Setting: OW
Disclaimer: The following is a work of fanfiction based on the CBS television series, The Magnificent Seven. It is in no way intended to infringe on the copyrights of CBS, MGM, The Trilogy Entertainment Group, The Mirisch Corp., or anyone else who may have legal rights to the characters, settings or song references. I don't own the characters. This story is strictly for entertainment. No monetary gain will be made from anything contained in this story.
NOTE 1: I want to thank the kind, generous and understanding editor, aka KET, for effortlessly going through this with her red pen. Thanks Pard, you got no idea how relieved I am to have my' assets' covered. I am very very grateful, KET, thanks a million.
This story is set before the seven meet.
The excitement of the day left the young Easterner unable to sleep. Despite the physical exhaustion his body felt, his adrenaline rush was keeping him awake. He tossed and turned, replaying the gunfight in the cemetery in his head. It was just like in the dime store novels he'd read. He sat up, turned the bedside lamp up and eyed his baggage.
John Daniel Dunne left the bed and rummaged through his carpet bag, pulling out the illustrated tall tale on top. He paused at the window, a stupid grin plastered on his young face. He swiped his dark hair back and peered into the night. The lone figure walking down the boardwalk across the street caused a chill to rush up his spine. The long, black duster flapped in the night air and a cheroot was visible under the wide brim of the flat black hat. Averting his eyes for a second, he glanced at the illustration on the cover.
"Death comes to Dead Gulch," he read aloud, his hazel eyes raking over the likeness of the famed gunslinger. "Chris Larabee..." he marveled, still unable to believe it.
When he'd seen the man in black earlier in the day, his heart nearly stopped. He'd read all the novels that he could get his hands on featuring the lightning quick gunman. This last one he'd purchased just two days before at a stage depot from another traveler. Then to step off the stage and see the gunslinger in action... was just too surreal. He glanced up again and frowned; the man in black was gone.
Sighing, he tossed his body on the bed, flipping through the story yet again. The words spilled out, telling of the infamous outlaw gang coming to Dead Gulch. His hazel eyes drank in the account of the 'hot blue steel' of the Colt as it 'sent bullets flying through the air'. He envisioned the unlucky men who stood in the blond's way as their bodies did the 'dance of the dead' when Larabee's bullets found them.
"Chris Larabee..." he yawned, blinked and studied the cover again. After taking a brief tour of the town, he had peered through the batwing doors of the saloon, watching the Indian and his dark-skinned companion. He heard their request. If Larabee was riding to save these Indians, then he was riding too!
To ride with his hero, that was too much for his young heart to comprehend. He drifted to sleep, dreaming of standing next to the legend in black, his own gun drawn and firing. His fingers uncurled, sending the fanciful tale to the floor. A breeze kicked up, the pages fluttered and 'legend in black' once again sent hearts trembling in Dead Gulch.
Josiah was in the middle of Revelations when a horse approached. He put down his time worn Bible, picked up his lamp and gun. The horse came closer and a voice rang out.
"Put that fool gun down, old man, I ain't ready to play poker with Saint Peter."
He smiled then; he liked Nathan Jackson. He eased his lanky body back down, staring at the fire. He saw several tins of food appear and the worn brown pants next. He continued his prayers as a new pot of coffee went on and a platter appeared next to him. His smile found his smoky eyes and he nodded.
"Soul, thou hast much goods laid up for many years;" he quoted Luke 12:19, "take thine ease, eat, drink and be merry."
"Yuh do have a way with words, Josiah," Nate grinned, sat down and warmed his hands against the chilly night air.
"Long way from town..."
"Those folks in the village need yuh... they got women and children there. Don't that God of yuhrs want them protected?"
"He's not my God, he's everybody's father."
Nathan sighed and eyed the stone face. It was going to be a long night.
He tossed the newspaper away, rubbed his green eyes and stood. He yawned, stretched his back and walked over to the cot. He smiled at the light snore, barely audible, and thought how much like Tanner that was. Quiet and comfortable in the shadows, like a cat.
As if sensing someone near, the other man sighed, turned his head and drifted into a quieter sleep. That exposed the side of his head where the wound was. Chris lowered his hand, letting his fingers part the tangled brown locks. There it was... the long path where his bullet did so much damage. A few more inches... he shuddered, sighed and pulled his hand back as if touching a flame. He jerked then, hearing a creaking board on the stairs. It was close to midnight when the door opened. Chris's hand came up, brandishing his Colt as he moved in front of the sleeping man.
"Evenin', Chris." Nathan raised an eyebrow at the gun and the protective stance. "He okay?" He eyed the empty basin he'd left in case Tanner got sick.
"Hasn't moved." Chris holstered his gun, eyed the slumbering man and turned back with a half-smile. "He sure does snore pretty though, soft and easy."
Nathan grinned back and moved his hand to Vin's throat, taking his pulse and listening to his breathing. He lifted each eyelid, checking on the pupils, and nodded in satisfaction. He adjusted the blankets and heard the other man's voice from the door.
"How'd it go? Is he with us?"
"I don't rightly know," Jackson admitted, yawned and pulled his boots off. "He said he'd sleep on it... somethin' about converging with the angels. I told him we'd be back in the morning."
"In the morning then." Chris turned and nodded, rested his eyes for a moment on Vin's head where the scar lay and then left the room. His coat flapped against tense calves as he descended and then hit the street. He eyed the hotel and the saloon. He then began the short walk, eyes flicking left and right, taking in all movement. His right hand rested on his Colt.
His eyes raked over the dimly lit room that was murky with smoke and regrets. His first instinct was nullified; the back table had an obscured view of the entry. So he remained in the shadows, his cool green gaze slowly scanning the room. While weighing his options, a familiar set of eyes beckoned and he moved. Pausing long enough to retrieve a fresh bottle and two glasses from the bar, he took the offered chair.
"No tails twitching tonight?"
"Not to worry." Buck Wilmington shoved his empty beer mug aside and took the empty shot glass. "The night is young and this cat has yet to howl!"
Chris grinned under the cork in his teeth and poured them each a shot. He placed the cork on the table, eased back and lifted the glass.
"It's good to see you, Buck."
"Same here, pard," Buck chased, studying the blond man closely. The eyes were clear, the hair clean, trimmed and body groomed. Were the new clothes covering a new soul? Or was the black garb an outward sign of the darkness within that remained? And yet the light in the eyes, of reason and truth, had been missing the last time they parted. Dull, dead and empty eyes haunted him for months, until that night, the lost night of shadows on a lonely stretch of road near the Mexican border.
"You look good, Chris. How you doin'?"
"Better," the gunslinger replied after several long seconds of contemplation.
"Yeah," the mustached man agreed, eyeing the set jaw and firm resolution. "I can see that."
"I hit bottom, Buck." Chris drained his shot and took out a cheroot, lit it and watched the smoke curl up over the table. "Wasn't anywhere to go but up."
"You've been through Hell and back," Buck gave quiet praise. "Not many men can say that."
"Who said I came back?" Larabee addressed and eyed the amber liquid. He rolled the glass between his thumb and finger, contemplating. "Funny, I didn't meet Josiah Sanchez there."
"No sense in dwellin' there, Chris. You're still here with the living."
"I miss her, Buck," he whispered roughly.
"I know, Chris. I'm sorry. Hell, I'd have traded places if I could."
"I know." The blond head came up, sending support. "Wasn't your fault." His voice trailed off, and he became lost in time. He saw her face then, radiant as only an expectant mother could be. They didn't tell anybody. Not even Buck knew and he'd never find out. Bad enough he still saw guilt hanging too heavy in the dark blue eyes. His train of thought came to an abrupt halt when the sultry voice of the man next to him sailed through the air.
"Evenin', darling!" Buck's hand went to his heart. "Let me check to see if it's still beatin'. You know the sun doesn't shine until you smile." He winked at the pretty barmaid and then turned as a chuffed guffaw crept from Larabee's lips. "Somethin' wrong?"
"You're getting a little long in the tooth for them lines, Bucko."
"You're just jealous of my boyish good looks," he shot back, welcoming the return of the nickname that Larabee gave him close to a dozen years gone back.
"Boyish?" Chris raised a sandy eyebrow.
"Hell, yeah!" Buck exuded, ".as in able to produce and produce well!" He ignored the snort and poured them each another drink. "I was primed for the kill today when that long-haired friend of yours busted in the room." He paused, smiling at the rendezvous. "She was a sweet piece too..." His voice trailed off for a second. "So how long you been riding with Tanner?"
"I just met him." Chris spoke low and mostly addressed his drink. He stubbed out the cheroot and sipped the liquid slowly.
"No kiddin'?" Buck cocked his head. "Never would have guessed." That did surprise him. He would have thought the two knew each other for quite some time. They had that ease about them that came with deep friendship over time. "I figured you two were just passin' through."
"I've been passing through a lot of no name towns clear back to Texas." Chris sighed, rubbed his eyes and rested his elbows on the table. "...was passing out in a lot of them too."
"Was?" Buck eyed his friend's face carefully. "As in past tense?" He saw the head dip slightly. "Good, you're too young to be courtin' Lucifer."
"I woke up in Arizona a couple weeks ago. Lyin' in my own filth on the floor in a room that reeked of piss and puke. I saw an animal in the cracked glass on the mirror. I reached for my gun and realized that it was me. I saw..." He paused and took a shuddeering breath. "...myself... for the first time in a long time, Buck. She was... would have been ashamed," he reflected painfully. "I felt her there... her disgust in me... " He sighed, shook his blond head and chuffed. "I needed to take that shame away. She was there, Buck, reaching out to me... Sara."
Buck winced at the anguished prayer-like tone. His own gut clenched and shriveled up when his nose was once again filled with the scent of charred flesh. His ears burned with the echo of the agonizing scream that exploded from the very depths of Chris Larabee's soul and split the night. His eyes stung at the vision of the haunted man's face, cradling a blackened corpse that was once Adam Larabee. The shaky voice of the here and now drew him back from that unforgettable dark night.
"She was repulsed," the hoarse voice continued. "That was the last straw."
Buck thought for a minute, then offered quietly, "She's smiling now, Chris." He waited several moments for the lost man to collect himself. He waited for the last shuddering breath and continued.
"So what brings you here, then?"
"You."
"Me?"
"Been huntin' you for goin' on nine months now. Read about a brave lawman in Texas named Wilmington who played hero one day. Sheriff?"
"For a while," the dark-haired man admitted with a woeful smile, "It didn't last."
"I needed to find you." Chris sat up and drilled the other's eyes with his own. "About that night, Buck." His hoarse voice tightened as the horrid image came back in living color. All that blood on his hands and chest, blood that wasn't his own. "I'm sor... sorry." He swallowed hard, offered a wavering hand. "Jesus God, I'm sorry, Buck."
Buck swallowed hard, parted the waves of time and remembered. The fear came back first. The sight of those green eyes glowing in spectral delight under a full moon. He felt the anger then, recalling the long days he'd clung to life due to this man's brutal work. But mostly, he revisited the deep and profound sorrow. He winced as the razor sharp pain of that huge hole in his chest came back. That gut-awful feeling he had riding out of that town - alone - and thinking he'd lost the best friend he ever had for good.
"Honestly, Chris," His voice was scratchy and he gripped that hand hard. "I thought you were dead. When I saw you this morning.you got no idea how glad..." He broke off then, his voice cracking with emotion.
"Glad?" Chris's head shot up and he pulled his hand back. "I damn near beat you to death."
"No, you didn't." Buck's somber face warmed up and his eyes shone. "That was a stranger. A shattered soul who lost everything God saw fit to gift him with. This..." He rested a hand on the black cotton clad forearm. "... is Chris Larabee. I missed you, pard."
"Just like that?" Chris was astounded when Buck smiled and nodded. "I gotta know, Buck. I can't remember. I woke up.covered in blood... blood that wasn't mine."
"I couldn't find you, Chris," Buck recalled of that night. "I woke up alone in the room during the night. I hit the saloon and the barkeep told you me you pissed off half of the customers. By closing time, they'd decided to ride out and hunt you down. I rode for two hours. Thank God it was a full moon or I might have never found you."
"How can you be thankful? You would have been better off."
"You would have been dead," Buck lamented of the gang he sent in the opposite direction, keeping his best friend out of sight. "Hell, I thought you were dead. Then you woke up. You thought..."
"All of it, Buck, I have to know!"
"You thought I was the animal," he spat out in contempt, "who murdered Sara and Adam. I was holding my own, thought I got you down. I tried to get my belt off.to tie your hands until you settled down. You bucked me loose and grabbed for the gun. We wrestled and it went off, right in my thigh."
"Finish it," Chris demanded, ignoring the pain on the handsome man's face.
"You held the gun to my head."
"Fuck."
"...longest moment of my life... it clicked..." Buck gasped, still shaken by the memories. "So you pistol whipped..." He paused when the other man's hissed inhalation shook the table. "I don't recall much else. The doctor said you laid me on the bed, left a pile of money and rode off."
"I woke up in town before dawn.covered in blood," Chris finally spoke after five long minutes of gut-wrenching pain. He eyed his now clean hands and rubbed then again, on his shirt, as he'd done that morning. "So much blood.everywhere. I couldn't remember anything. The fella at the livery pointed the road out... where you went. I saw you... lying so still. I couldn't move. I was scared shitless. Then you lifted your hand..."
He felt his eyes burning in shame and stood, wanting to flee the room and leave the awful moment behind. He didn't stop until he was halfway down the street. Then he ducked into an alley and threw up. He rid himself of all the bile inside, spurned by Buck's words. He staggered in the street, not stopping until he hit a body. Two strong hands rested on each shoulder briefly before embracing him.
"Buck." he choked, horribly ashamed by what he'd done.
"Welcome home, Chris."
The vast beauty of the desert opened before him, scorching his eyes. The green of the cactus blended with the grays of the mountain fronting a surreal blue sky. The deep color was slashed by movement. His eyes followed the movement until the dark shape became something familiar and respected. His breath caught when the eagle swooped low, circling him and beckoning. It was a stunning creature with jet black feathers and a strong wingspan. Then it turned and looked right at him and he felt his soul explode. The eyes of the graceful creature were the color of a troubled sea... a blinding green light. He got up off the desert floor and followed the flight of the majestic proud creature, needing to keep that intensity in his chest.
A soft gasp slipped past his slack lips and his muddled eyes opened. For several seconds, he didn't move as his senses adjusted. His head turned on the pillow slightly, and with great difficulty, he navigated his dry tongue around his mouth. His brows furrowed and he sat up, rubbing his foggy eyes.
"...the hell..." he croaked, trying to remember why he was here. Here? His eyes went around the room again, still cloaked in the early blue of predawn. Nathan's. He was at the clinic. He eyed the empty mug on the nightstand and frowned. "Dammit t'hell..." He swore, realizing that the sly healer tricked him.
The pressure on his bladder forced his numbed legs to work. He pulled his boots on, grabbed his coat, gunbelt and hat and headed for the door. He paused, peeped down the short hall into the edge of Nathan Jackson's room.
"I got a long memory," he vowed, scowling and scratched his chest. Then he found a half smile for the tall black man who worried for him. Nodding, he left the clinic and padded down to the outhouse. His business completed, he eyed the darkness melting in the sky and scanned the building next to him. Ten minutes later, he was sitting cross-legged by the overhang of the general store. Hidden from view of most of the town, he rested his palms outward on the sides of his knees and lifted his face to receive a soft kiss from the shy Dawn. As he meditated, his thoughts went to the road ahead and the coming battle. He asked the Great Spirit for guidance and protection.
As he clipped the notch on his gunbelt, securing it tightly to his slim hips, Chris Larabee noticed the sky was turning a pretty shade of light blue. The sun was about to peek over the rooftops and the journey was about to begin. He chose this room specifically, on the corner of the top floor, so he could see the entire town from the window.
He strode over to pick up his hat from the table under the window and peered out. His cool green gaze swept over the empty sidewalks and the dusty collection of buildings. Just as he was about to leave the window, he spotted a strange sight. Frowning, he pressed his body to the side of the wall and his face to the edge of the window.
It gave him a smile and the warm feeling returned to this gut. The same strange feeling he had for those three days he'd taken care of the beaten Texan. He recalled the delirious man speaking to him in some Indian dialect and now saw more of the other culture. Vin appeared to be praying in some way. Chris studied the fine features on the younger man's face and felt a pang of envy. There, in the Dawn's embrace, without the eyes of the world on him, he was totally relaxed. Every feature was painted with peace and contentment. To have the ability to draw on whatever higher source he was speaking to left the gunman awed. He lost all call to that when he buried his family. He had no God anymore.
Suddenly, the long-haired man's eyes snapped open and his head jerked around.
"Shit..." Chris ducked back, feeling guilty about spying on the unsuspecting younger man. He waited a few moments and peered through the thin, closed curtains. The sky eyes were like a hawk, burning through the fabric, right on him. Hissing, he pulled back and left the room.
Vin studied the window and his heart began to hammer. Always wary of the bounty on his head, he wondered who'd been staring at him. He'd always possessed a heightened sense of awareness. Completing his prayer, he rose and checked his gun, then climbed down and hit the street softly, rocking back on his heels. He walked slowly around the building, peeking up the empty street. His eyes were fixed on the door of the hotel, then he sighed in relief.
"Sorry," Chris offered, seeing the scorching blue eyes raking over him as he strode across the street. He saw them rise and flick to the window and then a grunt slide out from between the tense lips. The Texan turned away then, but not fast enough.
"Had breakfast?" The blond head cocked and waited, then the other man slowly turned. He saw one hand rubbing the flat abdomen, buried under a couple of shirts.
"Reckon I could eat," Vin decided, "thanks fer the offer."
"Who said I'm buying?" Chris fell easily into the banter, keeping his strides shorter to stay abreast of the other man.
"Figgered is all... ya owin' me and such," Vin sent back, hooking his thumbs in his waistline.
"Owe you how?"
"Iffen ya wasn't spyin' on me, Idda been able t'finish up there. By then Idda been past m'growlin' gut time. I couldda ridden out a cup o'coffee til lunch later. But ya woke it up... plus somehow I missed dinner last night... all that smokin' ya done chased up m'headache..." Vin spotted the open sign on the small cafe near the corner and pushed the door open.
"What?" Chris halted, crinkling his eyes in confusion at the onslaught of words. It was more than he'd heard the young man speak in all the time he knew him. When he looked up, he was alone. He furrowed his brow and strode inside, then found a smile at how the Texan was working the waitress. Two mugs of steaming coffee were waiting on a table.
"Oh, I'm feelin' much better, ma'am, thanks fer askin'." Vin smiled shyly, blushing when the elderly woman cupped his chin to 'inspect' him. "Nathan took real good care o'me."
"Well, I don't know... it was such a serious injury and I think you're much too thin. I have some fresh blueberry muffins in the back. I'll wrap them for you and you can take them with you."
"That's okay, Mrs. Carlson, don't go t'any trouble. Ya done t'much already. 'Tween Mrs. Potter and yer cookin', I'm likely t'grow outta m'new britches."
"Nonsense!" she scolded mildly, drinking in the handsome smile. "You'll do as I say. Now, how about some griddle cakes, ham and apple fritters?"
"Aw, hell!" Vin's mouth began to water. "Ya got any o'them bitty taters?"
"It'll only take me a minute to grate some..."
"Don't go t'any troub..."
"You hush up, Vin Tanner," Etta Carlson warned with a pleasant grin, covering his mouth with her fingers. She backed up slightly when a man dressed in black approached.
"This here is Chris," Vin nodded, "he's a friend o'mine..." He saw the fear in her eyes and waited until she nodded in return.
"Ma'am," Chris nodded as well, took his seat and paused. "I'll have the same as Vin."
"Okay," she left, looking back once at the blond man and shivering.
"You got no shame, Tanner," Chris accused, took off his hat and sat back, his lips curling into a new grin. It was one he wore easy around Vin Tanner. He lifted a mug of coffee and took a swallow.
"Can't help it if womenfolk like t'fuss..." Vin sat back in the chair and frowned when the older man coughed, spat out his tongue and grimaced.
"What the fuck did you do to this?"
"Nuthin'" Vin eyed each mug and tapped the ebony-clothed wrist. "That's mine, give it over. I like a little sugar in it," he answered the stormy eyes.
"A little!" the gunslinger growled. "You dumped half the sugar bowl in there." He took the other mug and was relieved to find it black and strong. "How you feeling?"
"Okay," Vin shrugged, then studied the other. "Why? Ya been checkin' up on me?"
"Talked to Nathan last night." He left it at that.
"Nathan worries t'much!"
"Good thing for you he does."
"Yeah, he's a good man," the former patient decided. "Didn't know me from spit. Saved m'life." He thought on the other man, Nathan's friend, and his face puzzled up. "Don't know t'much 'bout Josiah. Nate likes 'em, so I guess that's good 'nuf fer me. He's the one who found me... 'bout a day's ride from here."
"Yeah?" Chris sat back while Mrs. Carlson put the platters down.
"Here you go, Vin." She left a small linen bag with several muffins inside.
"Ya spoil me, ma'am," he smiled at up her and bobbed his head. "Thanks... I sure do 'ppreciate it."
"Anytime, sugar." She cupped his chin again and left.
"Sugar, huh?" Chris raised an eyebrow and cut his meat.
"Nuthin' wrong with that... she's a nice old lady. She likes me. Hell, never had s'many women fussin' over me."
"You could always start a harem after things settle down."
"Don't know 'bout that." Vin shoveled a large amount of griddle cakes in his mouth, drizzling butter and syrup down his chin. He swallowed, swiped at it with a napkin and continued. "Never been one fer a crowd."
Chris found a smirk as Tanner's mischievous eyes twinkled over an impish grin.
"So how we gonna work this?" Vin asked, spearing some ham and potatoes. "Ya gotta plan?"
"Nope."
"Well," Vin decided, apple fritter in mid air. "We could always use the same one we done yesterday..."
Chris grinned again, seeing a devilish smile go from the lips to the sky eyes.
"Reckon we could at that, Tanner."
The leader managed a half smile when the flashy gambler showed up to join their group.
"You made it," he nodded, wondering what the man's angle was.
"Hell," Ezra looked like the cat that ate a fat canary. "I couldn't stay away once I found out I'd be riding with a genuine celebrity!" He flipped open the newspaper that had the word 'MASSACRE' screaming across the top. "The streets ran red with the blood of twenty men yesterday when new resident and notorious gunslinger, Chris Larabee, turned our quiet town into a shooting gallery." He didn't stifle his smile when the seething man in black grabbed the paper and stalked off.
Vin frowned, scowled and didn't hide his anger at the lies that were printed. He imagined it wasn't the first time Larabee's name and reputation would be maligned and it wouldn't be the last. But what did surprise him was that Mary Travis was behind it. He thought he knew her. He couldn't believe she'd stoop to a level that low.
"What else did it say?" he asked the preening conman.
"That was the flattering part," Ezra noted, then recapped the story that was nearly all fiction. It painted a horrid picture of Larabee. And although she didn't identify Vin by name, she noted he was Larabee's right hand and a 'newcomer as well, clerking at the hardware store'. Vin kept his gaze down, studying the pommel of his saddle and felt the heat rise to his cheeks.
He'd trusted her. Why was it that people abused that? Again he was reminded that was the reason he rode alone. So nobody could hurt him again. Every time he trusted someone, it seemed that trust ended up broken. Except with Chris Larabee, for reasons he couldn't define yet. He cocked his head when his inner voice sent that message. He closed his eyes, took several deep breaths and pushed the anger away. He needed a clear head to get through this mission. He'd deal with Mary when they got back.
"Lady, I am the bad element!"
The flap of the duster was the only sound, the disgusted face disappeared and then she was alone again. Mary's heart was hammering in her chest and her knees were shaking so bad they sounded like maracas. She took several steadying breaths, pushed the loose ends of her hair back and tried to get those fiery green eyes from her mind. They burned in rage and she wondered for a moment if she'd made a mistake in crossing the legend in black.
She moved to the back, to her kitchen and got a drink of water. She thought on the wild, reckless trail hands who nearly killed an innocent man. She thought on the night before and the other drafts that didn't make the final edition.
Then she squared her shoulders, pushed the gunslinger's sneering lips out of her mind and nodded. She did the right thing. She protected the town from other animals like those trail herders. They'd read about this and stay clear. She'd made the streets safer. And he was hardly in any position to be calling the kettle black, not with that reputation. She thought on those stories she read while researching the night before.
Making her way to the door, she watched them ride out. Her eyes never left his lean form and she wondered if that was the last time she'd see him. She noticed the buckskin jacket and slouch hat and recalled the shy smile of Vin Tanner. As quickly as it arrived, she drowned the pang of guilt. Soon all that was left was a dust cloud, the strange collection of gunman were gone.
Fate watched over the five men as they paused by the ruins of an old church. She thought for a moment and stroked the fine lines, sending the sixth man on course. Then she rested until her touch was needed again.
"Why'd yuh change yuhr mind?" Nathan asked, watching Josiah Sanchez carefully.
"Crows."
"What crows?" Jackson asked the preacher.
"A sign."
"What does that mean?"
"Death."
"Whose?"
"Probably mine."
"Well, well," Ezra Standish interrupted the banter between Jackson and Sanchez. He eyed the odd gray haired man and smiled. "A sense of humor. I look forward to many lively conversations."
Vin Tanner lagged behind the others, then came abreast of the large man. He eyed the hands gripping the reins of the horse carefully. The same strong hands that rescued him from possible death. Those strong hands that were attempting to rebuild the ruins of a church. Or where they? Maybe not. He got the distinct impression that Josiah's hell traveled with him. That the stones could be a wall, shutting the world out. He caught the smoky eyes of the other, sending a glimmer of hope.
"We could use another good man," he offered with simple sincerity and saw those eyes crinkle.
"Not so good ..." Sanchez saw the warmth in the light eyes of the young man and absorbed it, saving it for later. "But I can fight," he vowed, turned and headed on the path Fate laid out for them all.
While the sun beat down on the determined riders, the hours peeled away. Despite his best efforts, Vin felt his head beginning to hum. He shifted twice, tugged his hat down and bit his lip. Every now and again, he'd lift his face and eye the terrain, wary of scouts the enemy might have sent ahead. Every time he did, either brown eyes or green would peer back at him, assessing his condition. He'd nod and smile, straighten up and grip the reins loosely. Once they made camp, things would be better. He dropped his face again as the pain on the right side of his head reached a crescendo. He didn't hear the black horse approach and barely saw the arm reach out to take his reins.
"We're gonna rest the horses..." Chris suggested and saw the head dip. "There's a spring up ahead, just near those rocks. You rest a few minute, it's shady there. I'll call you when we're leaving." Again, the head nodded and the arm shot out. He moved on instinct, gripping the forearm. He frowned at the slits where eyes should be, then nodded to Nathan who followed Vin to the stream.
"He okay?" Buck asked, watching the long-haired man's slumped posture.
"Yeah," Chris replied, eyeing the horizon. "We're not far... three hours tops."
Nathan waited until the young man finished throwing up and cleaned himself off. He saw the cupped hands rising with water and offered advice.
"Slow now... don't rush it..." He fumbled with his saddle bags and produced a small brown bag. He waited until the gasping figure was huddled against the rocks. The sky eyes were closed when he ambled over. He squatted down and opened the bag.
"Open up, got somethin' for yuh..." He saw one eye open under a suspicious brow and chuckled. "It ain't poison, it's peppermint, see?" He held out a small piece of candy. "It'll help yuhr belly some... I ain't got much so use it when yuh really need it, okay?"
"Thanks, Nate..." Vin whispered, slipping the small piece into his mouth. He let his throbbing eyes squint upwards, reading the soulful brown ones. Then his mind's eye saw a pair of icy green eyes and he frowned. "Don't tell Chris... I got sick. He's got 'nuf t'worry on with them soldiers comin' back. He's countin' on me."
"Yuh sure yuhr up tah this, Vin?"
"Does worms yawn?" Vin sighed, slid his eyes shut and heard the dark-skinned man chuckle. It seemed like he'd just dozed off when a hand tapped his arm.
"Sorry," Chris apologized seeing the bruised blue eyes. He held an arm out and waited.
"...ain't s'bad..." Vin rasped, taking the hand up, holding on long enough to steady himself and then making his way to his horse.
They rode off, but he kept close to Larabee. Somehow, it felt right and that was a feeling he wanted to hold onto. Just beyond the next canyon was the Seminole village. Tanner eyed the men who rode with them and wondered if they'd all ride out alive.
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