Setting: OW
Note: The Shakespeare quote used herein is
from Julius Ceaser.
"Good Lord!" Mary wrinkled her face up and covered her nose. It was a smell unique to drunken males the morning after. The fancy talking gambler was sleeping on a cot, the other three were on the floor. She shook her head and stepped over the youngest and winced.
"That boy is gonna be as sick as a dog," she muttered and began to open the windows. She poured a fresh basin of water and made her way over to her patient. Much to her surprise, he was up, bathed, shaved and in clean clothes. When he turned his gaze from the window, she had a sinking feeling the pained expression was not due to a hangover. She sat the basin down, took a seat on the edge of the cot and took his hand. His head rose slowly and he swallowed hard. Her voice caught and she bit her lip. She rested her free hand against his face and then drew him forward into an embrace. She clenched her eyes at his long expulsion of air and ran her fingers through his dark hair.
"I'm sorry, Son... I'm so awful sorry..." Mary held on a minute, then pulled him forward and eased him back onto the wall of pillows. She brushed the stray lock of dark hair from his eyes and he caught her hand and kissed it.
"Mary, I just want you to know..."
"You hush up, Handsome," she whispered, wiping her eyes. "...and you see to it that boy stays here..." she tapped his chest.
"Yeah..." he rasped as a loud groan was heard. He chuckled softly when Mary rolled her eyes and grimaced.
"I'm warning the lot of you, you throw it up and you clean it up... and I like a sparkling floor."
"Mornin' to you too, Mary," Josiah managed, through red and blue slits. He stood up and wobbled briefly, before pulling Nathan up.
"Take that boy outside," she pointed to J.D., "he's turning a pretty shade of green. Once he's done... he can rest on that cot. I'll make some tea for him..." she paused and eyed the motley group. "Did someone check that pretty fella and make sure he's still breathing?"
"Ezra?" Nathan croaked with bleary eyes. "He'll live to bury all of us, mark my words. Ezra!"
"Mr. Jackson," a pained, muffled southern drawl fought forth, "if you insist on shouting like a common ruffian, I shall be forced to resort to underhanded tactics."
"Hell, Ez, you do that every day," Buck replied and smiled at the rare sight of a totally unkempt Standish.
"Hey, isn't there a body missing?" Mary mused, not seeing the blond who hadn't left his sick friend's side.
"He's gone..." Buck whispered, thinking on the silent ministrations Chris managed before he left. Chris woke him up and got him cleaned up and dressed before heading out. Not a word was exchanged, until he got to the door.
"Gone where?" Nathan yawned and patted J.D.'s leg.
"He went to say goodbye..." Buck recalled of the brief set of words. 'Got some business with Vin.' was all he'd said. Then with a nod, before the sun was up, he was gone.
"Might be a few days before we see him again." Josiah added. "J.D., you okay down there?"
J.D. managed to pull himself up to his knees, using the rim of Buck's cot for leverage. Buck winced at the greenish-gray face and the bloodshot eyes trying to focus.
"'ey Kid... you look like shit warmed over..." Buck teased, then his face fell, "Somebody get a bucket... dammit I just got cleaned up..."
"Come on, J.D.," Nathan grabbed one arm and Josiah the other and they hustled the gagging youth outside.
"Hold it right there, Mister!"
Chris flicked a disconcerned gaze at the sentry who was aiming a rifle at his chest. He leaned over the saddlehorn, shoved his hat back and wiped his hot face with a kerchief. He didn't miss the long wall of barbed wire or the guards on the towers that also had their guns trained on him.
"Evenin'" he said quietly, "My Ma got a wire from the state saying my brother's buried here."
"Name?"
"Tanner."
"Hold on..."
Chris took a long draw from his canteen and doused his head liberally with water. He arched his back and winced as his age and too many hours in the saddle caught up with him.
"Okay," the returning guard said, opening opening the gate. "...cemetary's on the left, next to the infirmary. You got the wire with you?"
"No, I don't have it with me," Chris spat, his eyes hot, "My mother's heart's shattered in a hundred pieces; her baby boy is planted in a rock garden. How shortsighted of me not to bring the fuckin' wire!"
"Yeah, well..." The guard shifted his feet and relented,"You leave the holster here and pick it up on the way out."
"I don't think so," the clipped response came.
"You leave it or you don't get in," the guard snapped back, although the figure in black was intimidating. "We got rules here..."
"I got rules too," Chris said slowly, moving Diablo closer to the entrance. He narrowed his eyes and leaned over, the setting sun his face gave him a glowing sneer, "...and one of them is staying alive." He gazed at the armed guards in the tower and then cocked his head at the flustered guard before him. "Now if you'd kindly get the fuck out of my way, I'd like to pay my last respects to my brother."
Chris led Vin's majestic horse to the trough and rested a hand on the sleek, black neck. He slid his hand in the saddle bag and got the bottle and glass out. He secured the horse and walked slowly to the cemetary. He pulled his hat off and eyed the terrain, before spotting the grave that was newer than the rest. He sucked in a breath through his gritted teeth and let his heavy legs carry him forth. He stood for a moment and shook his head at the irony. It was sunset again, and somewhere Vin was smiling. He sat down and drew his knees up, resting the bottle between his boots. He traced the crooked letters and felt the pain flare.
"Fuckin' vultures," he growled, eyeing the three guards who hovered like expectant fathers.
He eyed the small amount of whiskey left in the bottle. He poured a shot and sat it in front of the cross. He tapped the glass with the bottle and fingered the label.
"Kentucky's finest..." he murmured, "You know Ezra don't do nothing second class." He paused and lifted the bottle, licking his lips, "I miss you, Cowboy... " he managed and drained the amber fluid. He pulled out the harmonica and played random notes, before settling on 'The Streets of Laredo'. He finished with a sigh and sat in silence for a long time, his arms draped on his knees. The sun went down and he heard the sound of boots crunching. He wore the darkness like a cape and enjoyed it's power.
"Time's up, Mister, let's go..." a gruff voice ordered and a hand grabbed his arm.
"Don't fuckin' touch me..." Chris hissed and jerked free. He stood and glared until the guard backed away a few feet and waited. Chris stared at the spot where the letters were and nodded.
"Caesar's spirit, ranging for revenge..." he seethed, "shall in these confines with a monarch's voice, cry 'Havoc!' and let slip the dogs of war..." he snarled, clenching his right fist and sending his vow heavenward with eyes cast high.
"...kinda fancy talk," the guard cocked up his head, "you write that?"
"Friend of mine," Chris eased onto the saddle, "...a writer named Will," he imparted, replacing his hat.
"Writer huh?" the guard kept his gun trained on the somber figure as they approached the gate, "... must be from back east somewheres."
"Must be," Chris chuckled under his breath, almost hearing Vin snickering. He'd sometimes read passages of the world famous author's works, usually on a dark night by the fire. Vin enjoyed hearing the words and had an uncanny ability to absorb the intent. "...way back east," he thought on Shakespeare's birthplace in England.
"Hold it," a voice from the tower above beckoned, "Wagon's are here... he'll have to use the south gate."
"Yeah, okay," the guard on the ground replied, as the gate opened and the convicts returned. "Let's go, Mister," he waited until the fine black horse turned and moved the visitor in the other direction.
"Darling, we're home..."
A surly voice carried on a sour breath assaulted him, it's noxious odor woke him up. A beefy hand grabbed his face and squeezed it hard. He eyed the dirty face under the flickering light by the east entrance to the prisoner's quarters and scowled.
"Hey, Marty," the leering voice called and a second guard appeared. "Ain't he pretty when he gets riled up. I'd bet he's got a sweet little ass..."
"Not a whole lot ya could do about it," Vin growled, jerking free and jumping out of the wagon. He bit his lip as the pain shot up through his still healing leg and ribs. "...ya fuckin' ball less wonder."
"You ain't got many ribs holding your air in now, Quinn," the guard shoved Vin hard against the side of the wagon, pressing the prisoner's face into the wood.
Vin flinched as his ribs protested and stiffened as the guard's rifle rose up his inseam. The odorous beast pressed against him and the smell nearly knocked the smaller man off his feet. The hot breath was against the back of his neck.
"You best keep that mouth of yours shut, Pretty Boy," the guard warned, jerking Vin's hair back, "You got hair like a girl, I can use you like one..."
"Ford, what's the problem here?"
"Shit," the voice in his ear panicked and Vin felt the bear move away. He slid to his knees and gulped air gratefully. He slumped to the ground, every inch of his body throbbing. He eyed the dark-haired man in an immaculate navy suit and looked away.
"No problem, Sir," the guard stood at attention, rifle at his side. "Well if there is no problem, Ford," he spat, "Why is this prisoner on the ground?"
"He was out of line, Sir."
"Really?" the warden mocked, "That's not how I saw it. Pick up your pay, you're through. You've been warned about your conduct."
Vin's eyes widened in shock and he felt the other guard move forward and lift him up. The man in charge approached and eyed him carefully.
"You're new, Quinn isn't it?"
"Yeah... Jamie Quinn," Vin gasped, bending forward slightly.
"Unfortunately, Dr. Burke has left already. However, if you seek medical assistance, perhaps Isaac can help you."
"Reckon m'ribs need wrappin'," Vin decided, his mind lingering on getting the old man alone. "...and just so's ya know," Vin hissed, as the pain stabbed his side, "that ain't no doctor. I wouldn't let him operate on a fuckin' mouse. He's a damn drunk... he damn near killed me..."
"I am aware the Doctor Burke has his shortcomings, however, he is an adequate surgeon and has served us well here."
"Hah," Vin scoffed, shaking his head, "Ya mean ya can't get nobody else t'work here. Ain't we the lucky bunch."
"Mr. Quinn, I'll accept your insolence tonight, as you're obviously in pain and not yourself. But don't make the mistake of backtalking me again, or you'll pay. Smith, get him to the infirmary, then after Isaac's done, take him to his cell."
"Don't I get to eat?" Vin protested.
"No, Mr. Quinn," The warden's voice was brusk, "Let that be a lesson to you. Smith, you know what to do."
"Yes Sir," The guard nodded, "Let's go, Kid..."
Isaac looked up from his book, when the door opened. His smile faded, when he saw the visitor clutching his chest.
"Didn't I tell yuh not to sass back?" he whispered, helping Vin onto a cot. "Here, let me get yuh shirt off. I'll rub some liniment on them bruises and wrap yuh good. How's yuh leg?"
Vin's brow furrowed and he eyed the guard three feet away. "...s'okay..." he hissed as the gnarled fingers rubbed salve into his chest. He saw the dark healer's eyes shifting several times to where the guard stood. "Can ya get a letter outta here fer me, Isaac?" Vin whispered as the old man bent near. He saw the head bob and sighed. "I ain't got nuthin' t'write..."
"Yuh want sumthin fuh that pain, boy?" Isaac interrupted as the guard strolled over.
"That's..." Vin was about to refuse the drug, when he saw the anxious eyes on him. "uh... a real good idea, Isaac."
Isaac returned with a burlap bag and rested it next to Vin's leg on the cot. The guard moved away, to give the old man room. The healer handed Vin a glass of water and added a few drops of painkiller. "Yuh best drink up, this might smart," he warned, picking up the bandages.
Smart was a poor choice of words, Vin thought, as the new linen strips were bound around him. He was glad for the mild sedative, he'd need it later. Isaac helped him on with his shirt and buttoned it up. He frowned as the old man turned sideways and slid a bulky cloth into the baggy shirt Vin wore. Vin nodded and tapped the old man's arm in appreciation.
"Yuh watch out fuh the doorways, now," Isaac warned, helping Vin down. "Yuh come back on Saturday and I'll fix 'em again."
"Okay," Vin nodded, understanding the double meaning. He kept his body bent forward, protected his cargo. Later, when it was dark and he was alone in his cell, he opened the cloth. A half sandwich and a piece of spice cake were inside, along with two folded pieces of paper and a small stub of a pencil. Vin wolfed the food down, using the last of his mug of water to wash down his meager meal. He realized it must have been the old man's supper. He thought on the next day's schedule. After preparing the food for the midday meal, he would be taking the cart bearing a barrel of water down the rail line, giving the workers a drink. There was a brief period, when he was tied in the back of the wagon, while the guard drove it back to the mess tent. It would only be about a half-hour, but it would have to do. He gently folded the two precious pieces of paper and the small lead stub and tucked it under his mattress. The painkiller kicked in and his heavy eyes slid shut, the same time as his head hit the cot.
"Ten minutes, Quinn," the guard warned, shoving Vin forward. Vin stumbled, but righted himself as he shuffled into the clinic. He eyed the empty room and cocked his head.
"Isaac?"
"How yuh feelin' Jamie?"
"...not bad..." Vin paused, "only hurts when I laugh."
"Come on over," Isaac patted the stool and eyed the guard who was reading the paper in the doorway. He took the folded paper from the anxious blue-eyed boy and nodded.
"I need ya to write fer me..I can't do any scribin'..."
"Shoot..." Isaac said, pulling a worn envelope from his pocket. He copied the name and address and nodded. "Anything else?"
"Yeah..." Vin whispered, pointing to the front of the first paper.
"That it?" Isaac frowned, not understanding the cryptic message. "This fella gonna understand?"
"Loud and clear!" Vin sighed, his hopes rising the a new dawn. "Thanks Isaac. I really owe ya fer this."
Buck stood and let his eyes roam over the empty clinic. He twirled his hat on his hand and took in a deep sigh. Although he was still building his strength back and plagued with headaches from the serious head wound, it was time to go home. He bit his lip and eyed the doorway, still seeing Vin being taken away in chains. A bittersweet parting, the road to Four Corners was the healing road, but this was his last link to Vin Tanner.
"You alright?"
"Yeah," Buck nodded, eyeing his oldest friend. He didin't know if he'd have gotten throught these last few weeks, without the strength of Chris Larabee.
"I think so, Chris."
"Good." Chris nodded, knowing Buck still had some healing to do. He moved aside and let Mary enter the room. "I'll be outside," he called out and left the two alone.
"Well I guess this is goodbye, Handsome," Mary said reaching out and grasping both of his hands. "Lord, but you're a tall one..."
"If you let me outta bed sooner, you'd have seen that," he teased, embracing the strong widow. "Mary... I can't thank you enough. I wouldn't have survived without you... You're a helluva woman..."
"Hmmph!" she pulled back and rested a hand on his face, "You're a sweet-talking devil, Buck Wilmington. Lord, but I'm gonna miss you..."
"The offer still stands, Mary," Buck smiled, kissing her forehead, "Make an honest man out of a me?"
"You couldn't keep up with me, Son." Mary raised an eyebrow and drank in the sound of a deep laugh. "Now you listen to me," she said firmly, gripping his face, "I got you on them feet of yours, don't you put any more dents in that hard head, or you'll answer to me!"
"Yes, Ma'am..." Buck saluted and led her outside. "Goodbye, Mary..."
"Goodbye, Marshal," she hushed, tapping his chest, "...remember..."
"Always," he whispered, thinking of Vin. He climbed onto his horse and followed his friends on the road home. He counted twice and winced, causing a blond face to appear on his right flank.
"Buck?" Chris saw the wince and held his hand up, halting the progess. "I always hated the number six," Buck lamented, urging his horse into a slow trot.
Josiah put the last crate into the wagon and pulled a tarp over the top, covering the material. He glanced across the street and saw Buck and J.D. strolling towards the saloon. He glanced at the horizon and then walked to the saloon. It was still early and the room was nearly empty. J.D. nodded to him as he entered. The youthful sheriff was carrying two plates toward the table where Buck sat. He caught J.D.'s eye and the dark head shook negatively. Josiah frowned and took a seat.
"Morning,"
"Hey, Josiah." Buck took a sip of his coffee and picked up half of the breakfast sandwich Inez made. He shoved the plate at the preacher, and got a nod. "Go on... I'm good." he noted and took a bite.
"How you doing, Buck?"
"I'm okay, Josiah," Buck answered, but knew the minister wasn't convinced.
The first few days back had been too busy. The residents of town meant well, but the endless questions about his adventure, health and inevitably the shushing sounds that followed 'poor Vin'. Poor Vin... he rubbed his neck and recalled Chris Larabee packing up the tracker's things the day before. The wagon was empty now, a dusty memorial to the missing peacekeeper. He jumped slightly when a hand touched his shoulder.
"'bout time you got to earning your keep around here." Josiah stated and saw the head rise. "How about lending a hand out at the school?"
Buck considered the invite and thought on his spiritual friend. Maybe Josiah could help him answer the nagging question that lingered. The one that kept him up at night and but a frown on his face. He nodded and pushed away from the table.
"See at ya at lunch, Kid." He smiled wanely, clapping J.D.'s shoulder. He was proud of J.D. and had told him so. Chris related how well the youth had taken the initial news of his death. It was a comfort to him, knowing he'd had a hand in helping the young man to mature. "Don't get into any trouble."
"I'm going on patrol with Ezra," J.D. smirked, "What could happen?"
"It's a good thing Nate restocked his bandages," Buck teased, draining his coffee.
"Ye of little faith," J.D. crowed, catching Josiah's eye and nodding. He was glad Buck was getting out of town for a few hours. Josiah was a good man to talk to, he had a way of applying the right bait to allow you to release a problem. Every bobbing head across the boardwalk, every whisper behind a gloved hand and then the glances in the saloon; these were all wearing on the mustached man.
Josiah did most of the work, keeping the healing patient in the shade. The preacher was on a ladder, putting the final touches on the roof to the school in place. Buck was below, handing him tools and studying the designs. Josiah squinted down and saw the dark blue eyes narrowed and the head fall. With a sigh, he climbed down, grabbed his canteen and took a seat on the grass next to the pondering rogue.
"Sure will be nice to hear them laughing."
"Huh?" Buck blinked, tossing a pebble.
"The children... like angels singing... when the laugh." He smiled, "I never get tired of hearing it, it's good for the soul."
"Speaking of souls," Buck hesitated, "I've been thinking about Vin."
"No kidding..." Josiah's mock-shock tone gave the other man a weak smile.
"He... I can't understand why... all the suffering he went through." Buck sat back and looked at the sky, reminded of the tracker's eyes. "When he was a kid, when the Calvary took him from the Kiowa's, during the war, running from the law... why let him survive that? He was finally smiling again... it's not fair..."
Josiah waited, seeing the anger flashing in Buck's eyes. "You believe in fate, Buck?"
"Fate?" Buck scoffed, "Like the day you're going out is marked in the book when you're born?"
"Sort of..." Josiah nodded, "Tell me about Chris."
"What about him?" Buck asked, not understanding the question fully. "He's a good friend, he's got a wild side in him, but he's honest, more than fair, he's... Josiah, what are you driving at?" Buck exasperated.
"You've known him longer than any of us, Buck. You've watched him these last few weeks. I saw him in the dark days when we thought we lost both of you. What's different this time?"
"Different?" Buck frowned, "I don't..." he quizzed, then his face fell. He jerked his head up and stared hard at Josiah, before looking at the newly constructed school house. He licked his lips and thought hard and long before he spoke. "You mean different than Sarah and Adam?"
"Yes and no... two different kinds of pain, but the aftershock is the same. You're the only one whose been through it before. What's different?"
"He's grieving." Buck nodded, "...quietly... somberly... deeper uh... more mature?"
"That might be the answer you seek."
"...answer..." Buck asked himself and took a drink of water. "...Vin left something... with Chris?" He turned and saw the graying man's profile. "Is that what you're driving at?" He thought for a moment and suddenly heard the song that Chris played in the dark of night. The melody that caressed his ear through the clinic window and whispered the mortal news.
"...Amazing... Grace... grace... grace?" he turned to Josiah and saw the head dip once. "You're trying to tell me that Vin had to die to give Chris peace?
Bullshit!" Buck jumped up, angry and pacing. "That's crazy. You're saying what?... that God somehow brought Vin to Chris? That Vin's some kind of fucked-up angel."
"You trying to convince me," Josiah rose, "...or yourself? God moves in mysterious ways, Buck. If Vin didn't pick up that rifle and spark something in Chris that morning... and you didn't meet Chris again..."
"So, Vin... so God... Fate... used Vin to bring Chris and me back together?
Christ, Josiah, that's an awful load to bear. I'd rather skip that episode if it brought him back."
"Then Nathan and Chris would most likely be dead. Would that be better?" He asked, "Vin saved Nate's life... and you can't deny the influence he had on Chris."
"...gave him a light inside again..." Buck murmured, in a strange faraway voice.
"Yeah... helped him find his soul again. That's the difference, that peace you referred to. Chris has that now and Vin did that for him. That's why he's not the dark, angry killer you saw after his other losses."
"Maybe... aw, hell, Josiah, I don't know... " Buck picked up a paintbrush and headed toward the buckets of whitewash. He felt the other man flank him a few minutes later and paused, eyeing the neat white line of paint.
"... changed me too... being with Chris again. I didn't realize how much I lost when I left him. In the desert, I thought I was dying. I felt like I was deserting him again. It hurt..."
"That's Vin too... somewhere..." Josiah eyed the sky, "he's sleeping in peace, knowing you and Chris have each other. Each of you has the best part of Vin. That was his gift..."
Vin dumped another wheelbarrow full of ore into the large pile by the wagon.
He wiped his face and walked to the barrel where the water was. He took a long drink and spilled the next mug over his head. He picked up the wheelbarrow and headed back inside. He wondered on the letter... he'd been scratching notches on the wall in his cell. It was a lot of lines and had been past three weekends already. If the letter found it's mark... they'd be here soon. That was the hope that carried him through the day. They had to come... he'd never survive ten years in here. He still felt the pain of those words when the judge read them. He'd gotten into two scuffles already with Zac Tyler, a bank robber he'd deposited in jail a year ago. He recognized several others as well, and felt their eyes on him, just waiting for the guards to leave. He left he wheelbarrow up the shaft and went back to get a pick. He tiptoed with great care, as Tyler's hushed voice cascaded around the corner.
"...all set... we go... night... I got plenty of dynamite stashed... never... hit 'em... blow... uckers... kingdom come... freedom..."
He heard footsteps and slid back to the wheelbarrow, putting the broken pieces of the clues together. His mind told him that since Friday was approaching and that was the day they had fewer men and guards, that would be the best time for an escape. What were they blowing up? The mine...too dangerous...the mess tent? Maybe. There was a small window when only one armed guard was outside the mine, while the others were in the mess, due to the men being in there for the midday meal. He sighed and heard the guard barking. He pushed the wagon ahead and kept on alert.
Ezra, J.D., Nathan and Josiah were playing cards. Chris was nursing a beer and Buck was moping. He'd been thinking on Josiah's words all day and something else was gnawing at him.
Chris sighed and watched Buck's face change again. It went from depressed to staid and back to depressed again. He stood and ambled over, planting himself next to the brooding figure.
"Buck."
"'ey, Chris..."
"Spit it out, Buck." Chris pressed, "What's eating you?"
"I busted my promise."
"Promise?"
"To Vin..."
Chris jerked his head and saw the game next to them go silent, as Buck's voice scattered the cards. They closed ranks again, forming the circle.
"...that he wouldn't die alone..." Buck's voice grew distant as he recalled the tracker's words the night he'd been so emotionally overwrought, due to alchohol. "...die alone... nobody to pray over me... die alone..." He shook his head, "I promised him, Chris. I gave my word."
"Oh, for Christ's sake Buck," Chris hissed, "he was drunk..."
"Drunk!" J.D. piped of the near implausible.
"Mr. Tanner?" Ezra scoffed, "inebriated? Highly unlikely..."
"It's not what you think," Chris warned, "some fool gave him loaded cough medicine..."
"Oh, liquor sure does loosen the lips..." Nate commiserated. "usually bad stuff... from way down deep."
"You don't know the half of it..." Chris sighed, "Buck, he wouldn't hold you to that, it was the liquor talking."
"Yeah, Chris," Buck said hotly, "it was... loud and clear and that's what made it so important to him."
"Let it go, Buck," Chris grilled.
"How can I?" Buck spat back, slapping the table. "I see his face every time I go to sleep. I told him I'd stand for him, that somebody would be there. How do I let that go? You tell me, Chris!"
"I wish I could," Chris rasped, standing. He gave Buck's shoulder a pat and moved to the bar.
Buck opened his mouth to say something, but closed it. He caught Josiah's eyes and heard the words they shared again. Was the preacher right? He'd been thinking on it all day. Was the peace that carried Chris, Vin's gift?
He felt closer to Chris now than he had in all the years they rode together.
The trek in the desert had changed him... being with Vin through that ordeal changed him too. He suddenly knew what the missing piece inside him was. He jerked his head up and saw Josiah smile. He nodded and stood, then walked to stand next to Chris. Josiah joined them and laid a hand on Buck's back.
"Now that your body's healed, Buck," he paused and grabbed a bottle of whiskey, "...maybe it's time to heal your soul."
"Yeah..." Buck agreed with a nod.
"Heading out?" Chris guessed, seeing the wheels spinning in Buck's head.
"Yeah, it's time." Buck picked up Larbee's beer and drained it. "...time to say goodbye." He saw the green eyes flick to the door. "Sorry, Pard," he clapped a hand on the black cotton shoulder, "I gotta do this alone."
"Sure?" Chris asked, relieved to see a flicker of light in Buck's eyes. That was something that had been missing since he Vin was taken. A part of him thought that the tracker was still their sharpshooter. He was just beyond the horizon, sitting high and watching their backs. He was calling to Buck, to heal his soul.
"Yeah, shouldn't be gone more than ten days or so..." Buck eyed his friends and picked up his hat. "I'll be leaving early, might as well get a good nights sleep."
"Ten days, Buck," Chris agreed, "Let us know you're alive..."
"You're gettin' worrylines, Pard," Buck teased and clasped Chris's hand.
"Hell, I'm not even a Texan."
"...must be the blue eyes then," Chris grunted and nodded as the other smiled and departed.
Vin ate nervously, his left leg jiggling impatiently. He'd had tingles for ten minutes now, his gut instinct telling him it was time. He kept an eagle eye out for Tyler, but the cold-eyed killer was missing. He saw one of Tyler's cronies finish his meal and head for the outhouse. That made three of them that left. He saw the fast exchange, between the departing man and Rusty. A short nod and a hand motion. Then he saw Tyler's face, when the flap of the large tent lifted.
"Shit!" he murmured, standing and walking quickly to catch up. His intuitive instincts were correct, just delayed too long. The explosion rocked the tent, sending bodies flying everywhere and timber and support beams into the screaming victims. Vin was on his knees and stood, heading for where he'd seen the leader of the rebellion. He no sooner exited the tent, when a body slammed him into the water barrel. He was on his backside and trying to get up, when a hand gripped him hard around the throat. His eyes buldged and he hissed, as a multitude of black and red stars danced before him.
"See you in hell, Tanner..." Tyler whispered in Vin's ear, just before he slammed his head with a gunbutt. "You walked right into it..." he chuckled, dropping by the unconscious man's side. He slid the caps into Vin's shirtpocket and the fuses in his hand. He left a stick of dynamite, just out of reach. He picked up the rifle he'd taken from the guard, as well as the two pistols his men took from the other dead sentries. Ignoring the moaning of his wounded compatriots inside, Tyler jogged towards his five gang members. They were changed clothes, exchanging theirs for the guards, when the first two shots came.
"You should have killed that bastard," the man on his left said. Zac Tyler never got he chance to respond. He and the other conspirators were blown into pieces and scattered haphazardly.
Vin lit the fuse and eyed the blurry wagon in the distance. He staggered, raised his arm and tossed it. He didn't see the flap open and the bloody face of the guard that crawled out. He couldn't know the wounded officer only saw a convict with a stick of dynamite. Vin's eyes widened in shock when the bullet slammed into him.
The moans of the sick and dying filled the night air. Vin shifted uncomfortably in the back of the wagon and kept his hand pressed to his right shoulder. The warden ordered all prisoners in lockdown, and the extra guards were sent to the mine camp to bury the remains of the dead. The most seriously wounded guards were taken to town and the infirmary at the prison was full of bodies. Vin rested his eyes, almost wishing he would pass out. He was in the last wagon of wounded brought back to the prison. He'd lain most of the afternoon in the sun, with only a dirty rag for a bandage. His blood-stiffened fingers pressed the tattered cloth against his throbbing shoulder. He swallowed hard, as the smell of the dead, too many hours in the sun, assaulted him. He was sure he was the only breathing body in the wagon. His drifting ended with a rough hand gripped his collar.
"Let's go Quinn," the guard threw him hard onto the ground, ignoring the hiss of pain as Vin landed hard and curled up. Two kicks to the prisoner's back got his legs moving and the guard continued to beat him, all the way to the clinic. He made no effort to aid him, enjoying the battered body dragging himself along the ground.
"You look right at home, you filthy dog," the guard leered as the approached the doorway. He yanked the long, unruly hair and pulled the gasping head up sharply. He bent low and let his threat slid into the panting man's ear. "I lost more than a few friends today. They died quick. You ain't gonna be so lucky."
It wasn't the words that gave Vin a chill, but the low laugh that followed. He was hauled up and shoved through the doorway, flopping on his belly. He managed to push himself up with his left hand and for a few seconds, he tottered unsteadily on his knees.
"Got another one for you, Doc."
Vin's face paled at the word and his heart began to pound. He blinked through the blinding light that pierced his eyes, as only being too long in the dark will do.
"Isaac?" he rasped, looking for the kind dark face.
"Guess again, you murderin' whelp."
The words were followed by a fist to the kidney, which sent Vin onto his belly. After gasping for several minutes and waiting for the pain to dull, he once again righted himself. From his knees, he grabbed onto the seat of a chair and tried to focus. The ruddy face was all too familiar and the nightmarish event of his early days in the prison returned.
"Get the hell away from me..." Vin slurred, "Ya drunken butcher... Isaac..."
Vin turned his head, only to be punched in the kidney again. The force sent his chest and face onto the seat of the chair. He felt a rough hand rip the shirt from his back. The same hand pulled his head up by the back of the hair and slammed into onto the wooden seat, sending his teeth through his lip.
"He's in town... helpin' with the wounded..." the guard's hot breath danced on Vin's face. "But don't you worry, the Doc's gonna find that bullet in your shoulder... eventually..."
The sour breath and horrid words left the wounded man numb. He spit a wad of blood from his mouth and struggled weakly as the guard's fingers clenched onto his neck from behind, keeping his face pressed into the chair. The deathgrip took his breath away and he began to pass out.
"Where do you want him, Doc?"
"On the table..."
"No!" Vin gasped, eyes darting to the leather straps. He bucked as the guard hauled him up and got punched in the back again. That violent blow took the last of his strength away. He dropped to his knees and lost consciousness for a few minutes. He blinked awake and winced as the blood and gore on the slick table hit his bare back. The confining neck strap was already in place His tongue was stuck to the roof of his mouth and he tried to kick the guard, who was strapping his legs down.
"Ya can't... use... that..." Vin gasped, eyeing the knife, dripping with blood and puss. Bits of sinew and tissue clung to the blade. The doctor's hands and smock were as riddled as the slippery table Vin was lying on.
"Not to worry," the doctor leaned forward, laying the disgusting tool on Vin's bare chest. He rested one hand on Vin's pants and tapped the anguished face. He saw the blue eyes wide with fear and bent in lower. "You must be a brave soldier, I'm afraid I'm out of chloroform."
Vin struggled weakly against the bonds and his breath came in labored pants. He saw the guard move closer, now leering by his hip. He shook his head and gritted his teeth as the grimey fingers probed the wound in his shoulder. He bit his lip and hissed as the clumsy hand retreated, and then his eyes widened. The sweat rolled off his face like a small river, as the blade descended. The rancid smell of the room suddenly seemed to intensify. He screamed as the blade was unceremoniously thrust into him, ripping muscle and tissue. Tears mixed with the sweat and a filthy rag was shoved in his mouth. Blood spilled from the wound and Vin shook his head as an already bloodied towel was pressed into the incision. Another wave of incredible pain caused his muffled scream to push against the sour rag. The knife disappeared and another tool appeared, equally filthy. It had a hook on one end and as it descended into the wound, it felt like a set of razor sharp teeth was ripping him to pieces. More tears and sweat blurred his vision, before he saw the hand drop the instrument on the floor and disappear. Vin shook his head again and heard the guards laugher. The tool ripped into him again, and his bucked weakly, too worn and hoarse to produce a sound. He heard the faint ping of metal to metal and sighed, it was over. Then the doctor took a drink from a silver flask and bent over him.
"I can't afford to waste any Carbolic, but I'm sure you'll enjoy this... one of my patients make it himself in a still." He pressed on hand on Vin's chest and turned the bottle over the gaping wound.
The roar in his ears as the fire exploded in his shoulder was accented by the silent scream of pure agony as he finally faded away.
Ezra emerged from the Clarion, having delivered a crate of books to Mary for the school. He eyed the midday sun and made his way towards the saloon for lunch. His eyes strayed to where Chris was brooding in the doorway of the sheriff's office. That was the only word for it... the face was set in stone and the eyes cold. With every passing day and no word on Judge Spencer Hazzard's wherabouts, the leader grew more sullen. Ezra nodded to the somber gunslinger and continued his journey.
Chris Larabee was angry. He was angry as Vin for dying on him and at himself for leaving Vin and Buck that day of the ambush. He was angry at the whole chain of events that led to his back-clenching posture this sunny day.
But most of all, the pure hatred in him was reserved for Hazzard. Seeing the criminal brought to justice was the last thing he could do for Vin. Clearing the tracker's name had become the reason he rose in the morning. He gazed at the street and shifted his weight, as J.D. appeared.
"I'm going to Mrs. Potters to get some ink," the youth declared, "Josiah said if I wrote about Vin, what I remembered... the good stuff... what he taught me... the pratical jokes... even the fights... well... so I won't forget..." he spilled, feeling somehow he owed the quiet leader an explanation. He saw Chris nod and slide his hand inside his duster. He cocked his head as a small, palm sized notebook appeared. It as dog-eared in places and well used. Just as quickly, it was hidden again. J.D.'s head jerked up and he saw Chris nod again.
"Josiah's right, Kid." He sighed and squinted at the cloudless sky. He watched J.D. amble away and pushed himself forward. Judge Travis was quietly working in the background, trying to gather legally binding evidence against Hazzard. But with each passing day, Chris felt the trail growing colder. Sheriff Haskill wired that the state informed him that the judge 'retired suddenly' and left 'no forwarding address'.
"Mr. Larabee...."
"Tim?" Chris tilted his head towards the post office.
"You got a wire... from Salt Flats..."
Chris was across the street and through the door, before the kid could finish the sentence. He grabbed the yellow paper and a sign of life appeared in the dull eyes. He tossed a coin to the kid and pointed to the machine.
"Get your fingers working, Tim," he ordered, "I'm sending a reply, then I want you to forward this to Judge Travis."
"The bastard's days are numbered..." Chris announced to the group gathered at their normal table.
"What rock did the vermin finally emerge from?" Ezra inquired, eyeing the green fire in Larabee's eyes.
"Blue Meadow." Chris handed the wire to the gambler. "Colt's been tracking down leads for over a week. He spotted him there yesterday and did some digging. The weasel bought property there under an assumed name. He's having a house renovated, but he's staying there, just outside town."
"Just in time for his funeral." J.D. said, rising and flanking Chris. "What about Buck?"
"Colt's gonna find him... or try anyhow. He'll meet us in Blue Meadow."
"Where is this charming locale?" Ezra asked finishing his tortilla.
"Texas, just over the border, a few days northeast of here. Get packed, we're out of here in an hour." Chris directed, "I updated Orin, he'll meet us there. J.D. get George and Jack and pin a star on 'em," he directed of the sometime deputies.
The rest were already headed to the livery, when Chris tied his bedroll up. His eyes ran around the room, as his gloved hands shoved the necessary items his saddlebags. As he headed for the door, his eyes caught Vin's jacket, which was folded on top of a chair. His hand rested on it for a moment and he lifted the edge of the buckskin.
"Soon, Cowboy, soon..." he vowed, grabbed his black hat and shut the door behind him.
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