Setting: Old West
Disclaimer: The following is a work of fanfiction based on the CBS television series, The Magnificent Seven. It is in no way intended to infringe on the copyrights of CBS, MGM, The Trilogy Entertainment Group, The Mirisch Corp., or anyone else who may have legal rights to the characters, settings or song references. I don't own the characters. This story is strictly for entertainment. No monetary gain will be made from anything contained in this story.
Buck Wilmington eased his muscular frame off the chair outside the sheriff's office and stretched. It was a beautiful day, the air was crisp and the sky was brilliant blue. The town had been quiet for over a week now. No brawls, shootouts, robberies or trouble to investigate. He scratched his belly and frowned. That should be good, but he, like his friends, was growing restless. He waved to Josiah, who was ontop of the roof of the church. The gray-haired eldest was sitting cross-legged, palms outstretched, face to the sun.
"What the hell are you doing, Preacher?" Buck boomed, ambling over to the stone building.
" ... taking a sun bath."
"Huh?" the ladies man squinted into the bright orb above.
"Drinking in the Lord's rain, pondering his words and my path ... "
" ... better you than me ... " Wilmington called back, spotting J.D. emerge from the sheriff's office. "Hey Kid, wanna go fishing?"
"Can't Buck, I'm on duty."
"Duty?" He winced, "..doing what? Jail's empty ... no strangers in town ... "
"The Judge is coming today. I got a wire this morning. He wants us all to meet him at four o'clock at the hotel."
"That don't sound good."
"It gets worse, the army's involved."
"The army?"
"Yeah ... I think it's tied to those missing shipments."
"After all this time?" Ezra Standish inquired, having joined the duo. "It's been over three months since the last disappearance."
"That was three, right?" Buck asked, mentally trying to recall the mysterious disappearances of army shipments. The first had been almost a year ago, then one about six months ago, before the last one, just over three months ago.
"Yeah," J.D. answered, pulling out a small notebook and flipping through it, "Last July the payroll due to be delivered to Fort Williams disappeared without a trace. The couriers and wagon were never found. Same thing near Halloween when the new Winchesters bound for the coast disappeared in between Yuma and San Diego. Then in January, it was another payroll - same territory."
"So that's about ten men missing? Why isn't Washington involved?" Buck wondered of the Nation's capital.
"Whoever the perpetrators are, they are exceedingly clever and careful. Nary a clue has been uncovered." Standish noted, eyeing the preacher on the roof.
"Sunbath," Buck answered the pensive jade eyes, "Don't ask ... anyhow, sounds like an inside job to me."
"Which is precisely the reason the good Judge is convening here," the conman acknowledged, "This is his terrain and perhaps Washington wants him to do a private investigation. Lord knows it would fare better than the official ones have."
"Ezra's got a point," J.D. nodded, "The army hasn't uncovered one thing in all this time. If whoever is pulling these robberies are on track, the next one is due now. We need to get a hold of Vin and Chris. Nate is at the freight office, picking up his new supplies, I'll get him."
"I'll ride out for Chris," Buck said, "Vin hears the word 'army' and he's likely to bolt." He noted of their tracker's intense dislike of blue uniforms.
"Where's Vin?" J.D. asked, eyeing the rooftops.
"He's fixing Mrs. Travis's stove ... I'll speak with him." Ezra tipped his cap.
"You best pick some real fancy words, Ace," Buck slapped the bright green jacket of the gambler as they walked away.
"I'll shall do my best to avoid any references to the armed forces."
Hidden within the network of trails that connected waterholes, campsites, hunting grounds and shrines used by the Pinacatenos and Arenenos tribes was a desolate area, known as "the devil's road' or 'the road to death'. Stretching from just south of Yuma down into Mexico, this barren collection of rocks and misery in the desert was claim to many graves. It was also the perfect route for the elusive bandits to access.
It was a decision that came after years of work and planning. The first step was getting established well within the army ranks. With over twenty-five years of service and many citations and medals for bravery, the gold braids he wore had their rewards. He spent much of his time in California and Arizona, where the railroad was expanding at record rate. As the army's official representative, overseeing the routes, maps, plans and other expansion duties, he had a dream job. He was his own master, travelling throughout the area with the right papers intact, giving him access. He also had a hand picked crew of six men, men who had ridden with him since before the war and would die for him. Men who were now very wealthy, thanks to careful planning, patience and timing.
The second step was picking the right area in Mexico to use as a base camp. From here, the money and arms stolen were distributed. He'd used some of funds to purchase a silver mine, which was already turning a nice profit. It wasn't traceable to him, of course, he'd used an alias and a well paid Mexican actor to do the deed. The labor in Mexico came cheap and the poor bastards didn't ask questions. The few dollars they were paid weekly was more than most saw in a year, so they were happy. They were also well fed, housed and clothed, all key ingredients in keeping a happy camp. This new shipment, silver from New Mexico to be transported via the train route through Yuma into San Diego, was a huge one. It was also the last heist they'd pull. He had more than enough money and would be retiring soon. He had plans to build a large home in San Diego and settle down there.
His men? He smiled as he rode closer to Paso Del Norte, for the meeting. The wire from General Douglas Kent in Washington didn't mince words. The army was under heavy fire up there, because no trace or clue to the bandits of the three robberies were ever found. This shipment of silver was critical to the army and the President dressed down the General but good. That meant the General passed that stern edict along the lines. He got the news and immediately set out, after updating his right hand, Brad Garrett. Garrett was the only one, besides himself, who was still active in the army. The other five were officially 'dead' having been killed in action. But as 'ghosts' they were able to move freely, still in uniform without identification.
The first job had been easy, the army had grown fat over the years and thought themselves to be above reproach. Garrett led the raid, taking the wagon easily, just east of Yuma in the middle of nowhere. The four soldiers on duty, didn't balk when Garrett and the others rode in, dissheveled and battered, claiming an Indian raid up ahead. They had official papers, he signed and sealed, with an alternate route. This new route ran right through the devil's highway. The four sentries were sold into slavery in Mexico, as were the six who followed on the next two hits. Two of Garrett's men covered the trail. It was a beautiful operation.
"You're awful quiet tonight."
"Life is beautiful, Brad my boy," he grinned at the blond young man. Garrett has one of those faces that would melt the most cynical heart. The golden wavy hair and large blue eyes, spit and polish manners and lean body in uniform, were the ulimate Trojan horse. Unbeknowst to those who met him and easily fell prey to his smile, was the heart of a serpent. He was a ruthless killer, whose greed was only sated in silver and gold. The lust for the kill was born during the Civil War, which unleashed the beast within.
"You're not worried?" Garrett asked, eyeing the brilliant mastermind.
"No, they're running scared. This Judge we're meeting is the territorial law. Since Yuma, and the robberies, are within his range, he is the logical choice. I've heard about his 'peacekeepers' and they are getting a reputation all their own."
"The Magnifico's?" Garrett nodded, having read his leader's outline and plan.
"By next week, they'll be the dead Magnifico's ... " he laughed and urged his horse forward. "I have a plan, Brad my boy ... oh do I have a plan ... "
Buck sighed in frustration, slapping his hat against his thigh. He was hot, tired and getting more annoyed by the minute. Chris was fixing the posts and shoring up the fences of his new corral. He and Vin had worked hard all winter, building a large barn. Chris wanted to buy horses, breed them and sell them. The rogue sighed again, following the silent body to the water pump.
"Hell, Chris, I've had better conversations with a corpse."
Larabee said nothing, dousing his sweat-ridden blond hair with cold water. He stripped to the waist and cleaned the grime off his lean torso, using a large cotton cloth to dry off. He strode inside, pausing long enough to get a clean shirt, button up and tuck, and grab his gunbelt and hat. He combed his hair, tossed a handful of cheroots in his pocket and pulled on his poncho.
Buck had his horse ready when he got outside and the lean black leg slid easily into the stirrup. He swung his leg over, letting his taut body slide right into the saddle. He saw a tan cloth coated arm reach over and hand him the reins.
"Look, I know you're worried about Vin. Hell, Chris, I don't like seein' him get upset either. But he's gotta learn to trust the Judge's instincts. Everybody in blue isn't wearin' horns ... " Buck stopped, the green eyes bore into him hard.
"Vin's got his reasons."
"What reasons?"
"Not on your business, Buck!" Larabee snapped ferally, baring his teeth in a sneer, "none of mine either."
"That ain't good enough!" the scoundrel deflected, his horse going into a trot to keep up, "If his head isn't in this job, my hide, your hide, hell, all of our hides could be full of holes ... " His logic was cut off when with lightning speed, a black glove shot over and grabbed his shirt.
"Drop it!" Chris snarled, furious that anyone would impugn Vin's integrity. "I got his word, it's good enough for me!"
" ... and he also gave his word to the Judge ... " Buck persisted, "You know he's gonna be full of piss and vinegar when Orrin tells him that we gotta work with the Army. Chris ... Chris ... shit!"
Buck huffed, shook his head and watched the leader of the seven ride toward town. Chris Larabee was the toughest man breathing, east of everywhere. But when it came to a raspy-voiced, long-haired Texan, he had a big Achilles heel.
"Mrs. Travis, you look lovely today," Ezra oozed of the pretty widow.
"Thank you Ezra, you're looking pretty spiffy yourself!" she returned, eyeing the handsome, young gambler. "What brings you to the Clarion?"
"I seek a word or two with your laborer."
"Vin?" She shook her head, "He finished ... headed over to the Saloon, I think."
"Thank you," he purred, tipped his hat and left.
Like an invasion of annoying ants at a picnic, the blue bodies swarmed into the drinkery. Having ridden since sunup, they were tired, hungry and very thirsty. Some of them got tables, others headed to the bar. Three eyed each other and nodded to a figure standing at the bar, his back to them. They recognized the buckskin clothing and long hair ... and didn't hide their distaste.
Vin didn't see them arrive, he'd been helping Inez unload some grain and flour. He hadn't eaten since breakfast and he was starving. He downed a beer and waited patiently at the bar, while she got a plate of chicken fajitas and tortillas for him. His head was pounding and all he wanted to do was eat and crawl into his bed at the boarding house. He closed his eyes, trying to block out the light that was causing the pounding temples to near explode.
"Senor Vin?" Inez guessed that Vin's quiet movements in the kitchen and squinting of those pretty blue eyes, was due to him not feeling well. He'd never complain, that wasn't his way. "Are you ill?"
" ... m'okay, Miss Inez, thanks," Vin rasped. He walked closer, fixing on taking the plate. He heard noises behind him, guffaws and the distinct odor of sweating males filled the room. He only turned his body halfway, when a large brute shoved past him.
"Well, now, lookee here," Hank Badger and his mates swarmed behind and around Vin, eyeing the pretty server. "Honey, how 'bout you and me goin' upstairs and gettin' better acquainted. I bet you're a wild one ... your kind always is. Look at them pretty tits, Wallie ... " he grabbed Inez improperly, only to find a sawed off shotgun in his gut.
"Git yer filthy paws offa her and keep that hole o'yers shut." Vin snarled, moving to place himself in front of Inez. "Ya say yer sorry and take the rest of yer rabid animal pack and git out!"
"Wallie, you know what's worse than an uppity, foul-mouthed youngun?" The old calvary rider eyed the medicine pouch proudly hanging on the angry young man's neck. He spit a large wad of tobacco at the tracker, hitting his cheek.
"Sure do, Cap," the soldier replied, slamming his rifle into Vin's side and staggering him. The gun fell from the young man's grasp as he breath was stolen. He then grabbed the long hair and slammed the gasping face hard into bar. " ... a heathen breed minglin' with decent folks ... " He raised his foot, intending on kicking the semi-conscious man's face, with his partner's laugh echoing in his ear.
"Badger! Wallace! What's the meaning of this!" a booming voice interrupted.
"We just wanted some grub, Major, this injun-lover got out of hand ... we was just teachin' him some manners ... "
"If I may interject," Ezra slipped by the irate commander and pushed the offensive soldiers from around Vin's prostrate form. "This young man did nothing wrong. He was merely defending the lady's honor. Your men were out of line and manhandled her, as well as using offensive language."
"I'd like an answer," the senior army man moved towards the troublemakers.
"We was only havin' some fun with her ... the breed got out of line."
"Get your men and get to the hotel. You're both on report. Now!" he barked, watching the man in the green coat help a young man in buckskin's to his feet. Despite his injuries, he shrugged off the assistance, his arm shot out, preventing the two soldiers from leaving.
"Yer fergettin' somethin'," Vin spat in disgust, leaving a trail of blood and saliva on his chin. "Apologize t'her ... "
"Sorry Miss," Wallace nodded, Badger followed suit, not forgetting the breed's face. He'd get his revenge later.
"I'm sorry, Miss, young man," the man in blue held his hand out, "I'm Major Thomas Kelly and I'm here for a meeting with Judge Travis."
"Ezra Standish," the gambler moved in and took the hand, knowing damn right well the angry tracker would never take it, "Miss Inez Recillos, the owner of this establishment." He nodded to Inez, "I gather it will be understood that while your men are in town, they will conduct themselves as gentlemen?" Ezra managed to hide his digust ... barely.
"You have my word," Kelly replied, frowning at the snort of contempt from the long-haired man. The pretty proprietress was holding a cloth to his bleeding lip. One eye was already swelling and by his curved posture, the Major realized his ribs were injured. "I'm very sorry for the misunderstanding. They've been riding all day and ... "
"Ya alright?" Vin cut off the irritating voice and turned his back to the army. He rested a concerned eye on Inez.
She blushed and smiled, when his rough hand rested over her soft one pressed to his cut lip. "Si, Senor Vin, thanks to you. Should I get Senor Jackson?"
"Nah ... m'okay ... I don't think m'jaws likely t'be upta chewin' ... " he eyed the plate of hot food on the bar. "Reckon I'll come back later. I need t'get some fresh air, it stinks in here." He turned his cobalt eyes to the Major, letting them linger and sending a very harsh message. He saw the older man flush and back up. He was halfway to the door, when Ezra caught up to him.
"I'm sorry, Vin."
"Weren't yer fault, Ez," Tanner mumbled, holding his aching ribs.
"Broken?" Standish saw the flinch and heard the hiss.
"Nah, sore as hell though." Vin went through the batwing doors and paused, "Thanks Ez, fer the hand. Sometimes yer five dollar words go down right easy."
"My pleasure, Mister Tanner," The other smiled and nodded, "However, I must apologize again, in advance. We are requested to meet with Judge Travis at the hotel."
"Fuck!" Vin paused by the pump, taking off his kerchief and wetting it, then holding it to his rapidly swelling eye. "That's why the town is crawlin' with them lowlifes," he said with disgust of the army. He rinsed the cloth again and pressed it to his lip, feeling his stomach churn.
"Shall we?" Ezra waited and walked slowly, noticing Vin was having difficulty. "Are your sure we shouldn't see out the good healer? Your lip is still bleeding ... "
"After the meetin'," Vin rasped, "s'good thing I didn't eat, they's enough t'make me lose m'lunch.' Wouldda decorated them stinkin' uniforms but good ... "
"Good afternoon, Gentlemen, please be seated and I'll make the introductions." Orrin Travis noted the five officers on his right and the five peacekeepers on his left. Neither looked happy about the arrangement. "Where are Standish and Tanner?"
"We were delayed," a haughty Southern voiced from the door, "J.D ... " Ezra jerked his head, spotting the young lawman in the closest chair. The youth rose instantly, seeing his friend's battered state.
"Vin!' The youth's voice died off as he backed up and let the Texan past.
"What the hell happened?" Chris moved from his chair and made the mistake of grabbing Vin's arm as he sat down. The tense muscles didn't melt into his hand and the help offered was thrown off. Vin's stormy blue eyes locked onto the table before him. He was hunched forward slightly, guarding his injured ribs and trying not to find a spot that was comfortable.
"Vin?" Nathan moved past Chris and squatted down, eyeing the furious younger man. "I'm talkin' ta yuh, look over here," he took the square chin and tilted it, inspecting the marred lip. "Yuh gonna need stitches ... " his hand moved along the lean ribcage and felt the sharp intake of air, before the hiss of pain. "They're not broken, but I'm gonna wrap 'em up ... Anything else I need ta ... "
"No!" Vin hissed in fury, trying to turtle up. " ... leave it ... " he warned both Larabee and Jackson, who both backpedalled.
"Ezra?" Chris whispered, as the gambler moved in front of him. The other nodded, sending a clear but silent message that the information would be given later. Chris let his hand rest on Vin's shoulder a moment, gave a solid tug of support, then he slid into the next chair.
"Are you alright, Son?" Orrin rested his eyes on the struggling figure in buckskin. He waited several moments, until the head lifted. Those blue eyes which could speak volumes, were now icy. He followed the line of fire to Major Kelly, a longtime friend. "Vin?" Then his own eyes narrowed when the tracker's blue ones locked on to the figure at the end. The cold eyes turned to simmering blue flames and he would have swore he heard a growl.
"..m'fine ... " Vin spat hostily, staring in disgust at the parade of gold braids across from him. His eyes lingered on the man sitting on the end. Man? That was a laugh. His breathing became rapid and he felt a surge of anger he thought he left behind in a cold, damp Yankee Prison.
"J.D., open the door," Chris requested quietly, seeing the Texan's chest heaving and a sweat breaking out on his fine features. "It's warm in here."
"I'm afraid I'm responsible for this young man's injury." The Major paused as five sets of eyes from the peacekeepers across from him shot up in fury. One set, blazing green from a man dressed in black, were enough to make him squirm.
"You better explain that, Major." Chris Larabee directed in a quiet, lava-tinted tone, squaring his shoulders. He started to stand, but felt a slight, firm Tanner tug on his sleeve. He relented and rested back in his chair.
"We've been riding hard all day, to get here on time. My men were tired, hot and a little rammy. A couple of them got out of line in the saloon. Again, young man, I'm very sorry. It won't happen again."
"Yer damn right it won't!" Vin growled, shoving Josiah's hand off his shoulder, "'er I'll finish what I started. Ya got m'word."
"Let's get one thing clear," Chris stood now, representing his men. He gave Vin's shoulder a brief, but solid tug of support, his eyes drilling the army. He leaned over, resting his white knuckles on the polished table. He studied the Judge for a moment, before eyeing the Calvary men. "We represent the citizens of this territory, not the army. That is the reason, the only one, that we're here, to protect them. Don't make the mistake of using 'lack of sleep' or 'riding hard all day' shit again as an excuse again. They're your men, you keep them sober and civil, understood."
It wasn't a question, it was a statement, the penetrating green stare was the exclamation point. Major Kelly knew instantly that the brooding leader was speaking for the group, but the warning was due to the young man next to him. Someone he held close and by the look of muted fury in the green eyes, someone he would kill to protect. He nodded, biting his lip slightly.
"Understood, Mister ... Larabee, isn't it?" The blond head dipped once, "You're more than correct and it was a sorry excuse, it won't happen again."
"No, it won't!" Chris said through gritted teeth. "or you'll be sorry you ever set foot in this territory."
"I'm going to proceed now," Orrin cut through the tension. "As you well know, for the nine months, the army has suffered three large losses of property. These thefts also involved ten men, missing who are presumed dead. General Kent and President Grant both want this problem resolved. A large shipment of silver is being transported from New Mexico, through the territory to the train in Yuma."
"That's a whole lotta desert to cover," Josiah noted, eyeing the large map behind Orrin Travis.
"Let me introduce you gentlemen. You've already met Major Kelly. To his right are Major John Thomson, Colonel Richard Dixon, Colonel James Creech and on the end, General Nicholas Reinhardt." He watched Chris Larabee's gaze study each face carefully. "These are the peacekeepers I told you about. Their reputation speaks for itself."
"Yes, we've heard about your endeavors, very impressive," The General nodded, his trained eye immediately picking out the cool man in black as the leader. "You look familiar, young man, do I know you?"
"It's been awhile, Sir, I trained under you at West Point, and served with you later briefly during the war." Chris replied coolly, keeping his eyes on the military, but hearing Vin's increased breathing and the sound of the wiry body squirming in the chair next to him.
"Larabee ... of course!" He nodded, "Outstanding officer, one of our best. You should have stayed in uniform, Son, you were an excellent leader."
Chris didn't comment and returned his gaze to Orrin Travis. "Do you have a plan?"
"If I may interject," Colonel Dixon nodded to the man next to him. "Jim and I have been tossing some options around. I think we may have a plan."
The blond man stood in the shadows across the street, eyeing the group leaving the hotel. It was past dusk and the dancing shadows of twilight hid him well. His blue eyes narrowed as they spotted a buckskinned, long-haired man. He cocked his head and narrowed his eyes, trying to find something in the past. Curious, he waited until they entered the saloon, before crossing the street. He peeked in the window and stared at the young man, now just a few feet away. The profile was familiar ... the eyes ... he smiled then and let his even white teeth show.
"Well, well, Tanner, small world ... " He turned back and spotted his leader shaking hands with a man who he recognized as Judge Travis. Their eyes met briefly and he nodded, knowing they'd meet at the hotel later. He shoved his body away from the wall and disappeared down the alley. He smiled again, thinking on the upcoming reunion between himself and the former Commache. He remembered all to well the last meeting, close to seven years ago. He was counting on that hot temper to be the bounty hunter's undoing. It saved his neck last time. He moved up the backsteps of the hotel and slipped inside, seeking a hot female body and a soft bed.
Ezra took the plate from Inez and headed back into the Saloon. Josiah and J.D. ate heartily, each making the steak and fried potatoes disappear quickly. Nathan was stitching Vin up and wrapping his ribs in his clinic. They'd join them shortly. He sat at the table with Buck and Chris, neither of whom looked much interested in the bowl of stew on the table.
"Spill it," Chris said, sipping his whiskey and lifting his eyes to look at the gambler.
"Two of Kelly's men, Wallace and Badger, approached Inez. The cretin named Badger grabbed her improperly and spoke disgustingly. Vin interceded and demanded they apologize and leave. The one named Wallace slammed his ribs with a rifle and then smashed his face into the bar. They also taunted him. I arrived at the same time the Major did and dispersed them. We're not getting off on a good foot."
"I don't like this plan, Chris. Splittin' up into three groups ... " Buck sighed, "I got a bad feeling."
"I agree," Ezra nodded, sipping some bourbon. "but it would appear our hands are tied. I suggest we choose up teams very carefully."
"Yeah," the blond nodded, mulling over the Judge's words. Three plans had been discussed and despite their objections, the Judge decided in favor of the army's plan. Three of the seven would pose at civilians, riding on the train in question. Two others would ride on a stage bearing a large payroll. The remaining two would follow the trail in between, along with an army troop, hoping to spot the bandits. There was only one road they could use and it was hell all over again.
"Camino Del Diablo ... " Josiah shook his gray head.
"Aptly named," Standish imparted, eyeing the brooding leader. The pale green eyes peeked under the flat brimmed hat to the door. They lingered, seeking the tracker. He knew Chris was worried about Vin's state of mind.
"How we gonna play it, Chris?" Buck inquired, eyeing his oldest friend. Over the stiffened black-clothed shoulders, he spotted Nathan and Vin entering the drinkery. Nate gave his dark head a slight shake, indicating Vin's mood was no better. The rogue had eyes, he could see that. The tracker looked liked a walking keg of explosives.
The blond scrubbed a hand across his weary face and eyed his men. "Vin's on the train. He'd never last cooped up in a small stagecoach and no way I'm letting him near a whole troop of calvary. Ezra, you and Buck will go with Vin. Josiah and Nate will take the stage. Me and the Kid will ride with the General and his men. Okay?"
"Ya takin' t'makin' m'decisions fer me, Larabee!"
Chris sighed, closed in eyes in frustration and balled his hands into fists. He pushed his body away from the table and took a steadying breath. He didn't have to look up, he knew those cobalt Tanner eyes were burning a hole in his shirt.
"You hungry Vin?" J.D. croaked, seeing the wall of tension rising between the men.
"He is!" Nathan pulled chair back and pointed. "Sit yer hot head down and put some meat in that belly. Yuh ain't had nuthin' all day and yer cranky as a wounded bear."
Reluctantly, the tracker sat, his left arm guarding his wrapped bruised ribcage. The lip was swollen and sore and his eye throbbed in time with the raging headache. Nate gave him something for the pain, but on an empty stomach, it didn't sit well. The invasion of blue uniforms filled his insides with churning fire.
"Senor Vin?"
He turned at the soft call and saw Inez appear. The pretty features were painted with worry. His turmoil at Larabee melted and his whole demeanor changed. "Ya alright, Miss Inez?"
"Si," she nodded and squeezed his shoulder. "I'm sorry, for what they did."
"No need t'fret, not yer doin'," the curly brown head bobbed. "Ya didn't have t'make somethin' special ... fer me."
"You are special," her voice lowered, and she cupped his chin and smiled warmly."I wanted to, your mouth is sore ... eggs, I thought, would be easy. I put extra cheese in and minced ham."
"Thanks," Vin smiled, lifting the biscuit and dipping into the honey. "Don't ya worry none, I aim to teach that bastard a lesson."
"You stay away from him Vin," Chris ordered, "We do this quick and easy, no trouble."
"Trouble?" Vin's voice was sarcastic, "with the army, can't imagine!" He gobbled down a mouthful of biscuit, draining the mug of herbal tea Nate sat down.
"None of us like it, Vin, but we owe it to the Judge. We all agreed to protect this area and the folks that live here." Buck's voice died when the fiery blue eyes tore into him.
"That's fine, Bucklin, them words'll look rite pretty on yer headstone."
"Vin, you can't lump all of them into one catagory. I wore that uniform once, I was one of them. Does that make me a barbarian?" Larabee quizzed.
"Ya ain't wearin' one now!" Vin replied, uneasily, Chris's stare was unnerving him. He had a mental image of Chris in uniform during the war.
"I wore blue too, Vin ... " Buck said quietly, watching the tracker struggle with his emotions. "Whatever happened to you, Vin, we're all sorry ... but not every blue uniform is a devil in disguise."
He shook his head and shoveled the eggs in, not even tasting them. The more the meal went down, the angrier he got. He still had nightmares, saw the carnage, smelled their rancid breath. The rank odor of burning flesh and blood was one you never forgot. He shoved his lean body from the table, sending the plate to the floor.
"Stop it!" Chris stood and grabbed the irate arm. "You're acting like a spoiled child. You get that temper under control. I know you're upset ... but I need your head clear!"
"Ya don't know a Goddamn thing, Larabee!" Vin glared, his intense eyes inches from his best friend's. He'd die for this man, without question, he felt that deeply for him. But he couldn't make Chris see through his eyes.
"Not if you don't tell me, I can't ... " Chris's voice trailed off, seeing Vin's eyes briefly glaze over "Vin, some of the finest men I've ridden with wore that uniform. I ran into bad seeds too, that happens in all walks of life. but ... "
"I've seen them bluebellies in action," Vin cut in, in a slow lethal tone, staring hard at Chris. "I spent half my life with the Kiowa's and Commache. Good people, honest people, only kin I ever had ... raised me up ... taught me ... cared fer me ... " Vin's voice wavered, his took a steadying breath and turned away, letting his eyes roam on the faces of the men he now called brothers. Then they glazed over, lost in another time and place." ... they come inta' camp, their eyes all crazy ... hootin' and hollerin' ... shootin' down the old ones and the little ones, er usin' clubs on 'em ... herdin' the women up and rapin' 'em and slittin' 'em open ... takin' scalps and worse ... " he seethed, both hands balled into fists, eyes full and hot. " ... burnin' em alive ... they're fuckin' animals is what they are!" He slammed his fists on the table hard, sending three shot glasses rolling to the floor. He felt their eyes on him in pity and that made him even madder. "Don't be lookin' at me like that! I don't want yer fuckin' pity!"
He laughed then, shaking his weary, aching head, "Oh and lets not ferget them fine, Christian soldiers what donated blankets and grain and such. Blankets that was taken from the next town, loaded with cholera. Grain and flour that was spoiled ... " He held the tears back, still hearing their words. "I heard 'em ... I's tied up on m'belly. Three of 'em held me down, the other cut m'hair off ... " he snorted in contempt, " ... gonna make fuckin' Christian outta me, hah ... " he flinched, recalling the incident. " ... they was jokin' about it, said ... 'it's cheaper t'kill 'em then keep 'em. So y'ell hafta excuse me if them fuckin' shiny buttons and boots don't get m'heart t'flutterin'." He paused, his voice cracked then, despite his best efforts to hide the pain. "They was laughin' and kickin' the corpses ... it was m'family ... " He voice cracked and he shook his head. He wrapped his trembling arms around his chest, the ache building. He turned away, brushing his hot eyes and breathing hard. There was a long, pregnant moment, before Chris's hand came to rest on this shoulder.
"I'm sorry, Vin."
"Yeah, I'm sorry too ... " his mangled lip curled up, " ... sorry I didn't blow him the fuck up when I had the chance." He saw Chris's eyes widen a bit, "Oh, ya didn't know ... ya see me and General fuckin' Bluebelly go way back ... " he laughed and shook his curly head, "'course, ya can't blame him fer not recognizin' me ... seein's I was forty to fifty pounds thinner, bald as a hard-boilt egg and sicker than any livin' thing should be. I's curled up in a rat hole of a fuckin' Yankee prison ... waitin' t'die. I made the mistake o'askin fer water and some bandages fer a friend ... I damn near got beat t'death fer it ... yer friend with the dancing gold fringe gave the order!"
"He's not my ... " Chris blew out a hot air of frustration, this was worse than he thought. Vin was out of control.
"I'm sorry Vin!" J.D. blurted, his stomach recoiling in horror. "Why would they do that? That's not right ... "
"Sometimes J.D.," Nate said quietly, resting his weary brown eyes on their youngest, still green at times. " ... just sometimes, yuh awful young ... "
"Thanks Kid ... " Vin managed, feeling the youth's empathy.
"It was war, Son, things were different. Vin ... he was the ... on the other side." Josiah's deep voice added.
"But he ... they ... were sick ... hurt ... I don't ... "
"Leave it alone, J.D.," Buck interceded, watching Vin struggle hard with his emotions. He gave the youthful sheriff a look of understanding. He'd explain it later, he didn't want to upset Vin any further.
"You don't have to do this. I'll tell Orrin you're out." Chris's voice was soft and a little fuller than he intended. He moved next to the irate, flexing muscles of the tracker and stood by him. Vin understood immediately and took several deep breaths. Then the troubled blue eyes lifted and the green ones drilled them. He wanted to take that pain away, right all the wrongs and he needed his best friend to know that.
Vin sighed, letting a hot air of contempt leave his lungs after too many years. He saw so much in the intense green gaze, it nearly took what air he had left. It hurt, to remember, but somehow, now that he'd left it out, it felt better. Almost like when Nathan took the abcess out of a wound, taking the yellow, putrid mess away. He wondered if this man in black knew just how special he was; how much it meant have him by his side. He wiped his eyes and turned back, locking forearms with this man who was his brother. Their eyes locked again, sending a silent message of trust and gratitude. Vin nodded slowly, before gazing at the others. "Yer goin'?" He waited, watching every head nod, his heart sank and he was disappointed, it was etched in his face. But he'd stand by them, no questions asked. "I'll see ya in Yuma at the train," He directed to Ezra and Buck. He dropped his head and felt both of Larabee's hands on his shoulders. That small squeeze sent a ripple through his soul, taking some of the fire from the agony there. He sighed, licked his swollen lips and took his head up. If the plan worked, he'd wouldn't see his best friend again for several days, not until they met in San Diego. That was where all three transports were headed. If the plan didn't work ...
"Watch yer back, Cowboy!" he rasped, locking hands, hopefully, not for the last time.
"Always do," Chris said quietly, with a nod of confidence. He watched the younger man leave, his gaze fixed on the door, long after the batwings stopped moving.
"Sometimes, the depths of that man's soul leaves me speechless," Ezra broked the silence. "How much is one man meant to bear?"
"God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes, and there shall be no more death; neither sorrow, nor crying. Neither shall there be any more pain, for the former things are passed away." Sanchez lifted his coffee as the words from Revelation 21:4 settled among them.
"Let's hope so," Buck sighed, aching for Vin and wondering how the slim young man's shoulders bore such weight with such grace. "We best eat up, we're gonna be leavin' early in the morning."
Normally, a black sky graced with a scattering of bright stars was his best blanket. A warm fire, a semi-decent bedroll, memories from the past to keep him company, that was more than enough. He'd chosen to ride alone to Yuma, he needed time to think. He camped outside town, ate a small dinner and sank into a stretch of weary cotton. Despite his exhaustion, sleep eluded him. He'd tossed and turned, trying to swim past the confusion. The dreams came vividly, first of his happy childhood and youth, next the massacre and the dark days, then his brief stint wearing Confederate gray, the torturous time in prison ... faded into a scene of a brilliant meadow near a snapping river. Laughter cascaded down the banks, his friends were there, Chris and Buck lounging by a tree, J.D. and Josiah near the water, Ezra and Nathan playing cards . He ached to join them, it felt right ... then he saw the spirits of his family. They were unhappy, hovering on the other side of the river. His grandmother pointed to circle of friends. He heard her words ... they couldn't rest because his soul was marred. He needed to cleanse ... his soul ... he watched the river rushing by and inhaled. The cool, refreshing water ran right through him ... he awoke near dawn and made his decision.
They were gathered and waiting, by the edge of town. Orrin and the General were still inside the hotel. The other five waited, each quietly contemplating the days ahead. Buck frowned when the dark-haired youth next to him, kept twisting in the saddle, scanning the streets.
"You expectin' company, J.D.?"
"Nah ... just ... well ... doesn't seem the same without Vin ... you know?"
"Yeah," the older man nodded, "But he needs some time to clear his head. If this plan is gonna work, we need him thinking straight."
"Where's Chris?" the sheriff frowned.
"We need him thinking straight too," Buck sighed, knowing the man in black was deeply concerned and hurting for his best friend. "Speak of the devil ... "
The black horse came down the street slowly, no feature was visible beneath the flat brimmed black hat. The poncho hid the slight slump of the shoulders. A thin trace of smoke curled up from the cheroot beneath the shadow. He gave a slight nod to his men, before settling in the lead. The army was at the opposite end of the street, waiting for their orders.
"Well, Judge, it appears as if we're all here." Major Thomas Kelly exited the hotel, with the General and the Judge on his heels.
"Someone is missing," The General huffed, " ... it's that ruffian ... "
"He's got a name!" J.D. blurted in defensive anger, still hearing Vin's words the night before. "It's Tanner, you see you remember that!" Buck's arm on his sleeve halted any more words. But J.D. saw the smile of pride and the wink in the rogue's eye.
"I can't say as I'm surprised he bolted, it was obvious he showed no respect for the uniform." The General paused, eyeing a young man with a bright red coat who appeared to be choking.
"Respect? You got a lotta ... " J.D. started, but Buck's arm and Ezra's loud coughing stopped him.
"Something caught in my throat," Ezra managed, hiding his contempt, "My pardon."
"He didn't run!" J.D. said loudly, not hiding his temper. "You don't him, you shouldn't be talking about him like that. He'll be on your damn train."
"You listen to me boy ... ."
The General's words were cut off, when he found a wall of tension wearing black next to him. The eyes were clear and hot, an icy shade of grit. The lips barely moved, but the words came out like pinpointed bullets.
"He's no boy, his name is John Daniel Dunne, he's one of my men. He's also the sheriff of this town." Chris stated cooly, leveling a lethal stare, "as for Vin Tanner, you'd best choose your words carefully. He gave his word ... he'll be there."
"His word?" The other man scoffed, " ... what would his kind know of honor ... "
"Uh-Oh," Nathan shook his head, watching the deadly snake inside Chris Larabee's gut uncoil with a slow, steady course.
"Jesus, we ain't even out of town yet," Buck muttered, watching his oldest friend use every ounce of strength to remain in the saddle.
"His kind?" Chris's lips curled up in disgust. "All your golden braids and medals couldn't come close to touching 'his kind'. You see, he's got a moral fiber in him that sets him apart. Funny thing about Vin, he bleeds loyalty and honor. It comes from here ... " he shoved a black glove in the blue gut across from him. "it's called integrity and I've never seen it exhibited better. 'His kind' rides taller than any man I've know. The sheriff," he jerked his head towards the beaming J.D., "was right, you don't know a Goddamn thing about him. You don't have that right."
For several minutes, tension rode the air, nearly shooting blue sparks of fury. But then Orrin moved forward and eyed both men. "I can vouch for Mister Tanner, General Reinhardt, he's a fine young man. If he gave his word, he'll be there. We have a long, hot journey, Gentlemen, I'd suggest we get started."
"Kid," Chris jerked his head, waiting for the youth to follow. They'd ride with the army into Yuma Territory. He turned, looking hard at each of his men and gave a slight nod. "Yuma," he imparted of their meeting place the next day.
Nathan, Josiah, Buck, Ezra , the Judge and the two Colonels were taking a different route. Well hidden in the shadows, Brad Garrett caught his commander's wink and nodded. They'd meet later. He eyed the leader of the magnifico's and smiled. It would be a pleasure to put him away. Anybody who claimed kinship to that dog Tanner, needed a beating too.
Burnt Mills wasn't much of a town, basically it was a train stopover. It had a saloon, hotel, a few restaurants, just enough to keep the travellers happy for overnight stops. The growth of the military camps throughout Arizona had spurned a boom of business. A half dozen Forts were in close proximity in southern Arizona alone. The amount of supplies required by the army and the other businessman, railroaders and drovers coming through, created the need for expanding commerce. Mining was becoming more organized as an industry, pushing the solo toiling, scrappy bearded miners into the realms of history. This is how the tiny mecca of Burnt Mills had grown.
The army was camped outside town, mapping out the best route between the stage and rail lines. By patrolling the perimeter, they had access to the 'devil's highway' and hoped to stem any invasion of bandits. Chris met with General Reinhardt and Orrin Travis to review the maps and go over the timetables. The stage would leave Burnt Mills at six a.m., the train would pull out at noon. The routes ran parallel, with water stops at even intervals. The patrol route the army would be using would intersect both transport roads. They'd be leaving at dawn as well.
"We're gonna head to town, we'll be back tonight." Chris addressed Orrin Travis, who gave his consent.
By the time they got to town, it was after four p.m. and they were weary of the long day riding in the sun. Thirsty and hungry, they sought the saloon and more important, a brief reunion with their friends. Chris hoped somehow, he'd have caught up to Vin. He'd scanned the horizon all day and moreover, on the way into town. No trace of the tracker had been found.
"There they are," J.D.'s voice bespoke the bone-weariness his body was aching with. Hot and tired, he entered the saloon and flopped down next to Josiah. He yawned and rested his head on the table, over his crossed arms.
"Hard day at the coal mines, Son?" The preacher teased, signaling the waitress for two more beers. He grinned at the moan from under the damp mop of dark hair and ruffled them. He noticed the grim set of Chris's jaw. He watched the green eyes scanning the very crowded, loud and smokey tavern. One black-clothed boot rested on a brass spitoon, the lean body rested against a post.
"He'll show," Buck tried to take the worry from the green eyes. He saw a waitress appear with a large plate and place it in front of the gambler.
"Where the hell did you get oysters?" Josiah leaned forward, watching the conman tuck a napkin into his shirt and take a shucker from the table.
"The arrive daily from the coast, via the iron horse," he noted of the train. "They are quite the aphrodisiac."
"Well now, Buck that ought to make you smile. You two being travel companions and all." J.D. grinned, pulling his body back into a sitting position.
"Cute Kid," Buck placated, tossing a roll at the youth. "All the oysters in the world wouldn't put that gold-toothed Wilmington wannabee in my class."
"Harrummph!" Ezra snorted, cracking open a shell.
Chris's eyes continued to scan the crowd, uaware he was being watched. One of the benefits of wearing varying shades of tan, was that you 'blended in'. From the far corner of the room, tucked away in a tight spot near the side door, Vin Tanner watched his circle of friends. He left his blue eyes study the pensive leader's face and felt a tug of satisfication. When was the last time someone cared so much? He drained his shot of whiskey and shoved off the wall, slipping silently through the crowd.
"Show ya a goodtime cowboy?" Vin dropped his voice and the slow drawl in the blond's ear caused his body to jerk and sent the spitoon sailing. It caused a round of genuine smiles in the group, save the leader, who scowled and formed his mouth in a straight line.
"Vin!" J.D. smiled, "How'd you do that? Where'd you come from?"
"The man could give lessons to a shadow." Nathan shook his head, then studied the tracker's shadowed face and frowned. There were circles under the tired blue eyes and he looked exhausted. "Yuh okay?"
"Jes' tired, Nate, was wrestlin' with m'self all night ... "
"Here, sit down, Brother," Josiah offered to stand, giving the weary man his chair. "We were just about to eat."
"No thanks, Preacher, I got me a nice spot outside town, near the river. Real peaceful like ... be a real nice spot fer supper. S'plenty o'room ... " He turned to Chris then, opening his eyes and showing his wounded soul his brother.
Chris read the need as soon as he saw the haunted, hollowed eyes. He needed to talk to Vin too, especially since they were riding into a potential firestorm. He caught the gaze, nodded and curled his lips upwards.
"Sounds good to me," J.D. decided, standing up, "Anyhow, it way too crowded in here ... " He watched as the slim Texan moved slightly, wrinkling his face in disgust, just behind Ezra's back.
" ... sides," Vin announced " ... beats the hell outta watchin' Ezra suckin' up a pile o'snots ... "
"Thank you!" Standish coughed, gagged, choked and dropped his tool. The laughter echoed around him and his face turned red.
"You okay there, Ace?" Buck pounded his back, then backed up, when the red-coated shoulders hunched up. "Aw, hell, he's gonna upchuck ... " he feared of the potential vomit to come. But instead, an ivory pearl appeared off his tongue and into his palm.
"How'd ya do that!" Vin demanded, amazed. "Ya learn that trick from yer Ma? Hit 'im again, Buck, make some more pop out!"
"It's not a trick!" Ezra wiped the pearl clean, "It came from it's bed ... "
"It's bed?" the sharpshooter scowled, "What bed?" Then his blue eyes widened in shock and he smacked the gambler's back. "Ya stole that from a girl? Ya got a hotbed already? Hell, ya ain't been in town that long."
"I beg your pardon!" Standish's indignant voice rose above the laughter at the table. He noted Chris Larabee now wore a soft smile. "I most certainly did not steal this from a pros ... working ... a ... lady of the night."
"Well whose bed did ya pluck it from? Ain't yer cheatin' cards enough?" Vin egged, eyeing the luster on the bead.
"I don't cheat!" He puffed, "It's created from sand and other parasites that irritate the meat inside. Through the release of certain substances within the shell. It turns the irritation into a rainbow like sheen to form, over the course of a year of so, the pearl continues to grow."
"Yer full o'shit Ezra!" Vin declared, " ... they come from a jewelry store ... from necklaces and such ... " He stopped when he saw Josiah and Chris smirking. "Don't they?" He saw Chris shake his head and his blues eyes narrowed. " ... that shit he's spoutin' is right?" The blond head dipped once and the Texan cocked his own. "Damn!"
"Why must you confirm your suspicions through him?" Ezra's voice rose, "Isn't my word as a gentlemen good enough?" That statement only caused more laughter.
"Son," Josiah gave the scarlet shoulder a tug, "You best quit while you're ahead."
"I can't breathe," Vin announced, "I'll ride out ahead, a mile east of town on the river ... can't miss it." He picked up Buck's beer and lifted it to his parched lips.
"Help yourself Vin. Hell it wasn't like I was planning on drinking that," the womanizer's voice was playfully sarcastic.
" ... ya bring some grub ... " he belched after draining the beer and wiping his mouth on Ezra's napkin. " ... ya bring that fancy shit from Kentucky ya got hid in yer bag ... "
"How did you ... " Ezra shook his head, " ... nevermind."
"We're bringing the food and drink," Chris pursed his lips, eyeing the relief pouring from the blue eyes. Whatever kept his friend up all night required them to meet, in private, near a river over a campfire. Seeing that release was worth the trip. "So what are you bringing to the party, Tanner?"
Vin paused by the door and held up his harmonica, which grew a round of groans.
"And after we get locked up for disturbing the peace?" Chris barbed of the tracker's lack of talent on the mouth harp. He saw the younger man's face soften and the eyes crinkle as a smile was born.
"M'boyish charm!"
That smile coupled with a single brow arched over those tired blue eyes gave Chris Larabee's muscles their first release since the night before. He kept that look after the tracker rode off.
"That," Buck noted to J.D. who now stood next to him, as they watched the leader, unaware he was being viewed. A half smile on his lips matched the light from his green eyes. " ... is the gift of Vin."
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