Setting: OW
He heard his friends talking in low voices, the only distinguishable one being the deep voice of Josiah Sanchez. The four older men were finishing supper, the fried rabbits and biscuits were washed down with whiskey and coffee. He shifted his stance on the rocky spot where he was perched, having drawn the first watch. J.D. Dunne eyed the darkening night sky and thought of Buck. He wondered if the pain that rimmed his best friend's eyes would ever go away. His keen ears pricked up and he laid his rifle down. Picking up Vin's spyglass, he gazed along the road and craned his neck.
"Mr. Larabee?" Ezra shuffled the deck and saw the blond head shake in a negative fashion. He left Chris to his brooding stance by the perimeter of the camp and headed back to Josiah and Nathan. "Our fearless leader has declined my invitation. Gentlemen?"
"Ezra, you got no shame," Nathan chuckled, "You got my last dime..." Nathan bit his sentence off when the bird call sounded. He rose quickly, grabbing his rifle and followed his friends to the clearing. Chris was already behind a tree, colt drawn; Josiah stayed back further, leaving Ezra and himself to guard the middle.
"J.D.?"
Chris's soft call split the stilled night air.
"Rider comin' in..." the youth replied.
The air was silent, the only sound was the crackling and hissing of the now deserted campfire. The rider tensed up as he rode into the clearing, his hand resting on his holster. A thunderous echo of hammer's clicking jerked him upright.
"Toss 'it over, Mister."
He frowned at the familiar voice, which gruffly addressed him from a nearby tree. "You give a whole new meaning to the world 'welcome', Larabee."
"Colt?" Chris gasped, stepping from behind the tree. "What are you doing out here?"
"Josiah, Nathan," the sheriff nodded, sliding from his horse. He eyed the
dirty, dusty clothing and then spotting the nearly immaculate gambler, "Damn Standish, even dirt stays clear of you..." He shook the conman's hand and looked around. "Where's the Kid?"
"Working, somebody has to..." A voice bellowed from behind him.
"Coffee?" Nate held a cup out.
"Thanks Nate," Colt sighed, rubbing his neck and stretching. "I got to tell you, this cloak-and-dagger bullshit isn't for old men like me," he sighed, holding his mug out towards the southerner.
"No Thank You, my good lawman," Ezra declined, "I prefer an after dinner apertif of a stronger sort."
"Hell, Standish," Colt barked, "I ain't offerin' it..." he smiled, "Where's that fancy silver flask you're so fond of. The damn thing's worth more than my whole wardrobe."
"Of course," Ezra offered the flask and poured a shot into the steaming coffee, "forgive my lack of campfire courtesy."
"I'll let it slide this time," Colt eased, patting Ezra's shoulder and stiffly sitting on a log. He took a slow sip and looked up as Chris rested a booted foot on the spot next to him. "Huntin'..." he answered the curious green gaze.
"...and..." Chris prodded, shoving his hat back and taking out a cheroot.
"Hazzard's living in the ground floor of this mansion he's fixin'. He comes to town twice a week to get take care of business, Wenesday and Saturday, like clockwork. He's kept a low profile and hasn't made any lasting impression."
"Funny," Chris leered, "..a lasting impression is what I had in mind..."
"Man can't live on whiskey alone." Josiah handed a plate of food to the weary traveler. "Well... most men can't..." he corrected, with a cruel grin.
"Thanks, Josiah," Colt replied, digging in.
"You come across Buck?" Josiah asked, taking the whiskey bottle from Nate.
"No, not yet." Colt frowned, "I was tracking Hazzard, afraid I'd lose him. If it's the last thing I do, that bastard's going down."
"I'll drink to that," Chris sounded, taking the bottle from Josiah and eyeing the marshal. "Listen Colt, I want to thank you for all you've done. We got a personal stake in this and..."
"...and I don't?" the older man growled, leveling an icy-hot stare at the man in black. "That son-of-a-bitch lied to me..." he shoved the plate away and stood, anger pouring off him.
"That's not what I meant," Chris's voice was apologetic. "You got a whole town to take care of and a damn fine woman to keep you warm. You're taking quite a chance."
"I gave that kid my word," Colt's words seeped through his clenched teeth reluctantly, "and I promised Wilmington I'd keep that boy safe. Now he's dead." He eyed Chris, who was only inches away from the hot sheriff's gaze, "I'd say that makes my stake just as big..."
"Okay," Chris relented, jerking his head toward the campfire. "We need a plan."
He heard the silence and it nearly deafened him. The pitch blackness scared him as well. He didn't see stars, trees, the night sky or even the moon. Black, that's what his world had become. Unable to move yet, only his eyes were working. The lingering question returned, sliding past the dank stench of body odor and worse, it caused more perspiration to flow down his already wet face. Where was Buck? Why couldn't he feel motion? He began to panic, wondering feverishly if his friend remembered to cut holes in the box. What if he hadn't? The very thought closed his throat and he began to get dizzy. Then he heard footsteps... and forced all his energy into his throat.
"Buck... Buck... please open the box... Buck... please... I can't breathe..."
Donny swallowed the last bit of bread and picked up a pear. They'd consumed almost all of the food they found, leaving only the canned items. He eyed the wagon across the road and frowned.
"Hank," he muffled, "Wasn't there cookies or cake or something in that box?"
"I don't know..." the other replied, "Go on and check."
Donny hung his lanky frame over the coffin and reached into the box that sat ontop. He fumbled around the tin cans, looking for a sweet snack, when a low moan sounded from within the box.
"Shit!" he jerked his hand back, sending the food box off the coffin and into the wagon. He listened for a moment more and heard only silence. With great trepidation and his heart hammering loudly, he took the lid off. He then lit a match and the wide blue eyes looking back at him caused him to scream and jump back.
"Donny! What the hell's wrong?"
"He's lookin' at me, Hank," Donny protested, moving away from the wagon.
"and... and... he moaned at me... I heard about stuff like this... he's hauntin' us... we're gonna die, Hank."
"Well, one of us is," Hank growled, waving the gun at the other man, "...'cause I'm gonna shoot you, if you don't shut up. He's dead, Donny...."
"His eyes is open..." the other stammered.
"Lots of corpses have open eyes..." Hank shook his head and leaned over the wagon, "Get over here and lite a match, will ya, I can't see shit... .Donny?"
"Yeah, okay."
Vin heard the strange voices and saw the dark sky overhead. The sudden influx of cool, night air had him giddy in relief. His unfocused eyes saw the stranger above and his ears took in the two unknown voices. His fears rose up again, taunting him with cruel, cold fingers. Where was Buck? What happened to Buck? Suddenly, the stranger's hand was thrust over his face, and another on his chest.
"He ain't breathin' Donny and his heart's not pumpin... he's dead."
"I ain't ridin' with him... he moaned at me... he's gonna rise up and kill us..."
"Oh, for Christ's sake," Hank slammed his fist on the side of the wagon. "It's not worth totin' him... besides, this wagon is slowin' us down. Get that saddle from the back of the rig and I'll unhitch the horse. We make better time without it." He said, placing the lid back on the box and slamming it hard.
"No... no... no... no..." Vin's silent screams bounced off the narrow confines of his wooden crypt, as the sky was stolen from him.
Buck blinked up at the night sky, which was twirling above his head. He groaned and rolled over, before crawling a few feet away and throwing up. He wiped his mouth on his sleeve and stood on uncertain legs. His head was throbbing and his vision blurry, then the clouds lifted and his eyes widened.
"Vin!" he groaned and began to stagger up the road. How long had he been unconsious? How long before Vin woke up? Vin didn't like closed in spaces of any kind, the worst nightmare being trapped alive in a coffin. Buck's legs picked up their pace, his fervor to find his friend driving him hard. For miles he plowed onward, gaining strength and resolve. Then he saw it, standing alone basked in moonlight. He charged forward, pulling down the back of the wagon and jerking the coffin onto the ground.
"Vin! Vin!" he screamed hoarsly, tugging the lid off. He lit a match and peered inside. "Oh Jesus... Oh fuck Vin... Oh God..." he eyed the twisted body, whose fingertips were bloody from trying to claw their way out. He dropped the match and gripped the side of Vin's neck. He sat back on his heels and sobbed in relief. A pulse, a strong thread of life was coursing through the tracker's veins. He pulled Vin upright and free of the hell hole. He laid his friend down and lit another match. Vin was roasting and Buck's first thought was water. He listened and heard the unmistakable rippling of a rushing current. He sat Vin upright and slung him over his shoulder. Gripping the side of the wagon, he stood and lumbered towards the river.
By the time he reached the water's edge, he was spent. He collapsed, sending both of them into the cool water. He sat up, holding Vin across his lap, the slack-jawed sharpshooter's head rested on the crook of his arm. The water lapped around Vin's body, up to his neck. Buck splashed the hot, flushed face of the silent man, urging him to waken.
"Vin, come on boy, open them eyes of yours," Buck begged, tapping the silent face. His fingers brushed the wet hair away and the moonlight cast an eerie silver light on the body in his arms. "It's Buck, Vin, I gotcha... you need to wake up. Vin! Vin!" he hollered, slapping the face and finally the body jerked and the eyes twitched under closed lids. "That's it... come on now..."
Vin heard the voice, something strong and secure that smashed into his oblivion. The shards of the broken, endless abyss he was locked in cut into him as the force of life returned. The flames that consumed his body were being squelched by a blissful stream that bathed him lustfully. The air that had so cruelly stolen from his lungs, was now pouring freely around him, embracing him and reviving him. But it was the voice that roused him and gave him life.
Buck saw the lips parting and cupped some water in his hand. "Here Vin, drink some water..." Buck coached, sighing and smiling as the jaw worked and the water disappeared. For several minutes, he fed water to the unsatable body, worried still that the eyes didn't open. Then they shot open so quickly, it stunned hiim. The body began to spasm and Vin began to gasp for air, his eyes wide with fright.
The memory returned and Vin fought back. He was trapped in the box... he couldn't breathe... Buck was gone... he was going to die... die... die...
"No!" Vin gasped, jerking his arms and thrashing his legs, "Buck... get me outta here... Buck... open the box... I can't breathe... Buck! Where the hell are ya? Buck!"
"Jesus Christ!" Buck swore, trying to control the flailing body and feeling every one of Vin's agonizing cries like nails in his chest. Visions of Vin waking in the tomb hurt him deeply. "Vin, You're okay... it's all over... Vin, calm down... Shit!" Buck hissed as an errant elbow hit his eye. He used both arms to grab Vin from behind and drag him onto the bank. Finally, the thrashing stopped and the body slumped. Exhausted, Buck took several minutes to get his breathing under control. Finally, he pulled Vin over to a group of rocks and propped him up. It took several trips, but he managed to get the blankets, tins of food and other supplies into the makeshift camp. He lit a fire and laid the heaviest blanket next to it. He stripped Vin's shirt off and dried him off with a towel that held the chicken he purchased. He dried the tracker off and laid him on the blanket. The stitches were ripped open and he'd have to redo them, but not now. His hands were trembling and his vision blurry. He poured carbolic on the wound and covered it with a clean bandage. He pulled a lightweight blanket up to Vin's neckline and then sighed in relief. Exhausted, he stretched out next to his silent friend and sent a quiet prayer of thanks to the Creator.
"Buck!"
"Damn..." Buck jumped up, squinting as the first signs of daylight greeted him. It was predawn and the sky was light. He knelt over the heaving chest and saw the wide-eyed patient, who was gasping audibly. He picked up the canteen and lifted Vin forward, pulling the water container back, when the greedy Texan began to gulp.
"You'll get sick... we got plently, take it slow." Buck ordered and the eyes narrowed at him, accusing him.
"...hell where ya... damn near died... woke up... they was... I couldn't... no air... shit..." Vin rambled, not sure he wanted to remember the worst night of his life.
"I'm sorry Vin." Buck whispered, feeling awful. The brief burst of energy left the fevered man exhausted and he laid back, breathing deeply and blinking rapidly. Buck watched the eyes slide shut and rested a hand on the flushed face. "Dammit..." he hissed, feeling a fever building. He left his patient and started a fire, popping several tins of broth open.
Vin was dozing when something nudged his lips. He inhaled the rich aroma and opened up, taking in the tasty broth. After several mouthfuls, he peeled an eye open and saw he was sitting up, resting against... against... he frowned and blinked lazily at four legs which appeared in front of him. He saw the spoon coming, and the hand that held it. He then realized his chair was made of flesh and bone.
"...get offa me... what... doin'... Buck?"
"Feedin' your ungrateful ass breakfast. Now eat up..." Buck was sitting up,
Vin was sitting in front of him, resting against his chest. It was the only way to keep the swaying, weak man upright and get food in him. Satisified when three mugs of broth disappeared into the younger man, Buck finally eased from behind. He laid Vin back down and bent over the gaping wound in his shoulder. It was still red, inflamed and hot to the touch. "You busted your stitches..." he warned the owlish eyes, trying to focus. "I'm gonna clean it and sew it up... okay?" he asked and saw the damp head nod once.
Vin watched Buck's blurry face moving over him. He felt the sting of the cold medicine as it hit his shoulder and then the bite of the needle. His vision cleared up and he saw something else. He screwed his face up and raised his left hand, trying to touch it.
"Cut that out," Buck ordered, shoving the wayward arm back, "I can't sew you up and shake hands .Pretend your back home... just lie around like you usually do," Buck teased, concentrating on his job. The hand came up again and the face was scrunched in concentration.
Vin stared at the side of Buck's head and saw a dark red sticky mass. He managed tosneak his hand up and touch Buck's head, causing a hiss and jerk.
"...yer... hurt..." Vin whispered, eyeing the dark eyes which bore into him.
"Just a little present from your kidnappers." He replied and saw the confusion on the patient's face, "It happened when I stopped to pull you out of that thing," Buck recalled, feeling the wayward hand reaching up again. "They jumped me, Vin... clubbed me with a rock. I'm sorry..." he hushed, biting his lip and resuming his job.
Vin took a deep breath and stared at Buck. He thought on the past days... Buck's was a wall of strength, saving his life and getting him out of prison. Buck was the one who dug the infection from his shoulder, Buck was the one who bathed him and fought his nightmares. That was the voice that drew him back. He saw the exhaustion and pain on the older man's face and parted his lips.
"...sorry..."
"For what?" Buck paused, cocking his head.
"...can't recall... something... did... hurt... ya... sorry..."
Buck chuckled and reached for a clean bandage, unable to resist ruffling the damp curls. "You buy me a beer and we'll call it even, okay?" Buck asked and lifted Vin, giving him a drink of the tea he made, laced with medicinal leaves and herbs. He smiled at the soft grunts of pleasure as the sweet tea disappeared. "You get some rest. The town can't be too far, we'll be there by supper."
He vowed and moved to clean the campsight up. He had more broth simmering and was trying to catch a nap, when the body began to twitch and the shaggy head moved. Buck saw the makeshift sling move and quickly placed a hand on the tracker's chest.
"What's wrong?" He hollered, "You gotta keep that arm still, Vin. Your shoulder's tore up bad and moving your arm is gonna make it worse," he chastised soundly, "Now get that head down, quit tossin' that skinny body around and get to sleep!"
"No..." Vin protested, fighting the sandbags on his eyes."...need... need..."
"Water?" Buck guessed, reaching for the canteen, but the head shook.
"No." Vin sighed, holding out his left hand.
Buck frowned and gripped the limp hand, "What is it, Slick? What do you need?" He leaned over, spotting the anxious eyes and the hard swallowing activity.
"...Thanks Marshal," Vin sighed deeply, gripping the hand in his and letting his eyes finally shut.
Buck kept that hand in his for a few seconds, feeling the impact of the brief statement. He replaced it carefully, before pulling up the blanket. He poured water over the towel and wiped Vin's face and neck. He stared at the bandaged chest rising and falling and the flushed face, finally relaxed and resting. "...damn sorry-assed tracker," he grunted, "...how does he do that?" he wondered of the tightening in his chest.
It was an impressive house and it's Georgian style was woefully out of place in the desert terrain. But still, the price was way below market and he did like saving money. Money, that was the force that drove him. Getting it, investing it and making more of it. He smiled as he thought of his growing fortune. Lifting the fine linen napkin to his lips, he nodded and the servant took the imported china dish away. She returned with a sterling silver carafe of coffee. He nodded again and she ground some cinnamon into his cup, before pouring the steaming liquid. He gazed around the large dining room, it's pale green walls and cream wainscoting gave the room a quiet, tranquil feeling.
"Anything else, Judge?"
"No, Vanessa," he replied, "That will be all. Have you seen to my room?"
"Not yet, Sir," the Spanish maid replied, bowing her head. "But..."
"See to it," he snapped, rising and taking his china cup. "Bring the coffee and the cinnamon rolls out onto the verandah."
"Yes, Sir," she hurried to follow out his order.
He moved his tall frame through the room and eyed the large formal foyer. The parlor was equally impressive, done in shades of mauve, rose, cream and sage. One wall held a huge fireplace, framed by French doors. He moved quickly through them and settled into a large chair on the immaculate porch. He nodded as the maid set the tray down and left.
He saw movement from his side vision and stood to get a better view. Before he could step foot off his patio, the sun reflected off a glint of silver. He squinted at the colt, then upwards at a tall, lean figure in black, who wore the weapon with ease. The wrist flicked slightly, nudging the pistol into his side.
"Mornin'" Chris grinned, cocking his head, "Beautiful day, isn't it?" He saw the judge's frown appear as his eyes took in the five empty gunbelts draped on Chris's shoulder. "You get what you pay for," he said of the guards on the property. He then tossed the gunbelts in a heap several feet away. "My men are keeping an eye on them, until we leave. Shall we?" he motioned with his free arm at the table set up with coffee and rolls.
"I don't who you are, Mister, but..."
"No, but I sure as hell know you... Spencer fuckin' Hazzard." Chris's smile disappeared and he pushed the gun further into Hazzard's gut. His finger was itching to pull the trigger. It took all his reserve to let the 'walking pile of refuse', as Ezra called him, breathe another minute. His eyes were like green coals and Vin's grave crept unwanted into his mind.
Ezra nearly moved in, seeing the unbridled hate pouring from Chris Larabee's eyes. For a brief moment, he saw the gunslinger's hand twitch and cringed, fearing the roar of vengeance would prove to be to strong, even for a Larabee. But then the mask fell back in place and he saw the blond regain control.
He shifted behind Chris, recalling the conversation from the night before. Chris knew the most about Hazzard and what he'd done to Vin. He was the only one the Texan had confided in and had the dangerous edge needed to pull off the stunt. Colt discovered that the men like Eli Joe, who worked for Hazzard, had all met with untimely deaths. The judge left no loose pieces to bring him any trouble. Once Kincaid's land was secure, he had no use for them, and saw to it they all were eliminated. Chris had the information Judge Travis uncovered, which spelled out the growing fortune of the now retired bench member. Nathan came up with the idea, and they all agreed it was the best fit.
Vin told Chris that he had no alibi, that he was alone on the trail the morning of the murder and arrived at the farm after Kincaid had been killed. Chris recalled the Texan mentioning being 'detained' for a few hours the night before in some dying town, after engaging in a brawl. That was when Nate came up with the idea. What if Vin was in jail all night and was not alone? The Judge had no henchmen now to do his dirtywork and more money than God. So if a stranger appeared, with all the right information, the Judge might pay him off, rather than face the consequences. If for no other reason, the to prevent that stranger from going to go to the railroad and tell them his story.
Colt added that the Judge never asked why the marshal had been bringing Vin to Texas. What if it wasn't about his bounty? What if the railroad was suspicious enough of the mysterious deaths of Kincaid and others in the area to investigate? So when a lawyer contacted them about a witness, they became very interested and offered a reward. They concluded that Buck, in the guise of the marshal, had been hired to find Tanner and bring him in to testify. If his story supported the claim of the witness, then Hazzard would be brought up on charges. Ezra was the natural choice as the lawyer hired by the railroad. Chris would be the drifter in Wardsville, the town where Vin was arrested that night. He'd been drinking with Tanner, they got into an argument and a fight ensued. They were locked up together and remained there all night. It was too far a ride to get to Tascosa from there in time to havekilled Kincaid.
"I won't buckle under such barbaric tactics," Hazzard paused as the other man laughed outright and shoved him into a chair. He leaned over, his green eyes narrowing.
"You got balls tossin' around the word 'barbaric' you murderin' bastard..."
"I think you would be well advised to leave my property now," Hazzard replied, not blinking, "Any further discussions can be managed through my solicitor."
"...got my own s-o-l-i-c-i-t-o-r," Chris drew out the word slowly and tilted his head, "Move that overpaid ass of yours, Talmidge."
Ezra dusted invisible dirt off his green jacket and walked towards them. He took of his hat and nodded his head. "I suggest you refrain from undo force, Mr. Lawrence, as it might result in lost income."
"Good point," Chris agreed backing up, but keeping his gun out.
"I believe an explanation is owed you, My Good Judge," Ezra steeled, nearly choking on the words. He poured them each a cup of coffee and took a long sip. "Just the right touch of cinnamon, quite exceptional."
"What's this about?" Hazzard hissed, growing increasingly nervous at the lean man in black's penetrating gaze.
"It's about you fucking with the wrong person," Chris lashed out, every muscle taut.
"Mr. Lawrence," Ezra warned, once again seeing the serpent rising in Chris's eyes. "What my client is clumsily trying to convey, is that we can be mutally beneficial to each other. You see, Mr. Lawrence has something that very well may save your life, for the right renumeration."
"A bribe?" Hazzard moved to place the china cup back on the table, "You wasted your trip out here. I have nothing to discuss with... "
"Vin Tanner."
The two words from the blond caused the judge's arm to jerk and the china cup to shatter on the stone below. Chris stared at the pale blue shattered glass fragments and thought of Vin's eyes. Blue mirrors of untold depths that were now lost to him forever. He drew his hooded gaze back up to the clearly rattled judge.
"Bit jumpy..." Chris mused, leaning lazily against the post supporting the overhang above them. "You see, you framed a bounty hunter named Vin Tanner for murder. That was your first mistake..."
"Uh... If I may continue," Ezra interrupted, sending a strong message to 'cease and desist' with his green eyes. "Mr. Lawrence is correct in his assumption. Mr. Tanner was unjustly accused of this crime. The rightful felon was a murderer by the name of Eli Joe..."
"I have proof." Hazzard spat back, "Tanner was as guilty as sin."
"Proof?" Ezra drawled, "Before you say anything further, you should know that I represent the railroad as well as Mr. Lawrence. When Mr. Lawrence discovered the railroad was looking into unscrupulous activity in this area and the possible illegal means by which the land they secured was purchased, well, he came forward."
"Just doing my civic duty," Chris eased, seeing Hazzard start to sweat.
"You're wrong..." Hazzard stood, "and I'll prove it. Vanessa!"
Ezra and Chris exchanged a brief glance as a beatiful Spanish woman appeared.
"Yes, Sir?"
"Get my valise!"
Five minutes later, she reappeared, carrying a large leather portfolio. Ezra moved the sterling silver tray away and she placed it in front of them. Chris's eyes narrowed and he kept his gun trained on Hazzard.
"That will be all," he ordered the maid, who left. He moved his hand to open it and heard the colt click.
"Move it or lose it," Chris ordered of the hand, "Talmidge, you open it."
"Very well," Ezra moved in and opened the leather bag, eyebrows rising as they drew out a gun as well as a knife. He tossed both far off the patio and inspected the interior. "It is now without weaponry." He relayed and motioned for the judge to continue. They watched as he rifled through several thick folders of documents, before pulling one out and handing it to Ezra.
"A full confession, signed and dated," Hazzard crowed, feeling triumphant, "three witnesses and notarized too. I don't know what game your playing, Lawrence, but it's over."
"That's Mr. Lawrence to you, Fuckface," Chris's voice was gutteral and his eyes narrowed.
"Very impressive," Ezra had to move his hand to cover the grin that Chris's remark brought. He then nodded, having spent a few minutes reading the legal paper. "Extraordinary penmanship, wouldn't you agree?" He handed the document to Chris, who stared at it then at him. Ezra read the question in Chris's eyes and he nodded slightly. He'd known about Vin's inability to read or write for quite some time.
"Amazing..." Chris nodded, reading the 'confession' by Vin Tanner, which admitted to the murder. He handed the paper back to Ezra, but stared hard at the judge. "...especially when you consider Vin Tanner was illiterate."
"Hah!" the judge scoffed, shaking his head, "You have no proof of that."
"Au contraire, my good fellow," Ezra smiled, "as well as a few other facts. Have you ever had the occasion to travel to Wardsville?"
"Where?" Hazzard squinted, wiping his glasses.
"Guess that answers that," Chris scoffed.
"Mr. Lawrence was detained there one night... with Mr. Vin Tanner. They weren't released from jail until the following morning. While tracking this Eli Joe person, who himself was wanted for murder, he found Jess Kincaid's body. But the time of death was well before he could have been there. The railroad was very interested in Mr. Lawrence's letter stating these facts. They contracted a marshal to bring Mr. Tanner to Texas, to give his testimony. Unfortunately, he met with an untimely end."
Chris's lips turned upwards as Ezra planted the bait and Hazzard swallowed it whole. He saw the sweat beads forming and the judge's hand trembling. He shoved his boot off the wall and rested a hand on Ezra's shoulder.
"Much as I'd like to do my 'civic' duty," Chris took a roll and dipped it into Ezra's coffee, before taking a bite. "I've been thinking about getting a place of my own. Maybe we could uh... work something out."
"Mutually beneficial," Ezra purred, "A capital idea..."
"Capital..." Chris repeated the conman's play on words. "I've always been partial to the number five... add three zero's for good measure..."
"Five thousand dollars!" Hazzard sputtered, standing and raising a fist.
"That, of course, is only Mr. Lawrence's fee. I haven't contacted the injured marshal or the lawman in Wardsville who took Mr. Tanner's statement that night and his 'mark'. That being to pick up his gun that next morning. He couldn't sign his name so..."
"Enough..." Hazzard hollered, "I'll need some time..."
"You got two days." Chris said, "Don't think about leaving, you'll be dead before you hit the edge of town. We'll be back at sundown... two days Hazzard." Chris tossed the remnant of the roll onto the table and followed Ezra to their horses.
"Oh and a parting note," Ezra drolled, "Mr. Tanner's statement was given to the sheriff in Salt Flats, Mr. Lawrence's statement to the railroad as well to myself, the statements from the two law officers and other key documents, are all locked up in a safe place. Should any harm befall my client or myself, the railroad will be notified to sieze them. Good day, Judge Hazzard."
"How'd it go?" Nate asked, when the duo appeared down the road.
"He's worried." Ezra nodded "...and I think he'll crack. We're reconvening at sunset at his house in two days."
"Judge Travis should arrive that morning," Sanchez noted, "...he's bringing a representative from the attorney general's office." He swung his head upwards, "Shame you can't be there to see this, Brother Vin."
"He knows..." Chris sighed, jerking his horse and heading on the road to Blue Meadow.
It was well past four o'clock and the two bedraggled figures were silently trudging on the path towards Blue Meadow. The lead figure was taller and the sun was causing his already throbbing head to pound without mercy. The smaller man was limping badly, barely walking.
"I'm fine." Vin rasped, without taking his eyes from the road. It took all of his concentration to place on foot in front of the other and not keel over.
"I didn't say anything," Buck retorted, pausing and glancing behind him. But his friend wasn't fine and the fact he was even able to walk amazed Buck.
The pain in his lower back was written in the lines on his face. The crude sling kept his damaged right arm in place and his face was flushed with fever. He was lagging further and further behind with every piece of road they covered. Buck knew he couldn't go on much further.
"Ya was thinkin' it," Vin contradicted, "heard ya as clear as rain..."
"Clear as rain?" Buck grunted, screwing his face up. He saw Vin jerk his body upright and stop. "Vin?" He covered the feet between them and saw the sweat-logged head rise.
"Trouble..." the tracker pointed to buzzards circling ahead.
"I'll check it out," Buck guided his wobbling friend into the shade and under a tree. "Drink," he ordered, giving Vin the canteen. "I'll be right back. Don't move!"
Buck ambled up the road and paused, spotting his gray bay tied to a tree. He inched forward and saw the two felons. One was in a bad way, the smell of dead tissue and infection hung in the air. The other was asleep next to him, the gun on his chest. Buck crept in and took the gun. Neither man stirred.
Buck got rope from the saddlehorn of his horse and tied them up. The older one managed to peel an eye open.
"I'll send somebody from town." Buck promised, turning and urging his horse back to where he left his injured friend.
Vin capped the canteen and stood up. He saw tracks nearby and staggered over to see if they belonged to Annabelle. He was bending over them, when a voice boomed behind him and startled him.
Buck eyed the empty tree and jerked the reins in on the horse. "Where the hell did that boy get to?" he gritted to the horse. "VIN!"
Buck cocked his head as a stream of curses in a familiar drawl sailed into his ears. He trotted over a few yards and saw Vin struggling to stand. He jumped down, his nose wrinkling in distaste.
"Shit!" Vin swore, seeing the cause of his trouble standing before him. "In every sense of the word," Buck chuckled, seeing the fresh horse manure all over Vin. "You're lucky I'm such a kind-hearted fellow," he teased, guiding his weak friend to the horse. "Look who I found."
"They dead?" Vin grunted of the felons, as Buck got him onto the horse.
"No, but they're close," he swung up behind Vin, glad that the stenchy-mess was on the front of the smaller man. He jerked the reins and they headed for town.
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