Against his will, Chris felt his anger cooling before the big man's words, and a slight, wry smile ghosted about his mouth. "I guess it's a good thing we're not both havin' our moments at the same time."Josiah chuckled and shook his head. "God help us if that ever happens! One'a you at a time is hard enough on a man's nerves. Both of you together . . . " He shuddered dramatically. "It just don't bear thinkin' about."
Chris stared off into the distance, and his smile gave way to a worried frown. "I just wish he'd waited. He had to know somebody would've gone after the bastards! It didn't have to be him--"
"In his mind, it did," Josiah contradicted quietly. "He considers what happened to Ezra and JD to be his fault. And that makes it his responsibility to make it right. You know him better than any of us, Chris, you know his honor, his loyalty, and his pride. And this struck at all three of them. Right now, that bullet graze is the least of Vin's wounds."
"It wasn't his fault!" Chris said loudly, harshly, his anger rekindling. "Goddamn it, Josiah, if I hear one more person sayin' that--"
"I'm not sayin' it was, Chris," Josiah said pointedly, his patience wearing thin. "I'm tellin' you what Vin thinks!" He drew a deep breath and exhaled slowly, and tried to regain his calm. "Put yourself in his place," he said quietly. "Try seein' this as he does. Not as you want him to, but as he does. We are his. We are his friends, his family, his brothers. And I believe you know, probably better than anyone, how fiercely he guards and protects anything that is his. The moment that boy let us behind that wall of his, we became his responsibility. And you know how seriously Vin takes his responsibilities." He frowned at Chris. "Surely you know that's why he prowls those roofs like he does when there's trouble, why he goes sailin' from one to another, givin' no thought to the bullets flyin' around him. Because all that matters to him is keepin' us safe."
"But he can't watch all of us!" Chris said with a quiet intensity. "Damn it, Josiah, there were eighteen of them! And nobody can expect Vin to be everywhere at once, watchin' everybody at once! It's just not possible!"
Josiah shrugged. "Try tellin' that to him." He sighed heavily, and his blue eyes grew sad. "He didn't get his shot off in time to keep Ezra from gettin' shot. Got the bastard who did it, but not until after. And JD . . . " He winced and shook his graying head slowly. "JD called out to him just before he ran out into that street. Called for Vin to cover him. But Vin couldn't, because he was hurt himself. And JD went down. Then those last two outlaws got away. Normally, Vin could've stopped 'em without thinkin' about it. Just fixed those hawk's eyes of his on 'em, brought that rifle up and dropped 'em. But he didn't. He couldn't. And they got away." He leaned forward in his saddle and held Chris's gaze with his own, determined to make him understand. "In Vin's mind, we were dependin' on him, Ezra and JD were dependin' on him, and he let us down. He failed us. And that sense of failure is what's drivin' him to do this."
"But what is this?" Chris asked, waving a hand around the empty countryside. "Revenge?"
Josiah shook his head. "Not revenge," he intoned sadly. "Redemption."
<><><><><><><><><><>
Reed swore harshly, foully, and kicked savagely at the rocks around him as his anger boiled over. Goddamn Carlton for getting him into this! Goddamn him for going along with it!
And goddamn Hallett for not dying fast enough!
He looked around and snorted in disgust. They'd stopped again, because Hallett had fallen off his damn horse. And wouldn't be getting back on. He was dying, but he wasn't dead yet. Just kept hanging on, like he had something to live for.
And now Reed was stuck here with him, would be stuck until Hallett died, because he'd promised the bastard he wouldn't run out on him. And as low as he'd sunk in his life, he hadn't reached the point where he'd break a promise to a dying man.
He had enough enemies among the living. He didn't need anybody coming after him from hell!
He looked up at the sky. Almost noon now, and he wasn't anywhere near being as far from that shithole of a town as he wanted to be.
Seven lawmen. And not just any seven, but those seven. God Almighty, what had Carlton been thinking? And what had he been thinking when he'd joined him?
And now one of them was out there, after them. He'd caught a glimpse, seen the barest flash of something on the horizon, and just knew it was one of those damned regulators. But that had been hours ago, and the bastard was too far away then for Reed to really see him, even to know where he was. Still, he had to be closer now.
Because Reed and Hallett had stopped.
Because Hallett was dying, though not fast enough.
And now Reed was stuck here, trapped, between a dying man he couldn't leave and a goddamned regulator he couldn't see.
Goddamn it all to hell, what had he been thinking?
<><><><><><><><><><>
Vin lay on his belly among the rocks and brush and stared through his spyglass, trying to bring the images in the glass into focus. He forced all awareness of his pain, his weariness, into the back of his mind and willed himself to concentrate instead on his quarry.
He was closing in on them. He knew it, could feel it. Even though he could not yet see them, had seen little more of them than flickering shadows on the horizon, his every hunter's instinct told him he was getting closer.
And once again, he sent a silent thought of gratitude to whichever one of his friends had put that bullet into one of the bastards. Though he was not one to relish another's suffering, he understood the tactical advantage of wounding a man rather than killing him outright. It put a burden on those riding with him, slowed them down, distracted them.
And Vin had a real hard time mustering any sympathy for the son of a bitch carrying that bullet. He figured the bastard had earned it when he'd ridden in with his pards, tried to rob the bank, shot the hell out of the town and left Ezra and JD bleeding in the streets.
Yep, if the son of a bitch was lucky, he'd be hurt too badly to put up any kind of fight and force Vin to lose two days of worry, frustration and rage on him.
Vin swept the glass again over the vista stretching out before him, and allowed himself a tight, feral smile. They'd gone just where he thought they would, were holed up now at Round Rock Springs. Likely they thought the high area, protected by the huge boulders that gave the place its name, would give them cover from any potential threat.
And ordinarily it might.
Unless what threatened them was Vin Tanner, who knew every inch of that ground, knew every way there was to approach it. And, who knew how to make himself damn near invisible.
<><><><><><><><><><>
"Bu . . . uck?"
Wilmington snapped out of sleep and jerked upright in his chair at the weak but wonderfully sweet summons from the bed. Smiling hugely in deep relief, his blue eyes shining brilliantly, he leaned over and took one of JD's hands between his two bigger ones, all but laughing aloud as two wide, fever-free hazel eyes stared up at him in confusion.
"'Bout time you woke up, son," he said with all the gentle affection this boy roused in him. "Been almighty quiet around here without your yammerin'. Hell, I was even startin' ta miss them God-awful jokes'a yours!"
"You're so . . . full . . . of crap," JD breathed, smiling fondly up at the big man.
"Yeah, but at least I ain't the one runnin' out in front'a no damn bullets," Buck scolded tenderly. "How many times have I gotta tell ya, son -- if you c'n see the bad guys, they c'n see you. You ain't invisible, y'know."
JD swallowed and squeezed Buck's hand weakly. "Couldn't . . . let 'em . . . get away," he murmured. "Had . . . had . . . to stop 'em." He searched Wilmington's face intently. "Did we?"
Buck sighed. "Well, most of 'em. Two got away, but sixteen didn't. So I guess we did pretty good."
The young sheriff frowned. "Two . . . Anybody . . . goin' after 'em?"
"Yeah," Buck answered, now forcing his smile. He figured JD didn't need to know the whole truth just yet. "Vin, Chris and Josiah. Chris came back last night," he added, seeing JD's confusion. "They left this mornin'."
It wasn't a complete lie . . .
JD nodded, and let his eyes close. "Hurts, Buck," he breathed, sliding a hand to his bandaged chest.
"I know it does, son," Buck sighed, hating that the boy had to know such pain. "But you're gonna be fine. Just need some rest, and some'a Nathan's good care. Then you'll be back ta botherin' Casey and tellin' them damn jokes in no time."
"Casey . . . likes . . . my jokes," JD protested weakly, feeling sleep rising to claim him.
"Well, hell, I'm disappointed ta hear that," Buck said with mock sorrow, glad to see the boy's body relaxing. "Here I thought she was a smart young lady!"
JD smiled sleepily. "So . . . full . . . "
"Yeah, yeah, I know," Buck whispered as JD drifted off. "I just wish I could tell ya how glad I am you're still here ta tell me!"
<><><><><><><><><><>
Chris squatted and pushed his hat back on his head, studying the dark ground before him. "Somebody's bleedin' awful bad," he said grimly, remembering all the patches they'd come across before this one. "Leavin' a helluva trail." He pointed at a familiar bootheel print in the dirt. "Vin's," he said tersely.
Josiah stared at the print and frowned. "You sure?"
Chris nodded, pointing to a flaw in the print. "Yep. See this? He stepped on a nail about a month ago, workin' on Nettie's roof. Put a hole in his heel, cracked it some. And the damn fool won't get it fixed. 'Ain't botherin' me none,' he says." He smiled grimly. "Hell, I reckon it'll do more'n bother him someday when he goes ta fightin' Peso and the damn horse tears that heel right off!"
Josiah chuckled and shook his head, his hands set on his hips. "Those two are a pair, aren't they? Anybody but Vin would'a shot Peso by now, and Lord knows that foul-tempered horse would've killed anybody else long ago. Never seen a man and beast so well suited to each other."
"Yeah," Chris grunted, rising to his feet. "Two ornery, mule-headed sonsabitches who between 'em don't have any sense at all." He turned and surveyed their surroundings, scowling deeply. "Well?" he demanded irritably. "Where d'you think they're headed?"
Josiah squinted into the distance and thought. "One of 'em's wounded, and pretty bad by the look of things. They're gonna need water, and soon." He rubbed a hand over his bearded chin, going over what he knew of the area. "Digger's Creek is close, but they're goin' in the wrong direction for that. The way they're headed, their best chance is Round Rock Springs."
"Shit!" Chris swore softly, his gaze still searching the horizon as if he thought to see Vin there. "That's more'n half a day's ride from here!" He narrowed his eyes and scowled tightly in concentration. "Mud Creek's closer--"
"Can't count on findin' water there this time'a year," Josiah said. "And even if there is water, it ain't worth drinkin'. Not until the rains come." He shook his head stubbornly. "Nope, I'm thinkin' they'd head for Round Rock Springs. It's a sure thing. Ever'body around here knows that."
Chris turned and fixed cold eyes on the big man. "And if we're wrong, we lose half a day's ridin'," he ground out harshly.
Josiah returned the stare evenly. "And if we go to Mud Creek and we're wrong," he said quietly, "then we add four or five hours to that half-day's ride. Besides, they need cover as much as they need water," he pointed out. "They at least have ta suspect they're bein' followed. Ain't nothin' but flat, open ground around Mud Creek. That's the last place two men on the run, one of 'em wounded, wanta be." His gaze softened as he stared at the seething gunfighter. "Wantin' 'em ta be closer won't make it so, Chris," he said quietly. "They're goin' ta Round Rock Springs. I'd stake my life on it."
"And Vin's?" Larabee hissed, his green eyes glinting. "Are ya willin' ta stake his life on it, too?"
<><><><><><><><><><>
Vin stared up at the endless blue sky, plotted the path the sun would follow, then lowered his gaze to the terrain and tracked that same path there, studying where and how shadows would fall on the uneven, rocky ground, and deciding how best to make his approach. It would be a much longer, more roundabout way than he desired, would likely take two or three hours, and some of that spent lying in place, waiting for still more shadows to unfold. But it was only way he could do it and not be seen . . .
He scooted back below the crest of the rise where he'd lain and sat up, studying Peso. He'd have to leave the big horse here; he couldn't risk riding any further and being seen. But there was sufficient grazing for an animal too trailwise to be picky, and a small spring, part of the underground stream that fed this whole area, provided water. And, in less than an hour, this part of the ground would be in shadow, giving relief from the heat.
He just had to make sure the damn horse was tied securely enough that he wouldn't wander off.
"Yer a goddamn nuisance," he told Peso as he stood and went to him. "Any other horse'd be grateful fer what he's got here an' stay. But I know you. You'd wander from a mountain meadow to a goddamn desert just outta sheer cussedness."
Peso twitched an ear, but otherwise ignored him.
Vin tested the horse's lead, made sure it was so securely tied not even Peso could slip it or work it loose, shaking his head the whole while. "Ain't ever seen such a horse fer untyin' knots 'n wanderin' off," he fussed. "Hell, if I had the time, I'd hobble ya, too. But I know it wouldn't do no good." Peso was one of the few horses he'd seen who'd learned to run in hobbles, moving his forelegs in a hopping, rabbit-like motion. "Goddamn mule," he growled, reaching out to give the powerful black neck a rough caress. "One'a these days, I'm gonna take ya back ta Mexico, find the feller I gotcha from 'n git my peso back. Then we'll see how high 'n mighty y'are."
Peso brought his head down and around and shoved it into the tracker's chest, though with nothing like the force he was capable of showing. And he held it there, obviously waiting.
With a scowl, Vin gave in and scratched behind one silky ear until the gelding nearly purred from pleasure. "Damn mule," he said softly, fondly. "Gonna make me shoot ya yet." He slid his hand under the horse's powerful jaw and lifted the big head until he was looking into Peso's eyes. "You best be here when I git back, here?" he growled. "If'n I have ta come lookin' fer ya, y'ain't gonna like it one little bit when I find ya!"
When Peso merely jerked his head free and returned to his grazing, Vin walked around and slid his rifle from its scabbard. He reached into a saddlebag, drew out a box of shells, and shoved it into the pocket of his coat.
He didn't particularly want to get into another shooting war, but he'd oblige the bastards if they forced one.
He took a long drink from his canteen, then cast one last glance up at the sky and nodded. It was time.
Again ignoring his relentless headache, forcing himself instead to see Ezra and JD falling, he let his anger, his fury rise, then turned it to cold purpose. He'd failed once, but he wouldn't fail again. Here and now, he was going to make it right so he could go back and face his friends.
He closed his eyes, drew a deep, calming breath and let the familiar stillness spread through him.
Then let the hawk in him fly free to hunt.
<><><><><><><><><><>
Chris rode like a man possessed, pushing his black for all it was worth, gripped by a deepening sense of foreboding. He had long since ceased following any trail, no longer even made a pretense of looking at the ground for tracks. He cared only about reaching Round Rock Springs as fast as his horse could get him there.
About getting to Vin and stopping the damn fool from getting himself killed . . .
Josiah had to push his sorrel harder than he liked to keep pace with Chris, and he whispered apology after apology to the game horse, promising he would somehow make it up to him. But he knew better than to protest this reckless pace, or to urge Chris to slow down, knew there was no point in either. He recognized the cold glint in the green eyes, the hard set to the chiseled jaw, the tightness of the lean, black-clad body. Some alarm had sounded in the gunfighter, some instinct for trouble had been aroused. And Josiah had only to look in that grim, fierce face to know what had triggered that alarm.
Vin.
Josiah wasn't surprised Chris knew Vin was in trouble, didn't have to ask how he knew. The bond between Larabee and Tanner was like nothing the preacher had ever seen before. It wasn't friendship, wasn't even kinship, but something far deeper, far stronger, and far more alive. It joined the two at their souls, so that even when they were separated, they were never truly apart. Sanchez had spent time among visionaries, shamen, prophets and holy men in all parts of the world, yet never had he, in all his studies and travels, experienced anything more truly mystical than the spiritual communion between the brooding, hardened gunman and the unschooled, illiterate tracker.
And now that communion was driving Chris onward, warning him that the man who was so much more than a brother was in danger and needed his help.
Josiah murmured another apology to his horse and spurred him after Chris's racing black, all the while offering silent, fervent prayers that they would not be too late.
<><><><><><><><><><>
Ezra watched as Nathan checked JD's wound and changed the boy's bandages, and saw the healer's dark brow furrow deeply with a worry the gambler knew had nothing to do with the young sheriff. JD was doing even better than Jackson had hoped, breathing easily and showing not the slightest sign of fever, his young and vigorous constitution rallying to his aid.
In fact, JD was doing so well that Buck had been willing to leave his side, get a meal and a bath and take a stroll around the town just to make sure that all was well. So there had to be another cause for Nathan's obvious anxiety, and Ezra knew only too well what it was.
"Chris and Josiah will find him," he drawled quietly.
Nathan was startled by the soft voice, and spun around to meet the gambler's knowing green gaze. "You s'posed ta be sleepin'!" he scolded more sharply than he'd intended.
Ezra smiled slightly. "I fear the palliative effects of your medications have diminished most lamentably, and the discomfort in my shoulder has grown so intrusive as to make sleep quite impossible. Besides," he grimaced, "the sun is in my eyes, and it's not a sensation I find pleasant."
Nathan smirked. "Hell, Ezra, I'm surprised you know what sunlight is. Ain't somethin' you see much of."
"Yes, well, if this is all there is to it, then I assure you, Mr. Jackson, it is entirely over-rated." He cast a look of disgust at the healer. "I cannot fathom why so many seemingly discerning persons consider it so appealing!"
Nathan had to chuckle at that. He knew the gambler loathed mornings, and would not get out of bed before noon unless forced at gunpoint. And once up, the man preferred the dark interior of a saloon to almost any other place on earth.
"You know folks is always sayin' things look better in th' light'a day," Nathan said.
Ezra snorted derisively. "Nonsense! The light of day is too bright and unforgiving. Darkness, however, holds the allure of covering all defects and flaws, and of softening life's much too harsh and unpleasant realities." He shrugged his good shoulder and regarded Nathan mildly. "In the light, a man is seen for what he is. In darkness, he may be seen for what he wants to be."
Nathan frowned slightly, wondering at the words. Was Standish admitting to such a difference in himself, between the man he was and the man he wanted to be? Was there something the man saw lacking in himself? Or was he just playing with words again?
The healer sighed and shook his head slightly. He and Ezra didn't always agree -- hell, didn't often agree -- in their views, had vastly different outlooks on life. But, where once the healer had been deeply suspicious of the gambler's every action and motive, he'd begun slowly to realize that Standish hid an awful lot under that glib, slick surface, and that much of it was good. Ezra cared about people far more than he'd ever willingly let on, cared more about his six friends than he'd ever admit, and would do almost anything for them.
Nathan would probably never trust his wallet to Ezra, but he'd trust his life to the man without question.
"Still," Ezra went on, made suddenly uncomfortable by the healer's searching gaze and wanting to change the subject, "I suppose in this one instance I must consider the benefits of daylight, as it will no doubt aid Chris and Josiah in their search for Vin. Our intrepid tracker finds it simple enough to disappear in the light of day. I shudder to think what it would require to find him at night."
Nathan's worry returned in full force at that, and he turned away from Standish and made his way to the window, staring through it to the street below. "But he ain't hisse'f," he said softly, anxiously. "Got a head wound that needs tendin'. Damn fool won't take care of it, I know him. He's got one thing on that stubborn mind of his, an' it ain't takin' care'a hisself."
"They'll find him," Ezra said again, wanting to ease Nathan's worry. He knew how the man fretted over any suffering, and often wondered how the former slave, himself the victim of unimaginable cruelties, could still muster such compassion for others when so little had been shown him. Yet that compassionate nature, that need to heal the hurts of the world, was one of the qualities Ezra most respected in the man with whom he was so often at odds. "If anyone can find him, it's Chris. No one knows better how he thinks, or can more accurately anticipate his moves and actions. For all we know, they've found him already and are bringing him back now." He grinned until his gold tooth showed. "Or will, once Chris has taken his appropriate pound of flesh from Mr. Tanner's hide."
A slight grin creased Nathan's face, and a gleam kindled in his dark eyes. "Yeah, Chris wasn't too happy with Vin, was he? Maybe we should hope Vin's hurt. Likely Chris won't shoot'r beat the shit outta a wounded man."
Ezra arched one chestnut brow. "I wouldn't wager any money on that, Mr. Jackson. Vin has a remarkable talent for arousing Chris's ire, even when he's incapacitated. In fact, as a talent, I would say it ranks with his tracking and sharpshooting abilities. As my dear, sainted mother would say, it is one of his 'God-given gifts.'"
Nathan chuckled quietly, his worry chased away by rising good humor. Then, realizing what Ezra had done, he turned to the gambler and gave him a warm smile. "Thanks, Ezra. I appreciate that."
Standish only stared at him, eyes neutral, one eyebrow raised. "I cannot imagine what you are talking about, Mr. Jackson. I have done nothing except engage in meaningless conversation. However," he let his mask slip, and an answering warmth shone in the green eyes, "if you are truly grateful, then perhaps you could close the curtains and block out that damned sun. My constitution will never recover from the shock of having been awake at such an indecent hour!"