Setting: OW
His gun was empty, but he didn't need it. He wanted to use his hands, to squeeze the last breath from the murderer. The young bounty hunter never saw what hit him. He was fumbling to reload when Chris slammed into him. The gun went off and the boy's eye's widened. With a grunt, Chris shoved the body away. He eyed the young boy and felt his gut clench. Something was still wrong. The kid was too green to be out here alone. He wasn't a part of the Alvarez gang.
Something was crushing him and he couldn't breathe. He tried but only thin threads of oxygen were getting through. His muddled mind tried to make sense things. He shuffled his legs as the internal orders came down. Get up... move... danger... get up... move... danger. He tried to push off the oppressive weight without success. A white-hot pain shot up his leg and exploded, sending his muffled cry airborne into a pile of dirt. He pushed his face from the dirt and spit out a mouthful of blood. His eyes darted, seeing obscured images of bodies lying nearby. Wetness. Wetness on his face. Blood? His blood? No. Who's then? The last few minutes were replayed painfully and slowly. Climbing the rock, almost there, aiming to take out the brute's knees. Then a shot and his leg crumbling. A sneering smile as a rifle was aimed at his head. Then a body slam and ...
"Buck!" he hissed, shoving hard, despite the burning pain the movement produced. He crawled over and hitched himself up on his elbows. He swallowed hard at the large amount of blood covering Buck's face. He felt his chest constrict as a trembling hand made it's way towards the scarlet cheek. "Bucklin..." he rasped painfully, fumbling fingers dancing jaggedly on the only flesh not covered in blood, near Buck's neck. His sigh of relief was audible and sent airborne along with a prayer. He lowered his face over Buck's mouth and nose and felt the warm breath, steady and regular. He managed to get to his knees and gently turn the rogue's head. He carefully parted the sticky reddish hair and found a deep wound. So much blood... he fumbled for his kerchief, hoping to stem the flow. He dropped the cloth twice and shirked his coat off. He folded it carefully and rested Buck's head on it. He reached for the scarf again, before being shoved hard and toppling over.
Chris rose on unsteady legs and walked in a daze towards the body of Buck Wilmington. He saw Vin kneeling over the still form and shoved him aside. He picked up Buck and pulled him close, embracing him in death. He closed his eyes and denied the tears that burned behind pale lids. He rocked slightly and ran his hands through the sticky hair. Buck, whose strong hands and open heart were second to none. Buck whose fearless, stealth moves saved him during the Civil War countless times and how many times since. Buck, whose warm voice, guiding hand and booming laughter were now lost to him forever. The hole inside him was jagged, raw and unmendable. "Fuckin' hard-headed hero," he choked, "didn't let me say goodbye..."
Vin was on his back eyeing the moving scene from an odd angle. He read the tortured Larabee features all too well and acted accordingly. Rolling over and sitting up, he rested a hand on Chris's hunched, tense arm.
"I hate t'bust up yer pretty eulogy," he rasped, "But we ain't got nobody t'bury t'day."
"What?" Chris jerked and let Buck's body fall back. He gently lowered the still form and found the jugular. "Shit... Vin, get me a canteen and some whiskey," he ordered, ripping off his bandana and parting the soggy dark hair. "It's a nasty fucker... shit, we need Nate," he spat and pressed the cloth. "Move Vin!"
Vin took a deep breath and managed to stand. He froze for a second, his damaged right leg hovering a few inches above the ground. With great trepidation, he lowered it. He let out his breath, it supported him, it wasn't broken. He fingered the soggy, meaty part of his thigh and eyed the horses. They were only several yards away, but it seemed like miles. His slow gait sent a stream of blood into his pants with every agonizing step. By the time he reached the closest horse, his shirt was soaked in sweat and his face drenched. He slumped over the saddle resting his face and took several breaths. Then a sneezing fit made an unprompted appearance and took the little breath away he'd stored. Eyes closed, he fumbled for the canteen and shook it. He threw it over his shoulder and made his way to the next horse.
"What the hell is taking so long?" Chris muttered, his scorching eyes watching the cloth he was pressing to Buck's wound become sodden. He tossed it away and picked up Vin's discarded kerchief. He eyed the tracker and frowned, watching the head bob among the horses. "Vin, get your ass in gear!" He screamed, annoyed and worried at the same time. He eyed the dead body nearest him and quickly shed the man of his white cotton shirt. Tearing it furiously, he made a pile of bandages. He picked up the gun lying by the body and checked - three bullets. He shoved it in his waistband and knelt over Buck again. It was so strange to see the active, boisterous Wilmington, so still and unmoving. He didn't like it, not one bit.
Vin felt like telling the surly leader where he could stick his canteen, but he knew Chris was worried about Buck. From the saddlebag, he shoved a box of cartridges and a knife in his waistband. He slid the rifle from the scabbard and used it as a cane. He took a deep breath and grabbed the bottle of whiskey. Turning, he made the slow walk back to where Buck lie bleeding. Chris's face was as white as the cloth strips he held. He tossed the canteen, it landed with a thud at Buck's shoulder.
Chris picked up the canteen and poured some water over Buck's wound. He gently dabbed at the deep wound and snapped his fingers. The bottle slid over his shoulder and he took it. He cast a brief glance backwards and saw a pile of guns being formed. Vin was shopping. Uncorking the whiskey bottle with his teeth, he poured the burning liquid over the wound. Buck cried out, but never woke and Chris quickly bandaged the damaged head. He poured more water onto Buck's face and gently washed the blood away.
"Chris, look out!"
Chris rolled, spun and fired, acting on instinct from the voice he trusted like no other. He watched a body topple from a rocky crevice and jogged over. He toed the shoulder, before turning over the body. The chest still rose and fell, as the scarlet blossom formed. Another wound scored the attacker's arm. He heard a cacophony of sneezes and felt Vin's ragged breathing trace his neck.
"Damn." Vin sneezed and wheezed, "Cody fuckin' Peterson."
"Interesting middle name," Chris deadpanned, "Old friend?"
"Hell no," Vin didn't hide his disgust. Peterson had always been a shoot first hunter, too many innocent men died by his hand. "Ain't nobody gonna cry over his bones. That's one tough hombre. He's been chasin' me fer years."
Chris heard the pregnant pause and turned, watching the large blue eyes fill with rage. He knew the sudden silence meant the discussion was closed. "He ain't dead yet," Chris pressed his toe into the bloody chest and the man moaned. "I don't think he'll bother us. I'm gonna..." he paused as his side vision caught movement."Vin!" he lunged and caught the younger man whose legs buckled. "Were you hit?" he asked and saw the large scarlet mass on the tan thigh of the pants. "Goddammit Vin," he swore and half-carried the wheezing body back to where Buck was lying. "Why didn't you say something?" He growled, cringing at his verbal abuse of thetracker's slow progress with the canteen.
"Ya didn't ask?" Vin hedged, trying to remove the scowl.
"Don't be a smartass." Chris pushed the tracker down and began ripping the fabric off. His mind saw Vin being shoved by Buck, and Buck covering him with his body. He jerked the fabric and remained lost in thought, until a soft voice and sticky fingers on his hand halted him.
"Ya mind leavin' the skin on m'leg..."
Chris sighed and sat back, scratched his head and ran a weary hand over his face. A gentle tug on his sleeve caused him to turn.
"It didn't hurt so much..." Vin offered, not liking the quiet figure's pinched, pale features.
"Vin, your head could be hanging by a thread and you'd never complain." Chris smiled a little. "You're a Tanner," he complimented, eyeing the runny nose, bloodshot eyes and sneezing body. "Picture of health, too," he teased and took the canteen. He poured water over the sticky fabric and cut the soggy cloth away.
Vin rolled sideways and lifted his leg, biting back a cry as Chris probed the wound. His movement sent him next to Buck's face. He grabbed the still, broad shoulder and squeezed hard. "Hang in there Buck," he coughed, flinching at the Larabee 'delicate' touch. "Yer lucky ya ain't awake. Nate don't have nothin' t'worry about... not with them hands."
"Shut up Tanner," Chris ordered, smacking the back of the mangy head lightly. "It went through, but it took a good hunk of your muscle. He poured water over both wounds and then reached for the bottle. "Take a sip," he ordered and waited until Vin nodded. He saw Vin gripping Buck's forearm smiled. Buck didn't know how far his power extended. He flinched when Vin's silent cry erupted. He would have preferred a curse or cry, not the stifled hiss that went airborne. He quickly wrapped the leg and tied off a knot. He helped Vin sit up and saw the serious eyes studying him.
"Here, ya need this more than I do," Vin said, eyeing the pale, pinched features. "Ya best get movin', we got trouble comin'."
"How so?" Chris took a long swig and waited.
"Right when I was gonna take out that sniper's knees, somebody shot me. I went down on m'knees and before Buck hit me, I seen 'im. Marco Alvarez, the Don's youngest son. Buck shot him... I seen his guard pick 'im up and take off. Chris, that old man finds out we killed his son..."
"We're fucked again..." Chris nodded, "How far away is their ranch?"
"Just over the border, unless they're hold up closer. But he's totin' a body, ridin' slow. Plus, ya got that horse," he nodded to the Golden Palomino grazing nearby. "He's a runner... that's Alvarez's horse. Ya take that cutoff we passed about two miles back, ya should catch 'im good."
Chris stood and eyed the horizon and then the flushed face of the Texan. Vin was reclining, his eyes closed. He squatted and found his hand slapped away.
"Leave me be... it's warm runnin' around... 'specially when ya got a damn grouch barkin' at ya."
"You got a fever comin' Vin..."
"I can take care of 'im." Vin leveled, sitting up straight and drilling the concerned green eyes. He rested one hand on Buck's shoulder and stared at the leader hard. "We got no choice Chris."
Chris eyed the bloodshot eyes and wheezing body of the valiant guard. Vin was right, they didn't have any choice. What if Alvarez had a camp nearby? He stood and began his chores. His lean strides quickly found bedrolls, food, water and ammo. He eased Buck onto a bedroll under the shade of a nearby tree. He covered the still body and lifted the bandaged-hero's head. His stomach lurched at the amount of blood coloring the hide coat clutched in the tracker's hands. Vin placed his treasured jacket, folded into a pillow, under it. The canteens, whiskey and food were nearby. Vin had a rifle cradled in one arm, a pistol in his waistband and a knife there too. Chris armed the horse with what he needed, then turned back. He squatted beside the ailing Texan and cast a sorrowful smile. The burst of sneezes and bleary eyes blinking at him, made him wince.
"Dammit Vin," he teased, "quit sneezing' at me. I don't need your sorry-assed Tanner cold."
"Too late." Vin tossed back, taking the large cloth Chris offered and blowing his nose. "I sneezed on ya whilst ya were sleepin' last night."
"You're full of shit." Chris drilled. He turned to Buck and rested his hand against the pale face. He let one callused thumb stroke the proud cheekbone. His breath caught at just how close he came to losing this special man.
"Chris..." Vin said softly. He knew how hard it was for the leader to leave.
"Yeah, I know..." Chris returned, as they locked forearms. Chris let the grip linger, squeezing Vin's arm until the younger man yelped. He sent all his faith in that grip and the long gaze they shared. He turned quickly and left, vaulting onto the Palomino. He turned once and studied the bloody pair of brothers he was leaving behind. Vin was resting his head against the tree, his labored breathing obvious in the forced movement of the shirt. As if sensing him, Vin lifted his head and the wind took his hair back. He managed a smile and nodded.
"Watch yer back, Cowboy."
"Wish I was watching yours."
Chris saw Vin smile and toss his head, hearing the silent call. The uncanny communication sometimes left both of them at a loss. He turned and rode like the devil, the wind slapping his face.
Vin watched until Chris was a black speck. He shook the canteen and frowned. He was too thirsty, that wasn't good. He wet a cloth and wiped Buck's face, resting the cloth across his brow. He blinked hard and pulled the rifle closer, willing himself to stay awake
The minutes slid into each other and the sun suddenly became an unarmed enemy. Buck needed him... Chris was depending on him. Those were the last thoughts he had as his eyes rolled back and he slid bonelessly into the black void.
The blackness was endless and frightening. He had no definition, form or body. He felt only coldness and pain. An unrelenting agonizing pain that pulsated in his head without remorse. The torture was like none he'd ever encountered. A red, vibrant searing shard of agony was ripping through his brain. Every movement brought new waves of orange-red distress. He felt himself being propelled forward at an unrelenting speed. His breath caught and the screaming in his ears increased, forcing his eyes open. He gasped and eyed the blue sky in confusion. For several minutes, he didn't move. He felt sure his head was separated from his body, the pain was that bad. He wiggled his fingers and moved his legs. He closed his eyes and let his hand rest on his face. His fingers found the bulky bandage. His fuzzy mind couldn't reason beyond the pain slamming into him. Sighing heavily, he turned his face and saw dead bodies, Mexican bodies. Mexican bodies? What the hell happened? He thought back, pushing through the fuzziness and remembered... nothing. He rolled painfully and crawled away, leaving the blankets behind him. He managed to travel slowly, covering several feet, when his stomach rebelled. He vomited until the dry heaves stabbed his chest. He collapsed, too weak to move. He eyed a canteen nearby and crawled painfully to it.
The aged bounty hunter was dying. The coldness he felt went straight to his bones. He felt Death hovering nearby, her cold lips caressing him. He eyed the bodies nearby and squinted. Tanner had fallen over awhile ago, and had yet to move. But the other guy... Wilmington... he was finally moving. He watched the mustached-man rouse and retch. He had been a student of human nature all his life, it had saved his hide, until today. He read the tall man easily and felt a stir inside. He saw the confused face studying the landscape, bodies and then it happened. Cody stared at Tanner's young face and smiled cruelly. The plan unfolded and gave him a painful smile. He coughed up blood and felt his insides slipping through his fingers, as he made his final vow.
"If I'm goin' to hell, Boy," he promised, "you're goin' with me."
Buck crawled to each body, checking for life, but all of them were dead. More confusion rained down. By his eye, there were at least ten dead men. What the hell happened? He laid back and rested as the world flew around him and sweat poured freely, soaking his face and shirt. He blinked several times and shook his head, trying to rid the blurry landscape. His face screwed up and he eyed another body near where he woke up. Gasping heavily, he crawled over and studied the well-armed young man. He was lying on his stomach, with a rifle under him. Buck turned him over and peered intently at the flushed face of the long-haired stranger. He eyed the bloody thigh and shook his head again, coming up blank. He took the rifle and tossed it away, then took the gun and knife too. He turned the face again, holding the strong jaw while staring at the unconscious man. He cocked his head, frowned and shook it, letting the confusion become his mask.
Cody's smile broadened. Wilmington's head injury had him addled, and it was time to make his move. His years of hunting made him an expert at reading people. This young man had no idea where he was or what happened. He was dying anyway, he had nothing to lose.
"Buck! Buck!" He cried out, reaching a bloody hand.
"Huh?" Buck dropped the stranger's head and turned. Another wounded gunman was beckoning. He rose to his knees, then braced himself and stood. "Shit..." he hissed as the landscape whirled around him. He closed his eyes and waited, until the world slowed and he felt stable. He moved slowly, keeping the gun trained on the dying man. The pink intestines peeking through the man's hands told him the wound was fatal. He knelt down and offered the canteen, but the man denied it.
"No time... Buddy... Glad you're okay. You had me worried."
"Who the hell are you?"
"Cody Peterson." he offered and felt an inner thrill, when the face remained blank.
"Should that mean something to me?"
"Hell, yeah. We're both trackin' that murderin' bastard."
"What murdering bastard?" Buck asked, eyeing the bloodless face. The man was in his mid-forties, well built and his eyes were sharp.
"Tanner."
"Tanner?" Buck frowned, then glanced backwards. "That kid?"
"Kid? Hell, he's a killer." Cody pressed on, twisting the knife. "I've been huntin' him for sometime."
"Hunting?" Buck frowned, his hand reaching for his heart. Where was it? "I ain't no hunter Mister, I'm a marshal, out of Abilene."
"Yeah... I know that, Buck." He fumbled badly. This was even better than he thought, a fucking lawman! "Look, if you don't believe me, I got papers on him. In my horse... the chestnut with the blaze, just beyond them trees."
Buck made no move to find the papers. He sat down as a wave of nausea threatened. The pain was slamming into his head full force and he felt himself weakening. He clutched his head and hissed as the wave roared through. Sighing, he eyed the dead Mexican nearby and then the horse behind him. The brand stung his eyes, an 'A' with a downward arrow.
"I know that brand..." He mumbled, eyeing the sun slung low, hovering over the horizon beyond the horse.
"Hell, who doesn't," Cody gritted, feeling himself fading. "Alvarez gang... we got caught in the middle of a... uh... a raid I guess. Tanner was heading north, I was trailin' him. You've been after him for months. You can't remember?" He paused for effect and proceeded, "Hell, he killed a friend of yours, a farmer named Kincaid."
"No." Buck sighed, shaking his head. What did he remember? A silver badge, a busy town, apple tarts with his coffee, a desk in the office in front of the jail cell, dinner with Mary Kate, Slim Watson behind the bar... and a greenhorn deputy all of eighteen. His heart hammered and he riveted his head.
"Danny?" Buck said automatically, eyeing the ground for his deputy. Damn kid was always getting into trouble. "Where'd he go?"
"Who?"
"My deputy, Danny Whitehorse."
"He uh... rode for help. Alvarez's kid was killed, the guard took the body. The kid took care of you, then went after help. Listen Buck, I know we've had our run-ins, but Tanner is a cold-blooded killer. I'm dying... you take him to Texas and cash in. That five hundred will go a long way."
"Five hundred dollars?" Buck winced as the pain reached an agonizing crescendo. He clasped his head and cried out. When the wave stopped, he eyed the young man.
Cody read the question in the confused eyes next to him and acted. "He was just about to slit your throat with a knife." He took several shallow breaths and saw the doubt fading. "...keeled the hell over... Buck... get the poster... you'll see... my bag... go..."
Buck's leaden legs carried him to the horse and his fumbling fingers drew out the yellow poster. He unfolded it and saw the likeness and scanned the words. He took the rope that was on the saddlehorn as well. He staggered to Tanner's side and sat down hard. He studied the face carefully and sighed again. The poster confirmed Cody's story, the silent stranger was a murderer. He turned the young man over and cut a length of rope. He tied his hands tightly behind his back and left him on his side. As he began searching the body for more weapons, the would-be-convict moved.
Vin felt someone near and forced his eyes open. A cough rattled from deep within his chest and he tried to cover his mouth. "What the hell?" he croaked, his face pressed into the dirt. His eyes tore across the terrain to Cody Peterson, who hadn't moved. The gray-blue eyes were leering at him and the smile on the dying man's lips gave Vin a chill. Buck? He rolled and tried to get up, only to be slammed back down.
"Save your strength, Son, we got a long ride ahead."
"Buck?" Vin croaked. "Yer okay? Hell, I thought ya was dead. ntie me... that devil musta..."
"Shut up Tanner. It won't work. The Marshall knows who you are. I might be dying, but you're not far behind."
Vin's brows furrowed as he absorbed Peterson's words. The Marshal? His blue eyes darted back and forth as he recalled Buck's tales of his past days wearing a badge. His tenure as a sheriff in... "Shit..." he hissed. "Texas..."
"Yeah, that's where we're headed." Buck confirmed, mistaking Vin's thought. "This is a real good likeness." He squatted and unfolded the wanted poster.
Vin's heart sank with a sickening thud. How could this be possible? Talk to Buck... make him understand. Stall until Chris gets back. "Can I sit up?"
"Huh?" Buck frowned, appraising the injured body. "Well, okay." He pulled the lean man up and rested him against the tree. His hand found the skin hot to the touch. He picked up the canteen at Tanner's hip and uncorked it. He held it to the fevered man's lips and let him drink. He felt his strength ebbing badly. He eyed the unfamiliar terrain and frowned.
"He's lying, Buck." Vin said softly. "He's a bounty hunter, he's..."
"I know who he is," Buck defended hotly. "...and I know who the hell you are too. This poster confirms his story."
"I was framed, I told ya that. Eli Joe set me up in Tuscosa. Buck, look at me. I'm Vin Tanner. I'm yer friend. Chris will straighten this out when he gets back."
"Chris!" Buck jerked back and stared at the light blue eyes, which were trained on him. They didn't blink or turn away. They bore into him, like azure beams of fire.
"Yeah... Chris Larabee. We was ridin' back from Salerno. Alvarez's men jumped us..."
"Chris... Chris..." Buck shook his head. He hadn't seen Chris in six months or more. He blinked and cocked his head, trying to rid the pain and confusion. Hoping desperately that the haze would fade and his reasoning would return. Although conscious, he remained walking through clouds, unsure and unsteady. Could Chris be Tanner's partner? Had he turned back into the violent man who'd haunted towns after his soul was stolen? He face was an open book, and the cunning killer didn't waste any time.
"He's lying Buck." Cody coughed. "He was the one ridin' from Salerno. You almost caught him, too. Until he tried blowin' your head off. Some sharpshooter... he missed. That's how you got plugged."
"Yer the lyin' sac o'shit, Peterson. I shouldda killed ya in Tucson." Vin growled, getting on knees and lunging. Buck grabbed him and sat him down hard.
"See, I told you Buck, he's a killer." Cody protested, grinning at Vin evilly behind Buck's back. "Tortured that friend of yours before he offed him, made it slow and painful." This only led Vin to growl and lunge again. Buck cuffed him and he fell back, coughing.
"How'd he know about Chris?" Buck stood, standing between the two men, vying for his attention.
"You were outta your head. After the deputy left, you started talkin' and carryin' on, without wakin' up. Like bad dreams or somethin'."
"Buck, don't do this." Vin wheezed. His head was pounding and he eyed his injured friend carefully. Buck needed a doctor. The pain-hazed dark blue eyes were black and the face pinched. If Buck keeled off a horse before Chris got back... "Buck, ya can't ride a horse, yer hurt. We'll stay until Chris gets back."
"It's a trick Buck. Some mean lookin' blond fella is his partner, eyes like green glass. They split up leaving town, to trick you. He's gunnin' for you, Buck. You don't let out now and you'll be vulture bait. Fanning is the nearest town, about ten miles east," the sly professional lied. Buck Wilmington had no idea where he was or what merciless tyrant ran the town of Fanning. He managed to contain a grin, inwardly rejoicing. "From there it's only a couple days ride into Texas. You can leave Tanner in the jail and get a doc to check you out." Cody hissed, watching the tall man's features carefully. He saw the slight nod and got his wish. Tanner sank back defeated, also seeing the decision spelling out his fate.
"Yeah... my head's killing me." Buck mumbled, covering his face on one hand. There was no word to describe the pain slamming into him. He was feeling worse by the minute. If Danny didn't get back, and even if Tanner's partner didn't show up, the sun would do him in. Cody's words filled him with a cold fear. Mean looking blond with eyes like green glass... that could be Chris Larabee. What harm could riding to Fanning do? He could stow Tanner in the jail there for a few days, just till he was better.Then he'd find Danny and they'd take him back to Texas together. The kid could use the money. "We'll head out. I'll send some wires from Fanning."
Cody watched Buck get two horses ready. Tanner hadn't moved and when Buck squatted over him, he made a final desperate act.
Vin weighed his options while Buck got the horses ready. He eyed his suffering friend carefully. Buck was barely able to walk and in a lot of pain. He saw the agony in Buck's face and knew he needed a doctor. But Vin didn't want to end up behind bars in an unfriendly town. It could be hours before Chris got back. He saw the doubt in Buck's face. The tall man believed Chris had gone bad and was a killer. Chris? He flicked his eyes at the horizon and a horrid thought entered his mind. What if Chris ran into trouble and wouldn't come back? Without medical help, both of them might die. He sighed and saved what little strength he had. Maybe if he got the upper hand, got his hands free and overpowered Buck. He could head back to Salerno and wire home. He closed his eyes and felt Buck approaching. A long bout of sneezes left him bleary-eyed and messy.
"Damn..." Buck frowned, eyeing the slimy face and backing up.
"Untie me... let me get cleaned up." Vin asked quietly, putting his worst, woeful, helpless look onto his face. "Hell, ya gotta gun and I've got a bad leg..."
Buck paused and knelt down, flipping the knife out. Vin nodded gratefully and rubbed his wrists, restoring circulation. He picked up the canteen and took a long draw. He found thecloth that he'd used to bath Buck's face and wet it. He wiped his face and blew his running nose. He took another drink and corked the canteen. He rose on unsteady legs and hissed as the fire in his leg erupted. He held his hands out to be retied and saw Buck come closer.
The move came so fast, Buck didn't know what hit him. He was on the ground, on his belly with Tanner on his back. "That wasn't a real smart move, Son. I'm not gonna forget that."
"Buck, listen to me..."
But Buck had a few moves of his own. He shot an elbow backwards and high, using the sharp intake of breath to flip the lighter man around. Both men were weak and the fight was a sorry one. Buck felt the world spinning around and fought to break free. His fist connected with the injured man's leg. Then he slammed a fist into Tanner's face. The sharp cry and body slumping told him he'd won. He untangled himself and spent several minutes waiting for the pain to subside and the world to stop spinning. He crawled several feet away and threw up the water he drank. After the dry heaves left him, it took him several minutes to get the strength to rise. Tanner was on his stomach and Buck nudged him this time, wary of the lightning fast moves. He knelt and tied him up again, then tossed him over the saddle, securing him.
That was the last image Cody Peterson had in this life. He didn't regret dying and the sight of Vin Tanner bound and being led to the noose, was a sweet one. He closed his eyes and felt a hand. He peeled one eye open and saw Wilmington kneeling. "Don't... wait... go..."
Buck closed the unseeing dead eyes and his knees buckled. The land began flying around at a record pace and his stomach lurched. He crawled a feet away and suffered the dry heaves in the tall thrush. He was too weak to move and spent several minutes just trying to stay awake. Finally he crawled back to the tree and found a canteen. He eyed the secured bounty, then relaxed and cleaned up. He'd rest a few minutes and then head to Texas, via Fanning.
Chris tracked the fleeing bandit through rough terrain and across a river. He urged the horse harder, needing to catch the bandit before he reached the Alvarez camp. The green eyes narrowed as the figure he'd kept his eye on during the pursuit slowed. He pulled back into a thicket of trees and watched carefully. The muscular Mexican slid from his horse and knelt by the front leg. Chris watched cautiously as he made his way to the water's edge, with a cloth in his hand. That was a break for the good guys and Chris felt his luck changing. The gunslinger eased off the Palomino and let him drink downstream. He crept carefully until he was within striking distance of the other man. Just as he raised his weapon, his weight shifted and a twig snapped under his boot.
Javiar Domingez had lightning quick reflexes.That is why Don Alfredo chose him to be Marco's lieutenant. He heard the stranger before the noise alerted him. His keen instincts had him on alert. So he wheeled and fired almost simultaneously with the branch breaking. He dove for cover under the guise of the rocky gathering by the water.
"Shit!" Chris hissed, ducking as a bullet flew past. He returned fire and for several minutes, they played a cat and mouse game. Chris paused to reload, but Javiar knew that, and made his move. He made a silent dash and fired, sending the black-clothed stranger's gun flying.
"Ugh!" Chris turned and felt the full impact of the bullet in his right arm. "Dammit..." He groaned and tried to brace himself. The muscular guard's body hit him full force. They grappled, rolling over and over, two sets of determined eyes full of fire. Chris's right wrist was throbbing and he winced as the pain shot up to his shoulder.
"Now you will die like the dog that you are, Gringo." Javiar said, pressing the pistol to the blond man's throat.
"I don't think so you fuckin' Mexican cockroach..." Chris gritted, pulling a knife from the strap on his knee and plunging it in the surprised attacker's throat.
He shoved the body off as the last death rattle came. He took the white scarf the fancy dresser was wearing and staggered to the river. He cleaned the entrance and exit wounds and doused it with whiskey. Using the pristine silk scarf, he tied a crude bandage. He flexed his fingers, wiggling them painfully. It wasn't broken, but totally useless, a bad sprain. Sighing, he eyed the horizon and recalled the cliffs he'd past several miles back. After securing both bodies to the bandit's horse, he deposited them over the cliff and set the horse free.
He was sweating, dizzy and disoriented, but determined. His jaw was clenched and his eyes full of flint. He urged the great horse back towards the area when his friends were waiting. He kicked the steed's belly and lay low, feeling the wind kiss his face. His arm throbbed and his eyes were blurry, but he was a man on a mission.
It was a strange dream... he was in a dark, cold river. Its murky waters were churning and pulling him down. The fierce wind bit into his skin and the driving rain felt like nails being pounded in the tender skin on his face. The heavy, woolen Union uniform was choking him. There was a bank on either side and equally distant. The water was up to his chin and rushing into his throat. He choked and sputtered, eyeing the muddy land to his right. His horse was there waiting. There was no rain or wind and he started to swim. Then he heard someone calling him. He turned to the other bank and saw a group of blues, not from his unit. How did they know him? He couldn't see the faces, but there were at least half a dozen. They were yelling at him, beckoning him to come. They needed him... wanted him. He didn't know what to do, the river slammed into him, pulling him down into its ravenous belly.
"Huuuuh!"
Buck rolled over and dissolved into a coughing fit. He was sweating
profusely and shaking all over. What a nightmare. It took several minutes and dumping the rest of the canteen into his mouth and on his face to prompt him. He didn't know how long he was out and forced his leaden legs to move. He didn't want to be lost out here with a head injury at night. Fanning couldn't come soon enough. His vision was fuzzy and his head felt like a red-hot poker was shoved through his brain. He rose on unsteady legs and wobbled over to check on the prisoner. The young man was still unconscious mand wheezing heavily. Buck packed the horse and was ready to leave, when he heard a distant shout.
Chris recognized the landscape and urged his mount onward. From a distance, he saw a body slung over a saddle and another standing. His heart sank and his eyes were filled with dread. There was no mistaking the tall man in the tan coat. Buck was ready to mount a horse. He'd never leave Vin... unless. No, it couldn't be... but the angle of the body suggested otherwise. As he drew closer, he saw the long hair hanging limply, covering the face. Vin wasn't moving and was tied down. What the hell had happened? The Texan wasn't that bad off when he left. His heart was pounding faster than the large horse's hooves.
"Cody 'fuckin' Peterson," he screamed at the cruel sky. That was the only answer. The killer must have somehow taken Vin out. He'd left his best friend to die alone. Buck was standing and able to ride. A part of him would was thankful and relieved, but he was so wounded at losing Vin that he was numb. He saw the leg in the stirrup and called out.
"Buck!"
Buck turned and eyed the rapidly approaching horse. He raised his rifle and cocked it. His mouth grew dry, his heart was thumping and his eyes were guarded. He knew the rider as well as he knew himself. Nearly ten years together did that to a relationship. But Cody's words and the murderer's knowledge of his former friend, left him wary. He recalled all to well the demon Chris turned into after Sara and Adam died earlier this year. Cold eyes... a killer's eyes... endless gunfights in nameless towns left bodies strewn. He eyed the odd angleof Chris on the horse and recognized an injury. His gun arm was dead... that was a relief, since nobody could outdraw greased lightning. Strangely, the pale face was full of emotion and the eyes were green fire, not glass. Buck drew the rifle up and gave fair warning.
"That's far enough Chris."
Chris didn't hear Buck or see the rifle. All he saw was the tracker's lifeless body. His heart was shattered and he slid from the horse. He never hesitated and nearly didn't recognize his own voice when it slid by his tense lips.
"Vin!" His left hand gripped the side of the stilled face, dangling against the side of the horse. He was still warm. "Fuck... " he swore, realizing the end had just come. He dropped his head and rested his hand against the lean sharpshooter's back. He sighed deeply, letting his fingers trail down to the neck and through the wavy hair. "Jesus, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have left you..."
Buck kept the gun drawn on his former friend. He eyed Cody's dead body and the bounty hunter's words came back to him. That Chris and Tanner had split up leaving town. What shocked him was the raw emotion in Larabee's voice and the gentle hand stroking the prisoner's head. It was clear that the younger man meant something to Chris.
"Been awhile, Chris..." he offered coldly.
"What?" Buck's strange choice of words cut through his red haze. But before he could reply, he noticed Vin was bound hand and foot. What the hell was going on? A rage built inside him. Vin didn't deserve to be tied up like a dog. They'd toted bodies before, wrapped up with some amount of respect. As he turned to confront the other man, something happened that turned his blood to ice. His fingers brushed Vin's throat and felt the blood pulsing through his veins. The Texan wasn't dead.
"What the hell are you doing?" Chris screamed, fumbling for his knife with his left hand. "You got him tied up like a fuckin' dog. Jesus Christ, Buck!" he gritted.
"That's far enough, Chris," Buck warned, seeing the silver glint of the blade as it gripped Tanner's wrists. "Drop that knife. Old friend or not, I'm not letting you take him."
"Take him?" Chris turned gripping the knife awkwardly in his left hand. He stood in front on Vin's body, protecting his vulnerable friend. onfusion rained down on him, until he saw Buck's eyes. All the warmth that normally lived in the dark blue Wilmington eyes was gone. Twin cold beacons bore into him, dark and totally void of emotion.
"Yeah..." Buck nodded, "To Texas, he's wanted for murder."
Chris rocked back on his heels, stunned into silence by the force and intent of Wilmington's words. He eyed the bloody face and saw the deadly intent. Buck was serious. He recalled all to well the deep graze and shifted his feet. The head injury was more serious than he could have imagined. He couldn't draw on Buck, and yet he couldn't leave him take Vin. What would Solomon do? What a choice. He dropped his head to formulate some kind of plan.
"Move away from him, Chris. I know about you two."
"Huh?" Chris cocked his head. "Look Buck, it's been a rough day. You damn near got your head blown off. Now I'm thinking that shot took some of your brains when it hit you. Vin's hurt... you're hurt... I'm hurt." He paused, not liking the stark coldness in the dark blue eyes facing him. His name was Buck Wilmington, but he felt like a stranger.
"Back away, now..." Buck menaced. "I gotta a job to do, I'm taking him to..."
"You're not taking him anywhere." Chris's instinct spilled the words before his logic could interfere and change the lethal tone.
Buck never flinched. It was easy to see by Chris's body language, he'd made
his choice. The kid was his partner all right and Larabee would do anything to protect him. Even gripping the knife in his left hand, he was ready to kill. "... and drop that knife."
Chris leveled his shoulders and stared hard into Buck's eyes. There was only about six feet between them. He couldn't rush Buck, even wounded, Buck had the upper hand... and a firm grip on the rifle. One mistake and he'd be holding his intestines or a misfire would take Vin's head off. Buck's fingers were curled tightly on the gun, the eyes full of flint and the face a cold mask. From where his left hand sat by his hip, Chris could feel Vin's warm breath dancing on his fingers. He was torn... he couldn't hurt either man. They'd become more than friends, they were family.
"Buck, listen to me." He kept his voice even and unwavering. "We were attacked this morning by the Alvarez gang. You and Vin were wounded. I..."
"Save your breath." Buck interrupted, his head pounding furiously. He was fighting hard to remain upright and wanted to get on the road and find Fanning. "That's old news. I know about Tanner... he damn near killed me.
Some sharpshooter..."
"Vin didn't shoot you!" Chris growled, losing the battle with his patience. "That bounty hunter did..."
"Nice try Chris, but it won't work." Buck denied, "Peterson filled me in, gave me the wanted poster. He knows all about you and Tanner." Buck paused, "That kid attacked me, I had to knock him out. You're loyal, I'll give you that. You saved my life on more that one occasion, so I owe you. I'll tie you up and leave you some water. But I took an oath and I'm taking that murderer in."
"He was framed, Buck." Chris gritted, pointing the knife as an exclamation point. "You know that..." He mulled on the word oath and his eyes narrowed. "What oath?"
"I'm a lawman now, got a job as sheriff in Abilene. Six months is a long time. I can't believe you turned sour." He felt a pang of guilt. He really thought Chris was on the road to recovery when he left him in New Mexico. "Guess you didn't take to ranchin'. McClendon seemed like a good man. Last warning, back up or I'll take you in for interfering with the law."
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