DISCLAIMER: Nothey'renotminetheybelongtootherpeople. Happy now?
RATING: PG-13 for language and violence. But all artistically rendered.
NOTES: Thanks To Judy for the beta, for catching my glitches, and for requesting the "Awww" scenes
Buck Wilmington hunkered down behind the wagon as yet another hail of bullets whizzed and whined about him, accompanied by the sounds of lead slamming into wood, smashing through glass or tearing through canvas. "Shit!" he hollered to any of his friends who could hear him. "One'a you fellas wanta get that bastard up on the roof yonder?"Moments later, he heard the sharp, heavy bark of a Winchester -- also from a rooftop -- and eased his head just far enough around the wagon to see the man who'd been targeting him fall dead to the ground. "Thanks, Vin!" he called to the sharpshooter.
"Didn't do it fer you!" Tanner shouted. "That's my wagon yer hidin' behind! Now, git the hell away, 'fore these sonsabitches shoot it all ta pieces!"
"Thanks for your concern, pard!" Buck shot back. "Goddamn touchy tracker," he grumbled as he hurriedly reloaded his guns. "Wouldn't have this problem if he lived indoors like regular folks. But, no, he's gotta live outside, with the wind and the rain and the goddamn bugs! Cover me, boys!" he shouted, snapping the cylinder shut and rising to a crouch. "I'm on the move!" And he dashed out from behind the wagon, wincing and cursing at the bullets that whipped about him, some of them much too close for comfort.
Shit, Chris would have to be in Purgatorio just now...
In the alley at the end of the saloon, Josiah Sanchez spotted Buck, then sighted one of the men who was firing on him. "Gotcha, brother!" he shouted, raising his gun and taking aim. "'For, lo, thine enemies, O Lord, for, lo, thine enemies shall perish...'" His deep voice rumbled out the words of the 92nd Psalm as he fired, sending his man diving once more for cover. "'All the workers of iniquity shall be scattered!'"
Shielding himself with the hardware store's sign, Tanner peered through his rifle's sight and laid down a stinging barrage of fire to cover Buck's progress. The big man, he could see, was going to the aid of Ezra Standish, who had gotten pinned down in front of the hotel and was taking heavy fire from the outlaws still determined to get away with the money they had stolen from the bank.
Or were trying to steal. No one had successfully robbed the bank in Four Corners since the town had acquired its seven regulators, and those regulators were now working hard to make sure this latest bunch of desperadoes did not become the first.
"Well, good mornin', Buck," Ezra drawled amiably as Wilmington dived to join him behind the upturned wagon that provided his cover. "Out for your daily constitutional?"
"Hell, Ezra, you know what they say," Buck answered, grinning broadly as he rose to return the outlaws' fire. "A little exercise keeps a man young forever."
"And so will a bullet," the gambler groused as one whipped past his ear. "For the life of me, I cannot fathom which part of 'throw down your guns and come out with your hands up' these low-browed cretins failed to comprehend. I thought the demand was voiced with remarkable clarity, myself."
"They don't seem too bright, do they?" Buck asked as he watched Standish drop a man who, for some unknown reason, had decided to break cover and run out into the street with guns blazing. "'Course, I guess if they had any brains at all, they'd'a just gone on ta Eagle Bend. Hell, that bank there's been robbed so many times I hear they just keep the damn safe open at night now and have the money already bagged up!"
"Perhaps we should have Mrs. Travis put a notice to that effect in the next issue of the Clarion," Ezra suggested as he fired. "Thereby diverting the attention of other nefariously intentioned miscreants in the area to those beckoning portals and away from our own far more conscientiously guarded financial institution."
"Yeah, Ezra, sure," Buck muttered in complete confusion, "whatever you say."
While Standish and Wilmington concentrated on holding down and holding off the outlaws in their vicinity, JD Dunne, crouching behind the barrel that served as the checkers table outside the jail, and Nathan Jackson, sheltered in the alley across the street, fought to hold at bay those near them. They knew they had to keep their bunch separated from the others, and knew they had to keep any of them from reaching the horses in the livery, else they'd all be looking at yet another cross-country chase.
And those damn things weren't nearly as exciting as the dimestore novels made them out to be...
"Nathan, down!" JD shouted, lunging to his feet and firing both Colts in rapid succession at the man who'd suddenly appeared behind the healer. He dropped that man, then whirled and sent another shot into the figure he'd glimpsed from the corner of his eye. Bullets then whipped by him, so close he could feel the wind from their passing, and he dropped with a yelp back down behind the barrel. "Geez!" he gasped.
"Goddamn it, JD, stay down!" Tanner shouted to the young sheriff, alarmed by the close call. The boy had grit, Vin would give him that, but, shit, he'd make a man old before his time!
Nathan was thinking the same thing about the tracker. Since the battle had begun, he'd watched in horrified amazement as Tanner, as usual, defended them from the heights, moving from rooftop to rooftop with the sure- footed ease and agility of a damn mountain cat prowling its rocky lair. And more than once he'd looked on in gut- wrenching anxiety as Vin had leapt, rifle in hand, from one building to another, defying both bullets and gravity.
Damn fool! Nathan cursed the younger man in mingled fury and fear. Thinks them goddamn fringes on his coat is feathers, and's convinced hisself he can fly!
Vin thought no such thing, but could not deny the exhilaration rushing through him. Such fights as these brought something wild and fierce surging up from the depths of his soul, sent a powerful force coursing through him that made his blood sing in his veins. He knew it was the hunter in him, the predatory part that marked all who opposed or threatened him as prey, the hawk in his nature that, when freed, exulted in the chase. He did not enjoy killing, took no pleasure in taking life, but neither would he shrink from it nor hesitate to do it once convinced it had to be done. And once turned to it, his every instinct was primed for the kill.
And that instinct now screamed a warning at him. Some flicker of movement down on the street, some shadow lurking where none should have been, caught his attention and brought him to his feet, rifle snapping to his shoulder. With hawk-sharp sight he saw him, the man creeping up on JD's blind side, his gun drawn and ready to take the shot as soon as he could make it. The bastard thought he was safe, thought he was covered, and so he was, from the street. But the man on the roof saw him, and smiled in grim humor at the target presented to him.
You don't shoot nobody in the back! Chris Larabee had snapped that day, now so long ago.
"Like hell ya don't," Tanner rasped, pumping two deadly shots into the man who threatened his young friend. "Goddamn gunfighter 'n yer goddamn code!"
JD heard the shots and turned just in time to see the outlaw spin and fall, his chest torn open by the escaping rifle slugs. "Well, shit, Vin!" he yelped in wide-eyed shock, knowing any bullets that came out the front had to have gone in through the back.
The tracker never did seem to fight by anybody's rules but his own...
Josiah looked up the street, to Buck and Ezra, and down it, to Nathan and JD, and tried to decide which two were most in need of his help. He had dispatched the last of the would-be robbers in his part of the street, his bullets accompanied by more Psalms, and could not abide his current inaction. And he had no fear of moving, knew he would be protected by that guardian angel who watched over them all from up on high.
Though doubtless Vin Tanner would scoff at the notion of himself as any sort of "angel"....
His decision made, he took off running up the boardwalk toward the gambler and the scoundrel, knowing they faced the larger group of outlaws. Bullets whined and sang past him, flew by his head and splintered the wood at his feet, but this day his crows were absent, and no lead came nearer than to tear a hole through the flapping tail of his coat.
"'For he shall give his angels charge over thee, to keep thee in all thy ways,'" he thundered as he ran, as he heard that Winchester forcing outlaws back into cover. "'They shall bear thee up in their hands, lest thou dash thy foot against a stone!' I'm comin' in, boys!" he bellowed, taking cover behind a stack of crates outside the grocery across the street from Buck and Ezra. "We got 'em in a crossfire now!"
The outlaws, too, recognized the change in their situation, knew it was becoming desperate. There were but four of them left here, near the bank, out of the seven that had started, and the only one left on the roofs seemed to be that damned sharpshooter. Six bodies lay in the dust further up the street, and not one of them belonged to a regulator.
"We gotta git up there with Hanks 'n Ross," the leader, a lean, scar-faced killer named Carlton, spat bitterly, his dark eyes glittering with rage. "Gotta git ta th' hosses 'n git th' hell outta here!"
"'N how'n th' hell we s'posed ta do that?" gasped the man to his left, his shirt stained and sodden with the blood that welled from the hole in his shoulder. More blood darkened his pants from the wound in his right thigh. "Them sonsabitches got this street sewed up, 'n that bastard up on th' roofs c'n damn near fly!"
Carlton looked around wildly, his mind working furiously but coming up with nothing useful. "Side streets," he finally rasped in desperation. "Gotta git behind 'em, go 'round-- Shit!" he yelled as a sudden burst of fire from the two regulators behind that damned wagon took out another of his men.
Three left now, and Reeves wasn't going anywhere with that leg of his....
"Hold 'em fer us, Reeves," he rapped out the order, rising to a crouch. "Nash, yer with me."
Before the wounded Reeves could protest, his two remaining comrades were gone, slipping away with the aim of getting down the nearest side street and making their escape, and leaving him to whatever his fate would be.
"Ezra, Buck, they're on the move!" Josiah shouted, seeing two of the men slinking away. "Down the alley!"
Never taking time to think -- or to talk himself out of it -- Standish was on his feet and in pursuit, racing down the boardwalk in an attempt to cut off the escaping men. He could hear Wilmington's boots thundering against the planks behind him, but did not look back. He was wholly focused on stopping the two who had just slipped into the alley and seeing them brought to justice.
Wouldn't Mother be horrified to see her "darlin' baby boy" now?
Made desperate by wounds and abandonment, Reeves lurched to his feet, saw the red-coated regulator and, snarling out a stream of vile curses, fired frantically. But his fusillade was cut short by the bullets that tore into him from above and dropped him to the ground, dead.
Between one step and the next, Ezra felt the hot, heavy lead slice into him, felt himself stumble helplessly and drop to the boardwalk as his legs refused any longer to support the weight of his body. For a moment, confusion gripped him, until he recognized the burning, throbbing torment spreading downward from his shoulder and upward from his right leg.
"Oh, hell," he muttered as his gun slipped from suddenly useless fingers. Yet another suit of clothing ruined...
"EZRA!" Buck shouted as the gambler fell before him. Racing toward the fallen man, he looked around and spotted Sanchez rushing across the street to join them. "Josiah, get them two in the alley!" he ordered, waving the big man on. "I'll see ta Ezra!"
Sanchez growled low and murderously in his throat, but forced himself to leave Ezra to Buck and go after the retreating outlaws. Fury burned within him and pounded through him, giving speed to his feet and a grim purpose to his movements. He hated to leave a wounded friend, wanted nothing more than to make sure Ezra was still alive, but knew he could not. His first duty was to the town, and that duty now drove him after the men who would prey upon the people he was paid to protect.
Still, he let the rage come, let it burn and grow stronger, fanning its fire until it consumed him. These two would never live to see the gallows...
Vin watched in horror as Ezra fell. He had cut down the man who had risen and fired, but not before the bastard had downed Standish. For long moments Tanner stood there, heedless of his own safety, and watched as Wilmington knelt at the gambler's side.
"Buck?" he shouted hoarsely. Lord God, let him be alive! He should've gotten here sooner, should've fired sooner...
Buck looked across the street and up at that shout, and scowled in fury as he saw Tanner standing like a statue on that roof. "Goddamn it, Vin, get down!" he yelled. "He's alive! Now get th' hell behind some cover!"
Goddamn tracker thought he was invisible...
Up the street, the firing intensified as the remaining five outlaws there recognized how disastrously this day was going. Eighteen men had come into town, in three bunches, and Carlton had assured them their numbers would overwhelm the seven peacekeepers. Eighteen men to rob one bank. It had seemed like easy pickings. Carlton had taken his bunch to the bank, the men of the second group had positioned themselves in side streets and on roofs, and the third bunch had been waiting with the horses, ready to cover their comrades as they ran from the bank with the money so they could all get the hell away.
But those damned peacekeepers had more than lived up to their reputation...
"Wallace, git up ta them roofs, take out that damn sharpshooter!" the small, wiry outlaw named Simpson ordered tersely. "We gotta git rid'a that kid sheriff 'n that goddamn darkie--"
"What about the money?" Wallace protested, easily able to see it all slipping away.
"Fergit the fuckin' money!" Simpson snapped. "It's our necks we're tryin' ta save now. There'll always be another town, but I ain't got but one life!"
Wallace swallowed, considering, then nodded and raced off. He darted into an alley and ran around behind the buildings lining the main street, seeking a set of stairs that would give him access to the rooftops.
But, Lord, he didn't want to face that sharpshooter and the rifle that had been spitting death all morning!
"JD, watch out!" Nathan called, seeing a new burst of activity among the remaining robbers. "They's up ta somethin'! We cain't let 'em git ta the horses!"
JD nodded, then rose slightly, cautiously, and peered around, trying to get a sense of what was happening. He had last counted five, and didn't think any had fallen since then. But he could only hear four guns, and they were spreading out as the outlaws took up new positions...
"Well, they ain't gettin' away from me!" the boy spat with determination, looking about for a new place for himself. He was in the wrong position here, couldn't draw a proper bead on them, wouldn't be able to reach them if they ran for the livery and the horses . . . "Aw, hell!" he shouted, shooting to his feet and making a mad dash across the street.
"Goddamn it, JD, git the hell outta there!" Nathan shouted, watching the young sheriff's wild race in horror. "Vin!" he yelled desperately, searching the heights frantically for the sharpshooter. "Cover 'im!"
Tanner heard Jackson's shout, and turned to see JD running a zigzag pattern across the street. "Shit!" he shouted, gripping his rifle tightly and running along the roofline, too concerned -- and too angry at the boy -- to seek cover for himself. Bullets began singing about him, and one even whipped his hat back from his head, but he paid them no mind, other than to wonder at their source.
Thought I done cleared all them sonsabitches from up here . . .
Fire slammed into his head, tearing a sharp cry from him and knocking him off his feet. Pain exploded through him, blinding him, sickening him. He could feel himself falling -- he thought -- vaguely heard something clattering down the slope of the roof. For long, horrible moments, he could feel nothing but the hideous pain pounding against his skull and the dreadful heaviness of his body.
But, God, there was something he was supposed to be doing...
Bullets flew around Nathan, forcing him to keep down, and he never saw Vin fall. He also lost sight of JD and knew a moment of blood-chilling terror, then exhaled sharply as he heard the roar of the boy's Colts.
If he could shoot, he was alive . . .
Then the outlaws were making their break, and Nathan knew he had to act. He broke from his current cover and ran, firing as he went, then dived behind a water trough, unharmed but thoroughly tired of this. With a curse, he rose and began firing over the trough, just wanting this to end.
Using his bandana and his and Ezra's handkerchiefs, Buck managed to stanch the bleeding from Standish's wounds, and was greatly relieved to realize they were not as bad as he had at first feared. The bullet had gone through the fleshy portion of the gambler's upper thigh, apparently missing muscle and bone, and, while painful, was not crippling. The wound in the gambler's left shoulder was more serious, and the bullet was still within, but Buck had seen worse.
Hell, he'd had worse!
"Go . . . help them," Ezra rasped, his face a white mask of pain. He felt as if his shoulder and leg were on fire, feared he would be sick at any moment, but knew the big gunfighter was needed elsewhere. "I will not . . . succumb . . . in the near future..." He stiffened and drew a hissing breath of pain, but fought through it and fixed glittering green eyes upon Wilmington. "Our comrades . . . still require . . . your assistance," he murmured harshly.
Buck grimaced and bowed his head, but knew Ezra was right. He could still hear shooting, knew it was not over yet. "All right," he said grudgingly, "I'll go. But you stay here."
Ezra managed a tight-lipped smile. "I assure you . . . a stroll is . . . quite out of the question."
Buck smiled at him, and handed him his gun. "Watch yer back, pard," he said softly, laying a brotherly hand on Standish's good shoulder and squeezing briefly. When the gambler winked and nodded, Buck rose to his feet and hurried to rejoin the fray up the street.
Josiah, panting and gasping for breath, wished mightily he had his rifle. He could see the two outlaws, but did not yet trust that he was close enough to shoot both. So he continued his dogged pursuit, determined that they would not escape him.
At last, he got his chance. One of the two men stumbled and lurched into his comrade, knocking them both off balance. Seeing them struggle to right themselves, Josiah hastened his pace, raised his gun, and called out.
"Stop!" he thundered. "There's no escape!"
But the two refused to believe that. Immediately they both turned, but were not fast enough. Even as their guns came up, Josiah fired, taking first one, then the other. A bullet grazed his arm through his coat, but he never felt it. Satisfaction at seeing the two men sprawled dead before him numbed all pain.
"'Let them be confounded and troubled for ever; yea, then be put to shame, and perish,'" he said with grim finality. But the sound of gunfire still reached his ears, and he heaved his thick shoulders in a heavy sigh. "Never any rest for the wicked," he breathed resignedly, going to help his friends.
Vin struggled to swim up through the darkness engulfing him, but was hampered by the hideous pain in his head. He vaguely felt himself being sick, wondered why he could not hear and see any more than he could, wondered who was stabbing that damn blade through his skull. From a great distance, faint bursts of -- something -- came to him, stirring a faint, unclear memory of . . .
Of what?
But something gnawed at him, worried him, urged him to get up and . . . and do . . . something. The feeling was insistent, unrelenting, and he forced himself to move, certain that whatever he was supposed to be doing, he couldn't do lying here. So, gathering what remained of his strength, battling the splitting pain in his head and the heavy nausea in his gut, he pushed himself onto his hands and knees, trembling and swaying as violent dizziness rocked him.
Oh, shit . . .
Gunfire. He heard it, recognized it, but couldn't react to it. His body simply wouldn't let him. Even so, some instinct for survival was still intact, and, never knowing why, he dragged a heavy, shaking hand to the mare's leg strapped to his thigh and struggled to pull it from the holster. The weight and solidness of the sawed-off steadied him, gave him something on which to focus.
His gun. He needed it, needed to have it out and ready . . .
Still not quite understanding why, he primed the gun, levering a round into the chamber. Then he frowned, staring down at the weapon that was only now taking shape before his eyes.
He'd had his rifle before, hadn't he?
He sat back and looked around, willing his eyes to focus. But his vision still swam, still flickered in and out of darkness, and his mind would not concentrate. He was staring at something, and only gradually recognized it as his rifle, lying below him on an overhang. Then he realized he was on the roof, and that a gunfight was being waged on the street below him.
Oh, shit! JD!
The memory came to him then, the terrible memory of the boy running across the street amidst a shower of bullets. He was supposed to be protecting JD!
But from whom?
So intent was he on trying to recover the memory that he did not hear the footsteps clattering on the roof behind him. The image of JD racing through those bullets held him fast, and blinded him to any realization of his own danger. But even as a gun was sighted on him, instinct again prodded him, a sound that shouldn't have been there reached him, and with only a vague understanding of what he was doing, he rolled aside at the last moment, brought up his mare's leg and fired into the blurry shape that loomed above him.
Below, Buck heard the deep boom of the sawed-off and gave silent thanks as a wave of relief swept through him. He hadn't heard Vin's rifle in far too long, and had begun to fret at the silence. But hearing the mare's leg allowed him now to concentrate on the outlaws still trying to reach their horses.
"Gotta cut 'em off, Nathan!" he yelled. "If they get to the livery, we'll never be able ta stop 'em!"
Simpson and his three remaining men had spread out, and were working to keep the regulators pinned down while they slowly fought to reach their horses. They no longer cared about the money, wanted only to get out of this town alive.
JD looked up, saw Tanner half-sliding, half-falling down the roof to the overhang to retrieve his fallen rifle, and seized his chance. "Vin!" he yelled, rising to a crouch. "Cover me!" And he was off, dashing up the boardwalk toward the livery stable.
"JD!" Buck bellowed in rage and terror as the boy ran. "Goddamnit, kid, get down! Get behind cover! JD, you listenin' ta me?"
"I hear ya, Buck!" the boy shouted back. And he did hear the big man; he just wasn't listening. After all, Vin would cover him; Vin always covered them. The sharpshooter was their guardian angel.
Tanner stumbled the last few feet and fell onto the overhang, clutching at his rifle even as the sickness took him again. For long moments he retched violently, all but blind, his head pounding mercilessly, his mind refusing to work. But, again, there was that nagging, driving, urgent sense that he was supposed to be doing something.
JD . . .
Buck glanced up at the roof, saw Tanner, and knew instinctively that something was wrong. The tracker wasn't behind cover, was crouching, wasn't aiming . . . hell, he wasn't doing anything, except resting on hands and knees, his head down. And he was awful damn close to the edge . . .
But his attention was snatched from the tracker by a wild confusion of movement up ahead. Two outlaws broke loose, and JD went after them, shouting and racing into the street, his Colts out and firing . . .
"JD!" Nathan saw it, too, and was horrified. Hardly knowing he did it, he rose from behind the water trough and ran as fast as he could toward the young sheriff and two outlaws, raising his gun to fire as he did so. But the hammer fell on an empty chamber, and then another . . . "Shit!" Desperately, Nathan flung the gun away and reached back for one of the knives sheathed at his back.
"Goddamn it!" Buck roared, rushing forward to help. The two remaining outlaws raced for the livery stable and made it, but Wilmington had eyes only for the two with JD. "You worrisome little shit!" He glanced over his shoulder. "Goddamn it, Vin, give us some fuckin' cover!"
Tanner vaguely heard the shout and, his retching finished, fell back onto his haunches and raised the rifle with badly shaking hands, trying to sight down the barrel. But his vision remained dark, blurred; nothing down there made any sense. He couldn't shoot, wouldn't take the chance of hitting one of his friends by mistake.
"Hold it!" JD shouted, closing the distance between himself and the two outlaws. "Throw down your guns, it's over!"
But they refused to accept that. Swearing foully, both turned and fired at the sheriff, refusing to be taken. They'd made it this far . . .
"JD!" Buck almost screamed, watching in horror as the boy went down. Without consciously aiming he fired, shooting at the two men until his gun was empty.
Nathan hurled two knives, one with each hand, at the same time Buck fired, and the two outlaws went down, each with a blade and several bullets in him. But Jackson and Wilmington never so much as glanced at the two, their whole attention riveted to JD.
Josiah came upon the scene just as JD fell, and saw two horsemen burst out of the livery stable, their mounts flying as if chased by all the devils of hell. Sanchez snapped off his last two shots, thought he might have hit one, then ran forward to join Buck and Nathan at the fallen sheriff's side.
Vin saw the retreating horsemen and took a shot, but came nowhere near hitting either. Unable any longer to hold up the rifle, he simply let it fall, staring dazedly at the scene in the street below him.
"God, JD!" Buck groaned, dropping to his knees in the dust and gathering the boy into his arms. JD's shirtfront was dark with blood, and the hideous stain was rapidly growing wider. The boy's breathing was harsh and labored, his face white and twisted into a mask of agony. Worst of all were the wide, glittering eyes that fixed themselves on Buck's face. "Easy, son," he soothed, forcing himself to smile into those eyes and holding the boy tightly to him. "You just rest easy. We got 'em. That ol' bank still ain't been robbed."
Nathan tore open the shirt, glanced briefly at the wound, then looked up at Buck. "Git him up ta the clinic, now. Josiah--"
"I gotta go back for Ezra," Sanchez said gravely. "He was hit, too. Don't know how bad--"
"Shoulder and leg," Buck answered tightly. "Bullet's still in his shoulder, but the other passed through his thigh. He was bleedin' pretty good, but I got it slowed."
"Best go git him, then," Nathan directed. "An' don' let the damn fool walk! Where's Vin?"
Buck glanced up, saw Tanner perched precariously near the edge of the overhang, looking as if he would topple off at any moment. "Up there. Don't look quite right, but he's sittin' up. Can't be too bad, whatever it is."
Nathan nodded. "All right. Git JD on up. Josiah, bring Ezra. Then you c'n go after Vin."
"Ain't I the lucky one," Sanchez quipped, turning on his heel to leave.
Nathan helped Buck get JD securely in his arms, then rose to his feet and hurried to his clinic with Wilmington and his precious burden close behind.
Bad as this day had been already, he knew it was about to get a whole lot worse.
<><><><><><><><><><>
Vin crawled back into the shadows beneath the sloping roof and let his head fall back against the building. Pain still throbbed heavily, unceasingly, in his head and his stomach still churned threateningly, its heaving made worse by even the slightest movement. Otherwise, he was numb.
In this waking daze, he watched without seeing while the townsfolk crept from their shelter to assess what damage -- and carnage -- had been wrought, while Yosemite helped Josiah get Ezra to Nathan's clinic, while some of the men of the town began the work of clearing away the bodies. He saw none of this, though, heard none of the fevered commotion that naturally arose after such a fight as this had been. All he could hear was a single voice calling to him -- "Vin! Cover me!" -- and all he could see was JD falling to the street.
Shot down because the friend he trusted had failed to protect him. Just like he'd failed Ezra.
When he thought he could do it without throwing up or falling, when he thought he could do it without being seen, he made his way on unsteady legs through the shadows and slipped back up onto the roof, still not knowing what had happened, except that he had failed his friends. Keeping to the shadows cast by the different heights of neighboring buildings, he stayed low, at times almost crawling, and made his way to the stairs that led down, not even knowing what building he was on. Dizzy from the exertion, all but blinded by the cruel, stabbing pain in his head and gripped by a rising nausea, he stumbled down the stairs, literally falling down the last three and tumbling onto the ground where he stayed, unable to rise.
"Vin!"
Inez, sweeping glass shattered by gunfire out the back of the saloon, saw the tracker falling and dropped her broom to rush down the alley to help him. She went to her knees at his side and carefully rolled him over, taking his head into her lap and gasping sharply at the sight of the blood matting his hair and coating the right side of his face.
"Madre de Dios!" she whispered in alarm, her heart lurching into her throat. He was breathing, much to her relief, but she knew how bad head wounds could be, and was frightened for him. "Vin?" He stirred weakly and groaned thickly, and she ran her fingers gently through his hair. "Vin, please, wake up!" she urged worriedly. "There is no way I can get you to Nathan if you don't!"
He stirred again, and slowly, slowly his eyes fluttered open and fixed upon the face above him. But he could not bring them into focus, anymore than he could clear away the ringing in his ears. Still, the arms that held him were warm and comforting, and he let himself rest in them.
"Vin?" she called softly, bending lower over him. She could see that his eyes were not right, and felt her fear for him increase. "I can help you to Nathan's, but only if you help me." She smiled in gentle teasing, hoping he could see her. "You are no Buck Wilmington, but even you are too heavy for me to carry."
"Buck?" he repeated weakly, frowning in confusion. "Buck . . . "
Goddamn it, Vin, Give us some fuckin' cover!
He flinched at the sudden memory of the big man's enraged shout, and knew why Wilmington had been so angry.
JD. I let 'em git JD.
"Oh, shit!" he groaned thickly as his stomach gave a sudden and violent heave.
Inez quickly, and with the skill of long practice in a saloon, helped turn him onto his hands and knees just as he began to retch. But his stomach had already been emptied by the previous bouts of sickness, and now only dry heaves shook him. She stayed close by him, one arm over his back, the other hand holding his long hair away from his face, and murmured soft words of comfort in Spanish.
When at last the spell released him, she pulled him back and let him rest against her, all the while studying him through anxious eyes. He was deathly pale, and sweat mingled with the blood in his hair and on his face. He was shaking, as much from weakness, she suspected, as from any chill.
"We should get to Nathan's now," she told him.
"No," he groaned, reaching for her hand and holding as tightly to it as he could. "He's . . . busy. JD . . . Oh, Lord, JD!" he moaned in anguish, praying the boy wasn't dead. "Jus' . . . git me inside . . . saloon . . . clean me up . . ."
"You need Nathan," she insisted, not liking at all his complexion or the slurring of his words. "You have a head wound--"
"Got a hard head," he breathed, still clinging to her. "You's always sayin' so yerself."
She had to laugh at that. "Si, es verdad! The hardest among a group of hard heads." She sighed then, her humor fading. "But I do not think--"
"Please?" he asked softly. "I cain't . . . cain't go up there . . . jus' yet. JD . . . JD's hurt . . . 'cause'a me, 'n Buck . . . I jus' cain't right now!"
His words puzzled her, and saddened her. She doubted he was to blame for JD's getting shot, but knew whatever had happened, Buck would be in a frenzy of anguish and anger. The big man was like a grizzly on the rampage when 'the kid' was hurt, and Inez felt certain Vin was in no shape to handle anyone's violent emotions just now.
"All right," she agreed grudgingly, against her better judgment. "I will help you to the saloon, and get you cleaned up. But you will go to Nathan's later, even if I have to get Josiah to carry you. Agreed?"
He didn't answer, merely gave a slight, painful nod and let her help him to his feet. But that was by no means easy, and, by the time they succeeded, he was reeling again from dizziness and leaning heavily against her.
With slow, small, careful steps they made their way to the saloon. Vin stumbled frequently, and several times almost took them both down, but, at last, they made it. As she finally deposited him in a chair and watched his head sink down onto the table, she scowled and shook her head in irritation at the man's unbending stubbornness.
Hard head, indeed!
<><><><><><><><><><>
Buck paced in restless agitation about the clinic as Nathan bent over JD and worked to remove the bullet. Ezra lay dozing on the second bed, already dosed with laudanum and awaiting his turn under the knife. Buck had lost track of how long they'd been here, knew only that a single minute was too long.
"Goddamn it, kid, you gotta stop runnin' out into the street like that!" he whispered in anguish, running a hand through his disheveled hair at the memory of that heart-stopping sight. "It's gonna kill you 'n me both!"
Josiah came back into the clinic then, his face lined with weariness and worry. "How is he?" he asked softly.
Buck shrugged. "Nathan ain't got it out yet," he answered miserably, his dark blue eyes going once more to the blood-covered figure lying so still on the bed. "What the hell was he thinkin', Josiah?" he asked sharply, his enormous pain clear in his tone.
Sanchez smiled slightly. "What all young men of his age think, I suppose, what you an' me thought when we were his age. That he's immortal, invisible, ten feet tall and bullet-proof. That he can't die, because he's right, and right always triumphs."
"'Cept when it don't," Buck muttered sadly. "Maybe we thought that once, but we learned better--"
"Because we got old enough ta know better," Josiah reminded him. "And, if we're lucky, John Dunne will get old enough ta know better, too." He grinned wryly. "If we all do our jobs right, he'll come to appreciate the value of a good, solid water trough, just like you an' me."
"Speakin' of doin' our jobs . . . " Buck frowned at the preacher. "Anyone seen Vin? I thought he'd be here by now."
Josiah shook his head. "He wasn't out on the streets. I was workin' with folks to clear away the bodies, and didn't seem him there. Kinda surprisin', too," he added with a puzzled look. "Usually Vin's the first one ta lend a hand."
Buck again ran a hand through his thick dark hair as he stared at JD. "The kid ran out inta that street 'cause he thought Vin'd be coverin' him. Hell, I reckon we all thought that."
"Buck," Josiah interrupted grimly, "don't go layin' blame--"
"No, that ain't it." The big man frowned deeply, remembering the long silence of the Winchester, seeing again that unsteady, unresponsive figure perched on the overhang. "Somethin' happened, Josiah, somethin's wrong. When's the last time JD did somethin' like that, an' Vin didn't shoot whatever moved?"
Anxiety blossomed in Josiah's gut. "You sayin' he's hurt?"
Buck sighed heavily and shook his head in worry. "I'm sayin' somethin' wasn't right with him when I saw him, and, yeah, it could be he's hurt. Hell, you saw him same as I did, runnin' across them roofs like some damn deer, jumpin' between 'em like he thought he could fly, and lookin' for all the world like he didn't think bullets could touch him. I swear, sometimes he's as bad as JD about thinkin' he's invisible!"
Josiah chuckled grimly. "He does have an interestin' lack of concern about his own well-being when our lives are at stake."
"'Interestin'' ain't the word, Josiah," Buck said shortly. "More like 'infuriatin'. That boy's gonna get his fool head blown off one day, and I'm gonna have ta be the one ta explain it ta Chris!"
Josiah's heavy brows came together. "You think he's still up on the roofs, then?"
Buck exhaled sharply and threw up his hands in frustration. "Hell, up on the roofs, in the shadows, under a goddamn rock . . . Who the hell knows with Vin? But he ain't here, ain't nobody seen him, an' that worries the hell outta me!"
Josiah nodded. "I'll go lookin', then. You're right. It ain't like him not ta be here when one of us is wounded, especially when it's JD."
Buck smiled slightly. "Just remember, Josiah, this is Vin. And if he don't wanta be found, you're gonna be needin' some'a that divine guidance of yours."
Sanchez winked. "Well, if all else fails, I can always turn to the spirits."
Wilmington chuckled. "Just make sure you don't turn to the wrong kind of spirits, preacher, 'cause I'm too tired ta be pickin' your sorry ass up off'a the saloon floor!"
Vin panicked when he realized he was Inez's room, on Inez's bed.
"Oh, shit!" he gasped, sitting up abruptly and lurching to his feet, only to fall heavily to his hands and knees as dizziness engulfed him. Pain pounded through his head, blinding him, and for a moment he feared he would be sick again.
"What-- Vin!" Inez cried sharply, opening the door to find him on the floor. She shut the door quickly behind her and
rushed to him, going to her knees at his side. "What happened?" she demanded anxiously. "Why aren't you in bed?"
"Ain't... ain't fittin'," he gasped, collapsing against her as she put her arms around him. "Ain't proper..."
"Proper?" she snorted angrily. "How is it 'not proper'? You are hurt, and you are my friend. Where else should you be, since you won't go to Nathan's?"
He drew deep, ragged gasps against the nausea and pain that held him fast. "You're a lady, an' I'm... I ain't..."
She laughed softly at that, tenderly stroking his hair. "What aren't you, Vin? A gentleman?" She laughed again when he nodded. "You're wrong, my friend. You are more a gentleman than most men with fancy clothes and fancy manners will ever be." She kissed him lightly on a whiskered cheek. "Now, let me get you back into bed--"
"NO!" he protested hoarsely, raising his head and staring at her in horror. "I ain't... I cain't... It jus' ain't fittin'!"
She stared at him and raised one eyebrow. "It is this bed, or Nathan's clinic," she said firmly. "I will not let you lay on the floor when you are hurt. So take your choice."
He tried to glare at her, but failed miserably. His head hurt too much, and he couldn't even get his eyes to focus. "Ain't right," he grumbled, knowing he was beaten. "Anybody ever tell ya you got a mean streak in ya?"
She smiled sweetly. "Every man I've ever met."
He scowled as best his throbbing head would allow. "Cain't see why Buck bothers so ta have ya," muttered. "Likely you'd only kill him 'fore he got ta enjoy ya!"
"Ah, but, Vin," she purred, her dark eyes gleaming, "who is to say he would not enjoy the way I chose to kill him?"
Color flooded his face at that, and his unfocused eyes widened. "Inez!" he yelped, the word escaping him in a hoarse squeak.
She laughed aloud, delighted, as always, by his reaction to her teasing.
"Ain't right," he said again, bowing his head to hide his crimson face from her. "You pickin' on a hurt man... I told ya you's mean!"
"I know I am," she answered, unrepentant. "Now, let's get you back on the bed." She gave a slow smile. "And if you behave, I will let you keep your clothes on."
His mouth opened, but his mind could not shape a single word. And his face grew another shade redder.
Having rendered him unable to struggle, and almost unable to breathe, she got him easily onto the bed and sat down on it at his side. Worry again overcame her, and her humor faded. She had cleaned his wound and bandaged it, but knew Nathan should see it. The bullet had cut a deep furrow rom his right temple, into his hairline and over his ear, was much too long and deep for her to think of it as a "graze." And his entire temple around the wound was badly bruised.
"You men and your guns," she breathed sadly. "When will you ever learn not to try and kill one another for such worthless things as money?"
"Weren't the money," he answered, his words slurring, his eyelids drooping. "Don't care a lick fer money. I'se fightin' fer th' others."
She smiled at that and tenderly brushed the hair back from his face, knowing who those "others" were. "They are lucky to have you on their side."
"Didn't do Ezra'r JD no good," he murmured sadly as sleep crept upon him. "I shouldn'ta let 'em git hurt. 'N now Buck's gonna hate me."
She shook her head and sighed, knowing how seriously these men took their responsibility to each other. "You let me handle Buck," she urged him. "You just rest now, let yourself sleep. It will all work out, you'll see."
Of that, she would make certain. She doubted Buck Wilmington would truly be angry at Vin for JD's injury, but, even if by some chance he were, she knew she could change his mind.
She had the big man wrapped around her finger.
<><><><><><><><><><>
Buck looked up as Nathan stepped out onto the balcony. He had finally come out here himself for fresh air, to get away from the smell of blood and the sight of JD and Ezra's bullet-torn bodies. Suffering of any kind tore at his heart, but pain in his friends was something he felt as if it were his own.
Especially when that pain was JD's...
Nathan nodded and smiled wearily at the big man, his dark eyes and face showing plainly the strain of the day. But he also recognized the torment in Wilmington's eyes, and knew this day had not been easy on any of them.
And it wasn't over yet...
"JD's gon' be fine," Nathan said, addressing the most pressing of Buck's concerns first. "He lost a lotta blood, bullet broke a rib, but it didn't touch his lung. Long's he stays free'a fever, he should be all right."
"Thank God," Buck breathed, closing his eyes and doing just that. Then, when he thought he could speak again, he asked, "And Ezra?"
Nathan smiled again. "Bullet didn't go too deep inta his shoulder, didn't do much damage. Gon' hurt like hell fo' a while, but I'm sure he'll be back at th' tables in no time, suckerin' folks inta playin' with a one-armed dealer an' makin' enough money ta take his mind off'a the pain. Again, if he stays fever-free, he'll be fine. Needs ta stay off'a that leg fo' a while, but this oughtta give him a chance ta use that fancy sword-cane he ordered from New Orleans."
Buck had to laugh. "Well, it's nice ta know not even a bullet can put a crimp in ol' Ezra's style!"
"Now," the healer fixed a stern gaze on Buck, "how 'bout you?"
Wilmington blinked. "How 'bout me?"
Nathan sighed and shook his head. "Come on inside, Buck, lemme look ya over. Got some blood on yo' sleeve, I wanta make sure ain't nothin' bad wrong with ya."
"Aw, hell, Nathan--"
"Inside, Buck!" Jackson said sternly, his eyes flashing. "I ain't in the mood fo' no arguments! I'm tired, I bin through a helluva gunfight, I just took two bullets outta two friends'a mine, I got another friend with blood on his shirt, I know Josiah's hidin' some kinda hurt, an' God knows where Vin is o' what's wrong with him. So don't give me no trouble, else I'll cold-cock ya right here an' drag ya inside myself!"
Buck cleared his throat and straightened up. "Well, Nathan, as long as ya put it that way, I can't hardly refuse, can I?" He smiled. "Let's go."
Nathan nodded. He was damned tired of fooling with a lot of pig-headed fools who'd rather bleed to death than admit they were hurt. He'd heal them, if he had to kill them to do it!
<><><><><><><><><><>
Josiah prowled the alleys and rooftops in his search for Vin, but never saw the tracker. Up on the hardware store roof, though, he found evidence that only confirmed Buck's fears. He discovered yet another outlaw, his face blown off by a sawed-off at close range. The man clearly had not taken a step after he was shot, yet Josiah found blood in several other places, and knew instinctively it was Tanner's.
But where was Vin?
No one in town had seen him, and several men had joined Josiah in the search. Yet all knew how elusive Tanner could be when he wanted, and none had any real hope of finding him if he did not want to be found.
As a last resort, Josiah turned with heavy, exhausted footsteps toward the saloon.
<><><><><><><><><><>
Vin laid still in Inez's bed and listened in horror to what the working girls out in the hallway were saying. As was to be expected, the fierce battle in the streets was on everyone's lips, and growing more impressive with each retelling. But what Vin was now hearing did not impress him, merely ignited a cold anger inside him at the knowledge of his own failure.
Two of the bastards had escaped. They'd shot Ezra and JD, then gotten on their horses and just ridden out, and he hadn't done a thing to stop them. He'd even missed the one he'd shot at...
Cursing himself, he struggled slowly from the bed and rose carefully to his feet, knowing the dizziness would come and preparing himself for it. Even so, it hit him hard, and he very nearly fell to his knees. But he fought it with everything that was in him, refused to give in to it, the pain or the nausea curling through him. When he could walk without falling, and when his vision cleared enough for him to see, he made his way slowly around Inez's room, gathering his boots, hat, coat and gunbelt, then returning to the bed to put them all on. He thought bending over to pull on his boots would be the end of him, feared his head and stomach might both explode.
When they did not, he gave himself a few more minutes to recover some measure of steadiness, then rose once more to his feet. Taking his rifle from where Inez had set it, he opened the door slowly and peered out into the hallway. Satisfied that it was empty and that no one would see him, he stole out with his usual soft-footed quiet and made his way down the back stairs, out of the saloon, and into the alley.
And Vin Tanner, who'd used shadows all his life, used them now to hide from those searching for him, until he could begin a hunt of his own.
<><><><><><><><><><>
Inez looked up from the bar as Josiah Sanchez entered the saloon. Business was finally picking up after the day's violence, though that violence was the chief topic of conversation. The lovely barmaid smiled warmly at the big man weaving his way toward her, recognizing the exhaustion in the slump of his heavy shoulders and the lack of spring in his step. As a token of friendship, she began pouring the drink she knew he needed and would provide on the house.
Josiah found himself intercepted by countless men who had some comment on the day's battle or words of concern about Ezra and JD, all of which he answered as best he could. And each time he was stopped, he asked about Vin, always getting the same answer.
No one had seen him.
At last he reached the bar, and smiled wanly at Inez as she set the glass before him. "You're an angel of mercy," he said, raising the glass and downing its contents in one swallow.
"How are JD and Ezra?" she asked, pouring him another.
His smile widened. "Last I heard, Nathan got the bullets out, said they should both be fine, barrin' any complications."
Her face split into a broad, brilliant smile, her dark eyes gleaming with delight. "But that's wonderful!" she cried happily. "So why the long face when you came in? I was afraid something terrible had happened."
He downed his second drink as quickly as he had the first. "Still not sure it hasn't," he rasped. "Been lookin' all over town for Vin, can't find him anywhere. And I'm afraid he's hurt."
She laughed and reached out to pat his hand. "Then I can help you. He's upstairs, in my room." Her smile faded, and worry replaced the gleam in her eyes. "And you're right, he is hurt. A head wound." She shook her dark head at Josiah's wordless sound of concern. "I know, I tried to make him go to Nathan's, I knew that was where he belonged, but..." She grimaced and shook her head again. "You know how stubborn he can be. I was afraid that if I insisted he wouldn't let me help him at all..." She laughed ruefully. "It was all I could do to persuade him to let me help him to my room."
He swore under his breath. Damn stubborn tracker... "How bad's he hurt?" he asked at last, his blue eyes sharp with anxiety.
She exhaled slowly. "He is very dizzy and has been sick several times, he is confused, and in great pain." She reached across the bar to Josiah's face, tracing the wound on his head. "It goes from here to here," she said, sliding her finger back, "and is very deep. I cleaned it as best I could and bandaged it, and I have tried not to let him sleep too long at any one time." She glanced around the filling saloon. "When I am able, I go upstairs to wake him, but now, with the crowd coming in..." She smiled slightly at him. "I am very glad you are here."
He took her hand and squeezed it reassuringly, smiling gently at her. "Like I said, an angel of mercy. Thank you for tendin' our lost sheep."
"It was the very least I could do, after everything you all have done for me. And, besides," she smiled shyly, "he is very sweet. He was concerned it would not be 'proper' for him to be in my room." Her smile widened. "And he said I am a lady."
Josiah kissed the back of her hand. "Vin has always been a fine judge of character, Inez. Now, if you'll lead me to him, I'll take our wounded Lancelot of your lovely hands."
She called to the other bartender, then walked around and went with Josiah to the stairs. "He will not be happy to go to the clinic," she warned him, "but I don't think he'll be able to put up much of a fight. He can't even stand on his own."
Josiah smiled grimly as he trudged up the stairs behind her. "That's never stopped him from fightin' before. That boy's as tough as rawhide." He shook his head and chuckled as they stepped onto the second floor. "I sure would like to have seen his face when you told him you were bringin' him to your room. I'll bet he blushed for all he was worth!"
She laughed lightly. "He did turn a very attractive shade of red!" She led him to her door, knocked softly, and then opened it. "Vin?" she called. "Are you awake? Josiah has come-- No!" she cried sharply, rushing in as terror chilled the blood in her veins. "Vin!"
Infected by her fear, Josiah pushed past her into the room, and stopped short at what he saw. Nothing. The room was empty.
Tanner was gone.
<><><><><><><><><><>
Buck sat by JD's bed and held one of the boy's hands in his own, his other hand brushing lightly through the young sheriff's thick black hair. JD was still unconscious, likely would be for some time, but he was alive, and that, to Buck, was the most important thing of all.
"You done good today, kid," he said softly, his blue eyes intent upon the slack, pale features. "Kept your head, watched your shots, didn't do no more'a that fannin' foolishness." A slight smile tugged at his mouth. "But we gotta talk about this runnin' inta the street! I know you thought Vin was watchin' ya, but he ain't always gonna be there. Not even Vin can watch all our backs at once!"
He tried not to think about the tracker, tried not to picture him lying somewhere hurt, alone, needing them and none of them knowing where to find him. But he couldn't imagine why no one had found Vin yet, couldn't imagine where he might be. His greatest fear was that Vin was so badly hurt he'd merely crawled off somewhere to die, following the instincts honed by a lifetime of solitude.
"Jesus, Vin," he breathed in torment, "where the hell are ya?"
"No sign of our wayward compatriot yet?" asked a sleepy drawl behind him.
Buck released JD's hand and went to sit by Ezra, who staring at him through heavy-lidded eyes. "You're s'posed ta be asleep," he scolded gently.
Ezra gave a drowsy smile. "I am supposed to be a lot of things," he retorted. "You didn't answer my question."
"You must still be drugged," Buck said with a smile. "I can understand ever' word you're sayin'." At Ezra's impatient frown, he sighed. "All right, all right. No, we haven't found him. And that's startin' ta scare the hell outta me."
Ezra swallowed and nodded, understanding Buck's fear. "With two of us injured, he would be here, if he could." He glanced across the clinic, avoiding, for the moment, the unpleasant thoughts rising in his laudanum-befuddled brain. "And how fares young Mr. Dunne?"
Buck nodded. "Nathan thinks he'll be all right. Bullet broke a rib, but didn't do much more damage than that. How're you feelin'?"
Again, that drowsy smile curved about the gambler's mouth. "At the moment, rather pleasantly numb. Though I am certain, given my experience with such things in the past, all that will change when Mr. Jackson's lovely medicine wears off."
"Why'n't you go back ta sleep then?" Buck urged. "Might as well enjoy it while ya can."
Ezra nodded, and would have dropped off then, had the clinic door not been thrust open. Josiah strode in, his gaze going at once to Buck. "Vin was in Inez's room," he said harshly, his deep voice tight with worry. "He wouldn't come here, so she was tendin' him. He's got a head wound, she said it looked pretty bad."
"Jesus!" Buck muttered, bowing his head and closing his eyes.
"A moment, Mr. Sanchez," Ezra asked, fighting against sleep. "You said he 'was' with Inez." He stared at the big man, dreading the next question, but knowing it had to be asked. "Where is he now?"
Josiah removed his hat and ran a hand through his graying hair. "That's just it, Ezra," he answered in a low, hoarse voice. "Nobody knows. When Inez took me up so I could bring him here, he was gone." He looked again at Buck. "His rifle and gunbelt are gone, too."
"Shit," Buck whispered as his heart sank. "Shit, shit, shit! Goddamn it, what the hell is that boy thinkin'?"