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!
It was just past four p.m. when J.D. rode back into town. Sliding off his mount, he tied the reins loosely over the hitching post, before entering the saloon. He strode quickly to where Buck and Josiah were huddled. The two were studying a large map, and he grabbed a beer and joined them.
"Army's pulling out, they got Indian trouble down south, near the border." The youthful sheriff declared, while leaning over his best friend's shoulder. He saw the signs of relief the news brought. Vin Tanner was safe, at least for the moment, from the army. "What's that?" He asked, taking a large gulp and belching in Buck's ear.
"Jesus, J.D., what barn were you raised in!" Wilmington laughed, shoving the arm away. "Josiah got this from the telegraph office. We're tryin' to figure where Vin might be."
The dark-haired youth watched Buck's finger tracing the mountains up north and frowned. "What makes you think he's headed that way?"
"'cause it's high above the eagle's call," The mustached man replied in a distant voice.
"Huh?" Dunne asked, eyeing the other curiously.
"That's the clue Vin left," the preacher announced, seeing Buck's lost eyes and jumping in. "He told Ezra and wrote it in a note to Chris. We're tryin' to think of places he mentioned he'd been to, when he was younger."
"Hell," the sheriff took another sip, "...that'd be just about everywhere. Texas, New Mexico, Utah, Nevada..." He mused, thinking on some of the references the Texan made to him in previous conversations.
"Thanks," Buck groaned, shoving his body back and rubbing his eyes. "Damn, I'm tired..."
"You've earned it," Sanchez grinned, squeezing Buck's shoulder. "You heard what Nate said. You need to eat good and rest up for couple of days."
"Yeah," Wilmington yawned and gave his stomach a pat, "I think I'm down a couple pounds. Come on, Kid, you can buy me dinner."
"On my salary?" Dunne teased, "I can barely afford to buy me dinner. If you didn't waste all your money on carnal pleasure..."
"Carnal pleasure?" Sanchez choked, grinning as Buck nearly spit out his whole beer on the table. "J.D., you gotta quit spendin' so much time with Ezra."
"Speaking of which?" the young easterner eyed the street over the batwing doors. "How's he doing?"
"Settled back in his room." Buck recovered, slapping J.D.'s leg. "...and you show some respect. You're damn lucky to have me to teach you the fine art of wooing a woman."
"...and who's gonna teach you?" Sanchez grinned, smacked Wilmington's back and rose. He took the map and folded it up, eyeing the door. "I'll update Chris and Nate about the army cuttin' off the hunt."
"Chris get home okay?" J.D. inquired and saw the weary Wilmington nod. Buck looked awful, dark circles still lingered under his eyes and he was still very tired.
"Yeah," the rogue sighed, recalling the trek that morning. The fourth day after the regimen of quinine was introduced, the steam tents, salt wash and herbal teas combined for success. Although very weak and needing a couples weeks to build his strength back, the blond was now back at his shack. Nathan gave the okay, once he felt Chris was strong enough to manage the orders given for recovery. One look at the determined green eyes, told them all what they needed to know. Chris wanted, needed to get well. He had two things on his agenda and two only. Find Vin Tanner and bring give him his soul back. The sooner he got stronger, the quicker he could begin his quest. So this morning, after a good breakfast and steam treatment, Buck took him home. Chris appreciated the offer to have his offer to stay, but declined. He wanted to be alone for a couple days. Buck left the cabin well stocked with food, herbs for tea and salt. Josiah saw to it that the shack had been bleached and scrubbed with the recommended solvents. Then he got the potentially dangerous linens and blankets burned. "Maybe I'll eat later," he yawned, the last two weeks of no sleep and hard work caught up with him.
"What?" Dunne stood and grabbed the weary man's arm, pulling him up, "and deprive me of the world famous Wilmington Wooing School? I think not!" he chuckled, shoving the grinning man towards the door. "Besides, the hotel's got a new waitress...you ought see her...uh...how she fills out her..."
"New?" Buck's eyes lit up and he raked a hand through his hair. "A looker? Maybe I should get a bath..."
"Come on Romeo," J.D. rolled his eyes. "That bath's only got water, it's not a miracle cure."
"You're gettin' cocky Kid," the older man teased, swatting his young friend with his hat as they headed for the hotel. "She's loaded huh?"
"...packin'..." J.D. nodded, glad to see Buck finally relaxing. The strain of nearly losing Chris Larabee had taken it's toll. Ezra wasn't himself yet either, staying in his room and shutting then out. He planned on visiting the gambler as soon as he got Buck settled in bed.
Dale watched the dusty landscape even out and grinned. He elbowed his dozing brother and sat up straight. The familiar landmarks appeared, marking their homecoming. He whistled and hooted, looking forward the evening ahead. His father would be proud of the contract Adam negotiated, getting top dollar and a bonus for the land sale. Then they got Mark Goodfellow to come down from his price for the prize stud bull. It was very succesful trip, but the best part was yet to come. He'd been planning an evening with Vin Tanner. His blood heated up, when he thought of his plans to tame the wild man. If Yancy followed the orders, the smart-mouthed halfbreed would be primed and ready.
"What's the shit-eatin' grin for?" Adam asked, watching Dale light up.
"We're home, brother," the elder Upshaw replied, as the stage pulled into Dry Gulch Depot and he spotted Max with their horses. "...and I know that stinkin' Texan is just dyin' to see me!" He laughed and jerked the door open.
Adam watched his older brother trot to the horses, leaving him to get their bags. He frowned uneasily, knowing that his hesitation prior to leaving, had taken it's toll. Dale and he had been tied up for three days, negotiating both contracts. Little time was taken to discuss their prisoner. But Dale lost his trust, and hadn't disclosed the plans made. He carried the bags over to the wagon from the ranch, tossing them in the back. Without a word, he took the reins from Max, vaulted onto his horse and followed Dale back to the ranch.
Vin shifted on the cot, the hard frame chewing the tender skin on his back. The blindfold and lack of food left him terribly disoriented. He had no concept of time, dates or night and day. Had it been days or weeks since his capture? The early part of the confinement was filled with beatings and pain. Now, his days were muddled and empty. The blindfold closed out his senses and left him dizzy. Every once and awhile, it was removed, and one hand freed. A bowl of stew, a biscuit and a canteen were left on his cot. Like an animal, he clawed at the offering, eating with his fingers and letting it drip off his chin. Starvation did that to a man...and a disoriented one, weak and fevered, cared even less. The pain in his leg throbbed again. He felt the heat and shifted, trying to dislodge whatever was walking over his thigh. He'd grown accustomed to the tiny feet of the visitors. The same questions returned, plaguing his disillusioned mind. Was Chris dead? Had the medicine worked? Had the townspeople returned and found out what he'd done? A silent killer...a dead man walking...a prisoner without walls. Callie appeared in his darkness, her small face choked red with lack of air. He struggled weakly against the ropes, crying out as her body stiffened in death. Then another set of eyes appeared, blue and lethel. A snide laugh, a harsh hand on his body. Why hadn't Dale just killed him? Why was he left in this place? A hand on his ankle and a surly laugh made him flinch. The keeper was back...and his insides tensed. The aroma of meat assaulted him and caused his starving body to react. He grunted and groveled, grabbing the bowl and scooping out the meat and gravy.
Yancy stood by the cot and grinned, eyeing the animal that Tanner was reduced to. Dale was right, the long hours spent alone and in the dark, had taken it's toll. Combined with the near starvation for four days and the added guilt of the misknowledge of Callie's death, nearly broke the victim's spirit. The first day, he'd rebelled, tossing the food against the wall. But hunger replaced caution and when Yancy came back the next day, the reaction was different. Now he'd gained the confidence of the prisoner. He eyed the gaunt face, streaked with dried blood and dirt. The hair was dirty and matted, hanging in his eyes like fetid rat tails. Weak from his deprivation, his arms shook as they moved to finish the meager meal. He laughed then and sat down at the table to wait. The poor bastard didn't even know...he ate blindly, following his need. As the last of the food disappeared ,the head rose, seeking the canteen. Yancy chuckled, wrinkling his face in disgust. Gravy dripped from the weak man's chin. Fever slashed his cheeks and gave his swollen eyes an unnatural brightness. The yellow ooze that peeked through the angry leg wound smelled foul. The beating Dale gave him before he left, marked the lean body with purple and blue bruises. One eye was swollen shut and that side of his face swollen and discolored.
"You want your water now, Breed?" he chortled, dangling the canteen in front of the thirsty man's eyes. He watched the tongue slip through the bloodied, swollen lips and laughed again. The food had been spiked with salt...and something else. Soon the pain would come...ripping through his intentines and taking him into a new world of pain. He uncorked the canteen and poured it over the floor, laughing as the body scrambling frantically, licking up the filthy puddle, despite the wad of spit lying in it.
The fire in his mouth made him move. The whole inside of his mouth was on fire, burning relentlessly. The flames drove him past reason, and he watched through blurry eyes as the distorted figure poured the water just past his lips. Grunting and groaning, he dove, trying to capture it before it soaked through the dirt. He didn't hear the laugher, or see the visitor enter.
Restless and unable to sleep, Chris rose from the bed and strode towards the fire. He stoked the embers, the light played off his naked chest. He made a pot of coffee and then settled at the table, gazing at the carefully assembled pieces. His hand reached past them, to the envelope. He read Vin's words again, although he knew the verse by heart. He needed to see the black lettering, Vin's own hand, and drink in the scrawl. He held onto that...feeling the strength in every letter. He carefully folded it again and resumed his work. He found a small smile, recalling the shock on Buck's face earlier. The rogue brought him home and got the bedroom ready. He stocked the shelves and left Nate's orders on the pantry wall. While he was busy, Chris settled at the table and began. As the time passed, he thought on the day he first befriended the Texan. Then the friendship changed, deepening into something he couldn't decribe or put words to. The intensity he felt wasn't tangible or explainable. Buck came through, eyed the collection of pieces from Vin's watch and shook his head.
"You got a death wish?" he asked and retreated, leaving the blond to his work. He worked past midnight, until he snapped the crystal back in place and wound the watch. He wore a triumphant grin, when the second hand began to move. He eyed the fine scrolling letters inside, anticipating Vin's face when he read his grandfather's name. He turned the light out, took the letter and watch, retreating to his room.
Jake waited until he was sure his father and brothers were gone, then sprinted to the window. With little effort, he eased out the window, down the roof and sprinted to the path behind the house. Quickly, he found the fine black where he left him earlier. Grazing on the hay he provided, Larabee's horse looked up as the boy's hand stoked his neck. He eased onto the saddle and rode out, pausing at the crossroads. He saw where Dale turned off and knew where he was headed. He eyed the other path and hollered out, riding the devil himself.
"J.D....J.D...." He cried out, jumping off the horse and flying though the office doors. He coughed and panted, totally out of breath.
"Jake?" Dunne queried, rising from his desk and moving around to greet the visitor. "What's wrong? What's the mat..." his words died in his throat when the boy handed him the coat. Not just any coat, Vin Tanner's hide coat. "Where did you get this!" he demanded, grabbing the startled youth's collar.
"I...found...it...and Mr. Larabee's horse...I...I...think..my brothers...have him...might be hurting him..."
"Where!" J.D. scrambled and got his guns, grabbing a rifle and ammunition as well.
"I can...show...you..." He panted, staring hard at the youthful sheriff. "I'm sorry...I was gone...three days...roundup...I just got back...I found them tonight...I..."
"That's okay, Jake," J.D. reassured with a pat and headed for the hotel. "You're here now and that's all that matters." He eyed the windows and picked up a pebble. "It took a lot of guts...you did the right thing."
"What!" Buck hissed, sticking his head through the window. "Dammit J.D., this hotel better be on fire..."
"Get down here, It's Vin!"
"Damn he looks just like the pigs at Quincy's holler..." Dale noted of the pig farmer nearby. He didn't recognize his prisoner and clapped the guardian on his back. "You did good..."
"He's all ready," Yancy noted, "Poor bastard didn't even realize the meat was tainted...look at him...lickin' that shit up..." he laughed, "You see your Pa?"
"Yeah, he's busy with Adam headin' over to Carter's place," he noted of the family lawyer. His father was eager to have the solicitor read the contracts as soon as possible. "I got three hours until I gotta ride back." He leaned down and yanked Tanner's head up, twisting the greasy locks violently. "We're gonna have a party tonight...a necktie party..." he laughed, tapping Tanner's cheek. Before the prisoner's confused eyes could focus on him, the first of the waves of pain took hold. "Got yourself a little bellyache, Breed?" he leered, cutting him free. He watched the body curl up in a tight ball, the grit covered face a mask of agony. The weak cries of pain filled the air, before the stench followed. "Dammit, Breed, you're gonna have to clean up that mess..." his nose wrinkled in distaste at the weak body that was expelling the poison. "That should learn you not to take gifts from strangers..."
Through the haze of pain and the razor-like talons that ripped through his tender insides, Vin glared up at the hostile intruder. The fever and hunger took his rationale away, so it was hard for him to recognize the blurry face. But he knew that voice. As the fire exploded in his gut, he cried out and rocked in the dirt. He felt the watery residue leave his bowels and didn't care. He just wanted the pain to end...to end...to end. His throat was swollen from the salty food, and he yearned for water. The canteen appeared again and he reached up, grunting and blinking, trying to focus on the moving blur.
"You want some water, doggie?" Dale leered, dropping the open canteen. He waited until the creature's hands got a good hold and took a long mouthful, then he unleashed his boot, kicking the bare abdomen hard. Water shot back, causing the victim to choke, cough and sputter. He turned back to say something to Yancy, not seeing the last flicker of anger in the blue eyes.
Through his waves of pain, Vin Tanner rebelled. He had nothing to lose and struck back, hitting the side of the guard's face with the canteen. Then a hand smacked his face and he bit it as hard as he could. Something hard his his head and he felt the pain at the same time as something wet ran down his cheek. A boot landed hard in his gut, taking him to the floor. He splayed out flat, eyeing the stars that danced above his eyes.
"That no-good bastard bit me," Dale growled, kicking Tanner's explosed, reddened leg. "Get him up...it's time I teach the breed here some manners."
Yancy hauled the young man upright, lashing the raw, blood-encrusted wrist to the rope dangling from the ceiling. He picked up the left hand, about to follow suit, when he was stopped.
"No," Dale denied, picking up a board, "Hold it out..."
Vin screamed as wood hit bone and it snapped, sending a shocking ripple through his already spent body. His eyes shot open, the whites erupting in unbridled pain. Then the broken limb was forced upwards, over his head. That caused him to black out, until the arm was tied and the ripples of agony forced his eyes open. Through a fog he saw a noose approaching and his gut clenched. He stared defiantly, as it was placed over his neck, then tightened to the point of choking. The free end as strung over the beam above, pulled until he was upright, he feet barely on the floor.
"Get his shirt off!" Dale barked, walking to the table and caressing the item in his hands. He heard the fabric ripping as Yancy ripped most of the tattered mess free, slashing what was left, and taking skin with every swipe. Blood ran from the new cuts on the shoulders and arms, only enhancing his excitement. He walked behind the prisoner, watching the head hit his chest. He grinned and let the whip fly, feeling the excitement rise as his cut into the skin on Tanner's bare back.
Vin felt the leather rip him open and jerked, shoving his legs up. The rope cut his air off, he struggled against the pain in his leg, the agony tearing up through his broken arm and the burning wounds the now ripped into his back. The blood from his cut head ran freely, blinding him as it mixed with sweat and tears. He sagged, his knees buckling under the pressure, then the rope tensed and his air was cut off. Again he shoved his legs, needing to stand to get relief.
"He knows the game," Yancy chortled watching the mixture of colors on the battered face. Bright red blood covered on half, purple and blue bruises marked the other half. The kiss of the whip brought the blue eyes open, glazed and feverish, they were lost and defeated. Again and again the whip was issued and the weak cries rang out. The feeble legs fought hard, but were losing ground fast.
Vin felt the leather cut into the skin right about his buttocks and cried out dry. His voice was gone and the blurry face in front of him went away. Then the leather chewed into his inflamed, wounded leg. That brought his agony to a swift closure. One intense brilliant light erupted in front of him, then nothing. He didn't feel the pain anymore...just sweet relief. He sighed once and went limp, his feet dragging slowly across the floor as his body swayed. Dale raised the whip again, when Yancy's voice stopped him.
"We got company, four riders on the canyon road...twenty minutes...maybe less."
"Okay, let's get out of here," Upshaw decided, cutting the noose from the beam.
"Where?" Yancy inquired, grabbing Tanner around the waist and letting him flop over his back.
"Well now," Dale smiled yanking the victim's head up and laughing. "It just wouldn't be neighborly, if we didn't introduce him to Henry Patterson."
"Henry?" Yancy shook his head, not clear on the idea. He handed the body up to Dale, who mercilessly tossed it over the saddle in front of him. "Oh," he nodded and laughed. "Yeah, I reckon he needs some company. I'll lead them back to the river, then head home."
"J.D...." Josiah waved the youth down, putting a hand up in protest. They watched as Buck skittered along the sides of the house, dropping on the porch and inching his way forward.
Buck listened under the window, but heard nothing. No talking, movement or breathing even. He raised his head and peeked inside, then stood, waving to the others. "It's empty..."
"It can't be," Jake flew by him, rushing through the door. "What is...that..." he backed up, right onto the porch.
"It's fresh," Buck said, squatting over the watery diarrhea.
"Oh God," J.D. whispered, picking up the ragged green remnants of one of Larabee's shirts. "It's Chris's..."
"It must have been in his saddlebags," the rogue noted, "I think he packed that for the horse auction. He never got chance to unpack...Vin must have used it..."
"I hope to God you're wrong Buck," the preacher noted, wincing at the blood, vomit, body fluids and puss that lined the filthy cot. "'cause if not, that boys' been livin' in Hell. Let's go..." he turned, "Buck, you take Jake back to the house, get that Old Man out of bed and get some help to comb this place. J.D. and me will pick up their tracks..."
Dale laughed from where he way lying flat on the hilltop. He watched Yancy go by far across the river and the twenty minutes later, two horses followed. Shaking his head, he slid down and got to work. Sweat never felt so good and finally, he was done. Unceremoniously, he yanked Tanner's legs over, then hauled his body up and inside. Finally he was done and he stared at his prey, while he unbuttoned hid fly and released.
Wet...something wet was hitting his face. Rain? Water? No, it was warm. Something was wrong, he couldn't breathe. He tried to raise his arm to free his raw and bruised throat, but a fiery pain ate up his limb. His good hand fumbled, it was pressed tightly against something hard and firm. He finally reached the rope, tugging pitifully. Then something hit his face, forcing his eyes to open. He inhaled it, causing him to lose the little air he found. He opened his mouth, gulping desperately, trying to find air. He was struck again and got a mouthful, causing him to spit and sputter. He moved, wondering why the ground under him wasn't hard like the tight sides near his shoulders. More sounds...things hitting his legs, eyes, chest and feet. He tried to get his mouth empty, only to be hit again. Then his blood ran cold and his heart began to race frantically. He tasted it and realized the odd texture under him was a body. The rotting smell that invaded his world was decomposing flesh. The course matter that filled his mouth and nose was dirt. He was being buried alive. Under the full moon, the blurry image of Dale Upshaw disappeared as the dirt rained down.
The rage had grown over the last couple weeks. As Buck Wilmington urged his horse onward, mentally he was pummeling Dale Upshaw. Slow and easy...making him hurt. So lost was he in his anger, he almost didn't hear the boy calling to him. Vaguely, he heard his name through the fog and reined in his horse.
"You day something, Jake?" he asked, waiting for the youth to catch up.
"...ain't there..." the boy panted, wiping his sweating face with his sleeve.
"What do you mean?"
"My Pa and Adam rode over to Mr. Carson's...something to do with the new contracts."
"Dale?"
"Dunno..." he paused, then drew his head up, "No...he stopped to talk to Max and then headed the other way."
"So who was watchin' Vin while your brothers were away?" Buck inquired, mentally calculating the distance to Roger Carson's home.
"Well," Jake mused, collecting a list of the hands he'd been with. "If I was bettin', I'd go with Yancy. He's got a mean streak in 'im. He wasn't at roundup...Chuck was in charge, said Yancy wasn't feelin' good. He wasn't there when I rode in today either..."
"What about Max?"
"Maybe...he's always hangin' around with Adam and Dale..."
"Okay," Buck eyed the road ahead, "Your place ain't that far, you get on home and stay there. I'm gonna head over to Carson's and talk to you Pa..." he paused, "...and have 'word' with Adam..."
"He's not like Dale...not really. Deep down inside, he's not like that, but he's afraid of Dale. Dale bullies him in front of the men..." Jake defended. "I bet that's why he made Adam go with Pa tonight. Adam and him had a fight before supper...I didn't hear what it was about, but it wasn't ranch business."
"That's no excuse, Son," Buck added, resting a hand on the boy's shoulder, "If Adam knew Vin was in trouble...or hurt and he knew where, he should have told your Pa. You're a good brother, stickin' up for him like that. Now you go straight home...if your Pa gets there first, you tell him what happened."
"Yes Sir," Jake nodded and started for the big house. He'd hadn't ridden far, when he heard a horse whinny. He cocked his head and listened. Sure enough, the sound rode through the air; it was clear and not far away. Curious, he proceeded slowly, until in the distance, he saw the unmistakeable outline of Dale's large bay. Sliding off Larabee's horse, he eased forward, creeping through the bushes and peeking. Dale was burying somebody. Then something happened that nearly made his heart stop. The distinct sound of coughing was heard...coming from within the grave. He didn't realize he was moving, until his body hit his older brothers.
"No!"
"What the hell?" Dale growled, hitting the ground with a thud. He had his gun drawn, when he saw the dark hair of his brother.
"Jake?" He hissed, shoving the boy hard and rising. "What are doing out here? Get home!"
"No!" he defied, dropping to his knees and pulling dirt off one end of the grave, his fingers touched flesh, a nose and mouth. "Jesus!" He cried out in disgust. "Is this Vin Tanner? You buried him alive?" Not waiting for a response, he pulled the dirt off and slapped the stunned man's face lightly, gaining a shuddering breath. "Vin? Vin?"
"Get off!" Dale lunged, pulling the boy free and gaining a punch to the jaw. He drew his gun on reflex, then grimaced in anger. He didn't need the full moon to 'see' the defiant eyes looking back at him.
"Go on," Jake said calmly, "You're gonna have to shoot me. Guess you'll bury me out here too." He panted, flexing his fists. "They know about you...Buck, J.D. and the others. I found Vin's jacket and the horse...took 'em to J.D. Him and Josiah are chasin' somebody up that trail from the cabin. Yancy probably...Buck's on his way to Carson's to tell Pa. It's over, Dale. Why? He's a good man...he's taught me..."
"He's a lyin', stinkin' Indian lover...he let Chanu go free and Claire Mosley died...and Ginny...weren't no witnesses...except him..."
"Dale, Claire's father killed her, he confessed, so did that man they caught...in Vista City. Vin wouldn't ever hurt a woman. He's real respectful of 'em...they like Vin. He ain't rough like you. You hurt 'im...I heard Pa warnin' you the last time he paid off them two saloon girls you carved up."
"She laughed at me..." Dale choked in a faraway voice. "I asked her to marry me...she laughed...and laughed..."
"Did you hurt her, Dale?" Jake asked, sliding his hand down and groping in the dirt, until he found Vin's. Quietly, he moved him forward, pulling him and getting the dirt free from his chest and arms.
"No..." the confused man replied, staring at the horizon. "She...laughed...we were by the lake...I got so mad...I took off...in the buggy." He swallowed hard. "I went to town and got drunk..."
"You left her out there!" Jake's voice rose in disgust, "You said you took her home...that her folks were out. You said you saw her to the door. You lied..."
"She laughed at me..." Dale repeated, not seeing the handful of dirt before it was flung in his face.
Jake followed up his first move, by charging at Dale, headbutting him in the stomach. They landed in a heap. Dale's strength overpowered his youngest brother, but Jake got a hold of the fallen gun and hit him with it. Scrambling to his feet, he crawled over and pulled Vin Tanner free. "Come on, Vin...sit up...that's it," he coached, jumping into the grave and flinching when his boot hit an old skull. He stood behind the fallen man and put his hands under the shoulders, pulling him up hard, getting him on his feet. The weight nearly buckled his knees. "I can't hold you, Vin, you have to help."
Vin blinked and the blackness parted. He swayed on his weak legs, eyeing the unfamiliar terrain. A voice, a very young voice, was urging him to move. J.D.? Was he here? No...he couldn't get near him. It was dangerous. The mental image flashed a warning, but Vin didn't remember why, just that he couldn't let J.D. near him. He staggered, stumbled and felt hands pushing him upwards.
"That's it, Vin...go on..." Jake urged, watching in amazement as the victim climbed out, dropped to his knees and coughed up a lot of dirt. Then Dale began to stir and reached for the gun. Jake scrambled over to get it, not paying attention to the injured man.
"Get off me, Kid," Dale warned, "He's gotta pay. He turned her head...smiling at her, talkin' pretty to her, spoutin' poetry and shit...he's gonna...pay...give me...the...gun..." He wrestled, tumbling over the ground with his brother. Neither man noticed the prisoner staggering towards a horse, oblivious to their quarrel.
His mind pushed him forward, urging him to get away. He couldn't let J.D. get sick. Sick?? Sick from what? Why was it dangerous? Then the memories came flooding back. His eyes widened in shock, when through the blurry shadows of the night, he spotted Larabee's horse. With his last ounce of strength, he got into the saddle. He tumbled forward, gripping the reins and hanging over the sleek neck.
"...home...home..." he croaked, sighing in relief as the stallion's head tossed back, sensing a familiar body. He held on for life, as the loyal horse stole away into the night.
"He's gone..." Jake grinned in relief, his mission accomplished.
"Shit!" Dale shoved the boy hard, grabbing both shoulders. "Do you know what you've done!"
"Yeah," he spat back, "I saved your life. Murder is a hanging offense, in case you didn't know."
For several seconds, neither body moved. Then Dale released the deathgrip he had on his youngest brother's shirt. He picked up his gun and holstered it, before walking to his horse. He mounted up and turned back, watching the disgust on the youth's face.
"See ya , Kid..." he tossed, eyeing the road off the property. He could cross the river and be in New Mexico Territory in a couple days.
"Goodbye Dale," Jake replied to the wind. He watched until the horse was a speck, recalling the days gone by. He remembered all to well the blond as a teenager, scooping up an inconsolable child who couldn't bear to say goodbye to his dead mother. Dale has been his hero then..and that left a bitter taste in his mouth. The promise of what could have been, turned his stomach sour. He sighed and made his way to the road towards the house.
The remnants of the illness still plagued him and the coughing woke him up. His weakened body took too long to respond. Sitting up, he gulped in several mouthfuls of air, letting himself settle down. He eyed the empty pitcher next to his bed and frowned. He shivered as the cold night air embraced him. Drawing his aching body up, he waited until the brief episode of dizziness passed and headed for the main room.
The fire had gone down and he stoked it, adding some kindling and enjoying the warmth that rose through him. He picked up the pitcher and headed for the door, pausing to toss on his heavy workshirt. He had his hand on the doorknob, when he heard the hard pounding of hooves to the ground. A rider was approaching. His hand automatically went to the hook by the door and his fingers curled over the holster. He slid on of his colts into his waistband and slowly opened the door. Once his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he took his barefeet onto the porch. Then his eyes widened in shock.
"What the hell...."
Cursing his bad luck, Yancy ducked as a bullet soared past his ear. He didn't realize that they had gotten so close. He'd led them on a goosechase, but a couple hours had gone by and they were closing fast. Another bullet sent him flying from his horse and behind the cover of a cluster of rocks . He drew his weapon and returned fire.
"You got him, J.D.?" Josiah whispered, from behind a cluster of trees.
"Yeah...give me five minutes to get around behind him..." The sheriff noted, sliding from his horse and moving away.
"Keep your head down!" the preacher hissed. "Buck'll have my hide I bring you home with a hole..."
J.D. inched along the trail, skimming trees and rocks and scaling a short hill. He saw the back of a man crouched below and eased up behind, cocking the hammer in the suspect's ear.
"Toss it over..." he ordered of the gun, and waited until the weapon was dispensed. "Come on out, Josiah!"
"Dunne?" Yancy hissed, spinning around and getting a fist into the young man's face, before a well placed boot hit him hard in the side.
"That's Sheriff Dunne to you , you walkin' outhouse...now where is he?" He slammed the man on the ground.
"Who?"
"President Grant!" J.D. hollered, kicking him again. "Tanner...where is he?"
"How would I know?"
"Well, you better start prayin' Brother,"Josiah interjected, "Because I'm not in a foregiving mood." He turned the struggling man onto his belly and tied his hands, before turning him back and unbuttoning the captor's shirt. "J.D....Did I ever tell you about my friend Maquah?"
"The Cherokee warrior?" J.D. guessed and saw Sanchez smile evilly. "Oh yeah..." he caught on, nodding and flipping his knife. It landed with a dull thud between Yancy's legs. "He's the one who taught you how to skin a man..."
"Easy peelin'..." Josiah returned, lighting a match to the piece of wood he found nearby. THe low light illuminated the ranch hand's fear clearly. He handed the torch to J.D. and picked up the large knife. "Yeah...old Maquah sure had a talent...." he flicked his wrist, cutting off a large portion of the shirt in one swoop. "Slow and easy....took hours for the poor bastards to die...helluva mess..."
"You can't do that!" Yancy squirmed, feeling the blade press against his flabby belly. "It wasn't even my idea....Dale...he's the one who thought it up..."
"Where is he?" J.D. repeated. "What did you do to him? Start talkin'..." He leaned in and felt his stomach churning with every syllable the victim uttered.
Buck was nearly at the wealthy lawyer's home and slowed up. He eased off his horse and approached the front door. Lights illuminated the interior and voices were heard on the other side of the massive oak door. He knocked hard, rested his hand on his gun and waited. He saw the white shock of hair and recognized Zeb Upshaw.
"I wanna talk to you, Upshaw!"
"Not at midnight you don't," the elder man replied, "...and I don't want to talk to you. I've got a long ride ahead and..."
"It's about Vin Tanner," the tired rogue interrupted.
"Discussion closed," Zeb shot back, "I got nothing to say about the likes of him. I hope to hell by now the army has him locked up..."
"Maybe you didn't hear me," Buck pulled his gun as Roger Carson's face appeared in the doorway.
"What's this about , Wilmington?"
"It's about this," Buck threw Vin's jacket on the foyer. "...Jake found it on your property along with Chris Larabee's horse. Then we found an old cabin...and signs of somebody being kept prisoner..." He aimed at Adam, who was shifting uneasily in the doorway. "You got an itch, Boy? You best find it, or I'll scratch it for you..." He leveled the pistol and waited.
"Don't you threaten my son," Zeb hissed, "You turn back now and I'll forget this indescretion."
"Your son ain't gonna live long enough to worry about any indescretions if I don't find Vin Tanner alive, " he growled, gripping that nervous younger man's shirt with one hand and pulling his gun up with the other. "What did you do to him?"
"It was Dale's idea...I thought we were just gonna scare him a little...then...let...him...go..."
"You son-of-a-bitch!" Buck screamed, slamming a fist into the tall Upshaw's gut.
"Wait a minute!" Carson held up both hands and moved in front of the irate peacekeeper. "Come on inside, Buck, we'll get to the bottom of this."
Chris tensed and eased off his porch, towards the familiar horse. His careful gaze flew along the property lines, seeing no signs of life. He remained guarded as he grabbed the horses reins, leading him to the corral. He noted the sweat on his coat and the heavy breathing. He tucked his gun away and took the saddle off. Shivering in the cold night air and feeling the icy ground on his cold feet, he headed back to the house. His energy level was far from normal and Nathan warned him about a relapse. He didn't want to revisit the dreaded disease and took his dizzy body back towards the cabin. He could solve the mystery in the morning. He was nearly to the door, when his side vision caught movement.
Vin was curled up in a ball, fighting hard to breath and unaware of where he was. The horse stopped and he tumbled off. He crawled forward, hand over hand, until he felt wood and a wall to his back. Then he heard movement and a blurry body went by. He rested his eyes, shivered in the cold and heard footsteps again. The light from the house revealed a blurry image. But then he moved and the distorted face cleared up. Blond hair...black pants...pearl handle on the waistband. The porch...the porch...he shook his head and moved away. The danger sign flashed again, the word' carrier' and 'death' in red letters. They burned a hole in him and he tried to crawl away, just as the hand brough the pearl handle out. A gun...a gun...he got to his knees and tried to stand.
"Move and I'll shoot," Chris warned, eyeing the filthy, bedraggled, half naked man on his porch. Then his eyes narrowed as he got closer and saw two hands move in front of the hidden face.
"No..."
He dropped the gun and his heart lurched as the soft drawl cut the night air. He stumbled badly, stubbing his toe and cursing a blue streak. He dropped to his knees, trying to reach his injured friend. He hardly recognized him. "Vin...Jesus..." he stammered, eyeing the huddled mass on his porch.
"No...go 'way..." Vin rasped over his raw throat, every word causing the razor-like pain to flare up. "...hurt ya...Mister...kill...can't...be...near...folks...I got a sick...ness...please...don't..."
"Mister?" Chris winced, realizing painfully that Vin had no idea where he was. He didn't want to frighten him, so he knelt a couple feet away, watching the weak man trying to crawl. "Vin...Vin Tanner. Vin, it's me...look at me..." he prodded to no avail. "Get your head up!"
The words were so harsh, hard and loud, that his head jerked up and he backed up. His eye shot open, staring hard at the face looming before him. He studied the blurry features for a moment, then gasped, shaking his head. One hand reached out, trembling badly.
"...ya...ain't...dead...I...I...thought...I...killed...ya...Chris?"
"Yeah, Vin, it's me..." he sighed in relief, grabbing the fragile hand and using his other hand to grip the shaken man's jaw. "Listen up, this is important!" he directed sternly, watching the eyes blinking rapidly. "You didn't kill anybody...they caught the man responsible for the diphtheria. The army's holdin' him up north...Do you understand? Vin? I'm talkin' to you!"
"...yer...not..." Vin hesitated, staring at the face near his. He had to be sure. "...truth...rissss...."
"I wouldn't lie to you, Vin."
No, he wouldn't and those words caused a huge sigh of air. That was all he needed. He reached out and took the hand offered and collapsed.
"...home..."
"Yeah, Cowboy," Chris gripped the frail body, shivering at the weak, warm breath hitting his neck. He gripped the back of the tangled, greasy, matted hair. "You're home. I got you, you're safe now."
"Six days!" Buck roared, grabbing the tall youth's shirt collar and slamming him against the wall. "You fuckin' animal!" He backhanded him hard, drawing blood and had his fist raised again, when a strong arm pulled him back.
"That's enough, Wilmington!" Zeb barked, pulling irate peacekeeper off his son.
"Enough?" Buck snarled, eyes shooting fire, "I haven't even started yet. Where is he?"
"I don't know..." Adam replied, "Honest to God...I told Dale to let 'em go before we rode out. He threatened me..."
"That's what caused the two of you to fight?" Zeb demanded and saw the head nod. "Why didn't you tell me?"
"You don't even like him!" the middle son protested, "You're always calling him names..."
"Don't you use that tone of voice to me," the father snapped, "and despite what I feel about that Indian-lovin' savage, I don't cotton to vigilantism...you know that. They got a jail in town. We could have taken him there and wired the army..."
"I didn't think he was gonna go this far. I thought we'd have some fun with him, rough him up a little, then drop him over the border. He was headed there anyhow..."
"Start from the beginning, Adam," Roger Carson advised, eyeing Buck Wilmington with a guarded stare.
"It was late...the Army sprung us...lifted the curfew. So we...headed home. But Adam sent Jake straight away, we took another route. He knew the army was lookin' for Tanner...he thought maybe...well...he got that look in his eye. He said we were gonna go huntin'," he sighed, not able to meet his father's eyes. "...we caught him near the river, headed north." His eyes flickered painfully at the irate blue eyes Buck Wilmington. He dropped his gaze knowing the next segment of the story would cause an explosion. "We forced him down, and tied his hands and put a rope around his neck, pulled him behind the horse."
"Buck!" Roger intercepted the six-foot cannonball as it flew at the suspect. "That won't help."
"The hell it won't," Buck shot back, pointing his index finger at the cowering Upshaw. "You give me ten minutes out back with that animal, it'll help real good."
"How bad is he hurt?" Roger asked.
"Well, he started fightin' right off, wouldn't settle down, so I had to crease him..."
"You shot him?" Buck roared, slamming him into the wall again, before Zeb and Roger pulled him free.
"That's your last warning, Wilmington," Roger advised, "You settle down or I'll advise my client not to say another word."
"I creased his thigh," Adam continued. "We tied him to the cot and blindfolded him. We came back after supper the next night and..uh...questioned him a little. But then Dale changed...Vin figured out the truth of what happened with Virginia."
"What are you saying Boy?" Zeb's gaze narrowed.
"Dale asked her to marry him that night and she laughed at him. He snapped inside...got pissed off and left her way outside town. Then he rode back into town and got drunk."
"You better not be lying..."
"It's the truth, Pa. When Vin told Dale...he snapped out...beat the tar out of him. They had him tied to the beam in the ceiling. I tried to stop..."
"Tried!" Buck screamed, clenching his fists and using every fiber of his strength to restrain himself. "You left him beaten and hurt in that fuckin' shack for damn near a week. Tried?"
"Why didn't you tell me!" Zeb demanded.
"I was afraid..." Adam admitted, slumping his shoulders.
Buck snorted and leveled a cold stare of distaste at the senior Upshaw. "Guess that makes you the fuckin' Father of the Year..."
"Anyhow," Adam continued, "the next morning is when I told Adam I was gonna go and get Vin, take him to town. We fought, he said he'd tell you it was my doin', that he'd get Yancy to back him up. Then you sent us away. He made sure I couldn't get back to the cabin. I don't know what they did with him..."
Buck rose slowly and walked over to the lawyer's desk, glanced at a few books, before selecting on. He turned and walked even slower over to where Adam Upshaw was cowering in a chair. He stopped in front of him and held out the book.
"You a religious man?" he asked the young man who nodded slowly. "Well that's good. Because if I don't find Vin Tanner alive and in short order," he dropped the book into the quaking cowhand's lap and leaned in close, his tense face just inches from the other's. "I'm gonna make sure Josiah uses this book to say a few words over what's left of your pathetic body when the box goes in the ground."
He remained in place, staring hard, until the other man looked away. He finally got his father's eyes and was startled by a show of sympathy.
"Get up, Son." Zeb said. "...get our horses. We've got work to do." He paused and rested a hand on the boy's shoulders "Know this, you'll have to own up to what you've done before the law. But I'll make it right, and I'm sorry. No man wants his child to fear him."
Sweat clung to every aching inch of his lean frame. Grunting and dizzy from overextending his still healing body, Chris tugged Vin's body through the door. He was on his knees, the force of gravity keeping him from rising in the swirling room. Panting and gasping, he blinked through the moisture pouring down his face and eyed the warmth of the fire. The bed in the far room seemed miles away and higher than the Rockies. Sucking in a great gulp of air, he managed to get to his feet and stagger forward. His legs gave way as they reached the bed and he dropped, crawling the remaining few feet. He tugged at the bedding, making the journey back to the open spot before the cozy hearth. He pulled himself up to the table and turned the lamp up. He grabbed the bottle fo whiskey sitting there and dropped back down. After positioning a think blanket on a floor, he grabbed a hold under each of Vin's arms and pulled him onto the makeshift bed. He collapsed against the small barrel sitting there, taking more gulps of air. That's when he allowed himself to look at the battered body of his best friend in the light. He flinched in horror at the filthy body, covered in cuts, scapes, bruises of every color and burns. He knew on the porch that the swollen left arm was broken. He rested a hand on Vin's blackened face, frowning at the heat rising.
The normal one minute trip to the well outside to fill the pot on the stove with water, took ten. But at last he had a full kettle boiling and a basin of tepid water, a pile of rags and strips of linen, his hunting knife, whiskey and a new bar of Pears soap. His hand wavered just a bit, as it wiped the grime, dried blood and muck from Vin's face. Then he saw the swollen folds of the tracker's neck, raw and bleeding, from where the whip and rope ate his skin away. The unfathomable rage that filled him caused him to tremble in anger. He brought his clenced fists up twice, gritting his teeth and feeling the heat from his burning eyes. This hatred drove himi, as he scrubbed the dirt from Vin's nose, eyes and ears. He opened the pliant mouth and twice the cloth came out muddy. The vision of Vin in a grave, watching dirt being tossed on him, too weak to move, filled him with a lethel invasion of ice.
"They'll pay, Vin," he vowed, using a soapy cloth to wash the injured man's face, neck, hair and chest. "You got my word." He cut the raggedy pants off, continued his cleaning, pausing to drain half the canteen and take a few breaths of air. Then he eyed the boiling water, his stomach turned over at what he had to do next. The rancid smell that hovered over the greenish, yellow, puss filled leg wound, spurned his aching, numb legs into action. He stumbled to the stove and used tongs to remove the boiling cloths. He waited a few minutes for the intense heat to lessen. Dropping back to Vin's side, he pressed his right hand hand down on the purple-blue-and-scarlet chest. He took a deep breath and pressed the cloth over the infected wound. He pushed the small, weak cry and the feeble attempt at movment from his mind. He pressed harder, until the quaking body stilled. Then he removed the cloth, flinching in horror at the streams of greenish fluid covering the cloth and running down Vin's leg.
"Fuckin' bastards..." he hurled the rag across the room and punching the floor hard. He picked up a second cloth and washed the remainder out with soapy water. Finally satisifed, he poured whiskey on the wound and kept the damp cloth on it. Splints...he eyed the chipped wood next to the fireplace and selected several pieces. He secured Vin's arm to them, using strips of rags. As he worked, he shut his mind down. He drove the intense pain this vision was causing him, right out the door. He worked mutely, without feeling, cleaning every scrape, cut and abrasion on the battered chest, legs and arms. His hand hovered of the circular burns, knowing a hot cigar was pressed to the tender flesh. The fingers hovered, unable to move in a straight line. He took several shuddering breaths, until the demon inside was sated. He filled the basin with clean water, took a swig of whiskey and gently turned Vin over, on his side and away from him. He wasn't prepared for what he found. Peeking through the dirt encrusted on the naked back, was the unmistakable criss-crossed images of where a whip was laid time and time again. The faceless, nameless cowards who'd tortured his best friend entered the shack. They hovered over the body, leering and driving their spears in him. He felt it coming, growing in strength, rage and passion as it travelled up his windpipe and crashed through his teeth, right past his lips curled in venomous rage. The unearthly howl that split the night air, sent every creature, furried and feathered, to higher ground.
They were almost to the crossroads, just a few miles from the house, when they spotted a trio of riders.
"You got him!" Buck hollered out, recognizing J.D. and Josiah. The figure on the third horse was barely upright. When they got closer, Buck saw the beaten man's face, recognizing Yancy Bates. He eyed his two friends, before settling on Josiah.
"Damnedest thing," the preacher said somberly, meeting Buck's question, "he keeps falling of his horse. Never saw the likes of it..." he heared Zeb's snort of contempt and his smokey eyes filled with rage. He moved his horse closer, baring his teeth. "You hear this, Old Man, that demon seed you spilled and gave claim to, tortured, whipped and buried a good friend of mine alive..."
"Godammit!" Buck hollered, ready to grab Yancy, had J.D. not intervened.
"It's no good, Buck, he's not there." the youth replied of the empty grave. "It was empty. We found lots of tracks, all mixed up. One set headed north and the other east..." He caught Buck's eyes and saw him relax a little; they both got the same feeling about where that missing horse went, bearing an injured rider.
"Dale?" Zeb asked.
"Gone..." Josiah said, "We're takin' Yancy in town to jail. I'm gonna wire the Judge and get a posse up. We got a lot of ground to cover. Where's Jake?"
"I sent him back to the ranch..." Buck asked, eyeing the road. "Two sets..." he mused, rubbing his weary eyes, "Vin got away..."
"Most likely," Josiah replied, "We'll take Adam with us," he spied Buck's roaming eyes. "You thinkin' what I'm thinkin?"
"Yeah," the rogue turned his horse, "I got a hunch I know where them tracks headin' east are goin'..." He turned to Zeb Upshaw again and levelled a steely gaze at the older man. "By the grace of God, you turned out one damn fine boy. Don't fuck up with Jake like you did with the other two."
"Come on," Josiah moved the other way, watching Buck take off towards the Larabee spread.
The coffee left a bitter taste in his mouth and he pushed the cup aside. He eyed the closet in his room, which seemed miles away, and thought of putting a shirt on. Despite the new sun peering curiously in the window, he was cold. The fire need stoking and he should make some breakfast. He should do a lot of things, if only his legs would cooperate. He stumbled to the stove, poured a mug of the herbal tea and knelt by his patient. Placing the steaming cup next to him, he rested a hand on the flushed face, frowning at the fever. He tapped the stilled face several times, until the eyebrows drew together and the mouth quirked.
"Vin...Vin...I got some water for you."
His injured friend was resting on his side, propped against a stack of blankets. This gave him comfort and support. Chris carefully lifted the damp head, watching the lips open for his voice only.
"That's it...cold water...slow now, there's no rush..." he coached, watching the water disappear. "Okay, now I got some medicine, it's in the tea on this spoon." He felt the head turn away and the brows knit together again. "Quit swearin' at me Tanner! I got no time for your temper tantrums. Open your damn mouth and take this..." He ordered in a loud and severe tone. The body relaxed against his and the lips parted. Ten minutes later, the last of the mixed tea was consumed. Satisfied, he thought of the large container of broth in the tin outside on the porch. Nathan left several each day, full of rich soup. The sealed tins in the cold air kept them fresh. He tossed a few logs in the fireplace, basking in the warmth the new flames provided. He leaned back against the wall and sighed wearily. As soon as he rested his eyes for a moment, he'd get the broth inside and get some into the injured body.
Buck approached the ranch at record speed, the hooves of his horse barely touching the ground. He rose in the saddle and felt his heart hammering. There in the corral was the familiar dark coat of Larabee's horse, prancing around with the new red-coated stallion. Had Vin made it back? Was he alive? He jumped from his horse and raced to the entry, the amount of maroon puddles of water on the porch turned his stomach. He pushed the door open and was about to call out, when he saw them. Vin was resting on his right side, facing the fireplace. A blanket covered him loosely, his pillow was the lean thigh of Chris Larabee, who was sound asleep, one arm flung protectively across Tanner's neck and chest.
"Thank God," he breathed in relief, making his way to the hearth and crouching next to Vin. He rested two fingers against the marred neck, his eyes burning like coals at the raw wounds that the rope left there. "Bastard's gonna pay..." he vowed, feeling the fever as his fingers laid against the scarlet slashed cheek.
"Bastards gonna die..." a voice grumbled, "...slow...real slow..." Chris swore, easing his body from under Vin's. "Get me up, Buck."
"You look like ten miles of bad road, Pard," he greeted his worried friend, leading him to the table. "You ain't going anywhere. Josiah's gonna get a posse up. We already got two of them..." He updated, opening several containers until he found eggs. He doused the pan with butter and scrambled several eggs, before cutting two hunks of bread and some cheese. He poured a mug of the medicinal tea and put it before the pale rouser. "Drink! I can't afford to have you end up back in that bed."
"Who?" Chris inquired, his eyes on Buck's strong back. He watched every muscle in the tall man's body tense up and nearly burst through his shirt. He didn't miss the white knuckles that now clutched both sides of the shelf over the stove. For several seconds, there was silence. Then a plate full of eggs, bread and cheese was placed in front of him. The pure hate glowing from Wilmington's eyes, gave him pause. "I wanna know..." he dictated in a warning, "He was damn near dead when I found him outside. His left arm's broke, his ribs are bruised, he's got cuts the hell all over, burns from a fuckin' cigar!" he punched the table, causing the utencils to dance in anger as well. "a bad infection in his leg and..." he eyed the blanket covering Vin's back and then his green coals burning right through his guest. "...bastards fuckin' hung him, whipped him and buried him alive. He had dirt in his nose, his mouth...godammit!"
Buck didn't even flinch, he heard the story already. He knew words would be useless. Chris Larabee wouldn't rest until the toll was paid in full. He poured a shot of whiskey in his coffee and took a long sip, waiting for the heaving chest across from him to slow down. Without responding , he rose and got a shirt and a pair of socks from Larabee's room. He held the shirt out and Chris snaked a fist into the dark blue flannel. He then moved to Vin's side, giving him a fast evaluation. His rage grew again, seeing the slash marks on his back and the round burns from the glowing end of a cigar. The raspy shallow breathing and weak pulse had him concerned. Would Vin survive this ordeal?
"Start talkin' Buck," Chris advised, shoveling the food in his mouth.
By the time the story concluded, told in a cold, level tone, the plate and mug had been heaved against the wall. Buck lifted Vin's head and tipped a cup of warm broth, which he'd heated up during the recounting of the week of hell. He watched every muscle in Larabee's body pulsing in unabated rage. The eyes...he'd never seen them so lethal, not in all the year's he'd known Chris Larabee. Like a caged panther, he moved around the small cabin, fueling his need to escape. He turned his eyes back to Vin, whose head rested against his chest. "Come on Slick, I got some broth for you..." he nudged the pale lips, but there was no response. He sighed in frustration, and heard the boots hitting wood.
"Vin, quit foolin' around and drink that!" Chris barked loudly, causing Buck and Vin to jump.
Buck smiled as the tracker's brows drew together and his lips made a grim line of protest, but they opened. "You don't have to be happy about it," he teased, guiding the liquid inside, "just drink it..." Satisfied through the raspy moans of relief that Vin was sated, he eased him back on the blanket, laid a clean cold cloth over the abrasions on his throat and squatted over the leg. He moved the blanket back, took the loose bandage off and frowned. "Jesus, that stinks..."
"I had to draw it out with hot water," Chris said flatly, from where he stood in the doorway. He put his holster on and snapped the clip shut, "Puss and shit flyin' the hell all over..." he watched Buck's dark head moving as a new bandage was applied. "I'm goin' after that animal Buck..." he warned, waiting for the lecture of caution, but none came. The tall man wrung out a cold cloth, wiped the fever from the face, neck and chest of his injured friend. He spoke in a low, comforting tone, addressing the distressed moans coming from the Texan's lips. Finally, he left the folded, cold cloth on Vin's head and drew the blanket up. With a small pat to his shoulder, he rose and joined his ire-fired friend by the door.
"I'm goin' with you," Buck said quietly, sending his full support and getting a wave of green relief from the pained eyes across from him. "But right now, the boy's life is more important," he nodded back to where Vin Tanner lie all too still. "Nathan's at Johnson's, I'm gonna get him. Your voice is the only one he hears, Chris. You need to stay, until he's stronger. That bastard ain't gonna get away, you got my word on that."
"Wilmington's word is as good as done," Chris managed a small smile, thinking on the first time he'd heard the cocky phrase, close to a dozen years ago. He offered his hand and the other shook it firmly, matching the time worn smile. The kind of grin that only old friends shared. They'd ride together, hunt down the bastard and see justice done - for Vin Tanner.
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