CHAPTER FIVE

“Dammit, Sherman, I don’t like it,” Ted Benson said. “You can’t just take on a man without my say-so, especially a man with a past like Harper’s.”

Slim controlled his temper with an effort. He had stopped by the stage line office on his way out of town, and Benson was quickly getting under his skin. He stared at the older, grey haired man; Benson was the superintendent of the Overland stage line in Laramie, and if he refused to give his approval there wasn’t much he could do.

“Look, Benson, I can’t make it alone, not with the ranch and the relay station,” he said evenly. “I’ve tried to hire someone for the past three-four weeks, but no luck. Harper may have made some mistakes in his life, but he’s paid for ‘em. He’s a hard worker, and I think all he needs is a chance to put his life back together.”

Benson frowned and rubbed at his chin. He felt backed into a corner, and didn’t much like it. Still, Sherman was one of his best men, and his judgment was usually sound.

“All right,” he sighed. “All right, he’s hired. Consider it official, though how I’m going to explain to the Board that the Overland has a gunslinger working for them…”

“Why tell them anything?” Slim asked sharply. “Just say you’ve hired a man on my recommendations.”

“We’ll see,” Benson muttered. “His kind attracts trouble like a magnet, Slim.”

“There won’t be any,” Slim said with more conviction than he felt. He turned on his heel and managed not to slam the door as he left the office.

Out on the street he nearly collided with sheriff Mort Corey.

“Whoa! What’s eatin’ you, friend?” Mort grinned. “You look like a storm waitin’ to happen.”

“Aw, hell, Mort, it’s just some people,” Slim said in disgust, and jammed his hat down over his forehead.

“Care to fill me in?”

Slim leaned against the hitching rail and regarded the sheriff warily. They were old friends, but Corey was a lawman first and foremost. How would he feel about having a gunslinger in the vicinity of a town that he worked hard to keep quiet and peaceful?

“I’ve hired a man,” he said. “Drifter Mose picked up. Name’s Jess Harper.”

Corey rocked back on his heels slightly, and Slim smiled wryly.

“I see you’ve heard of him,” he said.

“You could say that,” the sheriff nodded. “A couple of wanted posters with his name on it have crossed my desk.”

“Any warrants out on him now?”

“No, I don’t think so,” Corey frowned. “He went to prison for a killing down in Bowdrie, Colorado. Shot down Hurd Tyrell’s youngest boy over a poker game.”

“Hurd Tyrell, the cattle baron and financier?” Slim whistled.

“The same,” Corey said. “There were those who said Harper never should’ve gone to prison, apparently Billy Tyrrell called him out. But with the kind of clout the Tyrells pack in that neck of the woods, he was still convicted of manslaughter.”

“You seem to know a lot about him, Mort,” Slim shot him a quizzical glance.

Corey removed his Stetson and wiped the perspiration off his brow with his red kerchief.

“Yeah, well, I got a letter from an acquaintance of mine down that way,” he grunted. “Sam Belden, the warden at the territorial prison. Said Harper had been released, and that he might be headin’ this way. Belden had suggested he look me up if he came through Laramie. Seems to think Harper needs a break.”

He eyed his friend thoughtfully.

“I reckon he got one,” he said. “Slim, I know you need help working the place, but a fast gun?”

“Mort, he saved Mike’s life when the stage pulled in during that thunderstorm the other day, almost got himself killed in the bargain. Hadn’t had a square meal in days, and he was sick with fever. What was I supposed to do? Turn him away because he’s faster on the draw than I am?”

“No, no, of course not,” Corey sighed. “As long as you know what you’re lettin’ yourself in for… rumor has it he rode with Cal Tolliver’s bunch once.”

Slim blanched at the mention of the notorious outlaw.

“Didn’t tell you that, eh?” Corey murmured, seeing the expression on his friend’s face. “Nothin’ was ever proven against him; it was more a case of guilt by association.”

“He’s a good worker, Mort,” Slim said, wondering vaguely at the wisdom of it all. “He’s got a temper that’s too short to measure, and there’s enough wood in that chip on his shoulder to build me a new barn, but I’m willing to take a chance on him.”

“I reckon if he’s paid his dues he’s entitled to a fresh start,” Mort said. “Just step lightly around him, Slim.”

Slim unhitched his horse, and swung into the saddle. He grinned down at the sheriff.

“I’ll do just that, Mort.”

*****

Slim and Jess worked hard to catch up on chores that had been neglected. The broken axle on one of the coaches was repaired, and the corral had a brand new gate. Jess put a new screen on the door that led from the kitchen out to the back yard, much to Daisy’s delight, and without asking, he took the morning shifts, changing teams for the early stage into Laramie. He had noticed how tired Slim looked, and realized the man was overworked and run down. For the first time in months, Slim slept late without a twinge of conscience, knowing the stageline was in capable hands.

As for Jess, he gradually found himself accepting the friendly hand Slim extended him, and he reveled in Daisy Cooper’s warmth and kindness. Mike was an open, inquisitive youngster, and with a stab of regret Jess noticed his unconcealed interest in his shooting iron. It hadn’t escaped anyone that he rarely went anywhere without it; in deference to Daisy he removed it when he sat down for meals, but he took care not to sit with his back to a door or window.

“Have you seen Mike, Daisy?” Jess asked, ambling into the kitchen.

“Oh, he’s around here somewhere,” she said, turning from the counter where she was sifting flour into a bowl.

“We’re goin’ fishin’,” Jess grinned. “He promised to show me his secret trout stream.”

“That’s quite an honor, Jess. He doesn’t take just anyone there, you know.”

“He’s a good kid, Daisy,” Jess said. “How’d Slim wind up with him, anyway?”

“His parents were traveling west with a wagon train,” Daisy replied, kneading out some dough. She slapped Jess’ hand away when he stole a bit of it and popped it in his mouth.

“I swear between the three of you there won’t be any dough left for the pie! Well, the wagon train was wiped out in an Indian attack; Mike was one of the few survivors. He had wandered away from the camp looking for prairie dog holes. A group of traveling entertainers found him and brought him here. He was very sick so Slim took him in. He has no living relatives, and after a year the judge in Laramie made Slim his legal guardian.”

“What about you, Daisy?” Jess asked, leaning against the kitchen counter. “How’d you come to be here?”

“I came west to start a new life after my husband died,” Daisy said slowly. “A swindler had sold me a store in a town that didn’t exist, and by the time the stage stopped here I was pretty much down to my last penny. Slim needed a housekeeper, and someone to look after Mike…”

“And you never got around to packin’ your bags again,” Jess grinned as he finished the sentence for her.

“No, Slim and Mike wouldn’t let me,” Daisy laughed. “Not that I ever wanted to. This is my home now, and they’re my family. I love them both as if they were my own.”

“Slim seems to have made a habit of pickin’ up strays,” Jess said quietly.

“They come in all shapes and sizes, Jess,” Daisy said, looking straight at him.

“Meanin’ me?” he drawled, a slight smile warming the cold light in his midnight blue eyes.

“You can’t go on drifting forever, Jess,” she pointed out. “One day you’ll weary of always looking over your shoulder. This could be a good place for you to stop.”

Jess stared down at her kindly, earnest face, flushed from working next to the warm stove. She had a patch of flour on one cheek, and he reached out and gently brushed it away.

“Daisy, I can’t tell you what these last few weeks have meant to me,” he said, his voice husky with emotion.

“I think I can guess,” she said and took his hand. “Oh Jess, why don’t you tell Slim…”

“Aunt Daisy, Aunt Daisy,” Mike hollered, caroming into the kitchen. “Have you seen… oh, hey, Jess, there ya are. Ready to go?”

“You bet, Tiger,” Jess grinned. ”Got all your gear?”

“Yeah, got a pole for you, too. Now come on, the fish’s awaitin’ on us!”

“All right, off with you,” Daisy laughed. “Jess, make sure he doesn’t stuff himself with berries on the way, or he won’t have room for supper, never mind apple pie.”

“Aw gee, Aunt Daisy…”

“Aw gee nothin’,” Jess said and squeezed his shoulder. “Let’s go, Tiger!”

They bumped into Slim on their way out the door.

“And where are you two off to?” Slim asked, wiping some grease off his hands.

“I’m gonna show Jess my secret trout stream,” Mike said proudly, clutching his pole.

“Hey, hold on a minute, don’t I get invited?” Slim wondered, managing wounded look.

“You really wanna come, Slim?” Mike yelped excitedly. “I thought you had to go into town.”

“That can wait,” Slim replied. “Isn’t every day I get a chance to go fishin’.”

He gazed at Jess with a slight smile on his face.

“Say, Jess, you plannin’ on shootin’ some fish for supper, or what?”

“Huh?”

“Think you’ll need that?” Slim drawled, indicating his gun.

Jess gave him a baffled look, and then his lean face broke into a grin.

“No, I reckon not,” he said, and ran a hand through the dark hair that tumbled over his forehead. “Hard to teach an old dog new tricks, though.”

“Gotta start sometime,” Slim said laconically and took the tackle box from Mike. “Come on, let’s get started. We’ll be back in time for the evening stage, Daisy.”

Daisy watched out of the corner of her eye as Jess stood undecided for a moment. Then he slowly unbuckled his gunbelt and dropped it on the couch underneath the window. Jamming his hands into his pockets, he sauntered off after Slim and Mike, whistling falsely through his teeth.

“Good for you, Jess,” Daisy thought as she turned back to her baking.

*****

“What’s it like in prison, Jess?” Mike asked casually as he watches his line bobbing in the water.

They sat by the streambed, dangling their feet in the water. Slim was stretched out in grass behind them, his hands under his head, watching sun tinged clouds drift across his vision. He started at Mike’s innocent question, and shot Jess a quick glance. Jess gazed at the serious, freckled face looking up at him, and his eyes turned bleak.

“It’s cold and lonely, Mike,” he replied.

“Did they beat you?” Mike wondered, his eyes wide with curiosity.

Jess hunched forward, a haunted look on his face.

“Some,” he said hoarsely, and Slim flinched at his tone. Surely there was too much remembered pain and anguish in that one word for any man to carry alone.

“Why were you…”

“Mike, that’s enough!” Slim cut in sharply.

Looking put-upon, Mike sighed and turned his attention back to his fishing pole. Jess got slowly to his feet, and pulled on his boots. He could feel Slim watching him through half closed eyes. For the past few hours he had let his guard down and relaxed, showing them a warmer, sunnier side, but in the split second his mind wandered back to the past, the tenseness returned, wiping out the day’s few companionable hours.

Jess wandered downstream, walking aimlessly. The weight of the past two years pressed in on him again, and Billy Tyrell’s young, horrified face rose unbidden before him, the blood spreading on his shirtfront. Jess saw himself standing there, the gun a sudden, dead weight in his hand as the kid crumpled to the floor of the saloon. He trembled as he wiped a forearm across his eyes. Would there never be an end to the nightmarish memories?

He stopped by an old pine tree bending out across the stream, and leaned against it, wearily resting his forehead on his arms. For once he didn’t hear someone come up behind him.

“Mike didn’t mean anything by it, Jess,” Slim said gently, putting a hand on his shoulder. “He was born with a question in his mouth.”

Jess turned around and met the taller man’s gaze.

“I know, Slim,” he murmured, “it ain’t him… it’s me. Every time I think I’ve buried it…”

“You can’t go on living on the edge for the rest of your life, Jess,” Slim said earnestly. “What happened happened! You can’t change that. It’s in the past.”

“Is it, Slim? Is it really? I keep wonderin’ about old man Tyrell. It’s been over a month since I was released. He swore he’d be waitin’ for me when I got out.”

“Maybe he doesn’t know you’ve been released,” Slim offered.

Jess smiled mirthlessly, and pushed back his Stetson.

“Oh, he knows, believe me. I just can’t figure out what his game is. What’s he waitin’ for?”

“Could be he doesn’t know where you are, or he might have come to his senses. Two years is a long time to carry all that hate with you.”

“Not for Hurd Tyrrell,” Jess said grimly. “He’ll never let go until he’s avenged his son.”

His gaze turned inward as he stared across the busy little stream, and Slim felt him withdraw into himself. He caught his breath at the bitter rage in that lean, hard face. He suddenly realized that if Tyrrell came after Jess here in Laramie, people around him could get caught in the crossfire. Slim knew he could handle himself in a fight, but there was Mike and Daisy to consider. Tyrell’s money would buy a lot of revenge, if that’s what he was after. Slim cleared his throat uncertainly.

“Well… shall we go see if Mike’s caught us some fish for supper? I sure haven’t had any luck so far.”

“Neither have I,” Jess said, and shook his head. Somehow Slim didn’t think he was referring to fishing.

ooo0ooo

CHAPTER SIX

Matt Tyrell frowned as he watched the man ride out of their front yard. His father came out on the porch and put a hand on his son’s shoulder.

“What was he doing here, Pa?” Matt asked, nodding at the disappearing cloud of dust.

“Oh, I have a job for him in Laramie,” Tyrell said, a wolfish smile on his face. “I think it’s time to start the ball rolling where Billy’s killer is concerned.”

“I thought you wanted to handle the job yourself, without outside interference,” Matt protested. “Lou Coulter’s a notorious gunfighter!”

“What do you think Harper is?” Tyrell snapped. “Son, leave this to me. We’ll handle it, don’t worry. I didn’t send Coulter to get Harper. He’s going calling on his friend, Slim Sherman.”

“Sherman? Why, Pa? He’s done nothing to us,” Matt shook his head in frustration.

“Nothing except give shelter to the man who murdered Billy,” his father said grimly. “You listen to me, boy. Judging from Harper’s background, he don’t make friends easily, but I imagine he sets store by the few he has. The most effective way to hurt him is through the people he cares about.”

“You think Jess Harper’s just going to stand idly by while Lou Coulter goes gunning for Sherman?” Matt asked, shaking off his father’s hand.

“Coulter will find the right time and place,” Tyrell said. “He’s a professional. Trust me, boy.”

“Trust you, Pa?” Matt said softly as he turned away. “I hardly know you anymore.”

*****

Mike sat in the back of the buckboard flying his kite as they drove, and paying out the string carefully. Things were well caught up at the ranch, and Slim decided they had earned a trip into Laramie. Daisy had given them a list of supplies to be picked up at the general store, and Mike had cajoled them into letting him come along. He whistled cheerfully as he watched his kite dipping and weaving in the wind. Jess eyed him with a grin.

“I swear, Slim, I don’t know how we got roped into this. One minute we’re getting’ ready to ride into town for some fun and relaxation, and the next thing you know we’re stuck with the buckboard, a list from Daisy as long as your arm, and pintsize here taggin’ along!”

“Yeah, they outsmarted us, that’s for sure,” Slim sighed. “Next time we won’t make the mistake of telling ‘em we’re going. We’ll just sneak out the back door.”

“Aw gee, Slim,” Mike protested.

“’course we could let him walk the rest of the way,” Jess mused. “It’s only about another four miles, exercise’ll do him good.”

Mike made a face at them, and then let out a whoop as his kite dove down towards him. Slim and Jess exchanged grins as they watched him haul in on it frantically, getting it back in the air at the last minute.

They rolled into Laramie, and halted the buckboard outside Hugh Elders’ general store, where the sign proudly proclaimed: “Hugh Elders, Purveyor of General Goods and Ladies Notions.” Slim told Jess old man Elders was very proud of that sign; he had had it made up special and sent all the way from St. Louis.

“I guess you can wait out here for us, huh, Mike?” Jess said, winking at Slim.

“Yeah, you can keep an eye on the rig,” Slim nodded and jumped down.

“Aw gee, Slim…”

“All right, Tiger,” Jess laughed, and swung him off his perch at the back of the wagon.

Mike threw his arms around Jess’s neck, and held on.

“Gimme a ride, Jess!” he hollered and clambered onto his back.

They stumbled after Slim, Jess trying to see where he was going; none too easy with Mike knocking his hat down over his eyes.

“Stranger in town, eh, young fellow?” Mr. Elders frowned.

Mike nodded, and giggled as Jess put him down. He hitched up his belt and swaggered across the floor.

“Yup, just rode in,” he drawled, and tried to scowl dangerously, without much success.

“I reckon you must be mighty thirsty then,” Elders said seriously, hiding a smile behind his hand. “I just happen to have a case of Sarsparilla in the back room. Don’t suppose you’d care for some?”

“Oh boy! Sarsyprilly!” Mike yelled. “Can I, Slim, huh? Can I?”

“After that rough ride I suppose you’ve earned it,” Slim grinned.

“You’ll find Mrs. Elders in the back; she’ll show you where it is.” Elders didn’t have to tell Mike twice, and smiled as the youngster scampered away. Hugh Elders, a tall, stoop shouldered man with glasses and thinning hair, wiped his hands on his apron and turned back to the two men.

“I don’t think I’ve met you before,” he said to Jess. “I’m Hugh Elders.”

“Jess Harper,” Jess said, shaking hands with him.

“Yes, I heard Slim finally managed to find some help,” Elders nodded. “About time. He’s been working much too hard lately.”

“Daisy’s made out a list for you, Hugh,” Slim interrupted quickly, and gave him the slip of paper.

While Slim and the older man discussed business, Jess wandered around the store. He had stayed away from Laramie and instead had buried himself in the hard work of running the ranch and the relay station, leaving Slim some free time with Mike and Daisy. Jess resisted their efforts to draw him into their close-knit circle. He knew it was just a matter of time before the past caught up with him, and shattered the fragile peace he had found. At times he drove himself so hard it was all he could do not to fall asleep at the dinner table.

Mike had taken to walking down to the bunkhouse with him after the meal, chattering away about school and friends, and whatever else happened to be on his mind. Buttons, the little mutt who had caused such a ruckus when he spooked the stage, usually trotted along with them, positioning himself as close to the boy as he could. Mike never brought up the subject of prison again, Slim had made him understand that it was something Jess didn’t like to talk about, and although it took some doing, Mike had managed to curb his curiosity

Hugh Elders watched Jess as he moved away from them, and Slim saw him looking at the bone-handled revolver resting in the holster. Jess wore his gun tied low on the thigh, and Elders had heard the rumors about Slim’s new hand. He knew the man made his living using that gun, and, like so many in Laramie, he remembered the Billy Tyrell case.

The newspaper reports had been clearly biased in Tyrell’s favor, painting a picture of an unrepentant renegade, only interested in the notches on his gun. Young Billy had been described as a wild colt, feeling his oats, and no match for a seasoned professional. Still, Elders mused, the man hardly acted like a dangerous gunslinger, and Mike certainly seemed to take to him.

“Things aren’t always what they’re made out to be, Hugh,” Slim said evenly.

Elders reddened in embarrassment as he realized Slim had picked up on his thoughts.

“Maybe not,” he muttered. “But a man with his reputation in our town… in the end it can only bring trouble, my friend.”

“He’s a good ranch hand,” Slim said. “He’ll never get a chance to change if people don’t let him forget his past, Hugh.”

“Harrumph,” Elders pulled distractedly at an earlobe. He was unconvinced. “I’ll get this list filled for you.”

Mike poked his head out from the back room, a bottle of Sarsparilla in one hand.

“Jess! Slim! They’ve got new puppies back here, come and see!”

“Old Bitsy went and did it again,” Elders sighed. “A litter of seven pups this time. I swear that dog’s got to be mother and grandmother to half the dogs in the territory. Where she gets the energy I don’t know.”

Jess grinned and disappeared into the backroom. They heard a lot of scuffling and yelping, and Mrs. Elders’ voice admonishing Mike to be careful with the puppies. A few minutes later she came out, smoothing out her apron.

“You’re welcome to as many as you want, Slim,” she laughed, and kissed him on the cheek.

“Oh no, you don’t, Martha,” he said quickly. “We’ve already got Buttons from her last litter, remember? One’s enough.”

“I like your new man,” Mrs. Elders said and took a look at Daisy’s list. “He’s got a good hand with Mike.”

She stacked some canned peaches into the carton her husband was busy filling. Slim was lingering by the door, gazing out at the bustling main street, when a tall, slender man in a black suit came barging through the door. Slim bumped against him as he tried to step aside, and the stranger stumbled back, and appeared to trip over the boxes stacked by the door. He lost his balance and sprawled on the floor.

“Hey, I’m real sorry, Mister,” Slim said, and extended a hand to help him up.

The man ignored the outstretched hand and jumped to his feet, his face livid with rage.

“No one pushes me around,” he snarled. “Not unless he’s willing to back it with a gun!”

“Now hold on just a minute,” Slim protested. “I’m sorry I tripped you, but it was an accident, there’s no need to…”

“Sorry don’t cut the mustard with me, friend,” the stranger said savagely, and brushed open his coat. He had on a fancy, silver studded gunbelt, and his fingertips rested on his forty-four.

“What the hell’s the matter with you?” Slim exploded. “I’m not goin’ to fight you with a gun, not over something like this!”

“I won’t argue with you,” the man said. “I don’t take insults lightly, and I’m sure not going to take them from a cheap ranch hand like you.”

Slim felt his temper going, and compressed his lips angrily.

“All right, Mister, if that’s the way you want it,” he said tightly. “But not in here, people might get hurt. Let’s take it outside.”

“Lou Coulter’s not one to spill innocent blood,” the stranger said, and bowed mockingly.

Slim caught his breath, and Hugh and Martha Elders looked at him fearfully. It was a name that had figured all too often in the papers, and there was nothing good connected with it. Coulter was a gambler and a fast gun, one of the fastest, it was said, and he was never very particular about whom he hired out to. Slim shook his head in bewilderment, the whole thing was happening too fast.

“See here, Mr. Coulter,” Mrs. Elders said, coming towards him. “This is our store, and you are not welcome here. I’ll thank you to leave immediately.”

Coulter’s arm snaked out, and he gave her a violent shove. She tumbled back against the counter, and her husband caught her around the shoulders.

“If you don’t want your friends to get hurt, you’d better go for it, Sherman,” Coulter hissed. “I’ll wait for you outside. I’m not a patient man, so don’t take too long!”

He spun on his heel and stalked out. Too shaken to wonder how the man had known his name, Slim pulled out his gun and spun the cylinder. It was fully loaded. Cold inside, he shoved it back in the holster, and turned to go. Hugh Elders hurried over to him, and grabbed him by the arm.

“Slim, you can’t go out there,” he said fervently. “The man’s a cold-blooded killer. He’s just spoiling for another notch in his gun.”

“Let me go, Hugh,” Slim said. “There’s no way around it now.”

“Hugh’s right, Slim,” Martha Elders pleaded. She rubbed her arm where she’d banged it against the counter. “It’s not worth risking your life over. Please let it go!”

“And take a chance on him comin’ back in here and shootin’ up the place?” Slim said. “He’s capable of doing just that. Hugh, make sure Mike…”

He saw Hugh Elders’ eyes widen in surprise as he looked at something behind him, and whirled around. He was too late. The muzzle of Jess’ pistol connected with the back of his head, and Slim’s immediate surroundings exploded in a halo of bright stars that swiftly faded to black. Jess grabbed him as his knees gave way, and lowered him gently to the floor.

“Are you crazy, Harper?” Elders cried and lunged towards him.

Jess grabbed the older man by the arms, and shook him violently.

“You listen to me, Elders,” he snarled. “Slim’s no match for Lou Coulter. He won’t stand a chance. Now, look after him. I’ll take care of Coulter.”

“Jess, you can’t go out there, you’ll be killed,” Mrs. Elders said tearfully. “I’ll go for the sheriff.”

“No! There’s no time,” Jess snapped. “Coulter’s my kind, I can handle him. I know how he thinks.”

He headed for the door.

“Harper! For God’s sake!” Elders called after him. “I…what do I tell Slim?”

Jess paused for a moment, his face tense and drawn. He started to say something, and then changed his mind. He shook his head, and pushed through the door into the street. He stepped off the sidewalk and faced Coulter. The gunman stood waiting for him, feet apart, his back to the sun. Jess smiled thinly, the man wasn’t taking any chances.

“Where’s Sherman?” Coulter asked. “My quarrel ain’t with you, Harper?”

“Ain’t it?” Jess said bitterly. “Seems I recollect you and Billy Tyrell used to hang out together back in Bowdrie.”

“Taught the kid everything he knew,” Lou Coulter grinned, stretching thin lips over tobacco stained teeth.

“Wasn’t much, was it?” Jess said derisively. “Want to tell me what that was all about in there? The kid’s old man put you up to it?”

Coulter chewed on his lower lip, debating what to do. The man who’d pointed him towards the Elders’ general store when he’d asked about Sherman’s whereabouts had neglected to mention that Harper was in there too. What had seemed like a good opportunity to fulfill his bargain with old man Tyrell was turning sour on him.

“Hurd Tyrell must hate you awful bad,” Coulter drawled. “Said killing Sherman would hurt you a lot worse than if you went down chewing on my lead.”

Jess felt an icy hand trail down his spine. Tyrell hadn’t been in any hurry to catch up with him, he had known all along where to find him. He had just been biding his time until he could strike against the people who had offered refuge to his son’s killer.

“Like I said, my quarrel ain’t with you,” Lou Coulter shrugged.

“It is now,” Jess said tonelessly. “Make your play, Coulter…unless you figure you can’t handle it!”

Coulter drew himself up, and with his left hand pulled his coat back and away from his holster. It was too late to turn back now. Hurd Tyrell would be mad as hell, and he could kiss the thousand dollars he’d offered him goodbye.

Truth be told, he preferred facing someone of his own caliber. Sherman wouldn’t have proved much of a match. It never occurred to Coulter that he might lose, he was supremely confident of his own speed and accuracy.

Jess stared at the man, eyes narrowing as he took the measure of his opponent. He knew Coulter was good, and wondered briefly if the man facing him would be the one…the one he knew was out there, somewhere, who could beat him to the draw. Would he die here, on a dusty front street, in a town where no one knew him, and cared little if two gunslingers shot each other down? He cursed himself for a fool to have believed that the illusion of peace, of finally having a sense of belonging, could last. He had no right to expect that things would be different here in Laramie than they had been in all the other cow towns he had drifted through. Was this then his true self after all, this man standing alone with a hand hovering over the butt of his gun, looking death in the face?

He pushed the thought aside, and stood very still and very straight. It was time.

“Fill your hand, Harper!” Coulter yelled.

Slim was struggling to his feet with the aid of Mrs. Elders, when two shots rang out, so close together they sounded like one. Hugh Elders, watching from the window, gaped in astonishment at the speed of the two men; the guns were drawn, palmed and fired in a single blurred motion. As Slim stumbled out on the sidewalk, he saw Lou Coulter spin around and crumple like a broken doll. Jess staggered, but remained standing, weaving unsteadily.

“Jess!” Slim shouted and ran towards him.

ooo0ooo

*********************************

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