Uniquely Yours Craft Journal

The  screen  of trees beckoned him and Jess reined into the familiar place. Years ago, they’d discovered  the hidden space off the trail. It wasn’t very big, just enough space for two weary ranchers, but they often stopped there to briefly rest, share thoughts, hash around  their differences and plan the rest of their day.

Now, without Slim, Jess sometimes used the comforting cradle to grieve. As he raised the canteen to his lips, he felt for the first time in a long time, his brotherhood scar start throbbing.  It  was a strange sensation and he gripped his arm as a sudden harsh tingling shot through his limb. “Slim,”  he whispered. 

Years ago, when the scar was still healing, they had both realized that they were more than just good friends. It stood to reason. They lived together, ate at the same table and slept in one bedroom.  They both shared custody of Mike.  They both were responsible for the ranch and relay and, of course, Daisy. 

Mort Corey had often told them that they were joined at the hip ‘cause when one was in one part of town the other was bound to join the other. He didn’t know about their vow. They stood together through thick and thin even if they didn’t agree with each other. They finished each others’ sentences and oftentimes knew how the other would react to a given situation. The most important thing was that if one of them was in trouble or was hurt, they somehow knew it.  

The last remembrance grabbed his heart. Gasping for breath, Jess clung to the reins. Why didn’t he feel anything when Slim died? He had known when Slim had been beaten . Maybe it was because he hadn’t died?  Confused and numb, Jess  stuffed the thoughts  down deep. ‘I’ll think about it later,’ he vowed. There was still the matter of sharing the latest news with Daisy and Mike.

As he rode further home, he debated with himself. ‘Tell Daisy, tell Mike, don’t get their hopes up, they deserved to know.’  His head was spinning faster than Mike’s toy top. He kept remembering Mike’s teary face and the question that haunted his dreams. “ Where did Slim’s love go when he died?’

The first night after they heard the news, Jess had been to numb to care if the stock was bedded down or not. He didn’t remember eating dinner. Everything in the house reminded him of Slim. Daisy had put Mike to bed and tearfully bade him goodnight. Sleep didn’t come. He felt his heart breaking into pieces; his home falling apart. Worry came stampeding into the mix and he realized that the ranch was now his to run. The ceiling yielded no answers so he closed his weary eyes and demanded his body to sleep. 

When he woke suddenly, he saw the lump in the next bed. His brain yelled “Slim!’ before he could give voice to the improbable but the lump was too small and Slim never whimpered. With a start, Jess realized that the shape in the bed next to him belonged to Mike. When he reached down to lift him up, he discovered the wet pillow and knew it would be too cruel to move him. Slim’s bed was the closest Mike could get to his beloved father and Jess left him to this grieving. 

Daisy tried and failed to be an anchor to his soul. He was going to  miss Slim with every fiber of his being for the rest of his life. “If I should die first Jess, I’ll wait for you on the other side and we’ll ride through those pearly gates together,” Slim had vowed. “It wouldn’t  be heaven without you.”

The words refused to come and died on his lips. In retrospect, he must have written the news alright because Andy’s response was supportive and comforting all at once. The best part was that he would come home. A sudden chill swirled around him. Was Andy riding into a trap? 

He felt Daisy’s stare from across the yard. Her blues grey eyes bored into him. “What happened?”

At first he tried to brush her off. He hated lying to her, but he was protecting her heart, wasn’t he? But she stood in front of him, silently demanding  answers and he reluctantly gave up. He could never lie to his Miss Daisy.  She sat quietly, absorbing the news.  At last, she raised her head. 

“We need help,” she nodded to him. 

“At this point I only trust one man to help us. Do you remember Branch McGarry?’

“The Marshall from FT Laramie?”

“Yes. I’ll write him a letter and ride to Medicine Bow to deliver it just in case Mayor Poole is controlling the mail service. Keep Mike home from school and close to the house. I don’t know who to trust, Daisy.”

He tried to write neatly but the words came pouring out of him swiftly like spring water after a thaw. “Branch, we need your help. It may be as trap, but if there’s anyway that Slim is alive, we have to save him. We don’t know who to trust. Not all the shopkeepers can be bought. They need something or someone to believe in. Wear a disguise  so I won’t even know you. And bring more men. 

Thanks, Jess.”