Vin halted at the base of the rocks and sank weakly to his haunches, shaking from weakness, breathing hard and bathed in sweat, almost blinded by the worsening pain in his head. Though it had taken every ounce of strength he possessed, he had made it, had only -- somehow -- to haul himself up this wall of rock to be in place above the outlaws' camp.And he'd do it. He wasn't quite sure how, had no idea how he'd force his exhausted body to make the climb, but knew he had no choice. He wanted -- needed -- the high ground, had to be in a position to make sure the two wouldn't escape him again. He wouldn't get more than one shot at this, didn't have more than this one, last try in him, and so had to make this work.
Because there was no way in hell he'd fail his friends again.
He allowed himself nearly an hour's rest in the shadows, and even dozed, though he snapped awake after a short while and cursed himself for such foolishness. Then, grown impatient with his weakness, he hung his rifle over his shoulder with the sling he'd fashioned for it and forced himself to begin the climb. Scrabbling for handholds and footholds, he scaled the rough, uneven jumble of rocks, dirt and brush much more slowly than was his habit, careful to make as little sound as possible. Meanwhile, every instinct, every sense, was on sharp alert, as he listened, watched, even sniffed the still air, for any sign of the outlaws. He was all hunter now, and knew there was no prey more dangerous than a desperate man.
Near the top, he shook his hat off his head. While its wide, low brim offered welcome shade from the blazing late afternoon sun, he did not want to chance having it seen by the men below and giving his presence away. Ignoring the sweat pouring from him, soaking his hair and his clothes, he hauled himself up the last little bit, praying the bastards he was after couldn't hear the heavy pounding of his heart.
And wishing he couldn't feel it in his head...
Finally, hanging suspended by hands and feet from the rocks, he eased his head over the top and scanned the ground before him, searching for a likely spot. He found it then, a shallow, bowl-shaped indentation in the ground, large enough for one man, with rocks and brush enough around it for ample cover. Tossing a quick, silent prayer of thanks to whatever spirit watched over and guided him, he carefully pulled himself over the top and crawled on his belly to the little bowl, suddenly grateful the rains had not yet come.
Else he'd find himself lying in a pool...
Once in the bowl, still on his belly, he replaced his hat on his head and unslung his rifle, then laid it within close he reach. He drew his spyglass from his pocket and pulled it open, put it to his eye and studied the terrain about him, memorizing every feature with his infinite hunter's patience.
Round Rock Springs was a wildly beautiful place, marked by a tumble of huge boulders smoothed by wind and rain, twisted scrub oaks and pinon trees, low craggy ridges and the deep, clear springs that welled from some underground river. The springs dotted the area like beads on a string, and were the only reliable, unfailing source of water for miles around. They were below him, set along a shallow but broad ravine -- probably once a riverbed -- between the ridge on which he was perched and the one across the way. Vin knew this area intimately, came here often, but searched it now with his spyglass as if he'd never seen it before.
Didn't pay to get careless when hunting...
He saw one of them then, the wounded man, lying beneath the scraggly shade of a stunted scrub oak near one of the smaller springs. Vin studied the man for a long while, saw he was not moving, and felt a sharp twinge of uneasiness. There were no horses, and no sign of the second man. If this one were dead, then his partner would likely be gone, taking both horses with him.
"Shit," he hissed, only barely resisting the urge to snap the spyglass shut. But not seeing the second man didn't mean he wasn't there, so stealth -- and silence -- remained important. "Hell, Tanner, you've come this far. What're ya gonna do now?"
He licked his lips, wished mightily he'd brought a canteen, and thought. The last tracks he'd found hadn't been but hours old; the bastard below -- if he were dead -- couldn't have been dead long. Which meant his partner might still be near. And in this ground, with the dirt kept moist and loose by the springs, his tracks would be easy to find.
Vin cast a glance up at the sky. He still had four, maybe five hours of daylight left, plenty of time to pick up the trail. And there'd only be a crescent moon tonight, not nearly enough light to make travel easy or safe. The son of a bitch he was after would have to stop, make camp for the night. Maybe he could catch him then.
But only if he knew which way the bastard was headed.
"Ain't no help fer it then, Tanner," he sighed. "Might's well git on down there, see what you c'n find. Y'ain't gittin' nowheres layin' up here."
He opened the spyglass again and put it to his eye, making one last sweep of the area. Seeing nothing, he closed the glass, slipped it into his pocket and reached for his rifle, taking deep, calming breaths all the while. Then, bracing himself for whatever shots might come, he rose slowly, carefully to his feet.
No shots came. Hearing only a deep, heavy silence, he swallowed hard and tightened his hold on his rifle, then went forward and started slowly down the slope to the ravine below. But the ground beneath him was loose, and he slid down more than walked, sending rocks tumbling down and clouds of dust billowing up, and completely destroying any hope of a stealthy approach.
Still the man on the ground did not move, still no hidden partner appeared to shoot at him. But still Vin's hackles rose ever higher.
"Shit shit shit shit..." he muttered on his slipping, sliding way down, hating this with everything that was in him. His skin crawled, an itch materialized between his shoulders, the hair on his neck refused to lay flat and his every nerve was on knife-sharp edge. His instincts were screaming frantic warnings at him, but he could see no sign at all that he was not the only living person here. "Goddamn you 'n yer bright ideas!" he cursed himself.
Once down in the ravine, he straightened slowly, hefted his rifle in two hands, and went slowly toward the man lying near the spring, his blue eyes never still. He searched the ground thoroughly as he crossed it, lifted his gaze and swept it over the ridges about him, alert for any sight or sound that did not belong. His own tread was noiseless; even his breathing was subdued.
He saw the tracks of two horses and one man -- the other one -- about the spring, saw where the horses had stood to drink, and where the man had knelt to get water himself. As for the bastard under the tree...
Vin went to him, stared down at him, then knelt beside him. Dead, though not for long. And clearly laying where he had fallen.
"Guess ya won't be helpin' me no more by bleedin' all over th' ground fer me," he said resignedly, shaking his head slightly. "Damn, I'm gonna miss that. Ya sure made my work a helluva lot easier."
Sparing not another thought for the dead outlaw, he rose to his feet and went back to the spring, crouching and beginning a thorough search of the area. He saw where the horses had wandered to graze, found where the second man had stretched himself out on the ground to get some rest. And gave a wolfish smile.
"Well, hell, if'n ya took time fer a nap, then y'ain't so far ahead'a me after all! Lazy bastard like you d'serves ta be caught. Ya give more hard-workin' outlaws a bad name. Wonder if'n yer stupid, too?" He hoped so. Stupid outlaws could be annoying as hell, but they were also generally easy to catch.
He got up, went back to the spring, picked up the track of one of the horses, and scratched his jaw in puzzlement. Walking in wider circles around the spring, he stared at the ground and frowned, not liking what he saw.
Lots of horse tracks, some obscured by bootprints. He'd expected to find signs that the surviving outlaw had gotten away riding one horse and leading the other, but that wasn't what he was seeing. Neither set of horse tracks were deep enough to indicate the additional weight of a rider. Instead, it simply appeared that both horses had just... wandered away.
"What th' hell?" he muttered, scowling. "What'd th' sonuvabitch do, walk outta here?" He squatted and studied the hoofprints. "Reckon one'a y'all's a bunch-quitter, like Peso," he said aloud to the unseen animals. "One musta took off, 'n th' other'n musta followed." He reached out idly and traced a finger around the imprint of a hoof. "Ain't neither of ya runnin', that's plain." He chuckled softly. "Shit, I'll bet y'all waited 'til he's asleep, then jus' moseyed off on yer own. Damn fool musta been too stupid ta tie ya 'fore he took his nap." He spat contemptuously into the dirt. "Some folks is jus' too goddamn stupid ta live!"
He stood up, looked around at the ground again, and nodded. If the horses had wandered off, it was likely the bastard would've gone after them. Which meant he'd be tracking a man on foot. The spirits were still with him.
He heard it then, a sound that did not belong, the slight, soft jingle and creak of tack. Snapping his rifle up reflexively, he whirled about and levered a round into the chamber, then relaxed as a riderless dun, still fully tacked, meandered into view.
"Damn fool animal!" he snarled, lowering his rifle. "Ya come damn near gittin' yerself shot!"
The horse glanced at him, twitched an ear and nickered softly, but showed neither fear of nor interest in Tanner. It found a patch of grass, lowered its head and began munching complacently.
Vin exhaled unsteadily and ran a hand over his face, suddenly realizing just how raw his nerves were. Try as he might, though, he could not relax. He had one dead outlaw and one riderless horse, and clear sign that the second outlaw was gone, had gone after the missing animals. And since only one horse had come back, it was likely the other had been caught, which meant the remaining man, freed by his partner's death to make his escape, was probably riding hell-bent-for-leather away from here right now.
So why were his hackles still climbing?
He tightened his grip on his rifle and swept his gaze slowly over the ground that rose on either side of the springs, rolling his shoulders uncomfortably as the itch between them grew worse. He strained to hear something -- anything -- that told him he was not alone, but no sound came to him that did not belong. Everything seemed exactly as it should have been.
But his instincts assured him something was wrong, and he'd learned long ago never to question them.
He made one last searching sweep of the high ground about him, licking his lips nervously, then swallowed hard and went to one of the smaller springs. He'd collect the dun, go back for Peso, and take up the case. But he needed water first.
With the wariness of a wild animal suspecting a trap, he went slowly to his knees in the moist, soft earth, eyes flicking restlessly all about, ears straining, nerves screaming, his right hand never releasing the rifle. His left hand he dipped into the water, and finally he bowed his head and brought the cupped hand toward his mouth. But, between his weariness, persistent dizziness and headache, he found himself suddenly off balance and had to drop his rifle, jamming his right hand into the dirt to keep himself from falling. He closed his eyes and pressed his left hand to his throbbing head...
And froze when he heard the distinctive sound of a pistol being cocked.
<><><><><><><><><><>
Hiram Reed lay still among the rocks and watched the long-haired man prowling around the springs below. He recognized the man at once. He was one of the seven regulators from that goddamn town, their tracker. And it seemed everything he'd heard about the bastard was true. He was supposed to have the eyes of a hawk, the nose of a wolf and the tenacity of a cougar on the hunt. Reed could see he was hurt, could see the blood-stained bandage circling his head, but it didn't seem to matter to the tracker. And it sure as hell hadn't slowed him down.
Reed felt twin surges of fear and fury shooting through him. He'd waken from his nap to discover the horses gone, had spent nearly two hours searching for them -- in vain -- before coming back here, in the hope the animals would eventually return to the water. Then, trapped on foot, he'd seen that goddamn regulator come into the ravine, and his fear had turned to panic. For all he knew, the tracker's partners would be showing up soon, and he'd be badly outgunned. So he'd lain here, hiding among the rocks and keeping still, hoping like hell that tracker's eyes weren't all they were cracked up to be.
And it was beginning to seem they weren't. Countless times, Reed had seen them look in his direction, searching the very ground where he lay hidden, but they clearly had not seen him. Calmed and somewhat reassured by the realization, Reed had begun watching the tracker more closely, determined to grab whatever chance for escape presented itself.
Then he saw it. The tracker knelt at a spring, leaned forward to take some water, and very nearly fell. Emboldened by the man's obvious dizziness, Reed grinned savagely, slid a Colt from its holster and, watching as the tracker struggled not to fall, rose from his concealment and cocked the pistol.
"Just stay right there," he called loudly, leveling his gun at the regulator. The man's head snapped up, his eyes fixed on Reed and widened, and the outlaw sneered. "Now, ain't this a purty pass we've come to?"
<><><><><><><><><><>
Chris fumed visibly and stared into the distance, his green eyes glittering in his tight-set face, his clenched teeth mangling the cheroot he had stuck between them. He could see the outline of Round Rock Springs hovering tauntingly before him in the distance, but knew they were still a good hour away.
And Vin needed them now...
Josiah worked to pry the rock from his horse's hoof with his knife, casting surreptitious glances at Chris as he did and shaking his head sadly. The gunfighter stood like a marble statue, hands planted firmly on his leans hips, eyes fixed unwaveringly on the horizon, his face a tight mask of anguish. Clad in his customary black from his hat to his boots, he looked very much like one of Josiah's crows.
And God help them all if it was Vin's death this particular bird foretold...
"He's out there," Chris said harshly, the first words he'd spoken in hours. "He's in trouble."
Josiah looked up sharply and frowned at the words, but did not argue. He could see the certainty in Chris's eyes, could hear it in his low voice, and knew it was not an idle fear. Wherever Vin was right now, Chris was with him in some way.
"Then we'll help him," Sanchez said quietly, finally working the rock loose and letting his horse's foot go. He rose to his feet and went to Chris, standing beside him. "If you can feel him, then he's still with us, and likely he knows you're comin'. And if he knows that, then he'll hang on 'til you get there."
A flicker of pain, of fear, passed over Chris's face and seeped into his eyes. "We have to find him," he said softly, his voice roughened by emotion. "What if he's hurt? God, Josiah, what if he's d--" His throat closed on the word, refusing to let it through. "I just--"
"Can't stand the thought of him dyin' scared, thinkin' he's alone," Josiah finished sadly. "Neither can I. I figure he's already spent too much of his life like that, thinkin' -- hell, knowin' -- there's no one who gives a shit for him... But it's not like that for him anymore, Chris, you know that. More importantly, he knows that." He turned and fixed his wise blue gaze upon the younger man. "Don't give up on him, Chris," he urged. "A man like Vin can hang on a long time, no matter what he's facin', so long as he knows he's got somethin' worth hangin' on for."
Chris scowled deeply, then snatched the cheroot from his mouth and hurled it to the ground. "Let's go get him, then," he growled, striding toward his horse. "We need ta get him back home so Nathan can take care of him. And then I'm gonna kill him!"
<><><><><><><><><><>
Bitter rage poured through Vin as he stared up at the man holding the gun on him. Goddamn it, how could he have been so stupid? How could he have let his guard down like this? He had known something wasn't right here, had felt it clearly, but had let himself get caught like this anyway, had let the bastard get the drop on him.
Goddamn it, he'd failed again.
But he let none of what he was feeling show, merely stared at the man and studied him in silence, watched every move he made, every gesture, every expression that flickered over that blunt-featured, unshaven face. Most of all, he watched the hard, dark eyes, certain they would give away whatever the man intended.
He might very well go down, Vin realized, but he'd do all he could to take this bastard down with him.
Reed laughed harshly and made his way slowly, carefully, down the rocky slope, watching the tracker all the while. "So, where's yer pards?" he asked mockingly . "They comin' behind ya, or'd they leave ya ta do all the work yerself?"
Vin said nothing, and never moved. But he was acutely aware of the nearness of his rifle, felt his fingers itching to hold it, and wondered if he could get it up, aim and fire before the bullet from the outlaw's gun reached him.
If it came down to it, though, it was a chance he was willing to take.
Reed continued to advance, missing the change in the eyes that watched him, never seeing their sharpening, their darkening. He did see the slight relaxing of the tracker's body, but mistook its cause. He thought it signaled surrender, meant the man was no longer a threat, and grinned at his victory, revealing uneven, tobacco-stained teeth.
"Well," he drawled, stopping about fifty feet from the tracker, "if yer pards are anything like you, I reckon you seven ain't as tough as yer made out ta be. I sure got th' drop on ya easy enough. 'N here I'd heard you was th' one ta watch out fer."
"Nah," Vin said calmly, "I ain't th' one. It's th' ones comin' after me ya need ta watch out fer. I ain't no more'n a nuisance. Them others is a goddamn nightmare."
Reed laughed harshly. "But yer here an' they ain't." He raised the gun slightly. "So I reckon I'll rid me of a nuisance, 'n leave yer body ta give them friends'a yer'n nightmares of their own."
Vin saw the dark eyes narrowing, saw the trigger finger tensing, and cocked his head to one side, smiling slightly. "Go ta hell," he rasped softly, grabbing the rifle and flinging himself to one side, then rolling to his knees and bringing the rifle up, aiming and firing in one smooth motion.
The tracker's quick movement froze Reed, but only for a moment. Immediately he adjusted his aim and squeezed the trigger. But he never saw where his shot went, was lifted off his feet and thrown to the ground by the Winchester slug that slammed into his chest and tore apart his heart.
Vin watched from his knees as the outlaw fell, as his hunt came to its end. He felt an odd peace, and a strange heaviness, settle upon him, seemed suddenly to be sinking into the sand. Heat flared suddenly through him, and a sudden sharp and burning pain. But it faded quickly as darkness claimed him.
The rifle slipped from his numb fingers and he slumped to the ground, staining it with his blood.
<><><><><><><><><><>
Chris and Josiah heard the faint report of gunshots on the still air, and, as one, spurred their horses onward at a desperate pace. Chris leaned low in the saddle, urging his black to go faster still with every muscle of his straining body, his heart racing as madly as the animal's churning hooves. Cold, sick terror gripped him, knotted his gut and wrung at his soul.
Jesus, Vin, hang on!
Josiah, too, was racked by terror, as much for the man just ahead of him as for the one he could not see. He silently screamed prayers for both, pleaded with God to shield Vin from harm, and implored Him to spare Chris the agony of losing still another part of his soul.
While the loss of Vin would no doubt be crippling to the rest of them, to Chris it would surely prove fatal.
Time lost all meaning as they raced madly for the springs, seemed to slow to a crawl or stop altogether, tearing a howl of fury and frustration from Chris. Worse still, despite the reckless, punishing pace to which he spurred his black, the craggy mass of Round Rock Springs appeared no closer now than it had an hour ago, but hung mockingly there in the distance, seeming to jeer at his inability to reach Vin. Again and again, those gunshots echoed in his mind, tearing another harsh, wordless cry from him.
Josiah cringed at the pain and terror in that ragged voice, but never heard the words now pouring from his own lips.
"'Deliver me from mine enemies, O my God; defend me from them that rise against me. Deliver me from the workers of iniquity, and save me from bloody men. For, lo, they lie in wait for my soul; the mighty are gathered against me...'"
At last, after either an hour or an eternity, the ridges and rocks of the springs were before them, and, never giving a thought to any danger that might await him, Chris spurred his horse up and over a rise and tore back down into the ravine dotted by the pools on their "string." He raced along the ancient riverbed, veering around or sometimes merely jumping the black over the springs, desperately hoping he was not too late. But the terrible silence of this place, broken only by the sounds of his and Josiah's laboring mounts, sent cold rivers of terror coursing through him.
<<God, Vin, where are you?>>
He rounded a sharp bend in the ravine, and sharply reined the black to a plunging stop as the sight before him sent his heart slamming against his ribs.
"VIN!"
Even as the cry left his throat, he was flinging himself from his horse and running toward the fallen tracker, with Josiah close at his heels. From the corner of his eye, he saw the second man, also down and unmoving, but cared nothing for him. Tanner claimed his whole attention.
"Goddamn it, Vin!" he cried hoarsely, throwing himself to his knees at Tanner's side and reaching out, gently turning the still and silent tracker onto his back. "Jesus!" he gasped in sick horror at the dark blood that soaked Vin's shirt. "Goddamn it! Goddamn you! What the hell were you thinkin'?" Even as he raged at Vin, he gathered him into his arms and cradled the younger man close against him. To his immense relief, Vin stirred weakly and groaned softly, his ashen face contorting into a mask of pain. "He's alive!" he croaked to Josiah as the big man knelt at Vin's other side.
"Thank God!" Josiah breathed fervently, bowing his head and closing his eyes as relief crashed through him. Then, gathering his wits, he raised his head and turned his attention to the wounded man. Taking the knife from his belt, he carefully cut Vin's shirt blood-sodden shirt away from the wound, and winced at the sight of it. The bullet had taken Vin in the left side, just below his ribcage. Sliding a hand under the tracker's back and feeling around, he found no exit wound. "It's still in there," he said softly.
"Shit!" Chris whispered tightly.
Josiah untied Vin's bandana, pulled it free and folded it up, then held it out to Chris. "We gotta stop the bleedin'. Take this, put pressure on the wound. I'll see what Nathan sent in the way of bandages and such."
Chris stared at the bandana without taking it. "I don't wanta hurt him--"
"If you don't do this," Josiah said urgently, "he'll bleed to death. That what you want?"
Chris winced deeply, but took the bandana and, swallowing hard, pressed it firmly against the wound. Vin arched his back and cried out harshly, trying to push away the hand that tormented him. But Chris bowed his head and spoke softly, soothingly to his friend, keeping Vin's hands away and maintaining pressure on the wound. After a few moments, he felt Vin shudder and lapse once more into unconsciousness. Josiah returned, carrying the bag Nathan had sent with him, and knelt once more at Vin's side. "Got bandages, carbolic and whiskey," he announced. "You keep a hold on him, keep that pressure on, I'll spread a bedroll for him and get a fire goin'. Once I've got the wound cleaned, I'll know more about what we're facin'." He fixed a calm, determined stare on Chris. "And I'll tell ya somethin' else. We're stayin' here the night. We've only got a few hours of daylight left, and I intend ta go slow tendin' him. I ain't Nathan, and I don't wanta be makin' no mistakes. And he's in no shape to go anywhere just now."
Chris dropped his gaze to his unconscious friend. "And you think that'll be different tomorrow?" he asked in a low, anxious voice.
Josiah sighed and shrugged. "Got no way'a knowin'," he admitted. "But I'm takin' this one step at a time. Besides, we've pushed the horses as far as they'll go today." His stare caught and held Larabee's. "We got no choice, Chris. Vin needs tendin', he can't ride, our horses can't be ridden. We're stayin', and that's all there is to it."
Chris exhaled slowly and nodded, reluctantly accepting the necessity of it. "All right." His eyes searched the preacher's. "You gonna take the bullet out or leave it in?"
Sanchez sighed heavily and bowed his head, studying Vin's pale, drawn face. "I've taken out a few bullets in my time," he said softly. "I reckon if I had to, I could do it. But I'd rather just leave it, if we can, and let Nathan do it. I trust his hands above mine any day. And I don't wanta be takin' no chances with Vin's life."
Chris nodded slowly, his shoulders slumping as the weight of all that had happened settled heavily upon him. "All right, do what you can. I guess that's all I can ask."
"It's all any of us can ask, Chris," Josiah said quietly. "And it's all any of us can do."
<><><><><><><><><><>
Chris sat at Vin's side, gently bathing his friend's face with a cool, damp cloth and watching anxiously over him. Josiah had cleaned and bandaged the wound, and Chris flinched at the memory of Vin's pained cries and weak struggles through the ordeal. Only after it was over had they found the laudanum Nathan had also sent, but at least now Vin was resting under the effects of the drug. Chris almost envied him.
"We're gonna have ta have a long talk when you're better, cowboy," he said softly, staring sadly into Tanner's pale, slack face. Josiah had also tended the wound in Vin's head and applied a clean bandage. And Chris himself had washed the dried blood from Vin's hair. "You gotta stop runnin' off like this, takin' care'a these things on your own. You're not on your own anymore. And you don't need ta be actin' like ya are. It's too hard on the rest of us. It's too hard on me." He gave a tired, grim smile. "And it's sure as hell been hard on you!"
Josiah sat by the fire, fixing supper and listening to the low tones of Chris's voice. Larabee was deeply worried about Tanner, the big man could see that, but just having found his missing friend seemed to have loosened some hard, painful knot at the gunfighter's core. Josiah hadn't stopped giving thanks yet.
He glanced around the small camp. He'd disposed of the two other bodies -- one, his victim; the other, Vin's -- and had tended the horses, including those belonging to the dead outlaws, and Peso. He'd found the big gelding not far from here, still tied where Vin had left him and none too happy about it. Josiah had narrowly avoided a vicious bite in the shoulder from the long, wicked teeth the horse wielded with such malevolent glee. But now, with food, water, and other horses to torment, Peso seemed as happy as Peso ever was.
Josiah sometimes wondered how such an even-tempered man as Vin could have such a foul-tempered horse.
He poured two cups of coffee and rose to his feet, went to Chris and handed him a cup, then settled himself on the ground at Vin's other side. "How's he doin'?" he asked softly.
Chris shrugged slightly, frowning. "Restin'. He was shiverin' earlier, so I put another blanket on him. Don't know if he got chilled, or if it was just reaction settin' in. But I was thinkin' we might wanta move him closer to the fire. It's gonna get a little cooler when the sun goes down, and you know how he feels the cold."
Josiah nodded. "Sounds good. You get any water down him?"
"Some." A sudden soft chuckle escaped him. "He was askin' about Peso just before he went out. Got a bullet in him, and he's worried about that damn fool horse!"
Josiah smiled and nodded. "Brother Vin's got a mighty soft heart. As soft as his head is hard. If he asks again, tell him Peso's fine. Already took a chunk outta one'a the new horses."
"I heard the squeal. Figured that's what it was." His gaze drifted back to Vin. "I don't know why he keeps that horse."
"Peso's tough, smart, independent, stubborn. Don't trust anybody or anything, won't abide bein' ill-used, don't like bein' told what ta do or when ta do it. But he'll never quit on ya, he can survive what would kill a lesser animal, and he'll be with ya come hell or high water." He arched two heavy brows at Chris. "Sound like anybody we know?"
Chris managed a tight, tired smile. "You forgot the part about havin' a temper like a teased rattlesnake, the manners of a sore-tailed bobcat, and a head of stone. Yeah, sounds just like somebody we know!"
"Sounds like several folks we know," Josiah corrected with a pointed gaze at Larabee. "Supper's ready. Go on over and get yourself somethin' ta eat, and I'll bring Vin closer to the fire." He glanced up at the sky. "Gonna be dark soon. And I, for one, will be deeply grateful to see this day come to an end."
"There's still tomorrow," Chris said softly.
Josiah smiled gently. "Leave tomorrow to tomorrow, Chris. Ain't no sense borrowin' trouble. If it's headin' for us, it'll find us on its own. For now, let's just see this day over and done with, and leave everything else alone."
<><><><><><><><><><>
Vin felt again the hard, hot pain searing through him and tensed against its onslaught, groaning thickly as it pierced ever more deeply into him. He tried to turn away from whatever was hurting him, tried to push it away from him, then felt a strong hand at his shoulder, and another hand closing about his. He relaxed with a soft, breathless groan and clung to that hand, but did not open his eyes to see who held him. Didn't need to.
"Chri...is," he breathed.
"I'm here," Larabee assured him.
Vin forced his eyes opened and stared up at the dark, blurred shadow above him, unable to make out any features. "Damn eyes," he whispered. "Ain't worked right... since I'se shot." He struggled to lift his free hand, then let it fall with a tired, pained sigh. "They gittin' worse... 'r is it dark?" he asked worriedly.
Chris smiled slightly. "It's dark. Near midnight, I guess." He studied his friend's pale, drawn face in the low firelight. "How you feelin'?"
Vin let his eyes close and thought. "Bin better," he admitted finally. "Bin worse, too... but it's hard... ta recollect... jus' when." He swallowed and licked his lips. "Thirsty," he murmured.
Chris nodded and reached for the cup of water he had been keeping near him. Letting go of Vin's hand for the moment, he slipped his hand under the tracker's head and lifted gently, then placed the cup to Tanner's lips. "Drink," he directed. "But slowly. Don't want ya throwin' it back up on me."
Vin sipped greedily at the water, and made a small sound of protest when Chris took the cup away. "No--"
"I said slowly," Chris repeated firmly. "You get sick on me, I'll have ta shoot ya."
Vin threw a weak, unfocused glare up at his friend. "Feels like ya already did."
"Wasn't me," Chris told him, setting the cup down. "Not this time, anyway. But that's not ta say I wouldn't have, if that sonuvabitch hadn't beaten me to it. I was already workin' on just where ta put the bullet."
Vin grimaced. "Reckon that means... yer pissed at me," he breathed. "Figgered ya would be."
"You figured wrong. More water?" When Vin nodded, Chris put the cup once more to his mouth. "'Pissed' don't even begin ta cover what I am at you, Tanner," he went on, careful not to let the wounded man drink too much or too fast. "You scared the hell outta me. And not just me. Buck's about ready ta tear your head off, Nathan's so mad he can't see straight, Josiah ain't none too happy with ya either, an' I don't even wanta think about what Inez's got planned for ya, you runnin' out on her like ya did." He took the cup away again and set it aside, then lowered Vin back down onto his blankets. "But I'm the one that's gonna make your life hell for the next five years or so!" he growled.
Vin opened his eyes and tried to see Chris more clearly, then lifted a hand with a grunt of pain and effort and tried to feel for him. Immediately, though, his hand was taken into Larabee's and held securely, and he relaxed with a tired sigh.
"Had... ta do it," he rasped softly.
Chris shook his head and tightened his grip on Tanner's hand. "No, ya didn't," he said firmly, staring down into the wide, unfocused eyes and wondering just how much harm Vin had done to himself. "Ya didn't have ta hide from the others, ya didn't have ta leave, and ya for damn sure didn't have ta take after these bastards on your own, with a goddamn hole in your head! You--"
"I let 'em git away!" Vin breathed in anguish, closing his eyes and turning his head. "I let 'em shoot Ezra 'n JD--"
"Stop it!" Chris said sharply, reaching out and turning Tanner's face back to him. "Open your eyes an' look at me!" he ordered.
Vin winced and squeezed his eyes more tightly shut. "Cain't see ya--"
"You can see me well enough," Chris contradicted. "Now, open your goddamn eyes and look at me!" When Vin did, Chris leaned low, still holding Tanner's chin firmly, and said in a hard, harsh voice, "It... wasn't... your... fault! Nobody blames you, Vin, and especially not Buck. He knows you were hurt, he knows you didn't shoot because you couldn't."
Vin frowned in confusion. "But... you said... he's mad at me..."
Chris sighed and released Tanner's chin, sitting back and shaking his head in frustration. "Yeah, Vin, he's mad at ya, all right. But not because'a what happened ta JD. He's mad because you took off on your own, without sayin' a word, and with a bullet wound in your head. He's mad at ya because he's worried as hell about ya! You didn't have ta do this!"
Vin scowled stubbornly. "I fucked up. Had ta make it right. 'N I did. I got 'im."
"Yeah, but he got you, too!" Chris snarled. "Goddamn it, Tanner, do you have any idea how scared I was when I rode in here an' saw you layin' there like a goddamn corpse? Or how close I came ta pukin' out my guts when I saw your blood soakin' inta the goddamn dirt? He could've killed you, Vin!" he declared harshly, the fear of that moment again knotting his gut. "Is that what you wanted? For me ta come ridin' up and find your dead body laid out here an' needin' me ta bury it?" he demanded hoarsely. "Don't you know what that woulda done ta me? How'n the hell d'you think I'd'a felt?"
Vin grimaced and closed his eyes tightly, raising a shaking hand and pressing it to his throbbing temple. "Don't," he pleaded in a whisper. "Head hurts..."
"Your head hurts?" Chris almost shouted. "Goddamn it, Tanner, what the hell d'ya think my head's done since this started?" He suddenly saw the lines of suffering etched deeply into the wounded man's ashen face, saw the lean body tensing against the onslaughts of pain, and relented in his anger. "Jesus, Vin, you scared me!" he said softly, again taking Tanner's hand and holding tightly to it. "You scared the hell outta me! Don't ever do that again, cowboy. You hear me?"
Vin chewed his bottom lip and nodded, clinging as tightly as he could to Chris with one hand and pressing the other to the terrible pain burning in his side and spreading steadily through him. He clenched his jaws and blew his breath through his lips, arching his back and trying to ride out the pain.
"Chris--"
"Ssh, easy, easy, cowboy," Chris soothed, his anger forgotten. He held Vin's hand, squeezed his shoulder and stroked his sweat-damp hair, willing the pain-racked body to relax. "I'm here, Vin. I'm right here."
"H... hurts... so!" he hissed.
"I know. Bullet's still in there. But we're gonna get you back to Nathan tomorrow, let him take care of you. So you just hang on, all right? 'Cause I ain't figured out how ta spend that five hundred dollars yet."
Vin smiled slightly at that, at the old joke between them. "Might... change... my mind," he gasped through the pain. "Might w... want... somebody else... ta c'lect that bounty."
"Too goddamn bad," Chris said calmly, watching as Vin began to lose the fight for consciousness. "Ain't nobody but me gettin' it. Hell, after all the shit I have ta put up with from you, five hundred dollars is the least you owe me. 'Sides, I figure since I'm most likely gonna be the one ta finally kill ya, that bounty'll be mine fair and square. And I plan ta earn ever' cent, one bullet at a time."
Vin smiled slightly, his eyes closing, his body relaxing. "Ain't... scared'a you... Larabee," he breathed faintly, slipping into darkness. "I c'n... out-shoot you... any damn day. Jus' you... don't... fergit it."
Chris smiled slightly as Vin settled into restful oblivion. "You rest now, tough guy," he murmured. "We'll talk about this later. You can count on it!"
<><><><><><><><><><>
The return to town began at dawn the next morning. Josiah gave Vin a heavy dose of laudanum, then lifted him up onto the saddle of Chris's horse and into the gunman's arms. Though Josiah was stronger and would have been the more logical choice to hold the wounded man for so long a ride, Larabee had decreed with an iron finality that Vin would be riding with him.
The mule-stubborn tracker could be a goddamn pain in the ass, but there was no way in hell Chris was letting him out of his sight again.
The ride back was considerably less fraught than the ride out had been, but still it was made with an undeniable sense of urgency. Vin needed Nathan. Despite Josiah's best efforts, the wound continued to bleed, and, by mid-morning, Chris could feel the heat of a fever radiating from the tracker's body. He could also hear the soft moans and breathless cries that told him the laudanum was losing effect.
Josiah watched the two in fascination during that long ride, and again marveled at the depth and strength of the bond between them. Even when he was not what Sanchez would have considered "conscious," Vin would call out for Chris, or reach for him, and would immediately relax when he heard Larabee's low voice or felt his touch. Chris, for his part, spent as much time cussing Vin as he did comforting him, but his voice never lost its soothing quality, and the strong hands that held the wounded man in the saddle or calmed his pained, fevered movements with but a touch were never anything but gentle. And now and then, even amidst his suffering, Tanner's hide-tough spirit would resurface, and, when Chris let fly with another curse or insult, the soft, slurred drawl would voice some smart-assed reply.
Josiah chuckled quietly and shook his head at them, wondering how two such vastly different men could have found a kinship so deep. Chris was sharp and hard with a hair-trigger temper, the chaos that had dominated his life for so long only barely held in check and seething beneath his ice-cold surface, ready to break through at any moment. In contrast, Vin was cool and quiet and steady, with a calm that seemed to flow outward from him and soothe the spirits of all about him. Yet there was also a persistent wariness to him, a discomfort with and distrust of people that spoke of too many hurts suffered at too many hands. Only with Chris was he ever wholly at ease, just as Chris was only wholly at peace with him.
But, merciful God, could they argue...
"Shut up and drink, Tanner!" Chris growled, holding his canteen to his friend's mouth.
"Done drunk... all's I want," Vin protested hoarsely, weakly pushing the canteen away. "Leave me be."
Chris glared at the deathly pale young man slumped against him. "Shoulda left yer sorry ass by that spring. Now, goddamn it, I said drink!"
Vin turned his head and tried to return the glare, but groaned and leaned more heavily still against Chris as dizziness and nausea assailed him. "Oughtta puke... all over ya," he rasped softly, resting his throbbing head against Larabee's shoulder. "That'd... show ya."
"Yeah," Chris sighed, seeing the pain and sickness written in Tanner's face and growing increasingly anxious. "Show me what an ungrateful bastard you are. I came all the way from Purgatorio ta save yer ass, and this is the thanks I get."
Vin swallowed against the nausea, and groaned as pain stabbed anew into his body. "Thanks," he whispered, beginning to slip to one side.
But Chris pulled Tanner back against him and held him securely in place. "You're welcome. Now, you hold on, y'hear?"
Vin smiled slightly and closed his eyes. "Ain't goin' nowhere, cowboy," he breathed faintly as darkness stole over him again.
"Better not," Chris said softly, gently, watching him subside into unconsciousness. "I'm gettin' too damn old ta be chasin' you all over creation!" He turned his head sharply and glared at Josiah when he heard the older man's deep chuckle. "What?" he demanded harshly.
Josiah laughed again and shook his head. "Nothin', brother. Just thinkin' that most folks have ta pay for entertainment like this." His gaze went to the unconscious Tanner. "Still, I'm mighty thankful ta have him back in the fold."
"Yeah," Chris breathed, that same thankfulness showing plainly in his eyes. "Now," the softness faded, replaced by steely determination, "let's stop talkin' and ride. Gotta get the prodigal here to Nathan before he bleeds all over me!"