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!
Somewhere between the frightening closure of his throat, when he felt life ebbing away until the reassurance of the solid thwack on his back and the expulsion of the blockage, Chris Larabee nearly welcomed death. Endless hours crashed into each, taking his sense of time and space away. Hours...days...it mattered not, his world was reduced to fighting his body to regain his property rights from his greedy lungs. Every painful, waking second spent clawing at his throat, thinking this time it won't clear. Then blacking out, not knowing if he'd wake again. But into the dark void that had become his world, an arena of confusion induced by fever, came the light in his storm.
"You...still...here..." he croaked, his body flopping weakly back onto the bed. His eyes were still on strike and he'd grown accustomed to the wet, sticky skin he was trapped in.
"'til a better offer comes along," Buck replied, wringing the linen cloth and wiping down the fevered man yet again. Josiah arrived at Johnson's in the early afternoon and updated him. He white-knuckled the cloth, thinking on Vin Tanner's plight. Mentally he was skinning Dale Upshaw and his pack alive, for causing the tracker's heart to break. Callie and her father were both in bad shape and Buck left to get Nathan. The healer reluctantely left Larabee, vowing to return later. That was hours ago and now the moon hung high in the cold night sky.
"...sorry..." Chris rasped, spotting the stains covering Buck's white shirt. His fevered eyes took in the dark circles under Buck's eyes and the haggard face. "...look...like...shit...Buck..."
"Fuck you, Larabee!" Buck chuckled, and exchanged an old, familiar smile with his friend, as he gently eased the cloth over the sweat-ridden features. He'd been down this road too many times over the last dozen years. He'd seen this man survived multiple bullets, stabbings, drownings and other close calls. But this time, he was scared. He could feel the life sliding right out of Chris Larabee...right through his fingers. He rolled Chris to one side, pulled the soiled sheets over, placed the clean ones underneath, then rolled him the other way and repeated. Tossing the soiled sheets on the floor, he eased Chris upright, as the familiar signs of a struggle erupted. He folded the choking blond over his forearm and hit him hard between the shoulder blades. Chris was too weak to cough out the rough stuff and getting weaker by the hour. He moved the towel from under the gaping mouth and eased Chris back against him.
"...fuck..." Chris gasped, frustrated by the endless fight to capture his breath, accompanied by a raging headache and the battering on his aching back. He heard a soft chuckle in his ear and dimly realized Buck was holding him.
"You're a cheap bastard, Larabee, you didn't even buy me dinner..." Buck teased, easing Chris a cold mug of water towards the gaping mouth. Chris latched on and sucked greedily, spilling half over himself. His throat just couldn't get the liquid down. He saw the fist curl up in anger and strike the bed. "I know...I'm sorry, Chris, I wish I could do more. I've been where you are and it's frustratin' as hell." He felt the tension leave and finally rose from the bed, hauling Chris upright. "Can you sit up for a spell? I want to put a steam tent around you..." He saw the damp head bob once and exited. Several minutes later, the kettle was on the floor at Chris's feet and a blanket was draped over his hunched over body.
"I'm gonna get some chow...I'll be right outside," Buck stated and saw the lump where Chris's head sunk down, nod once.
From the shadows that he once called home, he shifted uneasily, feeling the tendrils of fate curling on his neck. He squinted against the pane of glass, watching the occupant inside carefully. He was a student of the world, carefully observing all around him and filing it away. He watched the tired man swipe a biscuit through his second bowl of stew. He winced, his own stomach empty and growling in a sour mood.
"Won't be long..." he whispered into the wind. Sure enough, ten minutes later, the body eased onto the chair by the fire and the long legs stretched out. The dark head tipped back and tucked itself onto his shoulder. He waited another ten minutes, the soft snoring ensuring him that Buck's daily nap after overeating had begun. Usually, they lasted twenty minutes or so...he didn't have much time. Leaving the front porch, he tiptoed carefully around the house and through Chris Larabee's bedroom window.
The hacking cough was weak and pale and the sight of the body hunched over a steam kettle caused his stomach to churn. The room shrunk in size and the air seemed thinner. His heart was hammering so loud and fast, it hurt his chestwall. He was glued to the floor, unable to move his legs. Then the coughing stopped and a horrid, suckling sound caused him to move like greased lightning. He caught the body as it slumped sideways and pulled the blanket off. The green eyes were wide and frantic, unseeing and screaming silently, while the twisted 'O' of the mouth remained mute. Like the strings were cut from a puppet, the arms and legs twitched, hands clawed frantically. There was no more sucking noise...nothing...and then the light left the giver's eyes.
"No...No..." Vin denied, "Not again..." Before he realized what he was doing and not wasting one precious second, he shoved his long fingers down Chris's throat and searched. Where the hell was it? Ezra's shot right out...sweat poured from him and he felt the limp body jerk in his arms. "Thank God..." he sighed weakly, tossing Chris forward over the kettle. The infirmed man was barely conscious and Vin held his jaw wide, so the bile and muck could escape. What didn't come out, he pulled out. He flipped Chris over and cradled him, clutching his jaw and staring hard. "Dammit..." he swore, slapping the languid face hard. The eyes popped open and the most blessed sound he ever heard, tickled his ears.
From the surrender to the darkness, he was pulled back roughly. Through his hazy world of numbing disorientation, the oxygen deprived man was reborn. Like any angry infant, he reacted to the pain by striking back. Through fever-scorched eyes, he saw a cloud of long hair and sky eyes wide with fear. A name formed as a hand slapped his face, reminding him to breathe.
"...Godammit Vin..." He collapsed, his body to weak to defy gravity just yet. He heard the soft chuckle in his ear and the warm breath on his neck. He faded awhile, as strong arms guided him back to bed, cleaned him and spoon fed herb-laced tea into his mouth. Fate intervened again, waving her hand and taking his muddle away. Vin? Vin? What was Vin doing here? His eyes bleary and worn, took in the mare's leg, layered shirts and...and...the haunted eyes. Haunted and desperate and rimmed with guilt and sorrow. He tried to speak, but his lips wouldn't open. Then the soft drawl drew all his attention.
"Chris?" Vin sat on the stool next to the bed and saw clarity in the glazed eyes. "Sorry about sluggin' ya...ya was dyin'...figgured ya wouldn't mind..." he saw one half of a lip rise and the damp head nod against the pillow. He pushed another spoonful of medicine in and watched the lazy blink, and waited for the dazed eyes to refocus. "Listen up, I ain't got much time...I'm headin' north t'get some medicine...Nate calls it Quinine...the Army's holdin' it just past Badger Pass." He rested his hand on Chris's arm for a moment, swallowing hard. "I wa...wa..." he swallowed again and composed himself, "I want yer word, Larabee...don't ya die on me ya stubborn bastard..."
"W...w..w..wa..." Chris took several shallow breaths, his tongue thick and clunky. "w...wer....word...Cow...b...b.oy..."
Vin smiled then, a real genuine lip-splitter, one fighting to be born for over a week. He saw the weak arm lifting and snagged it, locking the forearm. Nothing was said, it wasn't needed. The Giver's eyes spoke to him clearer than any voice he'd ever heard. He nodded, sending back his faith twicefold. "I'm holdin' ya t'it...four days...ya hang on...I got a favor..." he bowed his head and drew his hand inside his jacket. He pulled out an envelope and a worn brown leather bag. He saw Chris's brow knit together and the dazed eyes following his hand. He set the envelope where Chris could see it, propped up against the mug on his bedstand. "It's just some words I tossed down...where yer up t'it...it's fer all ya done...it ain't much but...it's from m'heart..." he licked his lips and his hands trembled as he opened the small bag. "Listen Chris, I want ya t'know...how sorry..." his voice broke and he bit his lip, swallowing down the wall of emotion. "They say I'm some kinda carrier...spreadin' disease t'folks and never gettin' sick...first my Ma..." it broke a little, cracking and causing his words to shatter, "...then Callie...God...she's just a baby...didn't deserve t'die..."
Die? Chris's weak fingers tried to reach Vin's shirt, to get his attention. It was only inches but it might have been miles. He couldn't move...but his eyes could and he wished they hadn't. He saw such a mask of pain and unbridled anguish on Tanner's face that it lanced through him like a sabre. The tracker's chin trembled, his voice was broken and shivering...but the eyes...they were haunted...lost in place that even Chris Larabee couldn't reach. His Ma? Callie?? Callie wasn't dead. Jesus, Vin...is that what you think? That you're responsible? Carrier? Who told you that? Dammit Vin...Vin... His lips wouldn't open, his fingers wobbled and fell back against the sheet. He was trapped in his broken body, watching the bits and pieces of Vin Tanner's soul shatter all over the floor.
"...damn near killed Ezra, now yer sick..Nate says ya got it bad..." He turned back to the bed and saw Chris screaming at him through the wildest green eyes he'd known. "Quit swearin' at me...ya know I'm right. I brung this t'San Carlos...they got dead people..." his voice cracked again. "...over there...dead...on accounta me...then I give it t'Ez and Callie."
"...fu..fu...ck...up..." Chris whispered, amazed that his thoughts slid out verbally.
"It ain't fucked up..." Vin spat back, anger rising, his fingers gripping the tiny bag. "Devil's spawns...they don't never get sick...just spread it t'decent folks...Grandpa said how lucky I was ...not gettin' sick like my Ma..." He laughed maliciously, "Some fuckin' luck...killed m'own...mother...that sweet little angel..." he saw Callie in his mind's eye and tears brimmed in his agonized eyes. "...she meant somethin' t'me, Chris..." he sighed and eyed the bag again. "I want ya t'hold this fer me...it ain't much, not compared t'what ya give me...with this," he opened Chris's palm and stared hard into the green eyes so hard they flinched and he felt he fingers tug back as if burned. "Ya know this, Chris Larabee...wherever I go...I ain't never gonna ferget...what ya done...with this..." he pulled the open hand again, brushing his eyes. "Like I said," he recovered, watching Chris fighting to form a word. "It ain't much...but it's all I got..." he spilled out an old, beat up silver watch and fob. "It was m'Grandpa's...don't know that it ever run right...but he'd hold onta it...when things was rough...and somehow I knew we'd be okay." He saw the old man then, those proud Tanner eyes looking back at him. "he'd hold onta it...look right at me..." Vin chuckled, "Hell, fer years I thought 'Tanner' meant tossin' yer shoulders back and holdin' yer head up high..defiant like, ya know...he done that fer me...it means somethin' t'me...I want ya t'have it..."
"...no..." Chris's voice was barely audible. He wanted to scream at Vin, knock some sense into him, find out who hurt him...find out who hurt him...hurt Vin...kill the bastard. Suddenly a flame ignited inside and he fought back like a lion.
"I gotta go," Vin stood placed the watch in Chris's hand and curled his fingers around it. He saw the raw emotion in Chris's eyes as the fevered gaze went from the precious gift to his own face. Vin tapped his fist against his heart, then tapped Chris's as well...silently bonding them brothers. "Goodbye...Cowboy..."
With that he was gone, fleeing through the open window without looking back. Chris stared mutely at the window, his numbed mind putting the pieces together. He clutched the old watch with a fierceness he didn't know he still possessed. He congested chest heaved and he felt a firewall of molten anger build up. His lips curled up and with all the strength he could muster, he allowed the angry release.
"Vin!"
The horse kicked up, rearing his head at the familiar call of his master's voice. Vin reined him in, he'd ridden Larabee's horse before and easily controlled him. It was a fine horse, as the owner's keen eye attested to. He needed a fast, strong steed to take him north, to save Chris's life and the others. With the north star shining for him alone, he rode hell bent on fury, trying to erase the anguished cry of his name that split still night.
The grievous scream jarred the slumbering body awake. The first thought he had as he ran towards the bedroom, was of a word he'd heard his mother use. Keening...something her relatives in Ireland did; a mournful wail from deep within. He dropped to the floor, kneeling next to the bed and placed a tentative hand on the semi-conscious man's neck.
"Chris?" Buck studied the vacant eyes and frowned, wondering what had caused such a nightmare. "Helluva dream, huh?" He asked, turning away to get the fevered man some water. He heard a thump and saw the body twisting, trying to get out of the bed. "Where the hell are you going?" He grabbed the slick torso and hauled it upright, wondering about the weak man's fight. "What?" The answer came in a horrid rail of coughing. "Jesus..." he grabbed a cloth and caught the flow, then managed to get some water in him. Seated on the side of the bed, his boot toe nudged something on the floor. He bent down to pick it up, frowning at the foreign object.
"...not much of a watch..." he noted, then felt his air cut off as a hand lashed out with sudden impact, grabbing his neck. From the corner of his eye, he saw nothing short of livid, molten fury in the glazed green eyes that burned into him.
"...it...was..to..him..." Chris gritted slowly, trembling with rage. He dropped his hand, clawing for the timepiece.
"Alright...alright," Buck surrendered it, "Here..." He dropped it in Larabee's palm. A combination of the strong overflow of emotion in the pale face, along with the envelope he now saw and the name Chris screamed , sent his wheels spinning. He felt a cold breeze and saw the curtains dancing. "Shit!" he flew to the window, tossing his head outside. "Vin! Vin!"
"...too late..."
"How the hell..." His voice trailed off, as Josiah's words came back. He turned, hands on his hips and his eyes closed briefly in pain. Had Vin come to say goodbye to his best friend? Did the pain inside become to much to bear? The thought of his young friend alone in the cold and carrying such a burden was too much. He kicked the wall unleashed a string of colorful objectives, with Dale Upshaw's face in the center. "...that's it, this time Dale Upshaw went too far. I'm gonna teach him some manners...Wilmington style!" He stopped when the clarity cleared up the cloudy green eyes. He saw Chris study him hard and joined him back at the bed. "I'm sorry, Chris..."
"...talk..."
It was one word and barely airborne, but despite the weak body that issued it, the order yet lingered. He sat on the stool and eyed the watch clutched tightly Larabee's fingers.
"When Josiah got back to town this morning, he thought Callie was dead. You were in bad shape and Nate couldn't leave Ben. He updated me in the barn, before wiring the army and notified the judge. When he got to the clinic, Ezra was desperate to tell him something...pissed off as hell. He said Vin was sick, shaking all over, white as a sheet; that he collapsed. He said Vin was on the roof and overhead Dale and that pack of rats he runs with talkin' about him. How he was the carrier of the Diphtheria, how Callie was dead on account of him and how you were dying and that is was all his fault. It hit Vin hard..." He paused and the fever flushed face screwed up in anger and the free fist pounded the sheet weakly. "I'm sorry Chris, we didn't know we were overheard. Poor Vin got some cockeyed idea his Ma's death is his fault too. Helluva burden to carry..." his voice wavered and dropped as he eyed the watch. "...even for a Tanner. Josiah said at the meeting that bastard Upshaw was rakin' Vin's name over the coals...brought up Virginia Smith again...got the town's folk waggin' their tongues..."
"...fuck..." the weak body struggled in vain, trying to rise. "...gun..."
Buck smiled then, for the first time in hours. The ferocious green eyes were spitting fire, even if the body couldn't follow through on the murderous intent. He saw a picture that he'd taken for granted over the last few months, from the window of his room early in the morning. Vin's body relaxing in the rocker on the board walk, his lean legs stretched out before him. That damn hat pulled so far down over his face, only his chin was visible. But somewhere underneath, you just knew an easy smile was being born. Then later, Chris would appear, cool and stalking, his penetrating gaze would rip up the street, until they saw that scruffy Texan. Then the tense shoulders would dip a little and the body would relax. Without a word, he'd slip into the Saloon for breakfast, knowing his balance was intact. That power that Vin Tanner held, left the rogue at a loss for words. It brought light into Chris Larabee's dark world and restored the lost part of his soul. It was the reason that those eyes were locked in anger now, raging and causing the feeble body to fight. Vin left him and that hole that opened up, that gaping wound, would only be healed one way...and the warrior was battling hard to get there.
"...go away..." Chris hissed, angry at the world. He felt Buck's words rather than hearing them. Like bullets, the penetrated his heart, as visions of Vin's haunted eyes burned into him. As the metal of the watch in his fingers tore into his palm, he turned his eyes to the window. Somewhere in the dark, cold night, Vin Tanner rode solo. Alone in his pain, something he'd vowed he never let happen...he'd given his word to watch Tanner's back. Now his best friend was fighting the battle of his life, alone. He didn't hear Buck rise and pull the blanket up, he was already asleep. He didn't feel Buck take the watch, placing it carefully next to the envelope, but his fingers groped the bed searching for the last shard of the lost blue-eyed soul.
The luminous silver disc was suspended high in the sky, winking at him boldy. He paused at the well, leaning heavily against the perimeter. He was tired to his bones, couldn't remember the last time he'd slept. He sighed heavily, rubbed the back of his neck and winced as his aching back protested any movement. His dark eyes lingered on that moon, remembering just over a week ago, before this nightmare began, another miracle in the sky. Stolen kisses bathed in the silver light with the woman he loved; her hands rubbing his back, those beautiful eyes smiling for him.
"Rain..." he mumbled, before a hacking cough caused him to move. He poured the water into the large kettle on the fireplace and moved to the bed. Ben Johnson's dark wavy hair was plastered to his head. "Easy now..." Nate coached, lifting the critically ill man and helping him clear his throat. "Here..." he managed to get the mug of herbal tea into the slack jawed mouth. Two slits appeared and a hand wavered near his wrist.
"Thank...you..."
"Damn Ben," the kind healer smiled at the grateful man, "ya been thankin' me all day...just keep fightin', that's thanks enough, okay?" He eased the head back down and frowned at the fever still hovering. He shifted his frame and moved to the other side of the large bed, where a tiny body was curled up. One arm was clutching a love-worn rag doll. Her eyes followed him as he grew close and he felt her damp face. "How you feelin' Callie?"
"...like a squoohed up bug..." she rasped, "Can I have some cider?"
"Ya gotta drink some tea first, okay?"
"Rose don't like tea," she pouted, holding her doll up.
"She ain't never had my tea..." Nate smiled, lifting her to a sitting position. Weak and still very sick, Callie had been unconscious most of the day. He wanted to get some broth in her as well. "How 'bout ya ask Miss Rose if she likes broth?" He pulled the blanket over her and saw her tiny head flop against the pillow. For most of the day, she'd hovered near death, with her father slipping further by the hour. Nate had been run ragged, coaxing the life back into them. They were barely holding on, and that medicine never seemed further away. He returned with two mugs, setting them down by the bedside. He guided the first to the wheezing little girl's lips. "Come on now, make Miss Rose proud of ya..." He watched curiously as the tiny nose wrinkled up after one sip.
"...needs more dousin'..." she gasped, coughing and clutching her beloved doll.
"Dousin'?" Nate frowned, almost hearing the Texas drawl coming from the small mouth. "Ya been hangin' around Vin too long. It's got plenty of sugar, now you finish that up."
"...needs dousin'...can...still...taste...the...weeds..." she protested, jutting her lip.
"They ain't weeds, they're herbs and they're helpin' ya...now ya finish that..." he commanded and watched the scowling face obey. "that's a girl...here ya go..." he guided a spoon full of rich broth towards her, but she turned away. "Callie, honey, ya gotta eat...ya need your strength to fight this..."
"...give...it...to Pa..." she cast her eyes at him with so unselfishly that is stopped the spoon midair. He smiled through his fatigue as she moved painfully over, lifting her face to watch her father carefully. "Pa? Pa?" she waited, but no loving voice answered with 'Sunshine'.
Nate put the cup down, when the large blues eyes filled and her bottom lip quivered. He heard the shuddering breaths as the tears rained down. His heart nearly broke at the tiny choked sobs that were mixed with wet coughs. "Hush now," he moved her back to her side of the bed, rubbing her back and using a clean cloth to wipe the tears away. "Ya gonna get sick...he asked me to make that soup just for you. He's countin' on ya to drink it..." He waited until the last hiccup ended and the small flushed face looked up at him. He lifted the spoon again and resumed his mission. Finally, the mug was empty. "Good girl," he wiped her down with alchohol as she dozed fitfully, coughing and gasping for breath.
"Thirsty..."
"Okay," he pulled a clean gown on her and got a cold cup of cider. "Here ya go..." he tipped the mug and watched it empty, grateful that she seemed to be able to swallow it, albeit very slowly. He was adding vegtables to the chicken and water in the kettle, when the frail, wavering voice interrupted him.
"Mister Nate?"
He covered the pot and wiped his hands on his pants, walking towards the bed. Her eyes were barely open and her ragged breathing was harsh. "Somethin' wrong?" He saw her shake her head negatively and work her mouth, trying to speak. "Ya just rest, Honey, don't worry about talkin'..."
"...don't let 'em in..."
"Who?" He quizzed, his brows drawn as the blue eyes peeled half open, peering nervously at the door.
"...the angels..." she coughed, her eyes frantic. She wormed her body closer, her painful gazed fixed on her father's still face. "I...been...watchin'...over Pa...real...hard..." she paused, catching her breath. "But...I'm awful tired...so...can...ya keep...'em..away?"
The small wavering voice was bad enough, but the last remnant of hope glimmering in the fevered blue eyes nearly broke his heart.
"Don't let the angels...take...my Pa..."
Nathan swallowed hard, trying to fight the swell of emotion inside. He took a deep breath, as the blue eyes burned a hole in him. He squatted down and brushed damp tendril of hair from her slick face.
"Please..." she croaked, tapping the dark cheek with one trembling hand.
It took several minutes for Nate to get control of himself. "Your Pa, he's a strong man, Callie, and he's fightin'...fightin' hard...I'm not gonna leave ya...I'll be right here..." He saw her tear her gaze away to flick a glance at her father. "Ya been sayin' your prayers?"
"Yes Sir..." she whispered, nodding against the pillow. "...real hard...got my insides to hurtin'..."
"That's the best kind of medicine," he said softly, watching her eyes shut. "Ya keep talkin' to the Lord and I'll watch over both of ya..."
"Swap...spit...on...on..." she faded away, but not before one hand found her father's and latched onto it.
"Damn..." he swore quietly, rising and taking to the front porch, sucking in air greedily. "Sometimes I hate this job..."
"Doesn't come with any guarantees," Josiah eased from the shadows.
"Hah," he scoffed sarcastically, "Ya tell that to that child..." his voice wavered and he swallowed down his pride. "I thought Vin's eyes were deadly..." he dropped his head, rubbing his neck and felt a strong hand on his back.
"God gives us all different gifts, Brother," Sanchez paused, "You got doubly blessed, good heart...skilled hands..."
"Skilled hands?" Nathan's head rose and he found a small smile. "Ya sure ya don't mean Ezra?"
"Ezra's holdin' on his own," Josiah updated, gazing into the house. "He's not better, but he's not getting worse. His fever's down a little and he's not spittin' up crud all the time. He's sleepin' easier...Jessie's sitting outside the clinic, listenin' for him. I can't stay too long."
"Chris?" Nate's guilt poured from his voice. "He ain't been off my mind, but Ben's in bad shape, I damn near lost him twice today...and Callie's so frail..."
"Nathan, you don't owe me an explanation, you're only human," Josiah replied, "Come on give me a hand..."
"With what?" Jackson's eyes followed the large preacher in the dark, as he approached the wagon. "Extra cots from the basement of the hotel and a couple of bodies..."
"Bodies?" he froze, then heard Josiah talking to someone in the wagon.
"Wake up Sleepin' Beauty..." Josiah said in a low voice, tapping the body in the back.
"You're gettin' awful familiar for someone who isn't blond and breastful..."
"Breastful?" the gray-haired peacekeeper chuckled, "Buck, you been hangin' around Ezra too long. Get on out of there...and don't fall, we can't afford to lose the manpower."
"You're all heart," Buck yawned, sliding out and stumbling blindly, barely feeling the taller man steady him. "Hey Nate..."
"Chris!" Nate jumped in the back, when he saw the second body.
Josiah waited for Buck to disappear inside, taking a cot with him. He moved to the wagon, waiting for Nathan to pass the unconscious blond to him. "Buck's wore out...he ain't slept in three days...and he's been fightin' the devil for Chris all day. He couldn't go on...he was damn near passed out at the shack. I figured we could put Chris up here, near the window by the fireplace. I'll set up the extra cot out here on the porch. That way, you and Buck can take turns tendin' to the patients here and sleepin'. No more running between spreads...we're wastin' time that Ben and Chris don't have. I'll keep an eye on Ezra and tend to things in town." He paused as he carried Chris towards the house. "Besides, if Buck gets anywhere near Dale Upshaw, they're won't be enough left of that loudmouth to fill a teacup."
Years of experience guided him easily through the desert terrain. Like a old lover, he fell right back into her arms. He guided the skilled horse through the night, until he found what he sought. It was well after midnight and they both needed some rest.
"Whoa," he called out, sliding wearily from the great horse. He ran a hand along the sleek black neck, talking softly to the proud beast. His tired eyes made out the entrance to the cave and after taking care of the horse, he dropped the saddle, saddlebags and bedroll inside. A short time later, he had a small fire going and warmed his hands. He pulled out a half empty bottle of whiskey and eased back onto the saddle, resting his head. Two long pulls later, with some old jerky for supper, he corked the bottle and sighed with longing.
"...lone wolfed 'afore..." he answered the restless neighing of the horse nearby. "...rode fer years keepin' m'own company. Don't need no folks interferin' in m'business..." he tried to convince himself as images danced in the shadows behind the fire. The golden light that flickered from the flames onto his face, reflected a deep sorrow in the questioning blue eyes. He clenched them shut trying to ward off the images...Ezra's gold tooth glintin' at him from across a poker table. Inez's shy greeting each morning as a mug of coffee appeared by his rocker. Mary bright smile and wave from across the street, when she pull the shades open on the Clarion's office. He flinched as sounds invaded his semi-conscious state. The rhythmic thumping of Josiah's hammer against the roof of the church, J.D.'s endless prattle, a cocky confident voice from a boy turned man. Buck's booming laughter and cocky braggin' rights each morning as he 'expanded' on his conquests. Nathan's scolding tone each time he was injured.
"Hey Cowboy..."
"Chris!" he jerked his eyes open, heart pounding furiously at the voice that pierced his eardrums. A call so real it caused his chest to ache. Chris Larabee...how would he solve that? How was it possible to fill the hole inside? A gap so ragged and rough, it cut his tender interior like a razor. Would that burning pain ever leave? He pulled the blanket over his shivering frame sharply, creasing his face in anger. "...gone soft...I rode alone fer years...don't need no interferin' green-eyed mule cussin' at me..." But try as he might, another image full of color and dimension kept resurfacing as well. A blond child with endless eyes and a smile that came right from the sun. A laughter so sweet and musical, it gave him a joy inside that he didn't know he could possess. The army of tiny arms and legs that pestered him each morning, forcing him up the boardwalk to Potter's store. Mrs. Potter's knowing smile when each tiny soldier had been rewarded with a peppermint stick and the leader, the ray of sunshine with a face of an angel, getting a chocolate drop as well. His reward, the tiny kiss on his stubbled cheek and a solid hug, gave him a warmth inside all day.
"Am I your best girl Vin?"
"Oh God..." Vin choked, rocking in the cold night, letting the tears fall for a child he loved like his own. A beautiful little spitfire that would never live to go to her first dance, get her first kiss and take an unsuspecting spouse. "Oh God what have I done?" he rasped, rocking until exhaustion finally claimed him.
Wearily, he pulled himself from the window as the sun came up. Tired eyes, red from fatigue and desperate for promise, gazed at the newborn light. The coffee still smelled just a bit bitter and was befitting for the empty town. Sighing, he forced his large body up and into the narrow end of the clinic. A toussled brown head was huddled over, coughing and gasping. He carried the boiling pot of water and set it on the floor. He smiled a bit at the hand reaching out, accustomed to the ritual. He picked up the small can holding the discarded rags and moved it aside. Gently, he eased the weak body upwards, righting it on the side of the bed. A cup of cold cider was produced and a soft moan was his thank you.
Ezra blinked up through wet eyes at the tired preacher. He nodded once, took the cup and sipped it slowly. He saw the steaming herb filled brew at his knees on the small table and huddled over, silently taking the blanket.
"Has anyone else succumbed?" he croaked, inhaling the medicinal mixture.
"No.." Josiah paused, pushing Ezra's head down lower. "Get your head down there!" He sat wearily on the cot across from the infirmed man, sipping his coffee. "Fact is, Callie pulled through..."
"What!" Ezra's head popped up, dripping wet with hair plastered to his flushed face.
"Nate said it was a miracle." He paused, "Get your head down before we lose that steam. Anyhow, he was taking her body from Ben and saw her finger twitch. He did that 'Vin move' that saved you and it worked on her too."
"The savage ironic fist of Fate," Ezra spat angrily. "That he fled on the wind of the Reaper's breath while housing a hero's heart." He saw the sad shadow on Josiah's face and dropped his head again. "He doesn't know?"
"No...he made his peace with Chris and left. I'm gonna try to get to that tree early...make sure he knows."
"What about the Army?"
"What about them?" Josiah replied, "Vin's gotta make peace with himself and God. I don't intend to let the Army send him to St. Peter early."
The loneliness of the multicolored, eroded landscape appealed to him. The grassy plains died away; dissolving into a group of small clay hills, shallow ravines and strange, lurking rock formations. He paused and slid off the horse, his pensive face bathed in the colors of the sunset reflected off the canyon surrounding him. Reds, oranges, golds and browns played on his fine features. The strong stallion drank behind him, at the edge of the pool with a graceful waterful providing a gentle lullaby. The weary traveller took the saddlebags and eyed the waterfall. Widow's Tears, how aptly named, he thought, squatting down to fill his canteens. It was late and he'd ridden long and hard since well before sunup, but the extra effort was worth it. He'd be at Badger Pass by mid-morning.
Sighing, he headed down the rocky path, twenty five feet or more, until he heard the familiar tiny call of the bubbling steaming springs located underneath the ground. He ducked inside the narrow opening, easily skimming the walls, until the berth widened. A crack in the rocky walls send the setting sun inside, illuminating the thermal bath before him. Setting the bags near the edge, he quickly stripped down and slid into the hot pool, groaning with relief. The heat penetrated his tender flesh and he dove under, making several passes across the private pool. He scrubbed himself with some Yucca root, taking the dust, grime and grit from his hair and skin. Diving under again, he swam until he was exhausted, as if to punish himself. He stood then, the water lapping just below his navel. Flexing his taut muscles, the rivulets ran down his lean body, as he waded to the edge, grabbed his canteen and his dinner. He quickly ate the wild turnips and prickley pears, before draining half the canteen. Then he sank down deep, resting his aching head against the base. He closed his eyes, hearing the soft call of the waterfall far above, his thoughts drifted to the last leg of his journey. After picking up the quinine and delivering it to the tree, he needed to find sanctuary. He recalled remote areas in the Rocky Mountains, north in Colorado Territory, that he'd passed through after the war.
"High above the Eagle's call..." he murmured, dozing in the steaming hot water, while the ghost of his golden haired angel remained nearby.
"Josiah! Josiah!"
"If that is Saint Peter calling, kindly inform him I am not yet ready to play poker," Ezra groaned, rolling over and wincing at the high level of noise outside from the street below. "Furthermore, that it is not necessary to rouse the dead at this ungodly hour..."
"Sun's up, Ezra, so should you be," Sanchez replied, lugging the pro testor upright. "Come on...move to the other bunk, your sheets are wet..." "It's perspiration," Ezra huffed, watching the sly smile on the caretaker's face.
"That's okay, Brother," Josiah winked, "Your secret's safe with me, I won't tell anybody you wet the bed."
"Your humor is sadly lacking,"
"Josiah! Josiah! Get down here!"
"Good Lord, I'm to be driven deaf as well," Ezra moaned, shivering as the soaking nightclothes were taken from him. He eyed the large kettle of hot water nearbly, next to clean towels and clothes. "I am perfectly capable of bathing myself," he protested, shoving the arm away and moving towards the small bath. "Please silence that curr before I take action..."
"You take any action in your birthday suit and I'll have to lock you up for indecent exposure."
"Indecent?" Ezra raised a single brow, "that would depend upon whom I've exposed myself to..."
"Fever addled," Josiah muttered, heading for the door. He saw the young man half way up the stairs and put both hands out. "Jessie, get down in the alley, you know better than to come any closer."
"It spread..."
"Where?" Josiah's heart sank.
"Up country, ten dead in Hooper and seventeen sick, six dead in Glen Oaks..." the youth hissed in exasperation. "Don't you see? Vin didn't head that way...it wasn't him! Look! I drew a map, from San Carlos to here and then northwest...see...you keep headin' that way you hit California...It's not Vin..."
"I think you might have something there Son," Josiah mused, reading the map. "I'm gonna talk to Ezra, see if he can't remember something. Where'd you get this?"
"I've been wiring towns all over, the clerk in Cobbs Creek got that from the Army. They only had three strangers in Glen Oaks, the army's holding them at Fort Preston."
"You get their names?"
"Not yet, but I will!"
"Keep me posted," Josiah nodded, "...and wire the Major, make sure he knows..."
Sandy hills covered with vegetation led to a cliff off a road out of sight. The surreal surroundings were composed of layers of coal, shale and mudstone in varying degrees of hardness and hue. The sandstone that mixed in gave way to strange rock formations. This sandy, wind-swept area was deserted by most and only added to it's mystery. Vin eyed the landslide far below and shook his head. A half-dozen army men moved slowly, using horses and cables in a futile effort to move the rocks.
"Damn fool bluebellies...be there a month..." he muttered, urging the horse down the steep path. He got within shouting distance and hid himself in the rocks.
"Hello in the camp," he shouted, and grinned as they scattered like ants to get their weapons. "It's a wonder they won the war," he sighed, and saw one tall, gaunt man with gold stripes on his sleeves look upwards. "I'm here fer the medicine...I'm the courier..."
"Who sent you?"
"Sanchez, with Major Garrison's okay, I'm pickin' up quinine, they got sick folks that need it bad..."
"I'm Sergeant Peterson and you're...you're..." he fumbled, reading the note a messenger brought the day before. "Tanner...I can't risk you infecting anybody else. You draw a map of your route and I'll see to it that the medicine reaches it's destination."
"Ya leave it in a burlap bag in them rocks what looks like arrowheads," Vin paused and saw them turn to the nearby formation. "...and I'll see t'it that yer still breathin' t'spout yer orders come lunchtime."
"Who do you think you are! You dare to give me orders!"
"Mister," Vin hollered with a tinge of smugness, "from where I'm sittin', I can take out them lazy assed recruits before ye'd get a shot off."
"Washington," Peterson whispered, get around the back of the camp and see if you can get a bead on him. But before the eager youth got two feet away, a shot took his large hat off.
"Ya best start thinkin' with yer brain, 'stead o'pissin' through it, Mister," Vin hollered down, "Get that medicine packed and in them rock, then ya take move the hell over...back behind them rocks ya cleared off..." he noted of the area far down the road."
"Where the hell is he?" a soldier nearby eyed the canyon walls.
"I don't know," Peterson spat back, not liking being bested by the stranger, "but I'm gonna make sure Garrison damn well locks him up. Get the medicine in those rocks and get my horse ready. I'm gonna wire Garrison, Tanner better enjoy the next two days of light, because where's he's going, the sun don't shine!" he noted tersely, turning away.
Nathan shivered as he took an armful of kindling into the house. He stoked the fire, stirred the chicken stew inside the large pot and then poured hot water from the tea kettle into three herb filled mugs. He paused and frowned, eyeing his slumbering assistant. He walked over and laid a hand to the head resting on the kitchen table.
"I'm okay, Nate..." Buck yawned, rousing himself and rubbing his eyes. "Must have dozed off..."
Nathan smiled as the dark head turned to the cot by the fire. Buck's eyes were never far from Chris. He'd spent the past three days at the blond's side. Bathing the fever, stripping the wet bedding and cleaning it, ensuring the semi-conscious patient got broth, gargled and spoon fed herbal tea into his slack lips. He held the weak body upright, under the steam tent, because Chris couldn't sit up on his own. The healer saw the worry in the blue eyes and rested a hand on the downcast shoulder. He knew Buck was concerned, Chris had remained mostly unconscious for the last three days. Rousing on command to 'drink', 'spit' or 'cough', he remained lost in a netherworld, unseeing and lost.
"He's hangin' tough..." the ex-slave implied, "Callie's perkin' up...how 'bout tryin' to get some stew in her? Use that silver tongue of yours...ladie's love that talkin' ya do..."
"Okay," Buck sighed, pausing by Chris's cot and pulling the sheet down. Before he realized it, he'd wrung out a cloth and wiped the face, neck and chest down with alchohol water. He tucked the cotton bedding up under the slick chin and gave the shoulder a pat.
"You keepin' fightin', you hear..." he said quietly, turning back to the stove. He took a mug of tea from the grouping that Nate poured and a bowl of stew to the table. Nate wanted to bath and change Ben and the bed, so Buck moved in, squatting down to where the tiny body was curled up.
"Hey, Darlin'...how 'bout havin' dinner with Old Buck?" he asked, watching the tired blue eyes open for him. Her fever was much lower and she was coughing less, but she was so weak, they were both worried they'd lose her. He watched the small face scrunch up and a fist curl.
"...my bones don't wanna get up...I can't get 'em to work..."
"How 'bout a ride, Princess?" Buck winked, "I'll be the handsome knight and rescue you..."
"Well," she lifted one arm, staring hard at his face, "You're not Vin, but I reckon you'll do..."
"Thanks!" Buck chuckled, like the others, he was captivated by her. "Easy now..." he lifted her up and felt the wet clothing. "Nate..."
"Clean nightgown on the stool by the window. The tub's got warm water in it..."
"Aw, hell," Callie squirmed, "...don't...wanna...bath..."
Buck grinned at the Tanner-like stance and eased the protestor into the warm water, picking up a sponge. "You gotta quit swearin' like that. I thought you were gonna be a lady."
"It's too hard," she yawned and giggled when he tickled her, "...'sides...I seen them church ladies...they don't...swear...and...they...look...like...their drawers is...too tight...they...ain't havin'...fun..."
Buck laughed again and gently washed the tangled blond locks, before rinsing the soap away. The long sentence left her winded and she was gasping. "You quit that chatterin'...take some deep breaths for me...good girl," he coached, "Up you go..." he dried her off, pulled the gown over her hand and sat down on the chair, towel drying her head and brushing it. He carried her over to the fire and sat in the rocker, holding the bowl on his lap. He guided the spoon in her mouth, nudging it as she was blinking and already falling back to sleep. "Come on now, you're almost done."
"How come...you...ain't...married?" she asked, snuggling into his chest as he placed the bowl on the table and rocked her. She liked sitting by the fire and closed her eyes, letting the heat from the flames bathe her face.
"'cause I waitin' for you, Darlin'" Buck replied, kissing the top of her damp head.
"Time I get ready, you'll be an old man..."
"Aw, Callie," he chuckled, "you're breakin' my heart."
"You like kissin' all them ladies?" she wrinkled her nose, thinking on some of the antics she'd seen in town, peeking under the saloon doors. "...and ticklin' their bumps..."
Buck didn't expect that and neither did Nathan. While the rogue choked and sputtered, the healer's booming laughter sauntered in from the next room.
"You never mind my ladies..." Buck coughed, eyeing the blue eyes fighting to stay open. She was curled up on his lap, resting her head just under his chin. He tucked a small blanket around her and continued to rock, patting the side of her leg.
"Mama...sings...to...me...sometimes..." she gazed up him with asking eyes.
"Well, now, I think I know a song or two," Buck melted at the angelic face, "Matter of fact, my Mama was real good at singing in a rocker too..." Two songs later, the steady flow of warm breath against his neck told him she was sleeping. One tiny fist was clutching his fingers. He'd forgotten how easy a child could sneak in your heart. Sitting by the fire, rocking a small body brought back memories of Adam as a toddler.
"Ya okay, Buck?" Nate poured himself a cup of coffee, needing fuel. He saw the wistful expression on the charmer's face and wondered about it.
"Yeah," the dreamer replied, kissing the forehead of the sleeping child, "Just lost in the past...Bed all ready?"
"Yeah, clean bedding...got Ben cleaned up too."
"How's he doin'?" Buck asked, rising and tucking her against his broad shoulder. Nate just bit his lip, dropped his face and shook his head.
"If that medicine don't come soon..."
"Yeah," Buck nodded, feeling the weak breath of the child and hoping she could hold on. He laid her down gently, pulling a clean blanket around her. Two blue eyes opened halfway, prodded by a lazy yawn.
"Buck..."
"Yeah, Darlin'?" He leaned down, her frail voice was hard to hear.
"Thanks for...singing..." she sighed and shivered, "...you're real good at rockin' and tuckin'...you can be my husband..."
He smiled broad and easy, his heart filling. He rested a hand on her head and stroked the golden curls. "I thought you were gonna marry Vin?"
"I am..." she yawned again, snuggling down. "He's my best husband, the one in the house...you could be...you...could...take care...of the...horses..."
Buck chuckled and shook his head, hearing Nathan laughing nearby.
"Horses?" Buck asked, still grinning.
"Yeah...you could sing too...but...if we get married...you can't tickle them ladie's bumps anymore..."
"Okay," Buck whispered, eyeing the eyes closing. "How many husbands are you plannin' on marryin'?"
"Well," she whispered, blinking back up at him, "Mr. Standish...he could...be for walkin'..."
"Walkin'?" Nate asked, dropping by her side with medicine spiked cider. He lifted the small head and she drank, nodding over the cup.
"Yeah...I like the way them fussy words sound...don't understand most of 'em but they come out slick like...and he dresses real pretty..."
"You gonna strut around town showin' off Ezra?" Buck asked and saw the head nod. "That all...three husbands?"
"Yeah...Mr. Larabee, I like him, but he ain't ready yet...his heart's to sad....he's got sad eyes..." she opened her own and looked sorrowfully at Buck, so much so it gave him a pain. "Did you know ....his...little boy...is in heaven?" She asked, rememering what her mother said and to pray for the little Larabee boy.
"Yeah, Darlin'" Buck said quietly, "I do..."
"I think..." she whispered, nodding off, "he's brave...like those knights...in my book. His heart's gotta hurt an awful lot...and...he..." she yawned, "...makes Vin smile..."
"Come on," Nate tapped Buck's shoulder, not missing the heavy emotion in his face, "Ya better eat...I can't have ya keelin' over..." They sat down, each with a bowl of stew and Nate eyed his partner. "So Mister Local Expert...How 'bout tellin' me about ticklin' ladies' bumps...I could use a few tips..." He ducked his head and saw the beginnings of a Wilmington smile, then an outright laugh, and he joined in, releasing some tension.
Vin eyed the hollowed out tree, glad of the full moon. He kept one eye on the road, hoping to see Josiah's large body coming. Every few seconds, he glanced backwards, edgy and tense. The hairs on the back of his head stood up, he had a bad feeling. He trusted his instincts and they told him trouble was near. As he waited for the preacher, he thought back to several hours before. He'd ridden hard for a day and a half, hoping to cut the time down. He'd seen their camp from an overpass, then jogged down to get a closer look. There were about eight soldiers, looking at a map near a campfire. His hackles rose and his fists clenched when he heard their words.
"...the wire said Tanner tried to murder this Sergeant Peterson's whole outfit...tried to shoot them all down in cold blood. Major Garrison isn't taking any chances. We got orders to bring him down...any way we have to...shoot to kill."
Vin cursed and swore all the way back to his horse. Lying, no-good, bluebelly dog...he passed on dinner and rode hard for home, hoping to pick up a few hours. They weren't expecting him until dawn. By then he'd be headed north to Colorado. The hooves on hard ground brought him back to present. He saw Josiah ease off the horse and pick up the sack. He knew the soldiers were close and didn't want to risk Josiah's getting shot in the takedown. He heard the thundering hooves and swore, they were closer than he thought. He ran back to where the horse was, then realized the army was blocking the path to freedom. From high atop the pass, he watched the eight riders approaching.
"Dammit!" he swore, eyeing the rough, rocky trail behind him. It was long and roundabout, but if he was lucky, he could get through most of it and then pick up the road to the border, north of here, past the soldiers. He reined the horse in, turned and used the rocky trail. He felt his gut clench and a chill cross his spine. He didn't need to get close to the sign posted, he knew it by heart. 'Private property - trespassers shot-' He took a steadying breath, resting his hand on one of Larabee's colts, tucked in his waistband, patted the rifle and crossed into Upshaw Property.
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