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.
The soft adobe houses trimmed in terra cotta with flowers all around them were a blur as he rode by. He heard the song of the ocean in the distance, the salt spray in the air invigorated him. He passed the merchants in the open air market, selling their wares and the crowd of townspeople carrying their purchases. Then he saw it, looming ahead encompassing a whole block. Two stories high and brand spanking new, the Cosmopolitan Hotel. He tied his mount up and strode through the arched doorway, into the cool, well appointed lobby. A large reception desk sat to one side, with clerks busy taking care of customers. There was a map on the wall of the outline of the hotel. He scanned it briefly, finding the conference room on the far end of the first floor. His boots hit the tiled floor in a determined pattern that matched the set of his jaw.
"You can't go in there, sir, it's Army business," A sentry on duty outside the large double wooden doors warned. His partner stood, both hands resting on his rifle.
Chris eyed the speaker first, then drew a long, cool green gaze to the rifle, up the arm and locked onto the private's face. He stared for several seconds, until the gun lowered. Then he turned back to the young man who addressed him.
"You're wrong, Son, it's Larabee business. You tell the General I'm out here, or you're gonna be picking up pieces of that pretty polished wood."
The young man paused, unsure what to do, until the soldier with him nodded.
"Go on, Cal, I got this."
Several minutes later the soldier returned, making the mistake of opening the door. Chris had one boot inside, before the other soldier grabbed his shoulder.
"You can't go in there!" He gritted, before the well muscled man shook him off.
"Well?" Larabee growled at the trembling private.
"The ... the ... general..he..he said for you ... to wait until ... they..get ... done ... "
"Fuck that!" Chris shoved past him, pushing the young man into his friend, spilling them both onto the floor. Then he shut the door behind him and pushed a table across the double doors, preventing entry.
Orrin Travis was tired and the headache born at dawn had built to a jagged-toothed monster. Aside from General Reinhardt, there was an official representing the territory, a press secretary and two representing the Secretary of Defense, who would report back to President Grant. He'd visited Buck and Vin earlier that day, before he left town. Neither man was conscious and Wilmington looked awful. He'd seen Jackson briefly, and the pain in the other man's eyes still reflected the gut-wretching horrors he'd been forced to endure all night. Sighing, he turned his attention back to the meeting, shoving his cold coffee to the side. He and the General had presented the witness accounts, interviews with folks on the train and the facts concerning the dead and injured. The army was now scrambling to save face. Already there were newspaper men arriving, wanting to find out 'what really happened'. Rumors were circulating and they needed to make a statement.
"Well?" Adam Glenn asked, he worked for the Secretary of Defense in their west coast office in San Francisco. He'd arrived that morning and would be leaving later to meet the President in San Francisco, where he was involved in negotiations with the Mexican consulate. "What should Martin tell the press?" He asked of the aide representing the Press Secretary.
"Choose your words carefully, Chester, this could have disasterous consequences," General Reinhardt studied the man at the head of the table.
"We'll report that a gang attempted to rob the train, through the use of explosives. Martin you have the exact location and details?" He waited for the young man to nod and continued, "From this twenty-one are dead and over sixty injured. Those recovering are being tended to in Fullerton. The army immediately dispersed a unit to seek out the bandits and caught them in Mexico. The large cache of rifles stolen from the train, was recovered. More information will be provided, when available." The head official deemed, spilling the twisted words far too easily.
"Orrin, you'll have to speak with you men," Reinhardt advised, "Stress the importance of National Security. We can't have a public outcry when Garrett and Dixon are still on the loose."
" ... and just what would you have me say to them, Nick?" his voice was full of flint and gravel, "Sorry for the inconvenience?"
"I was told these men could be trusted!" Kent intervened, opening an expensive cigar case.
"'these men'," Orrin sat up, shoving the headache aside, "I'd trust with my life, which is more than I can say for your 'men'."
"I'm going to forget that remark, Travis, I know you're exhausted and under duress." Kent charged, "You hired them, you handle them!"
"They're men, not cattle," Orrin said tersly, "I don't 'handle' them. Right now, half of them are injured, two severely so. Once I figure out how to look them in the eye, I'll talk with them and ask for their forgiveness."
"Forgiveness?" the other nearly choked, "For what? If you refer to the lives lost, the army will compensate the families of those killed with monetary renumeration," Chester Kent said, lighting an imported cigar. "The president, of course, is shocked and deeply saddened by the unfortunate turn of events."
"He should be." An ice cold angry voice filled the room. The gunslinger moved his taut, grimey body from the shadows of the room where he'd listened to the entire exchange. "Once he realizes that he's got an asshole like you running the show."
"How the hell did you get in here?" Kent's face screwed up. "I'm General Chester Kent and ... "
"I know who the fuck you are!" Larabee growled, his long strides making short work of the room. He towered over the five star General, letting the stench of the road clinging to him fall onto the other. He slammed a large rock on the new polished dark wood, scattering dust and dirt. "I don't think your silver's gonna bring a good price. I'm sure the families of those people you killed will be real impressed with all your fuckin' gold braids! You ought to be strung up by your balls ... " he paused, sucking in air through his clenched teeth, the uncontrollable rage had built to a deafening crescendo. He snickered in contempt them, " ... course in your case that might be hard."
"Chris ... " Orrin stood, walking to where the irate man seethed, every inch of his dirty face clenched in tumultuous rage. "I'll try to explain ... "
"He's Larabee?" Kent interrupted, "he's one of 'your men'?" He didn't hide his disgust.
"Did you know?" Chris took his eyes from the arrogant General long enough to impose his full glare on the judge. "Did you know!" he shouted, when Orrin Travis's face filled with guilt.
"No," he sighed, "not until last night, afterwards. I'm sorry, Chris."
"Yeah," the blond scoffed, "I'm sorry too, I'm sure Buck will be glad to hear that, if he lives." He turned away, as if addressing the injured man. "Gee, Buck, I'm awful sorry the army fucked you up the ass ... "
Kent rose, grabbing the mud caked dark green shirt, "You're out of line, Larabee, you don't have the right to just barge in here and ... "
"YOU DON'T HAVE THE RIGHT TO PLAY GOD!" Chris roared, nearly blowing out every window in the room. Sweat cascading down his grime-streaked red face, running into the hot, intense green eyes. "Who the fuck do you think you are!" Chris grabbed him hard by the forearms, enjoying the flicker of pain it brought.
"I'm a General in the army of these United States of America. I earned these gold braids while you were learning to walk, that's who the fuck I am." Kent shrugged free, waving off the three soldiers who'd brust in the room. "It's alright, you're dismissed."
Chris waited until the door shut and turned back to the arrogant armyman, "While you were sleeping on your fat ass last night, I was picking up arms and legs without owners ... heads ... fingers ... " he paused his fists gripped to tightly he was cutting the palms of his hands. "I watched a doctor cutting men free from wreckage, severing legs and arms to save them ... .I saw a friend tending to burned children, blocking out their screams ... "
"Stop insulting me!" Kent argued, "You speak as if this was planned, I didn't set that bomb."
"The hell you didn't!" Chris bellowed, jabbing his index finger into the other's shoulder. "You not only planted that fuckin' bomb, you used the fuse to light that stinking cigar, you arrogant son-of-a-bitch!"
"Enough!" Reinhardt intervened, turning to Chris Larabee, "It was a mistake, Chris, nobody could have forseen those tragic consequences. We're all sorry for what you endured, but ... "
"Not good enough!" Chris snarled, eyes oozing lava, jerking his head to Orrin, "You could have told him the truth. You wanted to load that train with army men and play God, fine. But those decapitated bodies were men and women, citizens of this territory. I was supposed to watch their backs. That's the reason, the only reason, I agreed to have my men involved. To protect them from the likes of you. That was a mistake I have to live with."
"It would have made little difference," Kent scrambled to find an answer.
"It would have made all the difference," Chris spat back, "We would have been ready!" He saw the young man to the General's right furiously taking notes. "You want a quote, Kid?" He saw the youing man's head rise up. "Assiduus usus uni rei deditus et ingenium et artem saepe vincit."
"What's that mean?" The pressman frowned.
"It means the army is fuckin' experts at covering their fat asses!" Chris spat in disgust, shoving off Orrin's arm. "Don't fuckin' touch me!" He raged, still seeing the discarded arms and body parts, Buck's fevered face and Vin's troubled eyes.
"It means," a new voice said, leaving the doorway of the room "Constant practice devoted to one subject often outdoes both intelligence and skill. Augustus Casear, I believe."
"Cicero," Chris corrected, startled as he turned to the slight built man wearing a beard and very compassionate blue eyes.
"Sir!" General Kent turned. The others jumped to attention as the President of the United States walked to the table. "I didn't know that you arrived."
"I'm Ulysses Grant, Son and you have my deepest sympathy." He nodded to Kent and stared hard at the angry young peacekeeper, "You are correct, we did 'fuck up'."
Chris eyed the extended hand for a lingering moment and chose to ignore it, "I know who you are, Sir, I wore blue during the war. You were a helluva soldier."
"So were you, " Grant appraised, instantly reading the courage in the young man's frame. He withdrew his unshaken hand. "I give you my word, when we catch Dixon and Garrett, the press ... the country will know the truth."
"I'll believe it when I see it," Chris shot back, every inch of him aching from lack of sleep and the battering of bones jumping in pent up rage, "as for Garrett and Dixon, those bastards are mine."
"No, Mister Larabee, they commited a federal offense, the army will apprehend them." Grant spoke quietly.
"Right now, I doubt if the 'army' could find their own asses," Chris returned, "with both hands and a map. Excuse me," he turned away, seeking to get far away from Kent, before he couldn't contain his pent up fists any longer. "I need some fresh air, it reeks in here."
"No," Grant ordered, seeing the two military escorts that entered the room with him, start to follow the retreating form, "let him go."
"I'm sorry, Sir," Kent pulled a chair aside for the President to sit down. "He got past the guards."
"You should be apologizing to him, every word he said was true," Grant replied, picking up the souveneer from the army shipment. "I had the great fortune of meeting men like him during the war," he paused, watching through the window as the blond head bent over a water pump by the boarding house across the street. "Earning the respect of one like him," he saw Larabee's minature features through the glass. "was far greater than legions of the lesser." He sighed and settled in, "Shall we continue, Gentlemen, I want to be in Fullerton by dark. Tomorrow I'm meeting with the survivors."
The dream was confusing. Its murky depths pulled him under waves of deep purple doubt. He struggled to keep his head up, battling endless waves of decision. He gulped the air of reason along with tide of retaliation. They fought a battle within him, while gales shrieked in protest above is heavy head. As he battled the waves, he heard the train crash, felt his body being crushed and two faces far above. Both with blond hair, one with green eyes that bonded his soul; the other with blue ones that tore at it. Garrett laughed, the blues danced with insane delight. Where was Chris? He felt himself going down ... he couldn't breathe.
"You need a break, Nathan," J.D. moved from Buck's bedside to where the bone-weary healer struggled to remain alert. He looked awful, his face was ashen and deep, dark circles rimmed the bleary brown eyes. Even breathing seemed to be an effort. J.D. had wandered around town during the early part of the afternoon. Some of the lesser injured, were visible and he heard several give credit to Nathan. He was stopped by one mother, holding a child about three on her lap. The boy was holding a small toy in his hand. She had seen him with Nathan earlier and wanted to know if he was a friend. When he nodded, she grabbed his hand and thanked him profusely, for tending to her little boy, as if it was his own. More stories like that met him several times. He studied Nate again, the man seemed to be barely aware. He glanced at the hands and wondered about the healing power held within them. He rested his hand on the tired shoulder and gave it a rug. "You okay?"
"Huh?" Nathan blinked, spotting the tweed pants and started to jump. "Buck? He okay? I can get ... "
"He's fine!" the youth shoved him back down. "His fever's down and he's sleeping good. I got two mugs of broth in him and a biscuit. You're the one I'm worried about. You need a hot meal, a hot bath and a ... "
" ... I don't need no hot bed," the older man teased, rising slowly. "But that bath and supper sound good." He yawned and rubbed his eyes. "Sorry ... "
"Nathan, you need to sleep. Me and Josiah will watch over Vin and Buck. Go on," He encouraged and saw the other man wandering toward a bunk next to Buck. "No, not here, you'll be jumping up every time Buck turns in that bed. Go to the hotel up the street. Ezra got you a room."
"Ezra?" the dark head turned, "Who said he could leave? He shouldn't be moving around. That back of his needs rest."
"He knows that, he's moving like a man of ninety. I helped him take another hot bath with some salt and it helped. He got some things from the general store and rented a couple rooms."
"Okay, but if Vin's eyes are worse, if Buck's breathin' gets funny ... "
"You'll be the first to know," Josiah entered the room from the smaller adjoining room. He'd been helping volunteers drop off clothes, shoes and other necessities for the survivors. They were stacked in neat piles on long tables, along with some books, toys and other donations. He steered the protesting body to the door. "Don't come back until you look human."
Nathan paused in the doorway, with Josiah's strong hand on one shoulder and J.D.'s concerned eyes on his face. When did those small gestures come to mean so much? How welcome that feeling in his chest was. He nodded, found a tired smile and turned toward the bath house.
"Thanks, Preacher!" J.D. sighed, "He's a stubborn guy."
"That it is," Josiah nodded, rubbing his shoulder.
"Speaking of which, did you have supper yet?"
"No, I ... " a moan and the sound of a body thrashing in the noisy wooden bunk caused them both to turn.
"Vin!" J.D. moved across the room, watching his friend fight an invisible foe. The pale face was dripping in sweat, the eyes racing under light blue lids and the small moans of effort snuck from the clenched jaw. "Must be having a bad dream."
"I imagine he'll be having them for awhile." He thought on the train wreck and moved with the younger man. He waited, watched J.D. sit on the bunk and use both hands, along with his voice to calm the troubled sleeper.
"Chris ... " a weak call slipped by the pale lips.
"Vin, you gotta settle down, you're having a bad dream," J.D. encouraged, gripping both of Tanner's shoulders. The fine features were locked in anxious knots and the brows were furrowed. "Don't be swearing, Josiah's right here. You're safe Vin, I got your back." He said those words louder, hoping they would turn the tide in the battle. He felt the knotted muscles slacken up and the face relax again. On the table between Buck and Vin, was a basin with cold water. He took the linen cloth from it, and wiped the Texan's face.
Voices were nearby, familiar and reassuring. A gentle hand on his brow, a comforting pat on his shoulder and a deep voice hovered above his head.
"You rest easy, Son, you leave them demons where they belong," Josiah gave Vin a solid pat and pulled the blanket up. The waited for a few moments, but the body was now relaxed and sleeping peacefully again. "It looks like you have this covered, John Daniel," he boomed, slapped the youth's back. "I'm gonna check on Nathan and have some supper with him. Once he's settled in bed, I'll be back to relieve you."
"Okay," J.D. took his seat between the two beds, adjusting Buck's blanket and picking up his discarded newspaper.
The cold water roused his weary body. To his left on a the shelf, new clothes waited. A dark olive green shirt and black pants sat ready. He'd eaten a large lunch and taken a long nap in a room at the boarding house. Now, boasting a clean shaven face and a well scrubbed body, he was ready to ride back. He'd wired J.D. an hour ago and the youth replied that both Buck and Vin were better. But he also knew that the army had wired two forts near the border to send out patrols looking for Garrett and Dixon. So far, the pair eluded the law. He intended to change that. Now that Buck was on road to recovery, his troubled thoughts turned to Vin Tanner.
He sighed, rested his damp blond hair against the back of the tub and drew his knees up. He was worried about the younger man. Would his thirst for vengeance overpower the need for justice? What if the army found them first? Would he be forever haunted? He drew his lean body from the water and stepped away. Taking a large towel, he dried his body off, slipped into the socks, pants, boots and gunbelt. He took the shirt, duster and his saddlebags and walked out the back door.
The soft kiss of the salt air greeted him and he embraced it like a welcomed lover. He let the breeze lift his hair as he walked to the edge of the sanddunes. He paused, his eyes mirrored the troubled sea in color and churning. He saw a cluster of rocks nearby and sat down, as the gentle breeze stroked the glistening skin on his bronzed chest. The power of the water before him was aweing. The tide roared in defiance, sending a harsh coven of waves to the shore. Once humbled, they retreated, nestling back into Neptune's broad chest, only to be cast out again.
Restful. Calming. Peaceful. Healing. So many words and feelings invaded his tight chest. He kept inhaling, taking in great lungfuls of the magical air. He could sit here forever, letting the alluring tide tempt him. He'd heard about the healing powers of the ocean and now felt it first hand. He shut his eyes, let the descending sun caress his chest and kiss his face.
"Senor, would you like to take the ocean with you?"
"What?" Chris blinked and shook his head, unaware that he'd dozed off. A small boy of perhaps seven or eight, stood next to him. His well defined features, dark eyes and a mop of black hair bespoke his Mexican ancestry. Chris found a smile at the beguiling face and eyed the poor clothing the lad wore. In his hand, was a pretty conch shell. It's pure white body, streaked with shades of pink and peach.
"For fifty cents, which is not a lot of money," he reasoned, cocking his small head. "You can take the ocean home with you. It will bring her back to you, whenever you listen ... see ... " he cupped it to his ear, then gave it to the handsome American.
Chris took the pretty shell and mimicked the boy's actions. "Damn ... " he grinned, hearing the sound mirrored in his ear. "What's your name?" He asked the confident young salesman.
"Pedro." The boy smiled, offering his hand to the large one. "I live with my grandfather and two brothers. He's is old and cannot work. Diego and I take care of him."
"Diego one of your brothers?"
"Si, he is bigger than me, almost ten!" The boy boasted. "He's working on the fishing boats. I am too small and Enrico is too little and he's sick alot."
"You little brother?" Chris guessed, studying the boy's face and seeing too much bone on the thin body. The boy wasn't eating enough.
"Si, he is only four. My mother died when he was born." He eyed the ocean and lifted his small hand. "She was beautiful, like the sea. When I miss her, I come here and talk to her. Sometimes, Senor, I think she answers from heaven."
"Well, Pedro," Chris stood, placed the pretty shell on the spot next to his shirt and drew coins from his pocket. "You're a good boy. You take this to your grandfather and thank you for the gift."
"But I have no change," The boy protested, his eyes like saucers. "I cannot take this ... it's too much silver."
"You keep it, Son," Chris pushed the tiny hand back, making a fist out of it. "Go on home," he ruffled the brown hair and smiled at the excited cry of delight.
"Thank you, Senor ... .Thank you ... Madre Dios ... three dollars ... ." He ran off, his laughter giving the traveller a good smile. He put his new shirt on, gathered his things and found his horse. Wrapping the shell carefully in his dirty shirt and tucking it safely in his saddlebags, he headed for Fullerton.
With a deep exhalation, he opened his eyes and peered around the dark room. The light of the day was leaving town, while the short shift of twlight blue took hold. He lingered in the blankets for several moments, eyeing the room and gathering his scattered thoughts. He sat up carefully, not wanting to rouse J.D., who slept soundly on the chair next to him. Padding barefoot, he walked through the room slowly, wary of the dizziness that lingered. He saw a low light in the room next store and piles of clothes.
Ten minutes later, wearing denim pants, a light blue shirt and new boots, he headed for the small table bearing food. He selected two pieces of ham, a hunk of cheese and a hardboiled egg. He washed his meager meal down with cider and put on his gunbelt and coat. He wondered where the others were. He rationed that Larabee was not back yet, having not been greeted by the chisled profile at this side when he awoke. All he needed now, was a horse. He was still lost in thought, when a voice and hand startled him.
"You leaving?" J.D. asked, tapping Vin's shoulder. "Sorry," He grabbed the swaying man, when his arrival caused the healing body to jump.
"Hey Kid! How's Buck?" He walked slowly to the rogue's bed, placing his hand on the now cool brow. "Fever broke?"
"About an hour ago," Dunne answered, "You didn't answer my question."
"Yeah, I'm headin' out and I need yer word, J.D. Ya can't tell Nathan or Josiah. I ain't got enough strength t'argue with 'em." He frowned, not liking the way the womanizer was breathing. Despite his own pounding head and blurry vision, he lifted Buck, nearly falling on top of him as the whole room tilted. "Get a bunch o'pillows, tuck 'em behind 'im." That completed, he lowered the other man, satisified at his goal. "''s'better ... " he mumbled. "Chris back?"
"No, but Orrin wired. The army hasn't found Dixon or Garrett yet."
"Good!" The Texan replied to both.
"How come you're not afraid of me?" The youth pestered, watching the Texan eyeing the street through the window.
"Yer a runt," Vin teased, his warm smile filled with affection as he ruffled the youth's hair. "But yer our runt and if anybody else says that, I'll give 'im what fer. I want yer word ... " he paused, sat at the empty table and scratched out an note and a crude map. He wrapped the note around his harmonica and tied it with a strip of bandage. "Ya give this t'Larabee. He'll be showin' up soon. I gotta catch what road I can 'fore it gets t'dark." He handed the angry youth the message.
"Vin, you're gonna fall off your horse. You can't even walk! That's a lot of desert out there." The Bostonian's argument was interrupted by a weak voice.
" ... get ... ragged ... ass ... here ... "
Vin smiled then, before hiding the tug he felt at Wilmington's weak plea of concern. He moved back to the bed and paused at the injured man's side.
"Hey Bucklin! Ya look better. Reckon Miss Rosebud's takin' good care o'ya."
" ... don't ... change ... subject ... get ... back ... bed ... now ... " Buck moved his bandaged arm, pointing to the empty bunk. He managed with all his strength to make two angry, dark blue slits appear.
"Ya know I gotta do this," Vin said quietly. "I can't let 'im get away again ... He damn near killed ya. He's gonna pay fer that!"
" ... won't ... lose ... you ... not ... worth ... him ... Vin ... "
"I'm sorry," Vin gasped, gently lifting the limp hand. Buck was sleeping again, but his face was locked in distress. "Goodbye ... Buck ... .Bucklin ... " he managed, turning back to J.D.
"Vin, don't ... " J.D. protested again, watching the slim man walking slowly and staggering a bit.
"Ya tell Nate I gotta take his horse." Vin called back, slipping out the door.
"Vin!" J.D. started to follow him, but a loud bang turned him back. Buck was half out of the bed, his bandaged leg, which was elevated, was falling. By the time he got the larger man settled again, the Texan was gone, along with Nathan's horse. "Dammit!" he kicked the dirt, eyeing the darkening street. He ran back to Buck's side, sat down and read Vin's note. He eyed the map and nodded. Retying it, he slipped it into Buck's hand.
"Kid?" Buck croaked, " ... water ... "
"Hold on," J.D. hurried, filling a mug and allowing the thirsty man to drink. "I'm going after Vin, somebody's got to watch his back ... damn fool."
" ... Chris ... go ... " Buck protested, even in his sluggish state, he knew the road taken was potentially deadly.
"He's not here yet," the youth replied, "Listen up Buck, Vin left this for Chris," he tapped the harmonica, "He'll be here soon, you give it to him!"
" ... Kid ... " He gasped, reaching a hand out. Either it was his fever or delirium, but the determination on the youth's face made him seem more confident and much older. "Be careful ... "
"Hell, Buck, you know that's my middle name!"
" ... .thought it ... was ... Daniel ... " Buck teased, gripping the hand before the lights went out again.
If he told Nate or Josiah, they'd talk him out of leaving. He'd be left on babysitting duty with Buck. Ezra couldn't ride, but he could babysit. He'd be returning soon, having promised to come as soon as he finished supper. He kept his eye on the street and saw the gambler walking slowly towards the makeshift infirmary. Nodding, he eased his nimble body out the side door and to his horse.
Vin's progress was slow, the road and fell before him, like a dark line of unfettered ribbon. He rode for sometime, his keen instincts working overtime. It took all of the strength he had, to remain upright. Then a spasm in hit gut, sent him sideways right off the horse. He crawled to the tumbling shock of brush and vomited his supper. He saw the horse waiting and wanted to get the canteen, but couldn't get up.
"Aw, hell ... " he whispered as the dark sky and soft dirt sandwiched him into blackness.
"Hold it, Brad!" Dixon ordered, squinting in the darkness .The full moon send a silvery bath of light ahead of them. A lone horse, riderless and proud, stood several yards ahead.
"I'll check it out," the other said, wincing as he slipped the bandaged arm from it's sling. He eased off his horse, ran to the side road and made his way to the horse. When he saw the hide coat covering the curled up man, his smile was a bright as the noonday sun. "Well, well," he squatted down, taking the mare's leg from the holster and tossing it aside. He lifted his knife out and tipped the slack jaw underneath, where it was soft and waiting. He dug the point in long enough to cause a moan. "Small world, isn't it Tanner." He gave a whistle and found Dixon next to him, leaning over his horse.
"What the hell is he doing out here? I thought you said he was dead!"
"He will be," Garrett smiled, taking the hide coat off and tossing it aside. He turned the unprotesting body on his stomach and snapped his fingers. "Gimme some cord ... " After securing the wrists in a tightly, he stood and grinned.
"He might not be alone," Dixon eyed the road, 'As a matter of fact, I'd bet if his friends aren't with him, there not far behind."
"Okay," Garrett reasoned, feeling a rush of excitement as hours of torturing his enemy loomed in his mind. "You scout it out and take care of it, lead them away. I got unfinished business with Tanner. I'll meet you at Cougar's Pass tomorrow night."
"What about him?" Dixon nodded to the stilled body.
"By then, what's left of him will be the buzzarrds and coyote's dinner. Go on ... "
He secured the horse to a snatch of cactus arm and grabbed the prey's collar. He dragged the body for several yards, ignoring the cries of pain. He lit a fire to chase away the cold air that filled the desert night. He took his tools out, laid them on a rock nearby and bent over the blinking body. He untied the hands, took the shirt off and rolled him on his belly. He used his knife to slit the bandages off the ribs.
" ... can't have them ... that'll spoil the show ... " he assured the slobering face beneath him with a laugh.
The driving pain roused him but the cold air woke him up. He was freezing and his bare skin was pressed to the cold, unforgiving ground. Bareskin? He felt a fire by his face and tried to look, but his eyes wouldn't open.
" ... s'goin' on ... " he grunted outloud, as a hand clamped on his hair, dragging him forward. He screamed in pain as his hot ribcage rebelled clashing with the axe in his head. One arm was pulled high over his head and tied tightly, the other followed suit, pulled the other way. He sagged forward on his knees, his chin hitting his chest.
"I'm tired of waiting for you to wake up Tanner," Garrett snarled, picking up the leather whip. "It's time for payback!"
The lone figure rode into town, his keen gaze taking in both sides of the street. The cool green eyes were hooded under the flat black hat, well obscured. His search netted no gain; none of his men were present. He found the clinic and slid off his horse, taking the gift from the saddle bag. He stopped just inside the door, his eyes squinting in the dim light. He saw an oil lamp nearby, drew the light up and carried it across the room. He sat it down on the table next to the empty bunk where Ezra should be. Then he looked around the room.
"What the hell?" He grunted, eyeing the vacant Tanner bed. Frowning, he walked to the bed next to Vin's. He set the shell down on the table and eyed the body lying next to it. He studied Buck's face long and hard, seeing signs of improvement. His fingers moved to the forehead, confirming what his eyes saw. The fever was gone. Where were Tanner and Standish? He peeked in the pantry and small kitchen, finding them both empty. Then he saw the large, empty room next door, with tables full of donations. He walked to the window, his mouth a grim line. Nathan would never have let either one of them loose. Come to think of it, where was Jackson? Then the youth's face rose up. Funny he wasn't at Wilmington's side. Sanchez either. A horrid burst of coughing broke his thoughts and his long strides took him back to the bed. He sat on the side and drew Buck up, clapping his back. "Quit spittin' on me, Buck!"
The fog lifted, he blinked and adjusted his painful body. Heaving gulps of air subsided and he rubbed his eyes, wincing as his stitches pulled. "Chris?"
"Where's Vin and Ezra ... .Nathan?"
Buck eyed the pitcher. "Water?" He croaked painfully, his throat a barren dessert.
"Aw, hell, Buck, I'm sorry," He rose, filled the pitcher in the kitchen and returned. Two mugs later, the gasping man was ready to speak.
"I tried to stop 'im, Chris, I'm sorry. He took off just as it got dark. Nathan's beat ... barely on his feet. Ezra got a couple rooms at the hotel, Nathan's over there, I think. I don't know where Josiah is ... " he tapped the pitcher with his empty mug and had it refilled. Draining it again, he met the angry eyes. "He said to give you this ... " he handed the harmonica over. "That boy is stubborn ... " He watched the leader's face as he read the note, but it remained blank.
"J.D. took off after him ... "
"Oh that's reassuring," Chris spat out sarcastically, then regarded the note. "He heard soldier's talking outside. They got all Dixon's men in San Paulo ... but Garrett and Dixon escaped. They think their headed north, probably towards the Rockies," the blond sighed, tucked the map in his pocket and gazed at the harmonica. He ran a calloused thumb along the smooth metal edge, thinking of the raspy-voiced Texan.
Buck saw it then, it fell rapidly and caused him to flinch. He started to say something, but didn't. It would be an exercise in futility, he knew the man that well. Until the blue-eyed tracker was back in safe harbor, Chris Larabee would wear the veil of worry. He saw the shell then, and cocked his head.
"My own piece of the ocean," Chris replied with a sigh, tucking away the harmonica and note in his pocket. "Here, close your eyes ... " He waited and held the shell next to Buck's ear. He saw the smile appear instantly.
"Damn," Buck whispered, "That sure brings back memories."
"You've been to California?"
"Wrong end." Wilmington opened his eyes, as the other's hand withdrew, taking the conch with it, "When I was real little, we lived with my Uncle Dan in Maryland for awhile. He lived near the beach." He knew then, by the gentle touch Chris's fingers gave the item, who the gift was for. He smiled, feeling a warmth inside and watched as Larabee carefully set the conch shell on the table, next to the empty bed. "I'll watch over it, until that sorry-assed Texan gets back."
"Thanks, Buck," Chris found a half-smile, sighed wearily and gave the other man's leg a pat. "I gotta go, I got me a Tanner to catch."
" ... tie his sorry ass ... down ... next..ti ... time ... " Buck yawned.
"I just might do that!"
"Helluva time ... to be laid up." Buck hissed in frustration and saw a hand lance out. He snagged it, as the voice followed.
"No man I'd rather ride with," Chris offered solemnly and saw Buck's eyes light up. "You want me to send Nate back?" He paused by the long table near the wall, where bandages and other supplies waited. He unfolded a long linen napkin and placed several roles of gauze inside. He grabbed a bottle of carbolic and an extra canteen.
"Hell no," Buck eased his aching body back down, wincing at the steady throbbing in his injured leg. "Nathan looks worse than me. I'll tell you something, Chris, God didn't waste his time on that man. He's really special."
"Yeah," The other agreed, "I saw it first hand. Get some sleep." He paused long enough to fill a burlap sack with fruit, crackers and some jerky.
"Sleep ... " Buck grumbled. "All I do is sleep ... alone." he added, giving his oldest friend a grin. "Chris!" he called out as the body reached the door. "Keep your head up, okay? I didn't bring any mournin' clothes."
"Will do, Bucko!" he replied with a wink and stole into the night.
Twenty minutes later, he was inside Ezra's room. The gambler was sleeping on his side; across the room another body was fast asleep. Chris paused over Nathan's bed, seeing how aptly the man below fit Buck's description. His face was full of shadows and rimmed with fatigue. Too much time had passed already and Vin was getting further away. He scrawled out a note and left it in Ezra's vest pocket. It was the first thing he checked in the morning, securing his money clip. He was about to mount his horse, when a familiar voice split the dark night.
"Chris?"
He peered into the darkness, a hand eased onto his pearl-handled colt. He saw Josiah appear, wincing with every step, rubbing his injured shoulder. Next to him was Major Thomas Kelly.
"You coming or going?" the preacher nodded to the horse.
"Going." Chris stated, putting his boot in the stirrup. "I got business out of town. I talked to Buck, saw Ezra and Nate. He okay?" he paused and saw the gray head bob sideways.
"He's worn out, sleep's the best thing for him." Sanchez moved closer, "I hear you got a mean Latin accent."
"Word travels fast," Chris quipped of his stormy meeting earlier that day.
"President got here an hour ago, met with me and the Major. You sure made an impression on him."
Chris climbed on his horse, turning to the eldest of the seven. "Buck's coughing a lot, keep an eye on him."
"Will do," Josiah nodded.
"Going to find Mister Tanner?" Kelly spoke, watching the dark figure looming high above. "I stopped in to see Mister Wilmington, he was asleep. I saw the empty bed and found out, via the livery clerk, that your friend rode out a couple hours ago. I'd like to come along."
"No," Chris said curtly, turning the horse.
"I want you to know, I understand Mister Tanner's quest. A young boy beaten and forced to watch his family mutilated by barbarians ... " he paused, seeing green coals burning from under the flatbrimmed hat. They were directed past him to the preacher. "No, he didn't tell me, no one did. I was on the investigative detail who arrived after that massacre. I overheard him in the saloon the night before we left your town."
"When then I guess you heard enough," Chris spat back, grabbing his reins.
"Enough to admire a man who can bear so much weight on his shoulders and keep his head held so high. To endure the horrors of a prison during the war at his age ... again tortured by men in blue. Yet he climbed on the train. I don't know him very well, but I admire that strength. It's so rare and something your born to."
"You can tell Vin when I bring him back," Chris turned the horse, but a gloved hand on the pommel halted the motion.
"I have another reason ... " Kelly began his testimony.
When he finished speaking, Chris sighed, rubbed his neck and stared into the dark abyss of a horizon. He didn't know what he was riding into in the desert. He replayed the words over again. slowly and turned back, nodding once. "Josiah, tell the others, but use you judgement."
"Understood," Sanchez nodded, knowing Chris didn't want a troop of green, shoothappy soldiers gunning Vin down. "God keep you, Brother," he shook Larabee's hand and watched them ride out.
The murky netherworld he was trapped in suddenly broke wide open. Thunderous pain exploded in his head and chest at the same time. Rippling shards of lightning scorched his tender back, causing him to cry out. By the fifth or sixth time the lightning bolt danced on his back, his eyes were wide open. His senses were fully charged now, heightened by the intense pain coursing through his body. He heard the crack of a whip and felt the leather bit his skin again. His body danced with every lash, straining against the cords. Gasping in pain, he licked the spittle drooling from his mouth and turned his wide eyes sideways. The ropes weren't tied tightly. With every lash, he pulled harder, loosening them more. Then suddenly, the lashes stopped, he sucked in a ragged draw of breath and heard Garrett cursing.
The arm was numb now, the fingers wouldn't hold the grip of the whip any longer. Blood ran down his arm, the force of his muscles ripped his stitches and sent pain ripping through him. He glanced at Tanner, who was slumped on his knees, blood welling from the dozen streaks of justice on his back. He staggered to his horse, got his canteen and uncorked it, taking a long drink. He spent several minutes, washing the bloody arm and tying a kerchief around it. The red pain throbbed hard, causing him to hiss and curse. He left his guard down and turned too late, just as the nimble body hit him.
"Yer gonna die ... ya fuckin' animal ... I'm gonna gut ya like a fish ... " Vin panted, using his fists on the other man's body. He looped the long drape of cord from his wrist around Garrett's throat and pulled is mercilessly. His blue eyes were wide in rage as he watched the other man fighting for breath.
Garrett was on his knees, Tanner behind him, choking the life from him. He saw dark spots dancing and felt his last air giving out. Frantic, he took his hands from his throat, recalled the black and blue damaged chest and elbowed his opponent hard.
Vin dropped to his knees as the sharp pain ripped into him, taking his breath away. Both men took several minutes to regroup. Vin spotted the knife several feet away and sprang.
Garrett heard the light steps and rolled over several times, picking up his disgarded gun and firing.
Vin heard the shot just before the bullet sank into his leg, high in thigh, near his hip. The pain shot up his right side, causing him to stumbled and fall. Garrett's boot hit the new injured area hard, causing a shower of red, blue and yellow stars to crash over his head. Through the multicolored mass of fire, his bloodied hand found a rock and he lashed out. He heard a grunt and felt the weight leave his back. He rolled over, saw Garrett lying motionless and felt his own eyes flutter and shut.
He didn't have time to be afraid, his mission drove him onward. Vin was out here somewhere, hurt and alone. He learned enough in the short time he knew the expert tracker, to pick up a few tricks. He read the sky and recalled Vin's map. He placed the landmarks and recalled the route the two murderers would take north. J.D.'s head shot up, when he heard hooves approaching. He eased his own horse into a cluster of rocks and waited. The moon shed enough light for him to see who it was. The fact he was alone was disturbing. He pulled his gun out and aimed, firing several feet ahead of the horse.
"That's far enough, Colonel," he shouted down. "Next one goes goes into your yellow hide. Get off that horse, you're under arrest."
"Who the hell are you?" Dixon called into the night, sliding his hand down for his pistol. A second shot whispered past his hand, causing the horse to skitter.
"Something wrong with your hearing?" Dunne yelled, "Take the pistol out with your left hand, two fingers only toss it behind you. Same with the rifle."
"Do I look like a fool to you son?" Dixon peered in the inky night, trying to figure out where the man was. He stalled, ignoring the directive.
"You look like a yellow-bellowed, spineless moron with no morals." J.D. replied, "Ugly too ... quit stalling and toss those guns. Just as easy for me to pluck them off your dead body. You're wanted know you, army's hunting you ... .do it ... "
Reluctantly, the soldier complied. Whoever the man was he'd have to show himself eventually. Once he got close, he could use the knife he had up his sleeve.
"You're doing real good for a idiot," J.D. shouted, "Get off the horse and walk to the saguarro, hands in the air." He slid off his horse, tied him to the bushes and kept his weapon trained on the army man's back. He waited until the older man was near the tall desert tree and moved closer. "Hands behind your back!" he ordered, reaching for his handcuffs. He was closing in, when another voice split the dark night.
"Hold it, Son, nobody move."
"Great!" Dixon muttered, "nothing like a crowd." He eyed the five men who rode in, looking lean, mean and hard. The only riders out this late on this stretch of road were usually bandits. The kind that leave no witnesses. "I warn you, I am an officer in the United States Army ... "
"Oh that's rich!" J.D. snorted, "You wouldn't know honor if it bit your ass."
"Shut up, both of you!" The deep voice boomed, "Calvin, get a lantern lit ... "
J.D. backed up slowly, until he had plenty of room between him, the strangers and the colonel. The light showed five men, dusty, dirty and weary. He sighed in relief, when he saw the leader wore a silver star.
"I'm Dave Birch, the marshall from Reading, up north. We're part of a posse tracking bank robbers who hit three towns up there and killed five people."
"Thank God, I'm Sheriff John Dunne, this man is wanted for murder ... "
"Sheriff?" Birch's voice rose in incredulation as he eyed the youth, "Aren't you a little short?"
"Not where it counts," Dunne growled in a Larbeesque voice, narrowing his eyes, squaring his shoulders and standing firm.
"No, I can see that," the marshall grinned at the spunky kid. "So what's this about him wanted for murder?"
"It's a lie," Dixon countered, "He's was trying to rob me when you approached. As you pointed out, he's much too young to be a law man."
"Was I talking to you?" Birch barked, eyeing the arrogant calveryman. "Keep your mouth shut." He ordered, before turning back to the dark-haired boy. "Go on kid ... "
"He's the one ... one of two men ... well, he's the leader of a band of uh ... a gang whose been robbing stages and wagons for almost a year. He was responsible for that train wreck near Queen's Cut."
"What train wreck?"
"What train wreck?" J.D. repeated to the man behind the sheriff who asked, "A couple days ago, it was in every paper. "
"We've been riding sand for five days, Kid, we ain't got time for papers." Birch replied.
"Lots of people were killed and hurt, including friends of mine." J.D. continued, "We're working for the territorial judge, trying to help the army catch the gang. He set off dynamite and blew up part of the track."
"You read too many dime novels, Son," Dixon laughed, "Do I look like a highwayman?"
"You look like somebody who doesn't understand English." Birch spat, "I ain't gonna tell you again. Next time you open that mouth, I'm putting a gag in it, Comprehende?" He saw the head nod, "Good. Go on, Son"
"The army sent word out that a lot of silver was heading to San Diego. But there wasn't any, the put rocks in the shipment. But nobody knew. We have witnesses who saw him," he nodded at Dixon, "in the car after it blew. They didn't get any silver, they stole the new army rifles instead. They have a base down in San Paulo, over the border where they take their loot. We caught the rest of them, only him and Garrett got away."
"Garrett?"
"Young, blond and dressed like a soldier," Dunne said, "He's out here somewhere too."
"Where'd you come from?" Birch asked the boy.
"Fullerton, the army's there, nearest town to the accident."
"Okay," he nodded turning to the army man, "What's your story?"
"I told you, I was on my way back to the Fort, when he accosted me."
"You sayin' he made all that up, about the train and you robbing it? Seems to have all the information." Birch stated.
"I'm not saying he made it up," Dixon replied, "It's very possible all those details are so vivid because he was involved in the robbery. I can verify my whereabouts, my men are camped to the south. A courier sent word from the Fort that I was needed. My escort was detained by an encouter with an old enemy."
"You're full of shit, Dixon!" Dunne cried out, realizing the cryptic clues alluded to Garrett and Vin. "Where is he?"
"Hey, calm down!" Birch warned, "You claim this story of yours can be verified in Fullerton?"
"Yeah, but ... "
"Okay, then we'll go there. No fancy moves, either of you. I'm tired and I get awful nervous with my gun when I'm cranky. Let's go."
"No!" J.D. heard Chris's words come back to him then, about standing up for what's right when you are outnumbered.
"I told you he was not the cherubic innocent he contends to be ... " Dixon drolled, then put up two hands defensively, when Birch pointed his gun.
J.D. took advantage of that and skittered backwards, taking position in the dark in a cluster of rocks.
"Where'd he go?" Calvin asked, peering into the dark dessert. "That army guy is probably right. Why would that kid bolt if he wasn't guilty?"
"Because I got a friend missing ... hurt ... lost out here and he needs me." J.D. shouted. "He was hurt on the train and Dixon's partner, Garrett, is out to kill Vin. If I go back to Fullerton, I'll lose too much time and Vin could die out here."
"Dammit!" Birch took his hat off and slapped his thigh. "Shit! Look, Son ... "
"I ain't your son, I gotta name, J.D. Dunne, you best start using it."
"Just what we need after five days out," Birch muttered, "an uppity youngun. Okay, Dunne, you squattin' in them rocks isn't helping your friend either. If he is out here, hurt, he'll die by morning.Gets cold out here at night, no water, snakes and scorpions ... "
"Yeah, alright," J.D. chewed his lip. "You send one of your men to Fullerton. They'll back me up and send the army back. Meanwhile, the rest of us wait here. Any of you makes any funny moves this way, and I'm shooting first."
"Jesus, I should have retired last year, " Birch sighed, "Set up camp, Lobbs, looks like we're staying for awhile. Sherman, ride to Fullerton and get to the bottom of this. Dixon, sit down and keep your mouth shut. Calvin, get his guns and check the saddlebags. Okay Kid ... we'll do it your way."
J.D. shifted in the rocks, staring in the darkness. Was Vin out there? Was Dixon telling the truth or just baiting him? Would Chris get back in time? He kept his gun trained on Dixon's body, taking turns shooting off limbs and other parts in his head.
"What is it?" Major Thomas Kelly asked, watching the other man jump from his horse.'
"It's Vin's," Chris said, picking up the discarded hide coat and mare's leg. He secured them on his horse, before lighting a long match. "Two sets of tracks ... they split up. One of them has Vin."
"Okay, I'll go north, see where they lead," Kelly suggested, "We'll meet up later?"
"Yeah," Chris said, a chill running up his spine as he eyed the dark dessert. "If this dead end's I'll follow your trail. Major Kelly?" He waited until the other man turned back, "thanks ... "
"We haven't caught anyone yet, but you're welcome, Mister Larabee." He nodded and rode off.
Blood. Fire. Pain. The three images clashed his his battered body and exploded in his fevered brain. He peeled an eye open and saw a bloody hand. The fingers wiggled and he realized it was his hand. A long strip of leather was tied to his sore wrists. His back raged, his chest was on fire and his head erupting in pain. He was on his belly and rolled his eyes, spotting a fire burning. Then he saw the blond man lying nearby and a rage filled him. He rolled over, trying to find strength enough to stand. He saw her then, her beautiful young face marred by cuts and smashed in. Her large, doelike brown eyes were wide and unseeing.
["Bazi ... " he cried out, reaching a trembling hand to brush the hair from her eyes. He gut exploded then, he crawled away from her, leaving his bile on the road. There were bodies littering the camp, the stench of the burning remains of his family choked him. A rage overtook him and he took a deep breath, praying to the Spirits for strength. Then a calmness filled him and he stood, hissing in pain as his right leg nearly gave way under his weight. He limped heavily, using the other one and made his way to Garrett. He took off the enemy's shirt and tossed it away. He tucked the knife into his waistband. He used the blood pouring from his leg to place marks on his face. He sat then, closed his eyes, raised his palms and began to pray.
Chris followed the tracks for sometime, then he spotted the glow of a fire. He eased off his horse, and picked up his pace, hearing a familiar voice. He froze, when he saw the scene. Vin was rocking back and forth, his face covered in blood. Chris slid down, grabbed his canteen and saddlebags and made his way towards the fire. Garrett was face down, stripped to the waist and not moving.
"Vin! You got him! How bad are you ... "
["Daiboo!" Vin screamed, seeing the strange white man approach. He shot up, ignoring the explosion of fire in his hip and chest and hit the other man hard, driving them both to the ground. He slammed the blond head hard and felt the body slump with a sharp cry. He stradled the other man trapping one hand beneath the lean body. His hot eyes were full of rage, peering down at another murderer of his family. With the smell of the dead still filling him, he set about the business of giving their uneasy spirits rest. He raised the knife high, bared his teeth and howled.
"No!" Chris screamed, barely recognizing the wild-eyed hellion who attacked him. His head was still reeling from the blow Vin delivered. He was dizzy and the whole scene was spinning wildly. He got his free hand up just in time, the knife missed his throat and cut into the softness by his shoulder. "Vin for Christ's sake it's me ... it's Chris. Vin ... Vin ... " He frowned, feeling an almost superhuman strength that only comes with festering rage like the kind possessing his friend. Vin used his wily body well, digging his knee hard into the groin, which sent an almost parylzing pain to his lower body. He felt himself weakening as the knife moved closer. Sweat poured from both of them, Vin's dripping through the dried blood-paint on his face. It dripped off the lost Texan and hit his own cheeks and chest. Chris's hand wavered and weakened, he grunted in frustration, the knife came down again , the tip now on his jugular. He had to do something ... he wormed his trapped hand free and grabbed his gun. Maybe he could hit Vin just hard enough to knock him free.
Vin felt the move and dropped the knife, his hand caught the gun at the same time. He grunted and groaned, his whole body screaming in agony. But he wouldn't let them down, her dark eyes rose over the moon, giving him strength. They rolled and grunted, each fighting pain to possess the gun. It was pressed between their bodies, when it went off. A sharp cry of pain rose in the night, mixing with the smoke of the fire. Two bodies lie prone, one atop the other, neither moving.
Page | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17
Return to Deirdre's Fic Archive | Return to Lady Angel's Library
