Characters---Chris Larabee, Vin Tanner, and the seven
Disclaimers----I do not own Mag seven or the characters. This story is written for pleasure not profit. No money made....
Comments.....This story was written for PKP productions....Hope you enjoy it...Thanks Lynne and Amy for the great beta jobs...
Jake Peters leaned against the bar and listened to the conversations around him. Watsonville was a small town and had little interest for the gunslinger. The people shied away as soon as they saw his tied down guns and the spark of danger in his eyes. His dark brown orbs darted around the room as he searched for and found his mark. He was bored and needed someone or something to keep his mind and hands sharp. The kid was fast, faster than anyone had ever seen, but he needed to be sure. This stop was just a testing ground on his way to his real mark.
Peters’ gaze came to rest on the person he would test himself against. The intended victim was young, possibly twenty, blond hair, blue eyes and an air of innocence about him, yet Peters had seen how easily he lost his temper. He was seated with three other men, playing poker and enjoying a beer. Jake had been in town two days now and knew the background of the kid at the table. He’d made it a point to know who was in town and who was fast with a gun. The ‘boy’ was one of the fastest, and the gunslinger had seen the evidence of that when he followed him out of town and watched him practice.
Peters listened to parts of the conversation and knew the young man was to be married in a few days. For him this just made things better. His reputation as a black hearted gunslinger for higher was well known in the east, but there was always one or two men who were faster than him. Jake wanted to make sure his name was remembered and this trip west was a way to ensure that it was. He smiled at the thought of killing the man whose reputation was so well known. The true test would be against Chris Larabee, whose fast draw was spoken of even in the east. For now, Peters’ was content to test himself with this kid. The gunman shook himself as laughter came from the little table in the corner. The time had come for this young man to die.
He picked up his drink and downed it in one gulp, grimacing as the whiskey burned a trail down the back of his throat. He licked his lips, ordered a beer, threw a coin on the bar and walked towards the table.
“I hear you’re getting married, Kid,” he sneered.
Billy Smith looked at the tall man standing beside the table. The voice was smooth and silken, but it belied the rest of what he saw. The face was clean-shaven, showing a scar along the left side of his chin, the nose looked like it had been broken more than once and the eyes held a cold glint. Billy wasn’t one to be frightened easily and he smiled in spite of the fear this man produced in him. “Sure am, Mister.”
“Maybe you should introduce me to your young lady, so I can show her what a real man is like before she marries a wet behind the ears ‘boy’ like you!” Peters stated softly, and hid a smile as the place went deadly quiet and all attention was turned on him and the kid seated at the table. Jake watched as the kid slid his chair back and began to stand. He smiled as an older man placed a hand on the kid’s arm.
“He’s jest tryin’ to goad ya into a fight, Billy. Don’t let ‘im git ta ya.”
Peters watched as his mark sat back in the chair. “So, ya gotta listen ta yer grandpa, Kid? Does he still wipe yer nose fer ya too?” The gunslinger smiled as the anger flared on the young face. “Does he also git ta check out yer young woman fer ya, too?”
“You lousy son of a bitch!” Billy shouted as he stood up.
The two men were oblivious of the sounds around them. The patrons of the saloon dove for cover, knowing what was to come and not wanting to stop a bullet with their own body. Chairs and tables topple as men tried to find cover before the two men drew their guns. The swinging doors squeaked as two men hurried through them. The only noise in the room was the sound of silence as the two men glared at each other.
Billy’s complete attention was centered on the man in the white duster. His breathing grew deeper as he faced the gunslinger. His right hand twitched as he made to draw.
Peters watched his foe, waiting for the signs that would tell him his mark was going to draw. He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes, as the kids fingers twitched slightly. His own hand moved quickly and his gun was out of the holster even as the kid cleared leather. Only one shot sounded and the crouching men watched as the two figures remained standing.
Billy Smith didn’t make a sound as he looked down at his chest. Fear shone in his eyes as he watched the blossoming blood stain. His eyebrows narrowed as he realized there was no pain. His gun toppled to the floor, the sound it produced louder than the gunshot seconds before. Billy’s head came up once more as his eyes rolled back in his head. He swayed as if a strong breeze pushed against his body and fell heavily to the floor.
The saloon quickly came back to life as men stood up and looked from the body on the floor to the man standing with his gun held in his hand.
Peters smiled as he heard whispered comments around him.
“That was fast!”
“Ain’t seen nothin’ like it!”
“Thought Billy woulda been able ta take ‘im!”
“Where’s the Sheriff?”
“Sheriff can’t do nuthin’!”
“Fair fight!”
“Billy drew first!”
Peters listened to the words spoken by the townspeople. In this case the law could do nothing. Words were not against the law, in spite of the fact he’d used them to goad the kid into a gunfight. He holstered his gun and walked back to the bar.
“Whiskey!” he ordered as the bartender came to stand before him.
“Yes, Sir, mister...”
“Peters. Jake Peters,” he sneered as the bartender trembled before him. “ I expect you’ve heard of me!”
“Y...yes, Sir,” the man answered as the doors swung open and the sheriff entered.
“Hand over your gun, Mister!”
Peters looked in the mirror behind the bar and smiled. “Why, Sheriff?”
“You’re under arrest for murder.”
“It wasn’t murder, Sheriff. He drew first. I’m sure these people can tell you that.”
“Benny?” the sheriff asked the older man kneeling beside the body of Billy Smith.
“Yeah, Mike, Billy drew first, but he,” the old man pointed to Peters, “said some things about Betsy.”
The sheriff closed his eyes and shook his head. He knew what a hard head Billy Smith was and knew how he felt about Betsy Roberts. The two were to be married in two days; instead Betsy would be attending Billy’s funeral. He took a deep breath and looked around the saloon.
“Is that right? Did Billy draw first?” A chorus of ‘Yeah, sheriff,’ reached his ears and he frowned. He turned back to the bar and his voice turned deadly. “I want you out of town!” he warned.
“I haven’t finished my drink yet, Sheriff!”
Mike Fisher strode confidently to the bar. He had no fear of this man; he’d faced them many times before and knew he would again. It was part of the job, and he would never back down. He reached for the glass of whiskey on the bar and poured the liquid onto the floor as he faced the Peters. “Yes, you have,” he hissed.
“A move like that could get you killed, Sheriff!”
“It just might, but I’m not a hothead like Billy. I won’t draw first. Now get the hell out of my town before I throw you in jail!”
Peters smiled as he turned away from the sheriff. “I gave him a chance, Sheriff, and he took it.” Jake laughed as he turned from the bar and strode out the door, knowing he’d be coming back this way and would take care of the sheriff then. Right now there were more pressing matters at hand. He mounted his black gelding and rode away from Watsonville, and smiled as the adrenalin from the kill seeped from his body. It wouldn’t be long before he faced down another man, only this time it would be a more evenly matched gunfight. The gunman wasn’t sure he would come out as victor against Chris Larabee, but it was something he needed to find out.
Chris smiled as Mary Travis exited Gloria Potter’s store and came towards him. Things were going well between them and he felt good about their relationship in spite of his own misgivings. He stood up as she stopped before him and handed him a copy of her paper.
“Morning, Mary.”
“Morning, Chris. Where is everyone?”
“Ezra’s probably still in bed, Buck and JD are on patrol. Vin’s at the church helping Nathan and Josiah.”
“It’s been so quiet around here lately...”
“Mary, maybe we shouldn’t say anything like that right now.”
“Why?” Mary smiled innocently.
“With everything that’s been going on lately. What with your sister’s visit and...”
“You being shot,” the slight smile disappeared as she remembered the sight of Chris Larabee being brought back to town in a wagon. She hid a shudder at the thought of nearly losing this man who’d become so much a part of her life.
“Yeah,” he whispered and noted the look on her face as she stood before him. “Hey, it’s okay, Mary. Nathan gave me a clean bill of health. Remember?”
Mary smiled and nodded, fighting back the tears she felt welling in her eyes. Nathan had indeed cleared Chris, but she still worried about him. She looked into his eyes and realized he was no longer watching her. “Chris?” When he didn’t answer she turned and followed his gaze.
Chris watched the two figures riding towards him and frowned. Both men didn’t look much older than JD Dunne, yet there was something about them that caught and held his attention. The first rode with his hat down over his eyes as if he was afraid of being seen. The second held his head up, but the look on his face told Chris there was no real danger from him. It appeared as if the man had spent the night drinking and the silly grin he wore reminded Chris of his early days with Buck Wilmington. They’d worn that same silly grin many times after consuming a bottle of rotgut. Somehow he didn’t think the look on this man’s face was from drinking.
“Chris, do you know them?” Mary asked as she watched the two men make their way down the center of the street.
“Never saw them before,” Chris answered.
“Do you think they’ll cause problems?”
“I don’t think these two fit under the term bad element, but we’ll keep an eye on them,” he assured her.
“Bad element,” she smiled. “I know someone else who isn’t a bad element,” she said as she walked away from the man in black.
Chris couldn’t help but smile at the not so subtle reminder of their first real meeting. She’d told him she was trying to deter the bad element from coming to Four Corners and he’d looked at her and said softly, ‘Lady, I am the bad element.’
“Hey, mister, where can a man get a drink in this town?” asked the larger of the two newcomers.
Larabee glanced up as the two men came to a stop in front of him. Chris leaned against the post he stood next to and nodded to the smaller man. “From the looks of your friend it doesn’t seem like you boys need anything else to drink.”
“Ain’t been drinkin’, Mister,” the newcomer grinned as he slid from the saddle and tossed his horse’s reins over the hitching post. “Not yet anyway. Me and Jesse here just need somethin’ ta wash off the trail dust. If’n ya could just point out the saloon we’ll leave ya alone.”
Larabee watched the second man who seemed to keep his eyes downcast and his hat pulled forward on his head. He seemed to wince every time his friend spoke and Chris walked towards him. The face seemed a bit too pale and Chris frowned as he looked at the young man. “What’s wrong with yer friend?” he asked and again noted the grimace and what seemed to be shyness from the man in the saddle.
“Ah, Jesse’s, jest plain worn out. We’s been ridin’ fer most of the night and we jest wants a drink and a bed. Come on, Mister, where’s the saloon?”
Chris continued to watch the man on the horse as his friend helped him from the saddle. He didn’t miss the slight stagger or the way ‘Jesse’ seemed to shy away from his voice. He could hear him mumble something under his breath and smiled as he heard the softly spoken words. ‘Scare’s me’.
“He ain’t nuthin’ ta be scared of, Jesse. I tole ya I’d protec’ ya,” the bigger man smiled as he held onto his stumbling friend.
“What’s wrong with him?” Larabee asked.
“Ah, he’s jest a li’l broke. Ain’t nuthin’ a drink won’t fix. Ya gonna tell us where the saloon is or what?”
“This is the saloon,” Larabee informed the man. “I don’t think your friend needs any more alcohol. Saloon’s closed anyway. Seems to me he needs to sleep it off. Maybe I should escort you both to the jail...”
“You a law dawg?” the big man asked as Jesse hid behind him.
“Let’s just say I help keep the peace in this town.”
“Hey, Chris, having problems?”
Larabee turned to see Baker Campbell and Vin Tanner walking towards him. “Nothing I can’t handle,” he answered. The sharpshooter nodded and walked through the batwing doors into the dully lit saloon. Campbell nodded to the newcomers before following the other man into the saloon.
“Thought ya said the saloon’s closed?”
“Don’t make ‘im mad, Frank,” Jesse’s voice trembled as he watched the black clad gunslinger.
Frank turned to his friend and shook his head. “Ain’t nuthin’ ta worry ‘bout, Jesse, I kin ‘andle ‘im.”
Larabee’s eyebrows rose as he heard the simply spoken words. This man had confidence, but Larabee knew he lacked the finesse needed to be fast with a gun. Chris had no doubt the man could use the gun to kill, but he knew it wouldn’t be in a gunfight, least not a fair one. “If you boys are gonna have a few drinks then you’d better make sure you stay out of trouble,” he warned.
“Ain’t gonna cause no trouble, Mister. Jest need ta git rid...”
“Of the trail dust,” Larabee finished and turned to walk into the saloon.
“Come on, Jesse, I’ll buy ya a drink, make ya feel like a new man,” Frank told him.
“My head hurts,” Jesse told him as he leaned heavily on his arm.
“Let me see,” Frank ordered and lifted the hat. The bandage wrapped around his head was tinged with blood and Frank frowned as he touched the edge causing Jesse to hiss in pain. “Ya gotta let it rest or it ain’t gonna git any better. Ya want ta git a room and sleep?”
“It can wait until you get your drink, but...”
“But nuthin’, Jesse. Don’t let that law dawg worry ya. I kin handle ‘im if’n it come ta that. Let’s go git that drink.” He had a confidence only granted to the simple minded, someone who didn’t really understand what was right and what was wrong. The bandage on his friend’s head meant little to Frank except that Jesse must have been hurt, the how or why didn’t dawn on him. The gun at his waist also meant little, he knew it could kill if he pointed it at someone, but he didn’t understand how it worked. He just knew he had to point and shoot and the man he pointed it at usually fell to the ground. Even this simple action didn’t always compute in the simple mind, it just happened and there were no misgivings about what he’d done. Frank held tightly to Jesse’ arm and hurried into the saloon.
Peters rode quietly towards the town of Four Corners. It wouldn’t be long before he met and bested Chris Larabee. It never entered his mind that he would lose; the killing of Billy Smith had boosted his confidence. He thought about the men he’d killed since becoming a hired gun. Some had been gunslingers with years of experience, others had been like Smith, young and fast, but lacking what it took to kill a man. He’d made his first killing at the age of fifteen and looking back, realized he’d been fast even then. Years of practice made him what he was and he was proud of the name he’d made for himself. He’d never shot a man in the back and he never would. A gunslinger who was fast didn’t need to stoop that low. Jake watched as two men rode towards him, nodded a greeting as he passed them, and felt their eyes on him as he continued towards town.
Buck turned his head and watched the man ride tall in the saddle. He frowned at the tied down gun showing under the long white duster.
JD sensed his friend’s apprehension and turned to his companion. “Buck, is something wrong?”
“Not sure, Kid, there’s something about that fella.”
“You know him?”
“I don’t think so, but I know the type.”
“Type?”
“Yeah. He’s got all the markings of a gunslinger.”
“You think he’s heading for town?”
“Where else would he be going, Kid? I think we’re finished our patrol,” Wilmington said. There was something about the man’s eyes that caught his attention and instinct told him this man was not good news. He turned his horse around and rode back towards town, knowing JD Dunne was following close behind.
“Those two have been at it all day,” Jackson observed of the two men seated at the table by the bar.
“I don’t think the two of them have been at it all day. It seems to me that young fella hasn’t touched that drink since Inez served it to him,” Sanchez told them.
“He does seem to be making it last,” Jackson said.
“Perhaps a lack of funds is a contributing factor in the young man making his drink last,” Standish observed as he expertly shuffled a deck of cards.
“I don’t think so. His friend’s been drinking enough for both of ‘em and he doesn’t seem to have run out of coins yet,” Larabee told them.
“Neither one of ‘em seems too bright,” Vin observed as the bigger of the two turned to look around the nearly empty saloon.
“The way that young one looks at Chris you’d think he was scared to death of him,” Jackson said.
“Yeah, well, if’n ya didn’t know Chris ya’d probably be afraid of ‘im too, Nathan. I mean there’s not too many people can glare quite like Larabee,” Tanner laughed as he refilled his whiskey glass.
“Ya aimin’ to get shot, Vin,” Larabee’s voice was cold, but the grin on his face told the others he wasn’t serious. A commotion at the bar had the five peacekeepers instantly on alert.
“Ah, come on, Senorita, gimme one more. I got money. See?” He slapped a few coins on the bar and grinned drunkenly at the dark haired woman.
“Money does not matter, Senor, you’ve had enough,” Inez told him as she slid his coins back to him.
Chris watched as Jesse lifted his head and looked straight at him before the young man’s eyes dropped to the floor once more. He shook his head knowing he had this effect on a number of people, but never to this extent. Jesse seemed to shrivel up whenever Chris glanced his way.
“Come on, Pretty Lady, jest one more,” Frank tried.
Josiah Sanchez stood up and walked to the bar, smiling at the woman standing behind it. “I’ll take a beer, Inez.”
“Right away, Senor,” Inez said as she turned back away to get a clean glass.
“Come on, Senorita,” he looked at the big man beside him before turning back to the bar. “Tell her, Mister, tell her ta gimme one more whiskey,” Frank whined.
“Seems to me you’ve had enough for today,” Sanchez told him.
“Here, Frank, drink mine and let’s get out of here.”
“But, Jesse, ya ain’t had nothin’ ta drink all day.”
“I don’t feel like drinking. Take mine.”
“Ya sure?” Frank asked even as he lifted the shot and downed the fiery liquid. “Still need the little lady ta gimme one more,” Frank complained.
“Well, she’s not gonna do that,” Sanchez told him as he took the beer from Inez. “Now, I’d say it’s time you took your friend’s advice, otherwise there’s a room in the jail just waitin’ for both of you.”
“Ah, hell,” Frank said as he reached for his friend’s arm. “Where’s the hotel or does this place have one?”
“Come on and I’ll show you where it is,” Sanchez told the two men. He frowned as the younger man stood up and swayed, but stayed on his feet as the bigger man held onto his arm.
“Come on, Jesse, let’s git a room fer the night.” He leered towards Inez and watched her movements. “Maybe fer a few nights,” he mumbled drunkenly.
The two men passed the table where Larabee, Tanner, Jackson, and Standish sat. Again the young man kept his eyes downcast and wouldn’t look at the gunslinger.
Jake Peters dismounted and tied his horse to the hitching post just outside the livery. He looked down the single dusty street searching for the man he knew was one of the peacekeepers in Four Corners. He knew of Larabee propensity for wearing black and watched as three men exited the building a short distance away. One man leaned heavily against the other, while a third seemed to be pointing something out to them. Neither man matched the description of Chris Larabee.
Jake moved towards the saloon, his eyes constantly shifting as he searched the town. The street was all but deserted as the sun began the final part of its journey. The two men he’d seen on first entering the town walked towards what could only be a hotel, as the third one turned his gaze his way.
Josiah watched the newcomer as he moved towards him. There was something about the way the duster draped down the body, and covered the gun at his waste, that warned the ex-preacher he could be trouble. He leaned heavily against the post and waited for the man to come nearer and was surprised to see him stop in the middle of the street.
“I’m lookin for a man named Chris Larabee,” the newcomer told him.
Josiah stared at the man even as his eyes caught sight of two riders coming into town. He was used to keeping track of things around him and wasn’t surprised to see Baker Campbell come out of the hotel. He knew Campbell was a friend of Larabee’s but there were things about him he didn’t quite trust. His eyes shifted back to the newcomer even as Buck and JD dismounted outside the livery and strode towards them.
Chris heard a strange voice asking about him and knew the others heard as well. He stood and moved towards the door, his body tensing as instinct kicked in. Something about the tone told him this would end in gunplay. He felt his men watching and knew they’d follow him out the door and ensure no one interfered. Larabee pushed the doors open and joined Sanchez on the boardwalk. His eyes flashed up and down the street as he recognized the stance of the man standing alone. The man was a gunslinger and he was ready to test himself. Chris knew he was about to be called out once more.
Peters recognized the black clad man as he stepped through the batwing door. He smiled as he saw a similar spirit in Larabee as the gunman walked out into the dusty street. There was no fear in the man’s eyes, but again he hadn’t expected any. This was a test, one that would prove once and for all that he was the best.
“I’m Larabee, who the Hell are you?”
“The name’s Jake Peters.” He smiled as he heard gasps from the townspeople who hid behind open windows and doors. His reputation was well known, even the people of this little berg knew who he was.
“Is that supposed to mean something to me?” Larabee asked seriously and was rewarded when a hint of anger passed across his nemesis’ face. He knew who Peters was, but it was always good to keep your foe guessing and never give away too much of yourself.
Peters watched as six men took up positions around the gunslinger. One in particular seemed to hover close by. This man’s hair was long, his body clad in buckskin, but what caught his attention were the twin beacons of danger staring at him from below a tilted hat. His gaze returned to Larabee and he smiled thinly. “You gonna hide behind these men, Larabee?”
“I don’t need to hide behind anyone,” Larabee said as he walked out into the street. He caught sight of Mary Travis being pulled into Gloria Potter’s store and sighed in relief that she was out of danger. He knew the others had made everyone get inside as soon as a hint of danger was known. A slight movement caught his attention and he knew Baker Campbell was watching the everything as well.
Campbell watched with growing interest as his long time friend faced down the man in the street. He saw Peters’ right hand flick back his coat and his fingers began to flex in readiness. He knew beyond a doubt Larabee could best this man, but he wanted to see the reactions of the town and in particular Vin Tanner. He needed to know where this man stood and why Chris Larabee would befriend a wanted man with a price on his head. He leaned against the corner of the hotel and waited to see the outcome of the draw.
Peters knew as long as it was a fair fight he would not be charged with Larabee’s killing. The benefits of having bested such a well known gunslinger was all that really mattered. He already had a pretty good reputation, but this would be his crowning achievement.
Four Corners was deathly quiet, the soft wind that had blown the dust in small swirls seemed to have been vanquished by the threat of gunfire. Nothing moved behind the dark silent windows, yet the townspeople stared out of the shadows.
Chris faced the man who’d called him out as Jake Peters glared back under a wide brimmed hat. Chris could see the man set himself. Chris’ green eyes were unreadable as he brought forth what was needed for him to be the deadly, calculating gunslinger he needed to be. People, buildings, horses, birds, anything that surrounded him ceased to exist as he called on what he was, what he’d always be, a gunslinger. Yet, Chris Larabee was also a man, one who fought on the right side of the law. He would never break the law, but at times like this he was forced to do something that went against everything he believed in. His reputation as a gunslinger followed him everywhere, yet this town had grown to accept who he was, not what he was. He no longer considered himself ‘The Bad Element’ and neither did the people of Four Corners.
Larabee watched Peters, ignoring everything but the man before him. he watched as the fingers on the gunslinger’s right hand flexed, yet stayed just where they were. His own hand hovered at his gun, but his fingers remained set, ready to move the instant Jake Peters showed any sign he was ready to draw.
“Are your men gonna draw down on me when I kill you, Larabee?”
“My men won’t need to interfere, Peters,” Chris assured him with a cocky grin. Chris watched as a droplet of sweat slowly ran down the man’s bobbing Adam’s Apple and knew the time was drawing near. His green gaze grew deadly, his body set in a rigid stance as he watched Peters hand go for his gun.
Larabee’s right hand dropped with lightening speed, the Colt pulled from it’s resting place, before he even thought about what he was doing.
Peters knew he’d made a fatal mistake the minute he drew on the man in black. His gun came up, just as fast as Larabee, but he felt something slam into his chest, a millisecond after he fired. Looking down at his shirt as the his gun dropped from numbed fingers, his right hand useless, as a blossoming red stain grew from a hole in his chest. The gunman’s heart pounded in his chest, yet he knew he was dying. Larabee’s shot had been true, and Jake Peters slid the rest of the way to the ground.
Larabee knew he’d met his match in Jake Peters, at least speed wise, but Peters forgot about accuracy. Chris’ own bullet struck exactly where he knew it would and he smiled in spite of the lancing pain in his head. The man in black heard the town come back to life, even as he lifted his hand to his head. He winced as his fingers found a groove along the left side of his head, above and to the left of his eye. His hands came away bloody, and he frowned as he realized something was wrong.
“Easy, Chris, I got ya,” Tanner said as he rushed to his friend’s side. The draw had been too close to call and for an instant he wasn’t sure who won. Then he’d seen the blood on Peters’ chest and watched as the gunman gave up his life in the middle of the street. He knew the man was dead before he hit the ground.
“Help me get him to the clinic, Vin” Jackson ordered as he saw the blood flowing down Larabee’s left cheek.
Chris felt strong hands on his arms as he blinked to focus his eyes. “Dammit!” he swore as his vision blurred even further and his legs grew shaky. His stomach rebelled and he lost its contents in the center of the street. Again and again he blinked, ignoring the voices around him. Lights flashed, grey, almost twilight, his vision worsening with each step he took. Light, dark, light dark, he felt like someone was turning the sun on and off and he groaned as he felt someone grab his arms and pull them over their shoulders. The buildings seemed to shift and fade to grey with each blink. Twilight, dark, twilight, dark, he felt dizzy as he struggled to focus on the things around him. He knew something was wrong as his vision continued to worsen. He felt the steps in front of him and knew they were headed for Jackson’s clinic. He blinked again and again, a low hiss escaping as pain lanced through his skull. He knew he was in trouble as each blink of his eyes revealed complete and utter darkness. His body trembled and he knew the two men helping him were worried, but he couldn’t find the energy to form the necessary words to quell their worry. He opened his eyes once more and one word crept into his mind, ‘Blind!’ he thought as he gave into the pain and shock.
Vin and Nathan felt the lean body go slack in their arms as they reached the landing of the clinic. They reached down and scooped Larabee’s legs and carried him to the door. Nathan was about to release his hold when a distraught Buck Wilmington reached for the handle.
“Nathan, is he alright?” the ladies’ man asked breathlessly. He’d left the others to take care of Peters and came up to see if he could help. Truth was he needed to see if his long time friend was okay. The sight of Larabee’s head snapping back kept replaying in his mind and he wasn’t sure whether the blond gunslinger was dead or alive.
“I don’t know, Buck,” Jackson said as they carried the unconscious man to the bed. They eased him down on the mattress and heard a commotion outside the clinic. No one was surprised to see Sanchez, Standish and Dunne entered. Mary Travis came in right behind them.
“Chris!” Mary’s face paled as she saw the blood on the left side of Larabee’s face. She hurried to his side and reached for his hand, ignoring proper decorum in loo of Chris Larabee’s injury.
“Mary, I need to check his head,” Jackson said as he watched her smooth the hair away from the grisly looking wound. “Mary,” he called again to the distraught woman.
Mary lifted her tear stained face to the healer, her voice filled with the raw pain she felt. “I can help you, Nathan.”
“Mary, I know you want to help, but not right now.” Jackson could see how badly shaken she was and knew she was having flashbacks of Steven Travis’ murder.
“But...”
“He’ll need you more when he wakes up, Mary,” Buck said as he took her arm and all but lifted her up to her feet.
Mary knew he was right, but wanted to stay. Her eyes kept filling with tears as she looked at the pale man on the bed. “He’ll be all right won’t he, Buck?” she asked.
Buck smiled in spite of his own doubts. “Ya know he will, Mary. Ain’t a bullet been made that can take down Chris Larabee. Now, why don’t you go make sure Billy doesn’t hear this from anyone else?”
“Billy...I left him with Gloria. She’ll make sure he stays there.”
“I know she will, Mary, but he needs to hear this from you not from someone else.”
“You’ll come get me as soon as Nathan’s finished with him?”
“Nothing will keep me away,” Buck assured her. “Come on, I’ll go with you.” He looked back to see Jackson cleaning the gash on Larabee’s head and helped the shaky woman out of the clinic.
“Josiah, get the carbolic and add it to the water!” Jackson ordered as he held a clean bandage to the still bleeding wound. “Vin, hold that for me!”
Tanner held the bandage to the wound and watched as Jackson moved around the clinic getting the things he’d need to take care of the gunslinger.
Baker Campbell leaned against the doorframe watching everything that happened in the small clinic. He was worried about Larabee, but his instincts kept him watching from a distance. His eyes fell on the two men at the back of the clinic. Vin Tanner held a cloth to Larabee’s head, a dark red stain forming as he held it in place. Campbell still couldn’t understand how this quiet man had a 500-dollar bounty on his head. Vin was an enigma to him. Most murderers steered clear of friends, knowing they could be used against them, yet Tanner seemed to have been accepted by the six men, including Chris Larabee. He knew Larabee didn’t cotton to murderers, especially after what he’d heard about Larabee’s family being murdered. That meant Tanner was either innocent or the best actor ever to grace the west. He still opted for the latter, at least it eased his conscience a little. He took a deep breath and entered the clinic.
“How is he?” Campbell asked.
“He’s got a nasty head wound and it’s gonna take some stitches to close it up,” Jackson explained as he walked back to the bed and placed the instruments on the table. “Thanks, Josiah,” he said as the ex-preacher placed a basin of warm, carbolic laced water on the table. “All right, Vin, ease it off for a minute.”
Tanner eased the stained bandage away from the wound, relieved when he saw the heavy crimson flow had all but stopped. The wound was approximately two inches long and fairly deep. The raw edges were ragged and a deep multi colored bruise was already forming around the swollen area.
Nathan used a cloth soaked in the carbolic and water to clean the area. He winced as the wound continued to seep blood. He pressed it to the swollen area for a few seconds and was relieved to find the flow had finally stopped. He turned to the other men in the room and saw the worry etched on each face.
“I’m gonna need to put some stitches in. I’m not sure if he’ll wake up or not, but I’m not gonna take any chances. Josiah, Baker, hold his legs still. Vin, it’ll be up to you to keep him down if he wakes up. Ya all know how this feels and there ain’t nothin’ I can do if he starts to buck.” He waited for the men to take their places, and picked up the needle Standish had sterilized in the boiling water and whiskey.
Campbell couldn’t take his eyes off the steady hand of the healer as he put in a neat row of stitches. He remembered seeing doctors who were trained for this type of thing, and their work had been shoddy compared to this. The hands were careful and tender as they eased the broken skin together. Campbell shuddered as he remembered the reason he owed Chris Larabee so much.
“Are you okay, Baker?” Sanchez asked as he noticed a shudder race through the other man.
“I’m fine,” Campbell closed his eyes and felt his stomach churn as flashes of memory surfaced. His gun, a bottle of whiskey, bullets, a letter, a young cadet coming towards him, his own hand reaching for the weapon and placing it at his skull...a glimpse of a blond head and blurry body as he was thrown from the chair...the sound of a gun firing and a young man lying on the ground... ‘blood, so much blood,’ he thought as he opened his eyes and was back in the present.
Jackson finished the last stitch and wasn’t sure if he was relieved that Larabee hadn’t made a sound. He sat back in his chair and rinsed his hands in the clean water Ezra brought him. “Thanks, Ez,” he said as he reached for a clean bandage.
“You’re most welcome, Mr. Jackson,” the gambler said, and joined JD by the small stove to wait for the healer to tell them how serious the wound was.
Nathan placed the bandage on Larabee’s head and reached for a thin strip lying on the table. “All right, Vin, lift him up a little so I can wrap this around his head.” It didn’t take long for the healer to finish his ministrations and he turned to the men in the clinic. “Ain’t much more I can do except keep it clean. Won’t know nothin’ else until he’s awake. Probably gonna have a hell of a headache though so let’s try and keep it quiet in here.”
“How long before he wakes up?” Dunne asked.
“Ain’t no way to say for sure, JD. That depends on Chris. Right now I want you all out of here so he can rest peaceably.”
“I’ll stick around, Nate,” the sharpshooter said.
Campbell was again amazed at how a man who was supposed to be a murderer could show so much concern for another. He stood and left with the others, vowing once more not to let Vin Tanner get under his skin. A bounty was a bounty and it was issued for a wanted man, and that’s exactly what Vin Tanner was. His friendship with Chris Larabee was second to that.
“I’m gonna go tell Mary and Buck what’s happening,” Josiah said as he followed Campbell out the door.
JD and Ezra nodded to Vin and Nathan before leaving, knowing the two men would let everyone know as soon as the gunslinger woke up.
Nathan looked at the two men left in the clinic. He knew how unique their friendship was, had witnessed it time and again when the two used a silent signal to get their point across. A simple nod of the head or a shrug of the shoulders was all that was needed to let the other man know what was happening. Jackson had never seen that connection before and knew he’d never see it again.
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