Part Three--Strange Bedfellows
He looked at himself in the mirror. The new jacket was nothing short of exquisite. Ah, he missed the fine stores back east. How did this obscure little western town become so sophisticated?
No matter. Ezra now had access to those things he truly deserved and he would take this opportunity to stock up on amenities. He smiled, his tooth catching the light, and a beautiful young woman come up to him.
"Beautiful . . . " she said, her dark eyes studying the outfit . . . and the man. When her gaze settled on the gambler's eyes, she smiled.
"Yes . . ." he said, clearly sending the compliment back to her. "Beautiful . . . Tell me, Mrs. . ."
"Oh, it's Miss," she teased. "Miss Adelaide McMichael . . ."
"Charmed," Ezra said, extending a gallant hand, taking hers and brushing his lips on the back of her hand. "Do I detect a . . . South Carolina accent in your speech?"
"Charleston," Miss Adelaide McMichael drawled.
"Ah, the South's own coastal jewel." Ezra raised an eyebrow and smiled off-handedly. "And the town is a jewel, too."
"Oh, sir . . . you're making me blush."
"Not at all, my dear," Ezra said, and he watched as she began fitting the jacket to his narrow waist.
She reached for the pin cushion that sat on the little table. "We can take this in a bit here," she explained, and she tapered the jacket perfectly to his fine figure. "Not so much that we lose the drape of the back."
Ezra was impressed. He hadn't worked with a real tailor since he was in San Fransisco. and that was three years ago. She had the touch.
She had the touch, indeed. Ezra smiled at his mental double entendre.
Her hand lingered on his waist a moment and his eye caught hers in the mirror. "That feels about right," he said.
She put the pin in the spot and fingered her way to the other side of his waist. "And here . . . " She knelt beside him and kept one hand on his waist and slid the other down the side of his leg--measuring the hem of the jacket against his thigh. "Perfect . . ."
Ezra had stayed utterly still during his fitting, but her hand on his leg made him weak. His knee bent ever so slightly and she laughed softly--not a mocking laugh, but a laugh that was like music to him.
"Miss McMichael . . ."
"Adelaide," she corrected as she measured the drape against the back of the gambler's legs.
Now Ezra chuckled . . . at himself mostly. "Miss Adelaide . . . might you do me the honor of having dinner with me this evening?"
To his surprise, the young woman didn't answer right away. She stood up and turned him around to face her. She placed her hands on his lapels. "I can have this ready for you tomorrow."
Ezra studied her face and raised an eyebrow. She was good. He had to give her that. He smiled broadly as he spoke. "And I will pay you for it if you will kindly return my wallet."
She at least had the decency not to look surprised at his accusation. The corner of her mouth pulled in the thought of a smile and she held out the gambler's property. Ezra held her thin wrist with one hand and took his wallet with the other.
"I trust you understand my caution," he said as he flipped it open and counted his money.
It was all there. He released her and she backed away, a provocative smile on her face. Ezra pulled off the jacket and handed it to her. "Now, about dinner . . ."
********************************************************************
His head still hurt, but it was bearable. Instinctively, he raised his hand to the side of his head and felt a crusty welt there.
Figured.
Maybe it wasn't too bad. He could see all right. His eyes must be fine. That was a good sign. And he wasn't dizzy or anything . . . well, not yet, but he hadn't really walked around. That would be the real test.
He was sore--all over. He had to figure out if he had any serious injuries. He looked at his hands. He was sunburned--that was for sure, but everything he checked seemed to work.
He must have gotten a little sun-sick. He squinted up at the morning sky. Today wouldn't be any better. He needed to protect himself from the killer sun and he needed to figure out a way to fight the heat, too.
Water. God, he needed water.
He stood up slowly, pulling himself up by the craggy rock that formed his night shelter. Oh . . . now he was dizzy. He leaned against the rock with his eyes closed. He waited for the spell to pass.
How was he gonna make it out here?
Shake it off, Vin, he told himself. You know what to do. You're good at this survival stuff. Just think.
He kept his eyes closed. What did he need?
A weapon.
He thought back to the time he'd spent with the Indians. He could make a spear . . . but he didn't have a knife. No, he had to be more creative than that.
What did he have?
He opened his eyes, and grinned . . .
He had plenty of rock.
*********************************************************************
Nathan pulled his hat down low over his eyes. The sun was almost too bright and the way it hit the white wall of the newly-painted cafe across the street, it nearly blinded him. Josiah sat next to him, his long legs propped up on the rail, his hat pulled down over closed eyes. Nathan found it remarkable that Josiah could just enter a world of his own while sitting on a porch in Four Corners waiting on the mail.
Josiah was never asleep, even though it seemed like he was dead to the world. On the contrary, he'd be apparently lost in thought, eyes closed, and yet he'd know every detail of what was going on in town. He'd know that Mary crossed the street to the Clarion ten minutes ago and that she was wearing a blue dress. He'd know every conversation that had happened within earshot.
Nathan himself was almost nodding off when Josiah's rumbling bass voice spoke. "What kind of book is it?"
Nathan chuckled. They'd started this conversation a half hour ago. "A medical book. It's got some new procedures I need to know about." The healer shook his head. "I need to learn more, Josiah."
"And this book will help," the big preacher said. Even though it sounded like a comment, Nathan heard it like a question, and he felt defensive.
"It's better than missing something that could save somebody's life."
Josiah nodded. He could be maddening sometimes. They sat in silence for a long time. Then Nathan's impatience got the best of him.
"What?!" he snapped at his friend.
Josiah never looked at Nathan. Instead, the big man squinted out into the street. "Have you ever thought about studying medicine, Nathan?"
"Thought about it? Hell yes, I've thought about it. Thought about it a lot." Nathan stood up quickly. "Don't you think I'd have gone if there was any way I could have?"
Josiah had the good sense not to ask the obvious question. Nathan answered it anyway.
"Ain't nobody gonna give a colored man a chance in medical school."
"Oberlin?" Josiah offered, and Nathan stopped in his tracks.
"Couldn't afford to get there," the healer answered, quietly.
Josiah finally cut his eyes over to his friend. "If you could?"
Nathan smiled. "I'd go--but I'd have to get more schooling before I could get in."
Josiah might have had more to say, but then they both heard the stage down the street. Nathan watched his old friend start to get up. It took the big man longer and longer every day to stand up if he were comfortable sitting down. It was as though Josiah had to unfold himself--lifting his legs off the rail and pulling them in so he could set them on the floor. Then he'd stretch and sigh, and finally, he'd stand up. His knees would creak and he seemed to roll himself one vertabrae at a time.
By the time Josiah had stretched to his full height, the stage had pulled up to a stop.
*********************************************************************
JD Dunne was so tired.
But he felt so good. He was back in his element, riding the big horse, training him. JD had always had the touch. He could understand horses. A gypsy woman he'd met once had told him he had a gift, and until he figured out what it was, he'd never have peace. At the time, JD had thought it was becoming a gunslinger. And when he joined up with Chris and them, he had been so excited. He loved his new life.
It wasn't until they'd found this magnificent animal that JD felt the peace the gypsy woman had talked about. Oh, he'd known he was great with horses--he surely could ride. But this--training another living creature to be its best--this was his . . .
His calling.
JD took care of his friends' horses. He enjoyed that, but it wasn't the same as trying to figure out what a greenbroke horse was thinking.
He smiled as he groomed Buck's horse. Talking to him, but having a very different conversation than he'd had with the wild one. JD was careful to check every part of the horse. He could tell how Buck rode by studying the horse's mouth. He knew when there was a problem with the saddle by how the withers looked. It occurred to JD that these were things a lot of other people didn't have an eye for.
But he did.
He patted the horse's rump and moved on through the livery. Two more to go.
**************************************************************************
He was pretty safe there in the rock cleft. There'd been no sign of his pursuers yet and judging by the sun, it was right at noon. Vin Tanner studied the makeshift tomahawk he'd put together. He'd found a well-shaped stone, and honed it on another, larger piece of rock. He'd torn off a strip of material from the bottom of his pants where his spurs had already ripped a hole. He'd used that strip to fasten the head of the tomahawk to a piece of shrubbery that had struggled to grow out of the rock face, only to die when the climate had become too dry for it.
It was the right size for the weapon, if only it weren't too brittle. He'd think of a way to strengthen it. For now, he had to look for water and food.
He'd long since decided that his boots would be precious little help out here in this wilderness, but until he figured something out as a replacement, he'd have to suffer.
He made his way down the back of the rocky slope, through a rock barrier he'd fashioned to throw off any would-be attackers. He made a quick study of the surroundings. No one had been here since he'd comethrough yesterday. He'd learned not only to cover his tracks, but to plant some tell-tale things around so that if someone else came this way, he'd know.
Of course, if there was water somewhere, it was bound to be a trap.
Well, he'd have to find some, then look for the source. They might wait for him by a stream. They'd figure he'd drink the first water he found. They wouldn't expect him to go farther before he drank.
He just hoped he could.
*********************************************************************
Ezra admired himself in the mirror for the second time that day--this time in his hotel room. He wore yet another jacket and a fancier vest than he'd ever owned. He adjusted the little tie he wore and took more pains with his hair than usual. Yes, he looked good. And now that Miss Adelaide McMichael knew he was on to her con, they could have an enjoyable evening together. All was right with the world.
At least here in Watertown.
The gambler wondered vaguely where Mr. Tanner was. He'd decided not to worry until the next day, but something was nagging at him a bit. He couldn't put his finger on it. Well, Mr. Tanner was a resourceful man. He could take care of himself.
Ezra pulled out his watch. 4:30. He'd be meeting the lovely Miss Adelaide in an hour. He had time for a game before their appointment.
**********************************************************************
Chris Larabee wanted to get some more work done on his homestead. The town was quiet. Vin and Ezra would be back tomorrow. Buck and the rest of the boys could handle anything that happened until then.
Chris stopped at the cafe and got some supper to take with him, then he packed it up and headed for the livery.
Great shafts of sunlight cut through the panels of the old stable. In the light, Chris could see the dust that floated in the air. He stepped into the tack room for his saddle and bridle and, with a heave, carried it to his horse.
He opened the door to the stall. God love JD. He had taken care of the animal. Chris had asked him to take care of a bad place on one of the hooves, and not only had JD done it, but he'd taken care of lots of things. He'd trimmed the forelock, treated the place on the animal's flank where he'd chewed an itch to the skin, and he'd bathed the horse, too.
Chris smiled as he put the saddle on and cinched the girth. The horse blew and whinneyed, nodding. If Chris didn't know better, he'd think his mount was trying to have a conversation with him.
"S'ok, boy," Chris said.
That's when he heard it.
The sneeze.
Not a horse sneeze.
Chris pat his horse's neck and left his stall for a moment.
Another sneeze. Chris followed the sound.
To the last stall.
Chris quietly opened the door.
JD Dunne lay curled in the hay on the floor of his mare's stall. Chris chuckled in spite of himself. The kid didn't wake up. His face was down in the hay--no wonder he was sneezing. Chris took a step toward him, only to have the mare nudge him back.
"You know me, girl," Chris said, gently rubbing the soft of her nose so she could get used to his familiar scent. While there, he spoke softly to their youngest--who looked even younger asleep there in the stall.
"JD, hey . . ."
"Unnhh"
"JD? Come on, son." Chris watched amused as the black head emerged, bits of hay sticking out everywhere. The kid squinted up at his idol, and it took a moment to register where he was.
Suddenly, his eyes flew open, and JD hustled to his feet. "Gosh, Chris, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to . . ."
"It's ok. Why don't you go on to bed?"
"What time is it?" JD asked.
"Sundown."
"Damn, I'm so sorry."
Chris shook his head. "It's ok, JD. You ain't done nothing wrong."
JD stood there, half asleep. "But last night, I mean, I know it's Vin's horse and . . . "
Chris smiled and put his hand on the kid's shoulder. "You're doing great, son."
Chris left a bewildered JD standing there.
Yeah, the kid was doing great.
********************************************************************
Vin Tanner hoped against hope that the little "posse" of bounty hunters had traveled a long way away from there. Surely they wouldn't expect him to stay so close to where they'd started. Vin had tried tracking them, but with no luck. They were good.
He'd found a little river winding through the valley. Why wasn't there more vegetation along the water? He studied it from a distance, and all indications pointed to the water having been fouled in some way.
Damn!
Vin would have to find some other source.
It occurred to him that this was probably just one of many traps. Well, he wasn't gonna fall for it. So far he'd stayed a step ahead of them.
He wouldn't be if he couldn't find water, though.
Damn them!
He started to make his way back to his hideout. His feet hurt. He wasn't as hungry as he'd been. He'd found some foliage--pitiful little food for a grown man. But it was better than nothing.
How he found the little cavern, he never knew. Maybe there was something to what Josiah had refered to as "divine intervention". He'd been all over that rock yesterday and hadn't found it.
He could almost smell the water.
Crawling into the opening, he cursed the fact that he had no light. Well, if he didn't find water right there at the mouth, he'd go back out and make a torch.
He didn't have to look long. He came upon water almost immediately. Fresh, clean. Oh, God he'd been so thirsty! He drank greedily. He knew he'd make himself sick if he drank too fast, but he was so thirsty.
He was about to stop, when a strong arm hooked around his throat.
*********************************************************************
Miss Adelaide McMichael was even more beautiful than she'd been that morning. Ezra Standish was, for once, left speechless. He stood at the foot of the staircase and watched her gracious descent . . . and he wondered why she was not already spoken for.
"Are you going to stand there with your mouth hanging open, or are we going to dinner?" she asked.
"Ah . . . well . . . dinner, of course . . . we should." Ezra Standish, the golden-tongued conman was stammering. He grinned at himself.
Miss Adelaide laughed--that musical laugh again--and came over to him to take his arm. "Come on, Mr. Stephens. Obviously your hunger has addled your mind a bit. Don't worry," she patted his arm. "You'll recover shortly."
Ezra knew that she knew his name wasn't Stephens . . . just as he was sure she wasn't a McMichael. But that was part of the charm.
Of course, as charming as she was, he had taken the precaution of putting his money in a clip secured to a hidden band on the inside of his pants. She'd never find it there.
Unless, of course, he wanted her to.
*********************************************************************
Vin had no time to think. He instinctively thrust his elbow back into the body of the man holding him.
This caught his attacker off-guard, and Vin was able to twist away from him. There was so little space in the cave that it was difficult to actually fight. Vin hesitated for a split-second--long enough for the man to thrust a knife into the tracker's upper arm.
Vin screamed . . .
And he snapped his attacker's neck.
*********************************************************************
Buck Wilmington was just plain antsy. He sat in the saloon . . . alone. How did that happen? Chris and Ezra and Vin were gone, Nathan was in his room reading that book he'd gotten. Josiah was . . . Where was Josiah?
Buck took a long drink.
The kid had gone to bed.
If that didn't beat all . . .
Where were the ladies? Miss Blossom was visiting her relatives back in St. Louis. Lucy . . . well, he'd had about enough of Lucy. That left . . .
"Hey Inez!" he called . . .
*********************************************************************
If Ezra had wondered how the little town had come into such incredible monetary resources, his questions were put to rest when stepped into the back room of the boarding house. Where most businesses would have storage space, this business had a beautifully appointed gaming parlor--private gaming parlor.
He had to hand it to Sir Smythe. He'd told Ezra the night before that there were much bigger games in town. He just hadn't said where. So tonight, when the gentleman approached the couple at dinner, Ezra wasn't entirely surprised.
He was surprised, however, when his date stood up and kissed Smythe on the cheek.
"Hello Daddy," she had drawled.
And once again that evening, Ezra was left speechless.
*********************************************************************
Oh God . . .
Vin crawled out of the cavern, breathless. If his attacker had been one of them, they'd be all over him in a minute.
He had to get back to his hiding place and he had to cover his tracks.
God, his arm hurt. The blade was still in there. He bit back a cry and looked around. There was just the glow of sun on the horizon. It made shadows everywhere.
His heart pounded. He had to get out of there.
How could he cover his tracks if he left a trail of blood? God, he was lightheaded. He cupped his good hand below the knife hilt so he could keep the blood from dripping.
God help me. . . Please, how do I get back? Vin hadn't prayed recently, but he did steadily while he stumbled back toward the rock slope.
He hoped he was going the right way.
*********************************************************************
Smythe was getting intoxicated.
Ezra was not.
That would work in Ezra's favor.
Oh, Ezra was giving the impression that he was intoxicated. But he was staying sharp. As he had told his colleagues before, he didn't believe in gambling and, as such, left nothing to chance.
It was probably a good thing that Ezra broke even tonight. He was still way ahead as far as his winnings over the last few days were concerned.
But Smythe was a worthy adversary. Ezra was better. But he couldn't win every night. Who'd believe that?
Miss Adelaide had watched the first few hands and then she repaired to her room.
That was four hours ago.
Smythe was laughing and happy and the veneer of gentleman faded and the drunken partier began to emerge. It was becoming harder and harder for Ezra not to win. He'd have to win just so no one got wise to him.
"Another game?" Smythe called brashly, after he took another game from Ezra.
"Shall we meet tomorrow evening? I fear my mind is becoming cloudy."
"Not fair, not fair, son. Quitting because you are losing," Smythe laughed. Ezra was about to answer when the older gentleman slapped his shoulder. "Not to worry, lad. Not to worry." The dull light of an idea appeared in the Englishman's eyes. "Son, could I stand you to a drink? Brandy?"
"Wonderful, sir. I'd be honored. . ."
Ezra was intrigued. He operated from the philosophy that the more you knew about your opponent, the more likely you were to win. He could sit and talk with the Englishman all night. Or rather he could listen. . .
*********************************************************************
How long had he been unconscious? Vin struggled to open his eyes. His arm hurt. He reached up with his other hand. The blade was still there.
He felt sick.
Oh no . . . No, he couldn't get sick. He needed everything he'd eaten. He needed the water . . . He fought the nausea.
Where was he?
He opened his eyes and found that somehow, he'd made it back to his hiding place. Had he covered his tracks?
He hoped so. He'd check in the morning . . .
********************************************************************
". . . and you'll have to meet my son Matthew . . . " Smythe was saying. "He'll be back in town in a couple of days." The man leaned closer, his breath heavy with alcohol. Ezra listened, hoping his eyes weren't watering. "He's the true artist in the family." Smythe went on. "I believe you would enjoy taking him on in games of chance."
"I'm certain I would. Does he travel to . . . play?"
Smythe laughed. "Indeed he does. He engages in more . . . creative pursuits."
Ezra was tired, but he stayed with the conversation. "He sounds like a brilliant adversary."
"He is, in fact, a hunter."
"And you wager on the hunt." Something felt very strange to Ezra. "What type of game does he pursue?"
"All kinds. He travels all over the world. He was on safari several years ago."
"Sounds fascinating." Ezra was in fact not fascinated. He was tired. He didn't like the idea of betting on how much game a hunter could catch. It made no sense to him. He liked card games, but he was becoming less and less fond of gamblers.
Smythe motioned him closer. There was that breath again. Ezra squinted as he listened to the drunkard "confide" in him.
"Do you want to get in on some major action?" Smythe now had his arm around Ezra's neck.
"What kind of action?"
"I have made a substantial wager on a hunt."
"Sir, I don't. . ."
"Shh, a manhunt."
Ezra controlled his reaction. "Sir?"
"Matthew has friends . . . who are bounty hunters. He finds a man who is wanted . . ." Smythe paused as he began to chuckle." . . . dead or alive . . .and turns him loose in the wilderness. Then he gets a group to chase him. If he dies . . . it pays $1,000 on the dollar plus the bounty. If he gets away, the money goes back into a pot for next time."
Ezra's heart beat wildly, but he kept his words steady. "How often does he get away?"
Smythe laughed. "There is no pot for next time."
"So you have one of these . . . miscreants . . . on the loose right now?"
"Yeah, a good one. He's used to the wild. The game will be more of a challenge this time."
Ezra tried to echo a chuckle. "Sounds like a man could lose his shirt on a deal like this."
"No way." Smythe spoke conspiratorily. "There's no way out."
Suddenly the man broke into a belly laugh and he squeezed Ezra's neck until it ached.
"Does the quarry have a name?" Ezra asked, knowing the sick truth anyway.
"Tanner, wanted in Tascosa."
