FORTITUDE
By: Heather F.
"Cowboy." Tanner's soft greeting floated over the creak of saddles and the soft clop of shod hooves. The higher ground of the plateau had dried out quickly. The red clay mingled freely with rock and brush. Purple flowers dotted the land, peeking almost timidly out from between the coarse branches of sage.
"You know this McQuinn fella?" Larabee reined his black just beside the cagey Unalil. The horse almost projected his rider's unease.
"Nope." The tracker kept his eyes straight ahead. His brown slouch hat sat low over his eyes, affording him protection from the morning light.
"Have any idea who might be behind this?" Chris kept his gaze on Tanner. The man hid skillfully even in broad daylight.
"Yup." Tanner let his eyes slip to Larabee. The tracker had dug through the corpses last night before hauling them off into the desert. Even the coyotes and scavengers had a right to a free meal. The slain did not have much to offer. A few coins for Josiah's poor box, a watch for Ezra to win in the next poker game, and a dime novel that JD might not have read. In one of McQuinn's pockets sat a folded letter. Tanner had taken the night to sound each letter, read each word and decipher every phrase. In the end, he cursed, crumpling the missive and wishing once again Larabee had pulled the trigger that day so long ago.
Chris felt himself measured and it seared through his soul.
"You gonna tell me?"
"Reckon you've a right to know." Tanner's eyes strayed over Larabee to the wagon in the distance. Buck's gray and JD's dark bay followed at a leisurely pace behind the tailgate. Ezra's horse refused to be so content. The big chestnut continuously tried to rest its head on the saddle of the larger gray. Dang horse didn't even want to carry its own weight if it didn't have too.
"Well, damn it?" Larabee fought the urge to strangle his friend. Tanner could sometimes be more exasperating with his tight lip smugness than Standish with his ever-running mouth.
"Found a letter on the gray haired fella, the leader. He was suppose to destroy it but didn't for whatever reason. Couldn't read much of it but the name sure came out clear." Tanner searched the path ahead of him, it curved and snaked in a lazy fashion through the ground cover. Vin found himself meandering through his own thoughts.
The heavy red clay of the desert floor still held some moisture. A few rocks offered shade to rattlesnakes and bull snakes. White clouds slowly drifted through the blue sky. The air still smelled of rain.
Chris waited patiently, knowing that rushing the tracker would get him nowhere. Bullying his men only made them close ranks and raise eyebrows. They had become comfortable enough with each other enough to know what the other would do in a given situation. Vin knew Chris would not strike out at him.
Tanner surveyed the mesas that lay before him. The Salt Flats lay a few miles behind them. Ezra had grit, lots of it. He never should have made it, never should have made it this far. Whoever thought a man raised by his ma would be so tough. Then again look at JD, better yet, Buck. Or even himself.
Vin slowly turned his head and faced his friend. With a slight breath taken in, he released part of it and stopped much like he did when aiming down the long barrel of his rifle...right before squeezing the trigger.
"Ella."
Chris met his gaze and held it. The short name hung between them as if it had no meaning.
Then it happened. The grease fire, the flash in the pan, the startling inferno that could burn a soul to ashes, flared across Larabee's eyes.
Vin watched it silently and spoke softly, "Reckon she's still after ya and is tryin' to lay her claws in Buck 'n me."
Tanner watched without any concern for his own safety at the sudden madness that reared itself in Larabee. The tracker waited for the boiling of blood to peak and settle.
"The bitch."
"Yup."
"I'm gonna kill 'er, Vin, I swear to . . . ."
"Figure we better tell the others." Vin reined Unalil around and faced Larabee, their knees nearly touching. "Wanted to tell ya first. No sense in gettin' riled up into a blind rage in front of the kid 'n Buck. They got enough to worry about without frettin' over ya doin' somethin' dumb." Vin's soft voice was schooled with a tinge of experience. His soft glove technique proved so different from Buck's heavy-handed tactics that they worked.
Ezra could not shake the discomfort. Every time he moved, skin rubbed against sheets. Thousands of tiny fibers raked tortuously across reddened skin. The very weight of the sheet brought about agony. Moving an arm folded heated skin so it abraded itself. Dried skin stretched and complained with any movement. Lying on his back seared his shoulders but his chest complained with equal vigor should he try shifting positions. He tried lying on one side and then the other but still shoulders touched an unforgiving mattress. His stomach didn't like the motion at all and his head pounded no matter how he decided to lie.
His soft feather mattress felt as though it was made of lava rock.
Worse yet, he was exhausted. Nothing wanted to move but almost every inch of him balked at the touch of mattress and sheet alike. The heat under the blanket quickly became unbearable but the continued presence of Inez or Mrs. Travis or Ms. Wells kept him from discarding the abusive sheet all together. Exhaustion tugged and dragged at him like a physical weight and yet he could not drift off for any amount of time.
He would have escaped his bed if he had the strength but the very act of attempting to shift position proved futile and painful.
His degradation into misery escalated whenever one of the ladies would try to help him. Wherever their hands lay or touched him, burned skin fired angry, sharp retorts to his brain. With a hiss and a weak smile, he begged his wardens not to touch him.
As his discomfort grew so did his awareness. By mid-morning, he continued to harass Mrs. Travis into explaining the whereabouts of the others and the time frame that had passed.
With a sigh and renewed efforts, the gambler struggled to sit up. To his humiliation, but Mary Travis's victorious grin, she merely pushed him back to the bed with a simple shove. Then, almost as an afterthought, she forced more herbal teas down his throat. He didn't dare struggle for fear that a demon from his past might materialize in his waking moments.
Energy wasted and spent, the gambler dozed off for a few fitful minutes.
Mary enjoyed the slight reprieve. She left the rocker by the bed when Inez came to relieve her later that morning.
Standish watched through glazed, half-hooded eyes. Nathan and his blasted herbs. He heard the exchange, the chuckles, and soft looks tossed his way but could not discern the meaning of any of it. His mind seemed as fogged as a San Francisco night. He watched Inez settle in the rocker beside the bed, watched slightly disheartened as she leaned forward to brush something off his forehead. He wanted very much to tell her that this type of diligence was not necessary but his words rolled over themselves into incoherent gibberish.
He felt his cheeks redden at her quiet laughter but suspected the sunburn, at least, protected some part of his ego.
Vin and Chris pulled up beside the wagon. Buck snored quietly in the back. JD slept curled in a ball, his hat rested over his head. Neither man wanted the canvas rolled back. The shade, though welcome, would cut the breeze.
Josiah eyed the two riders and knew nothing good was about to happen. Some of the morning's luster seemed to bleed away.
Nathan read the tension and mentally counted his medical supplies then ran through the last time that he sharpened his knives.
"It was Ella," Chris uttered the name as if it scalded his mouth just to form the sound.
Josiah swore silently and Nathan tried to hide his shock. Chris did not need them reacting outwardly toward the news. The gunslinger would be beating himself up over this without them adding to his burdens.
The squeak of wood and the clank of harnesses broke the heavy silence between the men.
Finally a question hit the air, "Ya think she might've sent someone to town...."
All eyes swung to JD. Josiah swiveled in his seat as if a snake had bit him.
Dunne cowered somewhat under the frightful gazes. He stammered to clarify himself, "I mean ya think she would've had a back up plan...like go after Ezra or maybe Mary?"
There would have been no way for Ella to know about Ezra or his condition. Mary, however, would be vulnerable.
With Buck and Vin gone, Ella knew Chris would search the area with the rest of the peacekeepers. Though Ella wanted only Chris, she had proven that she would remove any obstacle in her way. Mary definitely represented a hurdle.
"Mary. . . ." Nathan spoke the name almost in reverence. Mrs. Travis stood to protect what she believed to be right. She faced down a gaggle of cowhands to protect him. Gawd, what about Billy?
"Let's ride cowboy." Vin had already shortened Unalil's reins.
"Go, brothers, I'll watch over these two." Josiah's voice boomed with authority.
Chris, Vin, and Nathan bolted down the trail.
The big gray, Dulcinea, and JD's bay pranced and whinnied at the sudden splitting of the herd.
Josiah urged the team of mules forward. The mules sensed the urgency and quickened their walk.
The riders eased off into the distance. A lack of dust left their silhouettes unusually clear as they disappeared from sight.
Ezra woke because something smashed to the floor.
Sounds of a struggle reached his ears. He fought with himself to wake up.
Something banged into his bed. A weight crashed onto his legs and then rolled to his midsection. His skin fired with protest.
His eyes snapped open but refused to unroll. He blinked rapidly trying to focus on the grunting and heavy breathing. 'Is Mr. Wilmington back and using the room next door?' Weight crashed onto him again, this time crushing his chest and shoulders. A shoulder brushed heavily against his neck.
He heard himself groan.
Then the weight was lifted. Another bang rattled the dresser.
Standish finally managed to focus his eyes.
Blond hair and a blue dress whirled just within his focal point. 'Mrs. Travis?'
A bearded man reached around her neck. The hand settled too high on her chin. A sharp yelp pushed back some of the heavy dregs of sleep.
The bearded man held his bleeding hand. He bent over slightly and found Mary's knee rising to meet his nose.
Ezra cringed. That had to have hurt.
Another body flew into the room. Standish wrestled to sit up. Gawd damn Nathan and his drugs! Nothing reacted properly.
The second man wrapped his arms around Mrs. Travis, pinning her flaring hands.
'Move, Standish, move your ass!'
The first man snapped out a punch that connected solidly with the newspaper woman's jawbone. Her head snapped back into the man's chest behind her and her legs sagged.
Standish managed to coordinate some muscle movement and shoved himself out of the bed. He tackled the man trying to drape Mrs. Travis over his shoulder.
With his balance already precarious with the lifting of the unconscious newspaper woman, the kidnapper fell forward into his partner.
The foursome hit the ground in a heap of legs and arms.
Standish struggled to get to his hands and knees, all the while trying to pull Mary away from the other men. His movements were sluggish and weak at best.
One of the potential kidnappers kicked Standish under the arm, connecting solidly with the shoulder. The gambler found himself flung backwards into the bed.
Ezra shot forward again, reaching for Mrs. Travis, only to be catapulted back by a second glancing kick to the jaw. He slumped, semi-conscious, partially underneath the four-posted bed.
The two outlaws gathered up the newspaperwoman and quickly shuffled out the door.
Standish gamely pushed himself upright. After a few attempts he made it to his feet. He grabbed a pair of trousers and fumbled into them. He pulled a lever action rifle from the closet and headed out the door.
The gambler tripped and fell down the saloon stairs stalling his descent by grabbing furtively for the banister. The saloon stood empty. Desolate...not a soul. Empty chairs and tables dotted the dusty floor. No one tended the bar. The only sound came from the buzzing of flies and the soft click of their bodies against the windowpanes.
Ezra cursed under his breath and hobbled across the floor walking as quickly as he could on the sides of his feet and burst through the batwing doors.
'Where the hell was everybody?'
Standish pushed off a support beam and headed for the livery. The quick clips of shod horses herald their bolt from the livery. Three riders, two horses. Mrs. Travis sat dazed, propped against the first rider. Standish hollered a warning and raised his rifle. He fired once. The second rider's left shoulder shot forward and his upper body slumped over the neck of his horse.
The two horses careened out of town.
Ezra dashed into the stables.
Yosemite lay crumpled on the ground near his forge. The gambler quickly searched for a pulse rolling the blacksmith's face toward himself.
Standish froze. The face of his nightmares. Even now he could hear the deep voice, the powerful hands that sought to smother him and suffocate him during the night.
The gambler mentally shook his head clear and stepped away from the farrier. Yosemite had a strong pulse and seemed to be breathing fine.
Ezra hobbled down the alleyway. Old straw and the rough wood flooring tore and stabbed at his tender feet. The sweet smell of rotting hay mingled freely with the scent of horsehide, leather and manure. Hay dust and particles hung in the air noticeably where sun light streaked through cracks in the wood. An orange striped livery cat dashed out in front of the gambler and slinked through an impossibly small hole. Standish searched frantically for a reliable face. Loki still wandered somewhere out on the trail.
The gambler stopped before a stall. A young face peered out at him, nickering for a snack. Without hesitation, he slipped a bridal over the partially grown face. He led the gelding JD and Vin had been working with for the last few weeks out of the stall. The animal, though young and spirited, had speed and good sense.
Unable to lift a saddle and its gear, the gambler used a crate to stand on and swung himself onto the back of the bay. It lacked Loki's girth and muscle mass. The young bay had the lanky build of a teenager still trying to fill out its frame. Its long legs appeared spindly; ribs outlined themselves when the animal stretched itself out. A small head sat at the top of a snake thin neck. The growing gelding had shoes and some training. It would have to be enough.
A soft click and light touch of the heels had the bay galloping down the aisle way past a stirring Yosemite and into the street. The shock of entering the bright light of midday blinded both rider and animal temporarily.
Inez gazed up at the sounds of a running horse. Her hand shot to her mouth when she recognized the rider. "Senor! Ezra! What are you doing?"
Standish shot her a wild look. With rifle in hand and bare heels buried into the flank of the young horse, the gambler shot out of town hot on the heels of the kidnappers.
The barmaid ran into the saloon up the stairs, taking them two at a time, calling for Mary. Inez stopped shocked at the ruined room. Two strange hats sat amongst the shattered basin and pitcher.
