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.
"How could you?" Mary vented, shoving Ezra hard and kicking the table next to Buck. "What's wrong with you? How could you laugh at him like that?"
"Aw, come on, Mary," Buck defended, wiping his damp eyes. "Vin gives it out pretty good. There ain't one of us who hasn't been shot down by him. He's gotta learn to take it."
"Among you, in the saloon or on the road," she sent back. "Where he's safe. Not in the middle of the street with most of the town listening!"
"She's right, Buck," J.D. admitted, feeling guilty.
"Hold it, Mary," Chris moved closer. "To be fair, if the shoe was on the other foot, Vin would have found it funny."
"You didn't laugh." Mary drilled the pale green eyes until they turned away. Then she turned, eyed the crowd and raised her voice. "And he wouldn't have either. He would never hurt anybody's feelings, that's just not in him. It's a shame some of you don't have the moral composition that man has."
"Mary, wait..." Chris called, chasing after her as she moved through the crowd.
Mary skirted the street, eyeing the side streets and alleys. She paused at the end of town, heart hammering and needing to fix the wound. Then she felt a hand on her shoulder.
"There he is," Chris said, nodding to a deserted spot next to Josiah's half-built church.
"Where?" Mary squinted and then saw a hint of wind blown hair and a red sleeve. She felt Chris move to cross the street and stopped him. "Let me, okay?"
Not able to find a hole to crawl into, Vin sat next to the last building in town. He almost felt Josiah's presence hovering about. He swallowed hard, his eyes pained as the ghosts of the catcalls and mocking laughs still echoed in his head. He'd put his foot in his mouth again. When would he learn? He jumped and gasped when a hand touched his shoulder.
"Mind if I join you?" Mary asked, and then when the head bobbed, she sat down on the loose pile of boards. "Vin, I'm so sorry. They're wrong and I told them so. They had no right to treat you that way." She paused, but the head never lifted.
All she could see beneath the large hat was the bobbing Adam's apple. Then she saw his hands trembling. She reached over and took them, turning them over and holding them out, palms up.
"You have wonderful hands, you know?" She saw the head rise slowly and continued. "They're so unique. They tend to an injured friend with unwavering compassion, rebuild the home of a neighbor, lovingly tend to a lucky horse, create the most moving poems I've ever read and reach out openly and willingly to your friends." She paused, feeling the full effect of those magnificent blue eyes as they exposed his soul.
She touched the side of his face then and heard him gasp a little. "They're strong enough to support the broken heart of a brother," she said of his close ties to the blond leader, "and gentle enough to cradle the mind of a child. God doesn't give hands like those to just anybody, Vin Tanner, just a chosen few. I'm so glad I'm privileged enough to call one friend." She bent and kissed his cheek, then smiled. "You know, when Stephen died, I was worried Billy wouldn't have any role models to learn from. I was so very wrong. Thank you, Vin."
"Aw, hell..." Vin finally managed to squeak over a very tight throat. He swiped his damp eyes and took several steadying breaths. "I'm really sorry, Mary, fer embarrassin' ya like that. M'nerves was so fried it got my mouth to runnin'. I don't even know what I said, only it was awful..." he rasped painfully, his face hot.
"Oh, I don't know," Mary grinned, taking his hand again and squeezing it. "I wasn't the least bit embarrassed, Vin. I think I have a very good set of 'feeders'."
Vin laughed then, and with that laughter, all the tension that was eating at him left. He squared his shoulders and sat back, resting his aching back against the building. "Reckon ya do at that, Mrs. Travis."
"There's still some cake left on Mrs. Schmidt's baked goods table. I know for a fact, she's hiding a chocolate cake, saving it for you."
"Mebbe later," Vin replied quietly, not ready to face the town yet. "Think I'll ponder fer a spell, but thanks, Mary. I won't never look at m'hands the same way again. Could be I sprouted an inch 'er two thanks t'yer words."
"Could be, Mister Tanner," Mary sent back, rising and dusting her skirt off. She saw the worried green eyes burning into her as she came across the street. "He's upset but he'll be okay. He's 'pondering'," she added, but still the green eyes went past her and remained fixed on the church. Then she saw him lean against the post and realized as long as Tanner wasn't himself yet, neither would be Larabee. She thumped her hand on his chest and raised an eyebrow, feigning surprise. "Well, how about that? There is a heart in there!"
J.D. had taken Casey for a ride by the river and Ezra was three deep in card players. It was dark when Chris spotted Buck's backside disappearing up the side stairs at the hotel, one girl on each arm. That brought a bawdy grin. The gunslinger had patrolled the streets for awhile, checked the stores and eyed the strangers. Then he'd gotten thirsty. Chris had lit a cheroot and ambled over to the wagon, but Vin wasn't there. He'd waited for a bit across from the church before he was distracted by a minor fight that needed breaking up. When he'd returned to check, Vin was still gone. But since his horse was in the livery, the blond knew the quiet tracker was lurking about somewhere. Chris paused in the entry of the saloon, eyeing up the half empty room. Then he ambled over to the bar, leaning sideways.
"Get you somethin', Mr. Larabee?"
"Bottle of whiskey," the reply came. "Any grub left?"
"Some chili I think," the bartender replied, sliding a bottle and a glass at the man in black. "I can check."
"Well, look at you, Larabee, wearing boots and mixing with the civilized folks. Guess appearances are deceiving after all. I thought this looked like a pretty decent place to have a drink. Guess I was wrong given that they let you ooze in here. Should have guessed from the stench."
Chris's head turned sharply and his hand automatically caressed his Colt, but before he could reply, a blur of tan flashed by. The stranger who had spoken the words seemed just as startled when a hot-tempered, long-haired man in buckskins shoved between them. Chris hadn't even seen Vin in the room. The man appeared and disappeared like a phantom.
"Listen up, ya ball-less wonder," Vin seethed. "Ya aim on keepin' what little ya got, ya best turn and haul yer tight ass right on outta here, 'er I'll do it fer ya."
The stranger sipped his drink while eyeing Chris Larabee's stoic face over the brash younger man's irate one. He pushed his hat back, turned slowly and raised the empty shot glass.
"You've got yourself quite a watchdog, Larabee," he toasted. "A real blue-eyed terrier."
"...kind of scrawny if you ask me," the man next to the stranger added, elbowing him. "Most likely he's got rabies. Maybe we should up him down... " He didn't finish the thought when a knife was suddenly pressed to his throat.
"Now I thought I was real polite," Vin warned, pressing the blade tip closer. He eyed the nasty scar that ran down the dark-haired man's face and narrowed his eyes. "Ya don't want me t'lose m'temper."
"Feisty little devil," the stranger saluted. "You sure know how to pick them, Larabee."
"Ain't so bad once you get past the smell," Chris sent back, causing Tanner's head to swivel in confusion. He cast his eyes past Vin to the stranger and the man with him. Then he poured himself a shot of whiskey and raised it, along with a single sandy eyebrow. "Mine's prettier."
"You got me there, Chris," the stranger admitted, sliding over two ten dollar silver coins. "Back off," He warned his Mexican cohort and waited until the knife pulled back. Then he dismissed his associate with a nod of his head. Turning back to the blond, he continued his conversation. "My half of the bill from the Three Oaks. Seems I recall you leaving in a hurry."
"I damn near got my ass shot off," Chris grinned. "Seems you forgot to mention that she was married."
"Her English was bad and my French was worse," he chuckled. "Could be that part got lost in the translation."
"On behalf of my 'wounded pride'," Chris tapped his groin and took the coins, "thanks. Damn, that was a night to remember!" he recalled of the celebration after graduation. "How long's it been, Jeff?" He extended his hand.
"Fourteen years I guess," Mason took the hand and eyed his former classmate. "You look good, Chris. I heard about your wife and son. My dad ran into your Uncle Charles in New York a couple years ago. Damn shame."
"Yeah..." Chris sighed and studied the bar until an annoyed chuffed breath drew his head up.
"Aw, don't mind me," Vin spat testily. "I'm jest the smelly dawg, remember?"
"Hey, he's real cute when he gets riled up," Mason winked, which only made the tracker angrier.
Chris chuckled and nodded to the stranger. "This is Jeff Mason. We went to West Point together."
"Sorry for the ruse," Jeff extended his hand also, "but I couldn't resist. I owed him one. This guy is quite the prankster."
Vin ignored the hand offered but let his eyes study every detail of the other man. Two inches over six feet, lean and handsome. Short auburn hair over fair features and icy blue eyes. The suit was expensive, and the ring and watch were too. Something about those icy eyes sent a chill through him though. Almost a deadly premonition, one so strong it made him shudder. He kept his somber gaze fixed on the other man's until the hand was withdrawn.
"I'll be around." He offered a double message, updating Larabee and warning the newcomer. Then as quickly as he appeared, he was gone.
"Something I said?" Jeff eyed the slim man as he exited the bar.
"No," Chris replied.
"He's a little rough around the edges. Who is he? Known him long?"
"Long enough," Chris replied, not divulging Vin's name or any other details.
"Okay," Mason nodded, seeing that Larabee was tight-lipped about the buckskinned man. He lifted his glass and waited, then offered the creed they'd sworn to at school. "Duty. Honor. Country."
Chris tapped the glass and drained his shot.
"What brings you this far west, Jeff?"
"How 'bout we catch up over dinner? You eat yet? I came in on the stage and was worn out. Took a nap."
"No, but steaks are good over at the hotel." Chris took the bottle and waited. "It's good to see you, Jeff."
Jeff Mason nodded and smiled, thinking just how true his 'old' friend's words were. He kept that devious smile on the man's back as they walked to the hotel.
Vin hustled to his wagon, wincing several times as the paper-thin soles in the bottom of his worn boots gave way again. The others had all been teasing him about the ratty boots. He vowed with the next payment from Orrin, he'd get a new pair. He cursed several times and lifted his foot, plucking out a large splinter.
"Dammit!"
He paused at the back of his wagon when he spotted the soft brown boots sitting just inside the back. He picked them up,fingering the smooth leather in appreciation. Curious, he shucked his own off and pulled them on.
"Smoother than a baby's ass!" He tested them and frowned. "Who the hell...?" he wondered, until a warm voice split the night behind him.
"You were gettin' just too embarassin' to ride with," Buck Wilmington offered, leaning against the alley wall. He reached down and picked up one of Vin's old boots, sticking his hand right through the bottom. "Would have been just as easy to go barefoot. How old are these?"
"Hell if I know," Vin shrugged. "Plucked 'em off a corpse. He weren't needin' 'em where he's headed and I didn't have none."
Buck laughed hard at that, tossed the boot away, then clapped the smaller man's shoulder.
"Well, you do now, son and they sure are pretty!" the mustached man boomed, one hand ruffling the long hair. "Just like you."
"Don't be touchin' m'hair!" Tanner pulled away, snarling lightly. "How much I owe ya?" He pulled a few meager coins out. "I was aimin' on buyin' some but it weren't enough."
"Keep your money, slick." Buck folded the fingers over the dirty coins. "Those boots are from a friend. Someone who would appreciate it if you used them to kick his ass when he gets out of line again. Okay?" he offered, watching the keen-eyed eagle appraising him. Somehow, when Vin Tanner stared at you, he seemed to look right through you, deep down inside to where it counted. He felt his own body relax a bit when his hand was taken.
"Fair enough," Vin took the hand and eyed his feet. "These is from a store, right? I don't cotton t'havin' m'ass shot off by some fired-up husband."
"I'm wounded, Vin," Buck tapped his chest and laughed. "Don't you recognize them? You've been starin' at them in that window for three weeks. All I did was follow the drool puddles."
"Can't be t'careful!" Vin eyed the hotel and shivered.
"How 'bout we test them out? You can buy me dinner."
"I ain't hungry," Vin said in a distracted voice.
"That's words I thought would never meet," Buck eyed the concerned etched on the other man's face. "You okay, Vin?"
"Ain't sure what's wrong," the disturbed voice came back. "M'guts on fire and I feel like I'm jumpin' outta m'own skin. Somethin' jest ain't right 'bout that fella."
"What fella?"
"Some friend o'Chris's... from WestPoint. He run into him in the saloon. Mason?"
"Jeff Mason," Buck nodded. "Used to be Chris's best friend. They grew up together. Mason's family moved to New York when they were about ten, I think. They entered West Point together."
"Ever meet him?"
"No, they split up, got sent to different regiments. Then the war came..." Buck shifted his weight. Vin's sense of doom was legendary among them and now he was feeling nervous. "Why?"
"His eyes ain't right... put a chill right thru me..." Vin shivered.
"Maybe you're just tired, Vin," Wilmington suggested. "Get some sleep..."
"Mebbe..." Vin kept his eyes on the quiet street and shivered again.
"Well, I'm starved. Working on them Callison twins sure brings up my appetite,"the ladies man lauded, patting his gut. "Could be that's what you need, Vin. Maybe the boys need some air."
"Ya kept yer boys busy enough fer both of us," Vin snorted as Buck turned to leave. "Hey?"
Wilmington turned and saw a hint of a smile as the slim fingers tipped the side of the floppy hat. "Thanks, Bucklin..."
His own smile was born then, a real soft Wilmington winner. He eased into the shadows, lingering and keeping his eyes on the smaller man. He waited until Vin rumbled into that pile of wood he called home and then left to get some dinner.
But despite his weariness, Vin Tanner didn't sleep. And when sleep finally did come, his dreams were stark and vivid. The images of blood and carnage were very real. So much so, he could smell death all around him. The stench so strong, it caused him to cry out in agony. In the center of the nightmare, covered in blood, was Chris Larabee. The night terrors finally wore him out and he rested, unaware that it would be the last night he spent in his humble abode.
Chris yawned as he made his way to the street. It was well after midnight and the town was quiet. After dinner, he'd gone back to Jeff's room at the hotel and they killed off a bottle of whiskey. Now, all he wanted was to walk without stumbling and falling, then find himself a nice, soft bed. He paused on the boardwalk, his eyes narrowing at an unfamiliar sight.
"You sleepwalking?"
"Nope." Buck yawned but didn't rise from the rocking chair he sat in. From the flickering fire in the can in the alley, he saw the inquisitive green eyes bearing down on him and peeled an eye open. "Can't sleep... room's too damn lonely." He heard the snort of sarcasm and eyed his friend with a bemused stare.
"First time for everything," Chris noted of the idea of Buck sleeping alone. "Nathan and Josiah due back today?"
"Yeah, if they head out early, we'll see them before noon sometime I expect."
"Good," the slightly tipsy leader noted. "I should be up by then."
"Yeah... I heard you ran into an old friend." Buck rose and stretched, rubbing his back. "What's he doin' in town?"
"Passing through," Chris said as they slowly made their way up the boardwalk. "His father's got an idea to buy a mine north of here. He's a stock broker in New York."
"Silver? Up near Santa Fe?" Buck guessed and saw the head bobbing.
"Apparently, he bought a large one in Mexico too. Jeff was coming north from there and just happened to get off the stage here."
"Small world," Buck added, thinking on Vin's eerie feelings.
Just as they approached the alley where the sharpshooter's wagon resided, a jagged cry split the still air.
"Chris!"
"Shit!" Chris flew into the alley and then stopped short, throwing out his arm to halt Buck's progress. Out of breath and not quite steady on his feet, he needed a moment to get his bearings. Even the light cast off by the full moon didn't prepare him. He groaned and shook his head, rubbed his throbbing eyes.
"Now that is a picture!" Buck stated of the Texan who was facing them wearing only his new boots and the mare's leg.
"He's not awake, Buck," Chris warned.
"He has to be, his eyes are open."
"He's not awake!" Chris hissed. "Don't rile him up!"
"Vin? You okay?" Buck asked tentatively.
"Put the gun down, Vin, it's me and Buck," Chris tried, but the wide blue eyes didn't blink.
"Git the hell away..." Vin rasped, blinking into the dark storm. He couldn't see their faces but he knew they were back. Where was Chris? All he remembered was blood - a lot of blood. "Chris... Chris...?"
"Shit!" Larabee seethed while taking a deep breath. He inched forward, making sure both hands were in the air. "Vin, look at me. Vin Tanner. VIN!" Chris bolted when the gun was leveled at his body.
"Chris, be careful!" Buck warned when the lean gunslinger shot forward and grabbed hold of the dazed man.
"Get the gun, Buck!" Chris gritted, wrestling the body down. Then he felt the tension leave and the near-naked form slumped.
"Hell's goin' on... ?" Vin murmured, then eyed his surroundings. When the fog cleared, he saw Buck's boots and Chris's face looking at him. "Git offa me!"
"You were dreaming," Chris said, rising and hauling the younger man up. "You okay? Did I hurt you?"
"Naw," Vin winced and rubbed his backside. "Great. Nate's gonna love this..." he sassed, grabbing his gun from the chuckling rogue. "Shut the hell up. It ain't funny," Vin growled, eyeing his palm.
"What?" Chris peered in the dim light, seeing something wet on the disturbed man's hand. "You get cut? Let me see." The mare's leg came up under two hot blue eyes. "Suit yourself!" Larabee backed off. "Just make sure Nate gets a look, so you don't become more of a pain-in-the-ass than usual."
"Must have been a helluva dream," Buck offered his support. "You want to talk about it?"
"Hell, yeah," Vin crowed. "As long as I'm nekkid and bleedin', let's shoot the breeze." He paused, then hollered, "Git!"
"Alright, alright," the womanizer backed away. "Damn near got shot and that's the thanks I get. Goddamn on'ry Texan!"
Vin tossed his pants on and grabbed his shirt and some other things from his wagon. He gingerly walked to the clinic. He paused out front to pick up the buckets Nathan left outside. He filled both with water from the pump and made his way up the stairs. Once inside the clinic, he lit the lamp and stripped down. He filled a pot with some water and got the soap out. As the water heated, he thought on the troubles that plagued him overnight. What sleep he did get was disturbed, leaving him with a dull headache. He soaped up his hands and washed them good before applying the soapy cloth to the raw, bleeding scrape on his backside.
He thought on the disturbing images that disrupted his night. As he applied carbolic and did a mad dance, cussing a blue streak, he tried to shake off the premonition. He kept pressure applied until the bleeding stopped. Then he rummaged through his things until he found a clean set of drawers. After he dressed, he used the leftover boiled water to make a cup of peppermint tea. He hoped the herbal remedy would soothe his upset stomach. He walked to the window, lifted the curtain and eyed the still of the night. As he sipped his tea, he wondered on how to give Chris and Buck the answer they sought.
His heart sank and he rubbed his aching eyes. It wasn't a dream; it was a vision. His background with the Comanche and the Kiowa taught him that. Leaving the window behind with the curtains open to let the breeze in, he eyed the cot. Suddenly, that bed looked a lot more inviting to his exhausted body than his wagon. He gingerly eased his weary body down and lay on his side.
He sighed deeply, thinking again on the window that had been opened in his mind. A brief glimpse into the future. He winced and moved his hand over his heart, once again seeing Chris Larabee's chest covered in blood, holding his limp and lifeless body. It wasn't the jagged portrait of his own death that hurt so much. It was the unspeakable agony on Chris Larabee's face that broke his heart. Exhaustion took over, leading him into the treacherous waters again.
Something interrupted his night terrors. Before he saw Larabee once again covered in blood, his eyes shot open. The room was cloudy or so it seemed to him. He rubbed his eyes and sat up, coughing.
His eyes hurt.
Cloudy.
Coughing.
"...the hell..." he choked, shaking the groggy cloak off his body just as the full realization hit him.
"Smoke!" he coughed hard, stumbling a few feet. "Fire?" he rasped. "Aw, hell... the lamp..." He stumbled through Nathan's clinic, fearing he'd caused the blaze. But the lamp wasn't on. He staggered to the stove, touched it gingerly. It was cold. He turned, still coughing, and fell to his knees. The air was clearer down here. As he headed for the door, a splash of color fell through the window. He jerked the door open and saw orange flames dancing in the abandoned building next door.
"Fire! Fire!" he screamed, then his eyes caught movement. Through the edge of the window, just ahead of the flames, he saw a shadowy figure. An arm tossed something backwards and another burst of orange flames shot up in front of the window. He saw the man emerge from the back of the abandoned building.
"Hey!" he called out, grabbing his gun from the hook by the door.
"Shit!" Jensen, the youngest of the gang, cursed as a slim man raced up the alley towards him. He shot at the figure who then ducked and returned fire, nearly hitting him.
"Dammit!' Vin swore as his shot hit the wall next to the fire-starter's head. He kept pace as the quick figure sped into the night. He paused at the narrow opening between the bank and the caf�. Vin heard a grunt and looked up just as a body slipped over the edge of the roof. He quickly took pursuit.
Buck sat up in a hurry, breathing hard and not sure why his pulse was racing. What woke him up? He paused and eyed the window, then a flicker of color caught his eyes.
Color?
Easing his body over the bed, he padded to the window and saw flames leaping from the other end of the street.
"Shit!"
He roughly threw on his pants, shirt and boots and ran into the hall, banging on the doors.
"Fire... Fire... Get up!"
He paused at the last door in the hall and banged hard, using his boots as well.
"Chris, get up... Fire up the street.... Chris... Fire!"
"Huh?"
The sour stomach and foul taste inside his mouth were barely enough to get his eyes half open. His limbs seemed to be mired in mud and somehow he'd acquired a hatchet in his skull. He blinked several times, not sure why the noise outside his head was so much louder. Then the high shrill of his name knifed him hard in the eardrums.
"Chris!"
"Buck?" he croaked. "Shut up!"
He curled up and covered his throbbing head. The noise got louder. Attempting to throw his boot at the door, he fell out of bed, hitting his eye on the bedpost.
"God... dam... mit..." he hissed, grabbing his gun and heading for the door. "Buck, I swear..."
"Fire!" Buck hollered, still pounding when the door opened, revealing a face that was pale and ghoulish. "Thank God. Get dressed, there's a fire up the street. It looks bad."
The words accelerated the sobering process. By the time he pulled a pair of pants on and a shirt, his head, although still pounding, was clearer. He poured water in the basin, doused his face and rinsed his sour mouth. He shoved his boots on, slapped his gun belt around his waist and ran out of the room.
Vin lifted his face over the roof, giving himself only enough room to see. His eyes, guided by the moon above, did a fast roam. The second time around, he saw a figure hiding behind a chimney stack. He saw the gun and face were trained the other way. Taking advantage, he slipped over the side. The phantom quickly made his way across the roof, pausing a few feet away.
"Git yer hands up!"
"Don't shoot, Mister!" Jensen whined, dropping his gun and casting his 'young' eyes, doing his best to take five years off his appearance.
"Hell, yer a kid..." Vin scrutinized the youth's face. "Who the hell are ya? Ya ain't from these parts. I seen ya dousin' the buildin'. What the hell fer?"
"Money!" he shot back. "He... promised me... it'd be easy... I got no money... my Pa took off after we buried my Ma..."
"Right before he shot yer dog?" Vin snorted. "Save yer breath," he grunted, waving his gun hand. "That's a load a horse shit and I ain't that stupid. On yer knees, facing the wall, put yer hands behind..."
The peacekeeper's sentence was broken off by a gun slamming into his head from behind. He fell forward, hitting his face against the bricks.
"No!" Jensen cried out when Max placed the gun against the unconscious man's temple. "Folks are already in the street. He saw me... he called out and woke 'em up. You start shootin' and they'll know we're up here."
"No problem." Max knelt down and rolled the body over, drew out his knife and placed it across the exposed throat.
"No..."
"Why not?" Max eyed the hand grabbing his wrist.
"Think for a change, will you?" the youth hissed. "He's the guy that was with Larabee! The one you told me about with the long hair and the drawl!"
"Yeah, so?"
"So, Jeff scoped this town out. He's one of the peacekeepers. You kill him and we'll have Larabee huntin' us down. What if somebody heard him shooting? They could be here, find him and get to us before the safe is empty. No dice, it's too risky."
"We can't leave him here, he saw you."
"I know that!" The young man knelt down, taking out a long, thin cord that he'd cut from the kerosene container. "Get him on his belly... hold his hands back." After securing the hands, he jogged to edge of the roof. A dozen men were down by the livery, some taking the frightened animals out while others, joined by several women, were making a bucket line.
"Good, going right on schedule. Get him up. Once we get out of town, you can carve him like a turkey if you want. We'll dump him in the river. Let's go!" .
"All the horses get out?" Chris asked, then watched the youth's head dip. Chaos rained down on the town; shouts and cries split the night air. People were running, voices were shouting, and it was hard for the semi-sober man to try to make order from the mess. They expected it though. It was his face they sought when he arrived.
"Yeah, Mark and Jimmy took care of it," Dunne noted of two of the townsfolk. "Chris, if we don't get ahead of it, it's gonna spread!" J.D. panted, wiping the sweat from his eyes. "Buck can't spare anybody from the bucket line, but I'm gonna need help getting the water barrels over here."
"Yeah, okay, J.D.," he rubbed his eyes as smoke hit them.
After a town in another territory burned down, the town council decided to store barrels of water in a warehouse in town. So if a fire struck one of the buildings, they need only load them on wagons and roll. The water was stored in an old depot at the end of town.
"I'll run down to the hotel," the youth offered. "I can get some of the guests to help. There's two wagons in the depot ready to go. Mark and Jimmy are over there, I'll get them to bring some horses."
"Just do it! Go! Go...!" Chris ordered, tugging a scarf over his nose and mouth and joining the line. His head was pounding and the thick smoke only made his sobering up process harder. His eyes stung and between the shouting and the chaos, he couldn't think straight. Then his eyes caught sight of Buck, leading the bucket line. He was giving orders, keeping the pace up and the line was working well.
"Chris, it don't look good!" Buck called out as his oldest friend ran over, the bottom of his face obscured by a black kerchief. "We're bustin' ass over here but..."
"Just keep 'em moving, Buck!" Chris issued, grabbing a bucket and passing it along. "J.D.'s gettin' help from the hotel. They're gonna bring the water barrels over by wagon."
"Water? We got water in town?"
"At least I was at the town meeting, not having a poke in the room over it," Larabee shot back before turning to the third man down the line who ran the hotel. "Harry, wake your guests up. We need more help. We can form a second line on the other side, start dousin' it with the water the kid is bringing." He turned back just as Buck handed a full bucket to the man next to him. The rogue's face fell in shock and then he started to run towards the inferno.
"Buck!" Chris screamed. "What the hell are you doing?"
"Gus!" he hollered even as he tried to wiggle free of Larabee's grasp around his waist. "You know he sleeps in there. He don't ever hurt nobody. He's a harmless drunk..."
"Buck..." Chris said softer, shaking his head.
"Maybe he got... out..." the large hearted man panted, wiping his smoke-stung eyes. His shoulders dropped a bit, thinking of the old timer who always had a story to tell. "I hope... if... he didn't... at least... he was... asleep..."
"Yeah." Chris clapped his shoulder just as a body in the window of the boarding house caught his eye. "Ezra, get your ass down here!"
"You know snakes don't like fire..." Buck teased, then his eyes widened and his heart began to race. "Where's Vin?"
"Vin?" Chris coughed, his alarmed eyes going over the crowd.
"Kid!" Buck cupped his hands and screamed, getting J.D.'s attention as the first wagon ambled down the street. The youth was directing them, standing on the boardwalk. His face turned immediately, his large dark eyes seeking his best friend's voice. "Where's Vin? Check his wagon!"
J.D. took his hat off and waved it to the rogue, signaling he'd do just that. The youth took off, easily sprinting the distance to the alley. "Vin...? Vin...?" He peered in the back, but it was empty. He ran into the street and shook his head.
"Where the hell is he?" Chris said just as Buck's eyes caught a curtain flapping above the wall of smoke near the livery. "Fuck!" The leader read the rogue's mind. Tanner was headed to the clinic earlier to clean his cuts.
"If he fell asleep..." Buck's voice died off at the thought of Vin inhaling all that smoke.
"Ezra!" Chris called out as the scarlet coated figure ran by the alley next to the livery. "Vin... Nate's... Go!"
"Vin? Vin?" Ezra coughed, blinded by the wall of smoke that greeted him. He covered his face with his coat flap and ran inside the clinic. "VIN?" The flames gave an eerie illumination to the room. The outer room where more than often, one of the six was tended to on a cot by the healer, was empty. He ran past the small stove to the back where Nathan's room was. As his tearing eyes skirted the empty room, Larabee's voice called out from the outer room.
"Tanner!"
"He's not here..." Ezra wheezed, having trouble breathing from the large lungful of smoke he'd inhaled upon entering.
"He has to be!" Chris coughed, smoke stinging his eyes. "Ezra?" He turned when he heard a thump.
"I may require... some... assistance..."
"Hold on..." Chris called out, closing the windows. He got the southerner to his feet, took one arm over his shoulder and they ran outside. He eased Ezra down in front of Potter's store.
"Is he hurt?"
"No, Gloria, I think he sucked in too much smoke." He watched as the normally suave man fell to his knees, coughing so hard he threw up.
"I'll stay with him," she offered. "Vin?"
"He's not... around." Chris saw her fear. Vin had wormed his way into the hearts of most of the good people of the town. Gloria had a real soft spot for the tracker. Chris moved over and gave her shoulder a squeeze. "You know Vin takes off... probably sound asleep under a tree by the river."
He wasn't aware of his friend's concern. He wasn't aware of time or space. Being trussed up and upside down on a moving horse did things to a man's equilibrium. Put a head wound on top of that and it spelled trouble. His fuzzy brain didn't work. He couldn't open his eyes. It took double the effort to find time to snatch small breaths. The motion of the moving animal he was tied to drove pain into his ribs. The dizzying pace caused a normal reaction and he vomited. He tried to focus, to figure out why he was so sick. Why was he on this horse? He tried and failed, surrendering to the blackness with sour residue lingering in his mouth and nose. The last image he had before the darkness called was of an intense pair of green eyes. His lips parted, silently forming the name.
"Chris?"
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