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.
Every sunset was a gift, as was the rebirth the next morn. He stood in muted awe, watching the brilliant colors slash the skyline as the sun bade a lazy farewell. The wind lifted his hair, sending it back from his shoulders. He let his lids drop and inhaled, letting the whispering water tickle his ears. He heard them in the distance, in a place inside that he visited often. He recalled the summers of his boyhood and youth, following his adopted fathers and uncles in the woods. Evenings by his grandmother's side as she told him of the spirits and their gifts. A loud whoop caused his shoulders to jerk and he saw Buck sliding off his big gray. The rogue winked at him and untied a large burlap sack. The others followed, quickly making themselves to home in the camp. He remained by the water, gazing at the horizon and wondering about the days to come. He knew Chris was behind him, he could always sense the other's movements.
"You look better," the blond observed carefully, "your eyes aren't as haunted."
"Wasn't the right way t'purge," he noted his outburst the night before, " ... but I reckon it was time."
"You're a survivor, Vin, it's sometime a man either has or he doesn't. It can't be learned from any book. I don't know many men who have guts like that ... I know I didn't."
"Hell," Vin spat into the creek and shook his curly head, then cast a half smile at his best friend, "Them black rags ya tote on yer back fool some folks ... not this tracker. Ya care Chris Larabee, from the glint in ye eye right through t'yer soul, ya care alot." He turned away then, watching an eagle in the distance. "Ya ever look at an eagle, Chris, I mean really study 'em?" His voice grew wistful then, full of awe and wonder. "With grace and strength ya ride the wind, proud feathered majesty with noble eyes protectin' yer earth ... "
Chris's breath caught as Vin's soft words took flight. They soared high, circling the eagle and danced on the wind. The golden rays of the setting sun basked the Texan in a pure light. His face was relaxed, allowing a rare glimpse of the youth he was. He didn't spoil the moment with words, he always felt privileged when Vin shared his poetry. Honored was the better word, since he knew Vin's airborne soul thoughts were known but to the two of them. While the blue eyes never left the eagle, the gifted lips opened again.
"We was raised t'honor all livin' things, 'specially the eagle. They spread them wings out and circle, makin' ya feel protected. That's what chased me t'town ... ya know, before that gang tried t'lynch Nate." He paused, shifting his weight and turned to face Chris Larabee. "I ain't never spoke o'this ... I had a vision ... in the desert. I seen an eagle ... a special eagle ... never left me. I was sick, fevered, tired o'ridin' alone. Hell, jes' plain wore out from life. But that damn eagle, stuck with me ... led me t'town. When I looked up over that broom on the sidewalk that day, I understood. Ya see, we was taught that when the eagle comes, ya know someone cares about ya ... s'watchin' over ya. That was the first time I felt that." he paused and left out a long shuddering breath. " ... since I lost m'family ... ya give me that Chris Larabee ... yer m'eagle." There, it was finally out and he ducked his head, unsure of what the other man's reaction would be. Then he felt a hand grip the back of his neck hard and a sharp intake of Larabee air. He peeked up in time to see a brief glint of awed moisture in the green eyes. He left out his pent up air and a nervous chuckle.
"Just my fuckin' luck, I hitched my wagon to a shooting star." Chris said softly, "It's not bad enough that you can track ant piss in a snow storm and shoot the wings off a fly at a thousand feet." He took a deep breath and gripped the tracker's neck harder, "No, I gotta cross paths with a sorry-assed, cussin' Texan whose gentle spirit healed this broken soul."
The moment of shining kinship was shattered by a booming Wilmington voice.
"Hey! You two gonna yack all night? We got a feast to get too!"
They both laughed and clasped forearms briefly, each absorbing the inner light of the other. Then they climbed the hill and rejoined the circle. The food was good, the ale was strong and the laughter a healing touch. Vin sat slightly apart from his brothers, watching the firelight dance off their features. So absorbed was he in embracing their spirit, he neglected his plate.
"Something wrong with my cooking, Brother?"
"No, 'siah," Vin stood, handing his half-empty plate to the preacher. "I got somethin' eatin' away inside ... clawin' t'get out." He rubbed the back of his neck and took the bottle that was being passed around. After a long swig of courage, he waited and then noticed the six grew silent. Each pair of eyes locked onto him. He shifted and struggled, trying to find the right words. He felt Chris's eyes on him, the slight nod from the blond was all he needed.
"I wanted ... I jes' figgered ... I needed ... "
"I told you we should have brought some Redeye," Buck teased, winking at the struggling Texan, "that fancy shit of Ezra's got Vin's tongue all tied in knots."
That broke the tension and he laughed, letting out his anxiety. "I'm sorry," he said with a tone so sincere it caused Nathan to wince. " ... last night ... I was all worked up ... spoutin' and shoutin' at ya ... I been holdin' that inside s'long ... until I rode with y'all ... I didn't have no one t'open up ta ... someone that needed t'hear ... only kin I had was long buried."
"Vin, you don't owe us an apology," Josiah's hand rested on the dusty red shirt.
"Man don't share his burdens, he'll end up a cripple," Nathan Jackson offered through kind brown eyes. "
"You gotta know how to take a hand as well as give one." Buck nodded and gave the smaller man a winning smile.
"That's what friends are for Vin, to help each other when your hurt." J.D. offered.
"Your wounds ran too deep and were long in need of purging. Suffice to say, we were glad to oblige. Or is there more that festers?" Ezra guessed and saw the dark head bobbing.
"Best ya get settled in ... this might take a while ... I ain't used t' ... could come out wrong ... "
"Aw, hell," Buck mocked, "I had my eye on a pretty red-headed filly in town. Had my eye on a blonde too. Time you get all them words of yours in a row and out ... be time for breakfast."
"Shut the hell up, Bucklin!" Vin chastised, chasing it with a genuine laugh.
So they settled back and patiently listened, eyes riveted and hearts breaking for their young friend, as he spoke of the painful episodes. From a thirteen year old boy who was forced to witness his family's massacre and left his heart in the smoldering cinders, to the rebel who a year later, ran away, put on a gray coat and picked up a rifle.
"There was a pain inside, rippin' m'gut ... I kept seein' their faces, the blood, the bodies ripped open ... ya never lose that smell ... o'bodies bein' burnt ... " Vin dry eyes threatened to spill. He took the bottle from Ezra and with another gulp of courage, he continued, "All I knew ... was bluebellies slaughtered m'kin ... and when I seen the graycoats shootin at 'em ... it wasn't hard t'choose sides. Didn't take long 'fore some one o'the head Rebs figured out about m'shootin'. Next thing I knowed, I'm in some special group o'snipers."
"The Dark Angels," Chris recalled of the handpicked elite Confederate snipers, "You were good ... nobody ever saw you come or go."
" ... winter o'sixty four..cold as hell ... fightin' a storm in Virginia somewheres. Full of dynsentary, fevered, trudgin' through snow ... " he sighed, " ... I woke up in a prison ... with a bucket full of hot Yankee piss in m'face fer a 'welcome t'Hell Reb'. Then I was on m'belly again ... bein' held down and gettin' m'head shaved."
"How long were you a prisoner Vin?" J.D. whispered, not able to comprehend how a teenage boy could withstand so much trauma.
"I dunno ... " Vin scratched his belly, wiggled his fingers for the bottle and looked into the fire. " ... was winter when I went in ... summertime when we busted out ... five 'er six months ... " the slim shoulders shrugged.
"How'd you get loose?" Nate asked, all too familiar with the savage treatment that the Rebs suffered as prisoners of war.
"Prison was only meant t'hold eighty men ... we was about two hundred 'er more by the end o'summer. They put the real sick ones in a bombed out church near the prison. Shoved us all in the celler ... dark, filthy, rats runnin' on yer face, chompin' on ya ... " He shuddered and blinked the memory away. "General fancy braids was the C.O, he come every week fer inspection. So when the guard's back was turned, I crawled outta m'hole and tugged on his pants. I wanted water, medicine and bandages fer the fellas. I told 'im we deserved t'be treated better than animals. He kicked me in the gut and ordered me whipped. I was shoved in a crate in the supply shack. No water ... nuthin' but m'own piss t'drink. Sun beatin' in ... Five days later, I woke up. I guess in m'thrashin' I poked a hole in the crate. I seen boxes of explosives ... so I decided I'd die ... leastwise, make them think so. My grandmother was the medicine woman, I learnt a lot from 'er. So I took that dynamite and hid it in m'drawers. I'd seen 'em load the corpses 'afore, they didn't want t'touch us. The damn doctor come once a week from town and was drunk half the time. He said I was dead and they wrapped me in a blanket, left me on the wagon with the other dead. That night, I was reborn ... I blowed up the guardhouse and took their guns. I busted in the prison and let 'em out. I took off fer the river and never looked back."
Exhausted from his long driven penance, the weary blue-eyed sharpshooter rose on unsteady legs and walked away. He stoked the fire, tossing in sticks and watching the cinders rise. He rubbed his taut belly, realizing that the hole inside was nearly gone. The pain, the dull ache that never left, gnawing relentlessly as his tender soul, was subsiding. That was what these fine men had done for him. They'd freed his bound soul. He felt them again, heard their words of comfort. A hand on his shoulder, a clap on the back, a few handshakes, a Sanchez embrace and Buck's large hand ruffling his hair, before gripping his jaw. One by one, they departed, stealing away into the night. Only one man remained, still sitting in the shadows, a cheroot ember the only sign of life. He picked up the bottle, nearly empty and made his way over. The lean man in black rose up, took the bottle and uncorked it. Vin saw Chris struggling with his own inner demon, which after a lusty sip, seemed ready to be born.
"I only served under him in sixty-two, Vin, I haven't seen him since."
"Aw, hell," Vin's voice was rocked with emotion, "Jesus, Chris, is that what ya thought? That I had ya hooked up with that bastard then? Yer Chris Larabee ... ya shouldda knowed better. I did. I never once thought ... it didn't matter none that ya wore blue ... I'm sorry, Cowboy, I didn't mean fer ya t'think I was accusin' ya ... blamin' ... Yer real Chris ... in here ... " he tapped the dark shirt. " ... where it counts ... no matter what color ya wore. I'm sorry ... I didn't t'hurt ya."
"You say the word 'sorry' again, Tanner and I'll make you sorry." He released with a half grin, locking forearms as they walked to the horses. "I'd rather stay," he offered, "but me and the Kid are due back in camp."
"S'okay ... " Vin nodded, watching him mount the black horse with a natural ease, "Ya watch yer back, Larabee ... "
" ... thought that was your job, Tanner!" Chris left with a grin, easing the horse into a full gallop.
He slept well that night, with a peace inside he'd thought lost long ago. Armed with the strength of his six brothers and with the spirits of his family guarding him, he eased into a deep sleep. The fine features relaxed in slumber, the chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm, unaware in twenty-four hours he'd be bathed in his own blood.
J.D. was slightly ahead of Chris Larabee, as they rode back to the military base. Like Chris, he'd enjoyed the impromptu dinner with their friends. He felt secure there, a vital part of something much larger than himself. He knew that the train was more likely to be hit than the stagecoach, for that reason, he was worried. Although Vin seemed to have nine lives, Ezra had conned himself out of more closecalls than could be counted and Buck was a seasoned veteran of many battles, he had a bad feeling. He cast his hazel eyes at the moon, and wondered what the new day would bring for each of them.
Chris's meeting with the General, Orrin and the staff didn't last long. They went over their plan, the terrain they'd cover and the most likely places in Mexico that the gang could retreat to, if they slipped through. Camino Del Diablo was friend to no man, and to survive the trek, the gang would have to be well prepared. He slipped outside the tent, lit a cheroot and studied the dark sky. J.D.'s lack of chatter prompted him to make their camp on the edge of the perimeter. He wanted to speak to the youth in private. He saw the top of the youth's bowler hat bobbing on the far southeast corner. A fire crackled a short distance from the small tent they'd share. He saw the young man disappear in the tent, and started over.
"Mister Larabee?"
"General," Chris nodded, hand resting easily on a single pearl handed revolver that hugged his slim hip.
"I wanted to apologize for my comments in town this morning. I had no idea you and this Tanner were closely tied."
Chris remained silent, wondering about Vin's comments. From what he knew of the General, he was a good soldier, a better than average strategist, someone who General Grant relied on heavily during the war. What happened to that man? Was he the same villian who Vin painted a dark picture of?
"You remained enlisted for the duration?" Reinhardt prompted, recalling the student he trained who showed promise of brilliance in West Point. Their early days in the war only strengthened that glint of natural leadership. One like Larabee was worth a dozen others.
"I did, by early sixty-four I had my own unit."
"Why did you leave, after the war ended?"
"It was time, I had a new bride and baby to get home to." Chris turned to face the man and study his eyes. The eyes never lied. "What about you, Sir? Where were you at the war's end?"
"Nelson's Bluff," he sighed, hearing the sharp intake of breath next to him. "You've heard of it?"
"Who hasn't? " Chris shuddered of the hellhole, seeing a mental picture of a starving, blue-eyed warrior in the jaws of that beast. How the hell did Vin survive? "It was the one of the worst ... Why you?"
"The lack of discipline. Too many of the prisoners were getting out of hand. The guards were spread too thin, with little incentive and force to deal with those animals."
"They were men, not animals. Just because they wore gray doesn't change that."
"A sympathizer?" Reinhardt was more than a little surprised in the venomous tone.
"A supporter of human rights, I guess you'd say that makes me weak, being decent and all ... " the blond sneered in contempt.
Ignoring the comment, the General continued, "It was a harsh place, cold and isolated on a pennisula where the river met the bay. Each prisoner was given a blanket and a tin mug, that's all. The converted barracks became overcrowded, those 'men' as you called them, were worse than rabid rats. They fought over them, you know, it became quite the sport. They'd scramble about, catching and skinning them, eating them. You cannot reason with the likes of that. You keep them caged."
"Caged?" Chris had to clench both fists at his sides, "Some of them were boys ... starving, hurt, sick. How the hell did you expect them to react? You treated them like animals! Why weren't they fed properly? Given medical attention?"
"From where? The little resources we did get had to be spread among our own first."
"Our own?" Chris turned sharply, "We're all Americans. You didn't have that right! They were sick, asking for help. There were rules you should have followed ... "
"They're the enemy!"
"You mean 'were' don't you?" Chris said critically of the present tense usage. "So when they asked for help ... bandages ... medicine ... decent food ... "
"They were given hardtack and a half mug of coffee for breakfast, beans for lunch and a small portion of salt pork with hardtack and coffee for dinner. It's all there was ... I had orders."
"You also had resources in that area. Farms, water, fishing ... You could have done more."
"It was a prison, not a hotel! They got what they deserved."
"Whipped and beaten like dogs?" Chris's lip turned up in disgust and he felt his dinner churning. A mental image of a brave, fourteen-year old Rebel with hungry blue eyes, chained and whipped cut through him like a knife.
"Sometimes, yes, if they asked for it. You set an example with one, the rest stay in line. I did what was necessary!"
Too disgusted to remain in the presence of the other, Chris strode away. Vin, whose gentle spirit would takes years to understand, whose selfless, generous heart was something to be in awe of, in the hands of that beast ... it was too hard to stomach. It only reinforced his respect for his best friend.
"Chris?" J.D. saw set of firm chin and hate rays beaming from the green eyes. "Something wrong?"
"No," He sighed, taking several breaths to regain control. It was years ago, Vin did survive and he needed a cool head to see that he continued to survive. Two thick bedrolls were on the ground. The tent kept the wind whipping outside from gaining too much entry. Chris sat down sideways, drawing his knees up and reaching in his saddle bag. He uncorked the whiskey bottle with his teeth and took a long draw. He saw the question in the youth's eyes, which were mirrors at times. "Got something on your mind, Kid?"
He smiled then, slightly, when the word settled on his mind. When others used the word, he bristled, got angry and defiant. When Chris used it, he felt proud of the warm feeling it brought in his gut. He wanted so much to learn from this man, to be like him. He took a deep breath, denied the bottle offered and spoke.
"How do you know, Chris? If you ... you ... got a feeling about something and ... you got orders to do different?"
"Come again?"
"Well, what if ... like ... in that massacre Vin told us about ... where his family ... " He bit off the rest and turned to the leader. " ... well, what if you were new ... and ... you didn't know that the c.o. was going to do that ... that ... those awful things. If ... he gave an order ... but ... you didn't ... couldn't follow it ... how do you what the right thing is?"
Chris took a long moment to reflect, seeing J.D. struggle hard. Some days, the boy was much younger than others, his inexperience all too evident. Other times, his instincts were razor sharp and that valiant spirit shone through like the noonday sun. He was so young and had so much promise.
"I think, most men, most good men, would stand up for what's right," He said slowly. "I remember one time in a town not far from here a large group of men were riding out. They had an innocent men tied up ... were thinking on lynching him. One man, one young man, took a rifle and made a stand in the street. It didn't matter to him that he was vastly outnumbered, it didn't matter that they outgunned him. What mattered was in his gut, he knew the right thing to do. To stand up for what's true. To champion for the innocent and helpless. That young man didn't see how many guns were staring back at him. He only saw an injustice and tried to change it ... make it right. That's what courage does for you."
J.D. looked up then, his mind whirling backwards in time. "Vin ... you mean when Vin took Virgil's rifle and stood up for Nate against the lynch mob?"
Chris smiled slowly, taking a short draw on the bottle and shook his head. "Vin did just that, but I was taking about another special young man, with courage. This time, it was Vin tied up, being taken to Texas. A certain sheriff with a funny hat took a rifle and made a stand in the middle of the street. If I recall correctly, he said, with fire in his eye, "That's Vin Tanner!" He gave the youth a proud grin then, "I was proud of you that day, J.D. you'll never know how much. Therein," he tapped the chest of dusty tan shirt the youth wore, "lies the difference, John Daniel Dunne, from your heart. You have it, Son, it's not something you read in a book, you're born with it."
"But that's different," J.D. blushed, still reeling from Chris's lauds, "It was Vin."
"What if it wasn't?" Chris challenged, "What if you knew that man was innocent? Would you still have stood up for him?"
"I guess," J.D. nodded, thought a moment then nodded again."I'd have to. I couldn't ... wouldn't ... let an innocent man die."
"No, you wouldn't," Larabee winked, "Someday, them Rangers in Texas are gonna get damn lucky to have a man named Dunne wearing that star. They'll ride proud beside him, I know I do."
"Thanks Chris!" J.D. gushed, heat rising quickly to his face. He laughed then, "What will Buck do without me to pick on?"
"If he gets out of bed long enough to notice you're gone," the blond teased, setting the bottle on the floor between his booted feet.
"Hah!" the youth tossed his shiny dark hair, "Half the time he's trying to make a point, teach me something, it ends up with, 'One day Kid, you'll understand'. Then I get that sympathetic pat on the back." Dunne ducked his head, "I'm not ... green ... well ... not as green ... there ... with ... women ... I'm not ... as green as you guys ... think I am." he stammered awkwardly.
Chris's brows drew together in perplexion. He paused, frowned, then a slow smiled formed. It was one born of remembrances of a night nearly twenty years gone by. In a dark corner of a barn, when he wore a younger man's clothes. It was a rite of passage all men went through only once. He chuckled, took his hat off and then laughed. It was a long, deep bout of gutfilling laughter, that shot right out of his eyes.
"What's so funny!" J.D. demanded, hearing the unusual sound of a deep belly laugh from the other. "I might not be as smooth as Buck, sweet talk as good as Ezra and blush and 'Ma'am' like Vin but ... "
"You are!" Chris shook his head, wiped the tears from his eyes and laughed again. "Katie Dunne's baby boy stumbling his way through manhood." He slapped J.D.'s knee and handed the bottle over. "It's a rite of passage, Kid, it only happens once and nobody is that smooth the first few times. As far as Buck, if he ever gives you a hard way to go about that, you just mention the 'Louisville Incident', he'll shut right up."
"Why? What's the Louisville Incident? Kentucky ... during the war? Come on, Chris, toss me a bone, will you? I gotta know!"
"Sorry Kid, that's something you're almost virgin ears aren't ready for yet." He hunched forward, draping his arms over his knees. "For me, it was Alice Mae Winterspoon ... four blurry moments that will live in infamy."
"What did she look like?" J.D. asked, handing the bottle back.
"Average ... " he shrugged, "She was a little on the plump side, reddish blond hair. She was staying with her daughter ... "
"Her daughter!" J.D's eyes nearly popped out. "She was a married woman! Damn you get all the luck!"
Chris laughed again and shook his head, "She was a widow, J.D., from out of town, visiting a neighbor. I was sixteen, helping the Ames folks fix the barn. It was late, I was alone, or so I thought and it was hot. I was sweaty and barechested, stipped down to my drawers. One minute I was bent over the workbench, then next thing I knew I was flat on my back in the hay. Like I said, four blurriest moments in my life. She came, she saw and she conquered ... and when she left, I still didn't know what the hell happened. Only that it was goooood and I wanted more ... " he laughed again, "I never appreciated the fact my folks lived by a river more that I did that night ... a cold river!" Chris laughed again and the youth joined in, giving them both a relaxation that they needed. Chris stretched out on the blanket, covered his face with his hat and tried to sleep. It was quiet for awhile, then a voice broke the stilled night air.
"Next time, I think I should be in charge. I think I should know what to do ... what moves to make ... where my hands should be ... the teeth and the tongue stuff ... how much is enough ... "
"Goodnight Casanova!" Chris chuckled, shaking his head in denial. He closed his eyes and fell into a deep sleep.
Nathan was just swallowing a mouth full of hot cereal, when a hand rested on his shoulder.
"Ready to go, Brother?"
"Yeah," he gobbled the rest and took the three oatcakes that were on the plate. He wrapped them in a napkin for later. He followed the preacher across the street, to where the stagecoach was waiting. The driver was standing just to the left, inspecting the bags. The healer followed the smokey eyes of his friend up to the top of the carriage and back down to the packages.
"Hmmm ... "
"Every time yuh get t'hummin' like that and yuh eyes lite up, we get in trouble," Nathan Jackson warned.
"Mornin'," the graying peacekeeper ambled over to the busy driver. "You look like your job is cut out for you."
"Not really," Jake Greene replied, "Depends on the run. Somedays I got a lot of mail, I use the boot," he nodded to the large storage compartment on the end of the coach. "Most times, I fit it all upstairs. It depends on how much I got to stow."
"Oh, Give you a hand?" Josiah offered, winking at he perplexed healer. The driver got on top and Josiah loaded the bags up to him. He eyed his watch and watched a blond army sargeant approach with a large bag. He backed up, tipped his hat and returned to Nate's side.
"What was all that about?" the brown-eyed man inquired. In lieu of an answer, the preacher tapped his dusty coat and moved into the depot.
"You remember Orrin saying this was an inside job? Well that driver has to get his crew from the hotel. That gives us five minutes to make a change."
"Change?" Nate frowned, "What change?"
"The boot," He jerked his head. "has only two sacks of mail inside, plenty of room for that army bag, and there is one mail sack empty." He saw the confusion still. "If we switch and the carriage is hit ... "
"Oh, they go right to the spot where that blond guy tucked the bag, then we'll know he told somebody."
" ... one rat in the trap is better than none." He kept an eye on the carriage, which was tucked out of sight. Sure enough, the driver left and the blond army man did too. A pair of army men stood guard, but their backs were to the depot. They would be travelling on the stage with Josiah and Nate and knew them from the Major's update. "Follow my lead ... " He picked up a small sack of newspapers and put them inside his bag.
"Good Morning, Mister Sanchez," a young private nodded. "Mister Jackson ... "
"Mornin' Son," The preacher nodded, "Okay if I put my bag up there?"
"Sure, Sir," Nathan shook his head and followed. He stood behind the coach, Josiah handed the brown leather army bag down. He opened it, took out a white cotton sack with the payroll inside and tucked in into the empty mail sack in the boot. Then, he handed the empty army pouch back up top, where Josiah slid the newpapers inside. He nodded, indicating the weight was the same. He then place the pouch exactly where the blond army man had. His mission completed, he slid down and exited the depot.
Ten minutes later, they departed. One army man, acting as the shotgun guard, rode on top, next to the driver. Another rode inside with the two peacekeepers. As the carriage made it's way west, rumbling and jumping over every rock, the ex-Union medic rolled his brown eyes.
"Yuh gonna wear that shit-eatin' grin all the way t'Pepper Mills?" He asked of their midday stop. The smile widened, the eyes were tucked under the large hat. "Shut up, Josiah!" he chuckled, swatting the tall man's knee. "Lord, give me strength!" he grimaced at he felt the first jolt of several that would follow as the stage hit a rut in the road.
She sat waiting, primed are ready to go. A locomotive with 15 freight and passenger cars sitting on the rails. In the center was the dining car, which separated the first class section from the coach section. Beyond that were several cars loaded with freight. A thin stream of smoke curled from the large stack on the locomotive.
He sat on the roof of the depot, his lean body relaxed and content. Hidden under the shadows of the large sign, the shade was cool and pleasant. The fine features on his handsome face were passive in the strong light of day. He watched the rail workers below, loading sacks of coffee, sugar, flour, grain and tobacco into the first freight car. Behind it, was a car already full of smoked ham, bacon and crates of peaches, apples and potatoes. The car behind that was full of machinery. Stoves, furniture, mining equipment and hardware were secured. Then the car the army selected at random, to haul the silver and a large cache of rifles. The morning sun kissed the stubble on his face softly, as she passed by. His slim hands were folded on his lean abdomen, which was full of rabbit and biscuits. Tucked away in his coat pocket, was a bag of chocolate drops and some peppermint candy. He heard a familiar voice below and rolled sideways, grinning as a profile appeared. The handsome man with he mustache was yawning and trying not to listen to the younger man beside him, who prattled away. He crept closer, grinning again as the rogue recounted his 'hot night'.
"Furthermore," Ezra continued, peering at Buck's half-mast eyes. "if you'd gotten to bed at a decent hour, your eyes would be able to open on their own and the horrid smell would not be clinging to your person."
"Jealous?" Buck croaked, wrinkling his nose, "Damn I'm thirsty today."
"An after effect of your over-extended amourous efforts last night?"
"You should have been there Ezra, it was a thing of beauty. There was Miss Colleen with a head full of red curls, a hot temper and a body to match and Miss Annette, who was dark and sultry and had a set of teeth you wouldn't believe!" he paused, tugging on his shirt collar. "Wanna see my battle scars?"
"No!" Ezra repulsed, trying not to grin.
"Lord what a night!" Buck continued with a contented sigh, "I woke up smothered in the two best set of breasts west of the Mississippi" A snort from above and a muffled laugh, drew both heads up, staring into the midday sun. "There now," he slapped the red coat of his partner, "Didn't I tell you that boy would be here. Tanner, get your scrawny ass down here!"
"Depends ... " Vin managed, peeking mischievously over the roof's edge. He saw Buck's broad grin and mirrored it easily.
"On what?" Buck hollered up, knowing all too well there was something hiding behind that Texan smile.
"On whether yer oats is all done bein' sowed ... " he cocked a single eyebrow over a twinkling blue eye, "I gotta protect m'boys, ya know."
"Good Lord, as if anyone would get that desperate!" Ezra huffed, eyeing a trio of comely young maidens who appeared. They were young and dressed in elegant, expensive attire. "While you two discuss Mister Tanner's shortcomings, I have an urgent matter to attend to."
"Huh?" Buck wheeled around, raking his eyes on the group. "Hot Damn! A blond, a brunette and a redhead! There's one leftover for you Ezra. You let me do all the talking. Being the good-hearted Christian that I am, I'll only take two of them, you can have that blond one with the gap in her teeth and the big nose."
"Aren't I the lucky one ... " Ezra grimaced, "Do you realize that offensive stench you carry is likely to attract swine, rather than women?"
"He's gotta point, Bucklin, ya stink rite good," Vin leaned over the roof, wrinkling his face, "M'delicate nose ain't used t'such a smell."
"Shit!" Buck sniffed, "I guess I am a little ripe." Turning upwards, he snarled at the twinkling sky eyes peering down at him, "You're wearin' a dead buffalo, Slick, that ain't exactly a rose garden."
"The bath house is open and we do not depart for thirty minutes, I suggest you move quickly. I shall keep the young lovlies entertaining in your wake." Standish offered.
"You listen to me, Ace, don't you tell them some shit about me having a rash or using ointment or anything."
"Moi?"
"None other!"
"Great," Vin groaned, "Ridin' with the two busiest skirt-chasers in the territory. Gonna be a long fuckin' train ride." He reluctantly left his perch, ambling two rooves down to inspect the army. He studied them on the platform, carefully inspecting every face. The tall man with thinning brown hair he remembered as Colonel Dixon. He listened, as the leader gave the orders.
"Four of you will patrol the first class and coach sections, keep your eyes sharp. Anyone who looks or acts suspiciously, is to be detained. Four of you will be guarding the silver, two at the exit to the car, one outside the next car and one inside, on guard. I'm taking Cooper, Reilly, Jackson and Morgen with me. We'll ride ahead and keep the perimeter clear. We'll meet again at the water stop in four hours. Sargeant Miller is in charge, Gentlemen," he saluted, waited for the return and nodded to his assistant. "You get the horses ready, I'm meeting the three peacekeepers at the depot for an update in twenty minutes. I'll see you at the livery at noon."
Vin carefully climbed down, eyeing his two choices. Ezra was chatting with the three women, two of which were giggling. The high-pitched noise was enough to make his mind up. He turned towards the bathhouse, ambling inside and hiding a chuckle behind his hand. A slim young Oriental woman was scrubbing Buck's back. Water and suds glistened as they slide south, disappearing into the steaming water.
"Ahhh ... that's fine Darlin' ... old Buck might have to bring you back home ... a little lower ... " he sighed, leaning forward. " ... yeah ... that's the spot ... "
Vin grinned and moving silently across the room. She turned quietly and he smiled, nodded and pointed to the brush. He placed his index finger over his lips, asking for silence. She nodded and they made the exchange. As she departed, Vin continued the ministrations, barely suppresing his laughter. Then he moved swiftly, sending the bristled brush hard in Buck's crotch, well below the depth of the waterline.
"Ouch!" the body protesting, kneeling up and sputtering. The dark hair was already wet and suds ran down the now red face. "What the hell are you doing! Jesus that smarts ... " He rubbed his stinging groin.
"Jes' makin' sure yer boys are good and clean. What with all them teeth ya talked about ... "
"Goddammit Vin!" Buck grabbed the brush and sat back down. He tried hard not to chuckle, but there was something about Vin's laughter that was contagious. The tracker took his hide coat off and poured two mugs of cider. He handed one to Buck and sat on a small stool, several feet away.
"That Kernal feller is meetin' us at the depot in ten minutes ... ya best get movin'. He's takin' four with 'im and leavin' eight on the train. Four patrollin' the cars, two outside the silver car, one on the next and one inside, guardin' the safe. Some bald bluebelly named Miller is in charge."
"You okay?" Buck asked, toweling off and stepping towards his clean clothes. He saw the brief flicker of something he didn't like in the wide blue eyes. There then were the nimble hands. Normally, Vin tucked his hands in his belt. But when he was upset, they fluttered restlessly, fidgeting with his shirt buttons.
"I got a bad feelin' ... "
"Aw, shit!" the womanizer huffed, tugging his pants on and grabbing a dark blue shirt. "You leave them damn 'feelings' of yours here, will you? Everytime you get 'them feelings' somebody ends up at Nate's." He knew Vin's instincts were usually dead on. "We got eight soldiers, plus us ... we'll keep are eyes open ... watch the road. You ridin' shotgun?" He knew Tanner wouldn't like the confinement of the closed car. He envisioned the lean young man to be perched at the seat outside the last car, near the railing. He took his brush out of his toiletry bag and combed his damp hair back, as the smaller man shifted.
"Yeah," Vin sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "It ain't the road outside I'm worried about."
"You keep them baby blues on the tracks," Buck tugged his boots on, put his vest on and strapped his holster on. He moved next to the troubled sharpshooter and ruffled the long brown locks. "I'll keep that scrawny ass of yours safe, okay?"
"Cut that out!" Vin ducked, "Ya gotta an unnatural attraction t'm'hair! Jes' had it combed right."
"Comb!" Buck laughed, pulling his coat on and heading for the door. "That mangy head of yours hasn't seen a comb since last Christmas!"
"Yer jes' jealous!" Vin chirped, following Buck to the door, "'cause ya ain't had that new gal at the saloon shampoo yer hair and talk pretty t'ya!"
"Ruby?" Buck wheeled around, his voice high. He hadn't been able to even get a smile out of her. "You're full of shit, Tanner! She hasn't looked at me and won't give Erza the time of day." He narrowed his eyes suspicously, as the other man simply blushed and grinned. "It can't be money, hell your poorer than a pauper. Ezra's got the clothes and the silver ... my reputation speaks for itself ... I don't get it?"
"Ain't neither one o'ya got m'boyish charm!" Vin crowed, raked a single eyebrow up and elbowed Buck. The deep laughter sank into his ears and he didn't duck this time when the large man's hand clapped his back.
"No, Son, I sure don't. I also don't have the blush thing and the 'Aw, hell, Ma'am ... iffen it ain't t'much trouble'." he mimicked the other man's most effective weapons. The smile died when he felt Vin's body stiffen and stop. "What?" He eyed the soldiers and moved in front of the angry Texan. "You leave that temper of yours here, Vin Tanner. You understand? Me and Ezra will make sure none of them bother you."
"Ya study there faces, Bucklin, ya make sure ya know 'em all ... " Vin fretted, something he couldn't identify tugged at his gut. He couldn't prove it, but he felt sure they were being watched.
"Don't you worry, Son, Buck Wilmington is on the job, okay?" He gripped the buckskinned shoulder and saw the dark head bob once. "'sides, if one of them damn curls of yours is out of place, Chris'll have m'hide. Come on, let's pry Ezra away and meet Dixon."
"Ya go ahead, I already heard his speech. He's meetin' them at 4 at the water stop. I'll be sittin' on the end o' the caboose." Vin backed up, seeing the army appoach. "Buck?" he locked his hand onto the other's strong forearm and let his gratitude shine through his eyes. "Thanks."
"Aw, hell, Vin," Buck winked, feeling the warm blue lights on him. "turn down them eyes' will ya?"
Hidden behind the side of the bathhouse, the blond devil in disguise pulled on a tan coat. His army shirt was hidden under a white one. The large hat completed the disguise. Garrett already got his orders and by six p.m. Vin Tanner and his friends would be history ... and he'd be on his way to Mexico with a fortune in silver.
"Soon, Tanner," he flexed his fists, "Oh, I am going to enjoy our little reunion." He moved his hand across his stomach, where the large scar still remained. The fight was bloody and unexpected. He was in a dustbowl of a town in Texas, waiting on his orders. Tanner came into the saloon, took one look at him and growled. He was surprised to see the youth grown up and living among the decent folks. The blue eyes were feral as they regarded him, each knowing they both recalled the last time they saw each other. Garrett was finished with the pretty young Indian girl, her squalling baby next to her. She was battered and bleeding and he saw the tied up wild boy, with long light brown hair, screaming at him. He smiled, used the knife on her slowly, then lifted his club over the baby's head. He never forgot the look in the wild boy's eyes. Neither did Tanner, and they fought hard that night in the saloon. He broke ribs, cut and slashed the other man, but the Texan wouldn't be stopped. That was, until the barkeeper cold-cocked him hard. Before Garrett could finish him off, the sheriff stepped in and arrested him. His unit moved out the next day, he rode in the wagon, face swollen and marred and more than twenty stitches closing the ragged scar on his chest. He'd have his revenge ... he'd carve his name on Tanner's hide. Smiling, he watched the lean young man disappear into the train. He waited until the final whistle, and crept on board.
While the army and the peacekeepers were busy with their plan above, twenty miles south in San Paulo, Mexico, another plan was completed. The trio of Mexicans rode hard, their mission to intercept the stagecoach. Three of their group, plus four gringos were already ahead, with a large wagon, waiting to pick up the silver. The rode hard to the cutoff above the curve in the road. They covered the road with tree limbs and backtracked a few miles. It was nearly three p.m. Juan Silvestri gave the signal and they began their mission.
"We got company!" Nate called, from his perch ontop the wagon. Two shots whistled past his ear and he returned fire. He flattened his long body down, hiding his head behind a large trunk. He saw the edge of a rifle peeking out and heard the deep voice of his best friend.
"That's just downright rude, interrupting a man's nap."
"Nice shot!" Nate hollered as one of Josiah's bullets sent a bandit to his maker. Then the tide turned, when the driver and guard were hit. "Shit!" Nate snaked his body around, ducking bullets and crawled into the seat, shoving the dead man off and taking the reins. "Dammit!" He eyed the roadblock and tried to stop. The horses veered sharply, sending the wagon on it's side. He was thrown off hard. He rolled over, coughing hard, ridding his lungs of the dirt and dust he sucked in. The click of a gun in his ear and a boot on his hand halted his motion.
"I wouldn't, Senor."
Nate rolled over and nodded, slowly climbing to his feet. He dropped his gunbelt and moved slowly. He was bruised and sore, but nothing was broken. He heard the other bandit screaming and shoving his gun inside the window. He remained in place, his face set in stone, but he was desperate to hear Josiah's voice.
"Mister, I don't like any man waving a gun in my face."
Nathan sighed in relief as the gray-haired man climbed out and pulled the young solider with him. The large man was shoved hard, landing next to Nathan. One bandit's gun remained at Nate's temple, the other moved to the quivering soldier. He was detained, backhanded hard enough to draw blood and send him to his knees.
"Get that money bag!"
"I don't know what you're talking about. I'm Private Calvin Endicott of Fort Laramie. My commanding officer is ... "
"Silence!" Joaquin screamed, still seeing his dead brother Juan's body in the road. "One of you gringo's killed my brother. For that, you will all die." He shot the boy once in the neck, causing a large gush of blood to spout.
"Jesus!" Nate moved to assist him and was thrown to the ground. "I'm a healer, I'm just gonna see if I can help him."
"You move again and you'll join him in Hell ... " the bandit replied, watching his partner go right to the box where the money was. Josiah and Nathan stole a quiet glance. The preacher was right, somebody tipped them. The normal spot for the money was under the driver's feet in a box. But the bandit went right to the place where the soldier tucked it away.
Joaquin took the money bag and tossed it down, quickly following. But he stumbled and both men sprung. Nate drew a knife from his back in one swift motion, killing his captor. The large knife hit the center of his chest with a loud thud. Josiah tackled the other man, both rolled sideways down a hill. Nate picked up the other man's gun and followed, just as a shot rang out.
"Josiah!" He screamed, firing as the bandit's gun rose a second time. The shot took the back of the dark head off. He saw the large man shove the dead one's body off and wave.
"It's not bad, see to that kid ... "
Nate nodded and knelt next to the boy, whose life was quickly coming to and end. He applied a pressure, stemming the flow and used his kerchief to tie a solid bandage around the boy's neck. He eased him upright, leaning him against the underside of the carriage in the shade. Then he ran down the hill, dropping next to his pale friend.
"Yuh said it wasn't bad!" He hissed, watching the scarlet ribbons on the white shirt flow down from the large hand on the bloody shoulder. The teeth bared again in a feeble attempt at an apology.
"I love ... it ... when ... a ... pl ... an ... comes ... together ... " he groaned as the skilled dark hand pressed against the wound. " ... ad ... mit ... it ... Brother, I was..r..r..ight ... "
"Shut up, Preacher, I ain't done cussin' at yuh yet ... Don't got the sense God gave an imbecile. What was yuh thinkin' jumpin' that felluh? Yuh ain't so young anymore ... look at yuh ... hole in yuh Goddamn shoulder ... dammit!"
Josiah sighed and studied the other man's creased features. "You know, Nathan, you shouldn't frown, it's giving you age lines."
"Didn't have no creases 'til I squatted in that town ... spend half my day patchin' up a bunch of ungrateful cowboys. Get up," he ordered, helping the other stand. "There's a large area under the wagon, full of shade. I gotta get that bullet out of yuh ... "
"He dead?" Josiah blinked, eyeing the pale young soldier.
"No, half hour, give or take," Nate predicted. "He's losin' too much blood. I'm gonna send up the firecracker and then I get that bullet out."
"No," Josiah hissed, held his shoulder and sat down gingerly. Nate disappeared and returned with his cloth bag, loaded with the tools of his trade and carbolic.
"No? Whaddya mean no! It's gotta come out."
"Not the bullet," Sanchez grunted, "the firecracker," he noted of the preplanned signal. If they were hit, they were to send up the flare, which would let the army know. "They see that, they'll come ridin'. Look around Nate," he released his grip and let the skilled knife cut the stained fabric from this shoulder. "What's wrong with the picture?" He hissed and grit his teeth when the healer rinsed the wound with soap and water, then doused it with whiskey. "I think you enjoyed that!" He shot out angrily, "three men ... it ... don't make ... sense."
"Yeah," Nate eased the large man down onto the ground and inspected the wound. "It's not deep, shouldn't take long." Glancing back to the road, his keen dark eyes narrowed. "So what then? Yuh think whoever planned this, used them as cannon fodder? So the real crime is covered up?"
"Somebody in the army unit at Burnt Mills knew the plan. If we send up ... a ... signal ... tipping them off."
"So, while the army rides this way, them other jaspers rob the train?"
"You get the bullet out ... patch me up ... I'll stay with the boy ... pray over him. You ride ... warn Chris. Somebody with him it waiting for that signal ... as long as they don't see it, we got time. Time Buck, Ezra and Vin need." He put a piece of wood in his teeth, shut his eyes and prayed. Nate was quick and sure, tugging out the bullet and quickly completing his work. The arm was secured in a sling. He was groggy now, finding it hard to remain alert. He watched Nate set up a camp of sorts, placing the food, water and guns right next to him. He took a large gulp from the canteen and relaxed, easing his back against the carriage. "Godspeed, Brother," he clasped the hand offered and felt the other man's large smile warm him.
"I'll send J.D. back for yuh ... with some men. Shouldn't be too long. Keep drinkin' water and try to eat somethin' ... "
Josiah watched until Nate was a speck on the horizon, then he rested his good hand in the limp one of the dying boy's and began to pray. He saw the boy's pale lips moving, reading the prayers along with him. He was also praying for his friends and that this night would not end with anyone else shedding blood. He would be wrong.
Buck and Ezra spent a quite enjoyable afternoon, chatting with the ladies they'd met. They each patrolled the length of the cars twice, taking turns eyeing the passengers, soldiers and terrain. The iron horse slowed down and Buck eyed the watch in his pocket.
"We're pulling into Rawley Branch," Buck noted of the water stop. "I think I'll stretch my legs and check on Vin. Ladies," he nodded, kissing each hand offered. "Indigestion, Ezra?" he winked at he groan of disgust the other threw his way.
"Not at all, while you chat with our buckskinned friend, I shall escort the ladies to a table in the dining car. Should you care to join us ... "
"It's not a party without old Buck, now isn't it?"
"Bye bye Buck," the brunette cooed, licking her lips slowly and arching a single eyebrow.
"Darlin' you hold that thought and don't be wearin' out that pink tongue of yours ... Old Buck's got his eye on it."
"Good Lord, I am getting indigestion!" Ezra groaned, rising and shoving Buck the other way.
"Hey Vin!" Buck ducked outside the end car, watching the breeze lift he Texan's hair. The mare's leg shot up, cocked and ready to fire. The Texan wasn't dozing in the sun, that was for sure! "Hello usually works for most folks," he teased, eyeing the depot approaching. "I'm gonna get off and use the privvy. You need anything?"
"No, don't be battin' them eyes at any skirts in there, ya end up stuck out here."
"Never happen," Buck hopped down as the train slowed and stopped. "Buck's always on the job."
"Hah!" Vin snorted, returning to his relaxed stance.
After he left the privvy, Buck's eyes narrowed in suspicion. A blond soldier, fair of face, left the train and walked into the depot. He saw the look of concern on the face, which several times peered into the eastern sky. What was he looking for up there? Buck memorized each soldier and had been through the train twice. This man was not with their group. Vin's words tickled his ear and he followed the man, hiding behind a large gathering of boxes, he listened as the tapping of the telegraph began. After the blond paid a coin and left, Buck read the message the operator wrote down, then cursed silently. It was to a 'red dog' in San Paulo, Mexico, stating that gray wolf and the pack would be on time. He frowned and mentally drew a picture of San Paulo, which was just at the end of Camino Del Diablo in Mexico. He picked up his step, eager to find the blond and question him.
While Buck was in the depot, Vin entered the last car, looking for Ezra. He moved forward, through several cars, until he came to the dining car. It was crowded and too many bodies were pressed close together. He couldn't go forward or backward and began to sweat, as he felt his air closing off. Then a voice from behind him, caused his blood to chill. He felt the hot breath down his neck, as the words spilled out softly, for his ears only.
"She sure was a sweet piece Tanner, fought like a wildcat ... ripe and full of milk from that squalling papoose. I can still feel her ripping under that blade, I done her slow, you know, twisting and turning ... that little dog's head smashed like a melon when ... "
That was all Vin heard. The crowd disappeared, the noise in the car died away, his blue eyes grew wide and full of rabid venom. Her face rose in front on him, smiling shyly as she nursed her child. The smell came back, of roasting flesh and the cries of the dead. He saw Garrett raping her and the blood on the knife.
"Good Lord!" Ezra choked on his wine and jumped up as Vin's earshattering scream split the crowded car. He saw a flash of blue uniform, a sneering blond face, almost feverish with lust and then Vin slamming the man hard into the wall. The Texan's voice was full of rage and he spoke in an Indian dialect. Words hard and forced through gritted teeth, combined with the firelust in the blue eyes. The passengers shoved away, screaming and fearful. "No!" he called out, watching three army men rush toward the pair. All they saw were the blue legs down with Vin's fist clutching a knife high. "Vin! Stop!"
Buck's head jerked as he heard the name of his friend. He moved through the crowd, just in time to see a burly guard aim his pistol at Vin's head.
"What the hell are you doing!" Wilmington screamed, shoving the army man's hand out of harm's way. "There's women in there, are you crazy! You could kill somebody."
"I was trying to do just that! That heathen attacked one of my men ... that's reason enough."
"We don't know that!" Buck deflected, as two more bluecoats moved in fast. One slammed a rifle into Vin's ribcage. He screamed, turned and attacked. The passengers made it difficult for Buck or Ezra to get close. Amidst the confusion, Brad Garrett crawled through an army of legs, unseen and out to the landing. He climbed the small metal ladder to the roof and easily made his way down to the end car. Dropping down to the landing, he tugged the large white shirt on, the tan jacket and slouchy brown hat. Then he slid inside and back into his hiding place.
While the culprit got away, Vin was on all fours. The burning sensation exploded in his chest, causing all his air to be stolen. He heard screaming and blinked as the fog lifted. The village disappeared and he saw skirts, blue legs and dusty boots. He was confused and in pain. He looked up for help, just as a large rifle slammed into his head.
"No!" Buck and Ezra screamed in unison.
"What the fuck is wrong with you!" Buck screamed, shoving the assailant so hard he felt backwards onto a table. "You could have killed him! It ain't bad enough you caved his ribs in? He was hurt, looking for help."
"He attacked a soldier, I have orders."
"You can't shove them orders where the sun don't shine!" the rogue gritted, dropping to Vin Tanner's side. Ezra met him over the body, lifting Vin up and holding him backwards against his chest. He whipped out a pristine white hanky and held it to the large gash on the Texan's head. "Christ, he's bleeding bad, Ezra. Vin, Vin," he pleaded, one shaking hand tapping the bloody mask where the face should be, just as the bloody lips parted.
"Bazi ... Bazi ... " Vin whispered, seeing the beautiful face appear before him. Then his head exploded in a blinding burst of fire. He sighed once and let go, falling far below into a dark abyss.
They both heard the aching whisper and Buck sent a shaking pair of fingers to the Texan's neck. The other hand cupping Vin's red, sticky covered face. " ... Jesus, I can't find a pulse ... " He choked, staring at the shocked, stunned jade eyes of the gambler.
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