Setting: OW
The shadows faded and the first rays of light snuck in the small cell. The one eye that would open watched the new day steal his darkness. He liked the dark, he felt safer there, well hidden among the hopeless dreams that escaped. Hope... she was a stranger to him now. For a brief flickering moment, he'd held her close and dared to breathe. But she slapped him in the face and mocked him. Disguised as the new Dawn, she toyed with him, laughing at his futility. He should have kept riding that day, but he didn't. He stayed in Four Corners far too long. He'd allowed himself to go soft... and he'd lost his edge. That is when Hope defiled him and left him shattered. Now, she slid his soul to Fate, who leered at him, while constructing the gallows.
He'd been awake for hours, every inch of him ached. His headache had dulled, but the damaged ribs burned relentlessly, flaring with every labored breath. His face was swollen and sore and his leg was throbbing. He didn't dare move, not even when the cell door opened and a body slid by. He squinted at the slim, dark-haired boy who bore a tray. The visitor turned and he was surprised at the badge pinned so nobly on the blue shirt. The kid looked younger that J.D.
"I brought some breakfast."
Andy winced at the battered body of the prisoner. He recognized the sheriff's signature and his face flamed. He sighed, recalling sadly how a once proud man, who bore the star so well, had turned sour. Ben Adamson wasn't always the brute who now wore his clothes. Time and disillusionment had tainted his ways, and greed and power easily overtook him. Tanner didn't move and Andy didn't blame him. He stood next to the cot and offered his help.
"I'm sorry... I shouldn't have gone on patrol."
"...wasn't yer doin', Kid."
"Don't make it any easier to bear. Here, let me help you up."
Vin hissed and flinched as every bruise on his torso woke up at once. Gingerly he shifted so his back was to the wall. Andy brought the tray over and sat it next to him on the cot. Vin was starving and shocked to see a fairly decent plate full of scrambled eggs and potatoes. There was also some coffee and sweetrolls. He nodded his thanks and picked up the napkin. Tucking it in his shirt, he lifted the lone utensil, a wooden spoon and began to eat.
"You need anything?"
"How's Buck... uh... the Marshal?" Vin paused and sipped his coffee, eyeing the deputy.
"I don't know. I guess he'll be over later. I didn't get a chance to talk to him. He seemed like a good man, sure was worried about you." The dark-headed bobbed in recollection, "...last thing he said before he passed out was for me to take care of you."
Vin nodded and stared at the floor, not wanting the youth to see his emotions. It was so hard to see Buck so clearly in the stranger he now was. He finished his meal and Andy took the tray away. Vin sighed and painfully made his way over to the bucket in the corner. He held his breath, so his breakfast wouldn't spill. The full bucket would make the small cell unbearable, once the heat of the day set in. He staggered back to the bunk and sat sideways, resting his back on the wall. His mind wandered back to the same thought that lingered all night. What happened to Chris? He wavered, then rallied. Chris was a survivor. He'd do the smart thing. He ride to Salerno and wire the others. Chris was okay, but they'd never find him in time. There were dozens of towns like this one, stretched across of hundreds of desert miles. He swallowed hard as a great pressure filled his chest. He'd never see Chris again. He'd never hear Josiah's booming laugh, Ezra's pale eyes, J.D.'s anxious voice, Nate's kind smile... all gone.
"Shit..." he jerked and shook off the self-pity, like a dog ridding unwanted fleas. It wasn't like him to quit. Buck...he needed Buck. Once they got outside town, he'd work on Buck. Chris wouldn't give up. The blond's tense face came into view, the green eyes shooting a fire through him. The familiar scowl was the last image he had as his heavy lids slid shut.
"Chris...." he whispered.
"Easy now..." Nathan eased, pressing both hands against the startled blond's shoulders and pinning him to the bed. Chris woke up with an audible hiss and his wide eyes were now darting all over the room. Nathan heard the labored breathing and wondered if Larabee was fully alert.
Chris's heart felt like it was gyrating through his chest wall. He couldn't breathe and his brain felt like mud. He tried to put the pieces together of the broken puzzle. He felt pressure and saw the concerning eyes of the healer searching for him. He tried to breathe, but his heart wouldn't quit pounding. The dream was so real. They were riding... a gang came out of nowhere... bullets shooting through the air... Vin falling... Buck's bloody head... Buck taking Vin in like some macabre trophy. He shoved against the strong brown arms and sat up. His mouth and throat were like a desert.
"Drink..." he croaked and rubbed his bleary eyes. "Ow!" he jumped as the right arm protested movement.
"Bullet went right through," Nate answered the fuzzy growl. "You lost a little blood and rode too hard. You sprained your wrist, I wrapped it good. Here..."
Chris drained the cup and wrinkled his nose. "Wasn't the drink I had in mind."
"You need water... you're fighting a fever." the healer instructed and filled the mug again.
Chris sipped the cool liquid and the clouds parted. Suddenly, the dream faded into shattering reality. Clarity gripped him and he sobered up, eyeing Nate hard. The shirt was rumpled, the face shadowed and the eyes weary. Nate was here all night. Chris eyed the large body in the next bed. Josiah was asleep. He heart sank and he dropped his head down, resting his left forearm on his thigh. Their presense here meant only one thing. Somehow, he'd hoped... prayed that by some miracle, Buck had gone off course and ended up here. His hope was now dashed, he'd been foolish to even dream it.
"Fuck..." he heaved the mug against the wall.
"Morning to you to Brother," the preacher groaned, sitting up. "Ezra and J.D.?"
"Checking with the sheriff and getting breakfast," Nate replied, tempting fate and resting a hand on the leader's sweat-slick shoulder. "How bad?"
Chris didn't have the strength to answer. If Buck and Vin weren't here, they were probably already dead. Buck wasn't in any shape to ride. What if he got lost? The desert could be a cruel mistress. If Buck collapsed and fell from his horse... Vin was as good as dead. If Buck made it to Texas, Vin was as good as dead. He berated himself silently, letting the guilt settle in for a long stay. Funny, how easily it found him. He never moved, his head was slung low and his chest heaving in anger. He shrugged off the healing hand and clenched his fist.
"Look, we ain't got time for this shit, Chris," Nate shot, as the door opened and Ezra and J.D. entered, bearing trays. The gambler carried food, the youth supplied a pot of coffee and some mugs. They heard the stern edict and exchanged a worried glance with Josiah. The eldest shook his head and sighed. "I want an answer. What happened yesterday out there with the Alvarez gang?"
Like a cobra, the head rose slowly. The hooded, pale eyes were void of emotion. He toyed with the faces staring at him and settled on the window. He stood and walked over, his hands resting atop the snug black jeans. His bare back was slick with sweat and the drenched head cocked at an angle. He eyed the street below, just starting to spring to life. Shopkeepers opened their doors, a clerk swept the boardwalk in front of the freight office and a group of children ran by on their way to school.
J.D. shifted and scowled, his anger rising. He eyed his older comrades and saw their hesitation. To hell with that... Buck and Vin were out there somewhere and Chris had the only answer.
"What happened to Buck and Vin?" the youth blurted, storming to the window and grabbing Chris's shoulder. Ezra moved forward ready to intervene and fearing a physical backlash from the brooding leader. But to his surprise, Chris turned slowly and his eyes were full of remorse.
"I'm sorry, Kid... I thought... hoped they were here..." he sighed, and eyed the street again. "We were ambushed, outnumbered and outgunned. It wasn't just the raiders," his voice was low and they strained to hear. "There was a couple of bounty hunters out there. Great fuckin' luck... " he winced and rubbed the wounded arm. "We were out of ammo and needed a distraction. There was a sniper on a rock, a big brute, had us pinned down. Buck and me opened fire and Vin went to take him out."
"Without a weapon?" Ezra queried and saw blond head dip once.
"Vin went down... and Buck went to get him..." he hissed and pounded the unfortunate windowsill. "Goddamn hard-headed fool... he caught one on the head..."
"Oh God!" J.D. rocked back, eyes wide.
"That would explain the blood saturating Mr. Tanner's jacket." Ezra noted.
"You were there?" Chris eyed the gambler in amazement. How had he missed them?
"Josiah and I arrived late in the day. We found both the gang and the two other bodies. The jacket was resting under a tree."
"Cody fuckin' Peterson..." Chris's snarled, punching the wall with his good fist.
"I don't think I've had the pleasure." Ezra quipped.
"Vin knew him, said he was no good. They were tailin' us too." Chris returned to the bed and took the coffee Josiah offered.
"How bad was Vin hurt?" Nathan asked.
"Lost a chunk of his thigh... and he's full of congestion," the blond replied.
"Buck?" J.D. hovered, still hopeful.
Chris sighed heavily and shook his head. He sought out the youth's eyes before replying. "I thought he was dead. Bled like a stuck pig, couldn't see his damn face. But it was just a bad crease. I patched them both up and left Vin on guard."
"Left?" J.D. screamed, flinging himself at Chris, only to have Josiah grab him.
"Calm down, Son."
"I ain't your son and let me go," the youth hissed, his eyes drilling the guilt-ridden green ones. "You left them there? How could you? Vin was hurt, how was he supposed to protect Buck?"
"I had to!" Chris snapped, "Marco Alvarez was leading the gang and he was killed. His guard took the body and was headed back to the old man. I didn't know if they were back in Mexico or camped nearby. We didn't stand a chance if he got back and Don Alfredo found out." He stood and towered over the shaken youth. He glowered over him, not hiding his anger, "You think I wanted to leave them... shit..." He sailed past J.D. and slammed the wall, ignoring the pain that shot up his arm.
Ezra added up the non-verbal clues Chris Larabee was displaying. It was an almost too cool sense of despair. Well hidden from an untrained eye, but Ezra Standish read people for a living. The gambler knew Chris was hiding something. Something that scared him, and the thought of anything putting a black fear like that into Larabee, sent ice into Standish's blood. He moved forward and stood beside the pale-faced gunslinger. Chris met his gaze and the hopelessness in the green eyes made him shiver.
"What it is you haven't said?" Ezra asked.
Chris exhaled deeply and ran a hand through his wet hair. He winced as he found the lump, Buck's calling card. There was no easy way to say it... and he flicked a glance at J.D., who misread the intent.
"Buck's dead isn't he... Oh shit!" J.D. moaned.
"No..." Chris sighed, eyeing the others slowly. "At least he wasn't when..."
"When what?" Josiah tilted his head. "Finish it, Chris."
"I found the guard and got rid of him. When I rode back, Buck was getting ready to leave. Vin was tied up like a fuckin' dog, laying over the saddle."
"Vin's dead?" J.D. croaked, his stomach churning.
"No... not yet." Chris rubbed his face and took a deep breath. "I thought he was dead too... but he wasn't." Chris paused, the memory still pained him.
"What the hell are you saying?" Nathan demanded. "Buck wouldn't do that to Vin..."
"Buck doesn't know Vin..." Chris raised his face and glanced at all of them. "He's got amnesia. He thinks he's a marshal from Abilene and he's taking Vin back to Texas to hang for murder."
"What!" several voices screeched in unison.
"I tried to stop him and he cold-cocked me with his rifle. Near as I can tell, he's back about two-and-a-half years ago. He thinks it's about six months since we split up. I was in a bad way then, shot my way through lots of towns... left a lot bodies behind me. He thinks me and Vin are partners."
"How'd he find out about Vin?" Nathan asked.
"Cody 'fuckin' Peterson." Chris growled, tossing his fist against the wall. "I should have put a bullet between his eyes. Dammit..." He sighed, "His fuckin' guts were hanging out all over his hands... I thought he was dying. He must have rallied long enough to convince Buck. He had the poster in his bag and I guess he concocted some story about me and Vin."
"You're lying." J.D. hissed, fists clenched. "Buck wouldn't do that. Vin's his friend. He wouldn't... couldn't..."
"His got a serious head injury, J.D." Josiah offered, not wanting to shake up the youth any more. "Amnesia can do bad things to man. Buck's lost in the past, he don't Vin. He's a lawman and Vin is just a face on a wanted poster."
"With a fat five-hundred dollar bonus..." Ezra commiserated.
"Buck won't take the money." Chris denied of the one he knew so well. "But he's gonna find a judge in Texas and Vin's gonna hang, unless we get to him first."
"How?" Ezra asked, "Where do we start?"
"With a plan" Nate advised, nodding at the gambler.
"I tried to find them, J.D.," Chris read the angry eyes. "By the time I woke up they were long gone. The tracks ran the hell all over. I rode for hours..."
"Chris, you don't have to explain." Josiah eased, glaring at J.D. "Your horse did some talkin'... he was just about down."
"Yeah..." Chris sighed, wincing as blood seeped through his bandages, from the pounding on the wall.
"Chris, get over here and let me change that bandage." Nate drilled the others, "The rest of you get to that breakfast. Ezra, did you wire Mary?"
"I did and the Judge as well. The clerk said the line was tied up. I'll check for a reply and update her."
"The sheriff?" the healer eyed Josiah as he unrolled the seeping bandage.
"He's gonna notify the surrounding towns. He said he'd lend a half-dozen men," the eldest updated the group.
"Where to we go?" J.D.'s voice was small he finally moved from the doorway and took the plate Ezra offered. "What if they didn't make it to a town?"
"That's a possibility," Nate uncorked the dark bottle of carbolic. "But we better hope not. If both of 'em were hurt, they'd never survive in the desert. At least if he got to a town, there's some hope."
"Or maybe they camped out last night and Vin got loose and overpowered Buck." J.D. hoped.
"I don't... shit..." Chris hissed as the antiseptic burned into his skin. "...think so. It was all Vin could do to sit up when I left. You add several hours of being tied up upside down on a horse. His ribs would be killing him. He could have never gotten to Buck and I don't think Buck would give him the chance. He said Vin already attacked him once." He painfully eased his boots on and took a plate of food.
"There is another possibility of someone taking them by force." Ezra finished fixing two plates and took them to Josiah and Nate. "Why were you being pursued by that choir group?"
"Why do you think?" Chris snapped, stabbing a helpless egg. "Too much fuckin' animal magnetism."
"Brother Buck got too friendly with someone he shouldn't have?" Josiah sighed.
"Don Alfredo's only daughter." Chris shoveled the food in, trying to remove the shakes he felt.
"She must have tricked him somehow," J.D. defended, his face flushing, "Buck wouldn't do something that stupid."
"The how and why isn't important now," Nate answered, sipping his coffee. "We gotta try and find 'em."
"I'll design a map of the surrounding towns from the large map at the post and telegraph office." Ezra drained his coffee. "Perhaps Mrs. Travis has some news. Maybe our missing comrades wired home somehow."
"J.D., get the horses ready," Chris said, grabbing his gunbelt and shirt from the bedpost, "Josiah, tell that sheriff we're riding out in an hour. We'll have to split up, we can cover more ground that way." He paused, eyeing the stilled group. "Let's move!" he thundered, stalking from the room.
John O'Conner removed his stethoscope and walked across the room. He poured rubbing alcohol into some water resting in a basin and took it back to the patient's side. He rinsed a cloth off and began bathing the fevered man down again. He'd heard the injured lawman crying out during the night and found him delirious and feverish. He'd been by his side ever since. The alcohol baths helped and he'd gotten some medicine past the muddled man's slack lips. When he was awake, he had no idea where he was. He accepted the medicine, water, cold cider and herbal tea gratefully. The more fluids he plied into Buck Wilmington, the easier the sick man rested. He stirred some aspirin powder into a mug of water and lifted the damp head.
"Buck, I need you to drink this. It will help your headache."
"Nate?" Buck croaked, instinctively sensing a healer's touch.
"No, it's Dr. O'Conner," the young physician replied, "here you go."
"Doctor?" Buck muttered, draining the cup and sliding back into the murky darkness.
At nine o'clock they met in the sheriff's office. Ezra's map was a good one, outlining all the towns within a few miles of the massacre sight. The sheriff, two deputies and the five peacekeepers were hovered over the neat wooden desk. A half-dozen volunteers skirted the perimeter. Chris eyed the large area, wary of the expanse of desert, rocks and cliffs.
"That's a long a ground to cover," one of the deputies admitted.
"This should eliminate some of the area," the sheriff handed Chris a list. "Those are the towns who wired back. As of this morning, no strangers rode in and no sign of the Alvarez gang."
"Hillsboro, San Vincente, Miner's Falls, Black River, Fanning and Crystal City." Chris folded the list and shoved it in his pocket.
"Look Mr. Larabee, I appreciate your concern and we're gonna help you as much as we can." The sheriff imparted sympathetically. "But there's a whole lot of area out there where two wounded men could get lost in."
"Yeah..." Chris hushed, feeling a coldness inside. "But I gotta try."
"I can give these men up for two days... but beyond that."
"I'm grateful." Chris shook his hand and turned to the group of volunteers. He slowly sought out each face. "They're good men," he said slowly of his missing comrades, his voice catching.
"Shall we?" Ezra saw Chris swallow hard and stepped in, covering the usual 'lets' ride'. He caught the grateful green eyes and ran a finger along the brim of his hat. "Gentlemen, after you. I've written down a series of perimeters each two man team can cover. We'll reconvene in two days, here at the sheriff's office after dark."
The gambler was adjusting Deuce's cinch straps when he felt the hand grip his shoulder on the way past. "Good job, Ezra." The lean black figure strode past him and walked to the livery. Curious, the conman followed and peered in the doorway. He flinched at the absolute look of anguish on the gunslinger's profile as he stood between Buck's large gray bay and Vin's proud black horse. He rested one hand on each steed's neck and dropped his head. Then he moved to Diablo's side and rested his hand on a familiar object. The gunslinger fingered the bloody jacket tied to the saddle.
Chris felt a tidal wave of emotion rise as he fingered the soft, scarred tissue of the buffalo coat. The horse moved, sending the worn hide against his face. He jerked back, inhaling Tanner's scent by force. He felt an icy knife rip through his guts, and felt the fury build. His fingers felt a small, hard object in the large pocket of the jacket. He slipped his hand inside and drew it out. He narrowed his eyes and heard the woeful notes that Vin produced on the mouth harp. He clenched it against his chest and closed his eyes.
Ezra heard the single, painful forced breath through the blond's clenched teeth and backed away. He saw the glint of silver and flinched. He couldn't imagine the Hell Chris Larabee was lost in.
The thickness was almost too much to bear. It stifled him and the air seemed to smother him. He coughed and gasped, shivering as the chills returned. He heard the voice again and wondered why he couldn't find it. The thirst grew powerful and he opened his lips. He moved weakly, figthing the arms that held him down.
"Thirsty..." he croaked, peeling an eye open. The dark head was blurry and bobbing nearby. A mug appeared and he tipped his mouth open. Sweet relief filled him and he drank greedily. "J.D... I... can't... I..."
"Here, let me help you." John O'Conner moved closer, easing the injured man into an upright position. Sweat poured off him freely, sending tiny rivers of moisture down his lean frame. The doctor assisted him and watched another mug of water disappear. He rinsed the cloth and wiped the face, neck and chest of the injured man. The dark blue eyes blinked hard, trying to focus. He held a mug up with warm soup in it. With a little coaxing, he managed to get most of it into the patient, before his eyes slid shut again. He pulled him forward, letting the damp head hit his shoulder. He turned the pillow over, bringing up the dry cotton on the other side. Gently, he eased the body down again and pulled the sheet up.
The weary physician sighed, rose and stretched. He had to make rounds and check on his other patients. Mrs. Devlin's broken arm, Old Man Mendelson was having problems with his breathing and then there was the young prisonerHe eyed the clock as it neared the four p.m. hour. His face blackened in anger as he recalled the overwhelming stench in the small, hot cell, he'd found midday. He'd given Andy some medicine to slip in the reluctant man's coffee at breakfast. He checked on him at noon and was sickened by the state he found the unconscious man in. He'd vomited in his sleep and was lucky he didn't choke to death. The smell was overpowering. He'd gotten rid of the bucket and with Andy's help, moved the injured man to a cell on the end of the row. It had a larger window and cross ventilation from the open wooden door to the outer office. He spent an hour, bathing and changing the filthy, fevered man into clean clothes and bandages. The young man never stirred and for that, he was grateful. He heard the door shut and saw his father enter, returning from his afternoon walk.
"He still with us?" the elderly man asked, eyeing the flushed face patient.
"Yes, his fever is going down. By morning he'll feel much better. I'm going to check on my other patients."
The doctor eyed the sheriff walking towards the livery. He didn't like the Fanning lawman much, and decided to take advantage of his absence. He shifted his medical bag and headed for the sheriff's office.
Ben Adamson slid around the backend of the large livery without drawing any attention. He saw the figure in the shadows and moved forward. Duke Nelson was a former army buddy, who'd turned mercenary after the War. He'd agreed to take his usual cut of fifty percent, for eliminating another bounty. It was an arrangement the two had found to be very profitable.
"Why the change?" the hitman whispered. "It's smoother when they have an 'accident' in the jail and I take the body in for the reward."
"We got a problem."
"How bad?" Nelson asked.
"The marshal that brung the bastard in is hurt, he can't leave. He's soft on the kid, he's taking him in himself, a real straight arrow. I don't know what connections he has and who might ask questions. Plus, somebody's looking for Tanner and Wilmington. Seems they tangled with the Alvarez gang. I don't want them riding into my town. I'll get Wilmington riled up enough to take Tanner and head east towards Texas. You take care of them near the border."
"How's he doing?" Nelson asked of the problem wearing a badge.
"Lousy... been out cold all day... running a fever. Doc's working on him. I'm gonna push some buttons and get him riled up. He'll be on the road in a couple days with any luck."
"Did you send that wire?"
"Yeah... told the sheriff in Salerno that we hadn't seen them."
"Alright, I'm taking off in the morning. The fewer people see me the better." The hitman nodded. "You arrange for that road to be taken out... a stick or two of dynamite should do it. That will force them to cross the river go through Apache Pass and I'll be waiting." He grinned and slapped his old friend's back. "...been awhile since I went hunting."
"Yeah..." The large man grinned, "'cept this time, the animals are on two feet and lot more fun."
Vin was fishing. The sky overhead was a brilliant blue and a warm breeze kissed his face. Chris and Buck were downstream. Chris was snoozing under a tree, Billy's head in his lap. Mary was next to him, editing a story. Buck had his pants rolled up and was midstream, his handsome face split into a broad grin. Suddenly the sky darkened and thunder rolled across, chased by black clouds. The wind kicked up and the tracker lost his footing. He fell into the river and the strong current carried him away from his friends.
"No...."
Vin sat up and immediately regretted his decision. He sucked in a painful breath and bit his lip. Every inch of his tender flesh was screaming. His face and shirt were soaked. He frowned, eyeing the strange cell. It was larger, more comfortable and the air was better. He fingered the new clothes and sighed. How much time had lapsed? Was it the same day? Where was Buck? He felt a bulk against his leg and fumbled under the light blanket. A canteen? He shook it and took a large gulp. He splashed his face and neck and rested his throbbing head.
"Afternoon, Andy."
"Hey, Doc. He's been quiet all day. Sweating up a storm... I got some more water in him and left the canteen."
"Thanks, Andy. I'd like his dinner tray now."
"I'll get it." the youth left after unlocking the cell.
Vin's eyes jerked open when the cell door shut. He licked his lips and took another sip of the canteen. He stared hard at the doctor and saw only compassion and concern in the bright eyes.
"This yer doin'?" he nodded to the new cell.
"The state I found you in at midday, was not fit for an animal," John O'Conner replied, not hiding his disgust.
"I'm grateful." Vin wheezed, fingering the brown jeans and cream shirt he wore, "...clothes too?"
"From the church basement. They keep donated clothing there. Your dinner is on the way. How do you feel?"
"...been better. How's Bu... the marshal?" Vin tried to sound nonchalant. He bout of sneezes was rewarded with a cloth. He blew his nose and listened as the doctor updated him on Buck.
"Not well. He fell into a delirium during the night, his fever was extremely high. But I've worked on him all day and it broke just now. With the proper rest and food, he'll feel better in a few days. Speaking of fevers," he felt Vin's head and nodded. "You're doing better. I want you to finish this," he handed him a cup with spiked cider. "It will help your chest to clear and fight the infection in your leg."
"Can't be coughin' on the hangman." Vin spat back, draining the ice cold apple cider.
"I don't think you're a killer. Marshal Wilmington said he intends to see justice done. I think he can help you."
Vin shifted painfully and absorbed the doctor's words. How much could he trust this man? He thought of the 'doctor' who'd conned him in Four Corners. He licked his lips and endured the examination. As the trained fingers probed and poked at him, Vin's mind was working. If Buck were too ill to leave, maybe he'd have time to make a request. A small smile formed. A man of the cloth... someone to help save what was left of his hell-bound soul. He eyed the dark head of the doctor and hissed as the carbolic was liberally splashed on his wounded leg. He was honest and fair. He'd taken good care of him in this blasted cell. He shifted on the cot and watched the head rise.
"It's still a little raw," the doctor warned, "...and slightly hot to the touch." He eyed the bruised face and didn't miss the pinched features. One arm was resting across the taped ribs. He eased the injured man forward and slipped his shirt back on.
"Can ya send a wire fer me?" Vin drawled slowly, peeling his good eye open.
"To whom?"
"Well... I been thinkin'," Vin paused, furrowing his brows and slumping, "...iffen the Marshal ain't ready to leave fer a spell... there's a preacher feller I run into in Four Corners. He has a powerful voice... and there's somethin' about them words he reads from the Bible." Vin coughed, leaning forward and gripping the cot. The pain was blinding and he felt two hands on his shoulders. When he finally was able to speak, he looked up at the physician's face with his most sorrowful blue eyes. He could almost see Ezra rolling his eyes and the hear the southerner smirking. "... might be a comfort t'me... I ain't got long until I'm playin' poker with the devil."
"I'd be happy to. What's his name?"
"Sanchez." Vin sighed, "Reverend Sanchez."
"Josiah!"
"A little louder J.D., they didn't hear you in New York," the older man shook his head.
"Oh that youth is wasted on the young," Ezra commiserated, giving the preacher a grin.
It was nearly ten p.m. and Josiah and Ezra were bone weary. They'd ridden long and hard, covering all the towns in their perimeter and several canyons in between. Ezra was so tired he didn't even complain about their paltry supper. All he wanted to do was sleep and he almost got there. Josiah was bone weary as well. Neither said it, but as the daylight faded and night crept in, their fears rose. Both sensed the worst, that Buck and Vin were lost to them. If Alvarez hadn't claimed them, the desert most likely had. J.D. housed with the exuberance only found in youth, was too upset to be tired. With every passing hour, his need to find Buck increased.
"J.D. it's late and we need some sleep." The eldest reprimanded, "You got that much energy, you can go hunt up some breakfast."
"They're not dead!" the youth scowled, reading both shadowed faces. "You can't give up..."
"Nobody's giving up, Son," Ezra sighed, fighting off a yawn. He rubbed his face and laid down flat, covering his face with his hat.
"But..." J.D. said eyeing Josiah's stone face.
"We covered close to fifty miles today, J.D.. We're gonna ride hard tomorrow too." The preacher tossed a pebble into the fire and thought of his two lost friends. He hoped if they were gone, they didn't suffer. Suffer. That word brought one face to mind, Chris Larabee. The gray head shook and he felt J.D.'s hand on his shoulder.
"What about all that faith in the Lord you spout on Sunday?"
"Faith is why I'm here, J.D. Faith is what drives all of us, everyday." He looked up and met the fear lurking in the hazel eyes. "Faith is why were out here... and will guide us home."
"Not without Vin and Buck..." J.D. protested.
"J.D., life don't come with guarantees. It's been two days... if they were hurt as bad as Chris said... there's a strong possibility that they didn't make it. You need to..."
"No!" J.D. balked, "You can give up and ride back to Four Corners. I'm not leaving them out here."
"J.D...." Josiah called, but the youth was swallowed up by the shadows. He sighed and wondered if they'd lose their youngest too.
It was dark when Buck woke up. His head was screaming and he felt very weak. The bed was soft as was the pillow his aching crown rested upon. He fumbled under the thick quilt and found his hand. He felt the bandages and frowned. Sitting up, he spotted a pitcher of water nearby and drank two full mugs. He eyed the unfamiliar room and rubbed his eyes. He heard voices and got to his feet. The longjohns weren't enough and he shivered slightly, his body still damp from fever. He padded into the hall of the well-appointed house and looked down the staircase. A light was shining from the room to the left.
"You keep brooding like that and your face will freeze." The old Irishman warned his only child. "Then you'll never get a bride and I'll die without a grandchild to rock."
"You'll outlive me," the younger man chided, stroking his chin.
"Well?"
"Well what?"
"What's weighin' on you so bad, Johnny?"
"That prisoner and what Ben did to him. I can't look the other way anymore. He could have beaten Tanner to death."
"It wasn't your fault." The old man moved closer to the chair where his child was hunched forward. "That kid last month... you tried..."
"Not good enough!" The angry doctor rose and walked to the window. "He was all of sixteen and scared to death. If he weren't nearly starved to death, he'd never have taken that money. Adamson had no call to beat him like that."
"No, he didn't, but that on his conscience, not yours."
"I still see his eyes when I go to sleep. He died in my arms, Pa... he was only a kid. There's too many accidents in that damn prison. I got a bad feeling that Tanner's not gonna make it to Texas. I believe him, Pa. I don't think he's a murderer."
"I don't either... and if that prick you call a sheriff lays a finger on him, I'll put him down like the rabid dog he is." Buck's eyes were full of flint and matched the steel edge in his voice.
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