The Marshals Revised
what-if Slim was there

By
Cat Hicks

Slim stood in the sun-struck yard watching the dust settle as the posse rode out of sight. “They’re after more outlaws and you can’t play,” he muttered, smiled and shook his head. Hunting outlaws was darn hard work and down-right dangerous to one’s health . . . but it sure could break up the monotony of ranch chores. And the company of such men was good, but… Well, he couldn’t leave, he had enough work right here to do.
But Mort needed more help, so… After careful consideration – and watching his partner’s “hopeful, pleading glances” – he let Jess go along after this Dewalt fellow.
Dewalt… Why was that particular name familiar? He shook his head…
The front door opened and Daisy’s sweet voice shattered his wool gathering. “Slim, dear, could you help me put up the new curtains, please? You know how clumsy I am standing on chairs.”
“I’ll be right there.” He turned and strode toward the porch, muttering, “Yep; Jess gets all the fun and I get to help hang curtains…”
This “little chore” turned out to be close to an “all afternoon” job however. Daisy kept insisting that “they don’t hang right.” They looked perfectly fine to him, but she was “the boss” in this case, so he took them down again and waited for her to fuss with her sewing kit and then put them up again . . . and again. That little trip with the posse began to look more inviting, especially when he suspected – but certainly hoped NOT – it was the house, or at least the windows that were crooked and not the gay checked linen. Heaven knew what she’d want done if it was that, they’d all be living in the barn until it was fixed if she got that into her head, God love her! But she did manage to get it “right” at last and released Slim from his obligation so he could get the fresh team ready for the afternoon run.
The stage was right on time and Mike home from school the overjoyed “shotgun” sitting up top with Mose – the coach was full this trip. But getting to ride up top wasn’t the only cause for excitement, the “posse” was the talk of the town and liberally salted with speculation and gossip. Slim got an ear-full about it whether it was “old news” to him or not, besides being from the “horse’s mouth” to boot.
The rest of his day went routinely and started all over again the next.
Slim expected Jess to return today. He didn’t, but that wasn’t necessarily cause for concern; some criminals were just more difficult to catch, that’s all.
But when the afternoon run came in with Mike back inside…
Mort’s posse had caught Dewalt, but the outlaw wasn’t alone. There’d been a shoot-out with casualties, mostly everyone on the wrong side of the law, including Dewalt who’d lived long enough to bring back to town where he’d died in the Sheriff’s office. Mort had taken a round through his lower left arm, but would recover.
So, where was Jess?
“He went chasin’ after a Marshal somebod’-er-other to warn him about somethin’-er-other,” was all that Mose could learn, then handed over a note in Mort’s hand writing, rather shaky from pain or weakness.
“Jess told me to tell you not to worry, he’d see you when he saw you. He should be back the day after tomorrow at the latest.”
“…Not to worry” set off an alarm bell. Jess had this knack of finding trouble, or it finding him…
Only he couldn’t do anything but wait, definitely could not leave Daisy and Mike to do all the chores by themselves. And Mose, or whoever was driving, would have to change the relays and harness up the teams because there’d be no one else around who could. That delay would make the stage late to the next stop, which could also put Slim on the local manager’s “black-list,” even if it never happened again.
Just be patient, he told himself. Jess will come riding in tomorrow full of stories to share and things would get back to normal.
But that little nagging voice kept pestering him that everything was not all right. And he had to do something about that.
Okay, so who could he “borrow” for a couple of days?
The Sorenson’s had an extra hand, but would they let Chuck Hobart go for a day or two . . . or however long it took? The Richards’ spread had a lot of hands, but they’d been considering an early roundup and a trail drive this year. All right, how about the Abner’s ranch? They were rather picky folks, but Slim had at least gotten on their “good side” and helped them out once last year. But could he count on them letting one of their five sons come take care of the Sherman Ranch and Relay Station for . . . however long it took? Well, the only way to find out was to ask, so, after he finished his chores and had some time, he told Daisy what he intended, promising to be back in an hour or so.
The Abner spread was the closest, so that was his first stop. And his luck was with him. The Abner’s were so grateful for what Slim had done for them last year, they let their two oldest, Jake and Sam, return to the ranch . . . for as long as they were needed.
He explained their “chores” as they rode.
Daisy, as usual, had anticipated his actions and had already packed his saddle bags with extra ammunition as well as jerky. She had even filled his canteen. He suspected she had picked up on his anxiousness and sent him on his way with a “good luck kiss” on the cheek.
He rode back to Laramie; he needed more information that only Mort could supply.
Mort wasn’t in his office, the doctor had ordered him home for a day or so as he’d lost a bit of blood on the ride back. He got what he needed sitting at Mort’s table drinking coffee.
The Territorial Marshal was Branch MacGary. There’d been a marked up map in Dewalt’s things and Jess surmised the Buckner gang was going to ambush MacGary at Stillwater Crossing because Vern Buckner was in MacGary’s tumbleweed wagon and his brother, Clint, would want him back. Jess had gone to warn MacGary, but Mort had a feeling that something hadn’t gone as planned, too. In fact, he would have ridden out with Slim had he felt up to it.
Slim was back in the saddle less than an hour later and pushing Alamo as fast as his horse could sustain that pace for a mile or two, alternating with trotting or walking him for awhile to save his strength. Haste was the key now and he figured he could make good time to the crossing and from there, track the heavy wagon to . . . wherever they’d gone by the next morning.
It was already coming on dusk when he reached Stillwater Crossing and noted the odd tracks. Instead of crossing the river the first time, the wagon had turned off to the right and followed the river for a bit downstream, then turned around and came back to the Crossing and over to the other side. He decided he should investigate before the day faded completely.
He found some spent .30-.30 shell casings near where the wagon had pulled up in some rocks.
Whoever they were firing at was across the river…
Ambush! Only it hadn’t come off as planned and he suspected Jess had something to do with that, but he’d have to wait for morning to discover more…
He was up before dawn and built up the fire to chase away the morning chill, wishing he’d brought a coffee pot along as well. Morning without coffee was… Well it just didn’t feel like morning, especially when beef jerky was the only thing he had to eat with water to wash it down. Back home Daisy would be fixing bacon and eggs and big, beautiful biscuits with plenty of sweet cream butter and jam . . . and lots of coffee.
But that wasn’t important. Getting Jess back to enjoy Daisy’s cooking was, so, just before the sun hit the rim, he doused the fire, saddled Alamo and was back to the Crossing and over.
The tumbleweed wagon had came out on the other side, but it didn’t head out to Laramie. It had been parked for the night across the river.
There was blood near the remnants of a fire… More blood on what remained of a cut-down tree when he followed boot tracks to the edge of the river. The wood was gouged by bullets and shell casings littered the ground.
He picked up two shells, looked at the ends. One was the same brand he and Jess bought in Laramie, the other was “Government Issue” forty-five ammunition a United States Territorial Marshal would have provided for him, just like the rifle casings he’d found last evening.
And he knew immediately who’d been hit, the blood was all over Jess’ spent rounds!
He made a hasty search higher up in the rocks near the road, found a lot of boot prints and more blood there where bodies had lain before someone picked them up and took them away. So, Clint Buckner and gang had tried to ambush the Marshal and had suffered some, too.
And the heavy tumbleweed wagon tracks led straight to Ironwood where the Buckner Gang had located!
Jess had needed a doctor quickly or the Marshal would never have taken his prisoner right into the heart of his brother’s territory! Whoever this Branch MacGary was, he went up a notch in Slim’s estimation.
He hadn’t been to Ironwood in years, there’d been no need to come this way, but he recalled a small town and a hill before the road dipped down into the shallow valley. He walked Alamo up that slight grade, dismounted before he could be seen on the skyline and crept up toward the top.
The town had grown some since. There was even a clock tower over a new building that must be a court house or some brick structure. And the Sheriff’s office was right at the end of a side street, that traveling jail sitting right outside, the team unhitched and probably in the stable at his end of the road.
Unfortunately he didn’t see any way to get to that Sheriff’s office except the main road he was on. And he expected there’d be eyes on him all the way, the moment he topped the hill and all the way through town.
He’d have to chance just riding in like nothing was wrong. He had to see if Jess was still alive, or arrange for his transportation back to Laramie if he wasn’t…
There was a cold lump in his throat as he mounted and turned Alamo back on the road.
There was also a cold spot between his shoulder blades as he walked his horse by the Saloon cattycornered from the Sheriff’s Office and facing the small town square. He noted several men watching him out the large window and heard the saloon’s door squeak open as someone stepped outside to watch him…
But no one called out to him or challenged him as he rode right up to the Sheriff’s hitch-rail, dismounted and tied Alamo to it. He just opened the door and walked on in…
To face two guns pointed right at him.
He immediately raised his hands. “Whoa. I’m not here for trouble, Marshal.”
The Marshal heaved a sigh and holstered his pistol, but his Deputy still had his gun trained on him.
“Put it up, Reb. I don’t think he’s part of Buckner’s men.”
“How do you know? He could’a been sent for,” Reb growled.
“Well, I’m not part of Buckner’s gang. I’m Slim Sherman from the Sherman Ranch and Relay Station and Jess…”
He’d been so startled and focused on the guns leveled at him when he’d stepped in, he hadn’t noticed what was on his left until someone moved . . . and everything else he’d meant to say just froze in his throat.
Jess… He hardly recognized him on that cot with an oddly dressed man in a bowler hat sitting at his side. Someone had draped a rag over his friend’s forehead and covered his eyes, only the lower half of his face showing – were those eyes wide open and staring, or closed? Time itself was suspended, and his heart along with it, but the waves of cold fear, helplessness, dread and . . . sudden and hopeless loss drained the blood from his extremities. There was a ringing in his ears…
“Mister Sherman!”
Slim’s whole body jerked back to awareness.
The Marshal was still by the desk and his deputy still had his gun trained on him; only a few seconds had passed…
Reb sighed and holstered his pistol with a muttered oath, turned away. “Just wish folks ‘uld start knockin’ before they just bust in.”
Slim stumbled to the end of the cot. “How is he?” he asked and heard the tremor in his voice.
“Holding on with his fingernails I’m afraid,” the strange man answered in an English accent. “They call me Patches, Mister Sherman.”
Slim shook his hand, wondering if it felt as cold to this Patches as it did to himself. He then turned a frown to the Marshal as he walked over and thrust out his hand, too. “I’m Territorial Marshal Branch MacGary, Mister Sherman. My deputy’s Reb Carlton.”
Slim shook his hand angrily. “I know who you are, Marshal. What I want to know is, why you haven’t sent for a doctor? That’s why you brought him here, isn’t it? The closest place to find medical care?”
Reb barked a laugh. Branch sighed and said, “The doctor can’t be located. Most likely Clint Buckner has him stashed somewhere and expects to trade his brother for the Doc…”
“And Branch ain’t havin’ that,” Reb turned and added. “He don’t even want to threaten Clint with his brother’s life…”
“I said that subject’s closed, Reb,” Marshal MacGary answered, his tone less than reserved.
Slim felt the tension in the air and focused on Jess.
He was pale with fever-bright splotches on his cheeks. He was breathing in little gasps and he moved his head feebly.
Patches got up from the chair, offered it to Slim. He thanked him with a nod, walked around and sat down beside his friend.
“Might I bring you a cup of coffee, Mister Sherman?” Patches asked quietly.
“Yes, please; thanks. And call me Slim. Only the preacher calls me ‘Mister Sherman’.”
Patches smiled and moved to the requisite pot bellied stove that seemed to be the standard in every lawman’s office besides the bars on the cells. If Slim ever walked into a jail that actually had a fireplace, that would be one very wealthy town indeed.
Jess suddenly moved his head and moaned, “Slim?”
He grabbed Jess feebly waving hand. “Yeah, Pard; it’s me. I’m here,” and he moved the cloth up higher so Jess could open his eyes.
Jess blinked, like it was hard to focus and a small smile curved his lips. “Come t’take me home?”
“As soon as you’re well enough.”
Another derisive snort from Deputy Reb standing by the window now…
Patches brought the cup. Slim just dipped his head to the side indicating he should place it on the floor alongside the chair and Patches complied, moving away to give them some privacy.
“That… That’s the problem, Slim. He ain’t comin’ an’…” a brief flash of pain, “…and I won’t let Mac use me . . . as a’ excuse . . . t’ let Vern go. You . . . make him see . . . reason, huh, Pard?”
Dang! First time he’d seen Jess on his property, he’d mistaken him for one of the Carlin Gang. He’d been wrong, of course and thank goodness, but seeing his best friend fighting for his life without making any compromise of the law now just broke his heart!
He glanced at the blood-soaked bandage on his chest . . . too close to Jess’ heart. “Jess… If it’ll save your life…”
He moved his head, a negative gesture, gasped a, “No. Won’t be . . . used like that, Slim.”
Slim clasped Jess’ hand in both of his, then laid it on the covers. He pulled the cloth down over his eyes again. “You just rest, Pard. We’ll get it sorted out, all right?”
“Sure,” came out barely audible.
Slim picked up his coffee, surrendered the chair to Patches again and went over to “discuss options” with Marshal MacGary.
“Isn’t there anything you can do short of letting Vern go?”
The Marshal shook his head. “That’s the only thing Clint will discuss. He wants his brother back…”
“And Branch here,” Reb suddenly inserted himself physically into the conversation, “won’t use Vern as bait, either.”
Slim turned to the Deputy. “How?”
But MacGary answered before Reb could open his mouth. “I won’t threaten to hang Vern if he doesn’t bring the doctor, that’s against the law ethically and physically. We don’t have the authority…”
“Then get that . . . Justice of the Peace Jethro to order it. Or the mayor or . . . someone!”
Slim frowned at Reb and glanced at Jess. “Keep your voice down.”
“He can’t threaten me like that ‘cause it’s against the law,” drifted out from the cells beyond the iron door. “Bein’ a prisoner means I got rights, too, yah know! An’ one a’ them is makin’ sure I don’t get lynched, ain’t that right, Marshal?”
MacGary rolled his eyes and shook his head so Slim figured that must be Vern.
“See,” Reb remarked and thrust out a hand. “Vern has more rights than anyone here, can yell his dadgum head off if he darn well pleases and Branch’ll let him. Me? I get put down…”
“Stop it, Reb,” MacGary said mildly.
Impasse: stalemate, standoff, deadlock. That last word held more funereal relevance at the moment, and if something didn’t happen soon...
“Look… If I went over to talk with…”
MacGary was shaking his head. “It wouldn’t do any good and Clint would probably hold you hostage as well, maybe even threaten to hang you.”
“And that wouldn’t be just a threat, either,” Reb added. “He wouldn’t hesitate to toss you off the roof with a rope around your neck, then drag the Doc up after and put a rope around his neck, too. Heck, he’ll probably think of that one himself before the deadline.”
“Deadline?” Slim asked.
MacGary looked down, then up. “We’ve got ‘til five o’clock to make up our minds.”
“And then?” Slim asked. “What?”
“The Buckner gang comes in and kills us all,” Reb suggested and shrugged. “Only thing in our favor is there ain’t a back door to this place. But it’s kind of a problem when Buckner’s got the front covered,” and he speared MacGary with an accusing look. “Clint can’t burn us out either because of his brother, but he can sure put enough lead into this room to do the job.” He turned and strode to the window.
“I don’t know a man can even fight with his hands tied by . . . the law!”
Reb turned and yanked off his badge. “You told me this stood for the right things like justice and peace, Branch, but all I see is a piece of star-shaped tin. Here…”
Slim automatically put up a hand and the badge smacked into it.
“Now you got yourself a real, law’bidin’ deputy, MacGary! Good luck,” and he turned and marched to the door.
“Reb… Hold on just a second…”
Reb opened the door and turned in the threshold. “We both made a mistake, Branch, you for askin’ and me for takin’ the job. Leave it at that,” and shut the door.
Slim stood there, holding the badge and wondering what happened. He was startled when MacGary suddenly stepped in front of him and held out his hand.
“You don’t need to keep that . . . unless you want to, Slim.”
He thought about it – considered it a long, slow second – then handed it to MacGary. “I think I’ll pass, but thanks for asking.”
MacGary took it, bounced it in his hand a moment, lips tight, and then nodded. “Guess it’s for the best, then…” he mumbled and turned back to the desk.
Slim didn’t know if he meant it was best he not accept it, or that Reb had surrendered it. Maybe both…
He suddenly remembered he had a full cup of quickly cooling coffee in his left hand and took a sip. It was strong, if tepid, but he drained the cup because it was darn good anyway, then went to the stove to pour some more.
“So, what do you plan on doing?” Slim asked before he put the pot back and turned around.
MacGary stood hunched over the desk with his hands flat against the worn wood, seemingly staring at the badge Reb had worn. “I don’t honestly know, Slim. I just don’t honestly know right now.”
“Well… You’ll fight, won’t you?” Slim asked, moving closer.
The Marshal sighed heavily and looked up at last. “We’ve got little choice it seems. I’m not giving up Vern…” and he pointedly looked at the cot. He shook his head again and turned his back on the room.
Slim paused by the cot, watched Jess’ chest lift with his shallow breaths.
“He’s out again, you know,” Patches said in a low voice.
Slim nodded, then shook his head. “I came looking for him yesterday afternoon because I had this . . . feeling something was wrong. Now that I’m here, I can’t be of any help whatsoever.”
“Just your being here has helped him, Slim,” Patches answered. “If nothing else, it has raised his spirits to know his best friend came looking for him.”
“Yeah,” he answered, but thought “only to watch him die” and shook off the accompanying gloom with a twist of his head.
He had to start thinking of something else, even for a little while, otherwise the dark feelings would take control.
“How’d you get involved in all this, Patches?”
He looked up and smiled. “I used to own a little dry goods store when I first came West, but I wasn’t doing such a roaring bunch of business except every so often when people from outlying farms and ranchers came to town on weekends. So,” he shrugged, “I decided to invest in a wagon and take my goods to the people instead, leaving my store for someone else to look over. It was very fulfilling bouncing along behind my mules and making people’s acquaintance while supplying them with their needs.”
“How’d you meet the Marshal?”
Another, broader smile. “I first encountered him on the road. He needed to purchase a new pair of socks,” and his smile widened further. “Later, we shared a camp fire the few times we crossed paths. And then…” The smile left his face a moment. “A flash flood took everything I had save for my mules and the clothes I had on. And my store in town,” he added. “Branch helped me get back on my feet and, when I decided to sell the store, he recommended me for this job. That was nearly five years past and I’ve not regretted that decision, not at any time,” and lifted another smile. “He even taught me how to fire a Winchester repeating rifle.”
Slim grinned and sipped his coffee. “Well, if you made the coffee, I can guarantee you a job at any restaurant in the territory. This is very good.”
“Why, thank you, sir,” Patches bowed.
Slim took another drink.
“If you don’t mind my asking, Slim, how did you meet Jess?”
There were good memories and bad associated with that, but he took a breath. “Well, that is a story. I have a ranch near Laramie, was out checking the cattle between taking care of passengers and changing the Overland Stage teams…”
“Ah, yes; you mentioned you ran a relay station,” Patches interjected.
Slim just smiled and went on. “Anyway, I noticed this stranger,” he pointed the half empty cup at the cot’s occupant, “was bedding down on my spread. All the towns and ranches in the area had been alerted that the Carlin Gang was in the area, so, naturally I was suspicious, so I accosted the man, took his guns from him and told him to get off my property. Well, Jess was polite and got back on his horse, then asked a simple question that took my mind off what I was doing. Next thing I know, I’m staring up at my own rifle! He took his hardware back and my pistol and belt, too, then made some kind of joke about mean rabbits in the woods…”
Patches chuckled.
“…and rode off. Only, he dropped my guns near where I’d tied my horse before he left. No outlaw would have done that…” he shrugged.
“I didn’t think anything more about it until I came home . . . and that same horse that had been tied to that tree was now tied to my hitch rail! When I crept into the house, I found him sitting at my table and teaching my fourteen year old brother how to cheat at cards!”
Patched said, “Oh, no!” and covered his laugh with a hand.
Slim happened to look up just then and caught Marshal MacGary smiling, too. He cleared his throat.
“Well… We’d started to fight when that same Bud Carlin and his gang walked right into the house and stopped it. To make a long story short, we escaped and . . . Jess helped me and the Sheriff of Laramie take the outlaws down. I offered him a job, but he refused it at first only to reconsider. That was four years ago and we’ve been partners in the ranch and relay station for at least half of that.”
His coffee was cold again. He didn’t mind.
“That’s a wonderful story, Slim. Strange how some manage to find friends and allies within the most unlikely people, isn’t it?”
“Yes… It is, Patches,” Slim said, set the empty cup on the floor, walked to the window and leaned his right shoulder on the wall to look outside the barred, dirty glass.
He heard boots step up behind him and a gentle hand was laid on his left shoulder.
“Look, Slim…”
“Don’t Marshal MacGary,” he hissed, not looking around. “Just . . . don’t right now.”
MacGary breathed a sigh, turned and walked back to the desk.
“It’s not his fault, you know, Slim,” Patches said.
“It’s no one’s fault. It just . . . happens. I just don’t know why it always seems to happen to Jess and me.”
“But you have both gotten out of those situations, haven’t you?”
He glanced at Patches, then Jess and turned his gaze outside again. “Maybe not this time…”
A couple of minutes later, Jess stirred again and whispered something.
Patches, fearing his weak voice hadn’t carried, said, “MacGary” and motioned for the Marshal to come over.
Slim turned his back to the corner and watched MacGary stride forward and take the chair Patches relinquished for him. Jess hadn’t called for his partner and friend and that hurt like a knife twisted in a wound. He hoped he didn’t let it show on his face…
What passed between them was barely audible, but Slim didn’t move closer. When he did catch something Jess said in a weakening voice, it made him that much colder inside. He was pleading with the Marshal not to let Vern go and Marshal MacGary swore he’d not trade Jess’ life for Vern’s freedom, which sealed Jess’ fate like the hammer blows on a casket being nailed shut!
But Jess wasn’t listening any more, he’d passed out again.
Slim turned his face to the window once more, trying to control the tears blurring his vision.
He straightened all at once and unlatched his pistol’s hammer, settled his hand around the grip even as he called, “ MacGary! Three men coming down the walk.”
The Marshal was up and at the door in two seconds, opening the door the third.
The suited men stepped back in alarm, but the Marshal motioned them inside.
“Well?”
The spokesman lifted his hands and did a double-take of the new man in the corner. “We’ve looked everywhere, Marshal, and so has everyone else in town. I’m sorry, but the doctor just seems to have disappeared.”
MacGary’s shoulder sagged. “Sounds like you did your best. Thank you for that, Mister Rafferty. Thank everyone.”
“Uh…” Rafferty stepped closer. We also wanted you to know that . . . if you think it’s best to let Vern go, everyone who can will help you track him down until he’s in your custody again.”
“Or dead,” an older man added.
“That’s kind of you, Mister Jethro. Very kind.”
“Well… We didn’t want you to leave our town thinking the worst of us. There are good people here and…”
“Yes; I know there is,” MacGary said, “but you’d better leave now because if Clint sees you…”
The one he’d called “Mr. Jethro” squared his shoulders and said, “Just let him try anything, Marshal! And the best of luck to you.”
“Thank you . . . all of you,” he herded them out the door and shut it.
Patches turned a grin at Slim. “What’d I tell you about unlikely people?” and winked at him.
But Slim wasn’t in the mood for any kind of happiness, especially when the man in the back of the cells started yelling again. He just tuned him out and put his shoulder to the wall again, his eyes outside, but not seeing anything.
He didn’t know how long he stared out that window, the minutes seemed to crawl by like hours…
And all he could think about was, why Jess had called for MacGary and not him? Whatever he’d said might be the last words Slim would ever hear from his lips because, the longer he was without medical help, the more likely Jess wasn’t going to make it home alive. He’d get him back, but it’d be in a box . . . if he could get him home at all.
And unless there was some miracle hiding in the wings, some “angel of mercy” ready to swoop down and heal him – save them all – the town of Ironwood would have four new graves and no one left to tell Mort, Mike or Daisy what took place here.
Maybe he should have told someone like Mort that Mike Williams should be the beneficiary of the ranch if anything happened to both Jess and him, it was a pretty sure thing that Andy was pursuing his own life and career and wouldn’t want to return to his former home, at least not to take charge of it. Mike might not be old enough to issue orders, but Mort would make sure the best man, or men, who did take charge of running everything were the right ones, not people out to get what wasn’t rightfully theirs.
But hindsight just wouldn’t work in this case. He began to wonder if there was paper and ink in that desk MacGary had taken over. Maybe if he wrote a will…
He was just about ready to march over there and wrest the Marshal from his chair, start rifling that desk for that paper, ink and pen when movement outside caught his attention again. He stiffened.
“MacGary!”
The man was out of his chair in an instant, Patches right behind him. “What is it, Slim?”
He pointed out the window. “Looks like our time’s up.”
There were six men with Clint Buckner, all spreading out for maximum effect to start pouring hot lead into the building.
MacGary opened the door and Patches called, “Branch…” but he was already outside on the walk.
Clint bellowed, “Looks like you run out of time, Marshall. Where’s my brother?”
“Where’s the doctor?” MacGary countered.
“Oh, you’ll get him as soon as Vern’s standin’ right next to me, otherwise…” Clint raised his hands in an exaggerated shrug.
MacGary called back for Patches to unlock Vern’s cell, but before Patches could turn, someone yelled, “No, Mac! Don’t let him out! I’ve got the doctor with…!”
There was a barely audible crash from inside the saloon’s second floor, something shattering loudly. A second later, someone was pushed halfway out of the window, another man’s hands locked around the man’s throat!
Patches shouted, “It’s Reb!”
Clint and his men were all watching the saloon’s second story window, but suddenly Clint turned with his pistol in hand and shouted, “You dirty…”
Slim was no slouch at a fast draw, but Branch MacGary was even quicker than Clint who was already holing his pistol. He ducked and shot Clint before the man could pull the trigger!
The gunfire broke through Jess’ unconsciousness and startled him awake. Patches was by his side before Slim could move, assuring him everything was all right and there wasn’t anything he should worry about. Slim considered taking over Patches’ chore, but Jess had already chosen in Slim’s mind and he looked outside again.
When Clint went down, the gang had simply stood motionless like they didn’t know what to do. They still looked confused when Slim turned back to the scene in the street, but now the street was full of citizens with shotguns, rifles and pistols targeting the rest of the six gang members. The outlaw’s weapons hit the dirt and their hands came up.
Then Slim heard Patches say, “Hang on, Jess. Just hang on, please.” He turned again, saw what looked like his partner fading fast and stepped over to nudge Patches from his chair.
“Jess? Come on, Pard, stay with me, all right?”
“Slim,” came out a weak moan.
He took Jess’ hand – it was so cold – and held it close to his chest. “Pard, just stay here with me, all right? Remember Mike and Daisy; they need you, too. So do I, so hang on. Just…” his voice broke and he turned his head away.
Jess’ hand squeezed his weakly. “All right, Slim. I’m . . . still here…”
Someone ran through the door and Patches grabbed Slim’s shoulder. “Doctor’s here, Slim. Let him sit down, please.”
Slim laid Jess hand back on the bed and surrendered the chair, stood back to observe the doctor pull a stethoscope from his case and put it on. He hadn’t realized he’d been weeping until he felt the tears cold on his face. He swiped a sleeve across his eyes.
After the initial examination, the doctor turned and said, “I need you to carry this cot to my operating room in my house. At once, please,” he stood and picked up his case, moved away as Slim took the cot at Jess’ head and Patches took the end. They were maneuvering it through the door when MacGary, and Reb, stepped up on the walk.
Neither said anything, just watched while Slim and Patches carried the cot across the street, following the doctor. When Slim glanced back as the doc lead them around a corner of another street, both men were gone from the porch and the remainder of the Buckner gang was being herded into the jail, prodded along by Justice of the Peace Jethro and the other man, Rafferty.
Slim concentrated on carrying his end as the doctor led them to a neat white house with blue trim. The sign on the door said, “Doctor Adams.”
As soon as Patches and he had delivered their burden to the doctor’s operating room, Patches left to see if Branch and Reb needed any help. Slim, however, decided to stay and was escorted to the parlor by Doctor Adams’ housekeeper.
It was a long afternoon, hanging around in the doctor’s cozy parlor, occasionally looked in on by the man’s housekeeper, the widow Misses Humphries, to see if she couldn’t get Slim another cup of coffee or a biscuit or anything else. That morning he’d had no coffee and nothing but jerked beef; now more than his share of coffee and biscuits had been foisted on him. He smiled and shook his head when Misses Humphries asked again.
Sometime later, hats in hands, Marshal MacGary, Reb and Patches were led into the living area. And the first thing out of Branch’s mouth was, “How is Jess?” before he found a seat on the divan.
Slim shrugged. “I don’t know. Doctor Adams hasn’t come out to tell me anything yet.”
“He’s probably all right,” Reb answered from the chair across from Slim, “otherwise the Doc would have come out sooner. I say, the longer in surgery, the better.”
Slim just nodded and wrung his hands.
The housekeeper stepped back in. “May I get you gentlemen anything?”
Patches rose from the couch where he’d perched. “Perhaps some coffee, please, Ma’am.”
“Coffee would be fine, thank you,” MacGary answered. Reb just bobbed his head.
“And you, Mister Sherman?”
“Nothing, thank you, Misses Humphries.”
She disappeared again, was back with a tray with rattling china cups and a large tea pot that obviously didn’t have tea in it. She set it on the table between Slim’s and Reb’s chairs. Patches was again on his feet, this time to help her serve, but Slim hardly took notice after that. He wasn’t even listening to the men make small talk as they waited; he was miles away in thoughts and memories. And silent prayers.
Reb pacing the floor right in front of him shook Slim back into the reality of the room. His hands were sore from gripping and rubbing against each other and his back seemed to be permanently stuck in a curve.
“Will you stop that, Reb?” MacGary said all of a sudden. “Sit down; you’re wearing out the doctor’s carpet.”
“Well… We’ve been here, drinking coffee for near two hours now…”
“Thought you said, ‘The longer, the better.’ You change your mind?”
Reb stopped by his chair and sat down with a sigh. “No; just restless, that’s all.”
“Well, go . . . check on that jail-full of prisoners then if you want to do something useful,” MacGary answered. “Or do your cage-pacing somewhere else. You’re making me tired just...” He stopped and stood all at once.
“Sorry to have kept you gentlemen waiting,” the doctor said from the door.
Slim lurched to his feet in an instant and turned with his heart in his throat. “How’s… How is he, Doctor Adams?”
The poor man looked near exhaustion as he leaned on the door frame. He glanced down and sighed, looked up again. “It was touch and go for awhile. And he lost an awful lot of blood and isn’t quite out of the woods yet. My surgical nurse has gone home, but I have people willing to sit with him for a day or so in case… Well, he simply requires constant care and vigilance for a few days, but, baring any infection or complications, Mister Harper should pull through nicely. He’ll require quite a bit of time to heal right here, however, so if you Marshal, and the rest of your men can stay for at least another ten to fourteen days, he may be recovered and strong enough to take a short journey – a leisurely short journey – home again.”
“Well…” Branch started hesitantly.
Reb jumped in and finished for him. “In case you hadn’t noticed, Doctor Adams, we seem to have a few outlaws that need to be transferred to a larger jail. But I’d say we’ll likely be back in ten days or less. Unless, of course, we have a new assignment,” and glance at MacGary.
The Marshal gave Reb a crocked smile. “Yeah. As soon as we’ve got our prisoners behind federal bars, we’ll be back, Doctor Adams. I’ll ask for a couple of week’s leave of absence if I have to, or threaten to quit if they refuse. We’ll be back,” he grinned.
Slim answered, “I’ll stay. I can even sit with him if you need, Doctor. But, could we at least look in on him now?”
Doctor Adam pondered that a moment. “I suppose you all may take a brief – repeat, brief – look inside the room. The shades have been pulled and it isn’t very bright I’m afraid; he needs rest and quiet for the next two to four days, but you could probably tell he’s alive at least.”
They followed him down the hall to a back room and when he opened the door, there wasn’t much Slim could see until his eyes adjusted to the semi-darkness.
Jess was in a regular, if low bed, someone else sitting in a chair nearby. The man on the bed didn’t look much like Jess, he looked older by years… Or he was so pale and fragile seeming, he just looked older. But the covers lifted and relaxed with steady breathing.
His friend and partner lived. He had to use his sleeve again to wipe his face before Doctor Adams ushered them all away again less than a minute later.
The Marshal, Patches and Reb thanked the doctor and the housekeeper and left, but Slim lingered a bit to ask more questions, some Doc Adams could answer, some he wasn’t certain of before Slim went out to find a room and take Alamo to the stable.
…And he needed a telegraph office, but Ironwood didn’t have one. Slim caught up with the Marshal, and his reinstated Deputy Reb, his badge firmly seated over his heart again, heading to the saloon for dinner (evidently it was the only place to eat in the town, the Buckner’s had intimidated any “good and decent” restaurant owners out when they took over). He asked Branch to send a short message to the Sherman Ranch and Relay Station the first telegraph station they came to, let Daisy, Mike and the Abner brothers know what happened and assure them everything would be all right, Slim would be returning with Jess as soon as possible. “And make sure you emphasize that Jess is alive and mending, otherwise Daisy will fret herself half to death or find some way to get here.”
Branch asked him to stay and have dinner with them. Since Slim had had little to eat for the past couple of days, he found he had an appetite again and joined them. They sat around a table near the back (by the broken stove that Reb had to explain who he’d tossed down the stairs to break that!) and swap stories for awhile, then went back to that over-crowded jail that Justice of the Peace Mr. Jethro was again in charge of. Slim offered to help get the prisoners shackled and secured in the tumbleweed wagon the next day, but the Marshal said he’d had a whole town-full of volunteers already, but thanked him for his help and left him with a parting “gift.”
“I don’t have all the circulars from the rest of Buckner’s gang, but I’ll give you odds there’s prices on every one of their heads somewhere. Most of that reward money’ll be given to the town, but… Since you and Jess helped, we’ll recommend you two get a piece of that as well.”
Slim tried to argue that point, neither had “helped” that much, but MacGary wasn’t about to be swayed.
. . .
Mike went outside to see what chores Jake and Sam were presently engaged in – in the barn at the moment, cleaning and checking harness, so he ducked out real quick. He meandered around the yard a bit, tossed a stick for Buttons to fetch until the dog went to get a drink, then heard something that caught his attention. He climbed on the pasture fence to get a better view, then raced for the house calling, “Aunt Daisy! Aunt Daisy!”
She came out to the porch to see what all the yelling was about and saw a strange wagon coming down the road, headed for the house.
“What in the world is that contraption?”
Sam and Jake had also been brought out by Mike’s calls and walked to the side of the porch.
Sam shaded his eyes, answered, “Why, that’s a tumbleweed wagon, Misses Cooper.”
“A ‘tumbleweed wagon’? What’s it for?” she asked.
“Kind-a like a travelin’ jail, Ma’am,” Jake answered.
Daisy gasped, “Then it must be Slim and Jess! That’s what the telegram said,” and she and Mike came down the steps to the yard as the lumbering vehicle was pulled up. She held onto Mike, though, he wanted to run out there regardless of how many horses or mules he scared.
Slim had been riding in the rear and was concealed by the height of the transport. He guided Alamo around to the back and dismounted and, a moment later, helped Jess out and down the steps. Jess’ left arm was tightly secured to his side and he wore a sling.
They both stood in the yard, just smiling.
Sam and Jake stepped out to greet them, but Mike wriggled out of Daisy’s grasp and raced past them both.
“Whoa, tiger!” Slim warned as the boy leaped up into his arms and tried to knock him off his feet. “And don’t you go making a dive like that for Jess, you’ll knock him over!”
Mike hugged him fiercely. “That’s why I ran to you first. I’m so glad you’re both back home.”
Daisy made her more sedate way to Jess, her face lit up by her smile and tears in her eyes. She gave Jess a gentle hug and stood back to look at them both. “Oh, you had us so worried. But that’s all past now. Come in. All of you, please, come in,” she added the lawmen, driver and current “ranch help” before she snagged Jess’ good right arm and escorted them all into the house, not waiting for any introductions. “I want to hear every detail of what you’ve been up to,” she added as she went up the porch steps.
Jess glance back at Patches, Reb, Marshal MacGary and Slim, who had Mike firmly attached to his hand like a leach. He said, “No, Daisy; you don’t want all the details, believe me. Just be glad we’re home and everything can get back to normal.”

The End

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