Setting: OW
Isaac sighed and allowed himself to rest for a moment. He wiped his face with a cloth and took a seat next to the well outside the infirmary. He filled the cup that hung from a chain and took two long drinks. He eyed the setting sun, a bold ball of crimson and orange, and sighed again. He watched the guards carry two more bodies outside. His bones were already tired from the two he'd buried this morning. At least the holes were dug, he mused as the guards dropped the bodies in the shallow graves. Ray, who'd been at the prison for many years, gave Isaac a wave and picked up the shovel. Isaac nodded in appreciation. He just didn't have the energy. He'd been cleaning wounds and bathing bodies for two days. He was beyond exhausted. He finished his drink and eyed the stranger who was riding through the gate. His old eyes couldn't see that far, but he saw the guard pointing towards the boneyard. Sure enough, the big gray horse moved towards him. Isaac shifted his weary bones and forced his aching legs to move. Whoever the stranger was, he deserved his peace.
Buck took a deep breath when he tied Annabelle up and headed for the rows of crosses. He walked slowly, carefully treading and reading the names. Then at the end of the row, he saw the crooked letters. He dropped to his knees and bowed his head. The prayers came from deep inside and his lips moved silently, his eyes clenched shut. Then he reached over and touched every letter, his chest constricting.
"Hey, Vin... sorry I'm late..." he bit his lip and patted the cross, before sitting down. "You're not alone, Slick, you're still riding with us. Ain't a day goes by, we don't think on you. I miss you, Vin..." he paused, his brows furrowing, "That stunt you pulled in Salt Flats... I should kick your ass good for that..." he choked, thinking on the word that broke his chain of memory and locked Vin in the mortal iron grip.
"Easy, now..." Isaac soothed, lifting the fevered patient's head and wiping the hot skin. The unfocused eyes were dull and lifeless. The breathing came in short, forced pants. He lifted a cup of water and the lips didn't budge. The head turned away, accented by a series of short moans. "Yuh gotta drink... yuh burnin' up... I done lost 'em all... I ain't losin' you , Boy... now drink this..." he commanded and the lips parted. A half cup disappeared before the blue eyes slid shut. He gently laid the boy back on the cot and sighed. The fact he was still living was nothing short of a miracle. "I'm sorry," he whispered, tenderly easing the tangled locks of soggy, brown hair from the wounded man's face. "He hurt yuh good... " He thought on the butcher and the dead bodies he'd found when he returned from Langston the morning after the explosion. The warden couldn't look the other way this time, the state was sending a team to investigate. The doctor was confined to the guards quarters, pending a full investigation. Isaac saw the steam rising from the herbal tea and moved to retrieve it. He was reaching for the bag of ginger root, when he spotted a slip of tan paper, wedged between the medicine cabinet and the wall. Frowning, he bent to pick it up and his breath caught.
"How did this get here?" he eyed the envelope and ran his mind back in time. "The busted bag..." he hissed of the day he'd arrived in town, only to discover a hole in the mail bag. Upon his arrival back at the clinic, he thought he found all the missing letters. "Musta missed one..." He put the letter in his pocket and poured the strong tea. His head caught movement outside the window and he saw the stranger standing. He watched the tall, dark-haired man wipe his eyes and drop his head. He put the tea down and shuffled outside.
Buck was tightening the cinch straps on his horse, when a voice called to him.
"'scuse me suh, I gotta favor to ask."
"Yeah?" Buck rasped, still numb from his farewell to his friend.
"Can yuh post this in the next town yuh get to?"
Buck too the envelope and nodded, taking the paper and climbing onto his horse. He heard the man's thanks and was about to shove the letter in his pocket, when he saw the name on front.
"What the hell?" He eyed Chris Larabee's name and jerked his head. He didn't see where the old man went, but the only building nearby was a one-story stone place. His eyes were still furrowed, when he opened the envelope and pulled out two pieces of paper. His breath caught in his throat when he spotted the short note, a familiar word scrawled in a strange hand. Then he saw the picture and his heart jumped through his chest wall.
"Sweet Mother of God...." he gasped and felt a sharp pain in his chest. His hands were trembling so badly, the beautifully sketched rendition was moving. The hand of an artist, and a gifted on at that, had captured the agonizing moment in time. Only three people could have known. He was one, one was in Four Corners, wrapped in black and still healing. His gaze drank in every detail of the picture. It was Chris Larabee cradling Buck against his body. The leader's face screwed up in agony, and half of the wounded man's face was darkened where blood covered it. Only one person witnessed the traumatic moment.
"Vin..." Buck whispered almost reverently, fearing it wasn't real. He eyed the words on the other paper 'Bring the Calvary, Cowboy' before jerking the shock away from his mind. He didn't remember getting off the horse or racing towards the clinic. Suddenly he had the old man by the collar, pinned up against the outside door.
"Who gave you this? Whose letter is this? You tell me, Old Man..."
"It's Jamie's letter. Jamie Quinn. It got lost and I just found it... he a friend?"
"Where is he?" Buck's head shot towards the prison.
"He's in a bad way... there was a prison break at the mining camp... they used dynamite... he got shot in the shoulder."
"He's alive?"
"He's breathing... but he's peakin'..."
Buck brushed past the caretaker and burst through the doors. The sight of the shivering, sweat-soaked body send him reeling backwards, as if stunned by an invisible hand. His body moved in slow motion, numbed by the scruffy miracle, bathed in sweat and burning a hole in him. He tossed his jacket off and dropped onto the edge of the cot. His hands hovered over the face, afraid to touch. His nimble fingers found a weak pulse and his eyes burned when they lifted the bandage. The wound shouldn't have been this bad. The festered, mess that was due to a negligent hand caused Vin's suffering. He picked up the cloth in the bowl of water and wiped the fevered face, his hands still shaking. He felt the body jerk weakly and two blue slits appear. They furrowed at him, the pale lips moved but no sound emerged. He slid his hand under the moist neck and lifted Vin towards him. He didn't miss the bruises covering Vin's chest and face.
The soothing hands and cool bath roused the fevered man. He was so cold and his shivers were sending waves of pain through his shoulder. Suddenly he was pressed against cloth and a strong grip held him.
Buck pulled Vin into an embrace and gripping the wet rattails of hair. He felt the raspy breath against his neck and bit his lip hard. Tears stung in his eyes and he saw the purple bruises over Vin's kidneys. "You look like shit, Tanner..." he choked, then laughed softy as the familiar response was muffled against his chest.
"Fuck y'all Bucklin."
Bucklin? Vin mind reacted on cue, but the words were now floating in front of him. He heard the deep rumble of laughter and his lips worked. "Bucklin? Bucklin?"
"Right here, Slick," Buck responded, feeling the warmth inside that the soft name always caused. He gently laid Vin back onto the pillows and saw the eyes blinking rapidly, trying to focus. A hand came up and touched his face, and the sky eyes shot open in stunned amazement.
"Yer real?" Vin wavered.
The voice was barely audible, but music to Buck's ears. He took the hand on his cheek and gripped it hard. He nodded and smiled, then frowned as a harsh cough sent the weakened man sideways and doubled in half. His hand touched the swollen, flaming wound, with an oozing, yellow sticky film.
"...he... butchered... he... knife... covered in shit... was awake... fuck... killer... I..."
"Shhh!" Buck soothed, rubbing Vin's back, while his hot eyes took in the horrid wound. Vin's cryptic clues caused his head to spin. "Vin," he turned the body back and waited until the eyes focused on his own. He bent lower, making sure the fevered man understood him. He rested a hand on Vin's neck and secured his vow. "....listen to me. I'm gonna fix your shoulder, then I'm gonna fix the son-of-a-bitch who did this to you and then we're gettin' the hell out of here." He promised, drilling the blinking eyes. "You understand... I'm not losing you twice... so you fight..."
"...trying... s'hard... so cold... " Vin sighed and slumped.
Buck gently turned Vin's face and then rose, covering Vin with a sheet. "Who did this to him?"
Isaac paled at the low, feral voice and the large man bearing down on him. The blue eyes were full of murder. "The doctor... he's uh... got problems... he hurt the boy bad... they let him sit in the sun all day and then... then... tossed him on the table... it was a mess... full of blood and muck... the knife... was filthy and some of the instruments was on the floor... he was awake... strapped down... I found him the next morning... when I got here... I'm sorry..."
"Where is he?" Buck growled, shoving the old man into the wall. "I'll show him what a surgeon can do...." He head was filled with the horrible image and he pulled out his own knife.
"The warden done locked him up in the guard house. The state's coming... he's outta of his mind... babbling about the war..."
"Fuck!" Buck swore, then put his plan in order. He handed the old man his knife. "Boil this..." he ordered and then listed all that he would need. He washed his hands good and made Isaac boil everything, the instruments, needles, stitching, all of it. He cut the clean bedsheets into bandages and moved Vin to a clean cot. There was no way in hell he was putting his friend back on that table. Finally, he took the steaming knife from the water and began to work.
"He'll be sleepin' for awhile, yuh best take a break now," Isaac advised, "'fore that boy starts thrashin'. Come on, I got some stew and biscuits..." He shook his white head and looked at the young man's profile. There hadn't been time for a formal introduction, just a handshake and a name exchange. Then the dark-haired stranger went to work, deftly cleaning out the green and yellow puss from the wound. The smell was awful and Isaac helped as much as he could, providing an endless supply of towels, hot water, soap and whiskey. The lack of carbolic would be answered in the morning, when Isaac rode to town. Loosely stitched, the wound sat right below the right collarbone.
"He was lucky, it missed his collarbone." Buck sighed, wiping Vin's face and chest with cool water. "He's needs a doctor... there's muscles and stuff torn up inside."
"He's breathin' better already," Isaac argued, "Yuh got that mess outta him. Yuh done good, Son."
"I reckon I did at that," Buck smiled, eyeing his handiwork, "Nathan would be right proud."
"Nathan?"
"Nathan Jackson, from Four Corners. That's where Vin and me are from. We're two of the seven peacekeepers there. Nate's the sawbones... and a good man, a real good man."
"He's Vin Tanner?"
"Yeah, I thought," Buck paused, wiping Vin's face again, "...we all thought he was dead. Damn, I feel good." Buck grinned, eyeing the tracker's chest rise and fall.
"...peacekeepers... that why yuh wearin' a star?" Isaac frowned, seeing the dark head shake negatively, "But them guards said that Tanner was a murderer..."
"I used to be a lawman," Buck sighed and stood, stretching his back, "...a long time ago. Vin and me... we had ourselves a rough couple months. The papers on him are bad... he was framed." Buck walked outside to see if a breeze stirred up and inhaled the night air. He eyed the spot where he left Annabelle and frowned.
"My horse?"
"I took care of her... she's in the stable. That badge get yuh in the gate?"
"Yeah," Buck nodded, sitting on the porch step and taking the bowl of stew.
"Thanks... I told them I was looking for some prisoners that escaped. They didn't put up a fuss."
"They're spread too thin, what with losing ten men in the explosion." Isaac sighed, "...the warden rode to Langston to get a stage to Crystal City. The prison commision is sendin' somebody to meet him, he's gotta give over a report. But when he comes back, yuh friend is gonna hang for murder. They found the fuses and caps on 'im..." Isaac's voice retreated from the inside of the infirmary, where he poured two cups of coffee.
"How convenient..." Buck spat. "What'd Vin say?"
"...said somebody clubbed 'im... somebody he knew... said that fella stuck the fuses in 'is pocket. He stopped them... Vin did... tossed a stick of dynamite at 'em and blowed 'em all up. That's how he got shot." Isaac shook his head and handed Buck a cup. "...won't make no nevermind, they want to hang somebody and that boy..."
"...will be long gone by then." Buck vowed, jutting his chin out, "I'll be damned if I'm gonna lose him again."
"Yuh fixin' on just ridin' out with him..." Isaac argued, "They want blood, Son... and it's his that's gonna spill."
"No!" a scream interrupted and Isaac flew backwards as the younger man flew past him.
"Vin!" Buck's stern voice cut through the haze momentarily. He sat on the cot an pressed his hand against Vin's left shoulder, grabbing the thrashing face with the other hand. "Calm down..."
"...don't ya die on me... marshal... no... wake the hell up... ya son-of-a-bitch... won't lose... promise... promise... no... no..."
"Shit!" Buck hissed, watching Vin's twisted face as he relieved their ordeal in the desert. "Vin." He gripped the fevered man's face hard and heard the ragged, anxious breathing... "Vin!" he hollered and both eyes shot open.
Vin blinked rapidly, the harsh desert sun cutting into his pale eyes and burning them. His skin was on fire and his head ached. He licked his dry lips and blinked again as a face hovered above.
"...water... thirsty... please..."
"Isaac?" Buck jerked his head and the old man appeared. He was behind Vin, holding him upright and nodded for the caretaker to get Vin a drink. Just as Isaac appeared with the mug, Vin's eyes drooped. "Hey, now..." Buck tapped the slack face, "I got some water for you, Vin."
"Huh?" Vin blinked and saw a dark face. He couldn't see Buck anymore. Where did he go? He stared at the blurry dark face and opened his lips. "Nate?... that you?" Vin reached up and touched the dark skin. "... Thank God... Buck's hurt... he needs... he..."
"Vin, we ain't in the desert no more. I'm fine... thanks to you and your fucked-up travois..."
Vin heard the familiar voice and screwed his eyebrows up over the mug. The water was cool and refreshing and he moaned in pleasure as another was produced. He moved his head backwards, trying to find the voice. "Buck...lin... there?"
"Damn straight, Vin." Buck eased, watching the wet, brown head spinning. "You just rest now, I'll be right here."
"...hurts..." Vin protested, feeling the fire in his arm. He moved his left arm over to push the flames away, only to have it snagged.
"Nuh-uh..." Buck warned, easing Vin back down on the pillows. "You got shot in the right shoulder, Vin. You can't move that arm." He paused as the tracker's left hand snagged his forearm and the slitted eyes shot open. Vin's mouth formed a silent oval of agony.
"What?" Buck bent down, eyeing the grimace.
"...m'back... Buck..." Vin hissed, grinding his nails into the strong forearm and getting a visible wince from his caretaker.
Buck turned Vin over and eyed the purple bruises on his lower back. With a brief cry, he felt the body slump in his arms and eased Vin back onto the pillow. Then his face paled, when he saw the crimson stain on the sheet under Vin. "Shit... What the fuck is that?" He whipped the sheet over. "He's passin' blood... I gotta get him to a doctor."
"Hold on now, Son," Isaac disarmed, pulling the visibly upset man away. "I seen that before, from beatin's like he got, sometimes it passes. He ain't strong 'nuf to go anywhere. Now you get him to the other cot and I'll clean this bed. Then yuh get some sleep, it's gonna be a long night."
After Vin was resting fitfully in another cot, Buck stretched out on the bunk next to the ill man. He cast a glance sideways at the sweating, flushed face and frowned. He threw his forearm over his throbbing eyes and wondered how the hell he was going to get out of this mess. He needed to wire home for help, but he didn't dare leave Vin. Too many bloodthirsty guards out for revenge. No, until the Texan was strong enough to travel, they were on their own again. Travel? How was he going to get Vin out of a prison? The clash of thoughts within his throbbing head created a kaliedoscope of color and fire, a force that pulled him under into an exhauted sleep.
The cold cloth on his body gave him a jump start. He gasped as the life-giving liquid met his chest. His eyes shot open and he hissed, pushing the hand away. "...hell... ya doin..."
"Tryin' to break that fever," Isaac frowned, his wary eyes watching the slim man fighting for breath. The wet head turned, the large eyes raking the empty room. Isaac picked up a cold mug of cider and lifted Vin's head. "Yuh drink this... come on, now..." he coached, tipping the mug and spilling liquid into the parched mouth.
Vin swallowed the cold cider and his heart sank. It was so real and he'd been so sure. He would have taken any odds that Ezra gave. The voice seemed to be right next to him, constantly calming his fears. The warm laugh and those strong hands... helping him fight. It was so real and he'd fought back, because that voice warranted as much. He shook his head and denied the mug of broth Isaac offered.
Isaac looked at the dejected face and frowned. It was just past noon, and he'd just returned from town. It had been a long night and Vin had fought both of them, until his body wore out at daybreak. Since then, he'd slept soundly. "What's wrong, Son?" He pulled Vin up and shoved another pillow behind him. "Come on, now, yuh need to drink this."
"I thought..." Vin whispered and reluctantly took a sip of broth. It seemed to sour as his hopes died. He shook his head and laid back on the pillow. His shoulder hurt like hell and his head was pounding, but his lower back was unbearable. "...Son-of-a-bitch..." he hissed, gripping the mattress.
"You got a foul mouth," a voice bellowed from behind him. "You know that Vin?"
Vin's eyes shot open and he turned so fast, he nearly toppled from the bed. The room began to spin at a record rate and Vin's left hand swung wildly, his eyes blinking. His flailing fist made a solid 'thump' as it connected with flesh and bone.
"Goddammit Vin!" Buck yelped, as the wayward fist his nose.
"Buck?" Vin gasped, chest heaving as his lungs fought him. The rash action produced a coughing fit, which made his nurse angry.
"Stay put," Buck complained, shoving the tangle of limbs onto the bed and picking up the sheet. "You bust them stitches and I'll give you a matching set in that pretty face of yours." He pulled the bandage away and sighed in relief, spotting his stitches sill in place. The bandage was soggy with a yellowish-clear sticky liquid. Buck eased Vin back and pulled the bandage off. His scowl disappeared as the blue eyes were wide in amazement.
"...yer... here... thought... I... it... dream... damn..." Vin managed, his breath in short pants. "... can't breathe... hot in here..."
"You got a nasty fever. Here, I got some herbal tea." Buck frowned as the skin was still too hot to the touch and the raspy breathing had him worried. He carefully managed to get a full mug into Vin, before he forced the still struggling body onto the pillows. "Naptime, Slick..."
"...can't..." Vin protested, licking his lips. He stared at Buck's face and saw the lack of sleep and realized how real his dream had been. "Plan?"
"Not yet," Buck sighed, wringing out a cloth and wiping Vin's face, neck and chest. He popped open the new bottle of Carbolic. "But I'm working it," he paused, "This is gonna sting..."
"G'head..." Vin hissed, clenching the sheet in his hand.
Buck winced and felt the burning sensation that coursed through his friend, as if it was his own. He smiled a little at the string of curses and how easily Vin managed to blend Spanish, English and Kiowa and make it sound so good. "Sorry, all done..." Buck watched as the soggy head dipped once and the tracker's chest rose and fell quickly, fighting for breath. "We're runnin' out of time, Slick. That warden is comin' back in a couple days..." he tossed the wet cloth in disgust. He sighed and ran a hand through his dark hair. "...they got armed guards all over the place. Only way out is if you're wrapped in a sheet..." he hissed of the dead, punching the mattress in anger.
"..a pine box..." Vin mused, his eyes bright with fever. He smiled and nodded, causing Buck's head to rise and the face to frown. "...if the shoe fits..."
"Huh?" Buck squinted at his dazed friend. "What's spinnin' in them crazy eyes of yours?"
"They think that's real?" Vin gasped, eyeing the star on Buck's shirt. He saw the puzzled head nod and smiled. "They think I'm Quinn... ya claim... take body... back home... folks... t'bury..."
"That's great Vin," Buck shot back crossly, "except you ain't dead."
"Not yet... but I can be..." Vin bragged drunkenly.
"What the hell you talkin' about?"
"Ya get... box... wagon... I'll get dead..." Vin grinned, giving Buck a chill to his bones. "It's like this..." The Texan beckoned and laid out his plan.
Twenty minutes later, Buck was still pacing. He felt the blue eyes following him around the hot room. "Your plan sucks, Vin." He didn't like it, not one bit. As a matter of fact, the whole idea scared the hell out of him.
"Ya got a better one?" Vin protested. "Buck, I can do this, trust me."
'Trust me'. Two words, which hung heavily in the air. Buck walked over to the bed, his hands on his hips. He stared down at the fever ridden tracker and shook his head. What if something went wrong? He couldn't live through Vin's death again. Trust me... trust me... trust me... collided with green eyes swirling around a black duster.
"Your plan sucks, Vin," he repeated, not hiding his fear.
"I'll be okay," Vin said quietly, not liking the silent, quiet body before him. "Ya best get t'town and get what we need. Ya come back at nightfall. It'll work, I promise." Vin vowed, raising his hand.
Buck hesitated and looked at the large eyes staring somberly at him. The wet, unruly curls were sticking to Vin's head and the bruised, battered face seemed was burning a hole in him. He took a deep breath and blew the air out slowly. "I outta wire home... maybe..."
"No!"
"Why not?" Buck shot back, angry at the fiesty face.
"They buried me twice already..." Vin drilled, "...I'll ride back... no wires... too much could happen... I got a snake t'catch on the way home..."
"Chris is gonna skin me alive..."
"Never happen," Vin coughed.
"That's easy for you to say," Buck tossed back, "You ain't afraid of him." He paused and chuckled softly, "You know, he gets a real kick out of that."
"So we got a deal?" Vin said, wincing as the stormy face of Chris Larabee appeared in his mind.
Buck shook his head and looked at the blue eyes shining triumphantely at him, in the bruised, discolored face. "You look like shit, Tanner," he grinned, extending his hand.
"Fuck y'all Bucklin." Vin grinned right back, taking the hand and gripping it. He waited until the body of the gray bay disappeared past the infirmary window. With a deep sigh, he settled back into the pillow, letting his heavy eyes fall. He'd convinced Buck and Isaac that the plan would work, now he had to convince himself and get some sleep.
Buck pulled off the main road about a mile from the prison. He eyed the darkening sky and sighed deeply, running a hand through his dark hair. He slid down from the seat of the rented wagon and reached for some water. Taking a long draw from his canteen, he wiped his mouth and closed the water vessel. He leaned against the side of the hung over the edge, drumming his fingers on the plain pine box.
"Your plan sucks, Vin." He stared hard at the grooves he'd cut in the sides, so air would be able to enter. If the plan worked, Vin wouldn't be in there for longer than an hour or so anyhow. Buck winced when he thought of his own ride in a coffin in Purgatorio, a journey he didn't intend on revisiting again.
Vin made the scheme sound easy, but Buck didn't like it. The tracker's most recent encampment with the Commanche's had been after the war. The conflict left a heavy toll, physically and emotionally on the wounded soldier. The homeless Texan with a battered spirit was taken in by the roaming tribe. As his body and soul healed, he embraced his new family and their beliefs. Red Cloud, the medicine man in the tribe and it's spiritual guiding force, had seen something in the adopted blue-eyed warrior. He took Vin under his wing and enlightened him into the spiritual world of the tribe. Buck doubted in his young friend ever thought that training would save his life. Vin explained that the breathing exercises which led to a deep meditative state, would be temporary. To the naked eye, he would appear as if dead, especially to a drunken guard. He knew they drank with dinner and with the warden away...
"When the cat's away, the mice will play," Buck whispered, repeating Vin's statement. Once the guard 'witnessed' the body in repose, he could take the paperwork to the confined doctor. After the death certificate and release forms were signed, Buck would be able to leave with the body. Going back to Langston was too dangerous, the sheriff might recognize Vin and the town was crawling with wounded guards. Buck heard their venomous words while he was getting supplies. Dead or not, Vin's body would be lynched and or mutilated. So Buck walked over to the warden's office and spoke with his second-in-command. He explained that he wanted to take Quinn's body back to his folks to bury. The guard didn't care, as long as prisoner was dead. He then explained that he wanted to get on the road as soon as possible and that Isaac feared the prisoner was dying, hence the trip to town.
While the guard dug out the proper paperwork, so it would be ready, Buck studied the map on the wall of the office. His keen eyes took him from the area where they were on a small perimeter. Vin needed to rest and the closest town was an unfamiliar hamlet named Blue Meadow. Buck studied the path carefully, noting the river that ran nearby. Once the guard had the paperwork in front on him, he advised Buck that it would be ready to go when he would. Buck didn't miss the disdain in the man's eyes. Most of the hired help lost a friend in the explosion and animosity was running high.
Now that the first phase of his mission was completed, Buck ran the rest of the details through his mind again. Vin would 'die' near daybreak, which should put the pair on the road to freedom and in Blue Meadow by midday. He nodded to the guards as he rode through the gate and ended up by the cemetary. He jumped down and strode through the doors to the clinic. He was stopped by a pair of dark hands and a concerned face.
"Thank God yuh come back," Isaac sighed, as he watched Buck Wilmington's face darken.
"What the hell happened?" Buck hissed, shoving the old man aside and moving to the cot. "Jesus... he didn't... .he isn't... " the anxious man's voice died as his eyes took in the stilled body before him. He rested a hand over Vin's nose and mouth, noting the lips parted slightly. He felt no air and jerked his hand back.
"No, he ain't... but he sure scared the life outta me." Isaac walked to join Buck and sighed. "The guards got to talkin' about the explosion and got riled up. I wuz bringin' water in from the well and I heard him talkin'. They was plannin' on bustin' in after dark. Vin, he... we... didn't have much choice. They started talkin' about gettin' a rope and lynchin' him from the gate. They wuz drinkin' and nasty..."
"...and..." Buck released the breath he'd been holding. He sat on the edge of the cot and rested a hand on Vin's face. "Jesus if he didn't warn me, I'd swear..."
"I helped him sit up some and he started breathin' funny. Then he got to swayin' and chantin' in Indian talk, kept turnin' the other way... like he was talkin' to somebody. Then his voice went higher, he took a gasp and slumped. That was about twenty minutes ago. Yuh ain't got much time... Yuh gotta go... they might hang him anyhow..."
"Like hell they will," Buck vowed, tossing bullets in his gun. "Go get that guy... uh... Adams... that's sittin' in for the warden. Tell him Quinn died and bring him here."
"Yuh want the box?" Isaac stood in the doorway and jumped when two guards suddenly appeared.
"Get out of the way, Old Man, we're havin' a necktie party and you're not invited."
Buck's bullet, which shattered the whiskey bottle in the slurring guards hands, silenced the rowdy pair.
"Something I can do for you?" Buck kept his voice low and lethal.
"We want that kid..." The smaller, older guard moved forward, eyeing the tall marshal with a worried eye.
"You're too late, he's dead." Buck said, "He's coming with me in the box outside."
"You can cut him down and tote him when we're done." The taller guard, his soiled uniform littered with whiskey, slurred.
"...or you can join him, wrapped in a blanket in the back of the wagon," Buck cocked his pistol. "Bring that box in here," he directed, "Isaac, go get the officer in charge."
Twenty minutes later, Buck released his pent-up breath as the man in charge handed him both papers. The one, signed by the doctor, was the death certificate. The other was permission by the state official in charge, to release the remains. Buck frowned as Adams moved in front of him, blocking his path. The pine box was next to the cot and Buck was going to lower Vin onto the blanket he laid inside.
"He's not yours until you pass through the gate," the guard sneered, giving Buck's stomach cause to fall. He opened his mouth to protest and Isaac's menacing, dark eyes silenced him. Buck winced as Vin was lifted by two guards and dropped from midair into to floor. Buck felt Isaac pulling him back and the old man's nails digging into his arms, as his pained eyes watched them kicking the corpse and spitting on him. Adams eyed the hatred in Buck's eyes and the star he wore, then laughed as he left he building. The other two guards urinated on Vin, before exiting, both laughing and ribbing the other. For a moment, Buck couldn't move, every muscle in him was too tautwith rage.
"I'm sorry," Isaac said, moving in front of Buck and studying the red-hot rage on the younger man's face. "Yuh done the right thing. If yuh moved to stop 'em... they might have unloaded their guns in 'im. Come on, Son, we're losing time. No tellin' if that pair gets to talkin', the others might show up."
"Fuckin' animals," Buck hissed, dropping to Vin's side and grabbing the sheet off the bed. "I'm sorry, Vin..." he whispered, wiping the disgusting remainder of the guards torment from the slack figure. Isaac placed a bowl of soapy water next to him and Buck quickly cleaned Vin up as best he could.
"They didn't break nuthin'..." Isaac sighed, his expert hand running along Vin's naked chest. "But he's gonna be hurtin' and colorin' up some," he noted of the bruises that would follow, "I'll get a shirt..."
Buck held Vin against him, while Isaac gently eased the unconscious man into the shirt. Then they carefully lifted him up. He winced as he felt Vin's slack mouth against him, and the lack of air coming from the Texan's lips, nearly undid the older man. He gently folded Vin's right arm protectively across his chest, wary of the shoulder wound. He lifted the lid from the floor, but his arms couldn't seem to make a move to replace it.
Isaac watched the raw emotions on the marhshal's face and frowned. He saw how many times the tall, mustached man swallowed and the coffin lid moving slightly in his trembling grasp. He followed the dark blue eyes as they raked over Tanner's body. He shuffled over and rested a hand on the other's shoulder.
"I'll do it," he said quietly, "Yuh bring the wagon around. Go on now..."
Buck sighed and nodded, relinquishing the unwanted task to the caretaker. They're wasn't many things Buck Wilmington couldn't do, but sealing a friend into a living tomb, was one of them. He moved outside and walked quickly, not wanting to hear the thud, as box met lid.
"Hank, we gotta give this up." Donny Carter protested. His wounded leg was throbbing and his mouth parched. The fugitives had escaped from the mess tent during the explosion. Both were injured, tired, hungry and weak.
"I ain't goin' back to that place." Hank Rawlings vowed, sucking air in painfully through his injured chest. "I'll die first."
"Yeah, well," Donny grunted, limping alongside on the dark road, "I'm thinkin' you're gonna get your wish. Hank, we gotta turn back..."
"Shut up, Donny!" the other man gasped, flailing his arm wildly, "Go back then, nobody's stoppin' you."
"Shit!" Donny hissed, resting his injured leg for a moment. He eyed the rocky road that led back to the prison and sighed. They'd nursed their injuries in the rocky area for a few days, hidden from view. Now that things cooled down, they were headed to... well... Donny didn't know where. With a wary sigh, he inched his bad leg painfully forward, following his friend.
"Well, Son," Isaac sighed, resting a gnarled hand on the young man's face. "I guess this is goodbye. I'm glad one of us is gettin' outta here." He patted the nearly stilled heart and nodded, watching the wagon move by. "Yuh sure is lucky, havin' a friend like him. That Buck fella, well Old Isaac don't know when he's seen finer... and that's a fact. I'll keep yuh both in my prayers. Goodbye Vin." He moved the boy's body, so it wouldn't block the air holes that Buck had cut into the area around Vin's neck, ears, knees and feet. Then he lowered the lid and secured it, as Buck entered the room. Silently, they carried out their task. Buck had medical supplies, food, water, and just about anything else he needed, including a clean set of clothes for Vin.
"Isaac, I don't know what to say," Buck admitted, taking his hat off and toying with it nervously, "'ThankYou' doesn't seem to cover all that you've done. You kept him alive and risked your own life in this scheme... I just want you to know," Buck paused, holding out his hand, "... he's worth it, every inch of him."
"Yuh sure is welcome," Isaac beamed, basking in the other's words. "The Lord go with yuh..." he returned the strong grasp. "Yuh send me a letter, so's I won't worry..."
"Absolutely," Buck vowed, climbing on the rig. He felt every eye trained on him as they passed through the gate. Finally, when they were a good two miles away and Buck was sure nobody followed, he pulled over. He tore the lid off and exposed Vin to the night air, almost sensing the younger man's predicament. "Let's go home, Slick," he whispered, tapping Vin's chest. He dropped the back of the wagon, intending on disposing of the coffin and letting Vin sleep on the blankets he'd brought.
Donny jerked his friend's arm and pointed. They both watched the wagon go by and stop. Slow grins formed on the pair's tired faces. Hank's eyes darted around the dark terrain, until he saw a good sized rock. Sliding his boots off, he picked up the weapon and silently crept towards the unsuspecting driver.
"Ugh!" Buck groaned as something hard hit his head. He dropped to his knees, fumbling for his gun, when a large body slammed into him, pinning him to the ground.
"What the fuck?" he hissed, squiriming.
"Shut up!" Donny said, catching the gun tossed to himi and pulling the hammer of the it back.
Hank rolled off the man and shook his head at his friend's intent. "Bad move, Donny," he gasped, his chest on fire. "He's a lawman. This is Texas, they don't take kindly to that sort of thing. Besides, I ain't interested in murderin' anybody," the bank robber admitted. "Sorry, Mister, but we need your rig. We about done in..."
"Hey, there's a coffin in here..." Donny eyed the box, "What are you doin' haulin' a body?"
"None of your damn business," Buck spat, wiping the blood that was running into his eyes. "Look, I don't want any trouble. You two just keep movin' along. I got no business with you." He kept his voice low. His only concern was getting Vin out of that box.
"Hey... hey..." Donny's voice rose a pitch when he recognized Vin's face in the twilight. "That's the guy from the camp... uh... uh... shit, what's his name..."
Hank backed up and eyed the body, nodding as his friend did. "Quinn."
"Yeah, that's it." Donny frowned, then his face got animated, "Hey Hank, think there's a reward for him? Maybe he's got paper on him..."
Buck's heart began to hammer as his luck began to fade away. The gun was trained firmly on his chest, with any movement bringing potentially fatal consequences. His mouth grew dry as the pair continued. He slowly began to move, trying to stand.
"I don't know, Donny," Hank sighed wearily. "You really want to tote him with us? What about Mexico?"
"What about it?" Donny answered, "Plenty of towns between here and there where we can check on a bounty... Nuh-uh..." he warned the tottering lawman. "Don't be stupid..."
"Sit down," Hank shoved Buck hard.
Buck landed in a heap, the wound to his head already had him dizzy and on the verge of passing out. He didn't need a bullet in him too.
"Look, you can have the wagon," Buck suggested, trying to stay awake, "Just leave the body. I promised his folks I'd bring him home."
"No dice..." Donny snarled, "Tie him up... go on, Hank..."
Buck didn't need ropes to complicate things, so he dropped over, as if passed out. He felt two sharp kicks to his midsection and one to this groin. He bit back a cry and heard them move away.
"Get the lid on that box and let's get moving."
Buck heard his horse's cry, as the unknown pair climbed aboard. He heard the groan of the carriage moving and rolled over. He managed to get to his knees and force his legs up. He staggered a few steps, before the effects of the blow to his head took over. His eyes rolled back as a black curtain dropped over him.
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