Setting: OW
"Ranching?" Chris's face screwed up. "McClendon? Shit!" He hissed, shaking his head. While his mind did a mental calculation, a moan from behind him distracted him. Instinct and worry caused him to react without thinking. He turned to assure himself and fulfill the need to see Vin's eyes.
The movement of the anxious horse jarred Vin's senses. He peeled an eye open and resisted the urge to throw up. He was upside down and trussed up like a turkey. The blood rushed to his head, leaving him totally disoriented. Waves of pain and nausea took turns attacking him. Then he managed to move his head and saw a black thigh and the familiar holster.
"...riss... Chris..." he croaked.
"Vin!"
Buck saw the slight hesitation of Larabee's wrist when Tanner called out to him. The blond head turned sideways for a moment and that's all he needed. Two long strides and a soft touch of the rifle to Chris's head was all it took.
"No!" Vin cried out, watching Chris crumple and fall. "Don't hurt 'im. Buck... listen to me... Buck... " Vin pleaded. He was trying desperately to remain conscious, but the vertigo was overwhelming. He watched from an odd angle as Buck's boots dragged Chris's body under the tree. He saw the blurry standing figure tend to the injured man and leave him a canteen. He tried to wiggle free but the momentum was a mistake and the black curtain fell, silencing him.
Buck left Chris tied loosely, in the shade with a full canteen. It hurt to see him turn like this. He thought he knew the man. But the charred bodies of Sara and Adam had killed his friend months ago. This man was a stranger. He rested a hand on Chris's shoulder for a moment, and recalled the happier days when they rode like brothers. Days full of sunlight and laughter... fighting side by side in the war... exploring every wild town on the way west... standing for him the day he married Sara... seeing his face when Adam was born. Then the fire and the bodies... that fuckin' smell... the stranger who wore Chris's clothes from that night onward, crowded his mind. A man with no soul... a dead man walking. He sighed and with a final pat, he stood.
"I'm sorry, Chris..." He managed, feeling a hideous weight in his chest. For a moment he was barely able to stand. Touching the blond had sent a jarring, jangle of nerves through him. He shook off his unsteadiness and returned to his job. His prisoner secure, the marshal slid on his horse and headed for Fanning.
It was the sounds that drew his eyes open. There were voices, buzzing like bees and making the lancing pain in his head worse. He peeled an eye open and saw fuzzy outlines of bodies and buildings in the darkness. He sighed in relief and tried to move, but couldn't push back the heavy weight that had settled on his back. Buck was slumped over and barely able to remain on the horse. He heard footsteps and felt hands grabbing at him. His blurry vision saw a silver star and the hard face on the body it was pinned to.
"Wilmington... Marshall... shot... my prisoner... Tanner... murder..." he managed to utter before falling off the horse.
"Easy there."
Buck looked up at the faces above him. He singled in on the boy bending over him. He eyed the star and the young face. He was about to ask him something, when another young lawman's face scored his aching brain. Dark hair and hazel eyes... laughing... cocky grin... just as quickly, it was gone.
He eyed them surrounding the prisoner's horse and frowned. "He's hurt..." Buck croaked. "...needs tendin'"
"I'll see to it," the youth promised as the dark blue eyes fluttered shut in his arms.
"Get him over to Doc O'Conner's." Ben Adamson ordered. Two of the men who'd exited the saloon ran forward and carefully picked up the wounded man.
"What about this guy?" the deputy asked of the inert body on the other horse.
Ben eyed his eager assistant and moved to his side. He picked up the dangling head by the hair and eyed the face carefully. "He must have papers... that sheriff said he was a murderer. Let's show him his cell." He issued sternly, hauling the body by the collar and dropping him to the ground.
"You could have hurt him." Andy Whittaker shot back, dropping to the prisoner's side.
Ben shook his head at his well meaning aide. The twenty-year-old was a good kid, but softhearted. He eyed the dark head and sighed. "He's a murderer, Andy. He's gonna hang. Don't make no difference if he's broke up a little."
"It does to me. I gave my word."
Ben glared at the harsh words, and shook his head at the steel gray eyes in the kid's face. "Okay, Kid," he gave in. He'd have his fun with the prisoner later, when the kid was on rounds. He hauled the body upright and over his massive shoulder. Andy went ahead of him and unlocked the vacant cell.
"No," the sheriff denied, his grin forming. "Not that one, the one on the end."
Andy bristled and shot a hard look at his boss. His stomach knotted and he reluctantly tore his gaze away. The excuse for a cell at the end was tiny and well out of sight. He unlocked the door and eyed the shabby, cold, stone cell. He turned over the thin, rotting canvas covering the wooden cot and wrinkled his nose. The stench of every prisoner who'd lain there still lingered. He moved aside and watched as the large marshal dumped the body down. He drew a knife out and freed the man's wrists and ankles. He brought in a few meager items from the cell next store and tried to make the injured man comfortable. A thin blanket, a bucket in the corner and a tin cup. He was on his way to get some water and the first aid supplies, when a hand gripped his shoulder.
"This ain't a damn hotel, Andy." Adamson warned and heard the stifled scoff. "You got rounds to make, get going."
"I'm not done here yet. He's needs tending..."
"You backtalking me, Boy?"
Andy stood eye to eye with the fleshy wall before him and finally backed down. He grabbed his rifle and slammed the door.
The shadows made strange shapes on the wall. Vin peeled his eyes all the way open and tried to move. A coughing fit rudely interupted his progress. With great difficulty he sat up and eyed the brick walls. He cursed inwardly as his heart sank low and his breath caught. He'd lost the game. A small bit of light filtered in through the bars. He stood on the cot, wincing and rubbing his leg. He eyed the alley illuminated by a nearby gaslamp and the dark sky. The inky black void reminded him of how long he'd been out. Buck? What happened to Buck? He climbed down and made his way to the barred door. He eyed the small hallway and a light shining under the wooden door at the end.
"Hey... anybody out there? Hey..."
Nobody answered and he shuffled back to his cot, shivering. He wrapped his arms across his chest and began to rock. A burst of sneezes and coughs added to the fever, which was getting the best of him. What if Buck died? His heart sank, not at just losing a good friend, but no one would ever know. How could Chris find them? There were dozens of towns in any given direction and hundreds of miles of desert and rocks. He rubbed his sore throat absentmindedly, as the noose seemed to slip a little lower. The visual image of his dead body, swaying in the breeze, black tongue jutting out slightly, caused him to shiver violently. He was so homesick, he'd kiss Nathan if the cross face showed up now. He saw a small bucket in the corner and hobbled over to relieve himself. He was buttoning his pants back up, when the cell door opened. He turned to see a stern face set in the six-foot-four wall of muscle wearing a star. He swallowed hard and turned slightly.
"Where's Buck Wilmington?" He demanded, not giving an inch. He never flinched at the imposing stare facing him.
"The sheriff is resting comfortably at the doctor's house. If you weren't set to hang already, I'd brand you myself for attempting to murder a lawman. You see, you cretin, this star means something to men like Wilmington and me."
It only took Vin seconds to appraise the other man. He squared his shoulders and jutted his chin up in defiance. "Ya ain't nothin' like him..." Vin's lips curled up in disgust.
Suddenly the cell seemed to shrink and Vin eyed his poor choice. He was in the corner and the broad chest and huge shoulders moving towards him obscured all light outside.
"I'm Ben Adamson. Welcome to Hell, your murdering bastard."
It was sundown when Chris rode into the strange town. There was a crowd gathered at the end of the street. An unknown urgency propelled him forward, but his throbbing head and aching limbs seemed to be moving at a snail's pace. He finally pushed his way through the crowd and saw the edge of the gallows. His throat constricted and his heart broke. His burning eyes realized his worst nightmare. Vin Tanner's body swayed in the breeze, his unseeing eyes accusing Chris in death. The executioner cut the noose and the body slammed into the unforgiving earth. The crowd dissipated and Chris staggered forward. He dropped to his knees and tore the rope off. Vin's head flopped at an unnatural angle, broken and bruised. Chris closed the dead eyes and rocked the body against him, crying bitterly.
"No... No..." he gasped, rolling over and eyeing the sky above him. It took several seconds for him to get his bearings. He recognized the empty spot under the tree. All that was left was a dark stain where he'd left Vin sitting. His memory slammed back, the force taking his breath away. He clenched his eyes shut, trying to dispell the image of Buck leading Vin to the gallows. He shrugged out of the ropes and took a long drink. His head was pounding and his right arm was killing him. Blood saturated his shirt and gave him a lightheadedness. He fingered the dirt and frowned. His eyes took in the stark landscape as he stood and his legs buckled. Once he steadied himself, he picked up the canteens strewn about. He took another long drink and poured the rest over his head. He jerked his head around and walked over to where Peterson's body was. He screamed and kicked the corpse relentlessly, releasing all pent up frustration. He eyed the desert like terrain and felt a cloak of helplessness shroud him. Texas was out there... and so were hundreds of miles in any given direction. He had no idea where Buck went. He let his frazzled mind come back to together. Buck still had a couple days to get to Texas and then find the circuit judge. With great difficulty, he climbed on the Palamino and tried to pick up a sign of fresh tracks among the dozens left by the Alvarez gang and the others.
Chris was exhausted, his body barely able to sit upright. How many hours had it been since he'd ridden out? He was disoriented and riding in circles in the dark. Sweat poured down his handsome face and he lifted a tired left arm and swiped at it. The canteen was long empty. His legs and head ached and his back throbbed. He gripped his aching arm, which he'd formed into a crude sling, and winced. His weary eyes sought the familiar. His growling stomach and dizziness reminded him of his blood loss and empty stomach. He was barely conscious and ready to drop.
"Why?" he cried aloud, exhaustion-burned eyes scorching the sky. Images swarmed into his dizzy head. What if Alvarez sent more men out? What if Vin and Buck rode into them and were dead already? What if that bastard carried out his threat to gut Buck? Chris needed help before the desert claimed him. Salerno was close by, he'd send a wire to Four Corners. A vulture hovered just ahead of him swooping and seeming to mock him.
"Fuck off!" He screamed and resumed his journey.
Josiah was behind Ezra and wondered why the younger man stopped. He saw him slide from his mount and take his gun out. The ex-minister followed suit, and soon found out what caused the look of concern on the gambler's face.
"Looks like somebody found the Alvarez gang." Josiah commented, eyeing the dead bodies scattered about. Ezra was walking among them, checking for signs of life. After reaching the last one, he turned back. Josiah saw the lone white man and squatted over him. "Hey Ez, what do you make of this?"
"He's not a raider, unless Don Alfredo has been inflicted with senility," the conman noted of the Mexican bandit's hatred of white men. "Maybe he was their prisoner."
"They don't take prisoners. What was he doing out here?" Josiah wondered, searching the man's pockets. "Bingo..." he pulled out a hotel receipt. "Salerno... coincidence?"
"I think not," Ezra nodded and drew his gun up. Josiah rose and frowned, following the gambler's hand. There was an indented area within the long grass nearby. Both men proceeded carefully. Ezra saw the dead boy and squatted down. He noted the low slung holster and fancy gun in the boy's hand. "Barely old enough to shave."
"Lord, he can't be more than eighteen," Josiah noted sadly. "He's with the other guy. Pro's?"
"Perhaps the Alvarez gang wasn't the only ones pursuing our comrades. Speaking of which?"
"Yeah, I've been wondering about that. We didn't pass them coming out here. Maybe one of them got hurt and they headed back to Salerno."
"There are towns just as close, in every direction. Still..." The gambler's eyes lit up and he took off towards a nearby tree.
"Ez? What is it?" The preacher followed the younger man's quick pace. He arrived and stood over Ezra's kneeling form. He saw the fear in the green eyes, when they turned to face him. Ezra stood and unfolded the familiar object, stained maroon with lots of blood. But whose?
"Mr. Tanner's prized possession." Ezra shook his head and sadly looked around in the twilight. His keen eyes picked up the discarded bandages, and another maroon area on the dirt. "I'd hazard a guess that at least two of them have been injured. This was formed as a pillow, indicating a head wound." Ezra squatted down and studied the impression on the ground. "These stains are from a leg injury, by the impressions of a body on its side. What now?"
"We look for tracks," the ex-preacher suggested, eyeing the increasing darkening of the sky, "... and we better hurry."
"There are several leading in different directions." Ezra spent over an hour riding around and trying to make sense of the myriad of markings. Josiah wrapped and tied the raider's bodies onto their horses. "The sheriff's wire came from Salerno. We can take the bodies back there, get some help."
"Agreed." Ezra decided, taking a string of horses and waiting for Josiah to mount.
"Nate... Look..." J.D. called out, shoving his heels into his horse's side and urging him forward.
"Yeah, I see 'em..." the healer called after his anxious partner. By the time he reached J.D., the youth was already examining the three horses. Annabelle, Caesar and Diablo were grazing and didn't startle when J.D. approached. He was good with horses and he had cared for all of them on occasion.
"No signs of trauma... no cuts..." J.D. shook his head. "Think Chris, Buck and Vin are nearby?"
"Dunno." Nate said, stroking the gray bay's neck. "But we should have a look around. You see if they left any tracks."
Twenty minutes later, the pair were on the road again, towing their friends horses with them. They followed the tracks north and saw a familiar pair ahead.
"Josiah... Ezra!" J.D. shouted, firing his pistol.
By the time they caught up to the lead team, they both saw the multiple dead bodies and paled.
"It's not them," Josiah relieved, "Where'd you find them?" he asked of the three horses.
"Back a ways... nobody with 'em." Nate slid off his horse and moved to where Ezra held out Vin's jacket. "That's a whole lotta blood..." his voice trailed off. Ezra pointed to the tree where they found it. Nathan saw the same thing and now had twin reasons to worry. At least two of their friends were missing and hurt. He didn't like this, not one bit. "Dammit!"
"You can say that again." J.D. sighed, "Where you taking them?"
"Salerno," Josiah said, "Ezra tried to find a trail, but the tracks overlap two and three times. We figured the wire came from Salerno. We could drop the bodies off and get some help."
"Maybe they did go there." J.D. noted, scanning the horizon, "I mean, that's where the wire came from. If they thought we came looking, they'd go back to where they started from, right?"
They all exchanged a look of concern. J.D. was worried about all of his friends, but Buck was the big brother he never had. His hazel eyes didn't hide his fear. Nathan clapped a hand on the boy's back and nodded. "Sounds like a plan, sheriff... lead on..."
The room was strange and at the same time soothing. Cozy, comfortable, warm and content, that was how he felt. The bed was soft, the quilt was just worn enough to be familiar. The pillow cradled his head like a soft bosom. He let his pained eyes take in the rest of the room. A mantle clock had a small pendulum swinging slowly. A painting on the wall of a boy and dog... a table with bottles of medicine. Medicine? He blinked and recalled the ride into a town. He remembered a sheriff's face and falling. He closed his eyes, the light hurt them too much. He ran a hand across his head and felt the fresh bandages. His mouth felt like a desert and he sat up, bracing for the dizziness. Once it subsided, he glanced around carefully.
"Welcome back."
"Who are you?" Buck rasped of the wiry, small, spectacled, gray-haired man in a chair across the room. "Where am I?"
"I'm Jack O'Connor. This is my son's office in Fanning, New Mexico Territory, near Texas. My boy's the doctor in town. You were brought in several hours ago totin' a murderer. How do you feel?"
"Hungry." Buck raised his eyebrows in surprise. He was hungry, but his stomach was a little rocky. "Murderer?" he mumbled, and a face appeared, young and wide eyed, with long hair. Soulful eyes, blue coals that burned him. He shuddered and sat up.
"Yeah, some kid named Tanner. Johnny saw this wanted poster when the sheriff took it from your pocket. Wanted for murder, five hundred dollars... " he whistled, "You'll be a rich man."
"I don't take blood money." Buck barked, studying the strange face on the drawing. "I'll get him to a judge, it's his decision." He winced and wondered about something for his headache. "Where's the Doc?"
"Well, Johnny, he's my son, he had an emergency outside town. Told me to keep an eye on you. Since my Mary died, I live here with Johnny."
"That's nice," Buck groaned, wanting a hot meal and a bath. "You got a bath in this town?"
"Got one in the house." The old guy rose and Buck followed slowly, leaning on the cane the man provided. "Just take me a minute to get the water ready. Johnny left some clothes from the store. Yours were all bloody."
"I appreciate that, I'll repay you," Buck commented, suddenly aware he was in his longjohns and chilly.
"No need," he denied, "Pete Driscoll from the General Store donated them. We take the law seriously here in Fanning. We're grateful for your kind, wearing the star so well. Look here," He held up a clean white shirt, bearing a silver star. "...even got your badge back."
"Thanks..." Buck nodded and wobbled.
"Sit down before you fall down," the older man ordered. He left and returned with a blanket, which Buck wrapped around him. He handed Buck a cup of coffee and went about heating the water. Buck was dozing, when the hand shook him. "All set. I'll get your clothes. Soaps in the dish on the edge. Careful now... mind your step."
The healing waters penetrated every throbbing fiber on his battered body. The hot water soothed his aching bones. He couldn't remember anything, but his head was wounded. Something must have happened. He hissed in frustration and winced as an image appeared. He was bending over a body, a young man with long brown hair and large blue eyes. Then the vision changed and he was tying him up. Then it was gone. The chilly water warned him it was time to get out. He stood carefully and held onto the chairs the old man put tubside. It took forever, but he managed to get dried off and donned his new clothes. He slipped on his boots and jacket and holster. He eyed the room for food of some sort and decided to find his host. He went looking for the old man and found him dozing in a rocker. He left him a note and set out to fill his growling, but tender, stomach.
The tingling keys of the piano led him to the Saloon down the street from the doctor's home. He settled inside the small, clean tavern and a waitress ambled over.
"What'll it be, Buck darlin'?"
"I'm sorry, Miss..." Buck stumbled, not recognizing the kind stranger with bright eyes.
"Just call me Honey," She purred, patting his arm. "We all know you now. We saw you ride in. If the deputy wasn't so fast, it would have been my arms you fell into."
"Still might do that." Buck chuckled and enjoyed her laugh. "Right now, my stomach needs filling. But it's a little rocky."
"Got chicken soup, biscuits and a pot of tea waitin' on you. Doctor's orders. I was going to bring a tray over and feed you in bed."
"Hell, nobody warned me," Buck winked and watched her leave.
The dinner was good and he relished every bite. He was halfway through a second bowl of soup, when he saw a card game begin. Four men at a round table exchanged rules and tossed their coins. They laughed and bantered, teasing the dealer. Buck's handsome face took in the fast hands shuffling the cards. The fancy coat and deft fingers seemed so familiar. Suddenly a fog drifted in... he peered through it and saw another gambler with green eyes and a gold tooth that glistened when he smiled. Next to him was a large man with kind blue eyes and gray hair, then a black man whose open face gave Buck immediate relief. At the edge of the table something beckoned him. He stared hard, but it was just out of reach. Then Tanner's face at the clearing drifted in front of him. The sky eyes were full of alarm and calling for him. He dropped the fork and jumped back.
"Something wrong Sugar?"
"Huh?" Buck blinked as Honey moved closer, concerned at the color leaving his face.
"Is there something wrong with your soup?"
"No... uh... it's good... real good," Buck stammered, "I... need some air... thanks Honey. I mean that," he said earnestly and kissed her forehead.
"You shouldn't be wandering around alone," she fretted, "I should walk you back."
"No, I'm fine," Buck offered, backing away. His mind was racing at a dizzy pace. An internal fire was burning. His heart was beating so fast, he was choking. Try as he might, he couldn't rid the blue eyes of the young prisoner's face from burning a hole in him. He was out of breath and gasping when he burst through the sheriff's door. The desk was empty and he was strangely relieved. He picked up the lamp on the edge of the desk and moved onward. He staggered to the wooden door and jerked it open. He found the keys and unlocked the cell. He hung on the bars as the room began to tilt. Taking a gulping breath, he entered.
Tanner was on his side, legs drawn up, turned toward the wall. Buck shivered as the bad feeling that was in his gut, crept up his throat. His legs were trembling and he pressed a hand on his chest, trying to staunch his hammering heart. He set the lamp down on a small wooden table. He bent over and gently tapped the tan shirt, covered in dried blood. "Tanner... you okay? Tanner?" He tried to roll the young man over, but couldn't. Frowning, he bent lower and saw the thin cord that bound the bloody wrists to a ring in the wall. Anger coursed through him, sending a horrific pain in his gut. He didn't know why he was aching so for this young stranger. He tipped the face over and then shrank back in shock. Revulsion ran through him and shame followed. He was overwhelmed with guilt and didn't know why. This man was a murderer... wasn't he? He flinched as another piece of the puzzle appeared. The kid's voice, a velvet soft drawl, pleading innocence. Framed... that was what he heard the voice say. Was that what bothered him so? No... something else was eating at him. An inner voice called to him.
"...protect him... protect him..."
His hands were shaking badly as they moved the tangled hair from the marred face. His eyes filled up and he was consumed with sorrow. Why? What was this stranger to him? He'd toted young prisoners before. He never had such ripping internal pain and guilt. He was so lost in thought, he didn't hear the cell door open.
The weariness on the four faces had nothing to do with fatigue. It was an internal tiredness, something born of desperation and fear. They'd ridden in with a glimmer of hope, quickly extinguished when the three faces they sought were not found. Now, they ate quietly, not bothering to taste the food. Even Ezra, who could talk the ear off a corpse, was sullen and brooding. The Saloon was crowded and they suddenly sought a quiet spot to regroup. The sheriff had promised a posse, but offered little hope.
"Well, I suppose the expression 'things will look better in the morning' is a bit too much to hope for?" Ezra tried, sighing.
"Hey, we're not giving up." J.D. stood, angry at the lost faces. "They're out there. Buck needs me and I'm not letting him down."
"Nobody's giving up, J.D." Nate soothed, rubbing his tired eyes. "But there's a whole lot of ground out there. We don't got any idea where to go or where they are."
"Rider coming in..." a voice outside shouted. "Something's wrong with him..."
They moved as one... racing outside as a golden horse trotted into view. The body on its back was not moving. As it drew closer, they recognized the lean, black form.
"Chris!" J.D. screamed, flying to the horse's side. "Nate... he's hurt... Nate..."
"Take it easy, J.D." the older man commanded, "Let me have a look at 'im. Josiah?"
"I got him." The eldest eased the unconscious gunslinger from the horse. Ezra and J.D. both recognized the wear and tear on the fine animal.
"This horse is about to perish." the gambler noted, running a well-versed hand over the sweating golden flesh. "the fact he's still standing is a testimony to his fine breeding."
"Sounds like your talking from experience." J.D. commented, giving the conman a small grin.
"How is our esteemed leader?" Ezra bent over Josiah's shoulder. The ex-preacher was cradling Chris under the lamplight, while Nathan did a quick check.
" He's been shot," Nathan eyed the bloody bandage and sighed. His deft fingers found a slight lump. "He's gotta little lump, nothing serious." His well-versed hand found the fever quickly. "He's warm... and he's as wore out as that horse. Let's get him inside."
"I'll take the horse to the livery," J.D. offered. "Looks like hope just rode in, huh?"
"Truer words were never spoken, my young friend." Ezra nodded, eyeing Chris Larabee's pale face.
"It's Vin and Buck..." J.D. said suddenly, realizing where all the old blood came from. "Oh God..."
"We'll find them, Son." Josiah promised, "Go on... we'll see you upstairs."
Josiah laid Chris on the bed in Nathan's room, picked up the bowl and pitcher to fill and nodded to Ezra. The gambler's deft fingers eased the sweat-drenched shirt off their fallen leader. He untied the bandage and moved aside as the healer entered.
"Thanks Ezra... I'll need some hot water." He saw the other nod and quickly depart.
The wound wasn't bad, but the lack of attention didn't help. Nathan cut, cleaned, medicated and dressed the wounds. He bandaged the arm and bathed Chris's face, neck and chest. He pulled the worn quilt over the silent leader and turned around. hree anxious faces were peering with intensity at him.
"He's alright, bullet went right through, but he sprained his wrist." Nathan nodded. "I told you, he's just worn the hell out. He ain't gonna wake before morning. Josiah, keep an eye on him. I'm gonna get some sleep. If his fever gets worse..."
"Goodnight Dear..." Josiah teased, shoving the weary healer out the door.
"Well, as you can see, the prisoner is secured for the night."
"What the hell happened to him?" Buck roared, wincing as the decibel level of his surprising tone slammed into him. He gripped the bars nearby and held on as the room flew around. Half of the dinner he consumed threatened to spill forth without apology. The anger and rage confused him, but he trusted his instincts. They told him to 'protect' Tanner and that's what he'd do. He moved his body back, shielding the large lawman from the unconscious victim.
"Well, now he got riled up but good." The sheriff drawled with a gleam in his eye, "didn't take to being confined. He attacked me when I brought his supper. It was uh... self-defense."
"Self-defense my ass," Buck boomed, eyes flaring. "You damn near beat him to death. Get them ropes off him. He ain't no dog to be tied down. You promised the doctor would have a look at him..."
"No, I didn't." the leering face denied. "My deputy made that promise. I'm the senior ranking officer. Besides, the Doc was called away on an emergency. What kind of lawman are you? That kid's gonna hang in a couple days. What's it to you if he dies on the way? Five hundred dollars just the same."
"Money?" Buck's stomach turned and it took all of his strength to hold his dinner down. He clenched both fists in an effort not to choke the life from the larger man. "This isn't about money. Tanner claimed he was set up. This badge means something to me. It stands for law and order and protecting the innocent. I intend to find out the truth. Now you get that doctor in here, or are you forgetting under the law, he's entitled to care."
"I'll see what I can do." The sheriff said coldly and departed. Wilmington would soon be old news anyway.
Buck took the knife the sheriff left and cut the ropes loose. He threw the bloody cords on the floor in disgust and rubbed the raw wrists, restoring circulation. The young man moaned and licked his lips. Buck disappeared for a few minutes and returned with a pitcher of water, a mug and a linen towel. He sat on the edge of the cot and dipped the cloth in the cooling liquid. His hands trembled and his chest tightened when he looked at the bruised face. The right eye was swollen shut and discolored, as was the cheek under it. The lip was puffy and split and a cut over the left eye had spilled blood on that side of his face. He dropped the cloth when it came in contact with the bruised flesh. He inhaled sharply as if the cloth was consumed in flames. He rested a hand on the side of the hot skin and felt the protective force erupt stronger than anything he'd ever felt. His eyes were full, and he angrily brushed them. What the hell was wrong with him? He took a deep breath and set about tending to the injured man. He frowned, his damaged head only recalled bits and pieces of the day. Some stayed, some faded away before he could grasp them. He had the poster... this man was wanted and he was lawman. Why was his heart heavy with guilt?
Vin felt someone reaching to him in the darkness. A gentle touch and cooling water on his hot face. He moaned and turned towards the comforting strokes. A word formed before he realized what it meant. "Chris... Chris..."
Buck's hand froze as he finished cleaning the young man's face. His mind snapped back to the clearing and another piece fell into place. The kid talking about the gunslinger. He said Chris Larabee was his friend. Could that be possible? Could Chris have met this kid in the six months since he'd seen him? He heard the shallow breathing and moved his hands instinctively to the ribcage. It didn't take long before a sharp cry sounded and one eye that could open, did.
"Sorry... let's get you up." Buck said gently. "That better? Here, you must be thirsty."
Vin stared in muted shock and took the cup of water. He eyed the cell and saw the bloody towel from Buck's ministrations. If Buck got his memory back, they'd be out of this cell. But why would Buck be tending him them? He observed the clean clothes and bandages. He was glad that Buck had been well taken care of by the town's physician. He saw pain in the dark eyes and the face was still far too pale.
"Ya okay, Bucklin?" he whispered, his ribs throbbing in equal harmony with his leg and face.
"What'd you call me?" Buck pulled back as if touching the flames again. The soft drawl and the twist on his name gave him a pulsating, terrific pain. His head roared and he dropped to his knees and cried out. He gripped his head and tried to force the pain away. He didn't like this pain... or the horrible feelings he got looking at the marred face. "Don't call me that..." he denied angrily, standing and backing away. He was trembling all over as the vision from the Saloon returned. Strangers playing cards... a gold tooth... the kind gray haired giant... smiling brown eyes in a dark face... and... and... a buckskinned arm..."
"Buckli... uh... Buck... yer scarin' me." Vin hissed, seeing the tall man's chest heaving and his eyes spinning in his head. "Sit down..."
"Huh?" Buck blinked as the pain returned, slamming his so hard he dropped to his knees again, cradling his throbbing head. He cried out loud as the fire consumed the inside of his head and an axe seemed to slam into it.
"Buck... let me help you." Vin said, eyeing the open door. He tried to stand but a wall of pain sent him back onto the cot. The ribs were broken, he was sure of that. Voices in the outer office gave him a chill. He flashed back to his beating and the visitor to the cell. One set of hands that tied him, talking in hushed tones to another. Suddenly, he remembered all of it. "Buck, get up. We gotta get outta here... Buck..." he pleaded, but the rogue's face was screwed in pain, lost in time.
"I'm sorry, Sheriff. My father fell asleep. I'll see to it he stays in bed."
Vin turned as the sheriff returned, smiling evilly. A young man was in front on him, carrying a medical bag. He knelt by Buck and braced his face in both hands. "Marshal Wilmington, can you hear me?"
"I ain't deaf, Doc," Buck gasped, getting to his feet. "My prisoner needs tendin'. He's runnin' a fever, that leg needs lookin' at and his ribs are broke. You fix him up... now."
"You're not supposed to be out of bed. You have a serious head wound. That concussion..."
"Save your breath," Buck interrupted, "...and see to Tanner."
Vin found a small grin at the return of his friend's protective nature in a stranger's body. He watched Buck's cautious eyes follow every move the physician made. He winced and cried out as the ribs were taped. He grinned slightly, as Buck's growl caused the doctor to jump.
"Christ, he don't need no more broken ribs... take it easy."
Finally, the leg was cleaned and stitched, ending the ordeal. Vin ached from head to toe and felt miserable. He flinched as the stethescope hit his chest. The examination had been accented by a loud round of sneezes and coughs, which didn't please the serious healer. The doctor offered medicine but Vin denied it, he needed to be alert. The doctor shook his head and rose.
"Wait a minute," Buck warned, blinking and staggering. "Did you eat?"
"Yeah..." Vin scoffed, "they brung me a t-bone steak."
"I want a full tray... now... I want to see it." Buck demanded and the sheriff moved away slowly.
Finally, after Vin finished his stew, biscuits and cider, Buck was satisfied. He helped the young man ease into a comfortable position. Vin tugged at Buck's collar, pulling his face lower. He was wary of the sheriff at the cell door. "Yer in trouble... he's gunnin' fer ya... he's aimin' t'get money fer m'body... gonna ambush ya outside town... heard 'im."
"What's all that chatter?" the suspicious sheriff asked.
"He was thanking me for giving him his rights under the law." Buck said steely, turning himself in front of Vin and squeezing the shoulder hard.
"Let's go, Marshal." The doctor stood just outside. "It's late and you need to rest. You lost a lot of blood and that concussion won't go away without care."
"Okay," Buck agreed, but drilled the oily sheriff with a hard, deadly gaze. He pontificated his issue by sending his index finger hard into the larger man's chest. "One more thing, Sheriff," he spat in disgust, eyes hot. "If so much as one hair on Tanner's head is out of place, I'll lock your fuckin' sorry ass up myself."
Vin didn't know whether to laugh or cry. His heart sang as Buck's protective shield was put in place, but then it sank when he realized the older man had unwittingly sealed his fate. What if the sheriff didn't wait until morning? What if they killed Buck in his sleep? Buck had protected him from harm... who would protect the kind-hearted Wilmington? Vin fought hard, but the fever overwhelmed him and he was soon sleeping.
Buck didn't sleep in the soft bed in the O'Conner house. He feigned slumber until the doctor left. Tanner's words... a warning carried on a soft drawl... left him wary. He didn't understand it, but the voice came back, over and over. He trusted Tanner and felt there was merit in the words. The excuse for a lawman was as crooked as they came. He'd ride out with Tanner in the morning. His confusion was overwhelming him. Tanner didn't have to warn him. He felt now more than ever that the young man's words rang true. He'd find a judge and help get to the bottom of the matter. No innocent man would hang... not on his shift.
Page | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 |
Return to Deirdre's Fic Archive | Return to Lady Angel's Library
