CHAPTER SEVEN

Sheriff Mort Corey hit Front Street at a dead run when he heard the shooting. He saw Slim emerge from the general store as Coulter hit the ground.

Jess drew a shuddering breath, and put a hand to his head. It came away bloody, and he stared numbly at it. He felt his knees start to buckle, and Slim reached him just in time to keep him from falling.

“Easy, Jess,” he said sharply, steadying him.

Jess clenched his teeth against the searing pain in his head, Coulter’s bullet had cut him alongside the left temple, and he pressed his bandana against it with a shaking hand.

“What the hell happened?” Corey demanded, coming up to them, gun in hand. His eyes narrowed as he eyed Jess.

“You’re Jess Harper,” he stated. “Who’s the other one?”

“Lou Coulter,” Jess murmured. He was grateful to Slim for the firm grip on his arm, his knees were like rubber, and he had trouble seeing straight.

“Coulter? The gunfighter?” Mort whistled and bent over the dead man. It needed only a cursory glance to see that he was dead. Jess’ shot had caught the third button on his silk vest.

“Nice shootin’, Harper,” Mort said laconically as he straightened up.

“He’s had lots of practice,” Slim said, seething with anger at his new ranch hand’s actions.

“Slim…,” Jess began, then stopped short, seeing the look on the taller man’s face. He shrugged loose of Slim’s hold on him.

“Forget it,” he said. “Sheriff, I’ll be over at the Doc’s if you need me.”

Slim watched him walk away, his gun still in his hand, as though he had suddenly forgotten where it belonged. He rubbed at the sore spot on the back of his head, and grimaced at Mort.

“Would someone care to tell me what is going on around here?” “Corey asked. “What started all this?”

While Corey directed a couple of men from the crowd that had gathered to carry Coulter to the undertaker, Slim filled him in on what had happened.

“Harper just hit you over the head, and went after Coulter himself?” Corey said disbelief in his voice.

“Maybe he though he was doin’ me a favor, Mort,” Slim grunted. “I don’t know I’m more inclined to think it’s his own reputation he’s lookin’ out for. I reckon after all these weeks of ranching he’s getting’ an itchy triggerfinger.”

“I did warn you,” Corey said. “Anytime you have someone like Harper in a town like this, you’re bound to have others following, looking for a chance to test his hand.”

“He seemed to be trying to put it behind him,” Slim sighed. “I guess a man like Coulter proved too much of a temptation for him.”

Even as he said it, he shook his head, not really believing his own words. It had all happened too fast, there had to be something more behind it all. He swung around as Mike came running out of the store.

”Slim! Slim! What happened?” he yelled, rushing over to him. “Where’s Jess?”

He watched bugeyed as two men carried Coulter away, and turned to the Slim. “Is Jess all right?” he asked anxiously.

“He’s okay, Mike,” Slim said and squeezed his shoulder reassuringly. “He’s over at the Doc’s.”

“Is he hurt?” Mike exclaimed, his face furrowing with worry about his newfound friend. “Can we go see him?”

“Sure, Mike, you go ahead, I’ll be there directly.”

Mike tore down the street, and Corey turned to Slim. He removed his hat, and ran a hand through his graying hair.

“Slim, you realize that if Jess hadn’t stepped in we’d be carrying you to the undertaker instead of Coulter?”

“I appreciate your faith in me, Mort,” Slim said sharply. “Don’t you think I can handle myself in a fight?”

“Oh, I know you can, Slim,” Corey said, brushing at an imaginary speck of dust on his Stetson. “Given a halfway even chance you’re better’n most. But you wouldn’t have a chance against Coulter. He was one of the best.”

“Meanin’ he was in Jess’ league, not mine?” Slim said bitterly. “I’m goin’ over to the Doc’s, Mort.”

“Tell Harper to stop by my office when he feels up to it,” Corey called after him. “There are a few formalities to clear up.”

“Yeah, sure, Mort.”

*****

“You’re a very lucky young man,” Doc Collier grunted as he cleaned out the wound. “A little deeper, and all your troubles would’ve been over.”

“Ouch! Easy, Doc, that stuff stings,” Jess winced.

“It’s a nasty crease, but I don’t reckon the bullet touched the skull,” Collier said, and applied a small bandage. “You’ll have one whale of a headache for the next few days, so I suggest you take it easy, don’t do too much riding.”

The door burst open, and a small form fairly flew into the room.

“Golly, Jess!” Mike cried, breathless with excitement. “Did you get shot?”

“Just nicked me, Tiger,” Jess managed a grin despite his aching head. “Doc’s fixin’ me up just fine.”

“Boy, I wish I could’ve seen it,” Mike said, staring up at him with shining eyes. “Mrs. Elders wouldn’t let me watch.”

“She’s right, Mike,” Jess said sharply. He got gingerly to his feet. “Killin’ a man’s nothing to be proud of, and don’t you forget it.”

“But he was a famous gunfighter,” Mike breathed. “You beat him to the draw, Jess, wait’ll I tell the guys in school!”

Jess flinched at the look on unadulterated hero-worship in Mike’s face. He had grown fonder of the kid than he cared to admit, and this was not the kind of example he wanted to set for him. Billy Terrell had grown up admiring men who were fast on the draw, and had ended his young life sprawled face down on a dirty barroom floor.

“Mike,” Jess said seriously, and placed his hands on the boy’s shoulders. “I just killed a man, don’t you understand that? It’s nothin’ to brag about, and I don’t want you doin’ it either, your hear me?”

He shook the youngster, angry at the look of awe in his eyes. He wanted Mike’s friendship and respect, but not this way, not because the boy was taken with his ability to handle a gun.

“Let him go, Jess,” Slim said, stepping into the doctor’s office.

Jess tousled Mike’s hair, and gently pushed him aside. His lips tightened at the look on Slim’s face. There was no condoning his actions there.

“Here, take these,” Doc Collier said and handed him two white pills. “They’ll ease the pain some. And go lie down somewhere for twentyfour hours.”

Slim looked on in silence as Jess took the pills and washed them down with a glass of water.

“Wait for us outside, Mike,” Slim said, and held open the door. “We’ll join you in a minute.”

Mike gauged his chances at being allowed to stay, and then, lower lip pouting, he shuffled out the door.

“Slim, before you go…” Jess began, but Slim made a cutting motion with his hand.

“Hold it right there, Jess,” he said curtly. “Let’s get one thing straight. I hired you to help me run the ranch, not fight my battles for me. What gives you the right to decide who lives or dies?”

Doc Collier, who had known Slim for many years, and took him to be an honest, fair-minded man, watched musingly as Jess paled at Slim’s words.

“It was never your fight to begin with, Slim,” Jess murmured.

“Would you care to explain that remark?” Slim said angrily.

Jess shook his head wearily, and regretted it instantly as pain shot through him at the unguarded movement. He picked up his hat.

“Doc, I thank you kindly. Will this cover it?”

“Good enough, son,” Collier said, looking at the coins in his palm. “Now, don’t forget, get some rest.”

Jess brushed past Slim, and stepped out on the sidewalk. Mike was across the street, sitting in the buckboard, holding his kite. He waved at them, and Jess raised a hand in return. The bright sunshine sent stabs of pain through his head, and he winced involuntarily. Chastising himself for letting his temper run away with him, Slim moved towards him.

“You all right, Jess?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Jess said, the strain in his voice belying his words. “Reckon I’d better drop by the sheriff’s office; make sure everything’s cleared up.”

He supported himself for a moment against the hitching rail, wishing he could leave his throbbing head somewhere else.

“I’ll come by the ranch later, and pick up my gear,” he murmured, and turned to go.

“Now what kind of nonsense talk is that?” Slim said quickly, and clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Look, Jess, I’m sorry I flew off the handle in there. I really can’t figure why Coulter came gunnin’ for me, it all happened too fast. None of it makes any sense.”

Jess felt himself sag at little at Slim’s words. It was what he had wanted to hear, but had not dared hope for. He knew he would not have been as forgiving had he been in Slim’s shoes. For an instant he considered telling him about Tyrell’s involvement with Lou Coulter, but decided against it. Time enough for explanations later. The chill left his eyes as he regarded Slim with a wry grin.

“Men like Coulter don’t need much of an excuse to go gunnin’ for a man,” he drawled.

“Reckon not,” Slim sighed. “Time to head home, Jess. I’ll pick up the buckboard and meet you outside Corey’s office.”

Slim watched Jess make his way down the street and frowned as he saw folks quickly step aside for him. The story of the shootout had gathered speed and substance, becoming bloodier and more embellished by the minute. It won’t make things any easier for Jess in Laramie, Slim thought ruefully as he crossed the street.

*****

Corey looked up from his paperwork when Jess walked in. He leaned back in his chair, and eyed the man speculatively. He had checked back into Harper’s past history, and there was nothing there to indicate that he was a triggerhappy gunslinger. Most reports stated he had never shot a man except in selfdefense, after being provoked. The ones about his involvement with Tolliver’s bunch were vague and inconclusive. Sam Belden had thought enough of him to stake him to a horse, and recommending his old friend Corey help him out. He was musing over the Billy Terrell case when Jess interrupted him.

“You need anything from me, Sheriff?” Jess asked, easing the door shut.

“Sit down,” Mort nodded, indicating a chair.

Jess settled himself into it with some care, and placed his hat on the desk. He rolled a cigarette, and the sheriff noticed that his hands shook slightly.

“Almost didn’t make it this time, eh?” he said.

“I’m here, ain’t I?” Jess said shortly, drawing smoke into his lungs.

“Easy, son,” Mort said, holding up his hands. “Take that chip off your shoulder before you really hurt yourself. Look, I know you shot Coulter in selfdefense, but would you care to tell me why you stepped between him and Slim?”

“It wasn’t Slim’s fight,” Jess said bleakly, looking past the sheriff, out the window.

“That’s not the way Slim tells it,” Corey said, irked by the other man’s attitude.

“If you’ve got nothin’ further to say to me, Sheriff, I’ve got to be headin’ back to the ranch,” Jess said and got to his feet. “I feel like hell, and if I don’t lie down I’m liable to just keel over.”

“All right, all right,” Corey waved a hand at him. “There’s just one more thing, though. There was a reward posted for Lou Coulter, dead or alive, for his involvement in a bank robbery in Rawlins. I’ve already cabled the marshal there. The authorization should come through in a few days.”

“How much?” Jess asked, holding a hand to his aching head.

“Five thousand dollars,” Corey replied, eyeing him thoughtfully.

Jess gaped at him in astonishment, hardly daring to believe what he was hearing. Five thousand dollars! More money than he could hope to see in a lifetime!

“Some folks might hesitate about accepting blood money,” Mort Corey said, and was instantly ashamed of his words. It wasn’t up to him to sit in judgment over other people’s morals, but Harper’s attitude got under his skin.

Jess smiled mirthlessly.

“I don’t have that kind of a problem,” he drawled. “You just get that authorization, and I’ll come by and pick it up.”

“And then what? You planning on staying on in Laramie?”

“What if I am?” Jess demanded. “Are you worried about your town, Corey? Think I’ll attract undesirables to it?”

“You seem to be doing a fair job of it so far,” Corey pointed out. “You want to stay in my town you toe the line like anyone else. I can’t go worrying about a shootout on Front Street every time you show your face. There are innocent bystanders to consider.”

“Don’t worry, Corey,” Jess said. “There won’t be any more trouble. Soon’s the money comes through, I’ll be headin’ out.”

With that he walked out, leaving Mort Corey drumming his fingers on his desk. The sheriff was filled with a sense of foreboding as he gazed after the man with the hairtrigger temper and too ready gun.

ooo0ooo

CHAPTER EIGHT

Matt Tyrell pulled his horse up in front of the Bowdrie telegraph office. “Pa, hey, Pa, wait up!”

Hurd Tyrell turned to the clerk who had followed him out, and said a few words to him. The man nodded deferentially and went back inside.

“Matt, my boy,” his father said genially, and squinted against the late afternoon sun. “What’re you doing in town?”

Matt leapt from the saddle, and hurried over to the older man.

“Johnny tells me you’ve sent Mel Cullen and Jake Boyd to Laramie,” he said urgently.” You just hired those men a week ago. We need every man we can get, what with the roundup and all.”

“I have a job for them in Laramie,” Tyrell said, and pulled on his yellow leather gloves. He eyed his son carefully.

Matt ran an exasperated hand through his hair, and slapped his hat against his britches.

“Harper!” he stated, a hollow feeling in his stomach. “Pa, wasn’t Lou Coulter enough?”

“Coulter was a fool,” his father grunted. “He let Harper get the better of him, but it’s not important. I’ve decided on a different tack.”

“Are you going to tell me about it?” Matt asked quietly, “or don’t I have the right to know?”

“Of course you do, son,” Terrell said. He took his son by the arm and steered him across the street. “Let’s have a drink and discuss it.”

*****

Matt Tyrell tossed down his drink, and toyed with the empty glass as he regarded his father. The weeks that had gone by since Harper’s release from prison without his father doing anything, had at one point given him false hopes. Even with the death of Lou Coulter, he had thought it might provide the end of it all, but one look at that dark, brooding face across the table from him made him realize it was a futile notion. Hurd Tyrell leaned back, thumbs hooked in his silk vest. He noted the angry expression on his son’s face, and frowned impatiently.

“Let me get this straight,” Matt said slowly. “You propose to steal your own payroll?”

His father nodded a peculiar glint in his hooded eyes.

“I’m transferring ten thousand dollars of my holdings in Laramie to meet the roundup payroll and other expenses at the end of the drive to Fort Sutton,” he said. “The wire’s already on its way to the bank in Laramie. I’ve requested the Overland’s best, most trustworthy man to ride guard, and from what I hear that’s Slim Sherman, Harper’s newfound friend. Cullen and Boyd will hold up the stage once it’s well away from Laramie.

“And you’re figurin’ people will think Sherman was in on it,” Matt said. It was a statement, not a question. “Suppose it comes to shootin’, Pa? Innocent people could get killed!”

“There’s always that chance, of course,” his father conceded, “but I figure the odds are in my favor. My men have orders not to hurt anyone.”

“What about Jess Harper?” Matt asked. “He’ll know you’re behind all this, it being your payroll and all. You think he’s goin’ to sit still for his friend being railroaded?

Tyrell smiled; it was the feral smile of a rabid wolf.

“Only Clayton, the manager of the Laramie Bank, knows it’s a Tyrell payroll, and I’m holding him to strict secrecy. You, your brother and I will catch the first stage to Laramie when we get word about the holdup. I’m on the Board of Directors of the Great Central Overland, and there are a lot of favors I can call in, son. I aim to take Sherman down, and Harper gets to watch the ruin of the man who befriended him.”

“What happens to the Rocking T in the meantime?” Matt asked quietly. “Who’s goin’ to set up the roundup while we’re in Laramie chasing ghosts?”

“Peters is a good ramrod,” his father muttered, “He can handle it alone.”

“He’ll be short handed,” Matt said consternation plain on his face. “Pa, I wish you wouldn’t do this. If you must settle with Harper, get it over with. Dragging it out like this, involving innocent people…nothin’ good can come of it.”

“You let me be the judge of that,” Tyrell snapped, and got up. “Come on, we can ride back to the ranch together.”

*****

Ted Benson accepted the glass of brandy Jeremy Clayton handed him.

“Ten thousand dollars!” he exclaimed. “That’s quite a payroll. Who’s behind it?”

“I’m not at liberty to divulge that, Ted,” Clayton said. “Suffice it to say, they’re driving a large herd to Fort Sutton next month.”

“That’s a lot of money to risk on the open road,” Benson said.

“Yeah, it is, but I’m not about to argue with one of our largest customers,” Clayton responded, and sipped his brandy. “I take it I can leave the formalities in your hands, Ted?”

“Yes, of course,” Benson said quickly. “I’ll set up a special run; it can go out tomorrow afternoon.”

“You’ll need someone to ride shotgun,” Clayton pointed out as he walked the stageline superintendent to the door. “The customer specifically requested the very best the Overland has here in Laramie.”

“Slim Sherman,” Benson said. “He’s my best man. I’d trust him with my life.”

“Sherman’s a good man,” the banker agreed. “All right, I’ll have someone bring the gold over to the depot by noon tomorrow.”

Muttering to himself, Benson headed for the livery stable to pick up his buggy. He would need to talk to Slim Sherman right away to get things moving. Mose, his veteran driver, was taking the morning run to Cheyenne, but he knew Scott Mackenzie was available.

*****

“Jess around, Daisy?” Slim asked, poking his head out the kitchen door.

Daisy put down the laundry basket, and smoothed out her apron.

“He headed towards the barn a little while ago,” she replied. “Said he was going to chop up the last of the wood pile.”

Slim shook his head as he looked at her.”

“He just got back from hazing mustangs,” he said. “He’s drivin’ himself too hard.”

“I know, can’t you talk to him, Slim?” Daisy sighed, a concerned look on her kindly face. “Why, he’s so tired at supper he’s about to fall asleep at the table.”

“It has to work both ways, Daisy,” Slim said and took the laundry basket from her. “I get the feeling the few people he’s trusted in his life turned sour on him, and he’s afraid to let anyone get close to him. I can’t help him if he won’t let me.”

He followed her into the house, and put the basket on the kitchen counter.

“That business with the gunman in Laramie hasn’t helped matters,” Daisy frowned as she started folding the clean clothes into neat piles.

“Lou Coulter?” Slim said. “I know there’s more to that incident than Jess is lettin’ on, but he won’t talk about it, and I don’t want to push.”

He heard a buggy pull up in the front yard, and went out on the porch. Ted Benson clambered down, and straightened his jacket over his rotund stomach.

“Ted, what brings you out here this late in the day?” Slim asked.

“I have to talk to you, Slim,” the superintendent said. “There’s going to be a special run tomorrow.”

“Come on in the house, I’m sure you can use a fresh cup of coffee/”

Daisy poured them each a cup, and went back to sorting out the laundry. Slim listened as Benson outlined the payroll run, and slowly realized that the man had just handed him the perfect opportunity to show Jess that they trusted him with more than just changing teams on the incoming stages.

“Mose is on his way to Cheyenne, so I’m getting Scott Mackenzie to drive,” Benson said. “With you riding shotgun there shouldn’t be any trouble.”

“Hold up there, Ted,” Slim said quickly. “Look, I can’t do it. Mike’s school is putting on a play tomorrow, and I promised him a long time ago that I would be there. I can’t back out of it now; I’ve had too little time for him as it is.”

Daisy looked up from her work, and her startled gaze met Slim’s innocent blue eyes. She knew very well that Mike’s school play was not due to be performed for another week, and wondered what on earth Slim was up to. He winked imperceptibly at her.

“Slim, I’m in a bind here,” Benson said tersely. “You’re my best man. I need someone who can handle a shotgun, and who can be trusted. There’s a lot of money at stake here.”

“Don’t worry,” Slim grinned. “I’ve got just the man for you.”

“Not Jess Harper?” the superintendent exclaimed, his eyebrows climbing towards his receding hairline.

“Why not?” Slim demanded. “There’s no one more qualified to ride shotgun that I can think of?”

“Qualified!” Benson’s voice went up three notes, ending in a squawk. “You call a gunslinger with a prison record qualified to guard ten thousand dollars in gold???”

“Mr. Benson,” Daisy said indignantly, “you haven’t even taken the trouble to meet the man. All you know is rumors and gossip. Why can’t you at least give him a chance?”

“He’ll never make a fresh start if everyone persists in holding his past against him,” Slim said.

“There’s no way I can justify letting him do it,” Benson protested. “He might get on that stage and just keep right on going. Ten thousand dollars is enough of a temptation for an ordinary man, let alone someone like Harper!”

“You got no choice,” Slim snapped. “Not if you want that payroll to go out tomorrow.”

He stalked out of the house. Benson stood undecided for a moment, glaring at Daisy, who studiously ignored him. Sighing, Benson trotted after Slim, his doughy face worried and perspiring.

“Dammit, Slim, you’re backing me into a corner again,” he muttered as he caught up with Slim. He wiped at his brow with a snowy white handkerchief. “You know I can’t get anyone else on such short notice.”

“You don’t need anyone else,” Slim said curtly. “If there’s any trouble, you can’t get a better man than Jess to handle it.”

Benson fretted and dithered, but in the end he realized he was caught. Jeremy Clayton had specified that the payroll had to go out the next day, and there was no one else available; if Sherman wouldn’t do it, he was left with Harper.

“All right,” he sighed, “you win. I’ll take your word for it that Harper can be trusted. Tell him to be at the stage depot by noon tomorrow. I’ll get word to Scott Mackenzie. But if anything goes wrong, my friend, if Harper turns and runs with the gold, I’m holding you personally responsible.”

With that he climbed into his buggy, and smacked the reins. Slim watched him roll down the road, a deep frown creasing his forehead. He kicked angrily at the porch stoop. ‘Had he gone too far’? He wondered. He had all but personally guaranteed that Jess would get the payroll safely to Fort Sutton. What if something did go wrong? What made him so sure Jess could be trusted with ten thousand dollars of someone else’s money? He had only worked for him for a couple of months, and how well did any of them really know him?

Before the incident with Lou Coulter there had been times when Jess had seemed to relax his guarded stance. He had opened up a little towards Slim one night when they sat out on the front porch sharing a fresh pot of coffee, and discussing the next day’s chores. It was a few, bleak glimpses into a hardscrabble past that found Jess on his own in Texas since he was fifteen, running wild and fast, proud of his skill with a gun. Some of the toughest spreads in the country had paid good money for those skills during the bloody range wars that had ravaged the countryside a few years ago, between cattlemen, sheepherders and homesteaders.

Jess rode a lone trail, and he had never been party to burning a man out. If he thought the deck was unfairly stacked against a homesteader, he sometimes found himself fighting on the side of what was all too often a lost cause and for no more than a meal and a roof over his head. It earned him the reputation of a maverick, but also the grudging respect of his adversaries. The notorious outlaw, Cal Tolliver, had tried to enlist him into his gang, but Jess steered clear of him. He knew that with his own reputation, the local lawmen would need only one little excuse to put him behind bars. He made few friends, and drifted from one cow town to another. They were all the same; no one wanted a gunfighter in the vicinity of their town.

There had been no trace of self pity in his voice when he told Slim this, only a weary acknowledgment.

‘I might as well get it over with,’ Slim mused ruefully, and headed for the barn.

He found Jess behind the barn, stacking a pile of freshly cut wood. He had stripped off his shirt because of the late afternoon heat, and his lean, sinewy frame was shiny with sweat. Slim’s throat tightened at the sight of the old scars on his back, scars from beatings he had received in prison. He had seen them before, but had never ventured to ask how it had happened, and Jess didn’t volunteer any information. Jess wore his gun, after Coulter’s death he rarely went anywhere without it; the only time he took it off was when he sat down for meals. Slim wouldn’t have been surprised to catch him sleeping with it.

“You keep this up there won’t be anything left for me to do around here,” Slim said and sat down on the edge of the water trough.

Jess swung around to face him, his hand automatically dropping to his gun. He didn’t even realize he was doing it, the gesture was second nature. Slim saw with a twinge of conscience that he looked tired, and again had second thoughts about sending him out tomorrow, but this time for different reasons.

“Hey, Slim,” Jess grinned, and dumped the last of wood on top of the stack. “Saw a buggy pullin’ in. We got visitors?”

“Ted Benson, stageline superintendent,” Slim replied.

Jess stuck his head under the pump and let the fresh water cool him off. He dried his dripping face and hair with his shirt. He could see something was bothering Slim, and slung the shirt over his shoulder.

“Any problems?”

“No…well, not really,” Slim said. “There’s a special run goin’ out tomorrow to Fort Sutton. Ten thousand dollar roundup payroll transfer. They need someone to ride shotgun.”

He walked with Jess to the bunk house, musing on how best to tackle the situation. Jess tossed his shirt in a corner, and unbuckled his gunbelt. He hung it within easy reach, and sank down on the bunk with a grateful sigh. Weariness crept up on him, and he closed his eyes for a moment.

“That’s a lot of money,” he drawled. “I can see why he’d want you to ride with it. I can handle things here ‘till you get back, Slim.”

“I told him you would make the run,” Slim said, deciding it was better to just plunge ahead.

Jess sat up and stared at Slim in stunned surprise. The blond rancher’s face was calm, and his level gaze met Jess’ narrowed, suspicious one without blinking.

”You told him I would do it?” Jess said slowly, disbelief in his voice. “And how does the superintendent feel about a man with my past ridin’ herd on someone else’s payroll?”

His mouth twisted in an ugly grimace, and he pushed himself to his feet. Slim put a quick hand on his arm, and faced him squarely. He saw anger and confusion churning in Jess, and wondered if he hadn’t gone too far.

“What makes you so sure I won’t pocket the money and disappear?” Jess asked harshly.

“I don’t know that for sure, Jess,” Slim said quietly. “Maybe even you don’t know that, but you have to start somewhere, pard. I told Benson you were the best man for the job.”

“You had no right, Slim,” Jess swore. “You had no right to volunteer me for that run.”

“What’s the matter?” Slim asked, his tone cryptic, “afraid of a little responsibility? This isn’t something you can just walk away from, Jess. Like it or not, you’ll have to face it. If I trust you enough to give Benson my word there won’t be any trouble, don’t you think you owe yourself the benefit of the doubt?”

Jess swallowed, and there were haunted shadows in his dark blue eyes. He turned away from Slim, conflicting emotions warring within him; anger at Slim for springing this on him mingling with a surge of warmth at the trust the other man was placing in him.

“You don’t believe in makin’ it easy for a man, do you, Slim?” he said softly. “What if somethin’ does go wrong? If you gave Benson your word…”

“It’ll be a milk run,” Slim interrupted. “There hasn’t been a holdup in over six months. Will you do it, Jess?”

Jess took a clean shirt from a peg by the bunk, and shrugged into it. He grinned crookedly at Slim as he buttoned it.

“Don’t look like I’ve got much choice,” he said.

ooo0ooo

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

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