Setting: OW
Mary eyed her small son, sitting mute in the corner. She explained the best she could about Vin and Buck, but it's hard for a child to grasp. The concept of forever is lost to a mind so young. He'd become angry and silent, refusing lunch or chores or anything she'd asked. Movement across the street caught her eye. Chris was at Vin Tanner's wagon, his upper body leaning inside the opening in the back. She winced as she saw him lift out a pile of Vin's shirts. She saw the box at his feet and frowned. He dropped the shirts and gripped both hips. One of his hands slammed against the side of the wagon and his head fell.
He found himself at the wagon, not even realizing he'd walked over. He was in Potter's store getting a new razor and the harmonica fell onto the counter. It rolled out with his money and he snatched it quickly, startling Gloria Potter. A false need to purge the tracker's things from his memory arose and before he knew it, he was toting a box to the wagon. He picked up a pile of shirts at random and felt the soft folds of fabric. Bad luck bit him in the ass again, the shirts weren't clean. Tanner's scent clung to every inch of cotton. It choked him, sending moisture to his eyes and his hand to the side of the carriage.
"Why?" he hissed. Why did he ride into this town that fateful day? Why did fate bring the tracker into his life? Why didn't he deny the gut tug that day when their eyes met? "Why?" he repeated and felt a hand on his back.
"Is there anything I can do?"
"Mary..." The name slid out so easily and the feeling it created inside was unsettling. Despite her high-necked gown, the bruises peeked over the top of the lacey collar. He felt the anger welling and gripped both fists. "It's over, Chris, let it go. Please?" she asked.
If the blue eyes didn't undo him the strength that she possessed did. He'd thought about the sacrifice she'd made and couldn't image the guts it took. He sighed and dropped his head. Several seconds went by and he took a deep breath, ashamed of his self-pity. After all she went through, it was she that was comforting him.
"How are you?" he asked, seeing a trace of fear still in the deep irises.
"I can't seem to get clean," she murmured, and saw his head nod. He understood and sympathized. She read it clearly in the pale green eyes, colored with such pain it made her ache. She picked up the shirts he dropped and went to replace them inside the wagon. She laid it against her face for a second and felt the emotion.
"Oh God..."
"Yeah." Chris nodded, "I figured I'd clean out his..." he broke off, unable to finish.
"Not today," she said quietly and hooked a hand through his arm. "Want some coffee?"
"Thanks."
He saw Billy and frowned as the stormy face scowled at him. He knelt down and reached a hand out, but the body brushed past him and headed upstairs.
"He's mad at Vin and Buck. He's young, he doesn't understand." she explained.
"Want me to talk to him?" Chris offered.
"Not while he's this angry," her intuition warned, "Maybe Sunday after church, you can come for supper?"
"Okay."
He tossed his hat on the pine table in the kitchen and studied the swirls in the wood. His eye caught a dark yellow object across the room.
"Cheese popovers," Mary answered the intense stare. "Would you like one?" she asked and saw him start to answer and then close his mouth. "Might be good for that cold you picked up."
"Vin's..." He coughed on cue and took the cloth she offered as a group of sneezes erupted.
He swallowed and began again. "You spoiled him with those damn things," Chris murmured, recalling Vin's pockets seeming to always have one tucked away. "He was like a damn rat, ferreting them away. He..."
"Well as long as ya made 'em Mary... might as well not let 'em go t'waste..." she imitated the soft drawl perfectly. She smiled warmly, remembering the boyish charm and handsome smile that greeted her every morning when she went outside.
She poured them each a cup of coffee and nodded at the back door. He rose and followed her outside. She sat on the glider on the back porch and he took a seat next to her. They shared and comforted in silence, each drawing strength from the other. He was bearing the scars of the exhaustion that only a traumatic loss can inflict. He pinched his fingers to his eyes and she eyed the throbbing pain.
"Here..." she said and pulling his head onto her lap. She used her leg to rock the swing to and fro. Her hand massaged the aching temple and ran through his damp, blond hair. She moved a little, massaging his neck and the minutes sailed by. His eyes slid shut and she thought he was sleeping. For some time, they remained like that, her skilled hands taking the tension from his back and neck.
With every brush of the strong hands to his skin, he felt the pain dissolve a little. The headache was a fierce one and Mary's skilled fingers were trying their best to absolve it. But there was no medicine or massage that could fill the hole inside. How to mend a shattered soul? Just thinking of Buck and Vin filled him with pain. Each time he rethought his decision to leave, it brought a new wave.
"Damn."
Just when she eased the rocking, thinking he was asleep, his choked voice was heard. She closed her eyes and felt a tear slip outside. He sat up and lifted his head to the conclusion of the unending day. He stood and swallowed hard, and felt her embrace him. She pulled his face down and kissed his lips softly. She looked up at the handsome face and rested her hand against his chest.
"You know, it never goes away," she spoke from experience, thinking of Stephen, as well as his own painful losses. "But with time and people who care for you, it becomes easier to bear, if you let us in."
"People who care?" he invited, hoping the feeling behind the words was heartfelt.
"Yes, Chris." She nodded. "Your friends here... the Judge... Billy." She drilled him hard with her eyes. "I care Chris, a great deal. I'll be here."
"Thank you, Lady," he murmured, brushing the top of her golden head with his lips, giving them both a strong tingle.
"You're more than welcome to stay," She invited, "...for dinner."
He chuckled and enjoyed the flush the unnecessary corrective action brought.
"I'm heading out to the shack for a few days. I'm taking Diablo with me..." he broke off and walked through the house. "Sunday?" He turned back at saw her nod.
She watched from the door until he left the livery. He was on Diablo, Vin's cherished horse, which had the same spirit as its master. It was a good fit and she hoped the time alone would help him come to terms with his great loss.
Sheriff Colt Haskill had seen a lot of strange things in his tenure in Salt Flats. But this one was a first. He slid off the horse and dropped to the taller man's side. He tapped the mustached man's face and saw the eyes twitch.
"Son, Can you hear me?" he hollered, and saw two slits appear. "I got some water, don't gulp it..." he warned and felt a weak nod. He lifted the injured man's body and propped it against his knee. He felt the head wobbling in his hands, as he supported it while quenching the parched man's thirst. The soft grunts of pleasure gave him a slight grin. "Easy there..." he pulled it back and wet his kerchief. He wiped the burned face and noticed the silver star on the chest by his hand.
"You a lawman?" he inquired and saw a nod.
"Buck... Wilm...ing...ton..."
"I'm gonna get a look at you," the older man advised and gently laid him down. He unpeeled the tattered bandage and looked at a raw, nasty head wound. It was a deep crease and red at the edges. His fingers felt the thickening waist and he peeled some of the crude bandages apart and saw the cauterized wound, also red and no doubt infected. The shallow breathing wasn't good either. His deputy's voice drew his attention away.
"Hey Sheriff? What the hell is this rig?"
The kid was holding up a group of ropes that were tangled around a young man's body. The senior lawman winced at the blood on the ropes and shook his head.
"It's for a travois. I'm guessing that horse that rode in was theirs. The kid must have pulled the marshal after they lost the horse. Damn..." he amazed . "He still breathing?"
"Yeah, but he don't sound too good... Jesus..."
"Eddie, cut those damn ropes off," he ordered, "We gotta get them in town." He eyed the blood-encrusted shoulders of the long-haired boy and winced. The ropes had worn some of the fabric right into the skin and it blistered over it. It was a awful mess to look at, and startled the young deputy.
"Tanner..."
"He's alive." the sheriff turned back to the wounded marshal. "You hang in there Wilmington."
Buck was worried. Every time he looked at Tanner, he remembered the last town. What if he died before Tanner's name got cleared? What if he died and they didn't know? Could he trust this sheriff? He looked hard at the silver-streaks at the temples of the brown hair. The blue eyes were solid and true, rimmed with lines that only a veteran earns. Buck trusted him and reached out.
"...need... to... say... impor..tant..."
Eddie Frankson eyed the young man carefully. The ropes were cut free and he splashed water on the his face and neck. He lifted the body up and tried to rouse him. He nudged the canteen against the broken skin on the lips and they moved. He got a good bit of water into the slumped man, who was too weak to open his eyes. As he drank, he studied the face and hair... Tanner... Tanner... the name was familiar. He eased the body down and checked for injuries. He discovered the bandaged ribs and leg. The thigh was inflamed and badly infected. Tanner... he nodded and turned.
"I know this guy... Vin Tanner." He snapped his fingers. "There's a bounty on him. Five hundred dollars for murder, right here in Texas."
"No!" Buck choked, grasping the sheriff's shirt frantically. "...bad paper... framed... protect him... promise... promise..."
"Take it easy, Marshal." Haskill reassured the anxious eyes and weak fist pounding him. "Were you bringing this kid in?"
"...was... wrong..."
"He was framed? You got proof?"
"Do..." Buck asserted, "...promise... not hang... took bullet out... saved me... toted me on his back... promise... not a murderer... didn't..."
"Look at me, Son." The marshal lifted the wounded man up and gripped both shoulders. He saw the fear in the blue eyes that were barely open. He glanced at the unconscious bounty and the horrific marks of the desert ordeal. "This badge has served me well for twenty-five years. If that boy is innocent, I'll see justice is served. You got my word." He took the limp hand and gave a tug.
"...wouldn't take horse... told 'im to leave me... damn fool..."
"I get the picture. He's too sick to go anywhere right now, both of you need a doctor. You rest and let me take charge. I won't let anybody take him."
"Promise... protect..."
Buck's last image as he faded away was the strong words of the honest face that loomed over him. He sensed the marshal was a good man and hoped that Tanner would be safe. Help was here, a doctor would fix Tanner. It was okay to go, he was safe.
"Never saw anything like it," Haskill said, shaking his head. "Eddie, get on up there and I'll hand this young fellow up to you." He directed and easily lifted the unconscious, longhaired man. Once the body was secure and his deputy had a good grip, he turned back to Wilmington. It was difficult, but he finally got the wounded marshal onto his horse and climbed up after him.
"Let's get them to town to the clinic, " he directed, "We'll strip 'em down and start cooling them off. Tony can ride out to the Fort and get Major Douglas." The Army fortress was close by and the Major was a first rate surgeon.
"Shouldn't he be in the jail?" The deputy asked of the body that he supported.
"He's barely alive, Eddie," the sheriff barked angrily, "I don't think he's a threat." He rode up beside his assistant and saw the doubt in his eyes.
"We're gonna check his story. You heard what the marshal said... the kid stuck his neck out to save his life. What kind of murderer does that? You ever hear of one toting a lawman on his back like that? Why didn't he ride away?"
"I don't know..." Eddie mumbled. "But that poster says..."
"Fuck the poster, Eddie and listen to me!" Colt barked, "I'm telling you, I'm checking this one out. Nobody takes that kid. Are we clear on that?"
"Yes Sir," Eddie nodded and followed the senior officer as they rode to town
Colt Haskill's weary eyes snapped open as the front door banged shut. His shoulders jumped a bit and he tensed, hand automatically reaching for his gun. He relaxed as Mary McGuinness from the boarding house entered. She set a tray of food down on the table next to him and scowled. He sighed, rubbed his eyes and nodded.
"Sleeping on the job again?" She teased, pouring him a cup of coffee.
"Something like that..." He admitted, stretching soundly. "What time is it?"
"Just after seven." She frowned, eyeing the dark circles and rumpled shirt.
"When's the last time you went home and slept in a bed?"
"I'm fine," he gruffed, attacking a defenseless piece of ham.
"Hmpph!" She disagreed, not budging. At fifty, her wavy, dark hair was just beginning to gray. She was widowed more than eight years now, with her four children grown and moved away. She devoted herself to the tenants at her boarding house, Colt among them. The tough sheriff was her late husband's best friend and they'd known each other for over thirty years. She shook her head and moved behind him, massaging the stiff muscles on his neck.
"You been over?" He asked, relaxing at the pretty widow's touch.
"Dropped some breakfast off for the Major and Will," She said of the two tired physicians. "They look awful. Don't think the Major has slept since he got here. The boy seems to be better, his fever broke during the night. Poor thing, he has such sad eyes..." Her voice trailed off as she recalled the muddled gaze that met hers earlier. She'd been working hand in hand with the two doctors, helping to bath and get liquids into the injured men.
"The marshal?" Colt muffled, finishing his eggs and reaching for a sweetroll. He slathered butter on it and thought of the two injured men.
"No change," Her voice dropped and caught when she thought of the handsome lawman. He wasn't rallying and getting weaker. Truth be told, she didn't know how he held on this long. "The Major doesn't hold out much hope."
Two days earlier when they'd arrived, she sprang into action. While someone was dispatched to the fort to get Major Douglas, she worked with the sheriff and Will Gaithers, the elderly town doctor, to strip and bath the injured men. Initially, it was the younger one who they feared losing. He was barely breathing, very dehydrated and full of congestion. While the doctor and Colt worked on the badly wounded marshal, she and Eddie worked on the younger man. She lanced the infected leg and took out the yellowish puss.She doused it liberally with Carbolic and stitched it loosely, allowing for a drain. She rubbed a poultice on his chest to help break up the congestion and wrapped the damanged ribs. The blistered, raw torn shoulders, where the rope ate the skin away, were tenderly cleaned, medicated and dressed. His face and neck were covered in burn ointment. He was sitting forward, nearly upright, on a bank of pillows. Then she noticed his eyebrows furrowing and felt the weak trembles as she touched him. She slapped his face hard, causing Colt to appear.
"What are you doing?"
"Saving his life," She'd replied, watching the boy's mouth open to protest.
She ordered him in a harsh, loud tone to drink, and he did. The Major was a first rate doctor and surgeon, having graduated from Harvard and worked in Boston and New York. He immediately ordered them to administer water doused heavily with sugar, anytime the patients stirred. At first, she thought the mixture strange, maybe some newfangled medical thing. But he explained there was nothing scientific about the sugar water, just his grandmother's tried and true fever remedy. Sure enough, it began to work. She stayed by the boy's side all day and into the night, hushing his anxiety and calming his nightmares. He quickly drank on command for her, both sugar water and broth. His fever broke last night and he was resting more comfortably. Just a few hours before, his eyes finally shot open, startling both of them. His confused stare told her he had no idea where he was or what was wrong. She dropped into a mother mode, using a soothing voice and gentle touch. He immediately calmed and drank for her, before sliding back into the void.
But the poor marshal, he was in a bad way and the Major never left his side. He cleaned both wounds and winced at the deep head laceration. The wound in the side was badly infected and the fever was eating all the strength from the injured man. The blue eyes opened only as slits, totally unaware and unfocused. The Major coaxed some water into him, urging him to fight. But so far, the plea fell on deaf ears.
"Best I get over there..." Colt said, kissing the worried woman's forehead, "Quit frettin', it's giving you wrinkles."
"Watch your mouth!" She warned, slapping his arm.
Vin heard the other voices and remained floating in his deep sea. It was too painful to move and he waited for her to come back. He peeled an eye open and looked around the strange room again. He thought hard but drew a blank. His chest hurt so much, he almost didn't want to breath. But she'd holler again and that hurt his head. Water... he dreamed of it running past his lips and spilling down his chest. He had almost drifted away again, when the light touch returned. His breathing slowed and he head moved towards the hand. He pushed his brows together and tried to force his eyes open.
"Well now, did you miss me?" Mary teased, warming to the reaction of her presence. "I got some custard for you. Open up now..."
Colt stood behind the widow and watched the healing lips open and the soft grunt as the sweet confection disappeared. The pale blue eyes were blinking rapidly, trying to find Mary's face. He bent lower and saw the blue eyes narrowing.
"Hey there, young fella. I'm Colt Haskill. You're in Salt Flats. Mrs. McGuiness and the Doc have been taking good care of you. You rest easy, Son, you're safe here."
Safe? Safe from what? Where the hell was he? This wasn't Four Corners, he didn't know these people. Salt Flats? His heart sank and he hissed, shaking his head in denial. How could this be Texas? How the hell did he get back here? Think Vin... think... he drilled... images of a gunfight and bodies falling came to mind.
Mary noticed the change and held a mug of cold cider before him. "Come on," she urged and he shook his head. "Don't sass me, Boy. You best drink this or you'll get my Irish up." She watched as he laid his head back, his large eyes totally lost. "No sense wearin' yourself out thinkin' on that now. Only thing needs doin' now is for you to get your strength back, now drink up." Vin drained the cup and then as she moved to check on his bandaged leg, his eyes saw a body nearby. His managed to get his arm up and rub his blurry eyes. He strained harder and saw a dark haired man with a waxen complexion. The almost eerie air that huddled over the stilled form brought one word to mind.
"Dead..."
"What?" Mary spun back, hearing the weak raspy voice for the first time. She saw him cock his head and squint, leaning hard to see the marshall. Before she could move in, his eyes widened and the breathing became frantic.
Vin's eyes cleared and clarity set in fast. The full memories of the last few days slammed into him, as the fever finally died. That corpse was Buck Wilmington. After all they'd suffered through, to come so close and lose him.
"Buck!" He coughed, reaching his hand out and trying to leave the bed.
"Oh no you don't!" Mary grabbed him and forced him back, he fought briefly before collapsing. It was then she added up the clues and discovered what frightened him. She eased him back onto his pillows and tapped his face. "He's not dead, Son, he's still breathing. You understand?"
His long sigh and muscles relaxing under her hands on his shoulders, gave the answer. She leaned in as his lips moved, although his eyes remained shut.
"...Chris... need... Buck... help..."
She frowned on his cryptic words and satisfied that he was asleep, she moved over to the marshall. She sighed and took a seat next to critically injured man. She dipped a linen cloth into the alchohol and water mixture the Major ordered and began the process of chasing another fever away.
"You listen to me Handsome," She drilled turning him carefully and rubbing the fever fighter on his back. "It's about time you started pulling your weight around here. Will, me and the Major have been doing all your work for you. So how about using some of that grit I know you have and fight back? That boy needs you. Tanner, he's been calling for you." She paused and eased him back down and felt his muscles tense. "Tanner..." she repeated and saw the twitch under the closed lids.
Buck heard the voice and sought to fight his way through the murky muck that mired him down. It was like swimming in a river of mud. Tanner? Where was he? Did the voice say he needed him? Tanner? He couldn't breath and his head throbbed mercilessly. He pushed hard and tried to loosen the load in his chest. He threw all his weight into a burst of energy and forced his way forward, expelling with all his might.
"Hmmph!" she hissed at the weak cough. "That's a miserable excuse for a cough. You can do better than that. Come on, I got better things to do than waste my time coaxing phlegm out of your sorry hide. Let's get to it, Marshal." She waited and the face was slack again. She cocked her head and eyed the boy across the room, sleeping peacefully. "Poor Tanner... he's in a bad way." She smiled at the cruel trick, but it worked. The marshal's eyes twitched and his head turned. She eased him up as a solid round of wet coughs ensued. "That's better... here you go... got some tea for you." She held the cup up and he slowly began to drink.
"...cat piss..."
"I'll take that as a compliment." She laughed at the voice that sounded like sandpaper on wood. "All of it, don't fight me Son, you can't win."
"...lover not fighter..."
"Hah!" she laughed, wiping his face and resting it on a clean side of the pillow, "I'll bet you're pretty adept at both. You rest now, I'll be back with some soup."
"Sheriff... sheriff..."
"Where's the fire, Ricky?" He stopped the flying teenager who burst into the dining room of the boarding house. He was sharing a table and coffee with the two weary healers. He was just about to send them to bed for some rest, when the clerk flew into the room.
"Got a reply!"
"Thanks, Ricky."
"Well?" Major Douglas asked, knowing the sheriff had been working hard to clear the young bounty's name. He'd written a report outlining the entire situation in detail. Tom Darling from The Eagle, the town's paper, offered to make copies on his press. He'd done a front page story with a banner headline and drawing about the desert ordeal of the two unlikely partners. The sheriff dispersed a courier to Crystal City where the circuit judge was due in a few days. The concerned marshall wanted to meet with the judge, before the prison claimed him. He didn't want any greedy locals getting ideas.
"Teak Daniels, the sheriff over there says that the Judge got in late last night. He's due to pull out on the stage tomorrow afternoon. If I hurry, I can catch him. You keep him alive." He eyed the Major, who nodded.
"EDDIE!"
"Yeah?" the deputy jumped off the boardwalk and strode to the center of the street. "You heading out?" He saw the seasoned eyes already on the livery.
"To Crystal City to see the Judge. The sooner we get this mess straightened out, the better it will be for all of us. " He turned and eyed the deputy carefully. "You listen to me, Eddie, Nobody takes that kid, you got it."
"I know my job!"
"You better..." the threat lingered as the sheriff headed for the clinic.
Mary looked up from Buck Wilmington's side as the sheriff entered. She watched him walk over and lean down near Tanner. He rested a hand on the young man's arm and shook it gently.
"Tanner? Wake up."
"...mmmm...." Vin licked his lips and grimaced as the sour balm on them invaded his mouth. He peeled an eye open and saw a lean, middle-aged man with steel eyes looking at him. He narrowed his own eyes and saw the tin star. He backed up slightly and his heart began to hammer. Salt Flats... Texas... a lawman.
"Easy now, I'm Colt Haskill and I'm on your side. Marshal Wilmington told me what you did and I saw the evidence myself. You saved his life and I'm gonna see to it that you get help clearing up whatever mess you involved in. Okay? You understand? I'm riding to see a judge now. You listen to the Doc and don't give Mary any trouble."
"Buck?" Vin croaked and snaked his eyes across the room. Buck waxen complexion gave the tracker a chill. Vin took a painful breath and forced some more of the clouds from his mind. Despite the sheriff's words, this was still Texas. His mind drew up a vision of a lynch mob. If the sheriff was leaving town, no tell what an angry crowd might do. The five-hundred dollars loomed over him like a dark cloud. Pushing it away, he sighed painfully and reluctantly tore his gaze from Buck. Buck needed help, he needed his friends. He tugged on the tan pants next to his cot.
"Tanner?" The sheriff squatted down, watching the healing, burned face moving.
"...preacher..."
"Yeah, we got one here, he..."
"No... marshal's uncle... promised him... take body home... promised..." the weak voice protested.
"He might not die, Son." The sheriff tried, but the icy blue eyes looked right through him. The kid knew the marshall was bad off. From his muddled words, he added up the promise he'd made to the lawman in the desert.
"He's got kin nearby? A preacher? Where is he? "
"Four Corners... Sanchez... Josiah... Reverend... wire... do..."
"Alright," he took the weak hand and shook on it. "You rest up and I'll send that wire."
"I'll wait."
"Okay," Colt nodded, seeing the stubborn chin jut back in defiance. That very rebellious nature is what kept this young man alive in the desert. He returned a few moments later and spotted the heavy eyes fighting to see him through the sunburned face. He nodded and stood before the bed. "He's coming, Tanner. I got a reply from Four Corners."
"Thank... you..."
It wasn't the words as much as the relief that carried them, that gave the senior lawman a smile. He watched the battered body finally rest. With a nod to Mary and a brief update, he gathered his belongings and rode to Crystal City.
It had been a long week, a brutal string of endless days and agonizing nights. Josiah eyed the bodies before him and took a deep breath. The news spread through the community over the last two days and the church was full. Buck and Vin had a lot of friends in town and the surrounding area as well. They stood now, heads bowed, eyes searching, hats in hand, waiting for the preacher to heal them. It was a riddle without an answer. Josiah needed to heal to; he'd seek out his own healing time soon enough. He opened the worn, leather bible and was about to speak, when a body flew up the center aisle. The black hair was sticking to the flushed face, the hazel eyes were wide with... euphoria? The bowler hat sailed into the air, sent by the young man's strong arm.
"They're alive!" J.D. screamed.
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