Setting: OW
Jack O'Conner peered out into the darkness, eyeing the strange young man on his porch. For a moment, neither spoke.
"Are you Dr. O'Conner?" J.D. asked, removing the bloody cloth.
"No, that'd be Johnny, my boy," the old man replied, "Come inside and he'll patch that cut up for you."
J.D. entered the cozy house and saw a dark-haired man about thirty coming from the back. He eyed the wound and moved towards a closed door to the left. With a toss of his head he urged J.D. to follow.
"I'm John O'Conner," the physician said, pointing to a stool. "Take a seat and I'll stitch that, Mister..."
"Dunne, J.D. Dunne. I'm the sheriff from Four Corners." J.D. paused, "I'm a good friend of Buck Wilmington and Vin Tanner. I need your help."
Josiah and Nathan sat quietly on a log, watching Chris Larabee pacing. Twice on each trip around the makeshift campsite, the face scowled at them. Finally the pacing stopped and they saw him heading for his horse.
"It's been too long. I don't like it."
"Wait a minute!" Josiah stood, scanning the horizon. "Rider comin' in."
The trio drew their weapons and hid behind the trees, before relaxing at the familiar bird call.
"J.D. coming in..." a voice warned.
"How's the other guy?" Nate teased of the stitched eye.
"Ezra was still in one piece when I left him." J.D. took a swig of his canteen and wiped his mouth. "Ben Adamson is the law down there. He runs the town with an iron fist; he's huge, bigger and meatier than Josiah. Ezra got the bartender to run his mouth but good. The doctor confirmed all that and then some. He and the deputy, a kid named Andy, are on our side."
"What about Vin and Buck?" Chris demanded.
"They were there last week. Buck collapsed in the street, the doctor took him in and took care of him. Vin wasn't so lucky." He sighed, face scowling, "By the time Buck got on his feet the next night and went to check on Vin, Adamson beat the shit out of him."
"Fuck!" Chris hissed, gripping his holster.
"This doctor hates Adamson, his old man helped Buck and Vin to escape. The doctor saved Vin, got him a better cell, stuck by him when Buck was out of it. Buck was in a bad way for a couple days and the sheriff lured the doctor out of town. Seems that the prisoners ride in and roll out in a box. Sounds like the sheriff arranges the 'accidental deaths' and then splits the bounty with a silent partner. They're even suspected of murdering one of the locals, just so the kid's old man would set up a hefty bounty."
"So what happened that night?" Nate asked, sliding into his saddle.
"Well, while the Doc was out of town, Adamson worked Vin like a dog. Made him clean out the livery and unload an order at the freight depot, he damn near killed him. When Buck found out, he blew his top and Andy helped him get Vin patched up. He got them horses and guns, and got them out of town."
"But..." Chris hedged, hearing the hesitation.
"But it was too easy. It sounded like Adamson wanted them to leave," J.D. mused.
"He set them up?" Josiah guessed, "His partner was waiting outside town. But something went wrong."
"Yeah...Buck and Vin got away and this is all hearsay. We gotta move. I left Ezra in the cell, so if we're gonna catch that son-of-a-bitch in the act, we best get going."
It was midnight when Eddie Frankson entered the clinic. He shook his head and watched Mary tenderly bathing the marshal. He seemed to rally a little around her, taking in small amounts of water and broth. She pulled the sheet up and rubbed her back.
"Change of shift," he called out.
"Hi, Eddie," she turned around in relief. "Tanner's sound, he won't wake until morning. But the marshal's not breathing good. I've been getting him to cough, so you're gonna have to be tough with him. He responds to that and to Tanner's name." She paused, her eyes on the handsome sheriff's barely moving chest. She rested a hand on the side of his face and frowned, "Maybe I should stay..."
"Yeah," he scoffed, "Colt'll have my hide if you get sick. You're worn out, Mary, get some sleep."
"Well, alright," she agreed, "But if his breathing gets worse, you get me and Will."
"Goodnight, Mary," he nodded and hustled her out the door. He checked on the prisoner, who was sleeping soundly, his breathing rattled, but much improved. He then took a seat next to the critically ill lawman. He sounded awful and seemed to be fighting for each breath. Eddie had a feeling he'd be riding out to the fort to get the Major come morning.
Ben Adamson was whistling when he approached his office. A well spent hour with two of the local prostitutes and the visions of the thousand dollars sitting in his cell made him forget the loss of the other bounty. The tune died in his throat, when he stepped inside his doorway. A lean figure in black was sitting behind his desk, his long legs resting on top. The spurs on the blond man's boots were rolling across the desk, cutting into the fine wood.
"Boy, you must have a death wish," he growled, slamming the door. The head rose slowly and a pair of icy green eyes burned inside an unreadable face. One glance told him this was one tough hombre.
"Well, now that's funny," Chris said, shoving his foot off and standing. He made his way around the desk and peeled his duster back, showing off the pair of well oiled colts resting on his slim hips. "See, the way I look at it, you're the one with the death wish." Larabee's hand rested over the gun and he bared his teeth.
"Who the hell do you think you are?" Adamson growled, squaring his shoulders at the brassy stranger.
"None of your fuckin' business, you worthless piece of shit." Chris hissed, whipping his gun out before the other got a chance to blink. He forced the irate marshal into the wall and leaned close, baring his teeth.
"Look Mister, whatever your beef is, it isn't with me," Adamson replied, not liking the glowing green eyes bearing on him.
"The name Tanner mean anything to you?" Chris pressed and saw the face blanch, "I thought so... I want him. Where the hell is he?" Chris demanded, cocking his gun.
"Tanner? I don't know anybody named Tanner."
"Try again!" Chris snarled, pressing the gun into Adamson's groin.
"What's he to you?"
"He murdered my brother and I've been trailing him for six months. I almost had him last week when some fuckin' do-good marshal picked him up. The trail led here... now where the hell is he?"
"I assure you, whoever you are, that I will make it worth your while to release me from this horrid place."
"Who the hell is that?" Chris snapped, shoving the gun harder.
"Some conman, a kid sheriff dropped him off. He's worth a grand. Hey, maybe we can help each other."
"How's that?" Chris asked.
"I need a new partner. If you really want Tanner, I'll give you this loser as a show of faith. These hills are loaded with felons. I can reel 'em in and get rid of 'em, even make some happen during dry spells. You take the bodies in for the bounty and we split the money."
"Why should I trust you?" Chris asked. "What do you mean 'new partner'?"
"Had five years ridin' on the old one. We had a real sweet deal, took in thousands, until last week."
"Last week?"
"He was supposed to knock off the do-good marshal you were talkin' about and that long-haired kid he was totin'. Somehow they turned on him, he never made it back with their bodies."
"He double-crossed you?"
"No... we found what was left of him at Apache Pass. That wild bastard scalped him."
A slow smile crept across Chris's features as he thought on Vin's signature.
"So you've been murderin' your prisoners? Saving the state the expense of keeping them in prison?"
"Just doing my civic duty," Adamson relayed, "if that's what it takes." He relaxed a little as the lean figure pulled back and let him move forward.
"This the guy who needs the uh... 'accident'?" Chris prodded, eyeing the empty cells and walking back to where Ezra sat huddled in the corner. He stared hard and let his breath out when Ezra gave a small nod, indicating he was okay.
"Yeah, he's gonna 'accidentally' die in his sleep. You come by in the morning and pick up his body."
"This guy walked in here and he goes out dead?" Chris screwed his face up and let hesitation ride on his handsome features. "People are likely to ask questions. I don't like questions."
"They won't say a fuckin' word." Adamson vowed, "They kept their mouths shut when Digger Dugan's kid bought it, they know better than to run their mouths." "Digger Dugan?" Chris cocked his head.
"Rich rancher, lives on a spread about ten miles from here. We were havin' a dry spell and that kid got on my nerves. Always in town, throwing around his old man's money. Never worked a day in his life."
"So you murdered him?" Chris kept his voice level, despite his churning gut.
"Easy as pie," Adamson bragged, "The old man put up $2500 to find the killer, and Duke uh... 'found' a drifter who just happened to have the kid's watch and money clip. Easiest money I ever made."
"Duke?"
"My former partner."
"Did you get all that?" Chris hollered, causing the other man to jump.
"What the hell is going on?" Adamson spun around as footsteps were heard.
"I'd say that confession is good for thirty years or more in the house of many doors." J.D. stepped forward, the others in his wake. Andy, the doctor and the mayor were all in the outer office. J.D. and the doctor filled the politician in on J.D.'s way out of town. The frazzled elected official shook his head in relief and left to wire the circuit judge.
"Get in..." Chris growled, shoving Adamson hard into the tiny cell. "You okay, Ezra?"
"Yes." The gambler stood and approached the irate man in black. He handed him a large linen cloth, with something inside. "I was careful not to touch it, as you should be," he warned, causing Chris to frown. "When I was so rudely thrown to the floor, I saw it under the cot."
Chris stared at the leather object, it's value nearly burning a hole through the linen into his palm. An anger grew in him, as he took in the horrid stench and filth of the cell. Visions of his best friend, injured and suffering at the hands of this monster filled him with an unbridled rage. He carefully folded the cloth, without touching the object and handed it back to Ezra.
"It's Mr.Tanner's medicine pouch," The Southerner said softly to his friends, slipping the priceless item in his pocket.
"Wait for me outside," Chris said quietly, handing his duster and gunbelt to J.D.
"You need help?" Josiah offered, eyeing the giant with loathing.
"Nah..." Chris denied, smiling broadly with a Satanic shine in his eyes, "me and Fuckface are gonna get to know each other a little better."
"Just who the hell are you and what's this about?" Adamson demanded, eyeing the now vacant area.
"I'm Chris Larabee, you pile of horseshit," he pontificated by jabbing his index finger hard into the man's throat, above the collarbone, taking all his breath away and sending him to his knees."... and it's about a couple good friends of mine named Tanner and Wilmington." His right fist smashed into the sheriff's jaw, breaking it. "It's about you trying to murder them," he grunted, delivering a solid shot to the sternum and using his right boot to kick the area when Adamson's manhood should have been. "It's about you making the worst mistake of your pathetic life when you beat Vin Tanner," Chris seethed, grabbing the back of the bloodied sheriff's shirt shoving Adamson's face hard into the bars.
Ten minutes later the others jumped up from the boardwalk when Chris stepped outside. His shirt wasn't even mussed up. He never said a word, as he strode down the street towards the doctor's home. He slumped in the chair inside the door and held his wrist out, before Nathan could scold him.
Jack O'Conner appeared with coffee and sandwiches. The five peacekeepers listened and questioned, as the physician filled in the missing pieces.
Chris watched the young doctor's face carefully as he relayed the events. He didn't miss the anger and rage that scored the man's features. He offered his hand and nodded, when the doctor was finally done.
"I'm grateful for all you did. You really stuck your neck out for them."
"I'm only sorry I didn't make the connection to amnesia sooner. I should have figured between the nightmares, the names he called out and the way he protected Tanner. The way he cared for him, I would have guessed they were related. You should have seen his face in the cell when we found your friend that night. He wanted to kill Adamson. Tanner was so worried about him... always asking... had such pain in his eyes. I'm sorry I didn't do something sooner." His shoulders slumped.
"You saved their lives," Nate interjected, "I'd say you did more than enough."
"Thanks to you they were able to make it to safety."
"You can stay here tonight," the weary physician offered, "With the right supplies, if you take the longer route, bypass the rough spots just past Apache Pass, you should be in Salt Flats in about three days or so. Just stock up good."
"Thanks again," Chris said, shaking Andy's hand. "You took a real chance, helping them escape, that took guts."
"No, Sir, not as much as you think." The younger man frowned, "If I had done this sooner, a lot of those other strangers who passed through would still be alive."
"Hindsight is everything, Son," Josiah offered, clasping the denim shoulder of the new sheriff. "With your leadership, this town is headed in the right direction."
"Thanks," he paused, and eyed the group. "He's a fine man, Marshal Wilmington. I sure would have liked to have ridden with him."
"He'd be proud to ride with you, Andy," Chris said sincerely as the young lawman left.
"We better hit the hay," J.D. yawned, "We got a long rough few days ahead and Ezra needs his beauty sleep. You know how cranky he is when he gets less than twelve hours sleep."
"I beg your pardon!" Ezra scoffed, smacking J.D.'s back.
"God bless you Doc," Josiah nodded, following his friends up the stairs.
It was after three p.m. when the exhausted sheriff from Salt Flats rode into Crystal City. The small town was a popular point for travelers, as several stage lines stopped there. Colt slid from his horse and handed the reins to the kid at the livery. Tossing him a coin, he grabbed his saddlebags and rifle and headed for the hotel. Twenty minutes later, he was sitting in the sheriff's office, waiting for the Judge.
"Good Afternoon,"
Colt was dozing and lifted his heavy eyes as the tall, gaunt well dressed man with white hair and spectacles entered the room. He nodded to the local lawman, who made the introductions. Colt handed the judge the official report and the newspaper article, as well as his own commentary. Tanner's wanted poster had been plucked from a drawer behind the marshal's desk.
Gathering the information into his leather valise, the judge turned to Colt. "I'll review these documents in my room. I'm leaving on the five o'clock stage. I'll meet you at the Stage Depot at four-fifty p.m."
"I just ask that you take everything into careful consideration. I don't know all the answers yet, the marshall has been unconscious. But I know that Tanner saved his life and... well you can read the rest. I think his actions deserve some merit."
"I realize that Sheriff, or you wouldn't have ridden for a day-and-a-half to meet me. I'll weigh all points equally," he promised and departed.
Colt headed for the Saloon for a hot roast beef sandwich and a beer. It sure would be nice to ride back and give that kid some good news. Saving lives was the reason he pinned a star on in the first place.
"What the hell is that?" Nathan drew his gun at the gray object that was moving in the wind. The quintet had ridden hard all day and were stopping for a few hours to rest and water the horses and eat.
"Desert vermin for supper, how quaint," Ezra wrinkled his nose, seeking the lone shady spot in a cluster of rocks.
"Damn..." Josiah chuckled, picking up the hairy object. "Looks like Vin's been by..." he tossed it at J.D. who grimaced and threw it to the ground.
"How could he?" the youth shuddered.
"Well, ya grab the scalp like this," Nate demonstated, gripping J.D.'s hair "...and ya take a knife..."
"That's not what I meant," J.D. defended, "I mean... that's cold..."
"Well when somebody sets out to blow your head clear off, it might clear up that mystery a little for you." Chris answered, kicking the scalp.
"There's the rest of him..." Nate nodded to a rocky clustered grave.
Josiah headed over and lifted a few of the rocks, enough to see what was left of the man. He replaced them and said a prayer, before rejoining his friends. He saw Ezra motioning and followed Chris to where the gambler stood.
"One of them was wounded again," Nate knelt at the spot, examining the pile of cloth with maroon blood stains.
"J.D...." Ezra turned, hearing the soft gasp.
The youth was next to Nate, digging in the dirt. Something glinted in the sun and he dug deeper. His nimble fingers pulled out a familiar timepiece.
"It's Buck's..." he held it up.
"Saves us the cost of gettin' him a get well gift," Josiah deadpanned, giving Ezra a small grin.
"Nate?" Chris squatted, sensing the concern on the dark face. "One of 'em dug the bullet out of the other," he handed Chris the mangled lead ball, which was in the tattered cloth. "Gunpowder... cauterized it..."
"Well, we know they're both still alive, it couldn't have been a real serious wound." J.D. pressed, "I mean they had to go through the desert to get to Salt Flats, neither one was in great shape to begin with."
"They stayed together and took care of each other," Josiah rose, heading for the horses and their packed food supply. "Marshal Wilmington might have taken a bounty into Fanning," he paused and eyed the sky, "but in this stretch of sun and sand, he met Vin Tanner and found a friend."
"Amen," Nate added hopefully.
Colt was pacing when the judge arrived. His clerk handed their bags up to the stage driver and climbed inside the coach.
"Sir?" Colt faced the still unreadable judge.
"I've examined the information carefully and your concern was not without merit. An extraordinary set of circumstances, truly remarkable. It does indeed change the color of the original crime."
"So you'll give him a pardon?"
"Not without further evidence," the judge corrected. "But I will weigh the circumstances during that time."
"I'd like that in writing, I want this kid protected from hanging until he's strong enough to tell his side." Colt was adament.
"Will this do?" The judge thought for a moment and wrote a note, signing and dating it. He handed it to the marshal who nodded.
"Yes Sir, that's fine." Colt nodded of the note which 'protected Vin Tanner from prosecution or execution until the undersigned fully reviews the case in question'. "I can't thank you enough," he added, shaking the man's hand.
The stage departed and headed north. An evil smile crept across the judge's face as the spider closed in on the helpless blue-eyed fly.
"Did you send that wire?" He asked his clerk.
"Yes Sir," The young man nodded, "Got a reply to... everything to the letter, just as you ordered."
"Excellent!" he smiled for the first time in months.
Vin shifted gingerly, biting his lip as the slightest movement sent hot pain into his tender bruised flesh. He was resting against a large group of pillows, leaving him nearly upright. The congestion caused coughing, which brought waves of searing pain and left him gasping and trembling. It was such a bout that caused him to waken. He saw the elderly physician sleeping on a cot far across the room. Mary finally left at midnight, chased away reluctantly by exhaustion. Vin sighed and kept an arm across his taped chest.
The dream was back and Buck was disoriented. It was near a new set of train tracks and there were Asian men working and others milling about a large camp. He was buying some wares from an ancient Chinaman and the kid with the crazy bowler hat was next to him. He smiled in his sleep, the open face and hazel eyes wrapped around him like a blanket. Then the scene shifted and the kid was bleeding from a chest wound. The hazel eyes were large and frantic, the face pale and lined in sweat. Buck's gut clenched as he saw himself lifting the kid's body.
"...No... no... J.D... .no...."
"Shit!" Vin hissed, gingerly turning and spotting Buck's frantic motions. He turned his body carefully, wincing as the bruised flesh protested the movement. He managed to get his bare feet on the ground and shivered as the night air hit his chest. The cotton pants were light and loose, and he hitched them up as he stood. The floor seemed to move and he grabbed frantically, grasping the back of the chair by the bed. Taking a deep breath, he tried to control his weak, shaking limbs. He took a step and toppled over, landing hard on his knees. He crawled painfully, inch by inch until at last he was at Buck's side. He collapsed against the side of the cot, sweat pouring down his face. Sitting on the floor with his back at Buck's knee, he clenched his eyes shut as pain radiated through his chest and leg. The cot trembled with Buck's frantic movements. The nightmares were causing the low moans and thrashing. Both men were gasping for breath.
"...like the blind leadin' the blind..." Vin complained, trying to catch his breath. Finally the waves of white hot pain slowed in his ribs and he reached up sideways, without looking. His hand found Buck's shoulder and he latched on, gripping it solidly. "Buck, yer dreamin'... wake the hell up..." Vin paused, the brief burst of words gave him a coughing fit. When it finally subsided, he wiped his watery eyes and caught his breath.
The dream shifted again and he was in Mexico with a group of strangers. Chris Larabee appeared in front of him, his face twisted in rage. He drew a gun and fired, giving cause for Buck to grunt and twist in the cot. Then he was in a coffin, which cut off his air... he couldn't breath... he couldn't breath...
"Aw, hell," Vin muttered, unable to rise or even turn his head to see Buck above on the bed. He could hear the choking sounds and knew Buck was fighting to breathe. The damn doctor was too far away and Vin's voice was no more than a scratchy whisper. He painfully lifted his arm again and fumbled until he found the sweat-slicked Wilmington shoulder. Once again he gripped it and shook it hard. "Yer dreamin' Buck... yer safe... wake the hell up, " he hissed painfully, letting his nails bite into Buck's skin.
Suddenly the dream shifted again and he was in the desert. Pain rifled through every inch of him, and he cried out. Someone was hovering near, shaking him. The sun blocked the face but he knew the voice. A word formed in his mind and he said it without realzing the impact. He only knew it meant he was safe.
"Tanner..."
"...s'about fuckin' time," Vin sighed in relief. He was tired, his chest and leg were throbbing and he had a headache, which made him cranky.
"...dream..."
"Yeah..." Vin scolded, not hiding his displeasure. He realized he couldn't cross back to his cot, his limbs were like lead. He was trapped here and not a bit comfortable. "..GO T'SLEEP!" he hissed and let his head rest on the hard wooden bed side. He was trying to convince his pulsating, injured ribs to quiet down, when the voice crept into his ear, giving him a slow grin.
"...bossy son-of-a-bitch..."
"...goodnight Marshal..." he rasped, finally confident in Buck's breathing to withdraw his hand. His heavy eyes were drooping, when he felt a few fingers rest on his shoulder.
"...sorry... Tanner..."
"...s'okay..." Vin whispered, hearing so much more than an apology in the weak voice.
It was after seven when Mary headed to the clinic. She carried a breakfast tray for the two patients, intending on letting Will have breakfast with his wife at home. She shifted the tray to open the door and crept inside. She set the tray on the large table near the stove in the corner. She tapped Will on the shoulder and the elderly doctor yawned and nodded, indicating he was awake. It was then that she turned and saw that one of her patients was missing.
"Where'd that boy get to?" She said aloud and moved into the larger part of the clinic. Then she spotted him on the floor next to the marshal. "What in tarnation?" she shook her head and moved forward, eyes softening a bit. He was breathing heavily through his open mouth, his head was tilted back resting on the frame of the cot. As she bent over to wake him, she saw the marshal's eyes were open a crack. His breathing was awful and she lifted him forward and higher, pulling the spare pillows that he'd dislodged, back behind him. She poured a mug of water and helped him drink it. His brows creased over his heavy eyes as they spotted the younger man on the floor.
"You two planning on busting out during the night?" She teased, trying to rid the worry lines he wore.
"...bad dreams..." he rasped, only remembering a blur of nightmares and Tanner's voice. Before he could think on it anymore, or reason that after the bountys arrival his nightmares stopped, he drifted off to sleep again.
She pulled the sheet up to his shoulders and worried on his poor breathing. His lungs weren't clearing up as fast as they should and it was becoming more difficult to get him to cough out the congestion. She looked back and saw Will in the other room, on his feet and eyeing the strange picture. The elderly physician was squinting at Tanner and shaking his head.
"Give me a hand, Will. It's not doing his lungs any good, sitting on this floor all night." She answered the silent concern.
Before the elderly healer could respond, the door flew open and a large uniformed guard entered, his gun drawn. He stepped inside and two more followed, just as muscled and menacing.
"There he is, Hank, get him ready to go." The leader barked, nodding to the third man.
"Now see here..." Will protested, only to be met with a rifle to his chest.
"Back off, Old Man," the guard warned.
Mary moved in front of Vin, blocking the path and her eyes were full of fire. "Look Mister, we don't want any trouble. I don't know who you are, but you're not taking him anywhere. He's too ill to travel and he's under the protection of a judge. We got a wire from Sheriff Haskill last night..."
"I got a wire from that Judge too, Ma'am," The leader said curtly, "and I got orders to bring him in... dead or alive."
"No! You can't..." She protested as the leader shoved her aside and grabbed the slumbering body by the arm and jerked him roughly to his feet. She winced as Tanner's eyes shot open and blinked rapidly, trying to focus.
"...the hell's goin' on..." he mumbled, his legs buckling. "...get yer hands offa me..." he growled weakly, trying to break free of the steel grip.
"Look Kid," The guard warned, gripping both of Vin's shoulders hard, "don't give me any lip or you'll ride to Langston with fresh stitches in your face."
"Langston!" She cried out, eyeing the horrid prison wagon outside. The steel box on wheels had only two small windows and would be nearly suffocating inside. "That's a good ten hours away. He's not strong enough, he's in no condition to be out of a bed. I won't allow it."
"Lady, you open your mouth again and I'm locking you up for interferring with the law." The leader growled, forcing her across the room and onto a chair.
"Get yer hands offa her, ya maggot..." Vin coughed and used the little strength he had to lunge at the brute.
"No Vin!" She warned, spotting the meaty backhand fly and catch the injured man's face. She started to rise to aid him, but the guard's cold eyes stopped her.
"...m'alright Mary," Vin rasped, wiping the blood from his nose.
"You got ten minutes," the guard barked at Vin, who was curled up on the floor. He snapped his fingers and one of his two assistants moved forward, handing him a gray shirt. He eyed the number on the pocket and nodded. The aide flipped a small ledger out and a pencil. "Vin Tanner, number 923, murder. Note the date and time and our destination."
"Eddie!" Mary's voice rose as the acting sheriff walked inside the full room. "Do something, they're taking him away."
"I'm Eddie Frankson, the acting lawman until the sheriff returns. I have a wire from him stating he has written authorization from Judge..."
"Stow it Kid," The guard ordered, handing him a wire. "I got my own orders from the same Judge. He wants Tanner transported to Bendix Prison to await sentencing."
"There must be some mistake," Mary fretted, eyeing Eddie's suddenly pale face. "Eddie..."
"I don't understand, he gave Sheriff Haskill his word..."
"He kept his word," the guard snapped, "He reviewed whatever the sheriff gave him and made a decision. He also sent notice to the prison and the Territorial Office so it's on record. I got concurrance from the warden and from the Captain at the Territorial Office. I got a list of three prisoners to pick up today and Tanner's one of them." He tossed the shirt at Vin, who Eddie pulled upwards and moved onto an overturned crate.
"You got ten minutes, Tanner," the leader barked, "Get that shirt on and get some grub, it'll be awhile before you eat again."
The words fell like glass shards and Mary's eyes were riveted to Vin's face. He said nothing, but the rapid movement of his Adam's Apple and his unnaturally large eyes broke her heart. She moved to his side and rested her hand against his face. He raised his eyes slightly, catching her emotional gaze.
"...s'okay Ma'am..." he lifted his hand and covered hers on his cheek, "...I'm grateful fer all ya done. Ya tended' t'me like my own Ma..." he paused and swallowed hard, "...ya take care o'the marshall... don't let 'im die... chew his ass out good... but get 'im to fight..." His train of thought was interrupted by a violent coughing fit. He felt Mary's arms wrap around him and inhaled the cinnamon and coffee aroma that clung to her dress.
"He's too ill, he'll never survive in that coffin on wheels!" She hollered, feeling him trembling and trying to find his breath.
"Lady, he's gonna hang by the end of the week anyhow," The guard sneered, "I'm sure the devil won't mind if he's a few days early. Ten minutes Tanner." He issued sternly. "Jake, keep your eyes peeled and the gun on him, don't take any chances. Hank, let's get those supplies and get some grub."
"Eddie, do something!" She snapped, and saw him shrug helplessly and jog after the guards.
She moved the tray to the side of the bed, pulling over a free chair to rest it on. She saw him gripping the shirt and rocking forward slightly, his hands trembling. She made no attempt to take it, rather she motioned for him to eat.
"Go on Son, try to eat, you'll need your strength."
"Yeah," Vin scoffed, feeling the noose tighten on his throat, "Can't be collapsin' at m'own necktie party." He heard her suck in air through her teeth and winced. She'd be more than kind to him and it wasn't her fault. He knew this day was coming. He'd been given a brief respite and taunted with the taste of freedom. That time in Four Corners hurt him more than ever now. "... m'sorry... there weren't no call fer me t'bite at ya." He dropped his head and felt her hand rest on the crown and make slow circles. It was a motion that instantly relaxed him and took him back in time. "...she used t'do that... my Ma..."
"You don't have much time," she wavered hearing the catch in his voice, she swallowed hard, "Please eat a little."
He didn't taste the eggs and ham. He didn't feel her guiding his arms into the stiff shirt. It was too big and it irritated his wounded shoulders. She managed to slide a small container of the burn ointment into his pants pockets. He was fumbling with the buttons, when Buck moaned, lost in another dream.
"Aw, hell..."
Mary moved to calm the marshal's motions and didn't miss the wave of emotion in the young man's face. The door jerked open and Hank stuck his head in.
"Jake, I got a plate for you, it's outside."
"What are you doing with those?" Mary moved in front of Vin again, when she saw the rusting manacles.
"Binding his feet and hands, it's regulation." Hank replied, kneeling before Vin. He shoved the prisoners feet into his boots and quickly slapped the iron braclets in place. He smiled at the hiss of pain, when the thick handcuffs went on. Each set of manacles were linked by a short chain, making it difficult to move. He glared when the prisoner jerked his arm back, not intending to move.
"Look Tanner, this is gonna be a long day," he warned, "You want ride totin' a headache?" He held up the gun butt.
"I ain't ready yet," he growled and shifted his eyes to Buck, while the guard laughed.
"Forget it," he scoffed and tugged, but Vin pulled back.
"I got four more minutes." He eyed the clock on the wall, "hell, I'm trussed up like a turkey and ya got a gun. Ain't but one door, can't go nowhere..."
"Four minutes!" The guard warned and walked outside.
"Ma'am?" Vin whispered, holding up his elbow. He let her guide him closer to Buck and rested uneasily near Buck's chest, on the edge of the cot.
"I'll be outside," she offered, sensing his need to say goodbye alone. She hugged him and ran her hand down his back once. She tipped his chin up and held his emotive gaze, then left.
The room suddenly seemed cavernous and the quiet ticking clock seemed much louder to Vin. He took a deep breath, not even feeling the painful ribs. The enormity of the situation hit him hard, as he eyed the waxen complexion of Buck Wilmington. This was his last goodbye, the last link to his friends. His mind caught J.D.'s triumphant grin, Nathan's soulful eyes and Ezra's saucy smile. He heard Josiah's booming voice and picked up Buck's limp hand. He gripped it tightly and stretched the other as far as the chain would allow. He managed to rest his hand on Buck's chest, near his heart. He shivered as he heard the weak, raspy breathing and almost felt Death hovering near, her hands caressing Buck seductively. He lifted his eyes over Buck's chest to the window. A speck of blue sky peeked in and he zeroed in a puffy cloud in the heavens.
"It's like this," he began, intensifying his grip, "I know I ain't got any right to ask, I ain't a regular in church or nothin' but... I gotta favor. Ya already got m'ticket punched," he noted of his impending death. "I don't need no damn grinnin' skirt-chaser ridin' on m'tail. He's a good man, better than most..." he paused, his voice catching. Time was running short and he cut his plea in half. "He needs yer help, Josiah says ya hear every prayer. So I'm hopin' ya hear me; don't take him too."
The weight came back, taking his breath away. That he'd never see Four Corners again, never hear Buck chastising J.D., Ezra arguing with Nathan, Josiah's voice on the steps of the church as they talked about life. The last image was painful, too painful to think on long, so he pushed the image of Chris Larabee's smirking face away. He tugged on Buck's hand and moved forward, slapping the clammy cheeks hard.
"Ya listen up, Buck... Buck... dammit!" Vin hissed at the blank face. Sighing, he tried again, lowering his face so it was near Buck's ear. "Wake the hell up. We're in trouble, Marshal."
Buck was swimming in thick, black muck. Deeper than quicksand and thicker than mud, it choked him, leaving him wrapped in a smothering blanket of nothingness. Then the voice came back, Tanner's voice, frantic and edgy. A word sliced through the mired mess - trouble. Tanner was in trouble. Buck grunted and pushed his way through the muddy nothingness and peeled an eye open. A blurry face appeared, almost as if under water. The long hair was teasing his face and the blurry, blue eyes larger than he remembered. The voice was working again and he strained to hear.
Vin saw Buck fighting hard to keep his slits of eyes open and the pale lips moved.
"Ya awake? Good... listen up, Chris and them are comin' fer ya. If they ride hard, they'll be here in a few more days. Ya gotta hang on, Buck. Josiah's comin' and J.D. and ..."
"...who... Chris... Josiah?" Buck whispered and the agonizing ripple began. He cried out as an image of a cross and a crude church was cast in front of him. "...preacher..."
"Yeah!" Vin's voice rose. "Ya remember Josiah? That's great, Buck, he's yer friend. Ya remember... Buck... aw, hell. not now..." Vin pleaded as the agonizing scream came out weakly, and Buck's body buckled. The eyes slid shut again as he slumped. The curtains on the window over Buck's head blew and drew his gaza outside. He saw the two guards start to stand outside and his heart began to pound. It dawned on him then, what he had to do. The one thing that might save Buck's life. He slapped him hard, leaving an imprint of his hand on the stilled cheek. Buck's dark blue eyes, recessed in the black hollows of an illness, shot open in shock.
"I need ya t'hear this, it ain't yer fault. It's the Judge's doin', ya understand? It ain't yer fault. I want yer word, ya won't be totin' a hair shirt over this," he issued sternly, recalling Josiah's tales of medieval self-punishment.
Buck heard every painful word Tanner uttered and his vision cleared. His breathing became frantic and desperate, when his burning eyes saw the chains dangling in front of him, binding Tanner's hands to the hereafter. His mind berated him soundly, screaming about his lost promise, the avowed cries of 'protect him... protect him' were brutally silenced.
"No... no... no..." he whispered, thrashing in the bed, heart hammering. "...bastard promised me... sheriff said... he'd keep word... "
"It ain't his fault, he tried his best... it were a Judge's doin'..." Vin paused as Buck's eyes bore into him. "Ya play the hand yer dealt in life Marshal and the house just called." He sighed as through the glistening morning glass, the two guards rose and moved towards the door. It wasn't enough and the most painful moment was impending. He bent forward and gripped Buck's face with one hand and the back of his neck with the other. The dark eyes were so full of pain and guilt that it lanced Vin's heart. He scowled, gripped the neck tighter and hardened his voice. "Listen t'me..." he paused as a pair of beefy hands gripped him from behind. He held on tight, letting his fingers dig deep into Buck's neck. It had to be done, and despite the pain it would cause, Vin knew Buck would fight back afterwards. Two sets of blue eyes met and merged, suspended in time. Then the word came forth, issued in a stern tongue, with all he emotion Vin could muster. "Don't go dancin' in the dragon's lair..." he choked the last word out, "...Bucklin!"
It was that last word was carried on an arrow, laced with a fire, that ripped through Buck's brain, burning every cell and fiber in his body. It was then that the clouds lifted, the muddy waters receded and the rushing, painful tidal wave of memories brutalized him. In a swift current of time and space, every moment from the departure from Four Corners hit him like poisoned bullets. FHe remembered the stay in Salerno, the ambush by the Alvarez gang, tying Vin up and tossing him over a horse, the horrid days in Fanning and the hell of the desert ordeal; Vin's skilled hands taking out the bullet, feeding and caring for him and pulling him on his back. His heart was hammering and his throat dry. Tears sprung from his eyes as the enormity of the situation ravished his chest. He turned his head and the awful sight scorched his brain. The weak legs collapsing and two guards dragged him across the floor and out the door, the sun glaring off the leg and arm irons. Suddenly, right there before his eyes, his bounty Tanner, disappeared forever. A rumble formed deep within his gut and ripped through his chest, seeking delivery.
Vin was thrown in the back of the wagon, which was already steaming. The steel walls only allowed for slivers of light and air, forced in through the narrow window. He eyed the young boy in the back of the wagon, who looked to be in his early twenties. He was resting against the wall, long hair hanging down and face obscured. The awful breathing was familiar and Vin nudged him. The head lolled back, revealing a flushed face and two fevered eyes. He eased the boy onto the floor, as it was a little cooler down there. Vin moved his legs away, giving him more room. It was then, with the silent streets of Salt Flats about to disappear, that it happened. It slammed into him with the fury of the devil and the impact of a rifle blast to the gut. It was only one word, but the word he needed. The word that had been missing for so very long and that he longed to hear... the word that was salvation for his injured friend. He winced at the Godawful pain that it caused, he hadn't been prepared for the agonizng, violent shredding of his gut. He forced his way into the far corner of the wagon, trying to disappear into the metal. The agonizing scream wounded him deeply; he pressed his head hard into the wall, ramming his eyes shut. The word echoed over and over in his brain, with the full force and impact it had went it went airborne, from Buck Wilmington's agonizing lips.
"Vin!"
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