FORTITUDE
By: Heather F.
Standish could not stop in time. He stared, horrified, as Mary hit the ground like a lead weight. His bay strode right over her just as the kidnapper's horse became entangled in the wagon. Green eyes widened in fear. 'Good Lord, what am I doing?' Ezra leaned close to the horse's neck and dug his poulticed heels into the bay's side.
The wagon rolled on its side as the kidnapper flew off to the left. Supplies blew into the air and spewed to the ground like confetti. The underside of the wagon showed exposed axles, iron rimmed wheels spun of their own accord.
The bay sprang from the ground.
Ezra did not even have time to swear. In a breathless moment, no sound could be heard on the flats. For just a flash of time, it seemed as if everything stood still, watching horse and rider sail over the toppled wagon. 'Should have placed a wager. Should have found a way to make a profit from this. Certainly more than a measly dollar a day . . . .'
The young bay, with its bareback rider, stretched its neck over out-flung front feet. Its hind legs had tucked themselves neatly and economically up under its body. The young animal launched into the air as if Pegasus might have been his sire. It flew over the wagon with effortless grace.
Front feet pounded to the ground. Hind feet overstrided as front ones sprung forward again. The juvenile bay expertly collected itself, falling back into its gallop.
Time snapped back. Sound crashed through the moment.
Standish bailed from its back. Intentional or not, no one would ever know for sure.
The gambler used the forward momentum to hurdle himself onto the shoulders of the would-be kidnapper.
One moment, the outlaw was struggling to his feet, intending to shoot his way out of this mess. The next instant, a brutal force flung him back to the ground with bone cracking intensity. He still clutched his revolver.
Both men slid and bounced across the desert floor. Sage bent and snapped under the weight and pressure. Skin, clothing, and brush all gave way to the frictional abuse of sliding bodies. Skin and clothes tore. Dirt dug its way into flesh. The outer layers of skin peeled away unevenly under the guise of friction burns.
Josiah struggled within the confines of the wrecked wagon. He found his knees up by his jaw, his back arched outward, and the buckle of his holster was pinching his belly. One of his shoulders was held snug to the ground, while the other found itself braced against the backrest of the spring seat. He could not find the sky, only weather beaten gray boards filled his vision.
The mules continued to pull, dragging their fearful burden with them.
Buck stood in his stirrups, swung his forearms over the neck of his horse and took aim. For a brief moment in time the big man hesitated between targets. Down the mules and save Josiah or down the kidnapper and save Standish? Wilmington's finger squeezed the trigger, the split decision made for him.
JD fired from the opposite side. JD's mind worked furiously, recognizing the two dangers, and needing to decide on one. Balancing, in his stirrups, with his bay galloping hell bent for leather, the young sheriff gripped his rifle tightly and squeezed the trigger.
Twin rifle reports echoed as one.
The kidnapper struggled to his feet, amid a whirl of vertigo, still clutching his gun and fighting to bring it up level. He suddenly found himself lifted from the ground and thrown lifelessly backward. He landed spread eagle, eyes staring blankly at passing clouds. Blood bubbled from his chest. Two jagged holes lay mere millimeters apart.
JD hauled back on his bay. The small gelding slid to a stop, nearly sitting on its haunches. The young sheriff bailed off the saddle before the horse skidded to a standstill. Dunne hit the ground running. He headed toward Mary as she struggled to her hands and knees.
Josiah crawled from the wagon. Sanchez had gathered the heavy leather reins and used the team's forward momentum to haul him to his feet. He stood on trembling legs and asked them to "Whoa". They continued to pull him forward a few steps. He tripped, crashed to the ground, stumbled back to his feet and once again asked the team to stop. He leaned back on his heels and using his weight, strength, and calm voice, he convinced the team of four to stop.
Buck tossed a leg over the saddle horn and slid from the saddle even as the big gray moved toward the two bodies. He landed good leg first, succeeding in crossing the space of half a pace before his injured leg hit the ground and buckled uselessly under his weight. The large gunslinger crashed shoulder first to the desert floor.
Chris, Vin, and Nathan rounded the top of the trail just in time to see a colossal wagon wreck. They heard the report of a rifle but knew it to be too loud to have been just one shot.
They spilled down the path, urging their overworked animals for more speed.
Ezra jumped to his feet, ready to continue the pursuit. Unfortunately, one moment the ground seemed below his feet and the next he found himself staring up close at a lizard. A forked tongue brushed his nose. Standish again lurched to his feet but this time fell heavily onto his back. He tried to make sense of what he saw but somehow it remained just out of reach. Blue sky sparked and flashed with a dazzling display of lights on the periphery of his vision. He felt himself swirl and spin but instinctively knew he had not moved. Nausea whirled through his stomach, out of sync with the spinning the sky.
Josiah continued to calm the mules. The animals worked against one another, fighting their harnesses and hitch. They danced a few stuttering steps, grinding the wagon forward a few more feet. With persistence and patience born only to certain men, the large preacher pacified the animals. In a few, quick, well-practiced movements, based solely on experience, he ground tied the team.
Sanchez then turned and surveyed the destruction.
Debris and bodies littered the area.
JD had Mrs. Travis sitting up and talking to her reassuringly. They would be okay until Nathan and the others arrived. And judging by the hell bent speed of the trio crossing the desert toward them, Sanchez could only surmise that Chris and the others would be upon them in a few minutes.
Sanchez slowly circled and saw Buck struggling gamely to his feet. Wilmington would make it just enough to fall over to the side. The grayish-white bandages that circumvented the ladies' man lower thigh had darkened with renewed bleeding. As much as Buck tried, his leg would not support his weight and his good leg had long ago been sapped of its reserves. He struggled like a floundering foal unwilling to give up.
Buck swore a colorful swath of language as his useless leg once again sent him crashing to the desert floor. Anger born from blind frustration had him pushing himself to his hands and one knee. His shoulders trembled and his stomach rolled with tension, anxiety and over exertion. A deep growl rolled from his throat as he once again struggled to quaking legs.
A firm hand grasped his upper arm. In an almost effortless gesture, the gunslinger found himself nearly lifted to his feet. 'Where the heck was that arm a few seconds ago?'
"Let me help you, brother." Josiah's soothing voice swayed Wilmington just as easily as it had the mules.
"Ezra?" Buck kept his teeth clenched against the dizziness and lightheadedness. His vision swam.
Josiah could feel the muscle tremors, could feel the fatigue emanating from the younger gunslinger. He also knew of the determination that pushed Buck. Wilmington would crawl across hot coals to protect one of the others.
"Let's go see what damages our flying circus gambler has wrought upon himself." Sanchez easily made out the unmoving form lying splayed out on the ground. Bare feet tangled with sagebrush. Raw shoulders and back laid, uncaring, on hot, pebbly ground. The gambler's head rested almost comfortably on a patch of wild grass.
Ezra stared up at the sky, trying to convince himself he needed to move. For some reason he could not recall the urgency or exactly why he would want to disturb his repose. The heavens had a decidedly crisp blueness about them, a sharp contrast to the thin wispy clouds that dotted his vision. No, he could not imagine why he would need to move anytime soon.
Josiah, easily supporting half of Buck's weight, shuffled and limped his way over the gambler. Despite calling his name repeatedly, they received no vocal answer or movement.
The two men sidled up next to the inert body and leaned into his field of vision.
Ezra blinked. One moment blue skies held his attention, and the next, the disembodied faces of Buck and Josiah floated over him. He smiled pleasantly. "Mr. Sanchez, Mr. Wilmington," he said, except the words had lost their articulation. A fuzziness or befuddlement seemed to garble the greeting.
Buck and Josiah stared at each other, raised their eyebrows, and then stared back down at their fallen comrade.
"Brother, are you all right?"
Ezra considered the question and realized that, though a gentleman should never complain, he found the truth in this particular instance might be beneficial. "I'm not quite sure. Something should hurt, but . . . ." He blinked slowly, trying to articulate the strange adrenaline induced detachment he felt. His words had a carefree, uncaring tone about them. Almost whimsical.
Buck and Josiah took in the fresh scrapes and cuts. They noticed the large flayed sections of shoulder that held ingrained dirt, sticks, and other assorted plant life. They saw the torn pant legs and the pebbled, peeling burns that raked the rib cage.
Buck let out a low whistle. Josiah checked over his shoulder to gauge how close Nathan and his medical supply were at the moment. A little laudanum would go a long way right about now.
Chris and Nathan hauled their horses from a dead run to a sliding stop. The healer beat Larabee to the ground. Jackson had his bag in hand and was at Mrs. Travis' side before the gunslinger even got his foot from the stirrup.
Larabee had taken a half step toward Mary, JD and the others when he noticed Tanner still sat slumped in his saddle. The gunslinger turned towards the tracker, a question on his lips. Tanner smiled reassuringly right before he toppled from the saddle.
"Damn it, Vin." Though the name was spoken softly, the urgency carried.
Jackson snapped his head up just in time to see the tracker curl in the saddle and crash to the ground. 'Figures.'
"Geezus, Vin." Larabee ducked under Unalil's head, holding briefly to the loose reins. Chris rounded the shoulder and knelt beside Tanner.
"I'm fine." Labored breath separated the forced words. Blue eyes were squeezed shut and arms were wrapped tightly around his midsection.
Larabee raised his eyebrows in obvious disbelief.
"Jist a bit dizzy," Tanner huffed out between gasps. He bowed his head to his chest.
"That all?" The 'I ain't buyin' yer bull' tone came across very clearly.
"Fer now," Vin's wheezing reply held enough warning to imply he did not deem himself ready for doctoring.
"Damn you, Tanner."
"Every day." Vin offered a weak smile and added, "Check on the others. Saw Ezra do his JD impression over that dang wagon. Ain't seen 'im git up though, Buck neither. Went down right after..."
Chris understood Tanner's meaning. Vin stilled breathed and moved, therefore, he was alive. That's all that mattered. The other two were still unaccounted for at the moment.
Chris' eyes fell to Mary. She was sitting up, speaking softly to JD. For a brief moment, their eyes met. The newspaper owner flashed Larabee a smile. She survived her plight. His return smile held no humor or levity.
What of the others?
Larabee looked up and surveyed the area from his one knee stance at Tanner's side. The gunslinger spotted his missing men a few yards from him. Buck managed to gain his feet but leaned heavily on Josiah. The two were staring at Standish, who lay on the ground, as if he were something of a puzzle.
Chris groaned and shook his head. 'Now what?' He pushed himself to his feet, circumvented the overturned wagon, and made his way to the rest of his men.
Josiah assessed the situation and came up with a plan. There hardly seemed a place on the gambler they could touch. On top of that, muscles fasciculated even as Ezra lay still.
"I've got a plan, brother." Josiah stood straighter, proud of his idea.
Buck eyed him suspiciously. Sanchez never had any good plans. Though occasionally, he did fall into a few helpful distractions, with a little help from some whiskey.
The preacher read the doubt in Wilmington's eyes and scowled slightly. They would never let him live down the Guy Royal incident. Sanchez shook his head, to erase such thoughts. He would just impress them with his solution. "We need to get our brother here up off the ground and over to the wagon."
Buck rolled his eyes. "That all?"
Standish blinked up at the two men and groaned, "Good Lord, I'm surrounded by mental giants!" The gambler tried to push himself up. Arms trembled and shoulders quivered before giving out. He settled heavily back into the dirt and stiff ground cover.
Josiah sighed, closed his eyes and tilted his head to the side. 'Heathens . . . ungrateful heathens!' "Well, Brother Ezra, I had planned on helping you to your feet, but I could just drag your sorry ass over there by your arms." Sanchez squatted down and grabbed Standish by his wrist.
"No . . . No . . . wait!" Green, blood-shot eyes widened in panic. Alternatives and deals slugged their way through an exhausted half-aware mind.
The preacher flashed a grin as he marked Larabee's authoritative step. At least Chris was someone who could really offer assistance.
Chris stopped beside Buck and grabbed the ladies' man upper arm before Wilmington could slide to the ground. "You boys all right over . . . ." His words tapered off when he laid eyes on Standish's debris embedded sunburn. The gunslinger let loose with a low whistle. 'Man is going to be an unbearable nuisance. Damn, that's gotta hurt!' "Hey Ezra." Larabee gazed down at the gambler. A small smile twitched on the gunfighter's face. "Good job. Never would have thought to trap them with the wagon." Chris chuckled and turned to Josiah ignoring the southerner.
Standish squinted, not sure if the ringing in his ears truly picked up the sarcasm.
"Josiah, you got this handled?" Larabee did not bother waiting for a reply. Instead, he steered his oldest friend away from the confrontation that was sure to ensue.
Josiah watched them go. "Cowards." He turned his attention back to the southerner, who was gamely struggling to sit up again. He nearly made it to his elbows. Sanchez sighed and squatted down, gently trying to wipe loose pebbles from the bleeding sunburns on Standish's back. One wipe was all he managed before a foul string of deep southern-laced curses rent the area.
Buck and Chris's chuckles rolled over their back trail.
Tanner leaned quietly against the upright wagon. He kept his freshly bandaged ribs within the grasp of his protective arm. The gash on the corner of his forehead had been scrubbed and cleaned. He took his treatment in silent anguish. Nathan seemed to use a little more vigor than normal.
The tracker kept a wary eye on the cardshark beside him. Standish looked like hell. Wretched. A word he had heard on more than a few occasions and a word that Ezra himself had once defined for the tracker. A lot of pictures had come to Tanner's mind for the word, but for the first time, Vin really got a sense of what it meant. Ezra looked wretched.
And when Standish hurt, he normally dragged someone down with him.
So Tanner kept his guard up.
Beside Ezra and leaning against an upright saddle, sat Wilmington. Buck's injured leg rested on Ezra's side. The ladies' man kept his hands clasped across his midsection instead of near his leg.
Vin thought that it was a very bad idea. Of all people, Buck should have known better.
Wilmington leaned back against the folds of the saddle with his eyes closed. Nathan had changed the bandages and cleansed the wound yet again. Though laudanum laced his system, it seemingly did nothing to deaden the agony of a good vigorous scrubbing.
Tanner had begun to suspect that maybe Nathan was trying to teach them a lesson about getting into trouble.
JD sat at the rear wheel. The young sheriff had his eyes closed too, though it was hard to differentiate when they actually open or not at any given time. His hat rested on the top of his head. The kid had a hell of a headache that curled his toes and rolled his stomach. On top of that, a low-grade fever kept him out of sorts and dragged on his normal exuberance.
Tanner eyed JD. The kid did well. Held up better than most and still had enough in him to ensure everyone else was safe. JD was a damn good kid . . . one of the best.
The endless walking tied to the wagon, the relentless summer heat, the lack of water, and the abuse wrought on them at the hands of their captors had finally taken their toll. The three men sat exhausted, bone weary and just wanting to go home.
Vin leaned back against the wheel and briefly closed his eyes. Nathan and Josiah readied the wagon for the trip back. Chris checked over the mules and their gear. He also wrangled in all the horses. Loki gave the gunslinger an unruly time. The big chestnut gelding took to chasing the young bay Ezra had ridden away from the herd. Vin couldn't help but think that Ezra's proud horse was a tad bit jealous.
Tanner cracked an eye because he sensed the movement. "Don't even try it, Ezra." Though Standish appeared wasted from the last few days and exhaustion wafted off him like humidity, Standish still found enough reserves buried deep down inside to create trouble. Vin almost marveled at the innate ability . . . when it was not directed at himself.
"Try what, Mr. Tanner?" Irritability and discomfort dripped from every word. The gambler shifted positions again, trying to find a something to lean against that did not involve his torso. Fatigue started by the fever a week ago and exacerbated by the last few days dissolved any endurance the muscles might have sustained. On top of that, Jackson's unsolicited attention to the numerous lacerations stripped the gambler of the last of his strength.
Vin had cringed when Nathan had been forced to dig debris out of Standish's numerous cuts. Jackson scratched at the wounds with his fingernail, scraping out dirt and small rocks. Ezra had twisted and arched, making promises to abstain from drinking, gambling. Hell, even promising to go to Church, if only Nathan would stop his ministrations.
Vin had chuckled. He didn't think Ezra had ever seen the inside of a church during services unless he thought he could get his hands on the collection.
'Yup, Nathan was sure trying to teach them to stay out of trouble.'
It was with a great sense of self-preservation that Tanner kept a watchful eye on Standish. Vin narrowed his eyes at the retreating hand. Damn fool was gonna start something already.
"Don't play dumb, Ezra," Buck chortled. Wilmington refused to open his eyes; a headache still sat just behind his forehead.
"Ain't to hard for him to pull off ya know," JD whispered, trying very hard not to move his battered jaw.
"As if you could differentiate between feigning and the real thing," Standish returned to no one in particular but Vin suspected it was aimed at Buck.
Wilmington returned it by raising a hand to poke at a sunburned shoulder. Ezra's seared skin lay hidden beneath one of Nathan's cotton shirts, turned inside out because the seams scoured heavily against sensitive skin. There was not an inch of his torso not marred. Well, perhaps the underside of his upper arms and opposing lateral chest area where the upper arms rested.
In fear of the proposed onslaught, Standish bent a leg and raised the heel slightly off the ground, prepared to kick the injured thigh. His leg shook with the effort, but he appeared determined.
Nathan and Josiah watched from the back of the wagon. Sanchez shook his head. The two of them were no better than the Scorpion and the Toad. Unfortunately, Wilmington and Standish switched their roles repeatedly -- neither one an angel nor an innocent.
Tanner watched, thankful that Buck garnered the attention of the gambler.
"'Ey, Ezra, that sunburn hurtin' ya?" Buck inched his index finger a few inches closer to the injured shoulder. "No offense there, pard, but yer tender white skin ain't made for being in the sun." Wilmington's chuckle brought smiles to Vin and JD.
Both tracker and sheriff knew that Buck could not help himself, any more than Ezra could. Those two would irritate a humming bird into silence.
Standish raised his heel slightly. "Thank you, Mr. Wilmington, for that insightful observation." Sarcasm heavily laced the words. There was a pause and Vin could imagine the devious wheels turning in Standish's mind. The Southern drawl continued, "So tell me, Mr. Wilmington, the leg still tender?"
"Not as tender as your shoulder." Buck managed to twist the statement into a warning and a challenge at the same time.
As if on cue, the two lunged at each other. An almost involuntary action neither one could really control or resist.
Buck's hand slapped the burned shoulder just as Standish's heel nudged the knife wound.
Both men yelped, rolling away from one another.
Standish pushed himself into Tanner. The tracker, unable to skitter away, took the full brunt of the jostling body. Ribs burned furiously in protest.
Buck nearly bolted to his feet but his legs gave out and he crashed into Dunne.
Howls filled the air. Promises of painful deaths and violent revenge rained from the eastern side of the covered wagon like a spring monsoon.
Nathan and Josiah ignored the litany of foul language and crude gestures and continued to work in the wagon. The canvas had been placed over the metal rungs to keep the sun off of Standish. Buck would be riding with him in the wagon, as would Vin. It seemed hell had found its place on earth.
Mary sat on the Western side of the wagon listening with a grimace. She held a cloth to her head and wondered what made these men so formidable. She cringed at the abusive language and marveled at how well Vin managed to manipulate the English language. His reading lessons were apparently paying off.
Nathan stuck his head out over the side of the wagon and stared down at Mrs. Travis. "You doin' okay, ma'am?"
Mary chuckled and tilted her head back. "Just fine, Mr. Jackson."
"They bothering ya, ma'am?"
Mrs. Travis knew Nathan referred to the colorful use of superlatives on the other side. She could hear the slapping and shoving of bodies. They were hell on each other, forget any outlaws. If someone truly wanted to defeat the seven, they only had to injure one or two of them and then lock the group in a small room together for a few minutes. They were sure to kill each other.
"No, not really, though I think Vin's vocabulary has improved some." She smiled, pleased with the apparent success of her lessons.
"Yes, ma'am, I think he's learning real well." Jackson withdrew back inside the wagon.
Larabee wiped his brow and searched the surrounding mesas for the thousandth time that afternoon. The horses stood ponied to the wagon and to one another. That gawd damn Loki would be worth more as restaurant meat than a riding animal. Something had its tail in a knot and apparently it was the young bay gelding. After it's spectacular landing, Ezra's young bay stuck close to its older counterpart, as if to show off and this seemed to really piss off Loki.
Unalil certainly wasn't much better. Dang Indian pony had a foul disposition. Buck's good ol' gray stayed by Chris' side like a faithful companion, while JD's bay strayed between the four horses, unsure of who to follow. Josiah and Nathan's horses stood ready and waiting at the wagon, while Chris chased and herded the others.
The gunslinger dismounted his horse, hot and angry. He had hoped to spot Ella this afternoon. He had hoped that bedeviled mistress showed her face so he could be rid of her once and for all.
His frustration grew with each passing moment.
By the time he reached the upright wagon, his disposition had fallen under the auspices of foul.
He tethered the horses together in a pony line and then tied the lead horse, Josiah's faithful kind-hearted beast, to the tailgate.
He checked on Mary but found having a conversation with her was out of the question. Raised voices and bared innuendoes coming from the other side had even him blushing slightly.
Larabee rounded the wagon stepping over the hitch and behind the mules. The mules shied slightly at his presence.
"Knock it off." His soft command went unheeded.
Vin and Ezra shoved at Buck and JD, while the other two did their best to return as much pain and misery as possible.
Larabee noticed Josiah had suddenly busied himself with the mules and Nathan had quickly started measuring out doses of laudanum.
The gunslinger turned his attention back to his men. Buck had managed to snare Standish in a headlock and proceeded to give the man a 'noogie'. The gambler did not take such insult quietly and in return, he flicked the ladies' man injured leg repeatedly with thumb and forefinger.
Vin and JD realized they were no longer necessarily involved and quietly sat back against their respective wagon wheels, watching the fun as innocent bystanders. No sense of incurring Chris's wrath unnecessarily.
'They deserve each other. Isn't any two ways about it. He should turn around and let them go until they kill each other!'
"Knock it off!" His raised voice spooked the mules again. The wagon lurched forward a few inches.
Buck let go of Ezra and both men sat up surprised.
"You two knock it off or I'll shoot you myself." Chris glared at both men until they sat back against the wagon with somewhat sheepish demeanors.
A tense pall hung in the air. It weighed on the group, everyone waiting for the spark to ignite Larabee's temper one step closer to a mad rage.
It happened far quicker than the others could imagine. A deviant southern voice, as usual, lit the fire.
"He started it." Ezra's soft mumbles caused Vin to smirk.
"I did not." Buck sat up straighter and pushed the southerner on the arm.
"Oh, I see once again you have retreated back to your fantasy world." Standish slapped Wilmington's leg.
"Ey, Ezra, would that be the same one he visits with all those women?" JD leaned forward to get a look at the gambler. Instead, he found Tanner staring at him. The tracker gave the kid a wink and fueled the flames.
"Probably, kid, but I wonder what's Ezra doin' in Buck's world of women?"
The gambler and ladies' man stared at one another and then Buck shoved the southerner back toward Tanner. Vin barely avoided another collision.
". . . and desist from touching me!" Standish punctuated his remark by slapping his foot against Wilmington's leg.
The two rolled into one another, hell bent on revenge.
Larabee stood only a few feet away completely forgotten by the two wrestling men, but not by JD and Vin. The tracker and sheriff smiled smugly, pleased with their efforts.
Chris nearly shook with fury. His tanned features quickly darkened. In one fluid motion, he pulled his gun and fired it into the air. The agitated mules, spooked again, pulled the wagon a few yards ahead. Loki spotted the young gelding from the corner of his eye and lunged at the intruder just as the wagon rolled in the opposite direction. The pony lines snapped and unraveled. Unalil bucked free galloping a safe distance from any confinement. Loki bared his teeth and lunged a few times at the squealing gelding. JD's bay trotted a safe distance away and wearily watched the group.
Buck and Ezra froze. Wilmington stared over Standish's curled back as Ezra peeked out from Buck's arm. Both men watched as Larabee melted into an inhuman rage.
"This is your fault," Buck hissed under his breath.
"Like hell," Standish hissed back, trying not to make any movement and garner unnecessary attention from Larabee.
Mary suddenly materialized at the gunslinger's side and smiled sweetly.
The four men trapped on the ground sighed. Chris would never kill them in front of Mrs. Travis. They relaxed. Buck shoved Ezra upright and Standish kicked Wilmington's calf.
With a few softly spoken words, the editor of the newspaper gave Larabee her condolences and promised to help hide the bodies.
Eyes widened in fear.
Chris' feral smile met each man squarely.
The wagon rumbled and rocked over the trail. Mrs. Travis sat beside Josiah as the large man guided the mules across the Platte. The wagon wheels lifted, pulled, and crawled over brush and uneven ground. A few times the wagon landed with a bone jarring intensity. At those times, the young widow would peek at the back of the wagon.
The three lawmen laid nestled too close for any real comfort. Nathan had dosed them liberally with laudanum at Chris' insistence and assistance.
JD and Nathan flanked the wagon. The healer kept close to the young sheriff. The boy should really have ridden in the wagon but there truly was not enough room. Buck had pleaded to sit a horse, with Ezra egging him on, aiding Wilmington's arguments.
Chris had forced laudanum down Ezra's throat himself. The gambler had put up a half-enthused resistance but Larabee had fought nearly as dirty as the gambler. In the end Standish had complied -- not that it mattered to the gunslinger. At this point, he was only interested in peace and quiet. In a few minutes, the gambler had felt the heavy lethargy associated with the drug and had fought the dregs of sleep. He hadn't stood a chance. Despite his best efforts, muscles had relaxed and eyes had rolled. The pain had ebbed away with his retreating strength. Vin and Josiah had watched the silent battle and had chuckled when the gambler slowly slid sideways into Buck.
Tanner took the liquid opiate simply because Nathan asked him to and because his ribs hurt him something fierce. Normally, the bounty hunter would have refused but Chris had enough troubles on his mind, he did not need to be worrying about the others. Besides, getting bounced around like a cat in a gunnysack would be hell on his ribs.
Buck took his medicine with the best of them. His leg ached and all the rough housing with Ezra and the others hadn't help matters. Everything hurt, his leg, his head, he felt dizzy and incredibly thirsty. Any liquid right now was a Godsend.
With a quiet afternoon ahead of them, Josiah and the others headed for Four Corners.
Yosemite greeted them on the boardwalk with Ms. Nettie. A crisp wind tickled the night cooling it considerably. Josiah halted the wagon in front of the saloon. The blacksmith dropped the tailgate. With a practiced hand, he reached in and pulled the gambler out by an ankle. The southerner stirred only slightly. The farrier gathered the younger man into his arms and turned toward the boardwalk.
Standish pried his eyes opened. It felt as if half the desert sand had settled under his lids. He fought to focus. His blurry eyes saw the face from previous nightmares. In a blind panic, he desperately pushed against the chest in hopes to gain his freedom. The line between the dream world and reality blurred terribly for the gambler.
Josiah saw the struggle. Mary quickly explained what had transpired while the others had been tracking Vin, JD, and Buck. Nodding in understanding, Josiah quickly jumped from the wagon.
"Easy, brother, you're gonna be all right." The preacher slid his arms in substitute of the farrier's retreating hold.
Yosemite gave up his burden with a glow of embarrassment and shame. He had never meant to harm the gambler in any way.
Josiah smiled sadly. "Our Brother has been through too much these past few days, he doesn't understand . . . ." Sanchez's words tapered off as the weight in his arms suddenly increased. The gambler had finally passed out again.
Yosemite nodded quietly. The preacher's reassurances did little to remove the tinge of misguided guilt.
The blacksmith climbed wearily into Josiah's place at the driver's seat. He clucked the team down to the clinic and the livery. Vin and JD would be staying with Nathan. Buck, though still out, would be hauled home by Chris.
Larabee eased his burden onto Daisy's bed. The working girl assured Mr. Larabee that she would watch over Buck all night. Wilmington smiled at the sound of her sweet voice. Together, the young lady and gunslinger pulled off Buck's boots, unbuttoned a few buttons of his shirt and pulled down his suspenders. They tossed a light blanket up over his shoulders.
Chris bid his farewells and headed for the clinic.
Vin and JD slept soundly, having already been settled in by the healer. Chris left Nathan and met Mary on the second story porch. He walked her home, apologizing again for the whole mess.
Josiah found Yosemite still in the livery, brushing the horses. The mules had been finished up and put out into the corrals.
The preacher rested a large hand on the knotted muscles of the blacksmith. It amazed Josiah how powerful and formidable some people could be, yet have such tender hearts.
"Is Mr. Standish going to be alright?"
"He's a little battered and bruised." Josiah led the blacksmith into the tack room that doubled as an office. "But should be back to himself with a few days rest." Sanchez motioned for Yosemite to sit in one of the two available chairs. A bottle of rotgut materialized along with two, less than clean, glasses. The preacher poured drinks and then started to mend broken fences that truly had not needed fixing.
Vin woke before dawn and dragged himself out of bed. Gathering his clothes, he softly padded across the floor in bare feet and headed for his wagon. He had his fill of being around people for now.
Nathan watched him go. The healer quietly opened the door and stood on the porch and waited patiently for the tracker to ease himself into his wagon. Jackson nodded and turned back to the clinic. One down . . . .
Buck woke to a throbbing in his leg. He groaned. A soft hand caressed his faced. A tender finger traced his jaw and slipped down his neck to the depression at the base of his neck. He cracked open an eye and found Daisy leaning over him smiling. He returned her grin and pulled her toward him.
JD rolled over onto his back. He stretched, cracked his knuckles, and briefly opened his eyes. A cool breeze cut across the small dark room. They had made it back. He had dozed in his saddle the last few miles back to town. Gawd, it felt good to be home. With a small smile he drifted back to sleep.
Standish had no intention of moving but his raw back had other ideas. He groaned and cursed before cautiously rolling to his left side. His limbs felt weighted. For a few brief moments, relief washed through him. Then the intense, instant pain of the burns on the downed side started to complain. He shut his eyes and tried to ignore it.
Chris sat in the saloon chair nursing a whiskey. Tired hazel eyes blazed at the waking world through stringy blond bangs. His thoughts tossed and turned over the image of Ella Gaines. Disgust filled his soul. He tossed another drink down.
Josiah sat on the edge of his bed and laughed. A wide grin split his face as he thought about the past few days. Destiny. No other explanation for it. The seven were destined to ride together. Together, they would fend off crows and the evil that dared strike against them. With flourish and determination he headed for the saloon where he knew Larabee sat and stewed.
Chris' self-beratement hit a snag when Tanner snuck into the saloon with a hobbling gait. He followed on the shuffling lame footsteps of Buck. Both fearless peacekeepers were trying to keep a low profile and hide from the healer. If they only knew Nathan was already there, just upstairs, checking on Standish.
Larabee's soft laughter greeted Josiah as he breezed into the saloon, nearly shouting a greeting to "Brother Nathan." Buck and Vin froze like rabbits in a hunter's sights. Nathan stood on the bottom steps, holding their gazes.
"Good morning, Josiah," Nathan's greeting broke the trance. Buck and Vin sought shelter and protection in the vicinity of Larabee. Josiah and Nathan grabbed a pot of coffee and cups and followed.
"How're the others?" Chris swirled his drink, trading it in for the offered cup Josiah handed him.
"JD's still sleepin'. Kid took a hell of a beatin' so it'll would do him some good to get some rest." Nathan let his half-mustered glare settle on Vin, then Buck. They needed some much-needed sleep too. "Ezra's in a world of misery, can't keep givin' him laudanum so he'll just have to suffer through. Iffen I was y'all, I'd steer clear of 'im. He's havin' a difficult time findin' the humor in all this."
"Ezra will prevail," Josiah muttered out.
"If just to irritate the hell out of Chris for another day," Buck replied with a wide smile.
Vin held his coffee mug up slightly higher than normal indicating his agreement.
A disturbance at the door pulled five pair of eyes toward the entrance of the saloon.
Two men wearily pushed and pulled each other through the saloon doors. They stumbled into one another and then tripped into the bar. The travelers' clothes had a thick film of dust. Empty canteens clanged hollowly against one another. The two men leaned almost desperately against the bar.
Chris, Josiah, and Nathan stood as one. Chair legs screeched against the rough planked floor as the three men pushed themselves nimbly to their feet.
The commotion grabbed the attention of the pair at the bar. Billy and Timmy turned and stared at the three standing men. Their eyes widened with apprehension and deeply sun tanned faces blanched with recognition.
"You boys don't want to linger here." Josiah's voice held no hint of kindness.
Nathan fingered two of his knives.
Larabee bore his gaze into the two men.
Billy and Timmy fumbled into one another, pushing and shoving each other toward the doors. They disappeared under soft whimpers and squeals of fright.
Buck stared up at his three standing friends. "What the hell was that all about?"
Vin cracked a smile. "Guess ol' Chris ain't the only one with a deadly glare."
Chris tossed Tanner an amused look. Josiah settled heavily into his seat and explained, "Those wayward souls need more penance for their salvation." Sanchez grinned widely and slapped Nathan on the back as the healer sat down. "Nathan put the fear of God into them a few days ago."
Buck hit Larabee with a confused look. "What? He threaten to make them drink some herbal concoction?"
Laughter rumbled quietly around the table.
The morning brightened under the promise of a cool day.
Epilogue
It was hot. Plain and simple. It was the kind of heat that had men reaching for their guns instead of walking from a fight. The consistent baking of the town seared any common sense and good will that might have existed in any normal decent man. The sun blazed unforgivingly in the sky. By late morning, man and beast found themselves sheened in sweat and coated with dust. Tempers flared as temperatures steadily climbed. No breeze whispered through the town.
The saloon had a sense of tension and tight closeness. The dark room, with its incessant buzz of hovering flies, appeared nearly empty to the unschooled eye. The open room cluttered with empty chairs and tables still had too many people.
Seven men sat sweating and stewing in the broiling heat. Exhaustion, discomfort, aching pains and general disagreement hung like a foul pallor in the air. Inez retreated to the back room, unwilling and uncaring if the seven should light into one another. It was just too damn hot to give a damn.
Chris Larabee fingered a shot glass. Sweat matted his long blond bangs to his head and the back of his neck. He broiled much like the oppressive white sun in the pale sky. His thoughts angrily washed over the acts of Ella Gaines. He stewed and plotted, toiled with the very idea of destroying her as she had done him. His anger reached his hazel eyes, darkening them with a fierce intent.
If the others noticed, they gave no heed. Perhaps their sense of self-preservation evaporated with their sweat.
Vin Tanner leaned back in his chair, seeking solitude in the dark shadow cast in the corner where the table sat. Flies beat and hit the window behind him. The tracker tried to ignore the constant hum, tried not to feel the tiny legs of flies as they trespassed across his skin, over his arms and neck. The tracker needed very much to get out of town. Broken ribs, the state of the other six and the fact that Unalil would not fare well in this damning heat kept the young bounty hunter within the confines of town. His frustration and intolerance grew exponentially with each body that invaded his personal space. He tried to bury himself deep within, hoping to avoid any human contact. He fought to control the black rage that still roared dangerously close to the surface.
Cards fluttered in the air much like the flies. Tanner's hands curled into white knuckles in his lap.
Buck Wilmington nursed a lukewarm beer. His good cheer suffered under the need for comfort from the opposite sex but the heat made physical contact nearly unbearable. His leg itched; the ghost sensation of wiggling maggots dogged him incessantly. Sweat soaked his shirt and bandage alike, ensuring his misery. He swirled the beer in his mug and frowned at the flat taste that accompanied such weather. The working girls had vacated the premises, foregoing any sense of profit or ambition, as the sun promised another sweltering day. Buck frowned and drew a breath, trying to maintain some sense of composure and good humor in weather that sapped the very will to breath from its victims.
Cards flipped and snapped. The sound grated on his nerves.
Nathan Jackson wiped his brow on his shirt sleeve. He thought about visiting Rain. His empathy for his horse kept him in town but he feared his compassion for his fellow man had slipped a few significant notches. He held no inclination to tend anyone should they fall victim to their own stupidity. If someone got shot today or broke a bone, Nathan had half a mind to hide or inform them of the location of the nearest physician nearly fifty miles away. It would do no one any good to call on him today.
Cards arched and fluttered neatly back into place. The sound of pasteboards clicking against one another pierced nerves like paper cuts on lips.
JD Dunne could not help but stare at the gambler. How could Ezra pull out of a fever and hallucinations and survive while his own mother had fallen victim? Not that JD wished that Standish had succumbed to the throes of the mysterious illness that had knocked him into a surreal world, but JD did wish his mother had survived. What had made the difference? Not only did he survive the illness but the gambler also had the ability to cross the desert, get help, and then ride out of town again to help Miz Travis. And still the man persevered. JD bristled at the thought and did not understand why. He missed his mom but the pain of her memory lessened almost everyday. He was slowly coming to the point where he could reminisce about the happy times with his Ma and not feel tears well in his eyes. He feared he was losing his love for his mom and did not understand that he was actually healing. It was with great curiosity that he watched a man, who refrained from lifting a finger to do manual labor, survive and beat the odds that would have wiped out men made of sturdier stuff.
It didn't seem fair. JD wiggled his shoulder blades trying to wipe out the small rivulets of sweat that ran maddeningly down his back. His frustration and irritation grew.
The cards crisply landed on the table then were shuffled back and forth in a display of aerodynamics that should not be possible. Irritating as hell.
"Ezra, knock it off." Chris's harsh tone sliced the stagnant air. The cards halted for a flash of time. Blood shot green eyes rolled under heavy eyelids. No humor laced the wise smile. The cards snapped purposefully again with spine tingling abrasiveness.
"I'll shoot yer sorry ass." Larabee lifted his gaze from the amber liquid that had offered him no respite from the summer sun.
"If you would be so kind." The cards flickered again between darkly tanned hands. An oversized silk shirt without arm garters clung heavily to stooped shoulders. The sleeves were rolled halfway to the elbows, revealing deeply burned forearms and raw abraded skin. The gambler sat forward in his chair keeping his back and sides away from the unforgiving confines of the wood chair. A pair of soft skinned moccasins, compliments of one Vin Tanner, covered swollen lacerated feet. The deep green of his eyes contrasted sharply with the dark, heavy signs of exhaustion. Red, zigzagging lines of injected blood vessels seemed permanent residents over the whites of his eyes.
"Didn't promise to kill ya." Buck's soft chuckle trickled across the table. His leg might have bothered him but every time he peered at the gambler, Wilmington felt a measure of relief. Standish was miserable.
"Details." The southern drawl had become decidedly thicker the last few days as uncomfortable nights kept him from enjoying any real sleep. He could find comfort on neither his back nor his stomach. His sides were just as lacerated and burned as the rest of him. He snapped the cards again out of habit and irritation. If misery settled heavily on his shoulders, he would gladly share the burden. Without much fear for his life and in hopes of irritating someone other than himself, the cards continued to fly from hand to hand. The soft soothing sound of the deck, that had at one time offered a sense of a lullaby, grated nerves.
"Gawd damn you, Standish." Larabee lunged to his feet grabbing the southerner by the front of his white shirt. He half hauled the gambler to his feet.
Everything stopped for a breath of time. Cards fluttered silently to the ground.
Vin placed his chair on all for legs as he sat forward interested in what was about to happen. Perhaps the gods ran interference and saved Standish's life just now. Tanner closed his eyes, thankful it was Larabee that had reacted and not himself.
Nathan sighed, he would not patch anyone up today. Perhaps Chris would knock Standish senseless and give the man a reprieve.
JD rubbed sweat from his face and held no trepidation that the gambler would survive this self-made fiasco.
Larabee stared at the man in his grip. His anger at Ella Gaines had kept him from seeing his men. Though every day he sat amongst them, every night he shared a drink or a game with them, he had not truly seen them.
Vin had the look of a cornered mountain lion. Buck's chuckle was the first one Chris had heard in days. JD normally would have been protesting against Chris' actions, trying desperately to defend whoever sat at the end of Larabee's wrath. Today, the kid just watched unconcerned. Larabee realized Nathan sat wearily, resigned to the heat or maybe the situation in general. Jackson offered no protest. The preacher had a contemplative expression but held his seat.
Larabee's vengeance tucked itself away. His anger fizzled when he turned his attention to the man slumped unresisting within his grip. The deep, reddened features, the sunken eyes, and lack of any satiric smile all herald the weight of the past week. Standish almost had the expression of a dog waiting to get kicked and be dismissed to slink off and find some comfort in a situation that could offer none. Sweat plastered hairs to his head and neck. His damp shirt still held the heat of sunburns.
Burns as a result of Ella Gaines' desire for Chris.
Larabee noticed the way Vin held his arm wrapped protectively around his ribs. JD's black eyes were slowly fading and his split lips were scabbed over. Buck absently rubbed his gouged leg.
Responsibility settled as heavily on Chris's shoulders as did the oppressive heat.
Larabee's hands flexed, fisted hands gripped the front of the white silk shirt. The anger and tension slowly seeped from the hold. With tired resignation, he allowed Standish to slip back into his chair.
Josiah made a decision. The big man slapped his hand on the table and took control of the situation. "JD, go hook up a wagon." The ex-preacher nailed the youngest with a stare and then turned his attention to Tanner. "Vin, you go help him."
JD stared, unsure what to do and laid an inquisitive gaze on Wilmington.
Buck shrugged. "Ya best do as he says." His quiet words granted support to whatever Sanchez had in mind.
"Chris, find Mary and Billy and tell them to get themselves a picnic lunch. Buck have Inez whip us up some food and git herself ready too, cuz she's coming." Josiah spoke as if he had no doubt as to his orders being followed.
"I saw Miz Nettie and Casey in town earlier so, Nathan, invite them along too." Josiah pushed himself from the table and stood up.
No one else moved.
"Get movin'!" The fire and threat in his deep voice shook the hesitation from the others.
In a small hesitant voice, JD finally asked, "Where we goin', Josiah?"
The big man's face split with a self-gratifying grin. "The swimmin' hole you and Casey go 'fishin' at."
JD blushed slightly but Buck whooped out loud. Vin chuckled, nudging the kid on the shoulder and steered him out the door.
Chris met Sanchez's eyes and indicted with a simple tilt of his head to the gambler who delicately leaned down to gather his dropped cards. Standish had an air of defiant belligerence. The gambler would not willingly go along.
Josiah nodded. He would take care of it.
An hour later Billy Travis sat atop Chris' shoulders trying to shove JD, who was balanced precariously on Buck's shoulders, into the water. Buck and Chris stood chest deep in the slow moving river, grabbing and wrestling with one another trying to get the upper hand.
Vin lay on his back in a shallow pool enjoying the crisp feel of the water. His dark anger slowly swept away downstream. The intense fury that had seared his blood trickled away with the gentle current. He dunked his head back, pulling hair and sweat from his face. With a cautious eye, he watched the gambler, who waded a few feet further out.
The cardman dunked once and then twice, while maintaining some protection under the shade of a Sycamore tree. The white shirt clung tightly to shoulders revealing some hazy detail to the cuts and lacerations that tore through burned flesh.
Standish felt the scrutiny and stiffened his shoulders slightly. Lately, Mr. Tanner had the look of a killer. The quiet easygoing tracker had disappeared, at some point, and was replaced by the bounty hunter none of them really knew. It unnerved Ezra and so, with profound trepidation, he turned around slowly and returned Tanner's stare.
A small almost apologetic smile twitched across Vin's face. He easily read the uncertainty in the gambler and understood the reason.
The dimpled grin that he received in return offered all the understanding that Vin needed or wanted at the moment.
Nathan, Josiah and Casey swung from the rope tied to an over-hanging branch. Wagers had been placed. It was no contest. The first one to successfully execute a double flip from the arcing rope won. Casey, of course, succeeded on her second try. Josiah knocked the wind from himself when he hit, with a head turning slap, on the water surface.
Ezra had chuckled. "It was a good thing Josiah's stomach broke his fall."
The preacher dunked the gambler and held him under for a second or two before letting his victim back up for breath. Nathan was a close second but his shoulders and back carried the painful sting of not enough rotation.
Mary, Inez, and Miss Nettie sat on the shore and laughed at the antics of the men and kids. Billy finally succeeded in falling JD...right after Chris grabbed a handful of Buck's crotch under the water and gave it a twist. Buck's wide eyed, shocked expression and deep holler gave every indication of foul play on someone's part. Wilmington floundered under the water in unadulterated disgust. He came back up laughing. He should have known Larabee would be as dirty and underhanded as the gambler.
The late morning adventure had proven to turn a profit for the gambler.
By late afternoon, soft laughter rang through the small shaded glade. The river rolled quietly by as if pleased with the relief it had provided. JD and Casey still swung from the rope, though this time Casey clung to Dunne's back.
Buck, Vin, Chris, and Billy had headed down stream with four makeshift fishing poles fashioned by Miz Nettie and Vin.
Mary had watched them go, pleased her son had some mentors to fill the gap of his deceased father.
Josiah had sat quietly beside the gambler. Some laudanum-laced broth, combined with the fresh air and a lazy day in the river, had finally sucked the southerner into a much-needed slumber. He slept on his stomach, his arms flung out in either direction. His head rested on Buck's discarded shirt. The soft wool picnic blanket provided a mattress as soft as any feather bed. Having Mrs. Travis offer the broth to the gambler was a stroke of genius. The stuff tasted horrible with the drug mixed in it, but being ever the gentleman, Standish ate it without complaint.
Josiah leaned back against the tree trunk and let his eyes roam over the others.
Buck and Vin just rounded the corner laughing at something. Tanner, with a treacherous glint in his eyes, shoved an unsuspecting Wilmington back into the river. The tracker held his ribs and grimaced but the results were worth the effort. The ladies' man's sharp curses were brought up short when Billy laughed, covering his mouth, as he sat on Chris' shoulders. Buck, properly chastised, lunged from the water and pulled Larabee and Billy into the river with him.
Childish giggles and adult laughter rang through the grassy knoll.
All thoughts of Ella Gaines for this one afternoon were washed down stream.
Nathan caught Josiah's eyes and nodded his approval. Mary smiled her thanks and Inez rested a comforting hand on the side of Ezra's head, uncaring of the possible scandalous nature of her actions.
Buck noticed and smiled. Maybe someday Standish would finally ask Buck to back off. Wilmington could only hope.
JD and Casey frolicked and splashed, laughing under the guise of deep friendship bordering on the threshold of adult love.
Miz Nettie watched Tanner; pleased with the child that finally revealed himself today. She smiled happily at the growing relationship between her niece and the fine young man that struggled to fit in with the others.
By dusk, the wagon had been loaded, horses saddled and gear stowed. JD and Casey raced back to town. Dunne's bay gelding exploded from the line. Casey held her gray gelding back, laughing knowingly. It was just under a mile to town. JD's horse would be spent just outside of a quarter mile. Casey had him beat before she ever started. The others chuckled at her secret.
Chris offered a helping hand to Mary, guiding her into the bench beside Ms. Nettie. Buck swung Billy up to the front of Chris' saddle. Billy sat with barely contained excitement.
Nathan gave Vin another threatening glare, warning the tracker to stay seated in the back of the wagon. He sat at the very edge of the tailgate, kicking his feet like a pouting child. Unfortunately, this grown kid could kill a man without breaking a sweat or increasing his pulse.
Josiah laughed uproariously at the glares between the healer and tracker. The ex-preacher swung himself into the saddle after making sure the gambler slept comfortably in the confines of the wagon. Inez cushioned Standish's head with her lap.
The wagon and riders pulled onto the rode and headed for home.
The End
