Setting: OW
The residents of the wilderness didn't mind the stranger who joined them this fine morning. Man and beast were dressed alike in black suits. The hawk hovered, watching curiously as the fair-haired man finally came to a stop. The lean form eased off the fine, black horse bearing a white blaze and led him to the stream.
Chris took a deep breath, inhaling the sweet air near the rushing river. It was a pretty spot, a favorite of both Buck and Vin's. The tracker often came out to the rocky grouping near the water's edge to meditate. Buck spent many mornings out here fishing and contemplating. So it was on this dawn of the seventh day, deemed by the Almighty to rest, that Chris made a choice. With the sun for a preacher, the clear sky as a roof and the rushing, crisp river as his pulpit, the gunslinger set up the altar in Vin's catherdral.
He stroked Diablo's neck and thought how Vin's fine horse would be so empty without his master. He unpacked the saddlebag first, taking out a worn leather pouch with a faded gold eagle. The Army insignia brought back difficult memories. Images of wading through rivers of blood and climbing over discarded limbs in faraway battlefields, brought a pain to his gut. He opened the pouch and drew out the tarnished medal, awarded long ago near Lookout Mountain in Tennesee. Next came a faded photograph of a quartet of somber soldiers, seasoned by urgency, rather than time. As the ranking officer, he stood in the middle, with Tim Kelly and Chip Matthews on his left. His finger traced over Kelly's face, as he recalled the shock of red hair the sixteen-year old boasted. Chip was the eldest, nearly forty when the picture was taken. His instincts and battle knowledge saved them many times. Both men fell as Gettysburg, Kelly died in his arms. He sighed painfully and moved his eyes to the last figure in the photo, the only face that smiled. Chris's lips turned up at the cocky grin the swaggering soldier wore. He sighed deeply as his eyes devoured the image of a much younger Buck Wilmington.
"Best damn soldier the Union saw fit to hire..." Chris vowed, setting the photo carefully on the 'altar' next to the medal. He turned back to the horse and bit his lip. He carefully took down the soft hide coat, still stained with blood. He remembered with a slow chuckle, the first time he saw Vin in the damn coat. He'd been raking his eyes over it at the Indian Village, not masking his disdain. Vin's blue eyes stared right back, fueled with a bit of mischief. 'Jealous' was the drawl that met his stare and a brought a smile, one of many from the Texan's wry humor. He set the coat next to the other offerings and turned to sit down. It was then a wave of sneezes and wet coughs gripped him. Finally, as he caught his breath, he raised his watery eyes heavenward and scowled at the tracker, who bestowed the cold upon him.
"Shut up Tanner!" he wheezed, "I bet you thought that was funny."
Finally, as the Dawn embraced him, he slid on the ground next to the crude altar and pulled out the silver harmonica. Twice he raised it to his lips and returned his hand to his lap. Finally, gazing at the mementos next to him, his lips met metal. The woodland animals and airborne, winged creatures grew silent, as the sad tune filled the morning air.
Mary entered the clinic and nodded to Eddie, allowing the deputy to resume his duties. She set the tray down next to the gravely ill marshall and took the vacant chair. Eddie had pulled the unconscious man into an upright position, with a wall of pillows behind him. She checked his bandages and bathed him first, glad to feel the skin cooling finally.
"Wake up Handsome, it's lunch time." She said loudly, tapping his face. The eyes furrowed and the head denied her. "Look, I warned you, you can't win," she chastised and tapped his face harder. "I can't feed Tanner 'til I get some food in you. That poor boy's nothing but bones..." she hedged and heard his raspy breath tighten. Finally the eyes cracked open and widened.
"That's better. I'm Mary McGuiness, Marshal. You've given us a good scare. You need to start fighting back. Here," she offered the spoon and nodded as his lips opened. The soft groan of pleasure gave her a smile. "Good huh? My chicken soup is well known in these parts."
Several times during the meal, his eyes drooped, forcing her to holler. They'd refocus and slide across the room to the slumbering bounty. Sure was strange, them being so attached to each other. Of course, neary dying in a desert might do that do a man. "He's sleeping, his fever broke during the night. With some rest, good cookin' and healin' time, he'll be fine."
"...thank... you..." Buck sighed, his eyes on Tanner's peeling face. He completed his meal and even finished a small bowl of custard, before dozing off. She was on her way to Tanner's side, when the Major arrived.
"Heading out?" she asked without turning.
"Yes Ma'am." He affirmed, dropping by the marshal's side. "I'm gonna give them both the once over before I go. There's plenty of liniment, ointment and medicine and my instructions are..."
"Don't insult me, Son." She warned, casting a stern eye, "I was patching up bodies when you were in nappies. You coming back?"
"Yes Ma'am," he answered, unwrapping Buck's bandages. "In a couple days, unless he takes a turn. He's not out of the woods, but he's improved in the last few hours." He completed his task and nodded at the cooling skin. "Fever's broken, that's a good sign." He pulled the sheet up and turned his attentions to the younger man, whose muddled blue eyes were watching every move he made. "You're doing much better, Mr. Tanner," he said, bending over the somber, blistered face.
"...Mister..." Vin rasped, shaking his head. "...sound like Ezra..." He paused, thinking on his gambling friend. His eyes never left Buck's form, "...dyin'..."
"No, I don't think so. He's finally fighting back. I have to return to the Fort, but I'm warning you. You stay in this bed for the rest of the week. Don't give Mary any trouble. You have a serious infection in that leg and your lungs are congested. You need time to heal, or you'll suffer the consequences."
Vin didn't reply, but nodded and offered his hand. "I'm grateful..."
The Major frowned, noting that the eyes were riveted to the sleeping marshal. Like the rest of them, he didn't quite understand the strong bond the two men shared. He took the hand and returned it solidly. He nodded to Mary and departed for his duties at the military base.
"What are you talking about J.D.?" Nathan asked, leaving his pew and grabbing the jubilant sheriff.
"This!" the youth defended, waving a yellow paper as the confused preacher approached and flanked his two friends. The crowd began to murmur and Josiah raised his hand, silencing them. "I told you, Preacher," J.D. gloated, "...nobody had faith, but I never stopped believing."
"That you did, John Daniel," Josiah agreed, "that you did. What's that say?
Where are they?"
"Salt Flats," the Easterner announced, "I sent Ezra after Chris."
"Texas," Nate hissed, shaking his head, "How'd they get all the way to Texas?"
"Quiet!" Josiah roared as the buzzing crowd began to grow louder. "From the beginning, Son."
"I was waiting for the Judge's reply to the wire I sent last night," Dunne noted of Orrin Travis, "... when this came through, for you." He handed the startled preacher the note.
"Seeking preacher... Josiah Sanchez... nephew gravely ill..."
"Nephew?" Mary Travis asked, joining the trio converged in the center aisle.
"Shhh!" J.D's hand went up.
"Marshal Buck Wilmington... Sheriff Colt Haskill... Salt Flats, Texas."
"What about Vin?" Mary prodded. "I sent a reply," J.D. announced, "...in my official capacity and asked how the marshal got so sick." He opened the second note, "Found in desert... outside town with prisoner... both at clinic... come immediately..."
"Hallelujah!" Josiah boomed, then held his hands up to shush the excited crowd. "Let's give thanks. Lord, we rejoice in this miracle you have bestowed upon us. Please keep our lost lambs in the hollow of your hand, until they can be once again restored to us. Amen."
Ezra filled the mug by the water pump again and drained it quickly. He was about to recline back on the porch of the Larabee shack, when a horse approached from the south. He remained by the pump and refilled the mug. He ambled over to the corral, as the lean figure in black slid from the Tanner horse.
"Good Morning, Mr. Larabee," he offered with the mug.
"Good?" Chris queried, draining the mug and brushing past the other man.
"Yes, well, I shall retain the hold on Diablo, while you go and ready your own fine steed."
"Ready?" Chris scowled, one foot on his porch step. "Quit talking in riddles, Ezra." His voice trailed off as they entered the small shack. "Get to the point..."
"Very well," the conman decided as he followed Chris into the house. The blond was hunched over a table, liberally dousing his face with water. "Our two missing comrades have been found alive, albeit a bit worse for the wear, in Salt Flats, Texas. We are leaving immediately to retrieve them."
"What!" Chris sputtered, water flying from his face and hitting the Southerner in the cheek. "Don't fuck with me, Ezra!" he warned.
"Charming thought," The other repelled, grimacing. "A wire came for Josiah this morning. He was summoned by the sheriff there on behalf of his nephew, Marshal Wilmington, who is very ill."
"Vin?" Chris asked, taking the towel Ezra tossed to him and drying his face. "Is in the clinic with Buck, recovering."
Ezra frowned as Chris's face went blank. He watched the lean figure walk back outside and step off the porch. He saw both hands rest on the slim hips and the blond head rise.
Chris raised his eyes heavenward for a moment, then clenched them shut. Sighing deeply, he nodded and swallowed hard. Turning back to the doorway, he brushed past Ezra and grabbed his things. Five minutes later, they were riding hard towards town.
"Let's ride!" Chris ordered as they galloped into town. He paused and turned as Ezra drew to a stop and got down. "What are you doing?"
"Something wrong, Ezra?" Nate asked, seeing the green eyes working.
"Do you still have that list of towns that we eliminated in our initial search?" Ezra drilled Chris.
"Yeah," Chris puzzled, sliding down, "I think so, why?" He rummaged in his saddlebags and produced a tattered paper. He watched as Ezra scanned the list and then got concerned when the he began to frown. "What?"
"Gentlemen," Ezra noted, casting an eye on the nearby Post and Telegraph Office, "Something stinks in the state of Denmark."
"Huh?" J.D. wrinkled his nose.
"Whaddya got?" Chris asked, flanking the Southerner.
"A ruse," Ezra replied, motioning them to follow as he strode into the Government Office. On the far wall beyond the Telegraph clerk's desk , was a large territorial map. "Where was the approximate area at which you were attacked?" he asked Chris.
"Uh..." the blond furrowed his brows and squinted at the map. He ran his finger for a few inches and stopped. "Here..."
"...and Salt Flats..." Ezra asked. Chris once again eyed the map, as Ezra found the Texas town. He used his own finger to point it out. "Follow the direct line..." He eyed Chris whose face clouded. "Fanning!"
"Precisely." Ezra nodded, "The amount of time that lapsed would suggest they were detained somewhere within a close proximity to Salt Flats."
"Fanning's the only town near there." J.D. amazed.
"That fucker lied!" Chris spat hostily of the sheriff.
"A five-hundred-dollar fib." Ezra agreed, seeing the fire in Chris's eyes. "I think an appointment is in order."
"Oh, yeah..." Chris promised, his words as cold as ice. "Me and him are gonna get real well acquainted."
"If we ride hard, we can get to Fanning by nightfall." Josiah added. "Rest the horses, pick up some supplies..."
"...and some information." Nate nodded.
"With any luck and a little divine intervention," Ezra eyed Josiah, "We should be seven again in a few days."
"Let's ride!" Chris barked, his long legs leading him outside.
They rode in a determined silence, the only sound that broke the stillness was the thundering call of the hooves. Finally, Josiah's large arm raised, signaling a halt to the race. It was late on Sunday evening and they'd been riding hard all day, save the water and rest stops. The preacher slid from his horse and walked back to where Chris Larabee was leaning over, flexing his bad wrist.
"Town's just ahead, we need a plan," the somber voice called as the graying head rose and sought the green eyes of the gunslinger. The moonlight illuminated the leader's frustration-ridden frown. "We can't just go barging in there like the Calvary, Chris. Hell, we don't even know if Vin and Buck were here."
"They had to be!" Chris barked, "The shape they were in, there's no way they rode to Texas without stopping. This is the only fuckin' town in the area."
"Josiah's right, Chris." Nathan moved his horse forward and eyed the pair. "We don't know what we're ridin' into. If that sheriff is crooked, he won't take kindly to five strangers ridin' into his town and startin' trouble. We need a plan."
"We need a spy," J.D. announced, causing all four sets of eyes to shift to the green-eyed conman. He returned their stare, dusted the front of his green jacket and smiled. The glint of his gold tooth gave them their answer.
"At your service, Gentlemen." Ezra moved Deuce forward and paused. "After I engage the local barkeep into some enlightening conversation, I shall return."
"Not alone." Chris halted his progress, "I'm coming with you."
"I'm flattered for your concern," Ezra noted, "but your brooding disposition leaves little room for my persuasive actions."
"Ezra's right, Chris." Nate nodded, "Hell, you're on my side and you scare me."
"I'll go with Ezra," J.D. decided, pulling up along side the would-be-spy.
"I don't like it," Chris denied, suddenly seeing J.D.'s youth all too clearly.
"I'm not asking your permission," J.D. retorted, staring hard at the leader.
"I'm the one with the badge. I'll drop in on the sheriff, while Ezra works the saloon."
"Ezra, get a room at the hotel first," Josiah suggested. "Scour the register, see if Buck got a room, or if the clerk remembers visitors."
"Don't get too attached to that room, Ezra," J.D.'s voice changed and he smiled, "You won't be needing it."
"What's spinnin' in that head of yours J.D.?" Nate asked, seeing the slow grin forming.
"Well, Nate it's like this..." J.D. leaned in and spelled out his plan.
Mary was staring out the window at the silvery moon, sipping on a strong cup of coffee. Ithad been a fairly quiet night, both patients were resting more comfortably. Tanner was stronger, having been able to feed himself dinner and even engage in some conversation. Wilmington was another story. Although he'd eat for her, responding like the younger one had to her voice and commands, he wasn't fighting. The fever receded, but the battle left the victim just about worn out. A raspy voice drew her back into the room.
"Doc go home?"
"Yes, he's exhausted. He and the Major haven't had a break in days."
"Anymore o'that?" Vin asked, smelling the strong coffee. He followed her progress to the coffee pot on the stove in the corner of the clinic.
"...don't ferget the sugar..."
"What part of Texas are you from?" She asked, setting the coffee on a tray in front of him with some cookies.
"Don't rightly know," he shrugged, dipping a cookie into the coffee and munching contentedly on the mushy mess. "...been all over. Lost m'Ma where I was a little feller, then I traveled around a bit... lived with the Indians fer awhile, they were m'family."
She heard the catch in his voice and watched him stare into space, as if reliving a long past memory.
"...and now?"
"Been roamin' fer a spell," he took a long sip of the sweet brew and settled back on his wall of pillows. "Wandered int' New Mexico territory and found a spot to hang m'hat fer awhile. The county judge hired seven of us t'keep the peace there. I shouldda come back sooner t'clear m'name... damn... I went soft and got comfortable."
"My hunches are usually right," she tested, reading his troubled face, "...and my gut tells me that there is something wrong with this picture. You know that marshall, don't you? You two spend all your waking time worryin' on each other."
"He works with me in Four Corners. We're two o'the peacekeepers there. That crease in 'is head addled 'is mind some. He's lost a few years, thinks he still a lawman. We got ambushed back in New Mexico territory by the Alvarez gang. He woke up and found the wanted poster."
She heard the troubling pause in his voice and read the furrowed features.
It wasn't his own life, which was still jeopardized by his felony charge, that troubled him. He was worried, truly concerned, about the other man.
"I'm a good listener," She said after several long minutes went by. He merely nodded and finished his snack. She moved the tray and placed it on an empty table across the room. She saw his face in profile, studying the night sky. She checked on the marshal, fixing the sheet he'd twisted during a nightmare. The bad dreams seem to plague him, leaving him even more weak.
She saw Tanner's face crease in concern again, before he slid his eyes shut.
"I've seen injuries like this before clear up fine," she said quietly, from a chair next to the ill marshal. "He'll get his memory back, Son."
"...that's what worries me..." Vin sighed heavily as he drifted away, his energy spent.
The Silver Nugget Saloon wasn't very crowded. Ezra appraised the room quickly, before entering. It was a tidy tavern and only two of the seven tables were occupied. Three men were playing cards at one table, and two men were sharing a bottle of whiskey at the other. A piano sat vacant in the corner. The bar was empty, save the bartender, who was stacking beer mugs on a shelf. The gambler ambled over to the bar and tossed a coin at the bartender.
"Whiskey?" the balding man inquired of the stranger.
"If that's your finest spirit."
"Come again?"
"Bring out the brandy, Charles."
Ezra turned at the soft voice and saw the appealing body that matched it. There were bright blue eyes set in a pretty face with a halo of golden curls. She hooked her harm in his and held up two empty glasses.
"My pleasure, Miss..."
"Just call me Honey, Sugar. You sure are pretty," she oozed, eyeing the handsome face and the expensive clothing.
"Likewise," He nodded and tapped her glass. He eyed the doorway again and then settled back on the pretty face. "Has someone died?" He noted of the deserted sidewalks he'd passed and the lack of bodies in the room.
"Sunday night curfew is almost here." She replied, "You best drink up. The sheriff runs a tight ship."
"Indeed," Ezra drolled, sipping the stale brandy and trying not to choke.
"Just who is this tyrant?"
"Ben Adamson." The bartender shot a nervous glance at the newcomer. He took a long sip of a bottle from under the counter and leaned forward. "If you know what's good for you Mister, you'll keep riding."
"I take it the local authorities dislike strangers," he inquired and saw the quick exchange between the bartender and waitress.
"Hell, he don't like half the locals that much either." The bartender snorted.
"Sounds like a charming man." Ezra glanced at the door again.
"You expecting somebody?" Honey read the anxious green eyes.
"I certainly hope not. Trouble does seem to arrive shortly after I do, however," Ezra answered.
"Great," the bartender sighed, taking another swig, "just what we need after last week..."
"Someone knock over the bank?" Ezra joked, choking down another sip of the awful liquor.
"Nope... jailbreak." Charles said, placing a small bowl of peanuts in front of Ezra. "Didn't set well with the sheriff. He took a posse out, but they came up empty."
"Pity." Ezra's eyes flicked to the door again. "What impropriety did this unfortunate soul commit?"
"Murder," Charles snorted as he tipped the bottle again.
"Do tell," Ezra feigned shock, "...a resident of your fair city?"
"Nah," the other replied, watching Honey sway her hips and settle onto the lap of one of the cowboys who stuck a few bills down her cleavage. He took a liberal swig, trying to keep pace with the fancy talker, hoping for a good tip. "Don't know who he killed, but the marshal that brought him in had a wanted poster. He was in a bad way, the Doc saved him."
"The marshal or the prisoner?" Ezra tried to contain his concern.
"Both." The chatty barkeep replied, "The Doc don't think too much of the sheriff."
"How's that?" Ezra poured another shot and watched the bartender do likewise.
"The young feller wasn't too bad off at first," he paused and snorted in contempt. "Poor bastard picked the wrong town to be dumped in. Ben Adamson don't take to lawbreakers. I reckon that kid just rubbed him the wrong way. That marshall was pissed off but good when he found the feller the next night."
"Found?" Ezra gulped the burning liquid.
"I heard Ben beat the tar outta the kid," Charles whispered, "...it ain't the first time. That kid's lucky that Buck feller busted him out and hustled him outta town."
"Buck would be the arresting officer?"
"Yeah... tall feller with a mustache and head wound," Charles eyed the clock, "Honey, you best get your tail moving, it's almost eleven."
"So this marshal absconded with the prisoner?"
"Guess he had to, after Adamson damn near worked his prisoner to death. The boy was barely movin' to begin with, then Ben used him like dog, while the marshal was sick. When he found out, he got riled up but good. He'd already tangled with Ben once over him beatin' on the kid. Ben don't like folks tellin' him the law. That marshall didn't like the way Ben was treatin' the poor bastard, and that got Ben's cockles up but good."
"How did this jailbreak occur?"
"Funny thing, the sheriff was out that night, but between me and you," he leaned in and the fumes caused Ezra to back up, eyes burning. "I think Andy was in on it..."
"And Andy would be?" Ezra prodded
"The deputy. He's a good kid, got a good head on his shoulders. Smart as a whip and tough as the dickens. But he don't cotton to how Ben treats the prisoners, they've had words over it. Hell, they all end up leavin' town in a box, every one of 'em carryin' a nice reward too."
Before Ezra could respond, a voice split the air.
"Don't move Simmons, you're under arrest."
"Good Lord!" Ezra spun around, eyes widening at the sight of the young, dark-haired sheriff. "You're like a bad penny. I thought I'd seen the last of you."
"Not hardly, let's go."
"Wait a minute," Charles slurred, grabbing at the green sleeve of the stranger. "You're wanted?"
"Certainly not." Ezra huffed, jerking his arm free. "It's a case of mistaken identity, I assure you."
"Bullshit Simmons. You're just be thankful I found you before those bounty hunters did. A thousand dollars is a whole lot reason to shoot first."
"Don't expect my undying gratitude." Ezra moved and shoved J.D. Dunne.
The tussle was brief, before Ezra's punch sent the younger man into a table. The motion sent both of them onto the floor. J.D. leaned over his 'bounty' and winced. Ezra glared up at him, noting the blood from a cut over his eye.
"Dammit Ezra!" J.D. whispered and winced, wiping the blood over his eye.
"Unhand me this instant, you brute. Look what you've done..." Ezra tugged to get his arm free. "My shirt is stained with your blood and I've lost two buttons from my jacket. Furthermore..."
"Quit bellyaching Simmons, you're going to jail," J.D. growled, "I've been chasing you for two weeks and I want a soft bed tonight."
"I demand a lawyer. I..."
"Shut up Simmons..." J.D. cuffed him lightly and turned to the quieted room.
"Where's your sawbones?"
"Down the street, big front porch, Doctor O'Connor." Honey replied.
"The sheriff around?" J.D. inquired, pressing a cloth to his eye.
"If you hurry, you can catch him. He leaves at eleven for uh... for... rounds." She sighed and nodded.
"Okay, Simmons, let's go."
J.D. waited until they were well clear of the door and slowed his pace.
"What'd you belt me for?" he complained, smacking the conman's arm.
"Actually, I thought that went rather well," Ezra replied, quickly filling J.D. in on what he'd learned. "So let's make our introduction quickly to the sheriff. I'm sure the physician will be able to provide more information of Buck and Vin."
J.D. pushed the door open of the sheriff's office, just as a huge man rose from behind his desk.
"Good Lord!" Ezra whispered, flinching at the thought of Vin being brutalized by the wall of flesh.
"Who the hell are you?" Adamson demanded, spotting the star on the kid's chest. "You old enough to wear that?"
"That wouldn't be any of your business, Sheriff. This is Ethan Simmons, he's been pulling cons and scams all over the territory. Okay if I stow him here overnight? I want deposit this trash before I get some stitches."
"My door is always open to lawmen." He offered his meaty hand. "Ben Adamson, let's make this quick, I got rounds to get to."
"Jimmy Douglas," J.D. offered, "I'll be back after I get cleaned up."
"No need to rush," Adamson grinned evilly, sending a chill up Ezra's spine.
"You take your time at the Doc's and get a room. I'll take care of this felon. Wanted you say?"
"Yeah, a thousand bucks. Hey, thanks!" J.D. offered, giving Ezra a pat on the back and departing.
Ezra flinched when the meaty fist grabbed the back of his neck and hustled him down a narrow corrider. He backed up and wrinkled his face as the overwhelming stench of the small, stone cell hit him.
"Surely, you don't expect me to set foot in that filthy cell? It would appear that every prisoner who's been here has left something behind," he noted of the acrid odor of human waste.
"Shut up!"
The roar was punctuated by a harsh shove forward, sending Ezra hard into the stone wall. His tooth went through his lip and his eye smacked hard onto a raised stone. He landed hard on his knees and got a boot in his chest, taking all his breath away. The beefy hand pulled his head up by the hair, as he spit out a mouthful of blood.
"Don't go to sleep just yet, Pretty Boy," Adamson leered, shoving Ezra up against the wall. "I gotta search you, get that fancy coat off."
"I assure you, I am holding nothing of value. The young law officer already relieved me of my weapon and wallet."
"You don't hear so good, Fancypants." Adamsom tossed the jacket on the bunk and used his beefy hand to frisk Ezra. Satisifed at the blush of humiliation that eventually scored the young man's features, he groped the stranger once more and then shoved him hard onto the floor. "I'll be back in an hour and you and me will get to know each other a lot better."
The clang of the door jolted the Southerner, who coughed for several minutes. He rose and crossed the small cell, peering out the bars. One hour wasn't much time. He silently urged J.D. onward, hoping the youth didn't dally.
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