The Ties That Bind

Author's Note: I want to say a special "Aho" to Melanie-otherwise known as "Wind in His Braids" or "Lover of the Bald-Mute Wearing Suspenders"-for all her help in the creation and writing of this story. May all of your wildest TYR dreams come true!

The old chair creaked in protest as the Marshal eased back with a self-indulgent sigh. Two tired feet, encased in a pair of worn out boots that were cracked and crusted with dirt, found the way to their accustomed spot on the center of the faithful old desk.

Teaspoon closed his eyes and stretched out luxuriously. Though he'd be the last to admit it to any living soul, he appreciated these quiet moments more and more. True, there was a time when he literally itched for action. The need burned through him like a horrible rash that he'd do just about anything to scratch-even if it meant fighting against the law. The sheer heart-pounding exhilaration of walking the fine line between life and death-tempting fate day after day-was meat and drink to him.

But a time finally arrived when just one too many of his friends had dug himself an early grave and what was once the sweet taste of adventure began to turn putrid in his mouth. How many innocent deaths had been caused by his selfish appetite for danger? He tried to recall even a few of the countless faces-but, to his shame, they were all a blur. For years, he hadn't cared who lived or died. And now, when he wished to remember-to make some sort of atonement for his sins-they refused even to haunt his dreams.

He often wondered, as he listened to the jailhouse clock methodically tick away the seconds, just why it was that he'd been allowed by the Almighty to live as long as he had. Each new day of his life seemed more of a miracle than the last. As the years rolled by, he began to think that maybe-just maybe-God was offering him a chance to make restitution. He smiled to himself as he thought of the boys at the Pony Express. He'd certainly taken God up on his offer with them. He knew that his speeches and platitudes tended to rub the wrong way with that hot-blooded bunch. But he also knew that, deep down, they appreciated him-and the life he'd lived. His only hope was that they wouldn't become infected with that terrible lust for danger. It was a plague in the West. And the only cures were a cool head and a belief in responsibility-or a bullet in the back.

"Teaspoon? I swear, you gotta be part bear, hibernatin' the way you do." Jake's friendly voice aroused the Marshal from his musings.

Teaspoon opened his eyes and slowly raised himself to a sitting position. "You finally decide to show up? I been waitin' half the day fer you."

"Well, there's a lot to do when you're getting ready to head out for the great unknown." He took a seat next to his friend. "Hey. You still hide a bottle of rot gut in the top drawer?"

The Marshal flashed a wicked grin. "You got one hell of a memory. An' it ain't rot gut-its my private reserve-brought out only for the most special of special occasions." Teaspoon searched through his keys for the right one and proceeded to unlock the drawer. He sighed. "I guess you bein' here's good enough reason to celebrate."

Jake laughed. "Teaspoon, with you, havin' to use the outhouse is a reason to celebrate."

"I suppose so," Teaspoon admitted as he poured out the fine Southern whiskey. Then he raised his glass. "Here's to old times and to new. Lets hope we live to see a few!" He gulped down the booze, then eyed his friend thoughtfully. "Why is it that in fifteen years, I ain't seen or heard hide nor hair of you? Then all of a sudden, you come outta nowhere ready to buddy up to this old man?"

Jake glanced down at his drink. "Told you, Teaspoon. I been busy."

"Yeah?" Teaspoon ventured. "Busy with what?"

"I've been the law in about ten different towns over the years. That kept my hands full. Now, I'm ready to move on to new adventures." His eyes glittered with excitement. "Out West, I got the chance to live free and start a fresh life. Livin' off the land's what I've always loved best and I'm ready to get back to it."

"Jake," Teaspoon began as he poured himself another drink, "I ain't got nothin' against yer movin' out West. But did you ever think that it might be kinda dangerous to go out there alone-kinda foolhardy, even?"

"Since when did you ever worry about my well being?" Jake asked in a serious tone that surprised Teaspoon.

"Now how the hell can you say that, son?" Teaspoon replied defensively. "How many times did I save your butt in a fight-even the ones you started? How many laughs did we have sittin' here in the jail drinkin' like we is now? Back in Deadwood, you was like family to me-you are family. Don't you remember that?"

Jake remembered. And, for a split second, he allowed himself to feel a twinge of sentiment-and even gratitude. But he closed the door on his heart as quickly as it had been opened. There was no time to get sentimental. He had more important matters to tend to. He looked up at the Marshal, who's eyes were filled with genuine concern. "Yeah," he laughed, "you're right, Teaspoon. You always were-and you still are. I suppose its easy to forget family when you're apart for so long. More times 'n not, you just spend your day makin' sure you live to see the next one." He took a swig. "Looks to me like you found yourself some new family with the Pony Express."

Teaspoon nodded. "Yep. Those boys are one of the best things that ever happened to this old dog. We're a rag-tag bunch, but I always thought that family was more than just blood relatives. Family is who ya laugh with and cry with-and who you'd be willin' to die for."

"Knowing you, you'd be willin' to do just about anything for one of them, wouldn't you?"

Teaspoon rested his gaze on Michaels. "I'd do the same for you."

Jake glanced down at the floor and gritted his teeth. "Teaspoon, I. . ." he began, but was cut off by the sound of visitors.

"He's in here." Kid's voice could be heard from the street. Teaspoon's attention shifted to the doorway as Kid and Cody, followed closely by an army man, entered the jail. "That's him." Kid pointed toward Teaspoon.

"Are you Marshal Hunter?" the soldier asked with military precision.

"Yeah," Teaspoon replied cautiously. "What is it you need?"

"I have orders from Captain Jacobs to deliver this message to you personally."

"Oh? Lets see it." Teaspoon took the folded paper and broke the seal. He perused the message and then looked up at the soldier. "You can tell Captain Jacobs that we'll take care of it tomorrow-first thing. Its too late to send anyone that far today." He glanced down at a second sheet that had been enclosed with the message, then promptly folded it up and tucked it away in his waistband.

The soldier stood still for a moment, expecting something more. But Teaspoon only stared at him with a slightly exasperated look that told him he was wasting his time. The soldier saluted, then turned and made his exit.

"What was that all about?" Jake asked, trying not to seem too eager, though he felt his heart pound in his ears with the anticipation of what he knew the Marshal was about to say.

"Seems the army outside of Dry Sandy needs the Pony Express to deliver a special message out to Saint Joe about some shipment they got comin' in soon. I'll have to send one of the boys out to deliver it tomorrow."

The jailhouse clock tolled the hour. One o'clock. Teaspoon suddenly remembered Buck. He squinted at Kid and Cody in turn. "You boys seen Buck today?"

They both shook their heads. "Naw, Teaspoon," Cody replied. "He ain't come back yet."

"Well, its getting just a little too late for him to still be gone. You boys better go after him. An' whether you find him or not, be back before sundown. We don't need any more missin' riders." The two started for the door. You boys ride safe, the Marshal added silently.