought of what lay under the charred beams—and what had
*almost* lain there.
He was angry, yes—furious
that Jess would even consider taking his own life. No matter what the cause, no matter how
hopeless the situation—he had always believed that Jess would fight to the
end. He was shaken to the core with the
thought that maybe he didn’t know his friend as well as he thought. And that doubt festered as he considered the
difficult path Jess might still have to travel.
What if he didn’t have the grit to survive? To fight his way back? What would that do to Andy—and to him? His smoke-reddened eyes filled and he blinked
angrily, pulling himself to his feet.
He’d worry about that later, he reasoned—after he’d found the horses and
fetched the doctor. The doc wouldn’t put
up with any nonsense from Jess, no matter what….he stopped again, that little
voice in the back of his mind murmuring “what if the doc can’t do
anything?” He’d heard it often
enough—how little the medical profession actually knew, how much of the healing
had to come from within, from the will to live.
He’d always counted on Jess having one of the strongest wills he’d ever
seen, but now…
He took a deep breath and
thrust his chin forward. Now it was time
to start cleaning up, and start over.
* * * * *
The morning stage clattered
up the hill and pulled to a stop in the muddy yard where Slim was desultorily
picking through charred tack and gear.
Mose surveyed the scene from the box, eyebrows almost disappearing into
what was left of his hairline. “Had some
trouble, looks like,” he said mildly.
Slim shrugged
hopelessly. “I got no fresh teams
today,” he called. “It’ll take a while
to chase the stock down.”
Mose nodded thoughtfully.
“’Specially if you ain’t got any horses to ride out to look,” he noted.
Slim nodded towards the
bunkhouse. “Jonesy’s got some coffee
going. We’re camping out in the
bunkhouse for now. Andy’s still asleep,
so tread quiet.…”
Mose climbed off his perch
and stretched sore arms. “I got no
passengers this run so I can take it slow and easy into town.” He looked around. “Jess out huntin’ them horses?”
Slim winced perceptibly. “He’s in the bunkhouse. Got burned some.” He looked up, tried for a casual tone. “Can you send the doc out when you get into
town?”
Mose’s eyes sharpened. If Jonesy couldn’t fix it, then Jess must be
in bad shape. “Think I’ll skip the
coffee, thanks. I got a long ride ahead
of me with a tired team, so I’d best get a move on.” Wearily he climbed back into the driver’s box
and picked up the reins. “I’ll send the
doc post-haste,” he added as he slapped the reins and headed out of the yard. “Tell Jess to take care.” The stage rumbled down the road, disappearing
into the trees at the bend. Slim took a
deep breath and held it for a long moment, then turned back to his work.
CHAPTER 7
They waited through the rest
of the day, dozing and jerking awake suddenly as memories warred with
exhaustion. Mose sent Sheriff Corey back
with word that Dr. Jenkins was out on a call but would come as soon as he
could. Mort Corey, seeing the state of
the ranch and the men he considered his friends, offered to stay and help, but
Slim refused him curtly and turned back to the bunkhouse. Jonesy met the sheriff’s eyes and shrugged
sadly, then followed the tall figure inside.
He watched as Slim walked
stiff-legged to the bunk in the back and stretched out gingerly, as if every
muscle ached. His eyes closed but his
breathing hadn’t eased into the rhythms of sleep, and Jonesy studied him for a
moment before turning back to the bed by the stove.
Blue eyes regarded him
wearily, and he caught his breath, sitting with a thump in the chair
alongside.
“Hey, you still in there
somewhere?” he asked quietly.
The voice was without timbre,
a hoarse, toneless whisper, “still here.”
Jonesy filled a cup with
water, raising the sick man’s head slightly to help him drink. Jess took one painful swallow then turned his
head away.
“You think you c’n swallow
some broth?” Jonesy asked.
Jess closed his eyes and shook
his head very slightly. “Not…right now…”
he whispered.
“You sure had us all
worried,” Jonesy said, trying for an ease he couldn’t quite reach. “Slim’ll be glad to see them blue eyes
open.” He looked to the far bed and
started to stand, but Jess’s eyes flashed.
“Don’t…” Jess tried for
volume but coughed instead, eyes streaming.
Badly worried, Jonesy held
the cup to the young man’s lips and half-poured the cool water into his
mouth.
It seemed forever before the
coughing stopped and Jess’s breathing eased enough for Jonesy to sit back and
draw a deep breath. Jess was
white-lipped and trembling, but he opened his eyes and tried a glare. Jonesy blinked. “Seein’ you awake and talkin’ would be better
for Slim than a whole week’s worth of sleep.”
Jess shook his head closed
his eyes wearily. “He seen me,” he
whispered, breath rasping harshly in his throat. “When he came in. He didn’t seem to be in a talkin’ mood.”
Jonesy’s head snapped back to
stare at Slim lying on his bed. He was
still too rigid, too carefully positioned to be asleep, but he lay with his
back to the room, facing the wall and away from his friend. Jonesy turned back to the young man in front
of him. “Don’t be too hard on him,” he
said softly. “He’s just…”
“…feeling mad and guilty and
scared and mad again,” Jess finished quietly.
“I know. But I ain’t sorry. I’d do it again. I couldn’t…” he trailed off and coughed
again, eyes tight with pain. Jonesy
retrieved the cooling cloth, dipped it hastily in the water and sponged Jess’s
face.
“Just you take it easy,” he
crooned, wiping away the beads of sweat on face and neck. “Slim’ll feel better when he’s had some time
to sleep and chew on things, and you just rest and get better. You got Andy plumb worried to death, and even
Mose and Mort Corey was ready to start mother-henning you.”
Jess tried a smile, which
almost worked.
“Just you go to sleep now,
Jess,” Jonesy murmured. “The doc’ll be
here soon and he’ll fix you up right as rain.”
He put down the cloth and grabbed the cup of water. “Just one more drink and then you can go back
to sleep.”
Jess dozed off with the cup
still touching his lip. Jonesy sighed,
replaced the cup and leaned back in his chair, staring at Slim’s stiff and
unrelenting back.
CHAPTER 8
Jess’s fever rose with the
night. His coughing, interspersed with
wheezing gasps, kept everyone on edge.
Jonesy had finally given in to exhaustion, and Slim took his place at the
bedside, placing cooling cloths on fever-hot skin. Jess was restless, twisting and mumbling
unintelligible words. Andy, pale as a
ghost, kept a steady supply of water for his friend.
Sometime during the long
night Slim took to pacing restlessly through the room, unable to sit
still. Andy watched him through
heavy-lidded eyes till he finally fell into an exhausted sleep, still seated at
the table. Slim carried the small figure
over to his bunk and covered him gently, laying one light hand on his brother’s
head as if in benediction. He paced once
more.
The long night dragged on. Slim
sat heavily on the wooden chair by the bed and closed his eyes for a brief
moment before restlessness drove him to his feet again. Andy whimpered slightly in his sleep,
answered by a loud snore from Jonesy.
Jess was still for once; tense and silent. Slim reached out to replace the now-warm
cloth on his forehead, and was startled to see brilliant blue eyes glittering
in the lamplight.
“Je…Jess,” he stuttered,
unsure of what to say. Jess watched him,
unblinking, for a long moment. Slim
fumbled with the water pitcher.
“Here. Jonesy says you have to
drink as much as you can…” he said, pouring a glass and holding it out like a
gift. Jess’s eyes wandered towards the
darkness at the uncurtained windows.
“You slept all through the day,” Slim continued uncomfortably, putting
the untouched glass back on the table.
“Sure had us worried for a while there, pard.”
Jess gathered himself and
tried to push himself up, managing to balance himself on his bandaged forearms
before an alarmed Slim pushed him back down, not as gently as he would have
liked. “Whoa, pard,” he said
quietly. “Where do you think you’re
going?”
“I’ve got to get them out,”
Jess whispered, eyes wide now and looking at the door. He tried to push himself up once more. “The fire…”
Once more Slim held him
down. “The fire’s out,” he said
firmly. “Everyone’s safe. Now lie down.”
Jess’s breath was coming
harder now and he struggled against Slim’s restraining arm. “No!” he rasped and coughed harshly.
Behind him, Slim heard Jonesy
stir, snore choking off to a gurgle. “Lie
still, Jess,” Slim urged through gritted teeth.
Jess struggled weakly. “Got to…” he panted.
Jonesy appeared at Slim’s
shoulder, reaching out a comforting hand.
“Just lie down,” he crooned quietly to the agitated man.
Jess shook off the touch and
struggled with the bedclothes. “They’re
in there,” he said, distress radiating in his voice and face.
“There’s nobody there,” Slim
soothed, unsure what to do and frightened at his friend’s intensity.
“No!” Jess yelled, managing
to jump up from the bed, clutching his blankets in one bandaged fist. A small thump and yelp from behind heralded
Andy’s sudden awakening. Jess stood,
weaving and wavering, eyeing the two men menacingly. “You can’t stop me,” he hissed between
coughs. His eyes caught Slim’s and
pleaded. “They’re calling for me. Can’t you hear?” Then, just as suddenly as he’d roused, Jess
faded, sliding down towards the floor. Slim leaped forward and caught him
before he hit the ground, easing his friend back onto the bed.
“Can’t you hear them
screaming?” Jess whispered, eyes closing as he slipped back into the blackness
in his mind.
* * * * * * *
Jonesy was the first to move,
pragmatically checking Jess’s forehead before heading to the water pitcher to
refill the bedside basin. He elbowed
Slim gently out of the way and took over the abandoned chair. “Fever always rises at night,” he said
conversationally, placing a fresh cloth on Jess’s head. “’Spect he was dreamin’.”
“Remembering,” Slim
whispered, swallowing the bile that rose in his throat. It came back to him then, that night long ago
when Jess had first opened up about his past…just a little, just enough to help
Slim understand a few things about his new friend.
Jonesy gave him a sharp look
but, seeing Andy’s puzzled face, he shrugged.
“Maybe so,” he admitted. “Don’t
matter none. He’s asleep again.” He turned
to look at Andy’s white face, “like you should be,” he ordered. “Get some sleep now. The doc’ll likely be here first light, and we
can get this taken care of.”
* * * * * * *
Jess was dreaming.
He could see flames—long
tongues of pure white-yellow licking along boards, dancing across rafters. He
was drifting, floating in mid-air, above and in the center and everywhere.
It was beautiful, and he
watched the interplay of color and shadow, entranced. Light made iridescent patterns on the walls,
on the ceiling, on the sky itself; and whatever it touched changed shape,
twisted and shriveled and curled in on itself until it finally disappeared with
a silent pop of air like a bubble bursting.
He could see his mother’s
face, twisted and contorted into a mask of terror, mouth a gaping hole of darkness
as the light played around her hair and ran down her arms. His little sister clung to her mother’s
skirts as the smoke drifted to frame her ringlets, touching them with an
otherworldly glow.
And then the sound returned—a
roaring, screaming assault, battering his ears and mind so he could no longer
make out any individual sounds, just one vast unending terrible noise that
narrowed and focused and became one long, attenuated, high-pitched scream,
“JESSSSSSSSS!!!!” that echoed into infinity.
It was joined by another, and then another, wild and horrible, a chorus
as primal as a wolf-pack howling at the moon, as painful as a knife blade
slicing through his soul.
He shivered, feeling frozen
inside despite the burning heat he could feel all around him. Faces surrounded him—jeering, threatening,
pleading—faces he knew, faces he could barely remember, faces he could never
forget. “No,” he whispered, twisting to
move, to escape, to flee the reminders of his failure. “Please…..”
he sought the blackness that was all around, but the flames pierced the
darkness and illuminated the nightmare.
He couldn’t breathe. The blackness was sitting on his chest,
holding him down, sucking the air out of his lungs. He gasped and struggled, vainly trying to sit
up, get away, fill his lungs, but something was holding him down. “Got to…” he panted, redoubling his
struggle.
His lungs emptied, flattened,
and he couldn’t get them to fill.
Couldn’t remember how to swallow the air he needed. His mouth opened, gaping and gasping like a
newly-landed fish, and, in the far corner of the darkness around him, he could
see the triumphant grins of his waiting enemies….
CHAPTER 9
Dr. Jenkins puffed a long,
weary breath and studied his now-quiet patient.
Slim and Andy stood alongside him, obviously shaken at the sudden
explosive struggle from the seemingly unconscious man. Jonesy busied himself with the detritus of
the doctor’s visit, the pans and towels and bandages strewn haphazardly around
the bed, keeping his suspiciously bright eyes turned away from the others while
he fought to regain his composure.
“Wh…what…” Slim began
tremulously.
The doctor held up a tired
hand. “The smoke caused his throat to
swell and he was having trouble breathing,” he explained quietly. “I’ve given him something that should help
reduce the swelling, but if it gets worse…” he shrugged, not wanting to go into
details in front of the boy. “Well,
we’ll face that if it happens.”
Slim’s hands on Andy’s
shoulders tightened perceptibly, then loosened slowly as if Slim was forcing
himself to relax.
“His chest doesn’t sound too
good,” the doctor paused for a moment, trying to decide how much to tell
them. “Jonesy’s herbs might help loosen
some of the congestion. Keep his head
and shoulders raised, and try to get him to cough out some of the stuff that’s
in there.” He sighed. “Those cracked ribs aren’t helping any.”
Slim started. Had that fight with the outlaw horse only
been yesterday…or was it last week? It
felt like a lifetime ago.
The doctor continued, not
noticing Slim’s distraction. “His fever’s up, and will probably get worse. Cool cloths, lots of fluids…you know what to
do. Send for me if it gets very bad, or if the burns start to look infected.” He stood and began gathering his tools and
supplies. “Jonesy’s done a good job with
those burns,” he said as he replaced the items carefully in his bag. “Keep them as clean and dry as you can—light
dressings, let some air around them.
Once he wakes up, give him some of that laudanum I left—” he nodded
towards the small brown bottle on the table, “and as much water and broth as he
can swallow. If he needs something… stronger…”
he trailed off, then finished, “come and get me.” He sighed.
“Burns are about the most painful injuries, and the hardest to
treat.” He shook himself back to the
present. “But he’s young and strong, and
it looks like he’s been through this before.”
Andy looked puzzled but said
nothing. It was Jonesy who turned a
questioning face to the doctor.
“I saw some old scarring on
his hands and shoulders…I would say he’s been burned before, a long time
ago. Probably when he was not much older
than you, Andy,” the doctor said quietly.
“He probably knows what to expect better than any of us.”
The doctor sighed again. “He’d be better off in his own bed,” he
said. “The dust and the cold in here
isn’t good for him…” he held up a warning hand to stop the angry words he could
see coming. “I’m not saying anything
about your housekeeping, Jonesy. I know
this was an emergency, and the bunkhouse has been empty a long time. And the smoke and damp in the house would have
been worse. But he needs to be kept warm and dry to keep pneumonia from setting
in, especially when his lungs are already weakened and his breathing is
compromised.”
Slim deflated. “It’s my fault,” he mumbled, shaking his
head. “I’ve been too worried to do what
needs to be done. I should’ve got that
roof fixed by now, and the place cleaned up.”
He straightened up. “I’ll get ‘er
done this afternoon. Andy’ll help, won’t
you?” he looked at his younger brother, who nodded sullenly.
The doctor snapped his bag
shut and stood to leave. “I’ll stop by
this evening to see how he’s doing,” he said, heading for the door. “And you know where to find me if there’s a
problem.”
Slim followed him outside and
stood in the sunlight, looking at the destruction still untouched around
them. The doctor climbed into his buggy
and looked around. “I know you’re
worried about Jess,” he said quietly as he gathered his reins, “but the best
thing you can do right now is get busy and get this place back in shape. Jonesy’ll take good care of Jess, and you can
keep your mind occupied. There’s not
much else we can do right now.” He sent
a sad half-smile towards the younger man.
“I don’t want to have another patient here when I get back!” With a wave, he flicked the reins to set his
horse into motion and headed down the road.
Slim looked around the ranch
yard at how much…or how little…had been
accomplished. The barn had stopped
smoking, all hot spots finally extinguished; there were two horses in the far
corral, pacing restlessly—Jess’s bay and his own chestnut, who had found their
own way home during the night and had been waiting patiently in the yard when
he awoke. The saddles and tack he’d
managed to rescue from the barn were on the house’s front porch where they had
had some shelter from the downpour, but they were in sad need of a good
soaping. The windows of the house were
still open, and the wind had managed to clear out most of the smoke, but the
bedding was still smoky and sooty, and a fine layer of ash covered every
surface.
Time to get busy, the doctor
had said. He knew it was past time. Straightening his shoulders, he strode
determinedly towards the house.
CHAPTER 10
The next two days were filled
with activity, nights with dreams of flames and screams and sudden, sweat-soaked
awakenings for everyone. Andy, once the
exhaustion of the first night wore off, jerked awake every few hours, sure that
he’d smelled smoke or heard the screams of frightened horses. Slim barely seemed to eat or sleep, and rarely
spoke to anyone.
Jonesy spent most of his time
at Jess’s side, soothing and cajoling and encouraging the young man to sleep,
to eat, to rest, to fight.
Jess roused off and on but
said little; he managed sips of water and broth and usually drifted back to
sleep before he could finish. His fever
remained high, his breathing harsh and difficult, and the burns were red and
angry-looking, weeping a thin yellowish fluid that seeped through every
bandage. He endured the cleaning and
changing of his dressings silently with clenched teeth and a distant
stare.
Slim and Andy scrubbed and
patched and washed, leaving the cabin and its furnishings cleaner than they had
been since their mother had died years before.
They spent most of their waking hours in the house, managing to avoid
Jess during his brief periods of awareness.
Slim refused to acknowledge the problem, but underneath he knew he
couldn’t face his friend.
Couldn’t…didn’t want to…was afraid to.
He wasn’t sure what he’d see in Jess’s face, and he was afraid.
Jonesy did his best to cheer
the injured man, telling him of all the work Slim and Andy were doing, but he
caught Jess looking around at the empty room more than once, and silently damned
the
On the fourth day after the
fire, Slim and Jonesy rigged a stretcher and transferred the sleeping Jess back
to the newly-cleaned house. Slim
suggested for convenience’s sake that Jonesy use his bed in the room he had shared
with Jess; he would bunk with Andy for the time being. Jonesy frowned but agreed.
And the days continued.
* * * * * *
The community rallied around
their neighbors, offering everything from fried chicken and fresh-baked pies to
teams and wagons to help clear the remains of the barn. Bill Bates took it upon himself to bury what
was left of the sorrel horse far from the house one morning when Slim was out
rounding up the scattered stock. Jess
slept through most of the visits, although Jonesy wasn’t completely convinced
that the man wasn’t pretending to sleep in order to avoid the company.
He didn’t seem to want
company—at least, it appeared that way. Jonesy
noticed that Jess tensed when he heard Slim or Andy’s voice from the other
room, as if he were waiting for them, though he wasn’t sure whether Jess would
welcome or ignore them.
It didn’t matter. The voices always came and went through the
rest of the house, and Jess was left alone, the darkness at the center of the
ongoing work of the ranch, drowsing in a drugged haze of pain and fever. Jonesy watched with concern as Jess grew
paler and weaker, the lingering infection in his chest and from the burns
sapping his strength.
Slim and Andy looked nearly
as bad; pale caricatures of their normal tanned and energetic selves, they
worked doggedly through the long days and, after a nearly silent supper, crawled
off to bed. Jonesy took it upon himself
to give daily reports of Jess’s progress, but Slim and Andy both seemed distant
and preoccupied, as if Jess were no longer a part of their lives.
* * * * * *
It was a week after the fire,
and Jonesy had had enough. Jess’s fever
had risen again and he’d spent a sleepless night with herbs and cooling cloths
listening to his young friend’s tortured mutterings, and the sight of Slim and
Andy sitting blank-eyed at the breakfast table was the last straw. Closing the bedroom door carefully behind
him, he advanced on the
“What the devil are you
sittin’ there waitin’ for?” he snapped, striding past them towards the
kitchen. “You just here for the room and
board? You want to act like hired hands,
you can go back to the bunkhouse!” He
slammed the frying pan down onto the stove and brought out the bacon from the
cupboard. “I’ll bring you your breakfast
there, so you won’t have to pretend to be part of this family.” Keeping a rigid back to the two startled
young men, he hacked angrily at the slab of bacon.
He heard Slim stand and
approach him. “Now just you wait a
minute…” Slim sounded angry, but Jonesy wasn’t about to back down. He turned a stony glare at the taller
man.
“No, you wait. I’m sick and tired of watching you two sulk
around when that boy in there needs his family.
He’s sick and not just with the fever.
It looks like you two just don’t give a damn, and it’s eatin’ him up inside.”
“You don’t know that,” Slim
said desperately. “He’s the one who was
gonna….” He trailed off, white-faced, and glanced over his shoulder at his
brother. Andy had his head down and was
playing with his fork, shoulders tense.
“You don’t know nothing about
it,” Jonesy said quietly. “You don’t
know nothing about what that boy’s been through, and is going through now, and
what he still has to face. All I know is
that he needs to know that someone cares. Besides me.” He turned back to the chopping block and
began cutting bacon again, now slower and more deliberate.
Slim stared for a moment,
then stalked to the kitchen door, slamming it shut behind him as he stomped out
into the sunlit yard.
Jonesy continued his work
without pausing; after a moment, he heard a quiet voice from behind. “Is Jess
really sick?”
He sighed. “Yeah, Andy, he is. Real sick.” He turned slowly. Andy was still seated, still playing with the
fork, eyes downcast and studying the patterns he was drawing on the wooden
table. “Why don’t you go see him?” he
asked gently. “I’ll bring your breakfast
in there.”
Andy looked up. His eyes were
bright with unshed tears, his expression torn.
“I don’t know what to say,” he whispered. “I’m…”
“I know,” Jonesy moved over
to the boy to lay a gentle hand on his shoulder, “but it don’t matter what you
say. You just got to be there.”
Andy took a deep breath and
stood up, nodding. Moving as slowly as
if he were heading to his own execution, he walked to the bedroom door and
paused for a moment, hand on the knob.
Jonesy felt a catch in his throat as Andy stopped, straightened his
shoulders and raised his head, and walked through the door.
Well, one stubborn
CHAPTER 11
Jess was lying in bed,
staring blindly at the window and yearning towards the sunlight, when he heard
the door open. His head was still
clouded with fever and the lingering effects of the laudanum, and he closed his
eyes and waited for Jonesy to speak.
Silence held, but Jess could
hear tense breathing from the doorway. Curious,
he turned to look.
Andy was framed in the
doorway, looking as jumpy as a fawn facing a wolf.
Jess blinked. “Andy?” he asked, not quite sure of what he
was seeing. His voice was low and raspy with smoke and disuse, but it was
definitely Jess, and Andy suddenly felt relieved.
“Howdy, Jess,” he said
softly.
Jess smiled for the first
time in a week. “Hey, Tiger,” he said
weakly.
Andy moved forward in a rush
and dropped into the chair next to Jess’s bed.
“How are you feeling?” he asked.
Jess choked a half-laugh. “I’m doin’ fine,” he said. “I’ll be up and around in no time.”
Andy looked down at the
floor, suddenly embarrassed. “I’m real
sorry I haven’t been to see you before,” he said slowly, not meeting Jess’s
eyes. “Slim ‘n me, we’ve been...”
“…Busy,” Jess finished. “There must be an awful lot to take care of
now, what with the fire and me laid up…”
Andy looked up,
relieved. “Yeah. Real busy.
We got most of the horses back, but the saddles and tack were
practically ruined. Why, I’ve been
cleaning and mendin’ tack till my fingers are near worn…” he stopped suddenly,
looking at Jess’s bandaged hands, and gulped.
Jess smiled. “Guess I’m lucky bein’ inside,” he said
lightly. “Nothin’ I hate more than
cleanin’ tack.”
Silence held for a moment
longer.
“Jess…” Andy started, then
fell silent.
Jess studied him
carefully. Andy’s face was pale, his
fingers twisting restlessly in his lap, and he kept his eyes down, shooting
occasional glances sideways. Jess could
feel the discomfort coming from him, but was unsure how to help. He sighed deeply, and Andy looked up
briefly.
“You all right?”
Jess smiled sadly. “I’ll be fine, Andy. It’s you I’m worried about.”
Andy blinked. “Me?
There’s nothing wrong with me.”
“You don’t look fine to me,”
Jess said quietly. “You look like you
got a mighty big pain inside. You want
to talk about it?”
Andy stood and paced to the
window, staring outside.
“It’s all right if you’re
mad,” Jess said softly.
Andy turned and stared. “Mad?”
“At what happened. At the
fire. At the world.” He paused. “At me.”
Andy opened his mouth, but
nothing came out. Jess sighed
again. “C’mere.” He gestured to the chair next to him. Andy moved over and sat down warily. “I got something to tell you that I never told
anyone before.” He paused. “Not even
Slim.”
Andy’s eyes grew huge. “Really?”
Jess nodded. He closed his eyes for a long moment,
gathering himself. Truth be told, he
didn’t want to do this. He was tired, he
hurt abominably, and even thinking about what he had to say twisted his guts;
but he could see the hurt in his young friend’s eyes, and he knew he was the
only one who might help. Who *could*
help.
He sighed again and opened
his eyes, looking directly at the boy.
“Andy, I was in a fire a long time ago.”
Andy nodded; Jess looked surprised. “The doctor said you had some old scars from
a fire.”
Jess nodded again
grimly. “I was 15 years old. My…my house burned down. My sister Francie pulled me and my brother
out. The rest…” he swallowed with
difficulty, “well, they were trapped.” He closed his eyes for a moment and
gathered his composure. “I tried to get
to them. I could hear ‘em yellin’, and I
tried to get back inside, but it was too hot.
There was no way in. I burned my
hands pretty bad tryin’ to get through.
I could hear ‘em…” he paused again, taking shaky, shallow breaths. “Well, my brother Johnny pulled me away. He kept yellin’ at me to leave, that it was
no use, that I had to save myself.”
Andy noticed Jess’s hands,
even in their protective bandages, were clenched into fists that were trembling
slightly, but his voice remained calm. Andy
shivered. “They…died?” he whispered.
Jess nodded. “And I was mad. For years, it seems. Mad at the world, mad at the way things were. Mad at myself for not…for failin’ them. And I was mad at them.” He paused, and looked puzzled. “But the thing was, as mad as I was at Johnny
for stoppin’ me goin’ back in, I was even madder at Francie for pullin’ me out
in the first place. And I was mad, dad-blamed
furious, at them for dyin’ and leavin’ me behind.” He looked up then and smiled weakly. “It don’t make sense, I know. But you see, I know how that can happen. How you can find
yourself mad at the ones who hurt you so bad, even when you know it wasn’t
their choice.” He looked down. “I’m sorry I hurt you, Andy. But I made a promise to myself all those
years ago. I promised I’d never let
anyone or anything else die like that…not without doing my best to help.” He looked up worriedly. “You see, I couldn’t just let that horse burn
to death. I couldn’t. Any more than I
would have left you in that barn. Or…”
he stopped suddenly.
“I think I understand,” Andy
said slowly.
“I hope so,” Jess said
quietly. “’Cause you got to know, that
kind of mad don’t do any good at all. It
just eats at you and eats at you, and after a while, you can’t remember all the
good because of the bad at the end.” He
looked over, eyes intense. “Promise me you
won’t forget, Andy. No matter what, we
had good times.”
Andy’s lips quivered, and his
eyes filled. He blinked and swiped at
his eyes unhappily. “I’m not mad at you,
Jess,” he stammered. “Not really. I could never be that mad at you.” He blinked again. “You just got to get better, Jess,” he pleaded. “You *got*
to! And you got to make Slim listen, so he’ll understand, too.” He took a shaky breath. “I’m scared, Jess. I’m scared you’re gonna die and leave
me…leave us. And I know Slim’s scared,
too.”
Jess leaned back and smiled—a
sudden, full and very sweet smile that showed no trace of his pain, or
exhaustion, or fears. “I ain’t leavin’
anyone,” he said firmly. “Remember, I
been here before. It ain’t gonna be fun,
and I’ll probably be cussin’ up a storm for quite a while, but I ain’t gonna
die. You’re gonna have to put up with me
for a long, long time.” He smiled
again. “And you can tell Slim and Jonesy
that, too. They’re gonna have to throw
me out to get rid of me.”
Andy was suddenly on his
knees next to the bed and hugging his friend.
And Jess, despite the bandages and the burns and the sore ribs, was
hugging back and smiling.
Outside the door, Jonesy
stepped back quietly, the breakfast tray in a trembling hand, and tiptoed back
to the table.
CHAPTER 12
Slim woke suddenly, heart
racing and sweat cooling on his forehead and neck, the bedsheet stuck
uncomfortably to his bare chest. He lay
still, listening to the mundane sounds of crickets and nightbirds and the faint
rustle as Andy turned in his sleep.
The night was still: no
howling gale, no crackle of flames, no tortured screams, and he breathed deeply
and carefully, trying to slow the pounding in his chest and head.
He could hear a low murmur
from the room next door—a quiet, soothing, gentle monotone, which was broken by
coughing…long, loud, painful. His
heartbeat picked up again, and he tensed.
The coughing went on, longer,
deeper, and the murmuring voice grew louder, faster. He heard a muffled clatter through the thin
wall and jerked upright, all senses alert.
In the next bed, Andy grumbled an
unintelligible complaint into his pillow and then subsided, his breathing
evening out once more. With a wary eye
on his sleeping brother, Slim pulled himself upright and into his trousers and
tiptoed out the door.
The two bedroom doors opened
simultaneously, Slim and Jonesy meeting almost nose-to-nose between them. Jonesy was holding an empty water pitcher in
one hand and looking infinitely weary, and Slim was suddenly, deeply frightened. Through the partially opened door, Slim could
see dim lamplight throwing deep shadows against the far wall and picking out
the outline of the man lying in the bed at the left. “Jonesy?” he whispered.
The old man stopped for a
moment, then pushed past him stiffly. “Need
some more water,” he said, heading towards the kitchen pump. More coughing came from the small room,
punctuated by harsh breathing. Slim
hesitated for a moment, then, taking a deep breath, he pushed open the bedroom
door and stepped quietly inside.
The lamp was on a small table
next to the bed, the wick turned low and shielded so the light wouldn’t shine
in the sick man’s eyes…had they been open, had he been able to see. It took Slim a few seconds to adjust to the dim
light, and he took deep breaths, absently noting the stale air permeated with
the scent of sickness, the rumpled bedclothes on the empty bed, and the
discarded towels and bandages piled on the table. He could hear Jonesy angrily working the pump
in the kitchen and then poking the stove back to life as he stood in the
doorway, unmoving, mind blank.
A pot scraped on the stove
and slow footsteps moved around the kitchen behind him, and he stepped forward without
thought until he stood alongside the bed and stared down at his friend.
His friend. He’d almost forgotten, lost in his anger and
guilt, but now the memories were starting to come back….
The light created deep
shadows in the angled planes of the thin face before him—too thin, too sharp,
he realized. The eyes were sunken into
dark pools, brows knit and mouth twisted even in sleep. Slim could hear the harsh rasp and see the
ragged up-and-down motion of his chest as Jess fought for breath. His legs gave way and he sat suddenly in the
chair alongside the bed. Jess twisted,
coughed weakly and moaned...a small, barely-heard sound of distress that
prickled the skin at the back of Slim’s neck, and without thinking, he leaned
over, picked up one of the discarded cloths from the table and gently wiped his
friend’s forehead. “Easy, Jess, easy,”
he murmured, pushing matted black hair away from the hot forehead. “Just lie still. You’re gonna be fine.” Jess tried to twist away and Slim moved
closer, leaning in intently. “Lie
still,” he said, voice stronger. Jess
twisted and coughed again, loud and ratcheting, his
emaciated body shaking with the force.
Slim moved swiftly then, kneeling at the bedside and sliding one strong
arm behind the bony shoulders, angling him upwards and supporting the lolling
head with his elbow. A pillow was abruptly
thrust onto the bed, and he worked it behind the sick man’s shoulders and eased
him back down, suddenly loathe to relinquish his hold. He arranged the pillows and carefully propped
Jess up at a comfortable angle and waited till his breathing eased slightly.
Slim could hear Jonesy moving
around the room, water being poured into the basin alongside the bed, and quiet
scuffling noises as the old man gathered the sickroom debris, but he couldn’t
take his eyes off his partner: Jess was
so pale, so quiet, so unnaturally still.
His normally mobile mouth was a tight thin line, his black hair a shocking
contrast to the white face and white linens.
Slim reached out blindly and grabbed the cloth he had used before,
dipping it into the fresh basin of water that had appeared at the bedside and
dabbing it gently at his friend’s face. Still
without looking up, he spoke to the dim form behind him.
“You must be exhausted,” he
said quietly. “Go lie down in the other
room. I’ll take over here.”
There was a long silence
which he barely noticed, then, finally, “think I will,” Jonesy said in a voice
that was suddenly soft, as if some great burden had been released. “Call me if you need me.”
Footsteps padded away behind
him, and he heard the door close gently.
* * * * * * *
Slim was alone with his
friend in the dim light and silence of the sleeping house, and alone with his
thoughts. He studied Jess’s face again,
seeing past the shadowed stubble and lines of pain, and remembered the
laughter, the teasing and the wild joyfulness that usually shone in his friend’s
eyes. He reached out hesitantly and
picked up Jess’s right hand, holding it with exquisite care. The bandages were loose, letting air
circulate around the healing burns, the long fingers showing pink and healthy,
and, on a sudden whim, he turned the hand palm upwards, pushing the bandages
back gently. When he looked closely, he
could see faint lines marking the palm and fingers, rough raised tissue that
could barely be seen but could be felt by running the tips of his fingers
lightly across the skin. Jess shivered
and closed his hand, and Slim replaced it on the blanket guiltily.
He remembered the
fire…remembered Jess mentioning it, but so long ago, so briefly. He’d kept his feelings hidden, had spoken of
the fire that had killed most of his family in such quiet, measured tones that
Slim hadn’t brought it up again, not knowing if the young man had truly
accepted it or had merely put it out of his mind; but either way, Slim had kept
his own silence, not wanting to bring back any painful memories. Now he found himself wondering at the hidden
scars, the ones not on his friend’s hands but on his soul.
He closed his eyes and
shivered in the warm, stuffy room.
CHAPTER 13
Slim was grainy-eyed when the
room finally lightened enough to turn out the lamp. Jess had been increasingly restless but
hadn’t roused at all, not even when Slim had sponged his face and chest with
cool water. His breathing hadn’t
worsened but it hadn’t improved, either, and he still coughed raspingly and
breathed in short shallow pants, with a faint but audible crackle and rattle
that made Slim cringe.
Slim stood and stretched,
hearing the creak and pop of muscle and joints kept too still for too long,
and, with a longing look at his empty and inviting bed, padded out to the
kitchen. He could hear faint movement
coming from his brother’s room, and he figured he had enough time to start
coffee and warm up some biscuits before he had to face the others.
He heard the door opening behind
him as he was filling the coffeepot and he turned, expecting to see Andy
looking around with his usual sleepy morning gaze, but instead, Jonesy was
leaning in the doorway, surveying the room and yawning hugely. Slim frowned.
“I thought you’d still be sleeping,” he said, almost accusingly, and
added more water to the pot.
Jonesy shook his head as if
clearing away cobwebs. “Slept enough,”
was all he said as he stumped towards the front bedroom. Slim turned back to the stove, knelt and
poked up the fire, then headed to the woodpile.
When he returned, arms full
of firewood, Jonesy was filling his large pot with water. Slim frowned.
“Haven’t done that for a few days,” he noted, as he dropped the firewood
in its bin by the stove.
Jonesy looked up, and Slim
froze at the look in his eyes—fear, with an edge of despair. “You might want to head back to town,” Jonesy
said. “Might be time to fetch the doc
again.”
Slim swallowed hard. “I thought he…isn’t he…I thought he was doin’
better. He was pretty quiet all
night. And Andy said…”
“He was,” Jonesy interrupted
flatly. “But now he’s not. That’s the way things go sometimes.” He moved the pot back to the stove and dropped
in a few handfuls of dried herbs, stirring them briefly. Slim nodded and slipped quietly into his
room. When he returned a few minutes
later, fully dressed and shaved, the room was already redolent with the scent
of the herbs.
“Andy’s still asleep,” he
reported, moving towards the door and snagging his holster en route. “Tell him…”
“I’ll take care of both of
‘em,” Jonesy cut in sharply. His tone
softened at the worried look on Slim’s face.
“Just…tell the doc the burns ain’t too bad but his chest don’t sound too
good. He’ll know what to bring.” Slim nodded and stepped out into the bright
crisp morning air.
* * * * * * *
Dr. Jenkins gathered his
supplies with a haste that terrified Slim; it seemed obvious that this was
something that the doctor had been expecting, and fearing. He bit down his own fear and forced himself
to stand patiently as they waited for the doctor’s buggy to be brought from the
stable.
“Did you have breakfast yet?”
He blinked and tried to
process the doctor’s words. “Huh?”
Dr. Jenkins sighed and patted
the young man’s shoulders. “Go get yourself
something to eat before you fall down,” he said, propelling Slim gently towards
the café across the street. “Jonesy and
I can take care of Jess till you get home.”
He frowned as Slim planted his feet and glowered. “Slim.
Making yourself sick won’t help anything. Now I know for a fact that you haven’t been
in town for a week. Supplies must be
getting awfully low. Go get some food in
you and pick up what you need.” The
buggy arrived in front of them and the doctor climbed aboard, placing his bag
carefully at his side and gathering the reins.
“Go,” he said again, sharply, then slapped the reins and headed down the
street at a brisk trot.
* * * * * * *
The doctor’s buggy was tied
by the kitchen door when Slim arrived home.
He’d met Mort Corey at the general store, and the sheriff, noting his
friend’s unnerved appearance, decided to accompany him back to the ranch.
They rode most of the way in a worried silence.
Mort carried the supplies
into the house while Slim took care of all the horses—his, Mort’s and the
doctor’s—moving slowly and dawdling over unnecessary chores, as if unwilling to
join the others inside.
When Slim finally entered, Mort
was sitting at the table and Andy was refilling his coffee cup. Jonesy and the doctor were nowhere in sight,
but low voices could be heard through the closed bedroom door. Andy’s face was tight with anxiety but he sat
quietly with the two men as they made small talk over their coffee.
The morning dragged on, and
the three at the table grew increasingly restive. Slim stood and paced while Andy and Mort
watched him from their seats. “These
things take time,” Mort said softly.
“Can’t rush ‘em.”
Slim snorted and turned
towards the back door. “Stage’ll be here
soon,” he said. “I’d best be getting the
teams ready.” As he walked through the kitchen,
the bedroom door opened and the doctor exited.
Slim stopped as suddenly as
if he’d run into a wall. His eyes, wary
and worried, followed the doctor as he filled a coffee cup and sat heavily next
to Mort and Andy. Slim joined them in
one long stride.
“Doc…?”
Dr. Jenkins faced him
levelly. “Jess has developed pneumonia,”
he said carefully. “It’s fairly common
with all the smoke he breathed and having to lie still for so long, but I was hoping
we’d managed to head it off.” He shook
his head. “Well, we’ll just have to deal
with it now. Jonesy’s got some medicine,
and those herbs of his’ll help, but mostly it’s a question of good
nursing. Keep him warm, get him to drink
as much as he can and eat light but nourishing meals, and get him to
cough.”
Slim looked started. “Cough?
He’s been…”
“Really cough,” the doctor
broke in. “He’s got to cough out all that infection in his lungs. It’ll be hard…his ribs are still pretty sore
and he might have cracked another one or two with his coughing already, but it
has to be done.” He sighed. “Jonesy knows what to do. I’ll be back later tonight.” He stood up and picked up his bag.
Andy jumped up. “You’re leaving?” he asked accusingly.
Mort reached out a gentle
hand. “Andy…” he started, but Slim interrupted.
“No, he’s right. How can you
leave now?”
Dr. Jenkins looked from one
angry face to the next. “I’ll be back,”
he said quietly. “There’s nothing I can
do right now. But his fever’ll probably
rise at night, and then maybe I can help.”
He looked around again. “It’s
going to be a hard couple of days, but you have to have faith. In Jess, if not
in God.”
At the door he turned
again. “I’d suggest you rest up this
afternoon,” he said. “It’ll probably be
a rough night, and it’s best if we take turns watching. Jonesy’s pretty well exhausted.” He headed outside.
Slim shook himself back to
the present. “I’d better get out there,”
he mumbled, turning to the door. “Got to
hitch up the doc’s horse.” Andy jumped
to his feet. “I’ll do it,” he said,
pushing past his brother and outside.
Slim slumped back into his chair.
Mort was still watching him compassionately.
“He’ll be all right,” Mort
said suddenly. “You know that, don’t you?”
Slim shook his head silently,
eyes averted.
CHAPTER 14
The night dragged on forever.
True to his word, the doctor had returned shortly after sundown with a large
bag of medicines and extra bandages.
Jonesy had finally given in
to exhaustion and crawled back into his bedroom, where loud snores escaped
periodically through the closed door. Andy
had eventually agreed to go to bed too, though only after Slim promised to let
him take a turn sitting up with the sick man later that night.
Slim and the doctor sat in
silence in the dimly-lit bedroom and watched Jess struggle to breathe.
He wasn’t quiet this time…he
tossed and muttered and fretted at the blankets, pushing them away with his
bandaged hands and twisting away from the cooling cloths they placed on his
head. Slim could make out garbled
words—curses, prayers, pleas—he couldn’t tell.
He caught his own name, and Andy’s, and others—some familiar, some
unknown, as Jess wandered in his nightmares.
Dr. Jenkins leaned forward
during a brief silence. “There’s no need
for you to stay,” he said quietly. “I’m
here. Why don’t you get some rest, too?” He nodded towards the doorway. “I’ll call you when I need some help sitting
him up.”
Slim shook his head, eyes
closed. “I’ll stay,” he whispered.
“Slim…” the doctor started,
but Slim’s eyes flashed open.
“I’ve got to,” he said
intensely. He looked down. “I’ve got to keep him fighting.”
“*Keep* him?” Dr. Jenkins said incredulously. “When have you ever known him to stop?”
Slim’s eyes were shadowed in
fear and hurt. “I don’t know, doc,” he
whispered. “I just don’t know any more
if he can keep going.”
The doctor took a deep
breath. “Look at him,” he
commanded. Slim averted his eyes, shook
his head. “Look at him!” he repeated sharply.
Slim forced himself to look
over at his friend. Jess’s face was
twisted and exhausted, but his hands clenched the bedding tightly and his mouth
was a tight straight line.
“Jess Harper is one of the
strongest men I’ve ever known,” the doctor stated. “He’s fighting his hardest…he wouldn’t have
made it this far if he wasn’t. I don’t
see him giving up now. I don’t see him *ever* giving up willingly. And if you can’t see that, well, maybe you
don’t know him as well as you think you do.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of,”
Slim muttered, looking away again.
Dr. Jenkins stood up and
paced away in pent-up frustration. “What
the devil are you talking about?” he asked.
“Nothing,” Slim said, not
meeting his eyes.
The doctor stood in front of
him, arms akimbo. “Slim
Slim stared at the floor for
a long moment, afraid to look up. He
could hear the doc pulling up a chair in the living room, and Jess’s fevered
mutterings, and Jonesy’s snores coming through the walls. Finally, finally, he raised his eyes and
studied his friend.
It was not like the previous
night, when Jess had been sleeping quietly.
Tonight was visceral, intense, the night filled with pain and sweat and
nightmares. Slim watched as Jess
muttered and twisted, his body tight, clenched, muscles taut and strained. This was no quiet slipping away, no easy
slide into blackness. Jess’s strength
might be ebbing, but his spirit was holding on with everything he had. Slim felt his chest tighten with an odd
combination of fear and pride. He was
fighting! He was still Jess. He might not win, but he wouldn’t just let
go.
Slim felt a sudden wetness on
his cheeks and swiped at his eyes angrily, blinking furiously. He
fought for control for several long breaths, then closed his eyes and bowed his
head. “I’m sorry, Jess,” he whispered to
the dark head on the pillow. “I’m
sorry.”
* * * * * * * *
Morning dawned, cool and
golden, and Jonesy tiptoed from his bed.
Silence rang throughout the house, broken only by a soft snoring coming
from the living room.
The doctor was curled into an
uncomfortable-looking ball on the couch under the window, one hand dangling
limply onto the floor. Jonesy crept past
him and into the bedroom.
Slim was sprawled in the chair
by the bed, sound asleep. His eyes were
red-rimmed, but his face was peaceful.
Jonesy padded to the table and blew out the unnecessary lamp, turning to
study the pale face on the pillow.
Jess was still deathly pale,
but the brilliant fever spots were gone, and sweat beaded his face and pasted
his curls in place. Jonesy reached out a
gentle hand to touch the damp forehead, and smiled at what he felt: cooler…not
yet cool, but cooler than it had been.
He felt Jess move beneath his hand, and pulled back slowly, reaching for
the water pitcher on the table.
Jess twitched and his eyes
opened slowly, blinking blearily at Jonesy.
Jonesy rewarded him with a wide grin.
“Hey, boy,” he whispered, holding out a cup of water and supporting
Jess’s head to help him drink.
Jess swallowed obediently,
then dropped back to the pillow, exhausted.
His eyes made a slow circuit of the room as if trying to place where he
was, and why…and stopped at the sight of his partner, sound asleep and snoring
softly.
“Sl..slim?” The name was
barely an exhalation. Jonesy turned to
look at the sleeping man, and smiled at Jess.
“He’s been here all night,” he said quietly. “’N last night, too. And unless the doc and I tie him down, I’d
guess he’ll be here tonight, too.”
Jess tried to speak but
couldn’t form the words. His eyes
drifted shut, but a faint smile touched his mouth as he drifted off.
CHAPTER 15
Nothing was ever easy, Slim
thought three days later as he readied the team for the afternoon stage.
Jess had turned the corner
that night…had *seemed* to turn the corner, but it was two more nights of
fever-sweat and nightmares, hugging pillows and coughing till he had to curl up,
red-faced and gasping with pain, before the fever finally broke, leaving him
pasty-faced and weak, but alive.
Breathing easier now, coughing up the infection that Jonesy’s herbs had
loosened. Sleeping twenty hours out of
the day, but then lying in bed, propped up by pillows, being spoon-fed the
nourishing broth and complaining…complaining! about being cooped up
inside.
Yes, he had definitely turned
the corner.
Andy practically glowed with
happiness, racing from corral to bunkhouse to bedroom in an excess of
energy. Slim envied him his
uncomplicated joy. Even Jonesy seemed to
have recovered, the deep shadows under his eyes fading as his mind eased and he
caught up on sleep.
Only Slim was still caught in
uncertainty. Oh, he was calmer now. He no longer felt the twist in his guts, the
crippling doubts, the breathtaking guilt, but he still wasn’t sure what Jess
thought…or what *he* did. There was
still that strange, uncomfortable feeling that he was looking at a stranger—one
with the face of his best friend—and it caught
him at unexpected moments with the force of a blow. He wasn’t sure what to do about it…or if he *should*
do anything about it. Jess was still
fragile, and so was he. He didn’t want
to do anything to break the delicate peace around them. And so he threw himself back into his work
with a determination that surprised everyone, including himself.
* * * * * *
Jess’s recovery was slow but
steady. It was another week before he
was allowed up, to limp unsteadily on supporting arms into the living room,
where he was ensconced in his rocking chair before the fire with great pomp and
celebration. It was another week after
that before he was allowed outside—briefly, well-wrapped and only in the warm
sunlight.
It was the first time he’d
been outside since the fire, at least awake, and he looked around with
interest. The burned trees and brush had
been cut back away from the buildings, their scorched tops the only visible reminders
of the fire. A pole and brush lean-to in
the corral sheltered the horses and tools; the saddles and tack in their small
shed gleamed in the reflected sunlight.
The barn site was level and
cleared of all debris, ready for the barn-raising to be held the following
week. The four of them had spent
countless hours at Jess’s bedside and at the kitchen table planning, designing
the new space…how many stalls, where the tack should be placed, what storage
they needed for tools, for supplies, for wagon parts. What work areas they would need, now and in
the future.
The future. For the first time in his life, Jess found
himself planning for the future.
The burns on his hands and
shoulders healed quickly, leaving only fading red marks as reminders. The soles
of his feet took longer, but he was able to walk now without limping, and could
even wear his boots for short periods of time.
The doctor had assured him that they would heal cleanly in time, and he
was trying to be patient.
The only thing that worried
him was Slim’s continued distance. Oh,
he seemed cheerful, and they laughed and joked and discussed their plans; but
he sensed an odd separation, an emotional withdrawal that he’d never felt from
his partner before, and it worried him.
But his friend was an
intensely private man, and Jess was afraid to intrude. They’d just gotten their balance back, and he
was afraid to throw things off again.
And so they both ignored their discomfort and
pretended that everything was fine.
* * * * * *
It was the night before the
barn raising, and Jess was having trouble sleeping. The healing skin on his feet was itching, and
he wriggled and rubbed and stretched them, trying to ease the itch and the
cramps.
Pretty much the whole town
was due at first light, making a full day’s party of it—raise the barn, have a
dance, and celebrate the fact that he, and the others here, were all alive and
well and ready to get on with their lives.
It awed him that so many
people had offered to come help; and more so, how many had sent their regards
and good wishes to him. He’d known that
Slim and Andy were well-liked in the community; he hadn’t realized how much
he’d become a part of it himself. It was
a humbling, and somewhat uncomfortable, feeling for someone who’d spent the
majority of his adult life alone.
He grinned in the darkness,
hearing the soft snores of his partner in the next bed. Alone, indeed!
He rubbed his aching hands
and feet on the bedclothes one more time, then gave up and pulled himself
upright. The trees whispered outside the
window, moonlight reaching in through the thin curtains and illuminating the
sleeping form in the next bed. He
snagged his jeans on the way out and padded in stockinged feet into the next
room. He could hear Jonesy’s
bed-rattling snores through the thin door of the next bedroom as he headed
towards the small kitchen. Hopping on
one foot, he managed to pull on his jeans.
The night was quiet, only the
sounds of the wind and the coyotes and the snores of his family to disturb the
silence. He grabbed his coat from the peg
by the door and went outside.
The full moon shone with a
cool blue light, throwing the yard into stark relief. He could hear the comforting sounds of horses
munching hay and stomping an occasional hoof onto the packed dirt of the
yard. A coyote chorus sang in the
distance, high-pitched and shrill, like rare and exotic birds.
He took a deep breath of the cold
night air and smiled.
The quiet voice behind him
was a shock, but he didn’t jump. He knew
the voice, knew the man, knew there was no danger.
“You’ll catch a chill,” Slim
said. “Why don’t you come back inside?”
“Not yet,” Jess replied,
looking out over the moon-touched landscape.
“I ain’t cold.”
He heard the scrape of a
chair being pulled up and felt a touch on his arm.
“At least sit down,” Slim
said easily. “I don’t want Jonesy to
kill me for not watching out for you.”
Jess dropped into the chair
and smiled. “I guess I ain’t used to
having anybody watch out for me. It’s kind of a new thing for me.”
“Well, you’d better get used
to it,” Slim grumbled, pulling up another chair and sitting alongside his
friend. The two sat in silence for a
moment, contemplating the night.
“I need to…”
“I was gonna…”
They both spoke in unison,
and laughed slightly in embarrassment.
“You first.”
“No, you.”
There was another long moment
of silence.
“You scared me, Jess.” Slim’s tone was calm, but his hands in the
darkness were clenched tightly.
Jess looked down. “I know.
And I’m sorry.”
“That don’t cut it,” Slim
said sharply. Jess stiffened but said
nothing. Slim’s tone softened. “Just…don’t do that again.”
“I can’t promise that.”
Jess’s voice was muffled. Slim sat up
straight. Jess’s voice came from the
darkness, clearer now, almost cold. “I
can’t. I won’t make a promise I can’t keep.”
“Talk to me, Jess,” Slim
begged. “Tell me why you’d…what would
make you be willing to…to kill yourself.”
Jess was silent for so long
that Slim was afraid he wasn’t going to answer.
“You ever been burned, Slim?”
The voice was soft, distant, detached.
“Oh, not the hot pan or stick your hand in the fire kind of burn. I mean, on fire.”
“I’ve seen some that had been,”
Slim replied carefully. He wasn’t sure
where this was going but he knew he had to tread softly.
“Then you know some of
it. But not all. ‘Cause the ones you saw were past it.” Slim stayed silent. After a moment, the quiet voice went on. “I been there, Slim. I saw it…smelled it…heard it. I know what burns can do, and the feeling of
it…going on and on, getting worse and worse…”
There was an audible gulp in the darkness. “The preachers got it right,” Jess said
softly, “about hell bein’ fire and brimstone.”
There was another brief
pause. “You heard that horse, heard him
scream. But that was scared. He wasn’t burned…not yet.” He paused again. “Not yet,” he whispered. His voice grew stronger now.
“I made a promise, Slim. To my family, and to myself. I’d never let that happen to anyone, or any
creature. Not again.”
Slim couldn’t breathe,
couldn’t move. He felt Jess turn to face
him, could see his eyes reflecting the moonlight.
“That’s why I can’t promise
you, Slim. I know what could
happen. I won’t let it…not to a horse,
nor a man…or even myself.” He sighed and
looked down, eyes veiled. “I ain’t
lookin’ to die. This is…I been happy
here. This is the first home I’ve had
in…in a long time.” He looked up again. “But if you’re worried that I’ll run
into another burnin’ barn some day, well, most likely I will. I sure won’t
promise not to. And if you can’t accept
that,” he paused for a moment as if gathering himself, “I’ll leave.”
“Go away?” Slim’s voice was
husky in the darkness. Jess swallowed
hard.
“If I have to. I don’t want to hurt you, or Andy or Jonesy
neither. I don’t want anyone to be
grieved by who I am. So if you want me
to go, I will.”
The silence held for
infinity. A cloud scudded in front of
the moon, throwing the yard into sudden blackness. The horses in their shed stamped
nervously.
“I guess…I guess you can’t
help bein’ who you are,” Slim’s voice was a whisper in the darkness. “And I wouldn’t change you…even if I could.”
Jess released the breath he
hadn’t been aware he was holding. The
cloud moved away and the moonlight gilded the treetops again.
“Just…” Slim’s voice was hesitant.
Jess waited.
“Just…next time you go
runnin’ into danger, make sure you do your damnedest to come back out.”
Jess laughed, sudden and
joyful. “I always do.”
The coyotes howled
again. Slim shivered in the biting wind
and stood up.
“C’mon, partner,” he said,
tapping Jess’s shoulders lightly. “Let’s
get some sleep. We got a barn to build
in the morning.”
Side by side, the two friends
walked into the house.
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