Chris woke up lying on his back half in, half out of the shade of a large boulder. He opened his eyes and cried out as the light burned into them. His body was on fire and yearned for water. A dry tongue flicked out and stuck to cracked lips. His throat felt like it was filled with sand as he tried to swallow but there was nothing there. No moisture, just barren, arid, desert like terrain on the inside of his mouth. He moaned, but the sound wasn’t loud enough to reach his own ears. He needed water and he needed it fast. He rolled onto his stomach and lifted his head, blinking rapidly as the sun continued to beat down from above.
Chris had no idea how long he’d been struggling to move. He didn’t remember passing out. He did remember falling and voices shouting at him to get up. He smiled as he thought of JD Dunne ordering him to get up and get moving. Somehow he’d hear the voices and move, not because he could, but because he had too.. He’d let too many people down in his life already and he wasn’t going to do that to these men.
Without knowing how he did it he soon found himself upright and stumbling along the narrow trail. He knew he should keep out of sight as the Sheriff and his men were still chasing him, but he didn’t have the strength to make it to the scrub brush. He looked down at his feet and tried to focus on them. ‘Right foot, left foot,’ he ordered as he watched his sunburned body move forward. A sound reached his ears and he stopped where he was, swaying in spite of the lack of wind.
Chris stood beside the trail and his fever-baked mind finally recognized the sounds of horses. He knew who they belonged to. He looked left and right for a place to hide, his blurry eyes finally focusing on a small alcove in the brush. He moved as fast as his stiff limbs would allow and drew himself into the sheltering shade. He waited for the horses to come in view. He kept his eyes on the road and saw riders coming towards him. The sun shone in his eyes and he blinked once more, felling the grit and sand scrape against his eyeballs. The sounds of hoof beats drew closer and he kept his stinging eyes trained on them. His breath caught in his dry throat as the first rider drew abreast of his position and rode past.
“V...V...in...” he rasped, his voice a mare whisper, drowned out by the horses riding in front of him. He knew each rider and called to them as they rode past. Too late he realized they couldn’t hear him. He pulled himself out of the shade and tried to call them. He climbed to his feet and waved his arms, but the last rider, whom he knew was Buck Wilmington disappeared around the bend.
“N...no,” he cried as he sank to his knees on the trail. “V...V...in, B...B...uck,” he cried, his voice hoarse and wispy in the still air. He crawled back to the brush and the small reprieve from the sweltering sun it gave him. It wasn’t long before his fever wracked body succumbed to its need for rest.
When next he opened his eyes darkness had overtaken the sunlight and a cool breeze was blowing across his body. He shivered and tried to find some warmth, but there was none.
‘Get the fuck up, Larabee! Ya wanna die out ‘ere in the middle of nowhere? Git on yer feet and get those legs movin’.’
“C...can’t, V...Vin.”
‘Don’t ya be sayin’ that, Larabee. I ain’t in the mood ta hear it. Now ya promised ya’d come with me ta Tascosa an’ clear my name. Ya breakin’ that promise?”
“T...tired, V...Vin, s...sick!”
“Anyone’s got eyes can see yer ‘urt an’ sick, Larabee, but I never thought ya’d go back on yer word. Thought a man’s word was his law. Guess I was wrong about ya. Yer nothin’ but a low life scum suckin’...’
“No!” his voice was barely audible, but the anger was evident on his sun baked face. The words he’d heard Tanner say resembled to closely the words Burke screamed at him. He couldn’t let him win. He could almost hear Tanner’s sigh of relief as he struggled to his feet. “Ain’t a low life scum suckin’ anything, Tanner,” a thin smile cracked his dry lips and he moved out into the night.
Abigail Newman pulled the shawl over her shoulders and picked up two cups of tea. She walked to the door and opened it. She stepped outside and breathed deeply of the night air. She walked to the small swing on her porch, placed the two cups on the railing and sat down. This was a nightly routine she’d shared with her husband since they were married forty-two years ago. When he passed away three years ago she’d decided not to break the tradition. It was her way to keep her husband’s memory alive.
“I miss ya, Will,” she said as she looked at the twinkling stars overhead. Her hair was more silver now than brown and hung loose around her shoulders the way William liked her to wear it. She sighed as the memory of his touch brought a warmth to her skin. They’d had a full life and their children were grown and had families of their own. They visited when they could, but it wasn’t nearly enough for her.
She’d been so glad when the town of Haven came to life again two years ago. The thought of a weekly trip to town made her feel good. Now those trips were limited to once every two to three months because she didn’t trust the man who’d taken over the role of town sheriff. The man was a weasel, as were the three so-called deputies. He had the people so wrapped around his fingers that no one could say anything against him.
She sipped at her tea and remembered her first few trips to the town. The sheriff and his men leered at her as if she was some wrinkled up old crone. They’d wanted to know where she lived and how often she expected to be in town. They’d questioned her about her husband and family. She’d simply said she could handle herself and didn’t need them to look after her. She’d thanked them in a sarcastic tone and gone about her business and ignored them. It seemed to rile the men when she refused to acknowledge that they existed.
Abigail pulled the wrap tighter around herself and looked around. She couldn’t see very much of her darkened yard, but something had grabbed her attention. The sound came again from the corner of her husband’s old work shed. She stood up and felt the shawl drop from her shoulders. At fifty-nine she was still a spry woman and moved quickly into the house. She reached above the fireplace and grabbed the old double barrel shotgun. She’d kept it cleaned and oiled even after her husband’s death, and always loaded once she’d grown suspicious of the sheriff in Haven. She walked to the small table and lifted the lamp. Shotgun in one hand, lantern in the other she made her way back to the porch. Her sharp eyes searched the area and she picked out a darker shape against the dark side of the shed. She wasn’t afraid as she placed the lantern on the porch railing. No matter if this was an animal of the two legged or four legged variety her shotgun would take care of them.
She placed the shotgun against her shoulder and in a strong steady voice called, “whoever ya are ya’d best show yourself before I give ya a belly full of lead!” She watched the darker shadow move slightly and waited, the gun tucked firmly into her shoulder, her finger gently squeezing the trigger. “I’m not messing around here. You come on outta there or I’m shooting first. If your alive when I hit ya then maybe I’ll ask who you are!”
“P...pl..ease...h....elp...”
She heard the tiny sound but couldn’t pick out the words. “I’m not listening to you until you come out and show yourself!”
“C...can’t,” Chris realized his voice would never reach her. He looked down at his body and knew the woman would be afraid of him. He wore nothing but his drawers and even those were now threadbare and torn. “P...please...so c...cold.” He knew he had no choice and moved into the yard.
Abigail saw the shape move out into the yard and realized it was the two-legged variety. She still couldn’t make out whether it was man or woman, but she could tell whoever it was wasn’t gonna be any trouble to her. “Who are you?” she asked.
“I...I...” he stammered as he fell to his knees, confused and delirious he couldn’t answer her question.
“What’s wrong with you?” the woman asked as the form dropped to his knees.
“S...sick....cold...h...hurt,” he rasped. “N...need h...help.” His body continued to tremble on the ground, painfully aware of how hard it was to breath. His throat was deprived of moisture for so long that his voice wouldn’t travel to his own ears.
“I can’t hear you,” she said. No sound came from the form kneeling in front of the shed. She stood on the porch for another minute, waiting to see if the person would make any threatening moves. When none came she slowly advanced into the yard. She kept her shotgun ready, but the closer she got to the forlorn figure the more she realized this poor soul needed help. By the tiny flicker of light from the lantern she could see it was a man. His clothes were gone except for a pair of dark drawers that did nothing to save his dignity. The smell coming from the dirt-encrusted body assaulted her nostrils yet she wouldn’t let him suffer. She knelt in front of him and waited for his eyes to focus on her. His hands looked swollen around a set of tightly clenched cuffs, blood and dirt were caked into the raw flesh of his wrists. She briefly wondered if he was a criminal and pushed the thought to the back of her mind at the pathetic creature before her. She let her shotgun fall beside her, knowing this man couldn’t hurt her if he wanted to. Somehow she knew he wouldn’t even if he had the strength.
“Now you’re a sorry sight aren’t ya?” she said softly.
“H...help,” Larabee rasped, but the voice still didn’t get past his lips.
“Course I’ll help ya,” she smiled at him.
Chris saw the smile and tried to return one of his own, grimacing as it pulled at his cracked lips. “T...th...irsty,” he told her.
“Let’s see about getting you inside and you can have as much water as you want,” She met his gaze as she reached for his arm. “You’ve got a bad sunburn there.”
Larabee nodded, once more causing his head to come close to exploding. He closed his eyes and gasped as his empty stomach seemed to churn. He tried to speak, but only a dry rasping cough issued from his throat.
“Now you listen to me, Son. Don’t try to talk. I’m gonna help you stand up and then you can lean on me and we’ll get you inside.” She felt the trembling in his body as she helped him to his feet. “Now you just lean on Abby and we’ll get you inside and out of the cold.”
Larabee nodded at the formidable woman. Her hands held his in a tight grip and he groaned as his sun burnt skin stretched under her touch.
“I’m sorry, Son. I can’t see no place where you’re not burnt. Gonna have to hurt you to get you inside. Think you can put up with my hands on you till we get you in the house?” At the slow nod from the near naked man she lifted his arms over her head. It was awkward and slow going and they stumbled a few times, but they made it to the porch without falling to the ground. “Well, now, Son, I’m gonna have to sit you in the swing here so I can open the door,” she said and noted the moisture in his swollen bloodshot eyes.
The lantern’s soft glow revealed just how much pain her visitor was in and Abby swore softly under her breath. What she saw made her cringe, the bruises were only partially visible under the sunburn and mud caked on his body. Small cuts and scratches covered his arms and legs and chest. She stared at his fever bright eyes and knew he was in pain.
“You just rest here for a minute,” she ordered as she eased his arms over her head and helped him into the swing. Again she heard a raspy sound from his throat. “Don’t try to talk. I’m gonna be right back and we’ll see about making you feel a little better. Okay?” Once more she received a slow nod.
Abigail turned and hurried into her house. There were two bedrooms and she moved towards what was once her sons’ room. She lit a candle and set it on the small bedside table. The large bed her two boys shared was well-kept and clean sheets rested at the foot. She quickly placed the bottom sheet over the mattress and added a pillow to the bed. Sighing she hurried back to the combination kitchen living room and moved to the open door. A loud thud caused her heart to skip a beat and she hurried out the open door. Whoever this man was his strength had given out and he fell to the floor. He lay on his left side with his knees tucked into his body. A small keening noise issued from his throat and she knelt beside him. She placed a wrinkled, but soft hand on his right shoulder and waited for him to look at her.
Chris fought to regain control of the pain running through his body. He had no idea how long it took, but the aged hand on his arm soothed him. He opened his eyes and saw tears streaking down the woman’s face and realized they were for him. He forced a smile to his lips and lifted his hands towards her.
Abigail let the tears fall from her eyes. Whatever this man did she knew he didn’t deserve such cruelty. She’d find some way to help him and see to it he was healed before he had to face anyone. ‘Is this Burke’s doing?’ she thought as she once more helped the man to his feet.
“Let’s get you inside,” at the slight nod she helped him through the door and they stumbled across the floor into the bedroom.
Larabee saw the bed, the clean sheets, and the pillow and shook his head vehemently.
“What do you mean No?” Abigail asked him.
“D...dir...ty...”
She listened to his crackling voice and tried to decipher what the strung out word was. “Dirty. Are you saying you can’t get into bed ‘cause you’re dirty?” she asked incredulously. At his nod she let a small laugh loose.
To Chris Larabee it was the most wonderful sound he’d heard in a long time.
“Who’d have thought a man who’s hurtin’ as much as you are and totin’ that much sickness in your body would still be chivalrous to a lady. Well, you might as well forget it right now,” she watched him shake his head once more. “Now look here. I don’t know your name and I don’t have a clue how you showed up on my door at such an ungodly hour, but right now I’m bettin’ I’m stronger than you. Not only am I gonna get you in that bed, but I’m gonna clean you up and tend those wounds.”
“N...no,” Larabee hissed, trying, but failing to glare at the woman.
“Now let’s get you on the bed before you fall down and drag me with you. If that happens these old bones are liable to break and I won’t be able to help you. She eased his arms over her head once more and sat him on the edge. She stood up and looked into his eyes. Something in the green depths spoke of just how much this was costing him. “You listen to Abby, Son. I’ve been out here a lot of years. Tended my Will and our two strapping sons many a time when they were hurt or sick. I’ve seen everything there is to see on a man,” his eyes sparkled as she spoke. “I know you feel like you’re putting me out, but you’re not. You just sit there and I‘ll get you that water. Okay?”
“O...kay...” he sighed as she left him sitting on the bed. He heard her moving around in the other room and groaned as he moved his swollen fingers. He knew he was looking at handcuffs, but for some reason he didn’t understand why they were attached to his wrists. ‘What the hell happened,’ he thought as a harsh dry cough tore from his chest. He held his arms to the throbbing mass, but nothing could relieve the pain as again and again he coughed. He bit down on his cheek and tasted blood in his mouth.
“Here you go, Son,” Abigail sat beside him on the bed and held the glass to his dry, swollen lips.
Chris thought he was in heaven as the first drop of water slipped past his unmoving lips. He struggled to swallow and finally felt his dry tongue come unglued from the roof of his mouth. He lifted his head from the glass and was surprised to find a small bowl placed in front of his mouth.
“Spit it out, Son. I’ve got more and I’m betting right now your mouth’s getting some moisture in it. Go ahead now and spit it out and I’ll let you have some more,” she explained. He did as she told him and Abigail saw the blood mixed with the water. She prayed it wasn’t something inside him bleeding as she placed the glass to his mouth once more.
This time it was easier and the water slid down the back of his throat. It was all he could do not to gulp the water down, but the words of a friend kept coming back to him. ‘Not too much, Chris. Don’t want ya throwing it all back up.’
Abigail removed the glass once more and smiled at the downtrodden figure on the bed. “I don’t know who you are, Son, but I’m gonna make damn sure no one hurts you while you’re under my roof!” She saw the gratitude in the depths of his green eyes and stood up. “Let’s get you lying down,” again the dirt matted head shook. “I thought we’d already agreed that I’m stronger than you at the moment. Until you can speak and move by yourself you’ll do as I say. Now ease back and we’ll see about making you a little more comfortable.”
Chris had no choice as the woman’s strong hands lifted his grimy feet onto the bed. She eased him back against the pillow and he sighed wearily. He was still cold, but at least now his body rested on something softer than the hard packed ground. He felt his eyes closing, but couldn’t surrender until he let this woman know how much he appreciated what she was doing for him. He reached up with both hands as she turned away.
Abigail turned back to the bed and again met the green eyes, so full of pain, with hope now added to the mixture. “I’m gonna help you, Son. You’re gonna get past all this. It may take some time, but if you’re willing to fight for it then we’ll win this battle together,” she assured him.
Larabee felt safe. Somehow, in his flight from Burke and his men he’d landed on the doorstep of a woman who could’ve been Nettie Wells sister. Something about the woman oozed of strength and a stubborn will. He had no idea how long he lay there, but was jolted back to his senses as a hand landed on his arm. He opened his eyes and shook his head. He looked around the strange room and wondered where he was. His body hurt and he was cold, trembling on a bed. His eyes lit on the woman sitting beside him and memory returned. He was safe at least for now. Safe from who he had no idea.
“My Will was a lawman back east before we came out here. I got his keys and maybe one of them will open these blasted things,” she hissed as she touched his damaged hands.
Chris watched as she fumbled
with key after key on the old silver ring she held. His mind drifted away from
the present as he tried to rid himself of the pain and sickness invading his
body. A cry of triumph and sharp stinging needles in both hands brought him
back to the present.
“I’m sorry, Son, I’m sorry,” she said as she watched tears form in his eyes as feeling returned to his fingers.
“S’o...kay,” Larabee tried to reassure her as she tenderly held his hands in her own.
She smiled at the throaty assurance and asked, “Do you want a little more water?” At his nod she reached for the glass and held it to his lips. She let him drink a couple of mouthfuls before pulling it away. “I’ll give you some more in a few minutes, Son. I’m just gonna clean you up a little,” she explained.
Chris lay back against the pillow and sighed as a warm cloth slowly washed across his sun burnt face. He gripped the sheets as the cloth returned time and again to clean away the dirt and dried mud. He lost count of how many times she stopped to change the water as she washed his upper chest. He kept his eyes closed, hoping this wonderful woman wouldn’t see the pain he was in. The burns on his body tingled painfully as if he was being bombarded with ice pellets. Each touch of the cloth awakened a new fire and he gasped as she touched his right arm.
Abigail could see the wound was infected and knew she’d need to drain the puffy red gash. “I’m sorry, Son. I gotta get this cleaned out. I’ll have to drain it once I finish cleaning you up. I’ve got some salve that’s gonna make that sunburn of yours feel a whole lot better too,” she explained. She reached for the cup she’d placed on the table during one of her many trips for clean water. “I’ve got something for you to drink, Son. It’ll help ease some of the pain and maybe help bring down the fever you’re toting.”
The gunslinger opened his eyes and spoke without realizing it, “H...horse....p...iss.”
“Pardon,” she wasn’t sure she’d heard him right. His swollen tongue and lips made it hard to understand his feeble voice.
“N...Na...than’s h...horse p...pi... s...sor...ry,” he mumbled as he realized what he said.
“No need to be sorry, Son,” Abigail laughed as she finally understood his words. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard it called that, but my Will used to hate the stuff. Now let’s see if we can get some of it into you.” She eased his head up and kept feeding him the tea until he turned away. She shook her head when she saw he’d only managed a quarter of the cup. She’d need to get more than that into him if he was going to survive this ordeal. She watched his eyes widen and knew he was going to be sick. She turned him on his side and held a small basin before him as miserable sounds emanated from his throat. She could hear the pain this was causing his tortured body and again she silently cursed whoever did this to this young man.
As his stomach emptied and his body trembled from fever, pain and weakness, Chris Larabee finally gave into the exhaustion and lost the fight to stay awake.
Abigail felt the man go slack in her arms and eased him back on the pillow. She swept back the dirt encrusted hair and spoke softly. “I wish I didn’t have to do this, Son,’ she said as she continued to clean his body.
She was glad he was unconscious as she slid the remnants of his drawers down his legs. She’d done this many times before and it was nothing new to her. She’d spent a couple of years at a hospital in the east before Will asked her to try their luck out west. In spite of her misgivings they’d made a wonderful life for themselves and their children. She looked at his face and could imagine the blush if he’d been awake while she did this. “Bet you’d probably be redder than your face already is,” she chuckled as she washed his legs. She took extra care on his damaged feet, cleaning the scrapes she found there. An hour later she had him cleaned up and the mud washed from his hair. He hadn’t moved during her ministrations and for that she was glad.
“Now I just have to get clean sheets under you,” she said as she looked at the battered form on the bed. Again this was something she’d done during her days as a nurse. She rolled him away from her on his left side and propped a pillow behind his back. She washed his back, grimacing at the bright red skin in evidence there. As quickly as she could she pulled the dirtied sheet away from the edges and quickly put another one in place. She removed the pillow and eased him onto the new sheet, carefully avoiding the dirt covered one she rolled up. Again she turned him, this time to his right. A small gasp of pain escaped his lips as he landed on his wounded shoulder.
“Sorry, Son, almost finished,” she soothed as she propped the pillow behind him. She slid the muddy sheet out and finished pulling the other one through. She stood away from the bed and took a deep tired breath. She shrugged her shoulders in an effort to ease the pain she felt there. As she’d done when her husband was alive, Abigail ignored her own pain to look after the injured man.
He was sick, of that she was sure. The fever was not only being caused by the infection in the wounds but there was also a heavy wheeze when he breathed. She prayed she’d be able to take care of him and nurse him back to health. She eased him onto his back, looked into his face and smiled at the pair of green eyes looking back at her.
“How are you feeling?” she asked.
“C...cold...s...so c...cold,” his teeth chattered and she reached for the third sheet and covered him in it.
Abigail moved to the old trunk and pulled out one of the blankets she kept there. She quickly covered him, glad that he hadn’t noticed his lack of clothing. For now it would be easier for her to care for him as he was. “Better?” she asked.
“Y...yeah,” he mumbled.
“Good, now let’s see if you can finish this tea,” she said as she sat beside him on the bed. She could feel him shivering beneath the blanket as she lifted his head.
Chris drank most of the tea and felt it warm him from the inside. He coughed and groaned, wrapping his arms around his chest in an effort to stop the overpowering urge to cough.
“Easy, Son. You’re gonna be a might uncomfortable for a while, but I expect from the looks of you that you’re a strong one. I’m gonna do all I can to help you. I’ve got a few more things to get ready and then I’ll leave you to rest.”
“N...no m...more,” Larabee hissed as he felt pins and needles the length of his body.
“Trust me, Son, I’m only doing what needs to be done. Now you just rest until I get my things together.” She watched as his eyelids slowly covered the remarkable green orbs underneath. In spite of the bruising, swelling and sunburn she knew this man would be devastatingly handsome in any setting.
Abigail moved away from the bed and into the other room. She had a small fire going in her stove and needed to get some things ready to help the injured man. She went to the pantry and pulled some jars from the shelf. She knew from experience she’d need something to help his breathing. She ran her hands over the jars, smiling as she picked out the jar of roots from the Osha plant, she knew a plant called Canaigre grew in abundance around the house and she’d get some as soon as she chopped these roots. She hurried to the table and used a well-beaten cutting board to chop the Osha roots into small pieces. She place some in a cup and poured hot water over them. The rest she placed in a larger pot and placed on the back of the stove to heat.
Once this was done she looked in on her patient and saw the lines of pain on his face even as he slept. She shook her head and hurried out into the yard. She was shocked to see the first rays of dawn spreading over the countryside. She’d lost track of time while tending the sick man. She ignored her own weariness, knowing he needed her help more than she needed to rest. She spotted the lance shaped leaves and hurried to the plant. She soon had enough of the roots to get her started. She cut into the plant to get to the pit, which she would use to cover the painful sunburn covering most of his body. She stood up and her eyes raked the yard and she was never so glad to see so much of the plant there. There was also a mingling of the aloe plant and she would use this as well to treat the sunburn. She’d have to put the juice directly onto the burn and gently rub it in. She hoped this would be enough to stop the nasty burn from blistering.
She hurried into the house and placed her new treasures on the table. She began preparing the things she’d need in order to make the man more comfortable. She checked the cup and grimaced at what she had to do next. She could hear the heavy wheezing and knew she needed to get some of the Osha tea into him. She picked up the cup and walked into the bedroom. She felt saddened as she looked at the fiery red skin, knowing a burn could cause so much pain. She eased down on the bed and watched as his eyes slowly opened. She waited for him to focus on her and smiled at the confusion on his face.
“Well, good morning,” she greeted.
“M...morn...ing,” he rasped painfully. Holding his arms to his chest as he erupted in a violent fit of coughing.
Abigail touched his shoulder sympathetically and waited for it to stop. When it finally did she eased her hand under his head and lifted him forward. “I’ve got something here for you. It tastes lousy, but it’ll help with the coughing.” She smiled as he opened his mouth and let her feed him the foul tasting Osha tea.
Chris tried to flinch away from the taste, but found he didn’t have the strength to fight her. He swallowed the obnoxious liquid until she pulled the cup away. “That’s good, Son. It’ll help your chest. Now the next thing I gotta do is treat them burns. Think you can stay still for me to do that?”
“T...think so,” he moaned as the heavy feeling in his chest and the tea in his stomach made him nauseas.
“Try and keep that down, Son,” she said.
“C...Chris,” he said weakly.
“Pardon me?”
“N...name’s C...Chris,” he said as he shivered in spite of the blanket covering him.
She finally deciphered what he was trying to say and smiled warmly. “Well, Chris, my name’s Abigail, but you can call me Abby.”
“A...Abby.”
“That’s right. Now close your eyes and try to sleep. I’ve got some stuff to put on your burns. It’ll hurt at first, but you’ll feel much better once it’s done.”
“O...okay...n...need to s...say t...thanks f...for...help.”
“You’re welcome,” she said. She placed a gentle hand on his forehead and felt the heat there. She knew it wasn’t only from the sunburn, but from the fever racing through his body. She retrieved the Canaigre and came back to sit on the edge of the bed. She knew he was still awake and she spoke softly.
“Chris, I’m going to put something on your skin and rub it in. I’ll be as gentle as I can, but it’s not gonna be easy on you,.” She explained as she prepared the pit of the plant. She watched his face as the juice dropped onto his skin. She could almost hear it sizzle as it touched his heated body.
Chris lay as quietly as possible, unable to get past the tremors that still wracked his body. He felt her move the blanket back and smooth more juice over the skin on his chest and stomach. He gasped and his eyes opened wide as he realized she’d moved the blanket all the way down and he lay naked before her. A sigh of relief escaped his lips as he realized a thin covering was over his intimate area.
Abigail smiled at him as she saw the look of horror turn to relief. She knew this man was modest and would’ve been appalled to be naked and at her mercy. She continued her ministrations until the front of his body was covered in the soothing juice of the Canaigre.
“Chris?” she called softly and realized he was unconscious. She eased him on his side once more and coated his back and legs with it. His feet would need to be kept clean as well, the scratches and small cuts tended constantly. She eased him to his back once more and smoothed the juice over his face. A sigh escaped his cracked lips and she smiled. She remembered how her husband and sons reacted the same way when they were sick and she did little things like this to sooth their pain and discomfort. She lifted the soft sheet and the blanket up over him. She cleaned the area around his wrists and covered them in clean bandages.
She turned her attention to the wound on his arm and knew she had to draw out the pus. Her strength was almost gone, but she needed to see this done before she gave into it. The longer the wound festered the sicker he would get. She prepared the items she’d need including more Willow Bark tea.
She picked up the tiny knife she’d boiled and doused in whiskey and placed it against the swollen wound. “I’m sorry, Son, this gotta be done,” she whispered as she cut into the heated flesh.
Chris opened his eyes and cried out weakly. He felt something sharp biting into his shoulder and tried to move away from the blade. Abby’s soft voice by his ear eased some of the torment and he fought to remain still.
“I’ve just gotta get the infection out, Son. You’ll feel much better once it’s done. It’s gonna take stitches, but right now I’m just too tired to put them in...”
“S...sorry,” Larabee mumbled through clenched teeth. His hands fisted in the blanket covering him.
“You’ve got nothing to be sorry for. Now I’m gonna pour a little whiskey on this to make sure it’s clean. You just try and hold still till I’m finished.” She placed a new towel under his arm and poured the whiskey directly into the wound. She held his arm steady as the whiskey did its job, his lack of fight giving mute testament to just how weak he was. “All done, Son,” she said as she placed a bandage over it and tied it around his arm. She reached for the cup of Willow bark tea and waited for the sick man to open his eyes.
Chris waited for some of the pain and nausea to ease and finally opened his eyes. He saw the cup in her hand and nodded slowly. He felt her hands clasp his neck and ease his head off the pillow. He smelled the liquid as she placed the cup to his mouth and helped him drink. He finished the cup and was grateful when she let him relax against the pillow. He fought the nausea and felt himself relax towards sleep.
Abigail waited until he was fully asleep before giving into her own needs. She washed the blood from her hands and carried the dirty cups and leftover roots into the other room. She checked the pot of Osha liquid, she noted it was boiling and she poured it into a basin. She brought it into the room where her patient slept and placed it on the floor next to his bed. She took one last look at her the injured man as the medicinal odor began to fill the room. She sighed heavily and made her way to her own room and the bed that seemed to be calling her name.
They’d spent the last thirty-six hours checking the outlying farms for signs of the missing member of the group. Of the five they checked four denied seeing anyone in weeks, the other was vacant and had been for a while. A quick search revealed nothing out of the ordinary and they’d decided it was time to check in with Haven’s sheriff. They rode through the blistering heat until the town appeared in the distance. It seemed to take forever before they finally made the outskirts of the tiny town.
The town of Haven lay before them and Vin Tanner thought Robert Warren was more than generous when he talked about the dilapidated structures. He could see signs of changes and guessed that most people were still trying to fix up their homes and businesses. He led the other five men towards what could only be the jail. Sweat and dust mingled on his brow as he rode down main street. He smiled as he realized it was the only street. A couple stood in front of a small structure, a sign tacked overhead read Anderson’s general Store. A man swept dist off a landing in front of a barbershop. Several others were present and he felt their eyes on him as the six men stopped in front of the jail.
They dismounted and flicked their reins over the shaky hitching post in front of the jail. Vin watched as Buck walked to the door and pushed against it. The door didn’t open and the ladies man tried again.
“Can we help you fellas?”
Vin turned to see several townspeople standing behind them. He watched as the big ex-preacher moved to greet them, deciding it would be best to leave matters in his capable hands.
“Well now you just might at that. We’re lookin’ for the sheriff. Is he around?”
“Might be or might not. Who’s askin?”
“My name’s Josiah Sanchez and along with these gentlemen we keep the law in a town called Four Corners.”
“I know Four Corners,” the man from the barbershop said. “There’s seven peacekeepers there.”
“That’s us,” Dunne assured him.
“I only count six,” the man from Anderson’s general store observed.
“Well, my dear man, there’s nothing wrong with your mathematical skills. We are here searching for our missing comrade,” Standish blustered.
“Ain’t no one in there,” the dark haired barber informed them.
“We can see that,” Wilmington said exasperatedly. “Where’s the sheriff?”
“Sheriff Burke and his men rode out at dawn this morning,” the storekeeper told them.
“When do you expect him back?” Jackson asked.
“Don’t know fer certain. He’s gone huntin’ a murderin’ son of a bitch. Bastard escaped before the sheriff could hang ‘im,” the barber snapped.
“Maybe one of you fellas can help us,” Jackson said. “we’re looking for a man about six foot with blond hair just a bit on the long side. He would’ve been wearing all black and toting a colt revolver.”
“Ain’t seen no one like that!” the storekeeper snapped.
Tanner’s hackles rose at the quickly delivered answer and he knew this man wasn’t telling the truth. He moved away from Wilmington, but felt a firm hand on his arm. He turned and blue eyes met blue eyes. The tracker knew the ladies man didn’t believe a word the man said either.
Buck nodded to Sanchez and Vin noticed the ex-preacher walking towards the storekeeper. Wilmington’s message was clear. ‘Let Josiah handle it.’ Tanner nodded impatiently.
“Now why do I think you’re being less than truthful, Brother?” Sanchez asked as he towered over the smaller man.
“I...I really didn’t see no one like that,” the man hissed, shrinking away from the intimidating man in the serape.
“Please, Mister, my husband don’t know nothing,” a red haired woman cried as she stood next to the storekeeper.
“What about you, Ma’am? Do you know anything about our friend?” Sanchez asked the cringing woman.
“N...no I d...didn’t see no one,” she answered in a trembling voice.
Vin heard the conversation and felt like shaking the people of the town. Something about their skittish behavior told him they knew more than they were telling. He turned away from the group before his anger got the best of him. ‘Are you here, Larabee?’ he silently asked. A movement on the side of the jail caught his attention and he moved away from the small gathering. By the time he reached the corner of the jail he saw a form move around the corner. He followed quickly and soon caught up with a young man. He reached out a hand and clasped it around one thin arm. He looked into the young face and frowned at the fear he saw in the brown eyes.
“Hey, wait, I ain’t gonna hurt ya,” he said as the man tried to pull away from him. he felt the tension leave the arm he held as the face once more came up to meet his. “Ya know something, don’t ya?”
The young man looked around, making sure there was no one to see them. He nodded his head and made hand gestures, nodding his head excitedly as he did so.
Vin watched the rapid hand movements but didn’t know what the excited man was trying to say. It finally dawned on him that the man couldn’t talk. “Shit,” he swore in frustration. He knew this kid had the answers he needed, but he didn’t know how he was going to get them. He lifted his head as Buck came around the corner and had to hold tight to the man next to him. “It’s okay, he’s a friend,” Tanner told the younger man.
“What’s going on, Vin?” Wilmington asked, eyeing the scared man in the tracker’s grasp.
“Shit, Buck, this fella knows somethin’ but he can’t talk. He’s firin’ all kinds of things at me with his ‘ands, but I can’t make any sense of it.”
“Using his hands?” Wilmington looked incredulous and his mouth dropped open for a second. “JD mentioned something about a boy who lived back east. He used ta play with him.”
“What’s that got ta do with this?” Tanner asked.
“JD might be able to tell us what he’s saying. The kid says it’s called sign language. He learned some of it from the boy.”
“Get JD,” the tracker said.
“We’ll be right back. You just make sure he stays put,” Wilmington ordered as he moved away.
“He ain’t goin’ nowhere.” The sharpshooter smiled at the younger man and spoke directly into his face. “Look, Buck’s just gone ta get a friend. He might be able ta tell us what yer tryin’ ta say. Okay?” he felt a small measure of relief as the blond head bobbed once.
It wasn’t long before JD came around the corner alone. “Buck said you wanted me, What’s wrong, Vin?”
“Everythin’ okay out there, JD?”
“Josiah’s tryin’ ta find out what they know, but so far no one’s talkin’ They know somethin’, Vin, I just don’t think they’ll tell us.”
“I know, Kid. Buck said you knew someone back east who couldn’t talk.”
“Yeah him and me were close. Seemed like we both needed a friend and we were there for each other.”
“Could you tell what he was sayin’?”
“It took some time, but yeah, I figured it out. Why?”
“Think maybe ya could see what this feela’s tryin’ ta say?”
“He’s deaf?” they both watched the head shake.
“You’re not deaf?” Dunne asked, again the head shook. “Do you know sign language. This time the head bobbed as JD spoke and used the signs he’d learned as a kid.
“Do you know anything about our friend?” Tanner asked quickly. Again the head bobbed, but this time there was a quick succession of hand movements. “What’s he sayin’, JD?”
“He seen him, Vin,” Dunne answered “least he thinks it was Chris.”
“When?” again the hands moved fast.
“Says he was here two or three nights ago. He don’t remember exactly,” the hands kept moving and JD continued to pick up most of what the man was trying to tell them. “Vin!”
“What?” Tanner asked as he heard the fear in Dunne’s voice.
“He said the sheriff brung a man dressed in black to Haven and accused him of bein’ a murderin’ thief! He says the sheriff and his men took the man’s clothes and boots and threw him in jail.” Vin turned to go to the front of the jail when JD’s excited voice stopped him once more. “Wait, Vin, he says he’s not there anymore. Says the Sheriff took him out to...Oh,. God!”
“What?” Tanner frowned, his eyes glowing with rage at the hopelessness in the young Bostonian’s voice.
“H...he says the sheriff and his men took him to be hanged...”
Tanner’s body stood next to JD’s. Anyone who knew the tracker would know the man was filled with rage in spite of the outward calm he portrayed. “Did he say when?”
“Couple of days ago. He said there was a huge storm and the sheriff and his men came back alone.”
“Does he know where they buried the body,” Tanner asked. He watched quietly, his stomach clenching as JD and the other young man carried on a conversation with their hands.
Dunne shook his head as he turned back to the sharpshooter. “He says they use a tree about a mile outside of town and then just bury them in a clearing not far from it. Vin, he also says there was no trial.”
“What? What the hell do you mean no trial?”
“If this was C...Chris,” he stammered. “The sheriff and his men convinced the people of the town that he was a murderer and they shouldn’t have to supply him with Food and water while they waited for Judge Wilcox....”
“Wilcox?”
“That’s what he said. The sheriff convinced them to hang Chris and not wait for the judge. He’s not allowed to do that is he Vin?”
“No, Kid, he’s not,” Tanner heard footsteps behind him and turned to see Wilmington returning. He quickly told the moustached man what they’d found out. He watched the rage form on the handsome face and knew it mirrored his own feelings.
“Josiah can’t get the others to talk. Nathan thinks they’re all scared about something.”
“This fella says they’re scared of the sheriff and his men,” Dunne explained as the hand signals began again. “He says the sheriff just declared himself the law and hired his own deputies.”
“So why doesn’t the town do something about him?” Wilmington asked. He remained silent as JD and the young man exchanged silent messages.
“He says a few people tried, but it wasn’t long before they were exposed as thieves or murders. They were hung the same way as the man the other day,” Dunne explained, not wanting to voice his suspicions that the doomed man was indeed Chris Larabee.
‘It sounds like this sheriff needs to spend time in his own jail,” Tanner mumbled and watched the young man nod vigorously before he bolted away from them.
“Do you think it was C...Chris?” Dunne asked.
“Don’t know, JD, but I aim to find out,” Tanner hissed as he headed for the front of the jail. He heard JD and Buck following closely behind him as he round the corner and came face to face with the people of Haven. He caught and held a few intense gazes, holding them until the other man backed down. Vin Tanner was a man of few words, but his eyes could deliver his message far better than a sharply spoken curse. The men dropped their eyes as soon as he turned towards them and he knew the sheriff of Haven had these people running scared.
“I’m gonna ask once more if’n you people ‘ave seen Chris Larabee,” his well owned sense caught the slight looks between a few people and he knew he’d hit on something. “Larabee’s a peacekeeper in Four Corners. He’s hired by Judge Travis and if anythin’s happened ta him the judge is gonna come down ‘ard on this little town. You people hanged a man without waitin’ for the judge ta hear a trial and that’s against the law. Now I’m gonna ask once more if any of you saw Chris Larabee.”
Silence stretched before them, the only sound to reach the ears of the six peacekeepers was the shuffling of feet on the dusty street.
“Perhaps it would benefit all of you to know that you could go to jail for accomplices to murder,” Standish said softly, and again heads turned to gaze at the person standing beside the. Whispered words left tightly clenched lips as the people of Haven tried to grasp just how much trouble they could get in. “It will indeed be considered murder since there was no benefit of judicial process...”
“He means your as guilty as the sheriff for hanging a man without letting him have his say,” Jackson explained.
“He’s guilty...”
“Sheriff found the broach in his pocket...”
“We didn’t want ta do it...”
“Sheriff took ‘im ta the hangin’ tree...”
“We just did as the sheriff told us...”
Sanchez lifted his hands and put a stop to the shouted words, but the shuffling feet continued. “What you people did is illegal no matter what you say. It boils down to nothing better than a lynch mob and if the man the sheriff hanged was Chris Larabee then you’re all guilty of murdering an innocent man.”
“We ain’t murderers. It was Burke and his men. They railroaded us inta havin’ that trial. We didn’t know who he was. Honest, Mister, we were just doing what we thought we had to do. We all saw the sheriff take that broach from Larabee’s pocket,” the barber shouted.
“I thought you said you didn’t know who the man was?” Wilmington asked, his voice icy, his eyes cold and deadly.
“We, ah, I, ah...We didn’t know until after,” the store owner’s wife called. “he pleaded with us ta send a telegram.” A hand landed on her arm, but she shook it off. “They wouldn’t let me, Mister,” she said as she walked towards Josiah Sanchez. “I begged Hiram to send one, but he’s scared of the sheriff and his bunch.”
“And you’re not?” Sanchez asked.
“I won’t lie. I’m scared ta death he’ll run us outta town or make us disappear like some of the others, but maybe you fellas can stop ‘im. It might be too late for your friend, but at least you’d know is death weren’t fer nothin’,” the woman called. “The hangin’ tree is ‘bout a mile west of ‘ere. Ya can’t miss it. If yer friend was ‘anged ‘is grave should be in a little copse of trees not far from it.”
The six men nodded their heads and slowly mounted their horses. No one asked where they were going. Each man needed top check for a grave and the truth about the disappearance of Chris Larabee.
The people watched as the six men rode away from their town. Men and women silently prayed these men would be the salvation of their town and not the death of it.
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