FORTITUDE
By: Heather F.
Lightening flashed again.
JD witnessed his killer's face. Tiny's ghoulish smile hailed just inches from his own face. JD's eyes focused on the steel of the curved blade.
Tiny would kill this whelp of a lawman before slipping away into the night. This tied pup would be easy to dispatch. Easier than the unseen demons flickering between shadows.
Then out of this nightmare, a bare arm snaked out from behind Tiny and around his assailant's neck. A bare arm with just the tattered remnants of a battered blue shirt. 'Buck?'
The world lit up again. Cold, empty, blue eyes stared hard at the sheriff. For a moment, JD thought Vin stood over him.
All snapped black again as thunder roared overhead. On the heels of the last thunderclap, the sickening crunch of broken bone herald the last conscious sound JD heard.
Somewhere in a dream-like state, a voice whispered over him, "Don't worry none, kid, I'm right here."
'Buck.'
Yosemite placed thickened forearms on burned shoulders. With callused hands formed and molded from years of holding hammers and pliers, he grabbed either side of the gambler's face.
"Enough!" The deep resonating tone stopped everything in the room. The same sharp voice he used to convey his meaning to ill-behaved horses, horses that should know better, shocked the room into immobility.
The wild green eyes stopped their maniacal roving. They quickly snapped and focused on the face leaning closely above.
"You will drink." Yosemite held a hand stretched out behind him. Inez hesitantly handed over the small bowl. It seemed dwarfed in the massive hand.
The blacksmith gently lifted the gambler's head off the pillow and tipped the bowl to parched peeling lips. The white cream and lotions still worked to put moisture back into dehydrated tissue.
Yosemite never broke eye contact with the fury below him. He felt the tremor in weakened muscles and knew somewhere, where the spirit lays protected, that the gambler would not give in so easily.
Hesitant swallows and coarse persuasion soon saw the bowl empty. Yosemite laid Ezra's head back on the pillow. The constant unforgiving gaze that held his with such ire unnerved the blacksmith.
"I shall stay close by if you need me again." Yosemite eased off the bed and backed away from it. 'Never turn your back on an animal. Always keep them in you line of vision.' The blacksmith felt his few rules of handling were never more important than now.
Mary quietly thanked the large man and lead him toward the door.
Nettie fixed the blanket around the gambler's poulticed shoulders.
The green eyes bored into her, threatening her in their silent manner to stay away.
"Where are you, son? What do you think you see?" Her whispered words garnered no answers. She ran a gentle hand through his stiff, dirty hair.
A malicious stare warned her back.
Chris stood in the center of camp. A deluge of rain continued to soak the earth. It splattered and bounced from the dry, unyielding ground. It pooled in puddles and ran steadily, building tributaries. The rim of his hat bent and folded under the torrential weight.
A broken battered body lay at his feet. Another hunched, crumpled body laid on its side, a gaping hole through the chest. Damn fools fought like they had something to lose...and they did. Larabee kicked at one of the bodies at his feet in disgust.
The thunder and lightening had rolled across the sky. It flashed and clapped a distance from the small camp. It no longer shook the ground where he stood.
The gunslinger followed the movements of his men. Buck limped, practically dragging his leg behind him. Wilmington dropped to the ground beside JD. Nathan bent over a body just a few feet from Larabee and removed something from the corpse. Whatever tool he recovered, the healer wiped on his leg. Josiah limped to the wagon and stiffly checked the contents of it.
Larabee surveyed the area turning slowly in a circle. He could feel the eyes on him. Feel the piercing gaze burrow into his back. Chris found the eyes. They reflected briefly in a distant flash of light.
Tanner.
From the cover of the forest, the tracker watched the camp. With blue eyes of a predator, the bounty hunter remained aloof from the others.
Tanner then slipped from sight. Melting back into the forest under the cover of a dark night.
Larabee let him go. Something deep down told him to stay away. Chris turned his attention to Buck and JD. Dunne lay curled, bent into Wilmington, shivering against the sudden cold and wet. Buck draped a protective arm over the trembling shoulders. The big man leaned his head back and opened his mouth, trying to capture some rain.
Chris started toward his men.
The sun had crested over the treetops just a few minutes earlier. A breeze tickled the air. The rain had broken the heat wave. Small puddles of water pooled rebelliously in shaded areas. The grass revolted against the summer by taking on a brilliant shade of green seen only after lightening storms.
Clouds dotted a crisp blue sky and the sun seemed friendlier today. Birds sang longer this morning and clouds of insects hovered hungrily over patches of discolored earth.
The canvas top had been pulled back over the arching rungs of the wagon. Buck and JD lay in bedrolls covered against the damp morning chill.
JD didn't want to wake up. He thought he had died. Damn, he hurt too bad to be dead though. His ribs burned, his legs ached, his head pounded and he felt incredibly thirsty. He tried to lift an arm but half suspected the manacles would prevent it. His left arm flopped heavily beside him.
Dunne stared at his bandaged wrists. They lay just in front of his face. He moved a few fingers. They were stiff and almost creaked with the flexion.
"How ya doin', JD?"
Chris' voice.
"Chris?" JD almost didn't recognize his own voice.
Larabee crossed the distance to the young sheriff. The gunslinger rested a hand on Buck's dark hair. The Ladies' man had woken earlier and checked on the 'Kid'. Even with a chunk carved out of his leg and half his blood spilled on the ground, Wilmington never stopped checking on the others. Buck had struggled to sit up and with glazed feverish eyes, he questioned Larabee about Vin and Ezra. Making sure Nathan and Josiah survived the night, too. Hell, Buck would not stop his interrogation until Chris answered each question fully. Finally sated with information, Wilmington eased back down and immediately drifted off.
Chris wondered if Buck knew just how much he looked up to him. Larabee wonder if he would ever tell Buck just how much of a living hero he really was and not just to JD.
Larabee rested forearms against the side of the wagon. He stared down at JD and smiled. A grin really. It came easy, as if it always belonged there.
"Right here, JD." Chris held a steaming cup of coffee.
"The others?" Dunne blinked slowly, fighting it, afraid his body would betray him and fall back to sleep.
Chris chuckled and shook his head. "They're fine, kid, everyone's doin' jist fine." Larabee watched JD fight the sleep that wanted so much to down the young man.
"Go to sleep, JD. We've got time."
"Ezra?" Dunne struggled again his eyes unrolling and fighting to stay focus. He met Chris's gaze squarely. "They took 'im . . . took 'im into the Salt....."
"He made it back JD. Ezra's back at town."
A brief smile tried to curl on JD's lips. "Buck and Vin said he'd make it.... had no choice." The words tapered off. The heavy rhythmic pattern of sleep steadied his breathing.
Chris merely nodded and straightened up. Those two taken care of, Chris turned his attention to the one still unaccounted for of his friends. Tanner. The tracker had disappeared last night while the others huddled in the wagon tending Buck and JD.
With the coming of dawn, the rain stopped. Nathan, Josiah, and Chris exited the stuffy, humid air of the wagon. A cool breeze cut the land. The remnants of the outlaw's campfire smoldered defiantly within a small ring of stones.
The bodies had vanished in the darkness.
With renewed vigor, the three lawmen started setting up a new camp. The fire sprung back to life with a little persuasion from Josiah. Nathan dragged supplies out from under the wagon where Josiah had stored them last night. Chris checked the horses and their gear.
Larabee could not shake the feeling that someone observed them. He never saw the tracker but knew it was Vin who watched them from afar.
Josiah fried bacon over the cook fire. Nathan diligently cleaned and recleaned his knives before sheathing them. He rummaged under the wagon, searching for any kind of medical supplies he might have missed earlier. Buck's bandages would have to be changed daily, if not more often. The maggots had actually done a good job cleaning and debriding out the fetid flesh. They had removed a heavy infestation. Once the surface ones had been removed, Josiah had squeezed on the wound and exposed the wiggling butt ends of those migrating into dying flesh. It took sometime, but in the end, they had removed all the vermin. Nathan now had the daunting task of taking over the maggots' job and keeping the wound clean. With renewed vigor he dug for more bandage material.
The wagon had been well stocked with food and whiskey.
Larabee stood and gazed around the camp. No signs remained of the struggle last night. None except the physical kind. Josiah occasionally rubbed at his back, Nathan carried a small bruise over his eye, and Chris could feel his every muscle contract and pull against bone.
Larabee headed out of camp with a limp and holding his ribs. Wet brush and ground cover slapped his legs, soaking black pant legs to boots and skin alike.
Time had come to find Tanner.
Chris found him sitting on a boulder. He faced the sun. Larabee knew the tracker had heard him. Knew, because when he settled beside him, Vin had not reacted.
"You gonna let Nathan tend those wounds?"
"Probably."
"You did what you had too."
"Ain't feelin' poorly about it." Tanner slowly redirected his gaze toward his friend.
The light blue eyes had a hardness about them. Darkness ran just under the civilized exterior of buckskin, cotton, and skin. A wildness that had not been carved or created by nature, it held the ruthless ferocity of something much darker. As vicious and crazed as the natural world could be, though it harbored some of the greatest predators and instincts known to the world, nature did not create the black tide that waved and regressed under the stony expression of the tracker.
It had been man made. It festered. Last night it surfaced. In the blazing fury of nature's tempest, Vin Tanner's inner demon bared itself to the world. With instincts and knowledge closely attuned to the natural world, the manmade devil in Tanner poised a dangerous, deadly force. He lashed out to protect and retaliate in the name of his friends and surrogate family.
He fought now to stifle it and control it once again.
Chris recognized the expression and understood the reason.
"We're heading back to town sometime today." Larabee circled away from Tanner and headed back to camp.
"Ezra?"
"Made it back, Nathan's worried though." Chris paused and turned around. "Looks kinda like the bacon Josiah's fryin' up." Larabee's soft chuckle accompanied Tanner's half smile. Chris paused and finally uttered something that had bothered him since he hit the trail. "It doesn't surprise me . . .that he made it back. Figure it should, but it doesn't. "
Tanner nodded in understanding. "Tough as bull hide under all those fancy clothes of his, ain't he?" The question was merely a statement of fact that they all knew but somehow never realized. "Kind of like JD," Tanner finished quietly. "Nathan's worried over nuthin'."
Larabee smiled tightly and left. JD was a better man than any of them.
Nettie put down her needlepoint and watched Standish wake.
Over the past few minutes he had become increasingly more active. Mary and Inez had retired hours ago, leaving Miss Nettie to watch over their ward.
Yosemite had stayed at the livery to be close if they should need him again. And they had -- twice more that night and early this morning. Each time, his gruff voice and powerful presence had been enough to persuade a wild mind into a form of controlled terror.
As the sun crested over the town and the early morning rays stretched and arched into the room, the gambler stirred. A clean summer breeze seemed to wipe out the harsh battles of last night.
She sat forward when she found him staring at her.
"How are you feeling, Mr. Standish?"
He stared at her, confused. His reddened brow wrinkled. He blinked and focused on her again.
"Would you like some water?" She slid from the rocking chair and crossed to the nightstand.
For the first time in hours, he did not watch her in a wary fashion. He was not frightened or defensive. Instead, his eyes followed out of confusion, trying to make sense of something his muddled mind couldn't quite grasp.
He tried to speak but it like seemed the words lost their form and articulation long before they ever made it passed his teeth. His voice cracked, low and scratchy. He followed her with his eyes because nothing else wanted to move.
"Try this." She gently manipulated him onto his back. The feel of deep sunburns on the sheets did not quite register. Nettie lifted his head slightly and tipped the cup of tepid water. "Easy now." Her words were unnecessary.
After a few tiring sips she laid him back down. He fought to keep his eyes open.
"The others?" His whispered words barely escaped from his mouth.
"You're not a morning person, son, go back to sleep." Nettie settled back into her chair gathering up her needlepoint.
Ezra drifted off to sleep, understanding that she had simply ignored his question -- not a good sign.
Josiah guided the team of mules over desert ground. The storm last night seemed to revitalized the area. Rodents and hares darted out from undercover. A coyote pounced with stiffened front legs some distance off. Birds circled and swooped, diving toward the ground at maddening clips.
The mules pulled the wagon at a steady pace. Their harness creaked in rhythm with the wagon and their ears alternated forward and back with each step. Wagon wheels rolled easily through morning dew covered ground.
Josiah had no need to flick the reins to urge the team ahead. The mules chose their own pace. Larabee and Jackson flanked the wagon listening intently to the story Buck and JD wove as they made their way home.
At one point, Nathan bit back a curse and stared over his shoulder into the desert. They skirted around the Salt Flats. Though it would be shorter, as the crow flies to cross it, the men circumvented it. That barren stretch of land had proven unforgiving to many a weary traveler. Though rain had pummeled the ground last night and the sun seemed to have lost its vengeance, a place as desolate as the Flats never lost its fierceness.
JD spoke rapidly, his eager chatter and voice only slowed by his sore jaw and aching muscles. Bounty hunters had found them. One of them recognized Buck from his Ranger days.
Chris raised an eyebrow at Buck at this piece of information.
Dunne continued as if he had not seen the silent communication. He had but ignored it. It was a piece of history for Buck and Chris that they would share when they were ready. There had been four bounty hunters and they had gotten the drop on JD and the others.
JD paused and rubbed at his wrists. The four lawmen had found themselves shackled. Dunne had confessed right then that the shackles almost made him laugh because he knew Ezra would have them picked and unlocked before dawn the next day. They had been forced to walk the rest of the day and never got a drink of water. By nightfall, Ezra had his bindin's off. Except Ezra must have been feelin' poorly after all that walking because after he undid his bindings, he tried to stand but lost his balance and fell over. Well, Rosenburg saw the movement and that's when he learned Ezra could pick locks. So he had tied Ezra's hands and took his hat. Next day, he led 'im off into the Salt Flats.
JD stopped speaking. Chris looked ready to kill the messenger. Josiah cursed and unconsciously flicked the reins over the mules' rumps. The mules ignored the command.
Nathan sucked in a deep breath and shook his head wearily.
Buck picked up the tale from there seein' as how JD had gotten all but beaten half-senseless.
Dunne recalled most of what Buck had to tell, though some of it was a bit sketchy. He almost pointed out that Buck forgot to mention that someone paid McQuinn. Instead, the young sheriff figured his older friend had something in mind.
Wilmington spoke right up until the storm. Then his voice tapered off. It seemed everyone knew the rest. Everyone but Dunne. Buck spoke around the fact.
JD lay back down against the bedroll. The jarring lurch of the wagon only seemed to lull him to sleep.
"Where's Vin?" Buck sat leaning cockeyed against the side of the wagon, his bad leg stretched out before him. A chill ached his bones and his joints. The maddening itching and wiggling that had gnawed at his leg for so long had finally diminished. Wilmington would make it a point to thank Nathan and Josiah. He thankfully had been unconscious during the cleaning session.
Buck watched Chris for a moment, trying to gauge his friend's disposition. Though Larabee seemed on edge, he had an aura of control. Buck took a breath and quietly added, "Someone was payin' McQuinn to grab Vin and me."
The simple statement stunned everyone but the two in the back of the wagon. Josiah took a quick glance at Buck from over his shoulder and then stared at Chris. Nathan worried with his reins until his horse shook its head in exasperation.
"Who?" The hissed word seared the distance between old friends.
Buck merely shook his head.
The fact that Terry McQuinn had sat at the end of someone else's pony line infuriated Larabee. Unfortunately the ex-ranger had succumbed to a fatal case of lead poisoning before anyone had a chance to speak with him.
Wilmington leaned uncomfortably against the jostling buckboard, afraid his lifetime friend might slip back under the black tides of revenge. Buck did the only thing he knew how to do, besides hitting Chris head on; he redirected him towards Tanner.
"He come back yet?" Buck tried to sit up straighter to ease the pressure on his backside. He squinted his eyes against the mid-morning sun and tried to make out the silhouette just on the horizon.
"Little bit." Chris rested his wrists across the horn of the saddle. 'Who the hell would use Buck to get to me?'
"Ya think maybe you should rein Vin back in, jist in case?" Buck did not think Vin's life truly stood at risk. Not right now. Anyone who dared to venture too close to the bounty hunter, however, would play a fickle game with their own life. Wilmington needed to get Chris moving. He had to stop the brewing guilt before it could start to fester and boil.
"It was like something slowly dug itself out from deep inside him, real gradual but steady." Wilmington's voice softened as he recalled the hardening of Tanner's blue eyes. It mirrored Larabee's eyes but with Chris it came more like a flash, the quick eruption of a grease fire. Hot furious and if one did not know what to do, terribly dangerous.
Chris nodded in understanding. The leader then swung his gelding around, veering off away from the wagon, galloping towards the lone figure.
Josiah watched Larabee's horse wind its way through sage and brush in lazy ground eating strides. The preacher wondered if Chris would know what to do, how to handle Tanner, or more importantly how not to bully the tracker. Sanchez mulled the worry over and over. Noise in the back reminded him that Buck was still sitting up. Josiah's tension eased somewhat. Chris had a good mentor. Through those black years after Sarah and Adam, Larabee had someone mending and holding him together. Larabee knew how to be a good friend, but Buck had been teaching him how to express it. Chris and Vin would do all right.
Buck thought about heaving himself in the seat next to Josiah but reconsidered it. A flat-topped black hat sat in the space. A familiar pair of boots, a dirty ruffled shirt and an unmistakably, identifiable blue jacket lay folded under the spring bench.
"Ezra's gonna be happy to see ya got his stuff back." Buck thought for a moment and then anger rose to his voice. "How'd you come by this stuff anyways, Josiah? Nathan?"
Jackson paused, waiting for the preacher to speak. With no explanation forth coming, Nathan dove into the tale. The preacher held the reins in white knuckles while jaw muscles clenched and bulged.
