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.
(Ezra's quote is from the above net site "Army Mom's Safe Haven" (a collection of poetry and quotes )
J.D.Dunne was hot, tired and hungry. He was not looking forward to another night sleeping on the ground and eating army grub. From the angle of the sun, he'd guess it was nearly four p.m. He sighed, took off his hat, wiped the sweat from his brow, before replacing his bowler. After taking a good drink from his canteen, he had the water container halfway to the pommel, when his eyes narrowed. He sat up straight and squinted into the horizon. The cloud of dust revealed a moving object, racing toward them at a record pace.
"Rider coming in!" He called out, instantly halting the troop. He heard a scattering of hooves and watched Chris move past. The leader was trailing the group, his face obscured by his flat-brimmed hat. The youth watched the poncho-clad figure knee up in the saddle, green eyes locked on the approaching figure. Several minutes passed by, then he sat back down and twisted one hip, facing the youngest.
"It's Nathan."
"Something must have happened to Josiah," Orrin stated, noting the harsh entry.
"Maybe not," Dunne interjected, "Maybe the stage broke down or they busted an axle or ... " he stopped then, as the features on the healer's face became visible. They were tense and drawn.
"What happened?" Chris called out, tossing his canteen to the exhausted, hot and sweaty rider. The dark-skinned man drank greedily, before handing it back and taking several breaths.
"Three Mexicans tried to rob the stage, killed the driver."
"Tried?" the General asked, moving closer. "You captured them?"
"Killed 'em ... didn't leave us no choice. The ambused us and shot the driver. I tried to outrun 'em but the road was blocked. They shot that boy, I'm sorry," he turned back to Chris. "Josiah took one in the shoulder, I dug it out. He's resting with the soldier under the side of the wagon."
"So the payroll is intact? You left it there in the watch of a wounded man?" The General scoffed, only to be cut short.
"My first priority, the only priority was gettin' help Josiah Sanchez." He bit off the rest, when a tense black Larabee glove gripped his forearm.
"You had orders to signal ... what if the rest of that gang was behind them," the commander irately demanded.
"They were alone and I had my reasons." Nate bristled, like J.D., he saw this arrogant man through Vin's eyes now. Try as he might, he could only see a young boy being beaten.
He turned away, but not before Chris saw something lingering in the dark eyes. He nodded slightly, letting Nathan know he understood. Whatever was bothering the ex-slave, he didn't want the army to know. "We'll need a wagon ... "
"Fort Carlisle is close and they have an army surgeon there." Reinhardt insisted, turning towards the back. "Transfer the supplies into the larger wagon. Oates, you and Dillon take the empty wagon back to the stage. Take the wounded and dead and the payroll back to the Fort."
"Chris ... " Nathan hissed, jerking his head. He slid off his horse, and walked over to the supply wagon. He selected some bandages and carbolic, handing them to J.D. "Yuh ride back with 'em, see to Josiah."
"Okay," J.D. nodded, "What's wrong, Nate?" Like Larabee, he knew this men well enough to see the smoke lingering in the dark eyes.
The healer looked around cautiously, before proceeding in a whisper. Chris turned sideways, unrolling a yellowed, parched map. Pretending to read it, he didn't meet Nate's eye. J.D. was rolling linen strips, while Nathan loaded a small sak and talked in a whisper.
"We were set up. Somebody wearin' blue in Burnt Mills got word to those bandits."
"You got proof?" Chris asked, continuing to study the map.
"Yeah ... a blond soldier put that payroll behind the driver, not in the box under his feet where it was supposed to go." He scanned the troops, not seeing the man. "He ain't here. Josiah switched it ... moved it to the mail bag. That bandit, he went right to the spot that blond fella put it in."
" ... and ... " Larabee prodded, hearing the lingering doubts.
"They were cannon fodder," the medic replied, catching a slip of green as the leader's eyes shifted. "The train ... that's the main target. We didn't use the rockets, 'cause that would have tipped them off."
"Oh," the youth kept his voice low, his nimble fingers wrapped cotton. " A diversion?"
"Yeah," Chris grunted, "With us riding in the other direction, leavin' the train ripe for picking. I'll update Orrin and the General. I'll be diplomatic," he paused, hearing Nate's snort. "What? I can be diplomatic!" He noted of keeping their suspicions. "It should buy us a little time."
"You think somebody here was going to relay word to the train ... maybe somebody on the train is involved?" the sheriff inquired, worried about Buck and the others.
"Could be," Nate sighed, "I don't like it ... there's a stretch of track that's just past Queen's Cut ... a blind curve around a steep turn. Something happens up there ... it'll be hard to get to 'em."
"If they did plan this ... to hit the train after ... then they would need wagons to take the silver away. "J.D. added.
"Hiding ... and not far from the border." Chris sighed, rubbing his neck.
"Yeah, but they still to use the 'devil's highway'." Nate handed J.D. the bag. "Yuh watch yuhself,"
"As soon as I'm sure Josiah is okay, I'll catch up ... " he vowed, tipping his hat and hopping back on his horse.
"It would appear you have developed a case of indigestion," Orrin noted dryly, reading Chris Larabee's features. The General was speaking with Nathan and his aide was writing a report to be taken to the Fort.
"It was a diversion," Chris used his time wisely. "The real target is the train and it was timed. Josiah switched the payroll bags in Burnt Mills. Nate said the bandit went right to the spot that a blond soldier transferred it to. He'd have known about the signal."
"So while we rode in the wrong direction, they rob the train?" Travis squinted, eyeing the soldiers. "Is he here?"
"No, Nate didn't see him, he must be on the train." Chris clipped his speech, when the General approached.
"Your man has a very viable theory. We better move out, we have a lot of ground to cover if we want to reach the train by dark."
"We need to secure that road, it's the only route back to Mexico." Orrin paused, "Will Major Douglas be able to send out reinforcements?"
"I've already addressed that in my letter. I'll leave four men at the junction, to meet them and update."
"Let's ride," Chris turned away, urging his steed towards the doomed train that bore his three friends. With every mile that the strong black horse covered, Chris's heart sank a little. Despite their best efforts, he had a cold feeling that his friend's lives were in grave danger.
"You stupid bastard, you killed him!" Buck snarled, severing the man's guts with his taloned eyes. He shot up and gripped the startled soldier by the collar, only to have Ezra's cool voice stoke the fire within him further.
"I thought I smelled a diseased carcass," the southerner's lips curled in disgust. "Mister Wilmington, that 'soldier'," he nearly choked on the word, "was one of the pair who accosted Mister Tanner in the saloon."
"You filthy dog!" Buck gritted, slamming the man into the hard wooden pole by the entry.
"Enough!" Colonel Dixon roared from the doorway. "What is the meaning of this!"
"That animal attacked on of my men ... I had to put him down," Badgar leered, shoving Buck's arm away.
"Put him down?" the rogue's voice was dripping venom, "You say one more word and I'll slice twenty pounds of that lard you're cartin' around your waist off, you bastard!" Buck seethed, shaking off the two men restraining him.
"He's breathing," Ezra said quietly, feeling the raspy warm breath against his palm, which was cupped over Vin's nose. "We need to inquire about a physician. He needs medical attention. The head wound appears serious." He took a linen napkin from the table behind him and pressed it hard against the raggedy cut on Vin's hairline. A small moan escaped, a brief tremble, then the body relaxed against his chest.
"Clear this car immediately. Reilly, get statements from the witnesses. Which soldier was attacked?" The commanding officer demanded.
"Yeah, where is that mystery man? I don't see him!" Buck eyed the flushed faces of Badger and Wallace.
"He was there, minding his own business when that heathen started screamin' in Injun-talk and pulled out a knife. He'd like to slit his throat."
Buck's anger flushed in full when the crowd began to murmur in agreement. "You got no room to talk. From what I've heard, you ain't too shy when it comes to usin' a knife. He was provoked."
"You weren't even here!" one woman huffed. "I was afraid for my person." she backed up clutching her neck. "I insist you put him out."
"After you, Madame," Ezra growled, "that should clear the air considerably. Pity that the ground will break your fall."
"Well," she huffed, tossing her head up, "I never ... "
"Lady, I think that's half your problem," Buck tossed back, while Ezra smirked. "Well? Where is he?"
"I can give you a complete description," Standish lowered Vin onto the floor, folding a table cloth under his caked, crimson head. He took a pitcher of water and more napkins from a sympathetic young private and began to wash Vin's marred features. "Blond, about my height but stockier, to the untrained eye, a handsome man with blue eyes. He was in uniform, but not a member of our group."
"Are you sure?" Dixon asked.
"Positive! Studying faces and being aware of the ... well, let's just say I'm quite observant." Ezra replied.
Buck dropped to Vin's side, taking the sodden cloth from the wound and using a clean one. His eyes met Ezra's and flickered left to right.
"How is he?" the commader asked, eyeing the ministrations the men were providing
"Why don't we ask him?" Buck snarled, flashing stormy blues at the pristine gold buttons on the coat before him. "Vin, how you doin' with your ribs and half your head caved in by a homicial maniac?"
"Buck ... " Standish hissed in warning.
"Colonel?" A sentry at the door interrupted.
"Excuse me," He left the pair, walking to the next car to speak to the witnesses.
"You keep a civil tongue! You're not helping matters!" the gambler warned, then lowered his face as the body beneath him stirred. "Vin, can you hear me?"
"I saw that guy!" Buck whispered, lifting the injured man's head slightly. "You with us, Slick?" he paused, watching the lips part and several unintelligible, soft sounds emerge. Two confused eyes opened, drowning in a sea of murky pain and blue confusion. "Vin?" Buck's brief hope flickered and died. He took the tracker's hand, which was fumbling and flopping like a fish out of water and gripped it firmly. Twice it batted his leg, before he took hold. "You hold on, we got a doctor coming. Okay? Damn," he slumped, as the eyes rolled and shut. "It's bad ... "
"Yes, I'm afraid it is," Ezra gently lowered Vin, keeping a hand on his chest. "What about the man?"
"Oh, I saw him in the depot at the water stop, he sent a wire." Buck relayed the message and saw Ezra's wheels turning. "I gotta find him, he's our inside man."
"Or perhaps just one of them," Ezra saw a middle aged man with reddish hair and a black bag. "I certainly hope he has a miracle in there."
"Sir," the private shuffled, "this man is a doctor, he offered to look at the prisoner."
"Prisoner!" Buck boomed, "You damn well know ... he's no prisoner." He eyed Dixon, who studied Vin's prone body and then sighed.
"I'm sorry, Mister Wilmington, but every witness gave the same account. Until we pull into San Diego, he'll be kept under lock and key. Once the doctor looks at his injuries, we'll move him to the guarded car."
"I wouldn't advise that," the doctor knelt in the spot vacated by Buck. One look at the pale, sweaty face, shallow breathing and large amount of blood was a good indication. He felt the cold hands of the young man and tilted the blood-encrusted head to have a better look. One trained hand took the pulse, then moved to examine his eyes. "This man is gravely injured. Movement should be limited. He should be kept warm and comfortable, he's lost blood and is in shock. After I stitch his wound and wrap those broken ribs, we can carefully proceed." he turned to the man across from him with a bright red coat. "Can you lift him please. Let's get that coat off, that's it. Careful of his head, support it ... " he slid his stethescope under the injured man's bloody shirt and listened to his breathing. "His lungs are intact ... but a sudden wrong move and he could pierce one. He needs to be kept quiet and still. We might even stop at Fullerton," he noted of the small mining town, "and take him off. He'd be better without all this rough motion."
The Colonel waited several minutes, watching the surgeon carefully remove the shirt from Tanner. Standish held him under the arms, while the doctor wrapped his ribs. After close to two dozen stitches were applied to the gash on hairline near his forehead, he cleaned the pale young man's face. The skilled hand gently removing the blood encrusted in his right ear, neck and shoulder.
"Thanks, Doc," Buck stooped down, absentmindedly moving Vin's hair from his face, so a thick white bandage could be wrapped around his head.
"I'd like to remain with him," he said to the two men who were visibly upset by their friend's condition. The older one's hands were trembling as they lifted the long, crimson-tinged brown hair. "I'm Doctor Miles Smith from the University of Pennsylvania."
"A pleasure, Sir," Ezra shook his hand and offered payment, which was denied.
"No, the pleasure is mine," he helped Buck get the young man back in his shirt. "I spent the better part of an hour speaking with him. He was outside the end car, I was having a smoke. He's quite a remarkable young man, I was very impressed."
"I'm sorry Doctor," the Colonel denied, "but he's a prisoner. I'm grateful for your services, but he'll be transferred and kept under guard. If he gets worse, I'll send a man for you. Thomas," he barked, and a soldier jumped up. "Take him away."
"Hold on!" Buck stood up, using every inch of his tall frame. "You heard what that doctor said. He shouldn't be bounced around. He's not gonna hurt anybody, hell he might not ever wake up, thanks to trained bear you have."
"Would you like to join him!" Dixon snapped, eyes shooting fire.
"Is that a threat, Sir," the word curled up in disgust and died as it dropped from the irate peacekeeper's mouth.
"Buck!" Ezra hissed, pushing his slight body in front. "I'd like to remain with him. His injuries are too grievous to be left unattended. Would that be acceptable?"
"You want to play nursemaid, Standish, be my guest," he waved his arm. "You can help carry him." he turned away and strode from the car.
"I'll stay with Vin in the silver car," Ezra whispered, shoving the broad chest of Buck Wilmington backwards. "You keep that temper in check, if we are to prevail, I need you thinking clearly, understood?"
"Yeah," Buck sighed, lifting Vin upright.
"See that you do!" Ezra chastised, as Buck helped him lift the unconscious man. "You find our missing man ... and get some answers! There's a dangerous stretch of road approaching and darkness will be upon us in a couple hours. If they intend on robbing the train, it will be then."
"Alright," Buck sighed, backing up. He took the scarlett arm, feeling for the tiny trick gun. "You keep that peashooter primed and ready, okay Ace?"
"Fear not, I shall live to conquest another day," he nodded, hearing the concern in the other's voice. Ezra had Vin's upper body and the soldier gripped him under the knees. He paused, taking Vin's strong, square, stubbled chin in his hand. He heard the animated drawl in the bathhouse and saw the eyes in his mind, light blue and full of boyish charm. How true the tracker's words had been! He took a steadying breath and left one calloused thumb caress the stubbled cheek. "You fight like hell, Vin Tanner ... " He turned away sharply, not looking back, taking his long legs to the next car to begin his search. Little did he know, Fate had cast her cold black eyes on the trio, dusting them all with blood and pain.
The afternoon heat blazed down unmercifully, not granting favor to the holy man. He'd drained the water and now was cloaked in a blanket of lethargy. He jerked his head away, something was buzzing in his ear. Damn flies ... can't give a man any peace.
J.D. was off his horse in a flash, several yards ahead of the wagon. He dropped to the unconscious preacher's side, dousing a cloth with water and wiping the sweaty, pasty face. He saw the soldier then and moved one hand over, wavering in an unsettled dance near the stilled neck.
"He's dead."
"Josiah?" he jumped, voice scratchy.
"You were expecting someone else?" The preacher sighed, squinting at the darked outline, the features obscured by th sun. "Didn't lose that hat yet? Damn shame."
"You're just jealous!" he sighed, "Come on, let's get you into the wagon. We're headed to Fort Carlisle so you can see a doctor."
Josish was leaning against the back of the wagon, as J.D. completed his bandage changing. The arm slid into a crude sling, causing the gray-haired man to wince.
"Sorry!"
"That's okay, Son, you're a lot quieter than Brother Jackson," he smiled, "At my age, I appreciate the small things." He moved slightly as the wrapped body of the soldier was placed next to him. His smokey eyes met the soldier's, who locked the back of the wagon in place. "He saved our lives, you make sure his folks know that."
"Yes, Sir," the soldier nodded.
"J.D., payroll's in the boot ... best get it and we can get moving. Two bags of mail in there too." Sanchez sighed, his heavy eyes sliding shut. "Any word on the train?"
"Not yet," Dunne called back, snaking his arm into the upended rear of the stage.
Vin never stirred during the short sojurn to the car which would be his holding cell. Ezra waited while the two army men guarding the car stepped forward and glanced at Vin.
"He that loon that Badger talked about?" the older man asked the soldier bearing Vin's legs.
"He's many things, most of which are well beyond your feeble grasp. Please step aside." Ezra huffed, as the door opened. "Good Lord, they're recruiting children ... " he mumbled, eyeing the extremely youthful face that greeted them. His wide-eyed stance, stammering and shuffling body, gun dropping and hat falling off, made J.D. seem like a old pro. "Easy Son, I do not fancy meeting my maker today."
"Huh ... uh ... halt ... uh ... "
"Hughes, he's a prisoner, you keep your eye out!" The guard barked, nodding to a long crate. One side of the car was filled with long, coffin-like crates. The gambler quickly deduced that they were rifles, new and expensive. Several smaller crates sat in the far corner and beyond that, the crates containing the silver. He felt the sweat already clinging to him, as a result of the thick, stagnant air.
"If you would be so kind," Ezra grunted, thankful that he was carrying the slim Texan and not the sly rogue. "Would you mind laying a blanket on that crate?" he jerked his head to the lone box that had room around it and a little air. The boy eyed the other guard, who was eager to drop Vin. He then laid out a dark green, coarse blanket. Vin was settled onto the wooden box. Ezra used his jacket, carefully folded, as a pillow. He spotted two large empty cotton sacks in the corner and cut them in strips. He used a third one, cut lengthwise, to cover Vin's upper body. He frowned, when Vin's features grimaced in silent pain. A clinking sound caused him to turn. "What are you doing?" He asked the flustered youth. The other soldier was gone, leaving the roomy car just with Ezra, Vin and the very young soldier.
"He's ... a ... needs ... to be locked up ... uh ... under control ... manacled ... it says so in the book."
"Yes, well I can see where you would be concerned, as he's done nothing but jump about and attempt to flee since he arrived!"
"I gotta orders to follow, I don't make 'em ... " the boy bruskly replied, returning to his post near the silver.
"I have an aversion for 'orders'," the southerner replied, eyeing the iron gripping Vin's bootless ankle. He picked up the worn leather boot and placed it on the crate next to the body. The other end of the manacle was attached to a pipe that ran the length of the car. Ezra pulled a smaller crate over and backed it up the end wall, several feet from Vin. He sat down and stretched his legs out, using the only space available. He pulled out a small flask and took a sip. His shirt was soaked, the dense air clung to him. His face was already damp and he felt stifled. "Perhaps I should have listened to Mother and gone to medical school ... " he mused, pondering his fate. His curious jade gaze went to the young boy guarding the silver. Dirty blond hair and wide brown eyes were trained on him, along with the quivering rifle. "I am not the enemy, Son. How old are you anyway?"
"Eighteen," he wavered ... "almost"
"How almost ... " Ezra stared hard and answered his own question. "Sixteen?" The flush rising gave him his answer. "No greater dependence is to be placed on the eagerness of young soldiers for action, for the prospect of fighting is agreeable to those who are strangers to it." He drawled, recalling the quote well.
"You a writer?"
"Hah!" Ezra scoffed, "My gift for words is limited compared to Mister Tanner," his gaze went to the injured man, "He is the master."
"He said that?" The soldier stammered. "You're kidding!"
"No, that quote was from a writer, a Roman for the 4th century named Vegetius. It's meaning is timeless. Virginia?" He guessed at the accent and saw the head bobbing.
"My Pa died at Gettysburg, I joined up as soon as I was old ... uh ... well, the Sargeant said I would be a fine addition."
"Hah," Ezra choked, "Spoken in the truest sense of blue." He shuffled a deck of cards and watched the young man pacing. "You should have elected to continue your education. This world is far more in need of the skill of pen, rather then sword."
"Me and school didn't get along ... I'm Ted Hughes, Fairfax County."
"Ezra Standish," he nodded in return, rising as Vin began to move. He watched the eyes part briefly, not seeing anything above them. He picked up a canteen and gently raised the sweat-soaked Texan's head. "I have some water, don't gulp it ... " he instructed, tipping the container skillfully, then pulling it back. The eyes closed and he laid the head back down. He resumed his seat, shuffled his cards and wondered how his partner was faring.
Buck combed every car in the first class section, scouring the closets and sleeping berths as well.. He then moved to the coach section, passing by two cars. He entered the third and stood in the doorway, his dark blue eyes sweeping left than right, studying each face. He walked slowly, eyeing the twilight outside and worrying. He had a bad feeling and was about to exit the third car, when a body moved past him, heading for the door. From his sideview, he caught a speck of blond hair peeking from beneath a large hat. He tilted his head, then saw a hint of dark cloth under the large white shirt the man wore. He pulled his gun, moving to close the gap. It was the same man! "Hey!" he cried out, at the same time the body shoved him aside. The chase was on ... both men running through the two remaining coach cars, hitting the benches and passengers as the motion of the train hampered their ability.
"Stop him!" Buck hollered, but nobody paid attention. He tackled the younger man as they neared the end of the car. A heavy boot shot back and clipped his jaw, sending tooth through lip and expelling blood and curses. The blond disappeared up the small ladder, leading to the top of the car. Buck followed, ducking as a shot rang out, he gripped the thin bar with one hand and returned fire. Then, he resumed the chase. The wind whipped his hat off, as he climbed on the roof. The speed of the train made it difficult for either of them to move with any agility. Buck's eyes didn't miss the fact that the man was nervous. He kept looking at the left side of the road, in the distance. Then he'd get a frantic look ... as if he was a rat caught in a trap. Something was very wrong!
Another bullet whizzed by, sending him to his knees. He ducked out of harms way, returning fire and hitting his target. Buck approached cautiously on his hands and knees, trying not to fall off the top of the car. He snaked his left hand out, trying to grab the man's gunarm. Blood ran down the arm of the soldier. The train hit a curve, causing him to lose his balance. The gun came up, firing and striking his arm.
"Shit!" He dove forward, covering the man's body with his own. He lifted the blond head and smacked it hard against the car. "What's got you rattled? You got a pack of lowlifes waiting on you ahead? Is that what the wire was that you sent?" He saw the flicker of surprise and grunted, "You got about ten seconds ... " he clicked the gun against the struggling man's head. "What happened in the Dining Car? Spill it! What are you up to?"
Brad Garrett weighed his options. He was on his belly, the larger man straddling him. If they were on time, he had only minutes. That meant no time to spare. He had to get rid of Tanner's mouthy friend and get off the train. His keen blue eyes darted, recalling the comaraderie he heard the two exchange in Burnt Mills. He needed to distract the man, cause him to flinch ... just a second of hesitation.
" ... I just reminded him of the first time we met," he spat out in contempt, snaking his right hand slowly down his hip to his thigh. "He was a dirty savage, tied up and blue-eyed wild. I was hard for his sister, she's wasn't much older than him."
"You fuckin' animal," Buck hissed in shock, his stomach churning. "You raped and murdered women and children!" He slammed the head again, a red haze clouded his senses. His sister ... Vin was forced to watch this animal rape and murder his sister.
"They weren't real women," he goaded, his fingers finding what they sought. "After I had my fill of her ... I used this!" He slammed the knife into the man's meaty thigh, jerked his body around as the other cried out in pain. He brought the gun up, aimed it at the shocked man's face and prepared to fire.
The pain was so sharp, unexpected and intense, Buck had no time to prepare. He screamed as the blade drove through flesh and muscle, ripping his tender thigh. He saw the muzzle of a pistol and grabbed at the villian's wrist. They rolled over, dangerously near the edge. The gun was presed to his cheek and Buck bit the man's hand hard, nearly severing his little finger.
It was then that fate decided to smile on the brave rogue. The new night sky was filled with a horrific sound. The well planted sticks of dynamite did their job. The explosion sent the first several cars down off the steep curve into the valley below. Most of the others curled up in protest, lying on their sides. Neither combatant saw this, for the initial blast sent them airborne.
The sudden gravity defying motion, accented by a ear-piercing detonation, slammed the conman into the heavy door, sending his shoulder out of joint. His head cracked the frame hard, causing a warm spill of blood down his face. He was tumbled over and over, upside down and finally, through a horrible screeching sound of metal, rock and fiery friction clashing, the car shuddered and stopped. He was pitched onto a broken crate, his back slashed with a pain so intense it caused a white burst of color before his dazed jade eyes. He couldn't move at all, his shoulder throbbed mercilessly, the pain in his head and the blood loss had him dizzy and nausious. In the dim light, he saw a jagged piece of metal embedding in the neck of the soldier. The boy's head was no longer with his body. Sickened, he turned his eyes away, not able to stop the vomit from spilling. Gasping and choking, he then realized his two worst fears. One was the searing pain in his back and his inability to move his lower body. The other was the fact that Vin Tanner was gone. The crates were smashed, falling on each other like kindling. Was Vin's body torn to pieces, like the unfortunate soldier's? The pain was unbearable now, but still he remained lucid and awake. Then he saw it ... and his heart nearly stopped. There, at the far end of his blurring vision, from beneath the rubble, was one slim, pale Tanner hand. Was it a beacon in the darkness? It was limp and dangling just inches above the floor.
"Vin ... " he whispered painfully, wondering if he or anyone else, was still alive. A shock he hadn't felt since the war gripped him. The kind that comes after the carnage of battle. It filled the quiet night and blanketed him roughly. That numbing tranquility didn't last long ... after a few seconds of deafening silence, the screaming started. The depths of agony filled the gut-shredding shrieks was previously unknown to him. "Oh God ... " he choked, fearing a long, agonizing death and wondering why God wasn't more merciful. The poor boy who died, undoubtedly, felt nothing. He felt air and realized that a part of the car was ripped open. What followed, caused him to vomit again. He was grateful that Fate placed him on his side. The stench of burning flesh, from some poor souls, slowly roasting to death, was too much to bear. He welcomed the blackness and surrendered to the void.
Clay Morgan, like any other ten-year old, loved watching trains. A quarter mile from his house, there was a hill that overlooked the steep turn known as 'Queen's Cut'. Every twilight, just after apple pie, he and his nine-year old brother Matt sat and waited. But tonight, something horrible happened. Something that scared the two boys out of their wits and left them in stunned silence. An explosion under the second car, sent the locomotive and three cars behind it down into the canyon. Several others tipped over, before the rest clamored to a stop.
The older boy flinched as the screams of those trapped and injured filled the descending night air. He hauled his brother up and shoved him back towards the path to their home.
"We gotta get Pa, get some help for them folks."
"Clay!" Matt protested, pointing a dirty fist, "What are they doing?"
The keen-eyed older boy saw a group of men hiding behind a cluster of rocks east of the wreck. They had a wagon and left one man guarding it, while the others swarmed down the hill. They didn't turn towards the cars in the back, where the screaming was. They went to the fourth car, which was upside down.
"Clay!"
"Shhhh!" the older boy shoved his brother's head out of sight and continued to watch. Two of them emerged, clearly not happy. They had a large box and dumped a pile of rocks out. One large man kicked the box in anger. "I think ... they're robbing the train ... they ain't helping any of the hurt folks. You go home and get Pa, I'm gonna watch 'em. Go!" After his brother was safely down the road, the inquisitive older boy inched forward, so he could hear.
The voices roused him. The buzzing sounds turned coherent and he peeled an eye open. He was shocked to find it worked. No other limb would, every movement brought a ripple of agony down his back and through his neck and shoulders. His equilibrium was disturbed and it took several minutes to realize he as lying on the ceiling. Vin. The image of the pale hand returned and he moved his head slightly, the hand was still there. The voices returned and he glanced around. Several crates obscured his view, but a gaping hole in the side of the car provided air. There was an opening between the crates, a tiny window giving him a view of a single gold braid running up a blue hip. He was about to cry out for help, when he heard them.
"Where is it?"
"I don't know, Sir, it should have been here. Those five boxes were the silver shipment, they're loaded with worthless chunks of ore. I don't get it? Where's the silver?"
"I'm afraid I underestimated the President and my compatriots in Washington. I'd wager that the silver has long since been delivered .This was a ruse to lure us into a trap."
Ezra clamped his mouth shut, now fearing for his life. The voice attached to a body obscured from his full view belonged to Colonel Richard Dixon. No wonder he'd been so anxious to have Vin under lock and key! Nor did he protest when he'd volunteered to remain with his fallen friend. They were cannon fodder. Buck was his only hope now. Buck? Where was Buck? Was he among the carnage whose burning flesh filled the night air? Ezra shoved that thought aside and kept his attention on the conversation.
"So what now?"
"Get all those rifles, we can salvage something out of this. I'll find Garrett and send him back to San Paulo. I'll take care of the official report here. Get these rifles off the train, before the people in town arrive. Corey has a boat waiting on the river, ten miles east. Load the rifles and take the river to Hooper, then south into Mexico. We have to go the long route, Camino Del Diablo is out of the question."
Ezra's attention then shifted 180 degrees. The rifles, some scattered , some in broken or disrupted crates, were covering Vin Tanner. What would his fate be? He hoped that his friend was alive and remained unconscious. His wait for a reply wasn't long.
"Senor?"
"Yes," Dixon replied from outside.
"What about him?"
"What about him?" the Colonel repeated, eyeing the stilled form of the peacekeeper. "Is he alive?"
"Si, but he sleeps."
"Then leave sleeping dogs lie, Manual and get those rifles out of here!"
The gambler knew not of time elapsing. His one function was too keep silent and alert. Vin was alive and they both needed help. The grunts of effort faded away and at last there was silence. The air grew cooler, refreshing at first, then he began to shiver. He waited several more minutes before taking stock of his position. The iron pipe that ran around the bottom of the car, now was above his head. Gritting his teeth against the pain that he knew would ensue, he raised his right arm and latched on. He didn't bite back the scream of agony, as a pain ripped through his neck and back. Sweat poured down his face, mixing with blood and soaking his face. He took a deep breath and began his journey. Inch by inch, he moved slowly towards the fallen body of his comrade.
"Vin!" he coughed, as the night wind brought drifting smoke into the car. "Vin Tan ... ner ... Vin ... Wake up. " He paused, swallowing back another wave of pain and continued, until he arrived at the Texan's side. He was on his back, nearly unmarred. The bandage on his head was intact, and his torn shirt revealed taped ribs. The shackled leg was now extended above, attached to the pipe. Ezra tried to pull himself up, but the agony in his back prevented it. He sat back hard, gasping and sweating profusely. He withdrew a pristine linen handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his face. He then moved his hand to Tanner's face, tapping it lightly. "Mister Tanner, wake up. I will not suffer alone." Not even a flicker. He snaked his hand down the tracker's neck, and was relieved at the strong pulse. He kept one hand on Vin's neck and closed his heavy eyes, allowing himself a few minutes of rest.
"Slow down, Son, I can't understand you," Kyle Morgan squatted down to try to make sense out of the fast-talking tyke.
"The train crashed ... we seen it ... people are burning ... screaming for help. But the soldiers didn't help 'em ... Clay said they was robbers ... The got a wagon and was unloading crates of rocks. They didn't never go near the hurt folks."
"Where is your brother now?" The anxious father asked, eyeing the darkening sky.
"He's waiting on the hill. He sent me for help."
"You did good son," he rose, "David!"
"Yeah, Pa?" the sixteen year old ambled outside.
"The train crashed over by Queen's Cut. You ride to town, get the sheriff. Tell him to wire the army. Folks are hurt, tell 'em to wire every town in the county. We'll need doctors, wagons, blankets. Go on ... "
"Yes, Sir!" the teenager ran to the barn.
"Come on, Matt, you show me where Clay is ... "
Unbeknownst to the greedy gang, a boy was listening to their every word. He was a smart boy and studied every face and motion. Once he was sure they were gone, he slid on his butt down the hill and peeked inside the car. He saw broken boxes, piles of rocks and busted bags of flour. The snowy powder littered the floor. Then he saw a soldier's body and followed the line up from the belly to the shoulders and ...
The scream forced Ezra's eyes open.
"Is someone there?" he coughed, the pain in his back was nearly unbearable.
"Yes ... "
A child's voice. A terrified, shaken voice. The sight of a headless body would do that to anyone.
"My friend and I are in need of aid, can you summon help. Are you a passenger of the train?"
"No, Sir," I'm Clay Morgan, my Pa's farm is a few miles from here. Me and Matt saw the wreck. I sent Matt home to fetch Pa."
"Good Lad ... " he cried out again. Something nudged his hand and he opened his eyes. A boy of about ten or so, tall for his age, with a shock of reddish hair knelt next to him. A canteen was in his hand.
"It ain't full but it's got enough. I found it over there ... by ... by ... "
"Young Mister Hughes is the dearly departed. Thank you, Son." He took a small sip and saw the boy's green eyes flickering on Vin and his manacled leg.
"There is a set of keys on the floor by where Mister Huges is lying. It will free my friend's leg."
"Are you prisoners or somethin'?" the boy asked, not moving to get the keys.
"Ezra P. Standish is most certainly not a prisoner," he paused, "We are ... 'or something' ... most definately," the gambler coughed again. "We are peacekeepers, Mister Tanner encountered a rather unsavory member of the army and they got into an altercation."
"He had a fight with one of them crooked soldiers?" Clay translated.
"Yes ... they beat him and secured his leg. He must be in a lot of pain ... " Ezra paused, "How did you know they were crooked?"
"I seen 'em." He shrugged, walking to the dead body and taking the keys. "Can I cover him up, it ain't right, him havin' no head."
"I'm sure he would appreciate that," Ezra noted, watching him move a blanket over the man's upper body. He tried all the keys but none of them worked.
"That's all right, it's not broken, I'm sure help will arrive soon." He felt around his vest, securing his flask. He took a small sip and eyed the boy again, who was tapping Vin's face.
"Hey Mister ... you alive?"
"What did you see?" The southerner asked.
"We seen the train blow. The first two cars exploded, the next bunch went down the hill. We seen a wagon hidden in the rocks. One man stayed on it and the others ran down the hill. They didn't go to the hurt folks, they went right here. Then one man got mad, he had a bunch of gold braids on his arms and legs. They dumped a crate open and rocks fell out. They was awful mad ... they took the road to the river."
"You're a smart boy, Clay. I want you to listen very carefully. You must go back and find your father. Tell him what you saw..understand? It might not be safe for you to remain here, they may return." It wasn't just Dixon he feared but Brad Garrett or whoever else was lurking. "I'll make sure the proper authorities are made aware of your heroic efforts."
"Okay," he disappeared for a moment, returning with a lantern and some blankets. A jug of cider was provided as well. "He won't be usin' it , you might need it." He lit the lantern, setting it on upended crate to the fancy talking man's right.
"A most thoughtful action, Young Man," he coughed, feeling the thin blanket on his chest. He held his hand out, shaking the little boy's. "A pleasure, Mister Morgan. Perhaps I'll see you again. Go on, now." He urged, watching the boy cover Vin with a blanket. The pain wouldn't be denied now and pulled him under. Side by side, the two fallen friends remained silent in waiting.
It took forever, but finally he pulled his bruised and battered body from the cold current. Queen's Cut held a dangerous curve near the bend of the Colarado River. The explosives that were detonated at the crest, timed to take out the second car, sent both he and Tanner's friend into the river. The bullet passed right through his arm and the cold water stung the wound. He was on his back, gasping for air, dizzy and exhilerated. Finally, Brad Garrett pulled himself up and eyed his surroundings. The river ran by him in an angry mood, ripping over the rocks. He scanned the banks, seeing no signs of the other man. He wiped his face, got his bearings and set out for the boat.
Little did the departing soldier know, but his advesary was lying just a few feet away, in a cluster of rocks. It took all of the muscle and grit in every fiber of his bleeding, battered body to battle the raging water. Now, he couldn't move. His leg throbbed mercilessly, pounding every nerve ending in a steady rhythm. It hurt to breathe and he felt the familiar burning sensation the broken ribs bring. He coughed up half the river, each motion ripping his tender ribcage to pieces. His lungs protested, firing hot balls of flames through him. He crawled a few feet, managed to get to the road and collapsed again. As the night sky flew around his fading eyes in a dizzying pace, his confusion grew. What happened? Where was he? Was he alone? His eyes fluttered shut, giving the battered body some respite.
"Chris?" Nate shouted, riding back to find his friend. He didn't have to travel far. The man in black was already urging his horse forward. Both heard the giant roar from ahead and raced the wind, fearing the worst.
Soft, raspy grunts settled near his head. He peeled an eye open, realizing it was his own voice he heard. The first thing that struck him was that his leg was in the air. It was attached to the wall about four feet up. He cocked his head, studying the blurry image of his leg and sat up, attempting to dislodge it. That was a mistake. He felt sure the agonizing pain ripping his head apart was due to an axe being embedded in the center of his skull. The waves of pain sent his rolling stomach into overdrive. He turned sideways, emptying his stomach hard and painful onto something soft. His face kept hitting cloth encased flesh. At last he was done, gasping for breath that he couldn't seem to find. His mouth and nose were obscured by vomit and he began to panic.
"Are you finished?"
His face was buried in something soft that was moving a little. He couldn't move or even speak ... he had no air! He started to panic again, weakly jerking his limbs and gagging.
"Stop that, this instant." Ezra scolded, his eyes adjusting to the dimly lit car. He recognized the voice and welcomed it, then heard the panic. Instantly, he hand moved, freeing the obstacles from the Texan's mouth. Several more weak coughs ensued, then a small round of dry heaves. He felt for Vin's face again, as the tears that the painful hacking caused ran from his eyes.
The lamp oil was running out and he eyed the opening on the side of the car. Despite the fact that Vin Tanner vomited into his groin and his face now rested there, he would welcome Buck Wilmington's booming voice now. It mattered not that the rogue would make a sordid tale out of the compromising position. "Can you remove your face from my lap?"
"What?" Vin muffled, coughing a wad of something onto the soft spot. "Aw ... hell ... " he croaked. "Dammit Ez ... "
"By all means, this is my doing," the gambler slid his hand under Vin's face and shifted him. He used the cloth in his hand to wipe the dazed man's nose and mouth. "There is nothing quite more pleasant than wearing tracker vomit in my crotch."
He was too tired, sore and dizzy to be embarrassed. He moved his body away, gasping and sucking in air. A cloth was pressed to his hand. It was rough, like burlap. He used it to wipe his face and then fell back, before the blackspots overtook him again. He rested his eyes, sucked in air painfully and racked his brain trying to figure out what happened.
"Here," Ezra tapped the trembling Texan's hand with his canteen. "You should drink some water."
"Where are we?" Vin whispered painfully, feeling more nausea coming. "Oh God ... " he twisted, tyring to curl up. The pain in his head and ribs were dueling for top honors. He couldn't see, or think, he only wanted the axe out of his head. "take ... it ... out ... please ... "
"What?" Ezra looked sideways, unable to move much. He saw a halfmasted pair of confused sky eyes, wearing agonizing riddles. Vin was on his side, breathing heavily and one fist was curled in a ball. He was able to move his hand over and grip the sticky neck of the other man.
" ... axe ... take ... head ... out ... "
"That is the unfortunate result of your encounter with a rather unsavory blond soldier on the train. I would lay odds that his hands were involved in the explosion and robbery. We are trapped in wreckage awaiting assistance."
"Garrett!" Vin growled as the sneering face returned. "Fuckin' bastard ... yellow-bellied son-of-a-bitch ... "
"Charming traits."
"He kilt Bazi ... " Vin's voice was choked now, "She's only fourteen Ez ... jes' had her firstborn. He's a fine boy ... Garrett smashed his head ... they made me watch ... "
Ezra was horrified and didn't know quite how to respond. "I'm sorry, Vin, was she your ... uh ... that is ... "
" ... my sister ... she's Commache ... we was close ... she kept lookin' at me ... fer help ... he did things ... I couldn't ... "
"Don't Vin," He gripped the shoulder, "here, take some water. Try to rise up again ... Vin?" He peeked down and the eyes were shut again. Ezra sighed, pulled his blanket off and covered the shivering man next to him. His eyes went to the gaping hole, wondering when help would arrive. He drifted for awhile and felt something touching his hand. He jerked back, his first instinct thinking it was a rat.
" ... sorry ... "
The deep whisper brought the jade eyes open. The car was nearly engulfed in near darkness now. He turned again, seeking the source of the sad voice. The injured Texan was on his back now, eyes dull and listless.
" ... didn't mean t' ... " Vin was fighting hard for every word, so dizzy and sick he wished he would black out. " ... thought ya was dead ... " his dry mouth caused his voice to creak and groan. He felt the canteen pressed into his hand and his head lifted.
"I'm sorry Mister Tanner, one shoulder was damaged in the collision and is of no use." He paused, watching the bloody fingers of the younger man trying to fumble with the cork. Finally it was free and the canteen rose. He saw the lips part and one tiny swallow. "That would not be enough for a starving sparrow."
"Yer boys ... need ... another ... bath ... " Vin choked, trying to keep the small amount of moisture down.
"Understood," he eased Vin's head back down, watching him trying to hold the water down.
"What the hell happened?"
"Our inside man, or perhaps only one of them, is Colonel Dixon. He invaded this car after the wreck seeking the silver. He was quite distressed when the boxes contained rocks ... "
"Rocks!" Vin hollered, " ... shit ... " he hissed as the bouncing red ball of flames exploded in his head and chest. From far away he heard Ezra's voice and felt a hand on his chest, tapping weakly.
"I wouldn't advise you raising your voice again,"
"Thanks fer the tip," he shot back insulted. " ... shouldda followed m'gut ... I knew them bluebellies was up t'no good. They ... never ... are ... " More words than he should have said, left him weak and breathless.
"He advised his men to take the rifles to a boat on the river. From there, they will deport at Hooper and take the road to San Paulo. Mister Wilmington followed Garrett into the depot and saw him wire ahead there."
" ... he's ... dead ... meat ... " Vin vowed, feeling a heavy weight behind his eyes. He had to shut them, the burning pain was too great. The axe in this skull was being slammed hard. "Ez ... "
"Yes," he turned watching the pale lips moving. "Rest now ... don't talk."
" ... pocket ... "
"Very well." He patted the ratty coat and felt a slight bulk in one pocket. He withdrew it and peeked inside. There were several smashed pieces of chocolate and a few broken peppermints.
" ... ain't much ... " he managed, "I's savin' 'em ... ya take 'em ... ye'll need ... yer strength ... "
Ezra started to say something, eyeing the meager meal in his hands. He'd dined at the finest tables in New Orleans, New York and London and Paris as well. Somehow, the exquisite cuisine he recalled now paled in comparison to this small offering. He now sat in the wreckage of an iron horse, sitting in vomit with a decapitated solider for company. He set the bag down, took out a small bit of chocolate and nudged the sharpshooter's lips. The head turned away, shaking in denial.
" ... wouldn't stay ... put ... " Vin whispered. " ... I want ya ... t'have ... 'em ... " He paused, took several small breaths and sighed. " ... ain't feelin' s'good Ez ... I think ... I'm ... "
"Vin?" Ezra turned sharply, ignoring the pain shooting through his back and neck. The other man was silent again, but there was something troubling about his stillness. He fumbled against Vin's neck and found the pulse. Then he picked the chocolate up and took a bite, thinking it was, perhaps, the finest morsel he'd ever digested. He leaned back, kept his free hand on Vin's warm neck and stood vigil beside his friend.
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