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A note to my readers: This story was written as a work in progress, but its entire process came with a twist. This story had several minds involved as I welcomed the readers to offer input on what they would like to see and have happen as each chapter progressed, in which several did in a big way. Credit to those readers and short notes will be found at the end of each chapter, starting in chapter two. This story is now complete, and if you're only now beginning to read, hang on, you're in for a wild ride. CW

On The Edge

Chapter One

Andy pulled his coat on, hearing in his head the need to do so before Jonesy's words actually found his ears. He stepped out of the bedroom, buttoning his coat just as Jonesy finished reminding him to grab a jacket before going outside, creating a smile to form on each mouth. Taking his hat from the peg beside the door, Andy set it in place and then bounded through the front door in his normal youthful energy, darting around the mud puddles in the yard that appeared to have multiplied in number overnight. There were still some spots of snow in places, mostly where the drifts had piled deep, but since the temperatures had begun to rise, the thaw had thoroughly set in, leaving the remnants of winter in liquid formations that couldn't absorb quickly enough into the ground. The rain that had fallen from the sky innumerous times since the first southerly wind had hit could also be to blame, but at least at the moment, there wasn't anything pitter-pattering out of the sky.

Andy pushed the barn door wide, pieces of hay and dirt that had the ability to dry in the enclosure of the barn immediately stuck to his muddy boots. He gave an extra stomp to each foot, but the action only resulted in the muck sticking harder to its bottoms, and he promptly gave up. Jonesy would just have to mop the floor again. What would that make it already, three times since sunrise? Andy shrugged and then hurried about his tasks. Although not late in the day, it was dark inside, the grayness of the clouds blocking enough light that the windows were of little help to Andy's visibility, making his steps take him directly to the lamp hanging on the wall.

With a flick of a match the lamp was lit and Andy carried it along his side as he moved to the first empty stall. The stage horses were in the corral, with the exception of Slim and Jess' companions, all of the saddle broke mounts were in the pasture, which left a decent amount of scooping and cleaning to do. Andy set the lamp down and grabbed a shovel, making quick work of removing every trace of manure in the straw. With the two most important stalls cleaned first, the ones that Slim and Jess' horses would occupy once they returned home, Andy put a hand to the top button of his jacket, wanting to remove it from his frame as the exertion began to create a trickle of sweat down his back. He didn't make it any further than the one button, for Jonesy's words still tickled in his ear, and he left it on. But it was in this moment that he was paused, that Andy's eyes caught the movement of a shadow in the lamplight on the ground.

Andy froze. There were no horses in the barn. Jonesy was in the house, and even if the older man had exited, Andy would have heard him sloshing in the muddy path from the house. Whatever had moved had already been in the barn before Andy had taken his first step in. He swallowed, his fear the driving force of his next action, Andy reached out and firmly took the shovel back in his hand. Having a weapon, although not a very forceful one, but nevertheless, the shovel gave him a sense of security and Andy slowly turned, his breath caught in his throat as what had been at his back was now at his front. There was nothing there.

His imagination had fooled him before, but Andy wasn't convinced enough to release his tight hold on the shovel's handle. Darting his eyes back and forth, Andy searched for anything out of place, but he could find nothing. He listened, but even Andy knew he didn't possess the skills of trained hearing as Slim and Jess could use, and the only sound he could detect were the breaths going in and out of his slightly opened mouth and the rather fast hammering of his heartbeat. His next breath was drawn deeper in and exhaled in a form of a sigh of relief and then Andy took a step forward, the next stall now completely in his view.

Andy instantly took a step backward, his eyes widening as fear completely seized him, the shovel dropping with a thud onto the ground. He wanted to scream, wanted to run, but there wasn't a sound that could be formed in his mouth and his boots, still caked with mud, felt like they had been cemented to the barn's floor. His knees began to quiver, and Andy had to quickly remind himself of the stamina that had grown into his backbone since Jess had become part of his life and what had been taught to him, otherwise, Andy's legs might have collapsed underneath him. He looked up, seemingly way up, and suddenly there wasn't only one. Now his voice could find him, and by the look on his face it must have been obvious a shout was imminent, for a hand reached out and clamped firmly across his mouth.

The strength was too much for Andy to struggle, and he closed his eyes, a prayer beginning in repeat, a handkerchief replacing the hand and then he felt his body lifted from the ground and slung over a shoulder. He opened his eyes when the damp air, now being dotted with raindrops, was back on his face, but all he could see was the muddy ground of the corral and the lower end of whoever was carrying him. Andy squirmed, receiving a pinch to his side for doing so, and then he stilled himself as his body was exchanged from one to the other. This one's grasp he didn't dare try to fight, but Andy wished he could have pummeled every solid muscle in the chest, arms and back to prevent from being tossed in the back of a wagon. His backside hit the buckboard with a thump and as a groan couldn't completely be muffled behind the gag in his mouth, Andy started to recoil when a hand came back near his face, but it wasn't to slap, only to tie another handkerchief around his eyes. It took only a few short seconds longer until his hands and feet were secured with something much more biting than rope.

Andy tried not to cry, but if there were any tears that could escape his eyelids, they went right into the bandana. There was no way he could know what would happen next. His eyes, voice, and limbs were now immobilized, but his mind couldn't be shut off and inside he continually called for help. It was out there. Slim and Jess were due home any minute, and Jonesy was still in the house. But perhaps, the latter was what surged the dose of fear deeper into his stomach. Jonesy was still in the house. And no one had stepped up into the driver's seat of the wagon.

Jonesy walked to the kitchen door and peered through the curtained window, his sense of alarm ticking louder by the minute. Andy should have finished cleaning stalls long before now. No one took any pleasure in removing what came from a horse's behind from an already dusty, hay-strewn floor, and especially for Andy, who normally would fly through the job in a new record speed each time the task was assigned to him. Settling a worried frown on both his brow and his mouth, Jonesy opened the kitchen door and leaned his head out, ready to call out to the boy when he heard the front door open and close again.

"Wouldn't you know," Jonesy muttered to himself as he stepped back into the kitchen, softly closing the door behind him. "Here I am fretting and he's running in the front door." This, now louder, Jonesy's feet aiming around the side of the fireplace, "What'd you do, get stuck in the mud?"

But there was no one there. Jonesy reached up and scratched the side of his chin, angling his head toward the bedroom. That door was still shut and he'd only heard one open and close. The frown settling in deeper, Jonesy looked around the room, almost expecting Andy to jump out of a hiding place and scare him clean out of his boots, but Jonesy knew better than to fully put his belief in fun and games. Something was wrong. Jonesy took one step toward the rifle, wanting the weapon securely in his hands, but that one step was all the more that he would take. The front door was thrust open, and someone large filled its frame.

"See here," it was all that was allowed out of Jonesy's mouth before heavy footsteps came behind him and seized his arms tight. Jonesy's back wanted to bend over with the pain that suddenly came upon him, but he was firmly held upright, the one in front of him designing a handkerchief in his hands meant for Jonesy's mouth. He grimaced when it went in, the foul taste matching its dirty appearance, and then he was half-carried, half-shoved to the door.

Jonesy knew he couldn't fight. Not only would his body not allow it, but something that felt ominously similar to a barrel of a gun poked into his ribcage. His feet slid in the mud and he would have smiled if his mouth could have formed the gesture around the sodden wad in his mouth at the tracks that were being made, knowing that Slim and Jess would readily see the marks when they arrived home. Which should be soon. Jonesy inhaled sharply through his nose at the thought, maybe too soon. That definitely was a gun at his side, and likely the one holding it knew how to fire it.

Around the barn a wagon was in sight, and Jonesy didn't miss the tied up boy in the back. Andy. This was where Jonesy started to resist, the fight boiling up in his veins willing to prove that he was more than just an old man, but the already tight hold pinched even tighter. He was lifted like he was no more than Andy's weight and fortunately for his back's sake, was placed in the wagon bed more mercifully than Andy had been tossed, but the bite around his ankles and wrists were of the same magnitude. The last thing to go on him was the bandana around his eyes, the light going out the same moment that he was laid backward.

Jonesy's fingers felt around the bottom of the wagon boards until he felt fabric, and there, inching slightly upward, he found Andy's fingers, and there they connected. It wasn't much, but for one frightened boy and one confused, yet angry man, it was enough. They were together, and each thought wasn't far from Slim and Jess, hope being shrouded out with fear. No one had stepped up into the driver's seat of the wagon.

Drizzle began to dampen their hats and coats as their two horses trotted side by side toward the ranch house. Slim tugged his hat a little lower over his eyes keeping the mist from his face, but Jess reached a finger up and tipped his a little higher to be able to see even clearer, following a sense of alarm that he wouldn't understand until the last corner was turned. The horses were pulled to a stop in front of the house at the hitching post, the front door receiving both men's attention as it was swung wide open. A summer day, maybe, but not when the weather was still at that indecisive line between winter and spring.

"Jess," Slim gave a look at his partner, knowing by the narrowing of his eyes that Jess knew it too. "Something's wrong."

"Yeah," Jess nodded, his feet dropping to the ground in the same instant that his gun was drawn. "I don't like the feel."

"You take the house," Slim gave a nod toward the open door, "I'll take the barn."

They should have never split.

Jess walked cautiously through the front door, every one of his senses on high alert. He could hear a feather drop if one was floating to the ground, but it wasn't a feather in the room. It was the strange scent that caught him first, but exactly where, he couldn't decipher fast enough. Jess turned sharply around to the space behind the open door, but it was empty and before he could turn back, he felt a draft of air run across his neck. Behind him. All he had to do was be ready to fire, for the gun was loaded, cocked and at a perfect level. He spun, the pressure on the trigger being pulled before his eyes found a target, but all he did was obliterate a lamp. Jess shook his head, knowing that he hadn't been mistaken, but there was nothing there. He took a step forward, every muscle in his body tight, the kitchen his aim, but then he felt that eerie draft of air again. Behind him. It was behind him. But he wasn't allowed to take another swiftly triggered turn, for something hard crashed into his head and Jess' body dropped to the ground, his only knowledge was that of darkness.

With gun in hand, Slim stepped through the barn door, leaving it open far enough to give aid to his eyes, for the interior was darkened by the misty cloud deck. He spotted the lamp on the floor first, and then a few feet in front of it a discarded shovel and his pulse began to quicken. It was at that moment that a gunshot exploded from the house, followed a second later by the barn door slamming shut. Slim's gun was ready to be fired, but there was no one on his side of the door. Whoever pushed it shut had come from outside. Slim ran to the window, his eyes wanting to focus on the house to know if Jess had been the one to pull the trigger or have a trigger pulled at him, but it was more vital to search around the barn for the intruder. He knew he wasn't alone, but whoever, whatever, wherever, wasn't making any noise.

Slim inched along the barn wall toward the door that led to the corral, the sound of the horses moving about in the fenced enclosure muting out any other footstep, but he continued forward, even if there was someone just on its other side. Taking a deep breath before exiting, Slim stepped into the light rain, turning to his right, then his left, but there was no one there. He shook his head, his skin prickled with alarm, and then slid his boot back inside the barn. He couldn't make a play stuck in the corral. Slim hurried across the barn, the door near the bunkhouse his next mode of exit, but as he stepped over the discarded shovel, the main door began to creak open. Slim dropped into a stall, his gun readied to be fired at any unfamiliar silhouette, but nothing filled the open space.

Slowly standing, Slim kept his gun pointed at the open doorway, air hardly being pulled in and out of his lungs, he took two cautious steps toward the dim light and then he angled his head, trying to see around the opening. There was nothing there. Two more steps were all that he planned to take, but it was only two more steps that he would actually make. What saved his head was the sound of the air being cut behind him as a pistol butt crashed down, landing on the top of his shoulders instead. The blow was enough to make Slim stagger, as a hand reached around and gripped his wrist so tight he thought he heard a bone snap, but it was only his gun dropping to the ground.

With a jerk his arm was brought around to his back and then he was roughly pushed to the ground, his knees hitting the barn floor with a smack. Slim felt a groan start to rise in his throat but it was silenced by something sharp at his hairline and for a brief moment, Slim feared he was about to be scalped, but the pressure against his skin never increased. He barely released a breath through his mouth, not knowing if another sound would bring the flow of blood, and before he could draw another unsteady breath back in, something soft was shoved between his teeth. This brought an involuntary noise, a gag from his throat, as the taste of the bandana was enough to make his stomach lurch. Slim braced himself, knowing that punishment would come, but it came from behind, the base of his skull taking the brunt of a blow.

Slim went limp, closing his eyes as his face hit the floor. He wasn't out deep, just somewhere on the line of groggy awareness, his concern for the rest of his family preventing him from going all the way under. What had happened to him could have easily happened to Andy and Jonesy. And what about Jess? If he had been the one firing the gun in the house, then he would have burst through the barn door by now, the gravel in his throat matching the lead that would have flown from his gun. Slim didn't like the uneasy feeling in his middle, from the bitter bandana all the way to the bitter fear.

Heavy footsteps outside brought Slim's eyes to a slit, his own body being drug toward the barn door gave him a full visual of Jess' limp frame being hauled across the muddy ground. The one that held onto Slim's arms paused in the doorway, allowing the other to pass by, Jess being so close that Slim could see the life still working through his lungs. He was alive. Not daring to breathe a sigh of relief, Slim let his eyes close once more, keeping his lashes tight, only now using his ears to detect the villain's next step. While being pulled through the muck outside, Slim heard a thud and a clanking of a spur against wood and once more, his body was paused, waiting his turn. Slim was suddenly hauled upright, the need to see too great to keep his lashes lowered, and through a narrow opening, he watched as his body was flung into the back of a wagon, already full of three bodies. Andy. Jonesy. Jess.

Slim couldn't brace for impact and his left side took the brunt, his cheek hitting hard enough that he couldn't stop the wince, but since another blow wasn't hurled in his direction, no one must have noticed. His sight was soon completely cut off, for a handkerchief was tied around his eyes, his wrists and ankles quickly after feeling the pinch of leather, and then Jess received the same. The wagon seat groaned under its sudden pressure and then with a throaty call to a team of horses, they were going forward, to where, only the enemy would know.

It was a tight fit in the wagon bed, all four bodies lying in various positions, now being bounced around as the wheels turned over the road, but it was this closeness that told each one that the other was still alive. Slim's back felt the warmth of Jonesy's front, who still had his fingers touching Andy's, and the boy's legs bent around Jess' arms. They were together, facing the unknown, but they were together.

Pain was settling in, the jostling of the wagon adding to every ache, the last to feel its menacing throb being Jess, as a particularly jarring bump aroused him. He couldn't see, couldn't speak, and couldn't move, but Jess could gauge the threat level, its soaring height enough to bring a heavy dose of trepidation to flood his veins. The four of them being forced from their home would have been enough to cause Jess' rising concern, but there was more. His hands were against the wagon bed and he was becoming more aware of something slick. They each wore a layer of mud, the drizzle had turned into a steady rain, but this was something different.

Mud was dense and sticky. Rain was thin and cold. This was thick and warm. One of them was bleeding.