Steam rose off the coffee, rising and swirling, until it vanished into the gray November dawn. Mary always left the Clarion unlocked and a pot of hot coffee on cold mornings like this and Vin was grateful to her.
Sipping at the scalding liquid, Vin eased down into the chair on the boardwalk. This was his favorite time of day, just after daybreak, with most of the town still abed. He loved to sit and just enjoy his coffee, before the bustle of daily life in a growing town got started again.
To a casual observer, Four Corners was as quiet and peaceful as a graveyard. To Vin, it was teeming with activity. Tumbleweeds blew through the street dancing a drunken jig, careening wildly from one side and then back to the other. A cat was busy foraging in an alley. A family of mice was on the move. Fortunately for them, the cat was preoccupied with something in the alley and oblivious to their existence.
Vin was the kind of man who noticed those things. His sharp eyes would scan the street and see all the things other people missed. It was one of the things that made him such a good tracker.
It was also one of the things that made him notice a small sound, coming from the alley behind the bank. Nothing unusual, just something that didn't quite fit the quiet of a sleepy morning.
Sighing, Vin put his coffee down and his hand on his mare's leg. As quickly and quietly as he could, the bounty hunter moved off the boardwalk and across to the alley. He paused a minute at the alley's entrance, to gauge the sounds he was hearing.
Something was definitely moving back there and Vin thought he heard a groan. Cautiously entering the alley, Vin relaxed when he saw a man's form lying huddled against the building. Probably just a drunk, he thought to himself, but I better send him home. Bending down, Vin got a good look at the man for the first time.
"Damn!" he exclaimed, as he realized that it was Josiah. Looking around, Vin spied a broken wooden shingle lying next to him. It looked like it had come loose from the roof of the building and Josiah had been walking by and taken a good conk on the head, to Vin's eye.
There was a strong pulse beating in the big man's neck and Vin decided that it would be alright to leave him long enough to get Nathan. Leaving the alley, Vin spotted JD leaving for his patrol. He started to yell for the kid, but realized that by the time JD got back to where he was, he could be at Nathan's and have the healer on his way. So, Vin let him go without calling to him.
Beating on Nathan's door less than a minute later, Vin yelled, "Nathan! Nathan! Josiah's hurt."
Nathan appeared seconds later, pulling his jacket on as he opened the door. "How bad?" he questioned anxiously.
"Looks like he took a good knock on the head. A shingle come loose from the bank and nailed 'im." Vin informed the healer as they hurried down the stairs. "He was breathin' okay, though and his heart was beatin' real strong, so I figured it'd be best if I come and gotcha."
"Good," Nathan said reassuringly. "Ya done the right thing, gettin' me like that."
Vin needlessly pointed Josiah's fallen form out to Nathan, as they rounded the corner of the bank. Crouching down beside the preacher, Nathan let out a whistle when he spied the huge bump on top of Sanchez's head. He probed it gently, relieved that it was firm and that there was no blood.
"Why dont'cha go on and get a couple o' th'others ta help us carry Josiah up ta the clinic," Nathan suggested.
"Sure," Vin touched the brim of his hat and was gone.
*************************
An hour later, Nathan was settling down in the chair beside Josiah's sleeping form, when he heard shouting just outside his clinic. Stepping to the door, he saw Vin and Buck examining a saddleless horse in the street below. "What's goin' on there?" he called to the two.
"JD's horse came back without 'im," Buck replied worriedly. "There's no blood or sign of anything wrong with the horse, but he's not wearin' a saddle either."
"Maybe the horse just got loose from the liv'ry," Nathan offered.
"Naw, I saw JD ridin' 'im this mornin', headin' out for patrol," Vin drawled. "He sure had a saddle on then."
"Let's quit wastin' time, then," Buck spat, heading for the livery and his own horse.
"I'll get Chris," Vin said.
"Hang on, I'll get Miz Travis to watch Josiah and come along with y'all," Nathan called down, to be answered with a nod from Vin.
*************************
The four men rode out of town, Vin leading as he backtracked JD's horse's trail.
"Damn, Vin, can't we go any faster?" Buck asked, his worry for JD showing through in his voice and demeanor.
"Calm down, Buck," Chris called.
"JD's horse didn't quite take the straight and narrow path back to town," Vin replied. "Go too fast and I'll lose the trail."
Buck raked a hand down his face and smoothed his mustache out.
"I'm sorry, Vin," he apologized. "Just that that boy can get into trouble in his own room. Who knows what he'd run into out here."
"I know, Buck," the tracker nodded. "Looks like he took the trail to the east," he added, pointing.
They picked up the pace for a little while before Vin's sharp eyes picked up the form of their friend on the side of the trail.
"Up ahead," he called.
Buck had spurred his horse ahead before the words were even out of Vin's mouth.
"JD! JD?" he called, jumping off his horse to kneel next to his fallen friend.
JD was lying on his side, his head on his saddle, arms around himself.
"Buck? 'Bout time you showed up, been waiting all morning for you," the younger man spoke sleepily.
"You alright?" the ladies' man asked, hands feeling for bumps and bruises. "What happened? Your horse came back to town without you or your saddle. I've been worried sick about ya."
By now, Nathan and the other two men had arrived and began checking out JD.
"What happened, JD?" the healer asked, as he gently pried JD's arms from his middle and ribs.
"Fell off the horse, saddle and all," JD replied, with a sheepish grin. He yelped as Nathan touched a broken rib.
"Looks like ya broke some ribs, where else ya hurtin'?" the healer asked.
"Cinch strap broke loose," Vin announced, holding up the broken strap he'd been examining. "Didn't ya check it?"
"Yeah," JD answered, though not convincingly. "My arm hurts, too," he replied to Nathan's question, changing the subject.
"How many times I gotta tell you to double check everything?" Buck admonished. "Hell, boy, you coulda been killed takin' a fall like that!"
"Think you boys could either get a wagon or rig up a litter?" Nathan asked, interrupting Buck's tirade. "He ain't gonna be able to ride with them ribs broken."
"Vin and I'll head back to town for a wagon," Chris informed the others. "You two stay here with JD.
*************************
It had been a long day and Vin was tired. Nathan had said that Josiah was fine and JD was sleeping like a baby in the boarding house, with Buck firmly entrenched as his nurse. The only thing happening here at the saloon was that Chris was drinking and Ezra was cleaning some drifter out. It was quiet and the only thing Vin wanted was to crawl into his wagon and go to sleep. Tipping his hat, Vin threw a few coins on the table to pay for his drinks and nodding at Chris, made his way out the back door.
Vin put a hand on his gun when he saw the three men sitting near his wagon, but relaxed when he saw them pass the bottle amongst themselves. Just some drunks looking for a quiet place to drink, he thought, dismissing the threat. He never felt the blow that took him down or the blows that continued to rain down on his unconscious body.
*************************
"Here's your money. Now get lost. If I see any of you again, you're dead. You got it?" the man standing over the beaten form of Vin Tanner demanded.
Nodding, the three men hastily left the alley and after mounting their horses, rode off into the darkness. Looking down at his victim, the last of the men thought with a satisfied smirk, soon. Soon. He turned and left the injured man without a backward glance.
*************************
Ezra was bored. His opponent might just be the worst card player he'd ever had the good fortune to meet. He'd already won the man's cash and a watch, and the man was foolishly trying to wager his horse. Fortunately for him, Ezra had no interest in allowing the fool to become a reluctant resident of this place.
"My dear sir," he began, "I have no accommodations for another horse, therefore, I must call a halt to the game."
The man's eyes narrowed and he put a hand on his gun, only to back down when he found himself facing not only Ezra's derringer, but also Chris's Colt.
"Yer a cheat, but I ain't gonna take the both of ya on," he snarled, before turning and heading for the door.
"Mr. Larabee, may I buy you a drink?" Ezra inquired, while he gathered his money.
Nodding, Chris indicated that Ezra should join him. Pulling up a chair, Ezra tossed a coin on the table and poured himself and Chris both, generous shots of whiskey.
"Seem strange to you, both Josiah and JD havin' accidents the same day?" Chris wasted no time on small talk.
"Now that you mention it, it is rather coincidental," Ezra agreed thoughtfully.
"I don't believe in coincidences," Chris said bluntly.
Just at that moment, the drifter who had lost his money, shoved through the batwing doors, gun in hand.
"Bad idea," Chris spoke succinctly as usual.
"Sir, not only are you an atrocious gambler, but you would appear to be stupid as well," Ezra couldn't resist taunting the fool.
"Just gimme the money you cheated me outta and I'll be on my way," the armed man demanded.
"Very well, I'll give you everything you have comin' to you," Ezra's voice got cold and quiet, as he spoke.
Flipping his arm up, Ezra's derringer popped into position. Unfortunately, the man was ready and his pistol fired once, striking Ezra in the shoulder. The gambler dropped to the floor, surprise evident on his face. Unfortunately for the stranger, Chris Larabee's draw was still lightning fast and accurate. Only seconds after Ezra fell, the stranger lay dead on the saloon floor.
Ignoring the body, Chris dropped to his knees beside the fallen gambler. Putting pressure on the wound, he was relieved to see Nathan coming through the doors.
Ezra was obviously in a great deal of pain, but Chris was thinking that this was the third time today, one of the seven had been injured. And now he really didn't like coincidences.
Nathan checked over the southerner carefully and met Chris's eyes. "Bullet's still in there," he told the blond gunslinger. "We'd best get 'im over to the clinic."
"No."
Nathan looked at Chris in surprise and even with his shoulder on fire, Ezra realized that something was wrong. "Wh- at just hap-pened he-re?" he managed to gasp out.
"I want him close to JD, where we can keep an eye on both of them," Chris informed them, looking around the saloon.
"Ain't the boardin' house almost empty right now? And Ma Crawford's outta town. We could take 'im over there. Put 'im in a room near JD's. That work?"
Nathan's question was answered with a quick nod.
"What is it, Chris?" Nathan asked, seeing that something else was troubling the gunfighter.
"Ezra, you ever seen a regular drifter that fast?" Chris put a hand on Nathan's arm to stop him from lifting the gambler's shoulder.
"He - did seem - a bit - pro-fic-ient," Ezra gasped out, while Nathan shrugged Chris's hand off his arm and nodded at the man lifting Ezra's feet.
While they carried the gambler out, Chris studied the scene, trying to put his finger on what he was missing.
*************************
He hurt everywhere, but he couldn't figure out why. The last thing he remembered was wanting to go to sleep. Where was he? Rolling over cautiously, Vin felt his ribs explode into white-hot pain. Somehow, at least one of them had been broken. He became aware of pain in his head and his legs too. But why? he wondered, as he tried to get to his knees only to fall back in agony.
*************************
Vin! Damn! That's what he'd missed. Buck was over at the boarding house with JD and one hundred gunshots wouldn't have blasted him out of that room. Josiah was dosed with laudanum and most likely sleeping soundly. No surprise either one of them hadn't shown up. But Vin's wagon was right behind the saloon and the man never missed a damn thing.
Chris's heart was pounding when he carefully opened the back door of the saloon. Peering around the alley everything appeared quiet. He was about to walk over and take a quick look in Vin's wagon, when a scraping sound behind some jumbled boxes caught his attention. Taking out his gun, Chris approached the area keeping a sharp eye out. A moan quickened his step.
"Vin! Hang on, pard," he called, carefully moving debris out of his way so that he could crouch down and gently roll his best friend over.
Larabee's breath caught when he got a look at the Texan in the silvery moonlight. Every inch of Vin's face was bruised or cut. His eyes were badly swollen and his lips were split. Several buttons were missing off of the tracker's shirt, and Chris saw several tears in the material. It was obvious that whoever had done this hadn't stopped with Vin's face. Looking down, Chris felt black rage threatening to consume him at the sight of two perfectly shaped heel prints on Vin's left thigh. Someone had stomped on him while he was lying on the ground.
"Easy Vin," he spoke gently, using considerable willpower to keep his voice steady. "Don't move, I've got to get help, but I'll be right back. Don't move." He wasn't even sure that Vin was aware of his presence, but he gently squeezed his shoulder, trying to let his friend know that he wasn't alone.
*************************
"Put it down there," Nathan tipped his head in the direction of a bureau to the man who'd brought his bag over from the clinic. Another man carried a bowl of steaming hot water into the room a few seconds later and set it beside the bag.
"You gonna be needin' us fer anything else?" the first man inquired.
"One of ya best hang around, case I do," the healer replied, without looking at them.
He thought he had the bleeding in the unconscious gambler's shoulder stopped, so he carefully lifted his hands away from the bloody rag he'd been pressing there. Blood oozed, but didn't flow and Jackson turned to wash his hands and face, before he went any further. He poured clean water from the pitcher on the washstand into the large bowl and then used the strong lye soap sitting neatly on a dish to scrub his hands and face. Nathan watched the water turn pink, as Ezra's blood came off with the suds, when he rinsed. Drying himself on a clean white towel, Nathan nodded at the man, Bill Conner, who had remained.
Conner was a rancher and Nathan had used poultices to draw poison out of his left leg when he'd cut it on a barbed wire fence last summer. He'd been grateful and tried to find ways to repay Nathan whenever he could.
Ezra had passed out halfway from the saloon to the boardinghouse and for that Nathan was grateful. The southerner had been as white as a sheet and Jackson had seen beads of sweat on his forehead and the way he bit his lips against the pain. It was the worst part of what he did, Nathan thought, not for the first time. Hurting people, in order to help them. Sighing, Nathan drew the instruments out of his bag.
*************************
Chris hurried back into the saloon and motioned to Inez. She came over and he whispered into her ear. She glanced at the back of the saloon with a frightened look on her face and then nodded and composed herself. She looked around the saloon, quickly sizing up the men drinking and settled on two.
"That one," she pointed to a heavyset cowhand Chris had seen a couple of times. "And him," she indicated Mr. Freeley, the owner of the bathhouse.
Chris nodded and went over and tapped each one on the shoulder. He indicated that they should follow him, without telling them what they wanted. Both men looked uneasily at him - Chris Larabee was an intimidating man even if you couldn't think of anything you'd done to anger him.
"I need some help. Vin Tanner's been hurt, but I don't want anyone findin' out about this," Chris informed them quietly. "I need help gettin' him over to the boardinghouse."
Relief crossed both men's faces and was quickly replaced by concern.
"What happened to 'im, Mr. Larabee?" the cowhand, Cliff West, Chris was pretty sure that was his name, asked.
"Somebody jumped him," Chris replied curtly.
"Where's he at?" Freely asked.
"Out back of here. I want you two to take him over to the boardinghouse. Nathan Jackson's already over there. Let him know what happened," Chris instructed and pressed his room key into West's hand.
"What are you gonna be doin'?" the cowhand asked.
"Making sure you get there," Chris replied, an icy certainty in his voice.
*************************
Nathan had his instruments out and he was ready to get the bullet out of Ezra's shoulder, when he heard a commotion in the hallway outside the door. Motioning to Conner to watch Ezra, Jackson moved to the door and opened it cautiously.
"Vin!" he cried, spying the two men carrying the tracker to Chris's room. Larabee, he noticed was nowhere in sight. "What happened?" the healer demanded, and took the key out of Joe Freeley's hand.
"Mr. Larabee come into the saloon and got us and asked us to carry Tanner here," Freeley told him, pausing while Nathan opened the door to Chris's room.
Holding it open, Nathan sucked in his breath when he caught sight of Vin's face as he was carried inside. The healer was torn between two friends, who both obviously needed his help.
"Get them clothes offa 'im and try ta clean up some o' them cuts," the healer instructed the two men. "I gotta get back ta Ezra, but I'll be here as quick as I can."
Looking back at Vin once more, Nathan started to hurry to the room where Standish lay with a bullet in his shoulder. A sudden thought crossed his mind and he stopped and met the eyes of the two men busily removing Vin's guns and clothes. "Stay with 'im. Don't leave 'im alone for a second and if anybody but me or Chris Larabee tries to come into this room, shoot 'em," Nathan's voice was hard and left no room for argument.
*************************
Chris stayed out of sight as he watched Vin's battered body being carried into the boardinghouse. Slipping back into the darkness, he made his way behind the buildings until he reached the rear of Nathan's clinic. Rounding the corner, he searched the shadows for anyone who might be watching. When he was satisfied that no one was observing the clinic, Chris quickly bounded up the stairs. Entering the room, he closed the door and quickly crossed to where Josiah Sanchez slumbered. He snored peacefully, oblivious to the events playing themselves out in the town below.
"Josiah," Chris called urgently and shook his shoulder gently. The big man shifted, but didn't awaken and Chris shook him a little harder this time. "Josiah! You've got to wake up now!"
The urgency in Chris's voice somehow penetrated and the older man woke up slowly. "Wha's gon' on?" he mumbled, only half awake.
"We've got to get out of here. It ain't safe," Chris told him, and checked the small window. He didn't see anything, but there were lots of places a man could hide on the dark streets.
*************************
Nathan had finally got the bullet out. He'd had a scare, when it looked like Ezra was going to wake up, but the southerner had merely moaned and tossed his head and settled back into an uneasy sleep. Nathan was grateful they hadn't needed to hold the man down to finish cutting the bullet out. If only his luck would hold for just a few more minutes, while he stitched him up. Nathan's luck didn't hold quite long enough.
He was getting ready to pour whiskey from Ezra's silver flask over the wound, before he stitched it, when he heard the cultured voice drawl weakly, "Mr. Jackson, that's a poor use of good Kentucky bourbon. The swill they serve in the saloon would suffice for this purpose, don't you think?"
"Ezra, in about a minute you ain't gonna care whether it's bourbon or swill I pour over yer shoulder," Nathan replied with a slight grin.
If the gambler was up to making bad jokes, he was doing about as well as Nathan could hope for. With that, Nathan poured the bourbon freely over and into the wound, letting the alcohol kill the bacteria and germs that might cause infection.
*************************
Chris helped the big man into the boardinghouse and held onto him with one hand, as he locked the door behind them. He didn't think a lock would keep whoever was responsible for all of these 'accidents' out, but it might slow them down. The minutes or seconds a locked door might buy them could be the difference between life and death.
Josiah still wasn't quite with him. The big preacher had mumbled and leaned heavily on Chris for the entire trek from the clinic. He had been swaying and Chris didn't doubt that he'd have fallen without the firm grip from Larabee's black gloved hand.
*************************
Both men were breathing heavily by the time they stumbled up the stairs and knocked on the door of Chris's room. Josiah, because his injury had left him little stamina. Chris, because he'd had to shoulder most of the older man's weight on the trip.
A muffled voice behind the door called out, "Who is it?" when Chris banged on the door.
"Larabee," Chris answered succinctly.
He heard boots scuffing and the click of the key being turned in the lock and then the door opened and a Colt was pointed at him. West, the cowhand eyed him for a second and lowered his gun.
"Can't be too careful," he offered as an explanation.
Chris took in the sight of Bill Freeley, his sleeves rolled up, cleaning some of the cuts on Vin's face. West took hold of Josiah's other side and together they eased the injured preacher down into the stuffed chair that sat across from Chris's bed.
"Anybody let Buck Wilmington know what happened? He's in the room at the end of the hall with JD Dunne."
Chris's mind was too busy racing over the day's events, trying to figure out what was happening and why, to take the time to even thank the two men for what they'd done already, and here he was, already asking for more. He made a mental note to buy them both a drink at the saloon when this was all over.
"I'll do it," West spoke quickly and peered out into the hallway. Then he opened the door all the way and made his way down the hall.
"Nathan been here yet?" Chris inquired of Freeley as he moved to stand at the foot of the bed.
With his long brown hair splayed out on the white pillow in a tangled mess and his skin colorless in the few places that weren't cut or bruised, Vin looked worse than he had in the alley.
"Yessir, Mr. Larabee. Said he'd be back as soon as he finished with Mr. Standish," the balding little man answered without looking up. He was carefully pressing a wet rag against Vin's lip.
"Good." The gunslinger spoke that one word and then went to check out the window.
"Mr. Larabee, Wilmington ain't in there!" Cliff West's excited voice called as he burst into the room. "The kid's in there alright, sleepin', but weren't no sign o' Wilmington."
"What're you talkin' about?" Chris demanded, fear coloring his voice. He should have known something was wrong.
"Mr. Larabee, he ain't in there. Maybe he went to the privy," West suggested.
Chris ignored the suggestion. Buck wouldn't go anywhere - not willingly anyway - and leave the kid alone and Chris knew it.
"You two stay here. Keep an eye on them. Anybody and I mean ANYBODY, tries to get in this room but me or Nathan Jackson," Chris's voice was deadly calm, as he spoke, "kill 'em."
The two men exchanged uneasy glances, but nodded in reply.
"Lock it behind me," Chris reminded Cliff unnecessarily, as he adjusted his hat and with one final look at his two injured friends, left the room.
*************************
He wasted no time getting JD up and moved toward the room where Ezra was sleeping. The kid groaned painfully when Chris picked him up, but he didn't wake up and the gunslinger was grateful for that small blessing. He stood in the hall, with the kid balanced precariously in his arms and yelled, "Nathan, open up. It's Chris and JD."
The lock turned and Bill Conner held the door open for Chris to enter with his burden.
"Go get the mattress offa his bed and drag it down here," Chris said, as he gently settled JD in a chair that matched the one Josiah was resting in, in Chris's room.
Conner nodded and went to get the mattress, without a word. Chris took a good look at the sleeping gambler. A large bandage covered his shoulder, with some wide strips of white cloth wrapped around his body to hold it in place. Nathan was wiping a fine sheen of sweat off of his face, with a cool rag.
"Got the bullet out clean and I'm hopin' there won't be no infection," the healer spoke. "I'll be headin' over to check on Vin in just a minute," he continued.
As he stood up, Conner brought the mattress into the room. He and Chris carefully placed JD onto it and covered him up.
"What the hell's goin' on, Chris?" he asked. "This is just too much - somethin' happenin' to four of us all in one day."
"Make that five. Buck's gone," Chris replied coldly.
*************************
Buck woke up with a headache. And in an uncomfortable bed, to boot. He tried to open his eyes, to find out where he was, which of his lady friends needed a new mattress, but found he couldn't. Becoming more alert, he felt the material across his face and tried to reach up to pull it down. But he found he couldn't do that, either.
"Ah, Mr. Wilmington, I see you're back with us again," a gravelly voice spoke up.
The mustached man tried to recognize the voice, turning his head toward its source.
"Don't try too hard," a tall man of about fifty, with cadaverous features and piercing black eyes said, squatting down next to Buck. "You've never met me before. Though you have seen my work," he added.
"Where's JD? What have you done with him?" Buck demanded fearfully.
"Your little friend is safe and sound, right where you last saw him," the man replied.
"I don't believe you," the ladies' man challenged his captor. "Why just me? What do you want with me?" he demanded.
"Let's just say, that we have a mutual friend, for now," he replied, patting Buck's shoulder as he stood.
The older man nodded to a pimply faced fat man who was around Ezra's age and then left the room. The younger man obediently went to Buck and shoved a cloth in his mouth, before tying another one around it and then knotting it off at the back of the ladies' man's head.
"That'll keep you quiet," he muttered.
A few minutes later, the gaunt man stood on the boardwalk outside the hotel, smoking a cheroot. He took out his pocket watch and tilting it toward the lantern hanging from the hotel's porch, checked the time.
"Not much longer, Larabee," he smiled sinisterly.
*************************
"Buck's gone? What're we gonna do now, Chris?" Nathan asked anxiously.
"You're gonna go take care of Vin," Chris replied coolly while he checked his Colt, "and I'm gonna find Buck."
"I don't like it." Nathan put a hand on Chris's arm. "You're doin' exactly what whoever's doin' all this wants ya to."
"I know it, but Nate, there ain't no other choice." Chris's hand rested on the healer's shoulder for an instant, before he motioned towards the door. "Go on and take care o' Vin. I'm headin' out as soon as ya lock the door behind ya."
Nathan locked eyes with him and it looked as though he was going to try to argue with the gunslinger for a moment, but he thought better of it. "Bring 'im back," was all Nathan said, before picking up his bag and heading out of the room.
"I will," Chris called after him, a lot more confidently than he felt.
*************************
Chris took the key out of the boarding house door, before cautiously opening it and sweeping the street with his eyes. Seeing nothing amiss, he stepped onto the porch and locked the door. Checking the livery where JD's cinch had to have been cut, was the first step he decided. He didn't really expect to find anything, but he couldn't afford not to check.
The blond hadn't taken three steps, when he heard Jess Booker, the kid who worked over at the hotel, carrying bags and delivering messages, calling his name breathlessly.
"Mr. Larabee, Mr. Larabee, got a message for ya."
"Thanks," Chris fished in his pocket and tossed the kid a couple of coins, as he opened the note.
4 are locked away from the sun, 1 is sleeping in the ground, only 1 remains to see vengeance done
"What the hell?" Chris mused and then turned and hollered, "Jess, wait. Where'd this come from?"
Jess stopped walking and turned towards Chris and shrugged his thin shoulders. "Don't know Mr. Larabee, it was in the basket for me to deliver. Anybody can drop a message in there anytime."
Chris nodded distractedly, his mind already working at the cryptic message. Six, one dead, four in jail, and one obviously free. But, who? Had to be either brothers or a gang. Brothers . . . brothers . . . the Garver brothers. Damn! Chris thought back to when he'd run into them. Harvey Garver and his five brothers had terrorized the West Texas countryside for years, robbing and killing and eluding both the law and the army. Two years ago, Chris had killed Homer and wounded Horace. Hiram, Henry and Harold had been caught by the posse. Only Harvey had escaped unscathed. The four captured brothers were doing life without parole in Yuma prison and obviously, Harvey blamed Chris. He blamed Chris and had taken it out on his 'brothers.'
Chris felt a cold shiver run down his back. One brother was dead. Four were captured. Four of his own men had been hurt. And one was missing. Finding Buck became even more urgent. Larabee just hoped he found Buck before Harvey carried out the rest of his revenge.
Abandoning the idea of searching the livery, Chris hurried instead to the jail. Rummaging through the desk, he quickly found the stack of Wanted posters JD kept in the bottom drawer. He rifled through the pile, until he found an old yellowed poster with a picture of Harvey Garver on it.
"Alright, you son of a bitch, lets see who knows you," Chris smiled ferally as he put the poster into his pocket and headed for the saloon.
*************************
Settling on the bed beside Vin, Nathan moved the covers out of the way, so he could see the injuries to his ribs. A gasp of dismay escaped the healer, as he saw the bruising. Someone had worked the tracker over good. Gently examining him, it didn't take Nathan long to find two broken ribs. Vin wasn't having trouble breathing, so thankfully none of them had punctured his lungs. He felt around the Texan's belly and was relieved to find no signs of internal injuries.
"One o' you men wanta help me wrap 'is ribs?" Nathan requested without taking his eyes off of Vin.
"I'll do it," Joe volunteered. "What do you want me to do?"
"Ease 'im up so I can wrap some bandages around 'im," Nathan replied, while he fumbled in his bag for a roll of bandages. He made a mental note to himself, to order more soon. A lot more.
*************************
Chris pushed through the batwing doors and immediately found Inez's eyes on him. Nodding almost imperceptibly, Chris strode across the saloon and disappeared behind out the back
To anyone who didn't know her, it would seem as though the feisty barmaid hadn't even noticed Chris Larabee. She continued laughing and joking with the farmers and ranchhands standing at the bar. She poured a couple of drinks for customers and then turned and surveyed the shelf behind her. "I have to get more whiskey. Pete, will you watch the bar for me?" Inez requested of a cowboy she knew.
"Sure," he replied and moved around her, as she slipped out from behind the bar.
Inez went into the small room off of the alcove at the back of the saloon and wasn't surprised to find Chris waiting for her.
"Have you seen this man?" Chris asked her urgently and handed her the Wanted poster.
Inez studied the skeletal man in the drawing and frowned in concentration. "Yes," she finally answered. "He's been in the saloon a few times, in the past week. I think he's staying at the hotel."
*************************
Nathan pulled the covers up over Vin. The tracker had barely stirred during his ministrations, moaning softly once, but never awakening. The healer was grateful. He'd had to stitch up three cuts and wrap his ribs and put his dislocated shoulder back in place. Together he and Joe Freeley had stripped the Texan of his pants and Nathan had almost been as angry as Chris at the deep black bruises that covered Vin's thigh. He'd been relieved to find that the leg wasn't broken. Vin Tanner laid up in his clinic for six weeks, while a broken leg healed was Nathan's idea of hell.
"Why don't you try to get some rest," Cliff suggested from his post by the window. "We'll keep an eye on things."
Nathan agreed without an argument. He was exhausted and there was no way he'd be able to help his injured friends without some sleep. The bed and the chair were occupied, so Nathan settled for a pillow and an extra blanket from the top of the wardrobe and stretching out on the floor.
*************************
Chris slipped out of the back of the saloon and into the alley. Spotting nothing and no one out of place, he headed for the street. He waited in the shadows until he spied the person he was looking for.
Jess saw the blond gunslinger standing in the dark alley, motioning for him to come over. Mr. Larabee also had a hand up to his mouth indicating, that Jess should do so quietly.
Chris hastily pulled the boy out of sight of the street. "This fella stayin' in the hotel?" Larabee hissed.
"Ye - Yes sir," Jess stammered.
"What room?" Chris demanded urgently.
The boy thought for a minute and finally replied, "Seventeen," hesitantly.
"You sure? A man's life's at stake," Chris asked quietly and put a hand on the boy's shoulder and met his eyes.
Jess Booker saw in Chris's eyes, that Chris Larabee, famous gunfighter and leader of the Seven was putting his faith in Jess Booker. He'd take as truth, whatever answer a sixteen year old kid gave him. And, Jess Booker swelled with pride that he could indeed give Larabee a truthful answer.
"Yes sir, Mr. Larabee, he had me bring up meals a couple o' times," the boy said proudly.
"Good boy," Chris told him and squeezed his shoulder. "You think you'd be able to point out which window it is from the balcony?"
Jess gave him a quick nod.
"Let's go," Chris said simply and turned and headed down the dark alley.
*************************
"Ah, Mr. Wilmington, I trust Lem has made you comfortable," Harvey Garver spoke genially and pulled up a chair next to the bed Buck was tied to. Sitting in the chair, he pulled the blindfold off of the big peacekeeper.
Buck blinked his eyes as the lamp light made them burn and water. When his eyes had adjusted to the bright light, Harvey Garver's guant features were the first thing he saw. His eyes widened, as he saw the sawed off shotgun tied to the top of a wooden chair. It was aimed straight at him and a thin cord ran from the trigger to the door. If anyone opened the door, Buck knew he'd be cut in half.
"I see you like the little welcome I've arranged for Larabee," Garver said with a smug smile. "Chris Larabee is going to kill his oldest friend. Just like he killed my brother. Say hello for me," he finished gleefully and then he held the curtains aside, while his man climbed out the window. "See ya in hell, Wilmington," Garver saluted Buck and then followed his man out the window, the curtains falling closed behind him. He pushed the window down and hurried down the stairs and across the street, so that he would have a good view when Larabee burst into the hotel.
Buck's heart sank when the curtains closed behind Garver. It had taken Chris three years and being the leader of the Seven to crawl out of the self destructive orgy of drinking and killing that he'd been living in since Sarah and Adam died. If he set off that gun, he'd never recover.
*************************
"You sure that's the right one, Jess?" Chris asked the boy as they stood in the alley.
"Pretty sure, Mr. Larabee. I remember that it was the second to last room in the hallway," he said.
"Thanks, you done good, pard," the gunslinger said, praising and dismissing him at the same time.
Looking around the alley and street, making sure he wasn't seen, Chris unholstered his Colt and climbed the stairs of the hotel balcony. He peered into the first window. He saw a woman roll over in her sleep and moved on to the next one.
The curtains were drawn, but the window was unlocked. Chris eased it up a few inches silently and then carefully and slowly, he separated the checkered material, opening up a small slit in the middle. A single lamp on the bureau next to the door lighted the room. The gunslinger sucked in a quick breath at what the light revealed.
He saw his oldest friend, gagged and tied to the bed, with a shotgun rigged up to shoot him when someone came in the door. Chris knew instantly who that someone was supposed to be.
After quickly scanning the rest of the room, making sure Buck was alone, he eased the window open the rest of the way and crawled inside. He was greeted by Buck's surprised and grateful eyes first and then by the ladies' man's voice once he untied the gag.
"Chris! Good to see ya!" he gushed out. "Good thing you didn't come through the door, or your ol' pard', Buck woulda been your ol' dead pard', Buck."
"Good to see you too, Buck," Chris replied, slicing through Buck's bonds with a pocketknife. "Did Garver say where he was headed to?"
"So you do know that feller?" Buck asked, rubbing his sore hands together. "Garver, huh? Wasn't there a bunch by that name ran through Texas?"
"Yeah," the blond affirmed grimly, starting to pace the room, careful of the rigged shotgun. "Six brothers. I killed one of 'em. Helped send four to Yuma prison. My guess is that the last one, Harvey, is the one behind all this, hurtin' the other four -,"
"The other four?!" the ladies' man exclaimed. "Josiah, JD . . . Who else? Are they alright?"
"Ezra got shot. Vin got beat up," Chris began. "Nate just finished takin' care of Ezra and says he should be alright. I think Vin'll be okay, too, but they got him good," he added, taking off his hat and running a hand through his hair.
"So what do we do now? Go lookin' for Garver?" Buck asked, examining the shotgun, trying to figure out how to dismantle the trap without setting it off. "What do you think he'll do when he finds out that his plan didn't work?"
"But it will work," Chris said ferally, a hard gleam in his eye as he stopped Buck's hand from touching the string. "You ready to die, Buck?"
*************************
Harvey Garver watched the streets of Four Corners from the alley next to the jail. He'd been watching as Chris Larabee went from building to building, looking for Buck Wilmington. He saw the man in black talking with that teenage boy, the one that did errands for the hotel. The old man smiled as he watched Larabee make a beeline for the front doors of the hotel.
Checking his pocket watch again, Garver watched the second had circle around, timing the gunslinger's pace. Any second now, he should be opening the hotel room door. BOOM! Right on time, he smiled, satisfied. His smile grew wider as he heard Chris Larabee's anguished cry. He closed the cover on his timepiece and put it back into his pocket.
*************************
Nathan woke up with a jolt at the sound of the shotgun blast. Rising quickly from the floor, he looked at the other men in the room. Cliff West was looking out the window.
"Sounds like it came from the hotel," he said, turning to meet the healer's questioning gaze.
Nathan was, for a minute, unsure of what to do. He knew that where there was gunplay, his skills were needed. And he worried that those skills would now be needed for Chris, or Buck if the gunslinger had found him. But he didn't want to leave his current charges. While none of them were in any grave danger at the moment, he still hated to leave them. He also wondered if the gunshot was just a ruse to get him into the open, to be the next victim.
"Mr. Jackson! Mr. Jackson!" a familiar voice called from the street below the boarding house.
Nathan looked out the window and down to the street at Jess Booker.
"Mr. Jackson!" the boy's excited voice called again. "Mr. Larabee says he needs you over at the hotel right away! Buck Wilmington's been shot!"
Nathan knew the boy, knew he was trustworthy. He wouldn't do anything to harm the seven, let alone anyone else in town. He gathered his bag and hat and headed for the door. Before he left, he turned to the men in the room.
"We know," Joe Freeley nodded. "No one but you or Larabee gets in."
Nathan smiled briefly before leaving the room. Getting to the street, he followed Jess, running to the hotel.
*************************
Cliff West watched from the window as the town's people gathered in the street outside the hotel. The crowd parted slowly as Chris Larabee made his way past them, slowly, grimly, carrying the body of his oldest friend across his shoulder.
"Chris, let me help," Nathan offered, as he watched the gunslinger struggle with the ladies' man's body.
"I'm the one that killed him, Nate," Chris said emotionally and adjusted the weight on his shoulder. "I'm the one that's gotta take him," he continued and began walking toward the undertaker's.
Cliff winced as he caught sight of the blood that was dripping from Larabee's hand. Buck's blood.
*************************
"Follow Larabee, but don't let him see you," Garver whispered to his toady. "I want to know where he goes when he leaves the undertaker's.
Lem nodded and stayed in the shadows as he headed for the undertaker's.
*************************
Nathan followed helplessly, grief making his feet leaden. God, if he felt this much pain, what must Chris be feeling. Buck was his oldest friend and he was dead. The healer wasn't real sure what Chris meant, that he'd killed Buck, but he knew it hadn't been anything Chris wanted to do. They entered the empty undertaker's and Chris gently laid Buck down on a long slanted table. Nathan tried to find words to comfort the gunslinger while he closed the door shutting out the prying eyes of curious townspeople.
"Chris," he began in an agonized voice, "ya gotta know, Buck wouldn't hold ya responsible. Whoever took 'im away was ta blame."
"Oh, he does," the 'corpse' said cheerfully, as Buck sat up grinning.
Chris's face was much more serious, when he put his hand on Nathan's shoulder and met the healer's shocked eyes. "I'm sorry we put you through that, Nate. But, we needed it to look convincing," Larabee said quietly.
Nathan looked from one to the other of his friends disbelievingly. How could they have let him think Buck was dead? He saw the sincere apology in Chris's eyes and the cold demand for justice in Buck's and his own heart grew hard with resolve. "Alright," he said quietly. Nathan spied the cut on Chris's left arm and held his own hand out to Larabee. "Buck, gimme your bandana," Jackson demanded. "What're we gonna do?" he asked in a cold voice, as he wrapped Buck's brightly colored bandana around the shallow wound in Chris's arm.
Chris's grin was quick and cold and deadly, as he explained the plan to Nathan.
*************************
"Dammit Nathan, just leave me the hell alone!" Larabee shouted angrily. "I'm gettin' the hell outta here now. Buck's dead and there ain't nothin' I can do that's gonna bring 'im back. But, if I leave town, ain't gonna be no reason for anybody to bother the rest of ya. I ain't gonna stay here and watch any more of my friends get killed."
Nathan grabbed Chris's arm. "Chris, please you can't stay out there all alone. What're ya gonna do if whoever it is catches up with ya?" he demanded.
"I'll kill them or they'll kill me. Either way it'll be over for the rest of ya," Chris responded quickly. "Nate, you gotta be strong now. The others are hurt. They need you," the gunslinger added softly, gently lifting Nathan's hand off of his arm.
"Be careful Chris," Nathan said sadly as he watched his friend head to the livery stable.
*************************
Lem Watkins watched the scene play out between the black healer and the blond gunslinger and smiled to himself. It was perfect. Harvey was gonna be very pleased. Might even be a bonus in it for Lem. When the healer headed back towards the boardinghouse, the pimply faced man headed towards the saloon, where he knew Harvey was waiting.
*************************
Entering the saloon, Watkins scanned the faces, until he spied Garver sitting alone with a bottle of whiskey at a small table in the rear of the crowded room. Sliding into an empty chair beside his boss, he reported, "Larabee's alone right now, over at the livery. He's gonna ride outta town tonight.
"Well, I'd hate for Mr. Larabee to leave the party early," Harvey said evilly. "Shall we go give him a reason to stay . . . forever?"
*************************
Chris was saddling his horse in the stables, when he heard it. The unmistakable sound of the barn door closing and the bar falling in place. "Hello Garver, I was wonderin' how long it'd take you to show," he said derisively, without bothering to look up.
"I'm impressed, Larabee," Harvey Garver chuckled evilly, while Lem's eyes shifted nervously between them.
"You really think you're going to get away with this?" Chris stopped saddling his horse and turned so that he could see the man who had been responsible for the injuries to his friends.
"Yes, I have it all worked out," Garver replied smugly.
"Nathan knows who you are," Chris informed him scathingly.
"They won't even look for me," the outlaw replied confidently. "Lem killed you." With that, he turned and shoved his gun up against Lem's stomach and pulled the trigger.
The shot wasn't much louder than a kid's firecracker would have been, the noise muffled by Lem's body. Chris didn't think that anyone outside of the stable would even have heard it. Lem's face was shocked, as he slid slowly to the floor.
"Lem shot me and before I died, I shot him, that how you think they'll see it?"
"A simple plan, but I think it will work," Harvey gloated.
"Just one little flaw in that plan," Buck grinned as he stepped out of an empty stall, with his gun pointed right at Garver's head.
"WILMINGTON!" Garver shouted. "Ya - you're dead," he finished in a dazed whisper, his face a mask of shock.
"Nope. But you're gonna wish you were," Chris said, closing in on the man.
"Looks like there ain't gonna be no family reunion up at Yuma Prison, Garver," the ladies' man said as he took Garver's guns. "They're gonna hang you, for what you just did to Lem here." Buck nudged the body with his foot.
"Check his boots, too, Buck," Chris warned. "If I remember right he used to keep a back up or a knife or something in one of 'em."
Buck stuffed Garver's gun into the back of his own gunbelt and did as Chris told, producing a small Derringer, not unlike Ezra's, from Garver's boot top.
Satisfied that Garver was unarmed, Chris nodded to the door. "Let's get this trash over to the jail."
*************************
After locking the cell door, Chris gave Buck a satisfied nod. "I'll stay with him for a while," Buck said. "You go check on the others, let Nate know what happened."
"Thanks, Buck," Chris told his oldest friend. They shared a meaningful look and Chris headed for the door.
"You're welcome, pard," Buck whispered softly as the door closed.
*************************
Chris knocked on the door of his room.
"Who is it?" a muffled voice called from inside.
"Larabee," he answered.
The lock turned and the door opened wide enough for Cliff to peer around Chris down the hallway. The blond gunfighter liked his caution. West would be a good man to have on their side, if they ever needed backup.
Surveying the room, Chris noted that Nathan, resourceful as usual, had acquired another mattress and Josiah was now peacefully bedded down on the floor. The healer looked up from Vin's bedside, when Chris came in.
"Saw you and Buck leadin' that fella over to the jail," Jackson said quietly, not wanting to wake his patients. "He the one who did all this? He the man you thought he was?"
"Yeah, that was Garver," Chris replied. "How are they?" he asked looking from one injured man to the other, before his eyes met Nathan's again.
"I think they're all gonna be fine, with proper rest," Nathan answered. "Vin's got a couple broken ribs, got banged up good. He came around a little while ago for a few minutes. Josiah's just sleepin' that laudanum off, now. Ezra's already gettin' ornery," he laughed. "JD'll be fine too, especially with Buck to nursemaid 'im." Then he surprised Chris when he asked, "How about you? How are you?"
"Better," was all the gunslinger said as he took a seat in the cushioned chair Josiah had used earlier.
*************************
"Hey, cowboy," a soft voice drawled.
"Hey yourself, cowboy," Chris grinned and got up out of his chair and propped a couple of pillows behind Vin's head, so he could sit up, in reasonable comfort. The tracker groaned at the movement and Chris hastily poured a glass of water for his best friend. The room was empty now except for the two of them. Josiah had awakened several hours ago starving, and he was now over at saloon having a bite to eat. Nathan was getting some much needed sleep over at his clinic.
"Thanks." Vin's voice was raspier than usual and he moved very gingerly, to take the glass from Chris.
"How you feelin'?" Chris asked.
"Like I been run over by a buffalo herd," Vin answered, resting the glass on his stomach. "What the hell happened?" he demanded and winced, as his body protested the slight movements.
"You ever hear of the Garver brothers?" Chris asked. Vin nodded, and Chris continued, "A few years ago, I killed one and helped send four to Yuma prison. The oldest brother, Harvey took exception, figured, he'd get my brothers, and then me."
Vin closed his eyes against a wave of pain and Chris took the glass from his hands. "Get some rest, now," he said, as he gently rearranged the pillows and eased Vin back down. "I'll tell ya the whole story, in the saloon over a beer, just as soon as Nate says you can get out of here."
*************************
Chris took in the sight of his friends, his brothers, seated around the table. Nathan had assured him that all four of the injured men would recover, with proper rest, of course. He smiled at that thought. Nathan's idea of what proper rest was didn't come close to anybody else's. Which was exactly why they were all sitting in the saloon tonight.
Josiah would be back working on the church in a day or two. He was the only only one who'd heeded the healer's advice. Buck was fussing after JD for trying to overdo. Hell, JD would be lucky if Buck didn't tie him to his bed for a week, after the way he'd ignored Nathan's orders to stay off his feet. Ezra was at his card table, practicing one handed shuffling and dealing, hoping someone with more money than luck would find their way over to him. He'd made himself so obnoxious, insisting on getting out of confinement, as he called it, that Nathan had thrown up his arms and helped him out the door. Vin was trying to get out of Chris's room, permanently, in much the same manner as Ezra had - complaining about being stuck there, having to drink ditch water, not being fed enough to keep a mouse alive - because, of course, he was fine. Nathan and Chris had realized that Vin was getting close to the stage where he'd be sneaking out the window next, and decided to make a deal with him, to prevent having to pick him up off the ground when he fell out of said window. So Vin was here, too, for a couple of hours only, with no whiskey allowed, but he was out. And he'd have to go back to Chris's room when those two hours were up, or he'd have Chris and Nathan to deal with.
"You ok, pard?" Buck asked quietly.
"I'm doing good, Buck," Chris's eyes rested on each member of the seven for a few seconds, before he met Buck's eyes again. "Real good," he finished and raised his glass in a silent toast.
THE END