CHAPTER ELEVEN

Daisy set the table for breakfast, her normally cheerful countenance distraught. Slim had returned from Laramie looking grim and angry. He had related the holdup incident in a tight, clipped voice. Mike had listened silently, a bewildered expression on his freckled face. Daisy could see that Slim was at war with himself. He had given the superintendent his word there would be no trouble, and despite that, the man had changed the special run to a decoy. He had not trusted Slim’s judgment when it came to Jess, that much was obvious.

She wondered briefly if Slim for one minute really did think that Jess had been involved in the holdup. All the other participants were dead, so who was to say? She frowned irritably; the idea was preposterous. Jess would never do something like that, but if he believed Slim had been party to the stage line’s plans to change the run, all their efforts to breach the wall he surrounded himself with would have been wasted.

She sighed and pulled the biscuit pan out of the oven. So much for her hopes that Jess would become a permanent member of the Sherman household. The way Slim sounded last night there didn’t seem to be much chance of that anymore. She felt saddened at the thought of the young drifter who had so suddenly stirred up their lives.

“Aunt Daisy,” Mike said hesitantly, coming out of his room still in his night shirt. “Did Jess come back yet?”

“Oh, Mike,” she said and wrapped her arms around him. “No, he didn’t, but I’m sure he’ll be here as soon as things get straightened out in town.”

“I guess so,” Mike said, unconvinced, he had heard Slim’s sharp, angry voice last night. He remembered how upset Slim had been when Jess had shot that outlaw who wanted to kill him, and now it seemed he was angry with Jess because he’d killed two holdup men. Mike sighed. Grownups sure were hard to figure sometimes.

“Come on, Mike, where’s your morning smile?” Daisy said and tousled his hair. “I’ve got blueberry muffins for breakfast.”

“Oh boy!” Mike whooped, a grin finally breaking through. He hugged Daisy, and trotted off to get dressed.

Daisy smiled and finished setting the table. Then she went out on the front porch to see how Slim was doing. He was hitching up the team for the eastbound stage, with old Mose lending a hand, and some sage comments.

“Heard you almost lost your hired hand,” he said, tightening a cinch.

“Yeah,” Slim muttered. “Come on, boy, back up now, back up!” He pulled the team into position and hooked up the gear.

“You sure are in a fine mood,” Mose muttered and pulled on his gloves. “Reckon havin’ a gunfighter workin’ for ya ain’t all that easy, huh?”

“You’re ready to roll,” Slim snapped, and straightened up.

“I ain’t one to meddle, Slim, but…”

“Then don’t! Get that stage outta here, will you!”

Mumbling something about other people’s disposition, Mose climbed up on the driver’s side. He kicked the brake loose, and with a nod to Slim he shook the reins.

Slim watched the stage rumble out of the yard and gather speed up the slope. His taut jaw line and tightly compressed lips attested to his foul mood. The events of the last few weeks were beginning to gnaw on him. He was angry with himself, and with Jess. The thought of the chillingly efficient way Jess had dispatched Lou Coulter still left him cold. After what had happened Slim didn’t for a minute think he could persuade Benson to keep Jess on the roster. The man seemed to have an infinite capacity for attracting trouble. Slim rubbed at the tension in his neck with a frustrated sigh.

“Slim, breakfast’s ready!” Daisy called.

She saw the deep frown on the well-loved, handsome face, but didn’t comment on it. Mike already had his hands on the blueberry muffins when they came in. He grinned at them with blue stained teeth.

“Thish ish the besht,” he said, his mouth wrapped around a second helping.

“Don’t talk with your mouth full, Mike!” Slim said sharply, as he washed his hands at the kitchen sink.

The smile faded from Mike’s face, and he gave Daisy a puzzled look. She shook her head and put a finger to her lips. Slim sat down and helped himself to a plateful of bacon and eggs. Eyeing him thoughtfully, Daisy came to a decision.

“I’m taking the buckboard into town today,” she announced. “You all left in such a hurry the other day you forgot half the items on my list. “Say, Mike, since there’s no school this week, why don’t you come along and keep me company.”

“Oh, boy, can I?” Mike exclaimed, and then quickly shut his mouth again. “Sorry, Slim, I plumb forgot.”

He chewed furiously, and Slim had to grin in spite of himself. “Take it easy, cowboy, you’ll choke on it. Daisy, I’ll be goin in again in a couple of days, if it can wait. Save you the trip.”

“No, no, I have to see Mrs. Perkins about a dress pattern,” Daisy said quickly. “I’m afraid it won’t keep.”

“It’s a windy, dusty day for it,” Slim murmured and wiped up the last of his eggs with a muffin.

“Can’t be helped,” Daisy said with a bright smile. “With Mike for company I’ll be just fine.”

“Can we go and see Jess, Aunt Daisy?” Mike asked hopefully, his eyes shining.

“Of course we’ll see Jess,” she said, meeting Slim’s gaze across the table.

Slim tossed his napkin aside with an abrupt gesture, and leaned his arms on the table.

“Look, Mike,” he said seriously. “Don’t…don’t go getting’ too attached to Jess. He’s a drifter, and his kind don’t tend to stay too long in one place. You may wake up one morning and find that he’s gone. I don’t want you to get hurt by it, can you understand that?”

Mike stared at him glumly, and nodded. He picked absently at his muffin. “I thought you and Jess were friends,” he said softly. “I thought we were all friends, and he would stay here with us. He...he doesn’t have anywhere else to go.”

Slim rested his head in his hands for a moment, the boy’s plaintive words reaching deep into his heart. He took Mike’s hand, the one that wasn’t clutching a muffin, in his own, and squeezed it gently.

“Jess and I are friends,” he said quietly. “He has a place with us if he wants it, but like I said; don’t get too fond of him. He may not want to leave here, but the day may come when he won’t have a choice.”

*****

Matt Tyrell sat tall and easy in the saddle, letting the animal eat up the miles between Laramie and the Sherman ranch. He had given the matter a lot of thought, and this seemed to be the only way. The hate and bitterness that surrounded his father and brother left an acrid taste in his mouth, and he wanted nothing more than to catch the first stage back to Bowdrie, and the Rocking T.

He knew that wouldn’t solve anything, and he couldn’t just turn his back on what was happening in Laramie, either. Johnny was restless and triggerhappy and his father grew more brooding by the hour. If Sherman lost the Overland franchise he would lose his ranch, and Hurd Tyrell would have his revenge on those who had dared extend a hand to his son’s killer.

Matt had also learned that his father had sent for two of their regular hands to meet him in Laramie. When he confronted him about it, the older Tyrell had shrugged and called it “back up.” It left their spread back in Bowdrie very shorthanded, and unless their foreman, Rafe Peters, managed to hire some more hands they might not even be able to make the roundup in time to meet their contract with the army.

Matt sighed in exasperation, and nudged his horse to pick up the pace. He wanted no part of any of this, but after a lifetime of bowing to his father’s wishes, he didn’t know how to change. He had even considered going to the sheriff, but rejected the idea. Jess Harper was living on borrowed time.

After agonizing over it for several hours, Matt finally decided to talk to Slim Sherman. Maybe together they could come up with something. It couldn’t hurt to try.

While Johnny and his father sat down to breakfast, Matt excused himself saying he wanted to take a ride and check out the surroundings. Halfway out of town, he passed a buckboard with a middle-aged woman and young boy. They smiled and waved at him as they went by, and he touched his hat briefly in acknowledgement.

*****

Slim was hammering away at a bent u-bolt, and didn’t hear the rider come up.

“I said, are you Slim Sherman?” Matt repeated, a little louder.

Slim put down his tools, and squinted against the sun. He saw the rider only as a dark silhouette.

“Yeah, I am. Who’s askin’?”

Matt swung down, and let the reins trail on the ground. He wiped the dust off his face with his forearm. “I’m Matt Tyrell,” he said, and extended his hand.

Slim grasped it, a surprised look on his face. “Matt Tyrell,” he said. “You any kin to Billy Tyrell?”

“He was my brother,” Matt said calmly. “We need to talk, Sherman. It’s about your friend, Jess Harper.”

“Come inside,” Slim said, and hung up his blacksmith’s apron. “You look like you could use a cold drink.”

“Thanks,” Matt grinned. “It’s a long, dusty ride.”

Slim led the way into the house, and poured them both a glass of lemonade. He folded his arms across his chest, and regarded his unexpected visitor. The young man had open, friendly face, and he met Slim’s hard gaze with level eyes.

“You know Jess shot my kid brother, Billy,” he said. “And that he served two years in prison for it?”

Slim nodded and waited for him to go on. He wondered about the fellow, he didn’t seem like man bent on revenge.

“Billy was no good,” Matt continued, his voice tinged with sadness. “If it hadn’t been Harper, it would have been someone else, sooner or later. The way the kid was going it could end only one way. Your friend should never have gone to prison for that shooting, it was selfdefense, pure and simple. But, Billy was Pa’s favorite, and there was no reasoning with my father after he died. Pa tried to buy himself a hangin’…, but I reckon you know all this.”

“I don’t know the details,” Slim said slowly. “Jess doesn’t talk much about the past.”

“Pa changed completely after Billy died,” Matt said. He took a sip of lemonade, savoring the tangy liquid. “He’s letting our foreman run the spread while he goes on this mindless quest for vengeance. My brother Johnny feels the same, though I don’t know how much of it is out of love for Billy as an excuse for a gunfight. He’s like Billy was, triggerhappy and spoiling to prove himself every chance he gets.

“They’re full of hate, Sherman, and there won’t be an end to it all before Jess Harper is dead.”

“Are they in Laramie now?” Slim asked, feeling his chest constrict with fear as he thought of Jess.

“Yeah, they were havin’ breakfast at the hotel when I left. Look, just killing Harper’s not goin’ to be enough for my father. He means to make him suffer first, and he’s going to use the people here at the ranch to do it.”

“And just how does he figure on doin’ that?” Slim said sharply, draining the last of his lemonade. He put the glass down, and wiped the back of his hand across his mouth.

“Pa’s a big shareholder in the Laramie Bank, and the Overland Stage Company,” Matt replied. “He’ll see to it that your franchise won’t be renewed as long as Harper works for you.”

“Go on,” Slim said as the young man hesitated. He was filled with unease, as if he knew what was coming.

“Pa knows that without the franchise you won’t be able to pay off your note at the bank, but he’s not takin’ any chances. He’s made sure you won’t be able to get an extension on your outstanding loan; if the bank doesn’t go along he’s threatened to pull all his money out, and they can’t afford that.”

Slim took a swift step forward and grabbed Tyrell by the shirtfront.

“What the hell are you talkin’ about?” he snarled.

“Just that,” Matt said. “You took Harper in, and for that my father will see to it that you lose everything.”

“I cant’ hang on to the ranch without the stageline franchise,” Slim breathed, unable to quite comprehend what he was hearing.

“No one stands in Hurd Tyrell’s way when he wants something, Sherman, no one.”

Slim let go of Matt, and pushed him away. “How can anyone carry that much hatred inside him?” he murmured. He looked sharply at Matt. “Why’re you tellin’ me all this? Your name’s Tyrell, ain’t it?”

“Right now that not something I’m proud of,” Matt grimaced. “Your friend’s going to die, Slim, unless we can find a way to stop Pa and Johnny. I…I didn’t know where else to turn.”

Slim thought of Mike and Daisy, innocently on their way to Laramie to see Jess. If Tyrell went after Jess while they were there, they could get caught in the crossfire. Slim shivered involuntarily. And what of Jess? He would never back away from a fight. He would stride into it, gun blazing, stiffnecked and proud, expecting help from no one, and giving no quarter. Innocent bystanders could get hurt in a showdown between him and the Tyrell’s. Slim was determined it wouldn’t be Mike or Daisy, or anyone else, if he could help it. He strode across the room and picked up his gunbelt. He slapped it on and grabbed his hat.

“Come on, let’s go see the sheriff.”

“What can he do?” Matt cried. “They haven’t broken any laws.”

“Not yet they haven’t,” Slim said grimly.

ooo0ooo

CHAPTER TWELVE

Jess lay on his bed in Mrs. Simpson’s boarding house, trying to get some rest. He had passed the night fitfully, haunted by the same old nightmares. He felt defeated. It was all going wrong; no matter what he tried to do it seemed destined to end in violence and death.

‘Benson made the right decision when he sent out a decoy run’, he thought grimly.

His thoughts drifted to Lou Coulter, and he wondered what Hurd Tyrell’s next move would be. Jess pushed himself to a sitting position, and leaned back against the headboard. He knew damned well he couldn’t stay around here much longer, not if Tyrell’s idea of revenge was to get at him through his friends.

There was no avoiding a fight; Jess knew that they would never let him forget the past. It was time to leave, to go back to Bowdrie and carry the fight to their doorstep. Too many innocent people could get hurt if it came to a showdown here in Laramie. He had been a fool to think he could change his own destiny; he had lived by the gun too long, and it was time he faced that fact.

Jess swallowed hard as he thought of the folks at the Sherman ranch. They had taken him in with few questions asked, a drifter with a troubled past and an uncertain future. For the first time in too many bleak and lonely years, he had a place he thought of as home.

‘And now?’ he wondered.

He started at a sharp knock on the door, and reached swiftly, instinctively, for his gun, thumbing back the hammer as it cleared the holster. He pushed off the bed, and moved to the door.

“Who is it?”

“Ted Benson. Let me in, Harper. I’ve got to talk to you.”

Jess unlatched the door, and stepped back without lowering his gun. Benson opened the door, and recoiled when he saw the weapon pointed at his chest.

“You…you won’t need that,” he stammered, coming into the room.

“What do you want, Benson?” Jess asked wearily, and dropped the gun back into the holster.

Benson fidgeted nervously, discomfited by Harper’s direct, sardonic gaze. He found himself slightly ashamed that he had let Hurd Tyrell dictate his actions, and had the uncomfortable feeling that the man facing him knew why he was there. Benson saw that he looked strained and tired. What had Harper really done, except run afoul of the Tyrell’s?

“You look kind of peeked,” he said lamely, closing the door behind him.

“I don’t reckon you came here to inquire about my health,” Jess drawled. “Why don’t you just get to the point?”

The superintendent jerked himself straight, unconsciously squaring his shoulders. Damn the man and his sharp, suspicious mind!

“I can’t justify keeping you on the Overland roster any longer,” he said firmly. “Not after this last incident. Word like that gets around, and our passengers wouldn’t like it. Not a bit of it, no sir.”

“I see. And what about Slim? I work for him too, you know.”

“I wouldn’t make any more trouble for Sherman than you already have,” Benson snapped. “He’s a good man, and he deserves better than to lose everything because of your actions.”

Jess took a quick step forward and grabbed the superintendent by the lapels.

“What do you mean, lose everything?” he snarled and shook the man savagely. “Come on, out with it!”

Benson felt his teeth rattling around in his head, and fear gripped his already none too brave heart as he stared into Harper’s cold, relentless eyes.

“Just…just that his contract with the Overland Stage Company won’t…won’t be renewed as long as you’re working for the Sherman ranch,” he chattered. “I’m sorry, that’s the way it is. Orders from the top.”

Jess dragged him up on his tiptoes, and flung him aside with a disgusted oath. Benson collided with a chair, and did an acrobatic dance to keep from falling.

“Without the franchise Slim won’t be able to hang on to the ranch,” Benson babbled, frightened by the hard face that stared at him with such contempt. “His note’s coming due at the bank and Mr. Tyrell…”

“Tyrell!” Jess breathed, anger at the quavering superintendent draining out of him. His shoulders slumped. “I should’ve known he’d in back of this.”

“That was his payroll you were supposed to be carrying,” Benson told him. “I only found out about that after the botched holdup. He wanted it in time for the roundup drive to Fort Sutton. I still can’t figure out why he didn’t draw on the funds he had at his local bank, but that’s his business, I guess.”

Jess’ head reeled as the significance of Benson’s words hit him. No wonder the holdup men had seemed to know him. The whole thing had probably been engineered by Hurd Tyrell to set him up. When Ted Benson decided to use a decoy and send the gold out with the regular run, he had unwittingly spoiled all of Terrell’s plans.

“Tyrell’s a major shareholder in the Overland Company, and the Laramie Bank,” Benson continued. “With that he pulls a lot of weight.”

“I’ll bet he does. Look, Benson, I…I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to take out on you. It’s not your fault; you’re just caught in the middle, like everyone else.”

“I reckon you know they’re in town, the Tyrell’s, I mean,” Benson said, relieved at Harper’s words.

Jess’ face drained of color.

“No, I didn’t know,” he whispered. “Where are they?”

“Over at the hotel,” Benson replied, eyeing him curiously. “I hear tell you’re the one that shot Billy Tyrell some years back. Guess old man Tyrell’s got no call to like you much, then?”

“Well, the feelin’s mutual,” Jess said. He gathered his thoughts for a moment. “Benson, if Slim should manage to pay off his note at the bank, Tyrell won’t really have much to threaten him with, will he?”

“Nooo, I guess not,” Benson mused. “There’s the relay station franchise, of course, but I’m sure, given time, Mr. Tyrell’ll come around. But I don’t see how Sherman’s going to manage it with the bank, the Overland doesn’t pay that well, even with bonuses.”

He patted his pockets with a rueful sigh, and Jess smiled bitterly. The man didn’t know it, but his words were likely to send him into to a deadly exchange of gunfire with the Tyrell’s. Jess stepped forward and opened the door for the superintendent. Benson gave him an alarmed look, disturbed by what he read in that lean, hungry face.

“You sure you’re all right?”

“Don’t worry, Benson,” Jess said. “I would never do anythin’ that could cause Slim to lose the ranch. I owe him far too much. It’s time I took my troubles elsewhere.”

“I’m sorry things haven’t worked out for you,” Benson said awkwardly. “I guess you’re as much entitled to a fresh start as the next man, but the way things are it’ll have to be somewhere else…not here in Laramie.”

“No,” Jess said quietly. “Not in Laramie.”

*****

Jess walked down Front Street heading for the sheriff’s office, his face set and grim. It was a look that brooked no argument, and folks stepped quickly aside for him. They all knew about the gunfight with Lou Coulter, and adding that to the stage holdup, the story grew more exaggerated as it passed from man to man. They looked askance at the stranger who seemed to carry death and destruction with him; no one wanted the troubles that followed a man like him. Jess felt the animosity and shrugged it off. They were right, after all, it was their town, and he had no claim to it.

“Jess! I was just comin’ to see you,” Corey said when Jess walked into his office. “The authorization for the reward on Coulter came through.”

He handed Jess a telegram from the marshal’s office in Denver, authorizing the Laramie Bank to pay him the sum of five thousand dollars. Mort Corey had added his signature at the bottom. Jess blinked, and shook his head in disbelief. He hadn’t really dared to believe it, but there it was, in plain language.

“That can buy a lot of miles between you and the Tyrell’s,” Corey nodded, regarding him thoughtfully. “They’re in town, you know.”

“Yeah, I heard.”

Jess folded the telegram carefully, and stuffed it in his shirt pocket.

“Relax, sheriff, there won’t be any more shootin’ in Laramie. I don’t think Tyrell’ll want to start anything here in town. Too many witnesses.”

He smiled crookedly. Mort Corey felt a stab of compassion as Jess turned to go, and rose to his feet.

“Listen, Jess,” he said seriously, “as far as I’m concerned you’ve squared things with the law, and you’re entitled to a fresh start. It might as well be here.”

“I though you didn’t want gunfighters in Laramie,” Jess shot back. He was tired and short tempered, and in no mood for niceties.

“I don’t. But why don’t you leave the gunfighter label in the past, and take if from there? I’ve kept the peace in this town for the better part of my life; no reason it should be any different now.”

“I do my own fightin’,” Jess said harshly.

“That’s a hard and lonely trail you’re carving out for yourself, son. Hurd Tyrell’s not a man to let things rest. How long can you go on running?”

He paused. “What about Slim?” he asked quietly. “Don’t you owe him something? He took you in, gave you a job, a home.”

“Look, Sheriff, I needed a place to lie low for a while,” Jess’ voice had an undertone of savagery in it, masking his true feelings. “And that’s all. Slim’ll find someone else to work the ranch.”

“And Mike? And Mrs. Cooper?” I don’t suppose you care about them, either?” Corey mused, his eyes narrowing shrewdly as he deliberately dug the knife deeper into what he suspected was an open wound.

Jess flinched at the sheriff’s scathing tone. His eyes stung, and he blinked rapidly.

“I gotta go,” he said wearily.

With that he stalked out, slamming the door behind him. Corey watched him cross the street and head for the bank. He swore under his breath. The cards were stacking up against Jess, it seemed, with the Tyrell’s on one side and Jess’ own damnable pride on the other.

Mort Corey sighed and shook his head. That young man had the devil riding on his coat tails; perhaps if was just as well he left town.

ooo0ooo

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