The Outlaws: Jess

With a heavy heart, Jess watched his brothers ride
off in different directions. It was his fault his brothers were now
outlaws with a posse breathing down their necks. If Jess had
admitted to Mr. Wingate that the baby the banker's daughter, Delia,
was expecting could be his, he and his brother wouldn't have been
falsely accused of bank robbery.

Guilt rode heavily upon Jess's shoulders. He
hadn't wanted to be tied down with a wife he didn't love and a
child that might or might not be his. Delia Wingate wasn't a bad
girl, just a misguided one. She would make some man a good wife,
but he wasn't that man.

When Wingate had offered him and his brother
the loan they so desperately needed to save their farm, he'd added
a stipulation. One of the brothers had to marry his pregnant
daughter. Since the Gentry brother were of one accord when it came
to being forced into marriage, they had strenuously objected and
left the bank in a huff.

The situation had abruptly changed when
Wingate had taken exception to their refusal and accused them of
robbing his bank after they had taken their leave. That false claim
had sent them fleeing for their lives. And all because Jess hadn't
spoken up. He should have admitted bedding Delia. But he knew he
hadn't been the only one.

Jess prayed hard for his brothers' safety.
Had they eluded the posse? When they split up, Rafe had headed
West, Sam South, and he had ridden North, all the way to Wyoming
territory. But no matter how hard he tried to dispel his fear, it
was entrenched firmly beside his guilt. He'd never forgive himself
if anything happened to his brothers.

Jess had to wait a whole year to learn his
brothers' fate. They had agreed to meet at the Antlers Hotel in
Denver a year from the day they had parted. Meanwhile, Jess could
only hope and pray nothing happened to them in the interim. If one
of his brothers failed to show up at the appointed time, he'd never
be able to forgive himself.

All three Gentry brothers had survived the
war. Their father had not. And their mother died shortly after
their jubilant homecoming. Unfortunately the family farm had
suffered in their absence. Draught had ruined crops three years in
a row and raiders had taken their toll. A bank loan had been their
only hope of salvaging what was left of the homestead. A loan that
banker Wingate had refused to extend without a wife and unborn
child thrown into the deal.

Jess still couldn't believe what had
happened. An outlaw. Jess Gentry, the best damn doctor in the
Confederate army. He had returned to Kansas with the idea of
hanging out his shingle and practicing the profession he so loved.
But Kansans were an unforgiving lot. They could neither forgive nor
forget that the Gentry's had fought on the losing side when Kansas
had opted to join the Union in their cause against slavery.

But the Gentry's were true to their roots.
Originally from Tennessee, they had remained Southern sympathizers
and ultimately joined the Confederate cause.

When Jess hung out his shingle, not one
patient showed up. In fact, threats were made on his life.
Hotheaded Sam was all for finding the culprits and punishing them.
But the older, more levelheaded Rafe had calmed him down. The
result was that Jess couldn't practice medicine in Dodge.

Now here he was, far from home in Wyoming
territory, with no idea what the future held for him or his
brothers.

Jess Gentry reined his weary horse into a
stand of cottonwood trees lining the banks of the Lodgepole River
and dismounted. Lines of exhaustion etched his handsome features.
Except during those war years, when his medical skills were needed
twenty-four hours a day, he couldn't recall when he'd been this
tired.

Jess unsaddled his gelding and tethered him
to a tree, well within reach of sweet grass and water. Dimly he
wondered if he dared ride into Cheyenne tomorrow and spend the last
of his money on much needed supplies. He felt fairly confident he
wouldn't be recognized; it was far too soon for wanted posters for
his arrest to reach Wyoming territory.

Jess stretched his weary bones and set about
building a fire from dry wood and kindling he found nearby. Once
the fire had caught, he rifled through his dwindling sack of
supplies for the battered coffeepot he'd picked up in some nameless
northwest Kansas border town. With dragging steps he walked down to
the river and filled the pot with water. He produced a nearly empty
sack of coffee, dumped it into the water, and set the pot on the
fire to boil.

While he waited for the coffee, he found some
beef jerky, a dry biscuit, and a single can of beans. He opened the
beans with his knife and placed his dinner on the ground beside a
battered tin plate and bent tin cup.

Almost too weary to eat, Jess leaned back
against his saddle and sucked appreciatively on the freshly brewed
coffee. It was just the way he liked it. Hot and murky. Strong
enough to curl his toes. He closed his eyes and savored the hot
liquid as it passed through his gullet and settled in his stomach
like a welcome blast of heat on a cold winter day.

Unwelcome images appeared behind Jess's
closed eyelids. The war. The dead. The horrible stench of mutilated
flesh. Flesh he'd tried to repair but didn't always succeed. Men
died. Young men with beardless faces, looking to him with
hope-filled eyes to save them. Older men with hardened visages,
hoping for miracles but too battle scarred to expect one.

God, war is so senseless, Jess thought with a
sigh. In his own capacity he had served the Confederacy proudly,
saving men who would have died without his skills. In the end, the
Confederacy had been demolished, never to rise again, but Jess knew
his skills would always be needed.

Jess was very nearly asleep when he heard
someone approaching his campsite. Abruptly sluggishness fell away,
replaced by wary caution as he drew his gun and waited, his body
tense and alert.

Two men rode up to the perimeter of the
campsite and dismounted.

"Howdy, pilgrim," one of the men greeted.
"Smelled your coffee a mile away. Mind if we join ya?"

"I only have one cup, and I'm using it," Jess
hedged, none too eager to welcome the rough looking men into his
camp. Each wore a week's worth of beard and smelled of beer and
stale perfume, the kind preferred by whores.

"We have our own cups," the man said.

"In that case, help yourselves," Jess
replied, slapping his gun back in his holster.

"Much obliged. You from around here?"

"No, I'm from Kansas."

"Kansas, huh. Me and Lucky visited Kansas a
while back. The name's Calder, Jay Caulder. This here's my brother
Lucky."

"You're the infamous Calder brothers!" Jess
blurted out before he could stop himself. The Calder brothers had
robbed a bank in Topeka a few months ago and killed a man. But he'd
heard there were three brothers, not two.

Jay poked his brother in the ribs. "What do
ya know? The pilgrim's heard of us." He gave Jess an assessing
glance. "You have the look of a man on the run yourself."

"You could say that," Jess said cryptically.
He wasn't about to admit anything to these hardened outlaws.

"Well, well, birds of a feather," Lucky
guffawed. "What's your handle, pilgrim?"

"Jess will do."

Jay retrieved two tin cups from his
saddlebags, filled them with coffee, and handed one to Lucky. Then
they sprawled cross-legged on the ground, rolled cigarettes, and
smoked and drank.

"I heard there were three Calder brothers,"
Jess ventured.

Jay's mouth turned downward into a fierce
scowl. "We buried Danny yesterday. He took a bullet during a bank
robbery we pulled in Cheyenne two days ago. Thought he was gonna be
okay but he bled to death before we could get him to a doctor we
trusted. Damn shame. He was the baby of the family. Don't know how
we're gonna explain this to Ma. Promised her we'd look after
him."

They drank in silence, the Calders mourning
their younger brother and Jess wondering how in the hell he was
going to get out of this with his skin intact.

A gentle breeze stirred the air as the figure
garbed in unrelieved black crouched unseen behind a cottonwood
tree. So stealthy was the mysterious figure's approach that neither
Jess nor the Calders was aware of being watched. Hat pulled low
over a face obscured by darkness, the watching stranger drew and
cocked a pair of lethal looking six shooters.

While the three men were relaxed and
inattentive, the intruder emerged from the darkness beyond the
campsite and boldly stepped into the circle of flickering firelight
with both guns drawn.

Jess and the Calders jumped to their feet,
each man reaching for his gun.

"Freeze. Hands over your heads. Make one move
for your guns and I'll shoot. Dead or alive, it makes no difference
to me."

The voice was low, throaty, almost feral.

"A goddamn bounty hunter," Jay spat. "Where
in the hell did you come from?"

"I'm here, that's all that matters. Drop your
gunbelts. Bringing in all three Calders at once is a bonus I hadn't
counted on."

"Now hold on a minute," Jess blustered. "I'm
not a Calder."

The bounty hunter's eyes slid in his
direction, skewering him with a contemptuous glare. "Shut up. You
and your brothers killed a bank guard in Cheyenne two days ago. I
don't care who did it, you're all guilty."

"But I'm not..."

"Drop your guns," the bounty hunter repeated.
"Real nice and easy. When Jay was slow to act, the bounty hunter
aimed a shot so precise that it nicked Jay's ear.

"Owwww!" Jay yowled, clapping a hand over his
ear. "You didn't need to go and do that."

"Then do as I say."

The voice was so coldly challenging that Jess
gave an involuntary shiver. He unbuckled his gunbelt and let it
drop. Lucky followed suit, so did Jay. The bounty hunter walked
more fully into the light, revealing a tall slim figure clad in
unrelieved black. Trousers that hugged hips far too slim to belong
to a man, baggy shirt tucked into the waistband spanning a narrow
waist, and black hat that concealed nearly every facial feature but
for startling green eyes.

"You," the bounty hunter said, nodding at
Jess. "Get your rope and tie up your brothers. Don't try anything
funny if you value your life."

Jess bent to retrieve his rope from his
saddle and gingerly approached Lucky, intending to tie him first.
The bounty hunter was too trigger happy for his liking and he
wasn't going to do anything to rile him. Later the authorities
would discover the mistake and all would be well. Unless, of
course, they had somehow learned that Jess Gentry was a wanted
man.

Suddenly all hell broke loose. From somewhere
in his clothing Lucky produced a small pistol. The bounty hunter
realized the danger and got off a shot at the same time Lucky
fired. Jess watched in abject horror as both shots hit their mark.
To Jess it appeared as if it happened in slow motion. Lucky did a
slow spiral to the ground, a blossom of red spreading beneath his
shoulder. The bounty hunter let out an unmanly, high-pitched scream
and pitched forward.

Jay fell to his knees beside his brother at
the same time Jess ran to the bounty hunter.

"He's alive!" Jay crowed. "Ya ain't gonna die
like Danny, are ya, Lucky?"

"Get me to a doctor," Lucky gasped, holding
his wounded shoulder. "That damn bounty hunter shot me."

"I know," Jay bit out. "I'll take care of
him. We gotta get you to a doctor pronto."

He glanced over at Jess, who had turned over
the bounty hunter and was feeling for a pulse. "Is the bastard
dead?" Jay asked.

Jess was on the verge of lying to save the
bounty hunter's life. Unfortunately the bounty hunter chose that
moment to emit a loud groan.

"He's still alive!" Jay spat. "Kill him,
pilgrim. If you don't, I will."

Jay scrabbled on the ground for his gunbelt
and drew out a gun, turning it on the bounty hunter. Jess knew he
had to think fast and act faster if he hoped to save the bounty
hunter's life.

"I'll do it," Jess said, reaching for his
gunbelt.

Jay gave Jess a hard look, then turned back
to his brother. Jess stood and aimed his gun several inches wide of
the bounty hunter's head. Abruptly the bounty hunter opened eyes as
green as grass and stared up at him. Jess's hand faltered.

"What's keeping ya," Jay called out. "Are ya
too chicken to kill a man? Should I come there and do it
myself?"