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.
Author's Note: This story was written for Julie's birthday. Happy Birthday Julie!
The distant mountains provided a dramatic backdrop to the saguaro covered plains, scattered with various cacti. The rocky hilltop that led to Bandalero Road was just in view; he'd taken a shortcut Vin recommended and saved a good bit of time. With any luck, he'd be at the Gratton ranch by ten a.m. or so. He tossed the remainder of his coffee away and cleaned up his campsite. The large spread covered nearly five thousand acres. Calvin Gratton and his brother-in-law were partners; Stephen Dubonnet had a large horse farm in Kentucky. He shipped the horses out west to Calvin, who sold them quarterly at auctions. Chris had come to the last one, but didn't find anything to his suiting. He did, however, find Gratton to be about as honest and straightforward as they come. They'd hit it off right away and Chris liked the Canadian breeder.
"Come on boy..." he climbed on his mount and eyed the road back to town. He'd hoped Vin would have caught up to him by now. A small twinge inside was replaced with a shake of his blond head. The tracker was fine, most likely he'd found a new route and would be grinning like a jackass when he arrived. Clucking his tongue, he wasted no time in gaining the road to the ranch.
"Easy now..." Vin urged, gripping Ezra's arm. The southerner was barely upright, sweating profusely and sneezing as well as coughing. He got the swaying body inside the Larabee abode. "No...hold up..." he pulled the body headed for the bed in another direction. "Ya get that coat off...and the shirt...yer soaked."
Ezra was too tired, sore and dizzy to argue. His limp arms flopped around as Vin guided him from the fever-damaged clothing. He was pulled upright and then wrapped in a blanket. He felt the warmth of a fire on his face and a cup was shoved in his hands. He sipped the cold water slowly, unable to get more than a little past his swollen throat. He shivered as he heard the Texan's boots make several trips outside.
"Have you lost...your...mind..." He gasped, eyeing his red coat being tossed in the fireplace.
"Ya got five more in yer closet at home...it ain't like ye'll miss it...it's got crud all over it..." Vin defended, wrinkling his nose and scrubbing the mess from his hands. "Hell, ya been spittin' and sneezin' on it fer two hours..."
"Wonderful!" Standish grumbled, pulling the blanket closer. "It's not bad enough I've been overtaken by this horrid malady, I must ride into town in the guise of Godiva..."
"Huh?" Vin screwed his face up and saw a weak smile.
"Naked..." Ezra supplied, jumping as the clatter of pots assaulted his tender head. "I think you...missed one..." he complained, eyeing the bottle of whiskey on the mantle.
"I got two rabbits skinned and ready t'go...Chris's got some carrots and onions in his dry sink..." Vin tossed a linen towel in the cool water and headed for the flushed face. "Ya take a nap and I'll get yer broth goin'...Chris's got some stuff ya can wear..."
"I will not be manhandled like an invalid..." Ezra ducked and protested weakly as Vin's hand covered his face and neck in one fell swoop.
"Shut the hell up..." Vin warned, dropping the cloth into a pot of boiling water. He picked up the last of the cotton cloth squares he'd cut from Ezra's shirt and caught the wet sneeze as it left the other's mouth and wiping it hard. His well-intentioned, if not forceful, efforts didn't go unrewarded.
"Ouch!" the green-eyed man yelped and pulled himself away. "Your bedside manner leaves a lot to be desired. Furthermore..."
"Yer ears stuffed up?" Vin huffed, sweating from his frantic movments about the warm room, "Somethin' ya didn't understand about 'Shut the hell up'?" He pointed to Chris's bed in the next room. "Plant yer ass in there and quit raggin'..." He directed, grabbing a large pot and heading outside to get more water.
"Plebian..." Ezra coughed, standing and eyeing the empty room. He uncorked the bottle and took a liberal swig, before replacing it. "Mother always says spirits are good for a cold..." He wobbled into the next room and eased his throbbing body on the bed. He pulled the thin blanket up and then the thick one he'd been wrapped in. He rubbed his eyes and coughed again, reaching for a cloth. His eyes widened in amazement. There was already several squares of fabric on the bedside table, along with a tall mug of water. He watched the nimble body moving quickly about the cabin and dozed off.
"Wake up..."
"Why?" Ezra groaned, turning away, "Is it judgement day?"
"No, lunch is ready...ya need t'eat..." Vin advised, taking the crumpled up swatches of cloth to the fire. He looked back, but the body hadn't moved. Sighing, he ladled a bowl full of broth, accented with minced up meat and vegtables. He carefully made his way to the room and set it on the table. "Ya need some help? I can..."
"If you come near me with a spoon, I vow it will end up someplace not befitting a proper utencil..." Ezra growled and heard the soft chuckling. He didn't protest, however, when the strong arms lifted him to a sitting position. He felt another blanket draped around his shoulders and managed to swing his legs around. The small table was close enough and he eyed the steam rising. His hand wavered, but he managed to eat the whole bowl. "I doubt the finest coq au vin at Andre's on Canal Street would rival this," he noted of a favorite cafe in New Orleans. "Vin?" he gathered up his blankets and moved slowly, the pounding in his head was like a hot anvil. He stopped in the doorway and his eyes narrowed. He tossed out a soft breath, catching the lean Texan dozing at Chris's table. On the wooden structure, were a dozen or more cloths cut up, an herbal concoction that resembled tea and some salt in a small bowl. Ezra felt a pang of guilt, realizing the younger man had been up all night caring for him. Just as the long shaggy head dipped, the chin nearly clipping his chest, it jerked up, the wide eyes shot open.
"Damn..." Vin cursed, shaking the drowiness away. "Can't sleep now...t'much t'do...Ez!"
"Thank you," the other winced as the loud sound hit every fiber in his body like a hammer. "I hope you have enough soup left for the dead you've awakened."
"Sorry," Vin stood up, eyeing the body, "Hey...ya look a little better..."
"How long?" Ezra tried to peek out the window.
"Ya was out a good five hours..." Vin countered, as the fevered body passed by. "How ya feelin'?"
"Fine...don't I look it..." he said sharply, settling at the table. He flinched as the harsh tone brought an icyness to the warm room. He heard the shuffle of the boots and saw the back of the damp red shirt over by the fireplace. "I'm sorry, Vin...that was inexcusable. You've forsaken rest and nourishment at my expense and I'm grateful."
"s'okay Ez..." Vin came back bearing a cup of warm water. He sprinkled the salt in it and shook it gently. "Rinse yer throat out and spit in that bucket..."
"What for?"
"Dunno...but it works..."
"By whose account?"
"My grandfathers!" Vin shoved the cup at the protestor. "Jesus ye'd wear the stripes offa tiger..."
"Ugh!" Ezra drew his head back and wrinkled his face in distaste, having completed the chore. "A vile practice long abandoned by freethinking..."
"Here," Vin cut him off, giving him hot apple cider. "I put some herbs in it...fer that cough...get it down. Ya finish the rest of the soup and I'll get some clothes fer ya t'put on...we got get goin' iffen were gonna get to Nate's by sundown."
While Ezra finished his spiked cider, soup and managed to dress himself, Vin burned the used clothes and folded the blankets on the porch outside.
"I'll ride back tomorrow and boil 'em proper..." Vin said, putting the clean pot back on the cupboard. Eyeing the tidy cabin, he got the sluggish gambler outside and on his horse. With every movement, the southerner tossed a new stream of complaints. Nathan's clinic never seemed farther away or more desirable.
"Ah, Mister Larabee, I can see your fine eye for horse flesh has improved since we last met."
"Hey, Cal, how are you?" Chris greeted the robust, gentlemen whose suit would make Ezra blush in envy. The ranch was beautiful, no expense spared. Claire Gratton was a genteel and gracious hostess. Joshua, Joseph and Peter, the three heirs to the empire, were fine young men, the products of their father's firm hand. All three worked from dawn to dusk, hand in hand with the rest of the crew.
"Fine, my friend, and you?" The tall man shook the hand offered by the corral. He saw the green eyes slowly scour the dozen or so horses, before settling on the prize. He also noted that the blond was by himself. "Where is your companion? I don't see that distinctive coat of his..."
"It's distinctive alright," Chris grinned, "You'd have smelled it a good mile or so away." He paused and eyed the long road that wound down several miles to the entrance of the sprawling enterprise. "Actually, I was hoping Vin was here...he was held up on business...didn't get back before I left."
"Ah...I shall miss his entertaining comments. He has a unique flavor..."
"That he does," Chris agreed and moved closer to the railing. The large red stallion kicked up his legs, tossing his head in arrogance. "He's a beauty..."
"The best of the lot...just over eighteen hands...his bloodlines go all the way back to Spain. You won't find better this side of the Mississippi..."
"I don't doubt that," Chris mused, his eyes raking in the sight of the fine beast. "How much?"
"The auction is set to begin tomorrow at nine, I'm sure..."
"How much?" Chris repeated, cocking his head and curving his lips upward, "I don't intend to lose him. Why waste time? I'll be more than fair."
"Well..." Gratton scratched his chin, "I expected he'd bring in a good bit of silver..." Then there was that sly grin and glint in the green eyes. No, he had no doubt that Chris Larabee got what he desired. He wondered how any woman in the territory was safe with that gaze.
"I'll give you one-hundred-and-twenty-five..."
"Hah!" Gratton scoffed, "Anything less than two-hundred-and-fifty would be criminal..."
"One-fifty," Chris grinned, his fingers itching to break in the fine beast. "I read about that sale in Santa Fe last month. Fine stock...all the way from Ireland..."
Now it was Gratton's turn to grin, this young man not only knew horses, he knew how to play the game. The stock from the sale he mentioned was superior to that which was offered today. No doubt he knew the prices as well.
"It's indecent...but for you, I'll take a loss...one-seventy-five..."
"Done!" Chris extended his hand and shook on it. "Now you can buy me lunch..."
"I don't know if I can afford you, Chris!" the older man laughed and led his young friend into the large house. The filet tips in wine sauce, potatoes au gratin and green beans almondine went down easy, along with the robust red wine. As the two men discussed horses and other business over cigars, Calvin couldn't help notice the blond uneasiness. "If I were a betting man, I'd wager you won't be staying under my roof tonight."
"That obvious?" Chris smiled, enjoying the imported cigar.
"You are anxious to get on the road...and to find that hide coat..."
"That damn sorry-assed Texan will outlive both of us..." Chris teased and drained his brandy. "But I do want to head back. I want to get Paladin settled in his new home." He noted of the horse. He folded the paperwork in his pocket and entered the large foyer, as the beautiful wife of the host approached. He kissed her hand and smiled. "Thank you for a fine afternoon, Claire..."
"You're welcome anytime," she blushed, her hand tingling. "You're not staying?"
"You don't have to sound that disappointed," Calvin teased his wife, giving his young guest a grin.
"No, thanks, Claire, I need to get home. Next time..."
"Of course," she nodded as the two men left.
"He's a fine catch," Cal shook hands with the young man again as he tied the reins of the new acquisition to his saddlhorn. "You come back in the spring and I'll have the perfect mare for him..."
"Count on it," Chris nodded as he climbed onto his horse. "Thanks again, Cal..."
He rode for home, eyeing the afternoon sky. With any luck, he'd be home by midday tomorrow. He and Vin had planned to break the horse in and relax a few days at his shack. Maybe he'd meet the Texan on the way home. If not, he'd enjoy the rest of the week at his place. The last few weeks in town were rough and he needed the solitude. The supplies were well stacked and the well full. He could use a few days alone.
It was dark when Vin got into town. Ezra was barely upright and Vin jumped from his own horse, before leading the gambler's into the livery. Tiny wasn't around and Vin was too exhausted to hunt him down. He sat Ezra on a barrel and quickly dispensed of the saddles and blankets. After giving each animal a good amount of hay, he tossed both saddlebags on his shoulder and got the ill man up the stairs.
"Nate...ya here...Nate..."
"Vin?"
Nathan Jackson looked up from the medical journal he was reading as the door was pushed in with a dusty boot. He jumped up as soon as the horrid coughing made a wet splash on the floor. Ezra's haggard appearance brought the healer to action. He led the fevered man to a cot and sat him down. A well placed hand to the flushed forehead told him the fever was rising.
"Ya okay, Vin?" He inquired, his dark eyes seeing exhaustion, but no signs of illness.
"Just tired, Nate...Ez's got a helluva cold...I burned up all his spit rags...got some broth and herbed cider in him at Chris's shack...he come down with it last night..." Vin hedged, "Ya got this? I'm wore t'the bone and starved..."
"Hey Vin," Nate called as the young man turned , "I need a favor. Can ya get the ashcan full of wood and get the fire going?" He said of the metal can he kept outside the door. "Bring my bag over..."
"Sure..." the tired man nodded, first getting the small fire going in the bottom of the large vessel .Then he brought the leather sachel to the healer. When Nate looked up, Vin froze. Something in the dark eyes made his stomach drop.
"It's just a cold, ain't it?" he asked, watching the stethescope hit Ezra's wheezing chest.
"No..." Nate shook his head and sighed, "Might be croup...I ain't sure..." his fingers gently felt along the dozing patients throat.
"I made him wash his throat with salt water..."
"That was good thinkin' Vin..." Nate nodded ,hearing the worried tone. "But I don't know what this is and if it's catchin'. I don't need ya spreadin' it all over town. Ya meet up with anybody when ya rode in?"
"No...brought him right up..." Vin replied slowly, shifting his aching feet. "I'll stick t'my wagon..."
"Sorry, Vin." He eased a white cotton nightshirt on Ezra and tapped the stuperous face, "Ez...I got some sweet gum and myrtle...I'm gonna make ya some tea...it'll help that sore throat..." He pushed two large pillow behind the coughing body and moved to put the kettle on to boil.
"Ya don't mean..." Vin shook his head and tried to backpeddle. "Here...I can't stay here...Aw, hell Nate...I'll be good, I promise. I won't talk t'nobody...I'll ride back t'Chris's..."
"Can't take that chance Vin...Ya gotta stay put." He poured boiling water over the herbs and added a little honey. He then carried the mug to Ezra. "Here ya go...sip it slow..."
"Thank...you..." Ezra managed, shivering under the blankets.
"How long?" Vin sank into the chair and Nate's desk, swallowing hard as the walls seemed to move inward.
"Depends...a week maybe two..."
"A week!" Vin's voice went up a full octave as his body flew upwards. "In here? A week...Hell, I might as well dig me a ditch in the boneyard." His brows drew together and he looked up, "I ain't even sick...Hell he's been coughing that shit all over me since last night..."
"That don't mean ya won't get sick...or get somebody else sick." Nate eyed the weary body swaying and sat him back down on a small cot near the window. "Ya look wore out...ya eat today?"
"No...ain't hungry..."
"Don't start." Nate moved to the back of the chamber where he had a small kitchen. He reappeared with a plate of food and a large mug of coffee. "Eat...I'm gonna give Ezra an alchohol bath...his fever's coming up..." He moved away to get the bottle and a new basin. Twenty minute later his task completed and his patient sleeping fitfully, the healer returned to find the weary Texan sound asleep. The food was half gone and the head was resting on crossed arms beside the plate. He shifted Vin's legs and body, moving the plate, and covering the slim man with a light blanket. He flipped his hand on the back of the slumbering man's neck, glad to find it cool. He gathered up the scattering of Ezra's used cloths and tossed them into the metal can. He spotted Josiah and waved to him. He stopped the large man at the foot of the stairs.
"Come around back, under my window...we got trouble."
"Trouble?" Josiah frowned, eyeing the worried face. He turned around and his long strides took him into the dark, deserted alley under Nate's back window. He waited until the dark head popped out. "What kind of trouble?"
"The quarantined kind..." Nate answered, "Vin brung Ez in...he's sick as a dog. He's burning up, spitting up crud, sneezing, wheezin', his heart's racing and his glands are swellin' up...."
"Oh Lord," Josiah shook his head, "Vin?"
"He's fine...wore out...passed out already."
"You check his throat?" Sanchez asked as the silver moon his the ashen healer's face.
"Yeah...nothing yet...could just be croup."
"But..."
"But I can't take no chances...ya wire the Fort and ask Major Harper if anybody else is sick in the territory. Keep folks away from here...Vin said he rode right in...didn't see nobody."
"That's a blessing," Josiah nodded. "Okay, should I wire Cooper Landing?" he said of the small town nearby where most of the town had journeyed to attend a Harvest Festival.
"Not yet," He paused, "We'll wait until morning. I'll know by then..."
"Nate..." Josiah's head rose with his voice. "You gotta tell 'em..." he said of the remaining citizens. "They have a right to know...I've seen what something like this does to a town and it's ugly."
"Don't you think I know that!" Nate hissed, "I just want to be sure."
"I think you already are..." He paused, hands on hips. "How long's he been sick?"
"Vin said he took sick yesterday."
"Then we'll know by morning. The army will be asking...I'd rather have them helping out. Folks get word we got that sickness in town...they panic...start fleeing like rats on a sinking ship. Next thing you know, it's all over the territory."
"Don't insult me, Josiah!" Nate fumed, pounding the windowsill. "I've been through this twice, damn near died of it once. If I keep them in here...and the folks stay out of town...we might be okay." A horrid, round of coughing took his attention. "I gotta go..."
Josiah stood for a moment, his own mind wandering back in time to similiar epidemics and the fights, bloodshed and violence that fear induced panic brought on. A shadow nearby caused him to break his concentration. "You heard?" he asked the tall man.
"Yeah...what's Nate think it is?"
"You mean what's he praying it isn't?" Josiah paused, wincing as Ezra's harsh coughing echoed in the still night. "Diphtheria..." he whispered and watched all the color leave Buck Wilmington's face.
It was still dark when a harsh echo of coughing filled the infirmary. The weary healer jerked himself awake, jumped up and made his way to the patient's side. He guided him to an upright position, trying to calm the alarmed green eyes.
"Easy now...chuck that shit up...come on..." he urged, holding a large cloth near Ezra's mouth. Finally, the red-face, fevered patient released a large wad of mucus. While he spent he next several minutes, regaining his breath, Nathan gave him another alchohol bath. "Here..." he gave the thirsty man some cool water, then handed him a mug of warm salt water. "Rinse that throat out, spit it in here," he moved a small basin onto Ezra's lap. "I got some tea and broth simmerin'.."
Ezra shivered in the darkness, his aching eyes taking in the shadowy interior of Nathan's clinic. As he gargled, his bleary mind recalled a flight from the Larabee cabin and Vin getting him up the stairs here. His eyes rested on the slight form in the next cot. He finished his throat rinse and moved the bowl to the side table. He stood on unsure legs and made three steps to the next bed. He cocked his head and heard even breathing, his hand hovered over the tracker's forehead.
"What are ya doin'?" Nate hissed, putting the tray down and shoving the startled man back on his own cot.
"I was merely trying to ascertain if Mr. Tanner had attained this malady as well."
"No...Vin's fine, he's just wore to the bone." The dark-skinned man placed the wooden tray on legs in front of Standish, who was sitting up in the bed. Behind his back were three thick pillows.
"How long?" Ezra rasped, eyeing the strange tea with a curious eye.
"It's sweet gum, myrtle and willow bark..." the tall man answered the question jade eyes, "Vin brung ya in last night. Sunup will be in about an hour." He watched the wet head nod and replace the mug, picking up a spoon.
"You're certain he isn't ill as well?" Standish's eyes went across to Vin's stilled form. "He's been hovering over me since I encountered him on the road a couple days ago. He'd been coughing quite a bit the night we spent in San Carlos..."
"Coughing?" Nate sat down on the chair next to the bed, "No, he's okay." He moved the lamp in closer, turning it up. "Open up, Ez...I need to look at that throat."
Ezra complied and saw the tireless healer's face ashen. The slight tremble to the hand cupping his chin gave him alarm.
"It's not a cold?" Ezra frowned, "The flu perhaps?"
"No," Nate sighed and drew his face up, meeting the fever-bright jade eyes. "It's diphtheria..."
"Sweet Jesus!" Ezra gasped and laid back against the pillows.
"Look at me, Ezra!" Nate commanded sharply, "Ya lose that quitter's face and fight this thing. I've had it already, I know how hard the war's gonna be, but I also know ya can beat this thing. I did."
"...and I've read accounts of epidemics that wiped out entire communities. I'm sure those misfortunate souls fought hard too." His gaze went to Vin again. "Why isn't he sick? He brought this from that lake with him. He lies sleeping peacefully..."
"Cut that out!" Nate hissed, eyeing the jealous eyes, "I don't know that answer to that. But ya can't go blamin' Vin 'cause ya got sick. Ya got no proof...besides, from what he told me, he took care of ya out there. That salt water wash was good thinkin'...he cleaned up at Chris's...fed ya...took care of ya..."
"Cease and desist," Ezra picked up the spoon. "I didn't mean it that way..." He was finished his soup when a cold fear struck him. "Good Lord!" He moved the tray and went to stand up.
"Ezra!" Nate shoved him back down. "Ya gotta stay under them covers..."
"No, you don't understand," he pleaded, "That child was climbing all over Vin...nuzzling his neck, kissing his cheek...she's so small..."
"What child?" the dark eyes widened in fear, "What are ya talkin' about?"
"Callie Johnson..." He coughed, doubled over and spit into the cloth in his hand, dropping it in the small container by the cot.
"Johnson?" Nate's heart dropped, "Ya stopped at Johnson's place?" He saw the head nodding and cursed softly. "Dammit Vin..." he shook his head, "I asked him if ya rode right in...why didn't he tell me?"
"...cause I thought yer were talking 'bout Chris's place," Vin answered, without moving. "Ya asked if I stopped on the way in...weren't m'fault..." he defended. "Hell, I thought it was cold..."
"Alright," Jackson smacked the lean leg under the blanket, "Sit up. I need to know everywhere ya been...from the top. Were ya sick in San Carlos Vin?"
"Huh?" Vin squinted, his not awake eyes blinded by the lamp. He shielded his face from the glare and licked his dry lips. "Ya got any water? I'm drier than a burnt-out buzzard."
"Hold on..."
Vin remained in place, rubbing his weary eyes. An uncomfortable silence filled the small room. He'd heard what Ezra said about being sick. The question nagged at him. Why had his cough gone away so quickly? Could he have brought this from the river? He felt a cold metal cup brush his hand.
"Here," Nate charged, "Don't get this mixed up...I marked it with a 'V'...ya drink from this one only. Same with your plate and bowl." He watched the water disappear and saw Ezra's anger flash briefly.
"It was dusty in that damn room. Hell, them sheets wasn't changed since Lee surrendered..." he noted of his idol from the Civil War.
"Quit snipin'!" Nate barked, eyeing both men, "Ya both listen up, ya ain't leavin' here for two weeks, so ya best learn to get along. I won't put up with any tantrums, squabblin' or other childish nonsense. Now fill me in..." he inquired of their trek home.
"Buck...Buck..."
The handsome cowboy smiled in his sleep, his slumbering mind still lost in the rapturous embrace of the lovely vision. He was drowning in a sea of red hair and firm flesh, the skilled limbs of the volumptous woman left him breathless.
"Slow...down...Darlin'...." he groaned, pushing the arm away, "You're killing me..."
"Get your ass up!"
"Damn..." Buck mumbled, blinking at the harsh tone and then at the stern features of Nathan Jackson. "Dammit Nate...you have terrible timing..."
"I ain't got time to waste on your sweat dreams...now get up!"
"Where's the fire?" Buck squinted as he pulled his pants on. He caught the shirt tossed at him and noted the sun was just breaking through the window.
"In my clinic," Nate answered the disgrunted face, "and that's where I aim to keep it..."
Buck's foggy brain began to work, as his fingers fumbled with the buttons on his shirt. His hand froze on his boots, when the chilling conversation with Josiah replayed in his mind. He drew his head up slowly, now fully alert. One look at Nathan's stricken features gave him the reply he dreaded.
"Diphtheria?" He pulled his boots on and stood up.
"Yeah...Ez's is down...we got a lot of work to do...Josiah's waiting at the church."
"Shit!" the mustached-man hissed, raking a hand through his disheveled hair "...does that bring bag a lot of bad memories..."
"Only reason I'm here," Nate replied, "I rememberd ya said ya had it before..."
"Twice," Buck grunted, buckling his holster, "Once when I was a kid...twelve or so, damn near died." He paused and remembered the worry lines on the pretty face in his past, "Scared my Ma half to death..."
"Twice?" Nate waited until Buck got his coat and hat.
"Yeah..." He ambled through the door, "Second time wasn't as bad...but I was laid up a couple weeks. Winter of sixty-three...in the army...in Virginia." He kept his strides even with the taller man's long ones as they hurried to the church. "Vin got it too?"
"No...but they stopped at Chris's place and at Ben Johnson's...Callie was climbin' all over Vin. I can't leave Ezra, but you and Josiah both had this..."
"You ever had it, Nate," Buck pulled the arm of the tired medicine man, his eyes wrought with worry.
"Yeah..." he smiled wearily, "In the army...Mornin' Josiah..."
"Brothers," the eldest imparted, as the two entered, "Coffee's done...eggs are just about finished."
"What's the plan, Nate?" Buck asked, taking the plate of food from the preacher with a nod. He sat down next to the ex-slave and poured each of them coffee. Handing the hot mug to the other, he saw the paper with notes on it his hand.
"First thing, we gotta get word to Cooper's Landing." He eyed Josiah, "...stop them folks from coming back home. You know how to send a telegraph?"
"Yeah...I'll get right on it," he advised, knowing the telegraph clerk was at the Festival with the others. They were expected to leave in the late afternoon and be home by dark. "Who else?"
"San Carlos," Nate dictated, eyeing his notes, "Vin and Ezra left out of there. Ezra got sick the next day, so it's likely he caught it in San Carlos. Him and Vin split up before they got there...Vin got cleaned off in the lake. Ez said Vin was coughing in the room all night...Vin claims the bed was loaded with dust..."
"So we find out if anybody else came down with it," Josiah replied, scooping up eggs with a large biscuit. "We gotta wire the Fort...the Judge..."
"He's with Mary and Billy at the festival," Buck muffled through his eggs. He stopped to do a mental head count. "We got fifteen...twenty maybe left here in town. We gotta block the roads..." he paused, "We gotta tell 'em Nate..."
"Yeah, I know, Buck," Nate admitted, pushing the food around without eating it..."I woke up the clerk at the hotel, he's getting them up. Josiah, you take the east side of town, get folks to the Grainery. Buck, you take the west side, I'll meet you there in a half hour, I got to get back to Ezra. After the meeting, I'll need one of ya to ride out to Johnson's and warn 'em...best stop by Chris's shack too, leave a note."
"I'll go," Josiah volunteered, then eyed the younger man across from him, "Buck, you're gonna get trouble from the Upshaw's and their men."
"Aw, hell," Wilmington replied, pushing his plate away with disgust. A mental vision of the three loud, foul-mouthed, brutish clan who were nefarious troublemakers. "They're in town?"
"Sad to say...I saw them stumble into the hotel after midnight. They got at least three of their men with them. Bill Wilson, Jessie Sinclair and Tom Dobson will be okay," he noted of the three local shopkeepers who were honest, tough and always first to volunteer to help. "You pair up and take watch on either end of town."
"We're gonna need help...folks get nasty when something like this hits town." Buck recalled from his past. "Sure wish the Kid didn't take Casey to the Festival..."
"Major Garrison is a good man, " Sanchez noted of the nearby army command, "He'll send some men over, with any luck, they'll be here by ten or so. How's Ezra?"
"Not too bad off yet, but the next few days are gonna be rough. I got plenty of herbs and Mrs. Potter's got more salt for his throat wash. The Dry Goods stores loaded with linens. I'm gonna talk to Ming about using his tubs to boil the bedding..maybe get some herbs from his as well." He noted of the ancient Chinese apothecary whose sons ran the town bathhouse and laundry.
"What about medicine?" Josiah frowned, "Isn't there anything we can use?"
"Well..." Nate sighed, but got interrupted.
"Quinine," Buck supplied, his dark head snapping up. "That's what they used on us in the army...the officers I mean. They didn't have enough for everybody."
"Did it help?"
"Yeah," the ex-union Captain recalled, "I just got promoted when I took sick...there was about a half dozen of us...they doused us all with it." He found a small smile at Fate's gentle hand, "That's how I hooked up with Chris. My outfit moved out, I was a couple weeks gettin' over it and got assigned to Chris's unit."
"Chris ever had it?" Josiah asked.
"No, don't think so..." Buck frowned, "But he won't be back for a week or more. Last I heard, he was fixin' on staying at Gratton's for a few days before heading back. The auction isn't until this afternoon. Best wire him too, Josiah..."
"Yeah..." Sanchez nodded and finished his breakfast, "Soon as the meeting's done, I'll head out, Nate."
"Let's go..." Buck swung his legs and stood up, heading for the door.
Josiah paused at the crossroads and took his hat off, swiping the sweat from his brow. He sighed deeply and eyed the Johnson home in the distance. Saying a quick prayer to God for the occupant's health, he urged his horse onwards.
"Callie!" Ben Johnson exited his barn and walked to his home. It was just after ten a.m. on a glorious sunny morning. His usually perky child was lagging today, still in bed when he left to clean the barn an hour before. He ducked inside, frowning at the still full bowl of porridge, now cold, at the table. "Callie, you didn't eat..."
"Yeah I did," a voice called from the loft above.
He looked up as a cascade of blond hair dangled upside down at him, along with a heart-breaking smile. The winning grin was covered with jam.
"Callie," he shook his head. "Did you eat all the oatcakes?"
"They was gonna get stale anyways and it's a sin to be wasteful. So I figured I'd help God out and clean up them cakes."
"Help God..." He frowned, trying to suppress his own grin.
"Yeah...he don't like folks wastin' his boundries."
"You mean wasting his bounty?" He wiggled his hand and urged her down.
"See, I knewed ya take up my side, Pa," she jumped in his arms, burying a sticky kiss on his cheek. "Ya know Pa, your real smart..."
"Not as smart as you, I think," He murmured, "Get washed and dressed, we're gonna go into town."
"Yippee!" She squealed, "Can we get some peppermint sticks?"
"We'll see..."
"Aw, hell...that means no!"
"Callie!"
"Sorry, it just slips out Pa, honest, I don't mean to swear. I'm gonna try real hard to be a lady, just like Vin said. I ain't got all the itches out yet."
"Hello in the cabin!"
"Josiah?" Ben called back, walking to the door with his princess in his arms. "Morning, Josiah. What brings you out this way?"
"Uh," the preacher climbed down and eyed the pretty little girl. "Morning Miss Callie..."
"Howdy,"
"Talk to you a minute, Ben," his eyes went cold and he saw the smile leave the younger man's face.
"Callie, go get washed and dressed, okay?"
"Sure Pa," She nodded, "See ya Mister Sanchez..."
"See you Callie," he waited until the door was closed and Ben Johnson was at the edge of his porch. "Ezra and Vin said they stopped by yesterday?"
"Yeah, early, Ezra was sick. They got some water, Vin took a cup of coffee..." His voice trailed off as he saw the fear in the smokey eyes.
"You and Callie feeling okay?"
"Sure, why? Josiah what's wrong with Erza?"
"I wish there were an easier way to tell you this, Ben, but there isn't, so I'll just spit it out. Ezra's got Diphtheria."
"Oh God no..." the shaken man sat down on the steps, dropping his head. "Are you sure?"
"Yeah, Nate confirmed it this morning, his throat's got a thick coat, glands swollen up, heart racin', can't breathe...fevered up. I wired Cooper's Landing, the fort and a few other places. Nate thinks we can keep a lid on it. Where's your family? I'll wire them too..."
"Uh...Marsh Creek...with her folks...thanks..." His head rose slowly, eyes cast to the well. His ears still ringing with Callie's laughter the day before as the climbed all over Vin Tanner. "Vin?"
"He's not sick, but that doesn't mean you won't get it. I need you to stay here on the farm, Ben. Major Garrison's got the town in lock down. Nate or me will be able to come out everyday. Could be you two won't get sick. But if you do, we want to be prepared." He handed the trembling man a sachel. "That's got herbs for tea, salt for throat washin' and instructions from Nate. We'll be checking on you again this evening. Anybody else been by?"
"No, just...just...Vin..." he sighed again, "Josiah, she was all over him...she's so small...she's not strong enough...I can't lose her...I can't...." his voice choked off.
"I know Ben," the other sympathized, "and I'm sorry. But you're putting the cart before the horse. Let's take this one step at a time. Don't panic...if either of you gets to feeling sick, sore throat, coughing, fevered, you stay put. Nate's got a schedule written down. We'll be stoppin' by several times a day. I gotta get to Chris's, but I'll be back. I posted a sign at the edge of your property, you won't get any more visitors. Keep the faith, Brother."
"I'll try, Josiah," he answered, taking the sack inside the house.
"Pa, look, won't Vin be surprised, I'm wearin' a dress. Ain't I lookin' like a lady?" She twirled proudly, then frowned, "Pa, what's the matter? Why are you sad?"
"Uh...Nothin' Sunshine," he smiled at the crooked buttons and uneven braids. "You're beautiful, you know that...prettiest thing God ever put on this sweet earth." He hugged her close, tears in his eyes.
"Pa, you're squooshin' me..." She wiggled, then cocked her head, eyeing the tears in his eyes. "Why ya cryin'?"
"'cause I love you so much, it hurts, Sunshine," he rapsed painfully, tugging on a braid. "Josiah said that Mr. Standish is pretty sick. He thinks maybe we shouldn't go to town for awhile."
"Is Vin sick too?" She worried, blue eyes large.
"No, he's fine. How about we read that new book your Aunt Theresa sent last month."
"The one with all the princesses and castles?" She squealed, "Oh Boy!!"
He watched her scramble through the house and felt his heart clench. Suddenly, the light left the sky and his world grew dark and cold.
He paused and took a look at the famliar shape as it's darkened form stood out against the scarlet and purple sunset. Home. How had the collection of wood and nails become his sanctuary? He looked forward to a few quiet days, without the noise of town and buzzing of voices. Just peace and quiet, and plenty of time to break in his new horse.
"Come on, boy," he eyed the majestic red stallion, "Let's go home..."
By the time he settled the horse in the corral and got into the cabin, it was dark. His eyes adjusted and he went for the mantle. His hand found the bottle and he uncorked it with his teeth. He took a long draw and headed for the bedroom. He took his gunbelt off, hanging it over the bedpost. He tugged the boots off, then shivered. Taking another long swig of whiskey, he headed for the kindling. He knew the cabin by heart and didn't need a lamp. He lifted several pieces of kindling and placed it in the hearth, lighting it with a match. He headed for the cupboard in the corner, seeking flour for biscuits and a tin of beans. Not much of a supper...but he was too tired to hunt anything else up. His back was turned to the fireplace, he didn't see the crisp lettering of Josiah's note. The letter was placed carefully behind Chris's bottle of whiskey, knowing it was the first thing he'd see when he entered. Upon taking the bottle, the note slid into the woodpile below. The same wood the blond gathered up and tossed in the fireplace. By the time the weary traveler got his can open and the flour mixed, the note was cinders.
Years of experience gave him an inner alarm system that never failed. His eyes jerked open, adjusting to the shadows. Darkness. Not even a trace of blue in the sky peeking in his window. There is was again, the cry of alarm from his new horse. He tensed, the muscle wall of his lean torso rigid with alertness. One hand reached for the gun belt as he sat up, not bothering to get a shirt. Barefoot, he crept through the house, lashing his gunbelt onto his slim hips. The damp blond hair stuck out on his head, as he peered out the window.
"Shit," he swore under his breath, watching two strangers approach the majestic animal, each with a rope. He poked the door open and stole into the night, crossing the porch easily and sliding behind the trough near the water pump. The first thief was dead before he hit the ground. His partner turned and quickly took cover, wary of the razor sharp hooves flying in the air. Bullets crossed the air, each screaming in anger. Then he saw the rope around Paladin's neck and moved in, spotting the surviving bandit slinking toward his horse. Chris used his last shot well. He hit the shoulder of the stranger, as he attempted to leave, sending his weapon under the horse. "Oh no you don't..." he took off on foot, tackling the large man. They rolled in the dirt, grunting as they exchanged blows. They the bandit's large hand grabbed his throat, choking with a steel grip.
Chris fought for every breath, feeling himself weakening, his fingers fumbled for the man's knife, which hung low on his belt.
"Adios Senor Larabee..."
The rancid breath hit his face as the large hand slammed his head into the hitching post. Pain and stars collided and he felt a solid kick to the groin. Pounding hooves send dirt into his face. He tried to rise, but couldn't, blackness thicker than the night threatened to fall over him. But something spurred him on, the sight of his prize stallion heading south toward Mexico. He rolled over, ignoring the pain that shot through the side of his face. It took several minutes for the power to be restored to his legs. He crawled, then stood and staggered towards his horse. Taking time only to reload his weapon, toss on an old workshirt and saddle up, he took off in hot pursuit. Nobody was gonna steal his prize and live...nobody.
Dawn laced her fingers through the window, casting a golden light on the troubled face. He continued to prepare coffee and breakfast, as if it were another new day. But this wasn't just another day, the tiny, hacking cough from the loft above told him that.
"Pa..."
"Yes, Sunshine?"
"I ain't feelin' so good, my throat hurts and my heads got hammers banging on it..." the raspy, tired voice assessed, "Do I gotta get dressed?"
"No..." his own voice was small and unsure as his hands mechanically finished the morning meal. "Come on down..." he poured some of the herbs into the mug and added hot water and honey. He place it next to the rocking chair and eased himself into the wooden frame. The flushed cheeks slashed garishly on her small face. The blue eyes were clouded and there was no life in the shuffling gait. He opened in arms and she crept in, snuggling close. He wrapped her blanket around the shivering frame, his heart hammering as his lips brushed her forehead and detected the fever rising.
"Here...I have some tea for you...it's got medicine in it..." he prodded, lifting the spoon towards her parted lips. He found a half-smile as the small face screwed up.
"Do I gotta take it?" she pleaded, "...it tastes like a pack of dead frogs..."
"You've never eaten a dead frog," he guided another spoonful in her mouth.
"...that's cause they'd taste like this..." she paused, taking a third spoonful. "We gonna go see Nathan? His got peppermint sticks iffen ya behave..."
"Nathan's gonna come see us...how about that?"
"Good..." she sighed, lifted the mug offered with two hands and sipped it. She snuggled into her father's chest, relaxing in his strong arms. "...cause I like it right here." She paused and her face tilted up, when she felt his hands press her close. "I love you Pa..."
"Not as much as I love you, Sunshine," he whispered, his heart full.
The food lost all it's flavor and he shoved the half-eaten chicken and potatoes away. His weary blue eyes found the street outside. Even from this distance, he could see how upset the healer had become. He also didn't miss Nathan's large medical bag, which was now slung over the side of a horse. Nobody was on the street...it was far too quiet for the middle of the day. His eyes flicked on Buck, the handsome man's face was creased with worry. He sighed and trembled, feeling the grip of an unknown fear take over him. Something was wrong...very wrong...he eyed the door and then the window. Nathan said he couldn't go out the door...he never mentioned the window...or the roof. He shoved the tray aside and stood, just as a scratchy, congestion filled voice broke the air.
"...no better than a rat...on a ship..." Ezra coughed, his trained eyes reading Vin's face. Then he suddenly found himself totally without air. He panicked, sat half-up and gripped his throat. Nothing...no air at all...his stricken eyes roamed towards the door.
"No!" Vin chased Ezra and caught him as he fell. They both landed heavily on the floor. A well-honed elbow catching the disgrunted tracker in the eye. "Cut it out...that ain't helpin'...open up!" he commanded, seeing the raw fear reflected in the jade eyes. He felt the other pull away, turning his head in denial. "Godammit Ezra!" he screamed, kneeling up and gripping Ezra's head from behind in a deathlock. "Open the fuck up..." He began to panic himself, knowing the infirmed man couldn't breathe. The pale green eyes were full of fear and doubt. "I won't hurt ya, Ez..."
Somewhere in his haze of pain and just in front of the large wall of spots that now danced in front of him, he paused, his tense body coiled. The change in the tone of voice caused him to relax. The raspy drawl was soft and full of emotion. The large blue eyes were confident and secure. He held that gaze and his jaw lost it's grip.
"...ya trust me?"
He found his head nodding and attempted to surrender, but then fell into a wall of darkness.
"Shit!" Vin clawed frantically at the gambler's jaw, popping it open and sliding his fingers inside the slack mouth. He didn't know what he was looking for, but shoved them as far back as he could, grateful for once that he had slender hands. "What the fuck?" he hissed, his slick fingers gripping something hard. He got a hold and yanked, the effort took him to the floor. "Jesus..." he recoiled, dropping a hard, green ball of mucus onto the floor. "Ez..." he croaked, fearful he'd been to late. Then as he lifted the unconscious man, the body buckled and vomit surged forth. "Thank God..." He held the groggy patient over his arm, until he was finished. "I gotcha...yer okay...ya throwed up the hell all over me..." he teased, hoping the now dazed green slits would offer a sharp retort. But nothing came, no a sound, an insult or even a stinging barb. Instead, the shaking southerner slacked back, resting against him, sucking loudly, trying to get air inside. "Sorry...did I hurt ya?"
He felt the head shaking negatively and waited a few more moments, until the ragged breathing returned. "Let's get ya back in bed..."
The sound came back first, from nothingness to the awful wretching. Then the pain in his throat and the sour bile he tasted quickly roused him to a half-conscious state. Something else...another voice in the darkness...breaking the void. Light spilled in, forcing his heavy lids open. A strong hand on his back, a solid parade of Texan slang in his ears. He relaxed in the strong grip as life returned to his body. His foggy brain took in the words and as he tried to drain the room of all it's air, he found himself lifted. His eyes shut again, unable to remain open. He felt the gentle touch as cool water laced with alchohol coated his skin. Then more cool water on his face. Commands came again, the soft, raspy drawl gave him comfort. Open...drink...turn...drink...spit...drink...gargle...spit...drink...more alchohol...and a new nightshirt being eased on his hot flesh. Softness..pillows...the hand returned on his forehead. Sleep...the voice said...he pried an eye open and saw his rescuer on his knees, cleaning up Nathan's floor. He tried to speak but had no strength. He watched the lean body make two trips to the kitchen and return with scalding water and bleach, scrubbing the floor. He saw the lean man peel his own soiled shirt off, tossing it with the rags to be burned. Then he saw Vin pick up a horrid looking thing carefully with a large thick cloth. A blurry movement before he rested his eyes, as Vin found the ashcan. Ezra's hand automatically went to his throat. The offensive thick wad had nearly choked the life from him...had it not been for the slim fingers and skilled hand that now scrubbed the floor. His job completed, he watched Vin slump against the wall, too tired to rise. The shaggy head was damp from sweat. The only visible sign of the ordeal, was the slight tremor to the Texan's hands. It was then that their eyes met.
"Dammit Ez..." Vin managed, shaken at how close he'd come to losing the gambler. He saw the pale lips parting and gratitude shining from the green eyes. He found a smile. "Reckon this makes us even...I don't gotta get ya a new red coat..."
"Certainly...not..." Ezra hissed painfully over his throbbing throat. "one...thing..nothing...to do...with other...expect full...re...im...burse...ment..."
Vin saw the start of a twinkle in the pale eyes and heard the familiar return of sarcasm in the southerner drawl. He smiled, sighed and let his own eyes rest a minute. The sweat still poured down his face and the walls seemed to close inward. He eyed the open window and knelt forward, seeking to stand. He felt the eyes trained on him and sat back.
"Despite...what...you...may...think..." Ezra rasped, coughed and shuddered, "I am...not... in...the...habit...of...divulging..." he paused and saw the confusion on the other's face and smiled. "Go...get some air...before you pass...out...and I am...forced to...to...take...action..."
Vin's head came up and he caught the sly grin, and just a glimpse of the gold tooth. He exhaled a deep, long breath and rose on trembling limbs. He paused long enough to pull the blanket over the ill man and pat the shoulder once. "Thanks...I'm only goin' t'the roof...I'll keep m'head down...I won't be long."
Ezra blinked and took a breath, trying to respond, but the breeze on his face told him the nimble tracker was gone already. His tongue recoiled from the salt on it, still lingering from the throat wash Vin made him do. His hands found this neck again and his eyes spotted the offensive cause of his near demise, still cloaked in cotton. The other signs of the ordeal were already burning in the can. He kept his eyes trained on the window, silently thanking God for the gift that had been bestowed upon him, in the guise of a scruffy tracker from Texas.
Upon his feet touching the roof, he felt his lungs expand and all the dizziness and anxiety leave his taut body. He slunk low, training his ears towards the voices. He followed the path of the sounds, until he as over the edge of the livery, directly above Buck, Nate and Josiah. He flattened his body to the ground, held his breath and cocked his fine ear, listening intently.
"How long you gonna be?" Buck asked, watching the weary healer pack his horse.
"Don't know Buck," he replied, "Callie ain't got the weight on her to put up a fight....it's gonna hit her hard. I don't know if I'll be able to get back for awhile. Josiah and you will have to hold things down here. No new cases in three days, that's a good sign."
"I'll come out and spell you tonight, Nate, bring fresh linens and supplies..." Josiah offered with his hand, "God go with you, Brother."
"He better," the dark-skinned man replied, easing into his horse. "Buck, you keep that temper of yours down, I don't need to be pulling any of Upshaw's bullets from that thick hide..."
"That's easier said than done, Nate," Buck kicked the wall of the stall. "I've had it up to here," his hand hit his throat, "with that tribe. If Dale says one more word about Vin, I swear to God I'm not gonna be responsible..."
"God's on Vin's side," Josiah eased, watching the emotion on Buck's face. Since the meeting, the citizens were full of fear and anger. It didn't take long, he'd been here before, in other towns hit by a potential deadly killer. Accusations flew wildly, torches ususally followed, reflecting the fear in the eyes of the yet claimed. The Upshaws were no different, rabble-rousers of the worst kind in normal circumstances. This turn of events had given them new fuel, which they were spreading fast. He turned back to Buck as Nate left. "You need help?"
"No, Bill and Tom got them under watch," the rogue answered of the men that were aiding him, "Me and Jessie are gonna wait for the supply wagon. The Army will bring it as far as the border they set up outside town. We'll reload it onto our wagons and bring it back."
"Okay, I'm gonna wire the Judge and then get back to the clinic."
"I'll bring you some supper over later," Buck added.
Vin clenched his eyes shut, his hammering heart nearly breaking through his ribcage. Nathan's words burned a hole right through him. 'Callie ain't go the weight'...he shook his head and cast his frantic eyes heavenward.
"Please...don't...take 'er..." he rasped to the brilliant blue sky. Knowing Josiah would be returning, his reluntantly took himself back through the window. Ezra was resting fitfully, coughing and sneezing. Vin padded into Nate's small kitchen, clutching his cup carefully marked with a 'V'. He poured a cup of coffee and doused it with sugar. He was still lost in the steam, when Josiah joined him.
"Your shoulder's are sagging a bit there, Brother..."
Vin didn't respond, he sipped the strong brew and sighed heavily. Trapped in the clinic with one sick friend, now his mind had a bigger worry. The image of the sassy, little blond who'd so easily captured his heart now broke it in half.
"Keep the faith, Vin," Josiah tried, eyeing the defeated blue eyes, "I know it's not easy..."
"Save yer sermon," Vin said quietly, taking his coffee and heading back to the bunk.
The landscape disappeared as fast at the tracks covering it, as the gunman sped after his stolen stallion. The darkness bled into morning, then eased into afternoon and now the sun was setting again. He pressed onward, harder and the steel in his eyes scanned the horizon. Then his head cocked and he saw it...a flash of reddish hide ahead. He pulled up, tied his mount, checked his ammo and headed into the makeshift camp.
"You will make me a rich man..." The Mexican stroked the beast's neck. "It was my good fortune to be in town near that Gringo Gratton's ranchero." He recalled his friend mentioning that a gringo named Larabee bought the big red stallion. The two had their eye on it, planning on stealing it from whoever bought it. Now the fine animal was his to sell. "Si...I will be buried in gold..."
"You're half right," Chris snarled, cocking his gun, "You fucked with the wrong Gringo...now get your thievin' hands in the air...now!"
"I do not think so, Senor..." he replied, whirling and reaching for his gun. It was a fatal error in judgement.
"Fuckin' bastard!" Chris squatted over the corpse, taking the bag of gold on his belt. "Looks like Josiah will get the roof of his church early. After burying the man, he dropped by the bandit's campsite. The fire was going strong and coffee was brewing. Two skinning rabbits were already roasting on a spit. Chris took care of his horse and grabbed his canteen, draining it. He frowned and flinched as he swallowed. His throat was sore and his head hurt. He was a days ride from home and tomorrow promised to be hot...a long hot ride back totin' a cold, just his luck.
"Damn," he muttered dropping by the fire, he gingerly pulled the meat from the fire, setting it on a smooth rock. He ate quickly, drinking coffee spiked with tequila and hunkered down in his bedroll. As sleep descended, he eyed the fire in the eyes of the prize stallion. The first step in his quest to rebuild his horse ranch. His eyes went to the shadows dancing at the perimeter of the camp. He nearly expected to see a pair of blue eyes and a hide coat lurking there. His best friend was most likely back in town, relaxing with a beer. As his eyes drifted shut, the image of the mischievous Texan's eyes appeared. It was the last thing he saw, before drifting to sleep.
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