THE COLOR THAT DIVIDES
Written by: The Scribe
Edited by: Antoinette and KRH
Guest Stars:
Anthony Stewart Head as Gareth Winstanley
Joshua Lucas as Jason Alderson
He was scared.
He had no trouble admitting it. With the cold biting into his hands, he knew had a touch of frostbite because he could not feel the rifle clutched in his hands. Swallowing the lump in his throat, he raised his eyes to sweep across the landscape before him. The snow had almost covered the bodies from the earlier skirmish but not quite. The plains before him looked like an uncovered graveyard and he wondered how much time would past before he found himself lying there amongst the dead. The idea frightened him so badly that he wanted to turn around and leave. But even as the thought passed through his mind, he knew he could not. He had sworn an oath when he put on the uniform and he had nothing more to his name then his honor. He would give that up for nothing.
Nathan Jackson was a free man and free men sometimes had to fight for their liberty.
He understood that more prolifically than most fighting this war because until recently, he had never known what it was to be a free man. The plantation and everything that came with it was a distant memory and when he had put on this uniform, it was more than just the need to be somewhere, it was the need to fight for those whose freedom had yet to come. Abraham Lincoln had promised that all Negroes would be free when the South fell and Nathan believed that was a cause worth the dying. If he were to die here on the battlefield, at least his death would mean something to the future generations that came after him.
Besides, in truth he really had nowhere else to go.
He had escaped from the plantation with only one thing in mind; to go north and be free. He did not realize until after he crossed the Mason Dixon line that it made very little difference whether he was free or not. To everyone who saw him, he was still black. Freedom and tolerance were still poles apart, whether one resided in the North or the South. He spend the first few days wandering about, trying to equate himself to this new concept of freedom and quickly learnt, he was just as out of place there as he was back on the plantation. The loneliness of his existence finally drove him to the army and he found himself in a Negro regiment, keeping company with slaves who were just as displaced as he.
Now they were standing in the cold, looking over a stretch of land where too many had already died. On the other side of the plain was the Confederate army and he and the others in his platoon were charged to hold the line. Reinforcements were coming but not soon enough and several skirmishes had already taken place throughout the day. Platoons had come and gone. Some made it off the field in one piece, while others were doomed to remain there forever. Blood seeped into the ground, staining the snow until it was
covered in pink splotches. Despite the divisive nature of their conflict, in death such things were forgotten.
Those about to fight stood behind a ragged line of bayonets pointed in the direction of the enemy. Their faces all wore the same look: an acceptance of the death to come. Nathan had resigned himself to this fate as well even though he was frightened of dying and the trembling that appeared to be induced by the cold was in fact a symptom of his gnawing fear.
"Nathan." A voice spoke next to him, filled impossibly with even more terror than he was experiencing.
"What is it, Cal?" Nathan whispered, finding it inappropriate to speak when the cry to charge could come at any moment.
Cal was not more than seventeen. Like Nathan, he had fled north in search of paved streets of gold and freedom. What he had got in return was what they all found upon reaching the northern states: disillusionment. He had lied to get into the army and being lanky and tall for his age passed the bar, though Nathan suspected the recruiters did not look too closely. He was black and good for fodder whether he was seventeen or eighteen. Nathan had taken the boy under his wing, mostly because Cal seemed incapable of surviving on his own, in the army or out of it.
"I can't do it." Cal stared at Nathan. His fear was so thick in his eyes that Nathan doubted he could see anything else.
"It's too late to turn back now, Cal," Nathan said trying to keep the impatience from his voice. He was frightened enough without having to endure this conversation with Cal as well. "We got to go where they send us."
"But look at them all, Nathan," Cal whimpered. "They're all dead out there. I don't wanna be dead too."
"If you walk off the line, they'll shoot you," Nathan warned harshly. "You'll be just as dead."
"I don't want to die." He started to whimper pathetically.
Nathan wished that there was something he could say that would make this tolerable for Cal, but how could he convince this boy, when he could not even convince himself? He looked at the other soldiers holding the line with him, waiting for the order to come that would send them charging into the artillery and cannon fire, aware that casualty rates were going to be high. However, the reward for all their deaths would be to exhaust the Confederate supply of ammunition, leaving their defense crippled when Union reinforcements arrived. "I don't want to die neither but we ain't got no choice," Nathan
replied, his eyes shifting between the path ahead and the friend next to him. "We got to
show them that we are as good as they are. That this is our land too and we will fight for it and die for it just like any white man. If we turn tail and run, we'll just be proving every bad thing they ever said about us. I'm afraid too Cal, I'm so afraid I can't stand it but the only thing I can't stand more than dying is not knowing that they'd be right. That I was everything that they said I was. I won't let them have the satisfaction of knowing that."
Tears ran down Cal's face and he nodded, understanding the emotion even if the words did not quite make sense. He dried his eyes and faced front once more, his jaw setting determinedly as he stared at what lay ahead. "I don't want that either," he whispered. "My mama said that being free wasn't gonna be easy. I guess this is what she meant."
"Probably," Nathan answered, his voice choked with feeling as he saw Cal understand and embrace what he had said, even though it was almost assuredly a death warrant.
"CHARGE!"
The order was like an explosion of artillery fire and when it swept through the ranks, calling those assembled to arms, the platoon shouted in similar exuberance as they started running through the snow, bayonets drawn. Nathan kept glancing sideways, ensuring that Cal was at his side until they neared the center of the plain and the uneven surface he was running and trying to avoid was actually, the bodies of the dead. He tried to ignore the uniforms he was stepping over or the faces of the dead staring through open eyes at
nothingness. He heard Cal whimper even though artillery fire had broken out. Or perhaps he imagined it, Nathan would never really know.
Friend and comrades began falling around them as the Confederates rushed to meet them. A war cry tore across the landscape; primeval, visceral, all things violent and confrontational about war seemed to condense around him. Dirt and snow splattered around him as cannon balls struck the earth, tearing into its flesh and spraying its wounded soil in all directions. The order to charge still filled his ears even though everything around him had dwindled into chaos. New bodies were falling into the snow, more blood, more screams of pain. He saw the enemy and fired. He glanced sideways again. Cal was still there. The boy was terrified but he was there. Nathan felt his heart fill with pride a split second before Cal's was filled with lead.
The boy's chest through his uniform and suddenly, all sound drained out of Nathan's world and all he could do was scream, his bayonet rifle lowering as his hand stretched out to catch Cal just as he started to fall. The younger man turned frantic eyes at Nathan, as if Nathan could stop him from dying. He still thought he might survive even though the snow around him was covered in his blood and the front of his uniform was saturated in red fluid.
"CAL!" Nathan cried out as pain slammed into his ribs.
The bullet tore through skin, flesh, bone, organs and took the same grisly road out of him, but, of course, Nathan was past noticing by them. It felt as if the air had escaped him and he hit the floor about the same time as Cal did. He landed on top of Cal, the boy's blood intermingling with his own profuse flow. Nathan pulled himself off the young man, trailing blood in his already soaked uniform and the snow as he tried desperately to revive Cal. Tried desperately for hope in the middle of a battlefield. Despite his injuries, the irony did not lose itself upon him.
"CAL! You got to stay with me!" Nathan gasped, his own life draining away into the snow. He was hit bad and he knew it, but he was still in better shape than Cal.
Cal blinked once, his throat making a gurgling sound that sounded like water escaping a drain. It would be a sound that would always make Nathan shudder a little when he heard it. His pupils were dilating. He could probably hear, Nathan thought frantically but he was beyond seeing anything.
"Cal! Don't let him take ya! Stay with me!"
Another gurgle followed and then his head lopped sideways. Cal was gone.
"NO!" Nathan screamed angrily and started to weep. He cried with his cheek pressed against the snowy ground, warm tears that ate into the ice and vanished unlike the blood that was draining out of him. If Cal was going to die, he was going too. He was tired of living. It was time to stop.
Nathan Jackson closed his eyes and wished for death to come get him.
When he opened his eyes, he found that he was not, in fact, dead.
He could have been mistaken, with all the wailing and weeping that bombarded his consciousness when he first woke up. Nathan took a breath and felt his chest ache. It was then he realized that not only was he alive, but he was in an army hospital - or as near as a soldier shot on the front lines could get to one. He had thought death united men as nothing had ever done before, but as his gaze swept across the bed, the faces before him displayed a different kind of unity comprised of wounded bodies and equally wounded souls. That was something surprisingly comforting in all that. He saw the doctors working tirelessly, desperately clinging to the shredded strands of life that passed before them and saw their anguish when they could not hold on. He spent weeks on that bed watching the doctors, listening to them. He felt somehow drawn to their power; they did had power, of that he had no doubt. It occurred to Nathan that when a doctor healed a man, it did not matter what color his skin was just the skill in his hands to do the work. The patient rarely noted the distinction, aware only that this was a being dispensing life and he had no face, no race, no creed. He was just a healer. For some reason, that word
stuck in his mind, like a splinter driving deeper and deeper into place, refusing to let it go. After awhile, Nathan stopped fighting it and allowed it to change him.
He got better and started helping out when he could. The doctors and nurses appreciated it. He watched them, watched their hands perform magic, watched the compassion in their faces as they tended the sick and wounded, saw the sorrow when they crossed that all important line of professional detachment and started to care. He saw all that and felt their pain, understanding that they bore their ability to heal as not merely as a gift but also a curse when the patients before them were beyond hope. He saw them wipe away tears, trying to hide the gray despair that finally sunk into all their faces after their eyes had seen too much death.
It surprised him how easy it was to learn by simply watching and he liked to think they were surprised too. He supposed they must have been impressed with him on some level because when he was all healed, he was not sent back to the front but rather drafted as a stretcher-bearer. Nathan Jackson spent the rest of the great war of the states in this vocation, helping the doctors, comforting the sick and learning, always learning. When the war was over, he knew more than most doctors' knew about tending the ailing. He disappeared into the west and learnt other forms of healing, not all to do with the tried and true practices of modern healing.
He wandered for a time, looking for a home, finding none because before they knew he was a healer, they knew he was black. Nathan had almost started to believe that it would always be that way until one day, he came across an dusty, wind swept town in the heart of the Territory and found his life changed forever by the six men he met there.
The Gunslinger. The Tracker. The Scoundrel. The Gambler. The Preacher. The Kid.
And then there was him.
The Healer.
There were times, that the Healer wished - with surprising intensity of feeling - that the Gambler would just shut up. It was a hot, summer's day. Not the kind that made you want to enjoy the sunshine but the humid, blistering heat that drove people indoors and under shade, or if Nathan Jackson had his way into the open arms of the nearest saloon. Unfortunately, a saloon was still more than an hour's ride away and like the rest of his companions, his patience was quickly wearing thin at being forced to travel in this weather. Of course, it did not help much that Ezra Standish had not stopped complaining since they had left Eagle Bend. The four riders, Ezra Standish, Vin Tanner, JD Dunne and himself, had been responsible for the delivery of some bandits to the larger town for various crimes committed in its locality. When they had set out yesterday, it had been balmy but nowhere as unpleasant as it was now.
"I cannot believe we are forced to travel in this weather," Ezra remarked for what had to be the hundredth time since they had left Eagle Bend. He tugged at his collar in exaggerated discomfort and ignored the collective groan from the rest of his companion. "Surely, this would constitute as hazard pay."
"Dream on, Ezra," JD retorted, the weather making his own temper a little short.
"We could have remained in Eagle Bend another day," Ezra continued, glaring at the sun from under the brim of his hat with just as much distaste as the solar body was glaring at him. "I do not think it would have been too much of a sin to indulge in cool shade until this hellish day passed by."
"Chris wanted us back in Four Corners as soon as possible," Vin growled.
In truth, the tracker had more reason to be hot and miserable than Ezra in his thick jacket but Vin bore it stoically, as he did most things. However, Nathan could sense that Vin was fast reaching a point where his usual unflappable manner was going to rupture and no one wanted to be around when it did. Nathan decided that he had better say something to rein in Ezra's complaints before Vin knocked the gambler off his horse because he was in no mood to treat the bruises that came from that injury.
"Hey Ezra," Nathan looked over at the Southerner. "We'll be there in a hour. How about giving your mouth a rest?"
"Are you inferring that I am complaining too much?" Ezra looked back at him petulantly.
"HELL NO!" Both Vin and JD said in unison.
"Very amusing," Ezra gave them both a look and let out a deep breath. "Fine then," he said with a slight huff to his voice. "I shall say nothing more, not a word, not a syllable. You will hardly even be aware that I am here. After all, I do not speak to hear myself. I thought being my associates, you would at least be civil enough to indulge in conversation, but evidently I was wrong."
"Oh Christ." Vin grumbled and somewhere in the distance, Nathan heard a flap snapping. "That's it, I'm getting my gun. I'm already wanted - one more can't hurt." He reached for the sawn off rifle nestled in the special holster he had fashioned for the weapon.
"Ezra, do yourself a favor and shut up," Nathan barked.
"Hey, look!" JD broke through the 'adult' bantering of his companions and pointed toward the distance.
All eyes immediately shifted to the direction the youngest of them was indicating and saw a wagon in the distance. It sat in the field to the trail that the stagecoach took to Four Corners. There was no one about and the horse that was pulling the wagon was languidly feasting on the tall grass that surrounded it and the carriage. Immediately, the four men forgot about their bickering and dug their heels into their mounts, to cross the distance to the wagon. They had not ridden very far before a high pitched scream emanated from the covered wagon, across the plains like a banshee wailing in the dark. The cry hastened their pace and in a matter of minutes, the four men converged upon the wagon and
dismounted.
A cry of pain ensured that Nathan was the first one off his horse and hurrying towards the back of the wagon to investigate. The screams became more desperate as he approached and there was no doubt in his mind that someone was in extreme pain. When he reached the wagon, Nathan quickly climbed into the tray and found himself facing a young woman who was heavily pregnant and appeared as if her time had come sooner than she had anticipated. She saw Nathan and immediately registered her fear. Whether or not it was because she was in no position to defend herself if he meant her harm or that she
was simply terrified at her present situation, was anyone's guess but Nathan was not about to let her anxiety heighten and immediately responded to allay her concern.
"It's alright ma'am," he said gently. "I don't mean you no harm. Are you alone here?"
"Yes," she nodded mutely, tears staining her face. "Please, I need to get to a doctor," she begged desperately. "My baby....."
"It's okay," he said quickly as she started to descend into panic. "I've had to deliver a baby or two in my time. I think I can help you with yours."
"Are you a doctor?" she asked fearfully, uncertain whether or not she ought to be trusting him with her welfare and that of her unborn child but painfully aware that she was limited in her choices.
"Not exactly," Nathan replied. "I'm more of a healer than anything, but I promise I can help you and your baby. Now, how far apart are the contractions? I know your water's broke but the space of the contractions will give me a fair idea of how much time we have to work with."
"Nathan, what the hell is going on?" Vin asked, poking his head through the opening in the canvas before finding himself staring at a young woman in an extremely delicate state. If there was anything that could wipe that unflappable expression off the tracker's face, it was the sight of the young mother stretched out with her legs bent, clearly about to deliver. Without saying another word, Vin started retreating.
"Vin, get in here!" Nathan barked, not about to let him get out of it that easily.
"You don't need me!" Vin replied and Nathan heard the man squabbling with Ezra before the gambler suddenly fell through the canvas.
"Ma'am," Ezra swallowed and tipped his hat, trying to maintain some measure of dignity even though it was obvious that he was just as reluctant to play the part of midwife. "Nathan, am I to assume the lady is will not be able to wait until we arrive at Four Corners to deliver?"
Another cry of pain from the young woman answered that question rather succinctly.
"I guess not." Ezra sighed and turned to Nathan once more. "By the way, Mr. Tanner has just informed me that he will be glad to assist in the delivery in any way as long as it does not involve being inside this wagon."
"Oh, for Christ' sakes!" Nathan swore loudly. "Get those two idiots to boil some water!"
"I am certain they are capable of that," Ezra replied. "I will pass it along. I take it you will require your medical bag?"
"Yeah, and then I'll need you to come in here," Nathan said quickly as he started to make his patient more comfortable, showing her quickly, in between his conversation with Ezra, how to breathe in order to lessen the impact of the ordeal she was enduring.
"Dare I ask why?" Ezra looked at him suspiciously, as he stopped short in his tracks at hearing Nathan needed his assistance.
"Don't worry," Nathan said annoyed. "You won't be delivering the baby. I just need you to put your mouth to good use for once and take her mind off the pain."
"Oh, that I can do." Ezra replied enthusiastically, his face regaining some color. "Madam, I assure you that I will be at my most eloquent."
The young mother screamed again and Nathan could only sigh. "Yeah, that's how I feel about him talking too."
After what seemed like hours later, Nathan found himself standing over the new mother and her infant, feeling a great sense of satisfaction despite the weariness he felt in his bones and the anxiety that he had felt earlier because the delivery seemed too much for Miss Rose. Rinsing his hands in the warm basin of water, he allowed a little smile to cross his lips at the obvious delight in the young lady's eyes at the arrival of her new daughter. Nathan had to confess that there was something especially heart warming about bringing new life into the world, even if one was merely a bystander.
"Well, Madam," Ezra Standish made himself heard to the young woman, whose hand he had been clutching for most of her labor and to whom he had whispered sweet words of comfort. "I would like to thank you for allowing me to be a participant in a most extraordinary event." He smiled and his words had enough emotion in them to appear completely genuine.
"Thank you, Mr. Standish," Rose sniffled, just as overcome by sentiment now that she had her new baby in her arms. "I would not have done it without you." She smiled and then regarded Nathan. "And you too Mr. Jackson, I don't know what would have become of us if you hadn't found me. I knew it was foolish to try and reach my husband in Four Corners, but I just didn't want to be alone when the time came."
"You don't worry about it now, ma'am," Nathan said good-naturedly. "The main thing is that we found you and you're all right, you and your little girl."
"And pray tell what does your husband do that requires him to be so far from you while you are in such a delicate condition?" Ezra asked, moving towards the front of the wagon to disembark. Despite his outward display of southern equilibrium, after witnessing the wonderful process of life being born, he was severely in need of a stiff drink, not to mention his pound of flesh from a certain tracker who had fled the moment he had seen the lady in her condition.
"Oh, he works as a carpenter on the railway," she answered, cradling her baby in her arms and keeping her gaze solely fixed on the precious bundle.
"I'm sure he's going to be real proud when he sees his little girl," Nathan replied, not wishing to tax the lady with any more questions. Despite her happiness at the arrival of her child, she had still endured something of an ordeal and Nathan was not about to see her bothered with any more than she had already been. "Now you rest up," he instructed warmly. "We'll get you to Four Corners."
"Thank you, Nathan," she smiled at him again. "Thank you so much for coming to our help."
"Come on, Mr. Jackson," Ezra tugged at his shoulder. "I fear if I do not remove you from the company of this charming lady and her compliments, your head will not fit through the flap."
"Very funny, Ezra," Nathan retorted before turning to his patient. "Ma'am, you think you'll be all right for a while?"
"Yes," she nodded gratefully, still mesmerized by the new life in her arms. "We'll
be fine."
Nathan and Ezra climbed out of the wagon, deciding that the young mother could stand some time alone with her newborn. Besides, they had things to do. Nathan had no idea how much time Miss Rose's labor had taken, but knew that it was a stretch of at least a couple of hours. When he emerged into the open, he realized that he had guessed correctly. He could see the sun withdrawing past the mountains in the distance and daylight was following its departure. They were still a good hour or two away from Four Corners and Nathan was not prepared to have either Rose or her baby spend the night out here. If they were to make it to town, they would have to leave fairly soon.
"Mr. Jackson," Ezra took a moment to remark as he saw the others noticing their presence. "Without sounding overtly sentimental, I feel I must say something to you."
"What?" Nathan's brow cocked in suspicion.
"You really are amazing." The southerner smiled and stared at Nathan in unmasked admiration.
For Nathan it was rather shocking to actually see because Ezra was always a collection of masks. This was probably the first time, Nathan had seen the man behind the illusion of self. "Thanks, Ezra," he said somewhat touched by the gestured.
"Tell anyone and I shall deny it until I die." Ezra retorted, flashing him that smile with a glint of gold.
"Nathan," Vin interrupted them and ended the moment. Vin and JD had been congregating around the fire they had built until they sighted the healer and the gambler emerging from the wagon. Originally, the fire had been lit to provide Nathan with the sterile conditions he always demanded whenever he treated a patient but later it became a source of heat for the rapidly dropping temperatures that came with dusk. With Nathan's emergence from the wagon, both men approached the healer quickly, eager to learn how mother and child were doing despite their inability to tolerate being in close proximity during the birthing process.
"How is she?" the tracker asked.
"Since you ran like a girl?" Ezra retorted with a smirk as he walked towards the fire, at the same time removing the flask that was secreted inside the folds of his jacket.
Vin's best efforts as a sharpshooter could not compare to the glare he threw in Ezra's direction. "I did not run like a girl. I'm just ain't good with women and babies," he said, trying not to appear as uncomfortable as he did discussing the subject.
"We noticed," Nathan remarked. "It's okay Vin," he said after a moment.
Both Vin and JD exhaled as collective sigh of relief at their absolution.
"Is she gonna be okay, Nathan? We heard the baby? What is it?" JD asked, managing to say all that without taking a breath.
"She's fine. She's resting at the moment. She gave birth to a fine little girl." Nathan found himself smiling with pride as he made that revelation.
"We should get her back to town," Vin commented. "This ain't the place for a new baby and her ma to be."
"That's what I was thinking." He agreed wholeheartedly. "I figure I'll take the wagon back. I can hitch my horse to it."
"We'll stay close by," Vin declared. His tone of voice indicated that it was not a suggestion but rather how things were going to be.
There were times when Nathan had a great deal of trouble trying to get inside the tracker's head. In some instances, he was harder to read than Chris Larabee. With Chris, it was simple. The man was marked by tragedy and had allowed sorrow and rage to permeate his soul like a stain that could never be removed. Vin however, was a paradox. Even though he was a little older than JD, his mindset had more in common with Chris than anyone else. He was marked by something that could be called tragic, but inside there was also an unswerving nobility that would not be denied. Nathan supposed he enjoyed Vin's company so much because they both had definitive notions of right and wrong though they expressed it differently at times.
"Thanks," Nathan said gratefully but could not resist the opportunity to tease the tracker just a little bit. "But I guess not close enough to be inside the wagon, huh?"
"You ain't never gonna let me forget that are you?" Vin growled.
"Not for at least a week or until the next time Buck braves trying to get Inez to go out with him." Nathan grinned as JD started to laugh.
"Thanks, pard," Vin grumbled. "You're all heart."
It was well after dark before the four peacekeepers finally returned to town. After turning the young lady and her new charge over to Mary Travis, who was more than happy to give comfort to mother and child while inquiries were being made for Rose's husband, they headed to the tavern for a well deserved drink. As usual, the rest of the seven were already congregated inside the familiar surroundings of Standish Tavern. It was lively in the establishment at this time of night, with clunky music emanating from the out of tune harpsichord; played by an equally toneless musician, that stood in the corner of the room and the. Saloon girls were carousing with patrons and the sight of card tables being occupied whetted Ezra's appetite almost immediately.
Nevertheless, Ezra managed to curb his desire to fleece the locals long enough for the group to share a drink and recount their adventures of the day. Unlike Nathan's adventure on the prairie, as Ezra so eloquently put it, the rest of the seven remaining in town did not see much action. There were the usual disturbances, a drunk here, a misdemeanor there, but largely things had been peaceful. There were still a few rumblings of dissent left over from the entire statehood debate of a few months ago, but those were merely heated discussions, which fortunately did not degenerate into fisticuffs as most issues of conflict tended to do in the Territory.
Even now, they could hear the discussions in the background even though none of the seven seemed eager to take any active part in the discussion. Statehood seemed like one of those things worried about by respectable folk and although none of the seven were outlaws, it was undeniable they were unlike most of the residents of Four Corners.
"Well, it sure looks like you boys had an interesting day," Buck Wilmington remarked as he ran an appreciative eye over Inez as she brought them another round of drinks. The sultry barmaid merely rolled her eyes in contempt of his leer and gave him a look that said very clearly that it would be a cold day in hell before she considered him with anything else.
"If by interesting you mean offering comfort to a woman who is about to pass an object the size of a melon through an opening the size of grape fun, yes, I suppose you could call it that."
"Ouch." Chris Larabee winced noticeably, the alcohol in his system making him a great deal more tolerable than his normal grizzled sober self. "Makes me think I ought to be saying sorry to my mother."
"I thought you were raised by bears." Vin joked as Chris directed a gesture at him with his fingers that was not appropriate in polite company.
"I was getting kind of worried there," Nathan remarked once the moment between the two had passed. "I didn't think she was going to make it. She's a little thing. Women like that have real trouble during labor."
"The Lord acts in mysterious way Brother," Josiah smiled, having no doubt the young woman must have seen the healer as nothing less than a gift from the Almighty considering how Nathan had encountered her. By all rights, a woman had no business traveling in the Territory whilst in such delicate condition. The potential for danger in a landscape littered with Indians, outlaws and bandits was great. He wondered if Miss Rose understood how fortunate she was to be have been discovered by Nathan and the others rather than men who would care little that she was with child and would have inflicted their worst upon her.
"I'd call it luck." Chris grumbled. "Woman ought to have known better anyway."
Those at the table could see the gunslinger was in a dark mood despite the liquor taking the edge off his immediate anger. This was hardly surprising for Chris Larabee seemed to come in no other way. It was not difficult to guess what had made his mood so dark since there was only person who could drive the man to distraction and that was Mary Travis. Of course, what the latest point of contention between the two spirited people was something no one was brave enough to inquire after.
There was a period of silence between as six of the seven secretly debated whether or not it was wise to question Chris regarding what he and Mary had crossed swords about this time when suddenly, voices in the background captured their attention instead. Nathan set down his glass and looked over his shoulder in little more than detached interest since arguments in a crowded barroom were nothing new.
The loudest voice belonged to Bill Alderson. Alderson, a short, dour man with graying hair and equally graying disposition, ran a small homestead some miles out of town. He was a frequent visitor to the Standish Tavern and usually congregated with other local farmers. Nathan knew him only by his patronage of the saloon but had no reason to make any acquaintance beyond that. Besides, the healer had a feel about people and he sensed that any hand of friendship he extended in Alderson's direction would be summarily slapped back in return. Most of the time Alderson drank, talked to his friends and staggered out of the saloon in more or less that order, but on this occasion, the man seemed to have a bee in his bonnet and was not shy about making himself heard. Alderson glanced across the room, his eyes resting on Nathan briefly before continuing
his sweep of faces. Once he had completed his visual activity, he faced his friends again
and took another sip from his rapidly emptying glass.
"You know what the real problem with us not getting statehood?" he asked loudly enough for everyone in the room to hear. His words were slurred and he was almost certainly drunk but he intended to have his say. "Its gotta to do with that fact that no one in Washington wants us."
A rumble of question rippled through his comrades as they urged him to clarify that statement. "What you mean, Billy?" Walt Simonson asked.
"Well lookit at the Territory." Bill wiped his mouth with his sleeve and continued. "You know what we got more of than desert, buzzards and rattlesnakes?" He paused a moment and stared directly at Nathan before declaring. "Niggers, Spics and Injuns. We're outnumbered. They're more of them than there are of us!"
Chris was not impressed when Alderson's companions cheered his statement. Around him, the saloon fell silent as Chris Larabee rose to his feet and turned his powerful gaze at Alderson and his friends. There was not a man in Four Corners who did not feel in some way, a little intimidated by Chris - even when the gunslinger was not brandishing the infamous Larabee glare like a knife. However, when Chris did feel like making his presence known, the reaction from those around him was swift and immediate. Even Alderson had suddenly lost his vitriolic demeanor as he saw Chris glaring at him. Vin Tanner remained seated, however his blue eyes were fixed on the developing situation. Likewise with Ezra Standish, who was pretending to shuffle the cards in his hands but his
focus was one of cautious observation.
Buck had risen with Chris and where Buck went, JD was sure to follow. Josiah was not as overt, remaining seated with Vin and Ezra, even though his hand had shifted from the tabletop to rest in close proximity to his holstered gun. Only Nathan did not react. He did not look at Alderson. Instead his focus had turned inward, to the secret place inside of himself that not even his six friends could ever hope to breach because they simply could not understand. While they were probably thinking he was outraged at Alderson's words, it was not even that which was encompassing his thoughts so completely. It was something far worse.
He had forgotten.
He had actually forgotten. A part of him was still gripped in disbelief that he had allowed it to happen, that he had actually let down his guard to let it hit him with such surprise. It was not as if he had not been forced to live this all his life but until Alderson had spoken, Nathan had actually forgotten that he was not seen as a man exactly. It had been a long time since he had heard such contempt directed at him, not since his earliest days in Four Corners when Chris and Vin had intervened to save his life. He had thought being the only healer in Four Corners had earned him a certain amount of respect, not only from the people whose lives he saved but from the community in general. It was hard not feel this
way when the people closest to him were six men who saw him not as a colored, but rather as a trusted friend and ally.
Chris Larabee was not focussed on what Nathan was feeling however. The man in black made his way across the saloon, with bodies stepping out of his way as he walked through them, black duster trailing behind him as his piercing green eyes bore down on Alderson. Buck and JD remained in flanking positions, prepared to react if the situation arose. Alderson stood with at least five other friends and though they were not normally the caliber of men the seven engaged, they were drunk and full of spit from whatever hardships it seemed easier to blame someone else for. That made for a dangerous combination.
Chris paused in front of Alderson and spoke, his voice a mere hiss. "Mister, your opinions are your own. I respect that even if I don't like it. If that's what you think about statehood, that's your business but you will keep those opinions to yourself when you're in public."
I can say any damn thing I want!" Alderson snapped, too drunk to know any better. "You gonna shoot me because I made fun of your pet nigger?"
Chris' hand lashed out before anyone could react and before Alderson could draw away. Instead of going for his gun, which would have fatal consequences for the man, Chris wrapped his fist around Alderson's throat. "I'm not going to shoot you," Chris said quietly. "Not yet. You're drunk and you're stupid. Go home and sleep it off."
"Ain't he man enough to defend himself?" Simonson demanded, outraged at the
treatment of his friend.
Buck glanced sideways at the rotund farmer with no chin and remarked, "You really like poking sticks at bears don't ya?"
Chris silenced Simonson with a hard stare that made the man swallow visibly before he returned his attention to Alderson. "I don't want this to get out of hand. Go home and sleep it off. That's the best advice you're gonna get tonight and the only time you're gonna get it from me. We understand each other?"
Alderson nodded mutely and Chris lingered a few more seconds, making certain the fingers around his throat left a lasting impression before he release the man. Alderson fell back against the bar, coughing hard and clutching his throat as his the crimson hue on his face started to diminish. Simonson went to his side and poured him a drink quickly as Chris started to turn away, deciding that he had made his point. The man in black had his back turned and took the first tentative steps towards his friends when Alderson lashed out, sending the glass Simonson had offered him skittering across the bar before it rolled off the counter and shattered on the floor. Inez let out a soft gasp as she stepped out of
the way and Alderson, angry at being so publicly humiliated, made a bad situation
worse.
"CHRIS!" Nathan shouted as he saw the man pull out a gun from the folds of his clothes.
The gunslinger turned around and went for his gun. At the same time that Alderson had drawn his weapon, Simonson realizing what was going on, rushed at Buck and toppled the big man to the floor in a forceful tackle. Alderson's companions, who had been bystanders until this point, suddenly chose sides and rushed at JD. No sooner than Nathan had called out, Vin, Ezra and Josiah were on their feet rushing to join the fray. Nathan was not long after and arrived just as Chris pulled the trigger. The explosion of gunfire sent the other patrons running for cover, some leaving the saloon while others took refuge beneath the tables. Alderson fired a split second after Chris who was already stepping out
of his trajectory but not enough to keep the bullet from grazing his shoulder. Chris had
no intention of shooting to kill, having lodged the bullet into Alderson's thigh, bringing the instigator of this growing melee to his knees. Dropping his gun as he clutched his wounded leg, Alderson was hardly in a position to appreciate the chaos he had wrought.
The saloon was in a state of pandemonium. Some had no idea why they were fighting, as the violence swept them into the thrall. Nathan looked across the floor at Alderson as he side step a blow from an assailant. Even though Alderson's fiery words about his color had been the spark that set off this brawl, Nathan was more concerned with the fact that the man was bleeding profusely. Blood had saturated his trousers. While it was difficult to tell exactly where he had been hit, it was obvious that he was hit badly. Nathan fought his way through the fists being thrown and bodies flying across the room towards Alderson who was trying desperately to stem the tide of crimson flowing out of his leg.
A chair flew over his head and Nathan heard Buck telling him to duck. He dropped to the floor just in time to see JD scrambling from the grip of a man twice his size just before Josiah hauled the man to his feet and threw a punch in his face. A glass hurtled past his ear and shattered on the floor near him just before he heard Ezra's voice remark 'you do not want to do that' followed by the unmistakable sound of fist against flesh which meant someone obviously wanted to do that despite his entreaty. Nathan looked up to see Chris
Larabee throwing a punch and then spinning around and barely keeping his fist from
striking Vin, who had been attempting to watch his back during the fight.
Suddenly the sound of a double-barreled shotgun tore through the room like a clap of thunder and stopped everyone in their tracks. Even Nathan froze as he heard the deafening boom that echoed through the saloon. Everyone seemed to be trapped in amber, their eyes fixed on Inez who was brandishing the weapon, having fired it once into the air and successfully put a sizable hole in the ceiling.
"Gentlemen!" Inez said with ruthless command in her voice. "Behave yourselves or the next thing I shoot will not be the ceiling." She handled the weapon with enough determination to indicate to everyone present that she would make good on that threat, no matter who they were to her.
No one knew what to do until Chris Larabee added his voice in support of the lady's directive. "all right," the gunslinger sighed, deciding that enough was enough and that this had escalated far beyond what it ought to have already. "You heard the lady. Break it up. Let's not make this any worse than it already is."
As reason began to bleed into the faces of those in the room, Nathan got to his feet and hurried over to Alderson. The man's blood was a puddle around him and Nathan suddenly felt his stomach hollow because the wound he suspected Alderson of having may be beyond his ability to heal.
"I can't stop it!" Alderson said panicked. His body was trembling. His skin had
become cold and all traces of hostility towards Nathan had gone.
"Take it easy there," Nathan ordered. "I need help here!"
"You get away from him nigger!" Simonson shouted from where he was. Ignoring
him, Nathan tried to find the source of the bleeding that was the reason for so much blood loss.
"Shut up!" Buck roared at him and grabbed the man bodily as he advanced towards Nathan. Buck slammed him into the bar and bellowed angrily, "If you gave two bits worth about your friend, you'll see Nathan's the only chance he has!"
With that reality splashing into his face, Simonson withdrew his protests and remained still as Nathan quickly examined Alderson. It did not take long for the healer to discern the cause of the profuse bleeding and he could see Alderson sliding rapidly into shock. The blood loss was becoming more than the man's system could cope and Nathan was not even sure that it was in his power to save him.
"I need to get him to my infirmary!" Nathan called out as Chris and Buck closed in on him. Perhaps if he consulted his books there might be something in there. Nathan never felt more helpless than when he found himself facing the stone wall of his own lack of knowledge.
"I wasn't shooting to kill," Chris said somewhat dazed, genuinely intending to bring no permanent harm to Alderson but the sight of all that blood had made him realize that he had done far from that.
"He's been hit in an artery," Nathan quickly explained. "I've got to stop the bleeding or he'll die."
"Vin!" Chris called the tracker who was closest to him. "Help me get him to Nathan's infirmary!"
The statement did not need to be repeated because Vin was at his side in seconds and the trio of peacekeepers were carrying Alderson out of the saloon. Buck, Josiah, JD and Ezra remained in the saloon, keeping a close eye on Simonson and his companions, who had been part of the melee that allowed this tragedy to take place. Buck made sure that Simonson remained where he had left him. Something told the big man that Simonson had some fight in him and with Nathan being the only healer in town, was apprehensive of how he would handle Alderson's care.
Once Chris, Nathan and Vin had gone, Simonson turned to Buck with cold eyes
and retorted. "You better pray my friend comes through this alive. Cause if he dies, everyone's gonna know it's because of that nigger."
"I don't know what else to do," Nathan Jackson said helplessly to Chris Larabee and Vin Tanner a short time later within the confines of his infirmary.
Chris wished he knew what to say in response to Nathan's cry of defeat but nothing came to mind. Both he and Vin had watched as Nathan tried desperately to stem the bleeding from Alderson's wound. The healer had consulted his books and found no help there.
Nathan had tried sealing the torn artery but that kind of surgery was clearly beyond his ability and he did not have the knowledge to try anything else. He was like a man trying to fight the tide from coming into the shore and though Vin and Chris hated to see Nathan this way, there was nothing they could do to help him, no solution they could offer for they were as much in the dark as he. No matter what Nathan seemed to try, the bleeding
simply would not stop. It continued to flow, saturating the bed where Alderson lay, spreading beneath him until he became weaker and weaker, his fear dissolving into unconsciousness, until finally he did not speak at all. "Maybe if I tried something else...." Nathan tried to walk past Chris who was standing near the table but the gunslinger put an arm on his shoulder and kept him from progressing any further.
"Nathan stop," Chris said quietly. Chris could tell that Nathan was no longer thinking straight. His determination to save his patient's life had robbed him of the ability to see reason.
"Chris, I've got to try something else." Nathan implored the gunslinger to be let go, refusing to believe what was evident to everyone else in the room.
"You done all you can," Vin added in that too soft voice, full of concern. "He's dead, Nathan."
"No, he's not," Nathan retorted. "I just haven't tried everything!" He was almost pleading for them to let him try. Didn't they understand what failure meant? It would mean that he was a failure!
"Nathan, he's gone," Chris said firmly. "I hate to be the one to tell you, but it's true, look at him."
Nathan blinked slowly and turned around to the man's still form on the bed. Alderson was not moving and his skin was pale, the parts of it that weren't soiled with blood that is. He did not move and he did not breathe. When Nathan gingerly placed a hand to his neck, the healer felt no pulse. Nathan stared at the man for a long time, saying nothing, hating the feeling that came with being unable to do anything - to have to simply stand by and watch someone die.
"You're right," Nathan conceded after awhile and looked at the blood on his hand and on his clothes. "He's dead. I failed him."
"You didn't fail him, Nathan." Vin continued to console him. The tracker could see how hard he was taking all this. "It wasn't your choice for him to get into a fight and it certainly wasn't your choice to pull the trigger on a man when his back was turned. Alderson did all that without any help from you so don't you think you failed him for cause he's lying here. The only person here who failed anyone, is Alderson."
Nathan raised his eyes to Vin and offered the tracker a smile of thanks for his efforts.
Chris did not speak, but the healer could tell that he had demons of his own to contend with. Chris had not intended to kill Alderson. No doubt, Chris was feeling his own share of guilt as well.
"Hey," Nathan said to Chris. "It ain't your fault either."
Chris exhaled loudly. "I pulled the trigger," he pointed out. "Only because the man drew when you had your back to him." Nathan reminded. "Like Vin said, Alderson made his own choices."
"Yeah," Chris drawled softly but somehow Nathan guessed it would never be that easy for Chris to absolve himself of responsibility. Nathan drew away from his two companions and pulled a sheet over Alderson's face, pausing long enough to close Alderson's eyes before covering the man completely. The healer let out another sigh wishing that he had been a real doctor because no doubt, a real doctor would have known what to do. However, for the moment, he was as good as Four Corners was going to get to a real physician and he had done his best.
That was enough, wasn't it?
The trouble started a day later.
In retrospect, Chris Larabee supposed he should not have been surprised. The skepticism in which Walt Simonson had accepted Nathan's explanation that the bleeding was too profuse to stop was a clear indication of trouble brewing on the horizon. Chris had looked at the man and known instantly, that he was not going to let this go. Although Simonson had said nothing at the time to indicate that there would be retribution for Nathan's inability to save his friend, Chris knew it was coming. He could sense it as surely as he knew when there was danger coming and seeing Simonson's eyes as the man had stormed out of the saloon had surely convinced Chris that Alderson's death was going to have reaching consequences beyond the immediate moment.
When he saw Simonson leading a group of people through the main street of Four Corners towards the jailhouse, Chris knew that he was right. Immediately, he rose out of his chair and called for Ezra and Josiah who were inside the building. The two lawmen appeared almost a second later, their eyes searching the street and quickly ascertaining the situation when they found focus on the group that was approaching them. The group with Simonson was mostly composed of Alderson's friends who had been involved in the brawl where the man had sustained the injury. Leading Simonson's charge was a younger man that Chris did not recognize but looked familiar, even though he could not place the face.
"Who is that with him?" Chris asked after a moment.
The young man's eyes were filled with dark anger as he strode forward, wearing his guns around his hip in a clear challenge to anyone who got in his way. Chris did not recall seeing him around town before and wondered where he had come from when suddenly, he heard Josiah's answer.
"That's Alderson's oldest boy, Jason."
Hell, Chris swore under his breath. This was not going to be pleasant. "Ezra, where's Nathan?"
"At his infirmary." Ezra answered with his gaze just as fixed on the approaching group as Chris.
"Go find him." Chris ordered automatically. "Make sure he stays put. I don't want him getting his head shot off by these folk if they see him."
Ezra nodded quietly and immediately hurried away to carry out that order. Once he was gone, Josiah stepped closer to Chris and whispered. "You think we're gonna have trouble?"
"Alderson's dead, his kin folk are looking for someone to blame and I'll stake my life that Simonson's given them Nathan," Chris declared without batting an eye as he stared at the collection coming towards them.
Chris brushed the flap of his duster aside, revealing his gun as a warning to those before him that if there were aiming to cause trouble then he was more than prepared to deal with it. Simonson was armed with a shotgun while the young man that Josiah identified as Alderson's son was also regarding his weapon with an eagerness to use it. The few people, who were on the streets, immediately thought it was a good idea to withdraw and from the corner of his eyes, Chris saw windows being closed and people disappearing indoors, anticipating a shootout. Predictably, the door to the Clarion Newspaper office swung open and Mary Travis peered outside; trying to ascertain what was about to take place. Chris looked straight past the crowd before him and gave a pointed glare at the newswoman to stay where she was. Whether or not she understood his meaning was another matter entirely.
"Where's that nigger?" Simonson demanded as soon as he reached the jailhouse with his companions.
"I am assuming you are referring to Brother Nathan," Josiah retorted, bristling with annoyance at the use of the word. He lowered his hand to his gun and began thumbing the polished wood of the Schofield revolver in its holster, preparing to draw if the situation called for it.
Chris could hardly blame the preacher for that, he did not think much of the word either and certainly not in reference to a close friend like Nathan. "What do you want with Nathan?" Chris asked Simonson.
"We just want him!" Jason spat out. "He killed my pa!" A chorus of angry voices shouted in agreement behind him. "Give him to us or we'll take him by force."
"He didn't kill your father," Chris spoke up quickly in Nathan's defense. "You want someone to lynch, lynch me. I shot him."
"He was alive when you shot him!" Simonson declared. "He wasn't after that nigger touched him."
"Walt," Josiah's voice rumbled. "You call my friend that one more time and I'll do more than touch you."
"We should have known that we couldn't get any justice with you men protecting him!" Jason shouted out to those with him and they hollered in agreement.
"It ain't about justice," Chris retorted. "Nathan tried to save your father's life! I saw him! He did everything that he could possibly do for your father. It was just too late."
"How do you know?" Jason walked up the step towards Chris.
"I was there." Chris insisted, not seeing what this angry hellion was getting at. "I saw him!"
Jason glared at Chris in challenge. "How could you know what Jackson did? He could have been killing my pa and you wouldn't have the faintest idea what he was doing!"
"Nathan is no murderer!" Josiah bellowed in anger, unable to believe that these people could make such an accusation. Some of the faces he saw in the group were people the seven had seen every day since they began their peace keeping duties. They were townsfolk who ought to know by now that Nathan had spilled his blood in the defense of this town just like every one of the seven. It incensed the preacher to no end that they could suddenly find it so easy to believe that Nathan was a killer.
"What's the matter with you people?" Mary Travis' voice suddenly broke into the angry words being traded by both sides of this discussion. Her arrival brought some semblance of order into the rapidly declining situation. Mary hurried to the front of the crowd and stared at them with a mixture of disbelief and shock. "Some of you have lived here as long as I have and you know that Nathan has never done anything to harm any one of us! Four Corners is not the place that doctors want to practice and if it weren't for Nathan, we'd have to send for one from Eagle Bend or Sweet Water! How many of us who were sick could have afforded to wait? Jason," she looked at Alderson's oldest boy. "I'm sorry for your father's loss but if Nathan could not help him, then no one could."
"With all due respect, ma'am," Jason said not unkindly, "I don't believe that you're qualified to say."
"I beg your pardon?" Mary looked at him with confusion.
"Everyone knows that you got your reasons for siding with these men," Jason retorted, his eyes shifting in Chris' direction just enough to convey to those with him what he was implying.
"What is that supposed to mean?" Mary demanded, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment at this personal attack.
Jason never had a chance to answer because no sooner than his inflammatory words had escaped his lips, Chris was going for his gun. The gunslinger unsheathed his weapon and jammed it in the younger man's throat, causing the others around him to draw. Mary let out a small cry of fright as she saw Josiah's gun unholstered and then suddenly, from across the street at Gloria Potter's store, Vin Tanner emerged armed with his rifle. JD Dunne had also emerged from nowhere, taking point with both guns aimed at the thickest part of the crowd and Buck Wilmington rounded the corner, his own peacemaker drawn and ready to fire.
"Looks like we walked in on a little party," Buck said casually even though the situation was far from it. "You were planning on inviting us weren't you, Chris?"
"It wasn't that much of a party," Chris Larabee retorted, turning his steel gaze to the young man who was gulping visibly at the feel of the gun nestled firmly against his Adam's apple. "Now you listen to me." Chris said in a low voice full of predatory menace. "I'm sorry about your father. I didn't mean to kill him but when he pulled a gun on me when my back was to him, I didn't have much of a choice but to shoot. Nathan did everything that could have been humanly done for your pa. He did not murder anyone."
Jason swallowed, his fear evident but his love for his father would not allow him to back down, even if he was being subjected to the infamous Larabee glare that would send most men scurrying for cover by now. "Maybe you believe it but I don't," he said slowly. "You don't know whether or not Jackson murdered my pa. You're his friends and you won't let justice get done. You'll protect him even though you know he had every reason to let my pa die. Wasn't he the reason for the fight in the first place? How sure are you that he didn't do it?'
He was brave. Chris had to give him that. "Pretty sure," Chris said confidently. "Sure enough to know what you're accusing him of is bullshit."
"Then prove it," Jason retorted, his voice full of challenge. "You think he didn't do it, let us try him in a court of law."
"No," Chris said without even thinking.
"If you don't," Jason glared back at him, "then everyone will know that you'd be willing to protect a murderer!"
"He didn't do it!" Josiah roared, starting to come forward to beat some sense into the boy if that was what was required.
"Stand down!" Chris barked sharply and halted the preacher in his tracks before turning to Jason. "If you're looking to blame Nathan for your pa's death, it ain't gonna happen. Your pa died because he was past saving, nothing else."
"I only got your word for that and frankly, I don't think you have a right to be so sure. How do you know that Nathan wouldn't let my father die? How do you know what's in a man's heart? How would you know if he had let my pa die anyway? You ain't no doctor to tell the difference."
"I know Nathan," Chris stated. "He wouldn't harm anyone, least of all a patient."
"Then let him stand trial." Simonson echoed Jason's earliest demand. "If he's so innocent, why won't he allow himself to be judged in a court of law!"
"Forget it," Chris barked. "It ain't gonna happen! Now break it up, all of you!" he ordered, pulling his gun away from Jason and stepping back. "Go home!"
The crowd started to dissipate, surrendering for the moment but Chris knew he had accomplished nothing. As much as he hated to admit it, Jason had brought up a valid point and it had struck home with everyone who was present. Nathan was their friend and every man who was part of the Magnificent Seven felt inclined to protect him. However, had refusing Jason's demand for a trial shown everyone that the seven were willing to protect one of their own even to the point of denying justice be done? Chris was not certain but he knew that he was being forced into an uncomfortable situation if he tried to answer that question.
"So that's how law and order is taken care of in Four Corners?" Jason shouted out, not only to his immediate audience but also to anyone who might have been listening from indoors to the exchange taking place. "You're suppose to protect our town from the bad element, except your own."
"Boy, maybe I ought to just shoot you," Buck growled, feeling his anger escalate at the young man's inflammatory words.
"Sure why not?" Jason retorted venomously. "I'm sure your friends will cover that up, too. I'll bet it won't even make the papers." The boy glared at Mary as he made that statement.
"Get out of here before I shoot you," Chris warned. "I won't care whether or not I get hanged for it."
Jason merely smiled and turned away, content that he had spoken enough and perfectly acknowledging when it was time to make a strategic withdrawal. He beckoned Simonson to follow him and very soon, the two men were striding away from the jail house, taking the crowd with them and leaving the seven with an unmistakable feeling that this was far from over.
"Chris," Mary started to speak.
"What the hell were you doing out here, woman?" Chris barked before she could finish speaking. "Couldn't you see how dangerous that situation was getting?
"Someone had to do something!" Mary returned sharply somewhat hurt that he was dressing her down this way in front of everyone. "Something other than pulling a gun!" She glared at him with accusation.
"It handled things, didn't it?" he retorted, wondering why she was always in the middle of things like this. Didn't she know when to stay away? He did not want to see her get hurt in the crossfire of one of their gunfights. Considering how little she thought about her safety during this occasion, such an outcome was a very real possibility.
"It handled things for the moment," she declared, not about to be intimidated by that powerful stare that made most men back down from Chris in a debate such as this. "But I don't think this issue is going away. The boy wants justice and he has a right to it."
"A right to what?" JD burst out. "Nathan didn't do nothing!"
"I know that," Mary sighed and turned around so that she could make eye contact with those present as she stated her case. "However, we may need a court of law to prove it."
"Mary, I was there," Chris responded, his voice narrowed to a thin thread of tension. Discussing this with Mary was even worse than the heated melee that almost came about with Jason Alderson. "He did everything he could to save Alderson. Vin saw it too."
"Nathan tried to save his life," Vin took the opportunity to speak since Chris referred to him in corroboration. "He was just beyond help."
Mary shook her head, wishing that she had the words to put her next statement delicately but the truth was, she did not and it was best that she speak her mind because others would do it with no feeling for the seven. "I'm not doubting either of you," she looked at both men and hoped they knew she meant it. "It's just that your refusal to let it go to trial makes it look like Nathan did something wrong and you're protecting him."
"Are you telling me that our word that Nathan didn't do nothing, ain't good enough?" Buck demanded.
"It's not a question of word...." Mary started to say, seeing where this was going.
"I'm afraid it is," Chris said icily. "It's very much a question of word. We've done right by this town on every turn. When they need us, we're there. Before we came in here, every cowpoke, bandito and outlaw looking to cause a ruckus was choosing Four Corners for his own private shooting gallery. You're telling us after providing some semblance of law in this town for the last two years, our word on things ain't good enough?"
"It is to me," she responded meeting his eyes and for a brief instant of time, the barrier that existed between them lowered. Unfortunately, the nature of their argument ensured that it could not remain that way for long.
"But not to anyone else." He challenged, trampling the almost tender moment between them because he was angry and when Chris Larabee was mad, nothing else, no matter how fine, could remain unscathed for long.
"Chris, not all of us feel that way," Mary insisted, not wanting him to think that the whole of Four Corners felt this way. "But maybe we ought to think about giving Alderson what he wants to prove that you have nothing to hide."
"It all comes down to the same thing, not trusting our word," Chris returned. "I'm not about to ask Nathan to stand trial for doing what he's always done. Even the best doctor in the world doesn't save every patient. If anyone ought to be standing trial, it ought to be me. You know what this is about as well as I do and it ain't got nothing to do with Nathan being unable to save Alderson and everything to do with what color he is!"
No one spoke for a moment and even Mary seemed taken back by his statement but could think of nothing to say that would make Chris' statement untrue. "I'm sure that's not it," she found her voice after a moment but she was no longer as sure as she had been.
"Doesn't matter," Nathan Jackson's voice suddenly entered the fray.
The healer had arrived at the tail end of their conversation and stood behind them with Ezra Standish at his side, his expression clearly revealing that he had heard everything that had been discussed. Nathan tried not to show that the issues brought up had affected him on the most basic level but he was not that good an actor. If anything, he felt foolish for letting his guard down, for believing that people's tolerance to him had changed simply because he was a member of the seven. He should have known better. He should have known that he was different from the six men he rode with and no matter how much respect he had among the townspeople, they would never be able to see past the color of his skin.
"Nathan, this is all bullshit," Buck said quickly, seeing the hurt in Nathan's eyes quite clearly. "We're not going to let you stand any trial. You did nothing wrong."
"I know that," Nathan gave Buck a grateful smile. "But Mary's right."
"About what exactly?" Josiah looked at him in disbelief.
"There ought to be a trial," he stated firmly.
"Nathan, you're crazy," JD exclaimed. "Why should there be a trial for anything. Like Buck says, you didn't do anything."
"But none of you are really listening to Mary," Ezra spoke up. "Gentleman, trust me when I say that I have no wish to see Mr. Jackson endure the ordeal of a trial. However, if we are to remain this community's peacekeepers, we have to allow justice to prove itself. By denying Nathan a trial, you're also denying him the opportunity to be proven innocent."
Chris swore under his breath because Ezra was right and Chris really hated it when Ezra was right. "If it was just the matter of us remaining this town's peacekeepers, I'd say Four Corners can go to hell." He shifted his gaze sharply at Mary so that she would understand exactly what he meant by that. "But if it's a matter of Nathan's innocence then I'm willing to wire the judge for a trial. If that's acceptable to you, Nate."
"I say this is crazy," JD grumbled, shaking his head in disbelief. "It ain't right."
"I have to agree with JD," Vin said readily. Suddenly, Vin was remembering how the town had reacted when those marshals had come after him. Even though they were not really marshals but agents acting on the behalf of Eli Joe, none of the townsfolk had spoken up for him. He had been here almost a year by then and when it was time for him to be taken away, the only member of the community who had spoken out in his defense, other than the seven, was Mary. It was the same thing all over again with Nathan. The town was showing its true colors when the seven needed their support the most. It angered the tracker to no end and he understood all too well that the strained expression in Chris' eyes. "This ain't right Chris."
"But its gotta be done," Nathan reiterated, feeling some measure of pride knowing that his friends were standing up for him the way there were. "Wire the Judge Chris. I'll stand by whatever decision he makes."
Chris nodded slowly, having no alternative but to comply now that Nathan had given his consent. He hated having to do this and he hated the town for forcing Nathan into a position that required the healer to ask for this to be done in order to clear his name.
"All right Nathan," Chris finally conceded. "I'll do it. I just hope this is worth it."
"It's the right decision," Mary started to say when Chris shot her a look that killed any speech in her throat.
"It's a lot of things, Mary," his eyes bored into her mercilessly. "But right ain't one of them."
With that, he strode away from her, trusting himself to say nothing further. The rest of the seven lingered just a little longer but soon scattered to the winds, making no comment to Mary as they departed. The editor of the Clarion New stood where she was for a long while, shaken by what had happened and struck by the unmitigated fear that Four Corners might have lost its seven protectors.
People were talking.
It was not even a day later and the chatter was moving through the town like wildfire. It swept into the saloons. It moved through the hotels, through the stores, spreading its seed in the most unlikeliest of places and thriving with each venomous word that was spoken. Though not all the townsfolk paid attention to the words being spoken, a good many did and after awhile it seemed like everyone in Four Corners had something to say on Nathan Jackson's innocence or guilt. It seemed to get worse as Alderson's funeral came and went. The funeral procession moving through the streets, under the watchful eye of the seven town peacekeepers seemed to deepen the town's division on this issue.
"We need real lawmen in town," Jonas Conklin grumbled. Predictably, the talk about Aldersons' death and Nathan's part in it had reached the saloon with the Four Corners hotel, where fortunately none of the seven were known to frequent with any regularity and discussion about the subject could be made without concerns of reproach.
"Real lawmen get killed really fast around here, Jonas." Mayor Weston pointed out quickly as he gestured to the bartender to bring him a drink. "Remember what happened the last time? We're lucky we still have a town."
"That don't mean it's still a good idea for us to have a bunch of gunfighters protecting our town." Conklin persisted. It was well known that Conklin was not a supporter of the seven's presence in Four Corners. Although no one at the bar voiced it, they knew that Conklin was the kind of man who liked to tolerate things no matter how bad they got for other people that is before he could inspired into any decent action. Everyone still remembered how he had protested when Judge Travis wanted 12 men to act as jury when Gloria Potter's husband had been brutally murdered by Stuart James' nephew in broad daylight.
"Hell, some of em' ain't even that," Hiram Nechaus grunted, his speech slurred by too much liquor even though it was no later than noon.
Unfortunately, this was Hiram's state of late ever since the passing of his wife Annie. Annie had been killed when JD Dunne, during a foiled bank robbery, had tragically shot her. It was common knowledge that Hiram blamed JD and felt that a young man his age had no business playing lawman in a town like Four Corners. Initially, his bitterness had only been restricted to J, but with the passing months, his enmity spread like a cancer to involve the rest of the seven collectively. No one could blame Nechaus for this of course. He had been left a widower with two young children and there was not a person in town who did not think highly of Annie, including JD Dunne himself.
"JD's just a boy!" Nechaus spat. "Strutting around town, wearing that goddamn tin star after what he did to my poor Annie......"
"Come on Hiram," Yosemite, the town blacksmith, immediately pushed himself of his bar stool and went to Nechaus who had started to sob. "Maybe you've had enough."
"It ain't never gonna be enough!" Nechaus swatted his arm away. "My Annie's gone and she ain't never coming back. Now Bill Alderson's gone too and it looks like its gonna go unanswered for too. Why should we wait and let them kill someone else?"
"Nothing is going unanswered for," Weston spoke up firmly. He had been a politician long enough to see an incendiary situation on the rise. "Judge Travis is on his way. I was told by Mary Travis herself that Chris Larabee sent a wire to the judge to come deal with this matter."
"Judge Travis isn't going to put that nigra away!" Conklin barked. "He hired those men! He ain't gonna make himself look the fool by finding Jackson guilty."
"Now I take offense at that." Weston glared at him. "I may not see eye to eye with the seven or the Judge, but Orin Travis has always been a fair man and I don't care whether or not Jackson is a 'nigra' as you put it, I want to see justice done. Are you actually interested in that Jonas?"
Jonas swallowed thickly feeling a little admonished by how Weston had come to the defense of justice as opposed to the men they were discussing. "Of course I do."
"Then perhaps we ought to leave it to the Judge to decide." Weston stared at everyone in the small saloon, whether or not they were supporters or detractors.
"Good idea," Yosemite retorted as he helped an almost comatose Hiram Nechaus away from the bar and attempted to stand him up.
Conklin seethed and nodded in agreement. He downed his drink and made a rapid exit out of the saloon, an idea taking root in his head and refusing to let go until he had exploited it. As he let the batwing doors of the hotel saloon behind, Conklin made his way up the street, intending to find Jason Alderson. If they had to endure Judge Travis presiding over this case, that was fine with him. However, someone ought to ensure that the Judge made his decision fairly and there was no better way to do that then to hire a lawyer. When that overseer had been killed by Nathan Jackson's father in Eagle Bend, the family had hired a lawyer to ensure that the case was carried out fairly. That was what was needed here.
Conklin was certain that Jason Alderson would not mind the suggestion.
"Nathan, are you all right?"
Nathan looked up from the card in his hands into the face of Ezra Standish, feeling some measure of surprise because it was rare that Ezra called him by his first name. Usually it was Mr. Jackson, my esteemed associate or something just as equally exaggerated as that, but rarely by his given name. Nathan supposed it was Ezra's way of keeping them at arm's length because deep inside the gambler was still afraid of being hurt if he cared too much for the men he rode with. However, his tone now was not one of arm's length, but felt personal in a way Nathan could not define.
"I'm fine, Ezra," Nathan said quietly as he looked across the desk inside the jail house where they had been engaging in a game of poker for the last half hour. The jail house was empty and there was no reason to keep a vigil on the empty cells but Nathan did not feel like being around people at this time and the cool dimness of the building was a welcome respite against the afternoon heat. Besides, there was little for him to do at his infirmary. As he thought about his small clinic, he felt the unpleasant bitterness surface inside of him again.
"Your heart does not seem entirely engaged in this game." Ezra pointed out as his smooth manicured hands continuing to sort his cards while his cool gaze remained fixed on the suits before him. "Care to tell me what is?"
"What do you think?" Nathan almost barked with an uncharacteristic burst of temper. "I should be at my infirmary helping people. Mrs. Avery was meant to come in this morning to get Polly's teeth fixed. Mr. Wallis had some kind of rash he wanted me to look at and I was suppose to apply some fresh poultice to Jamie Swanson's foot. Instead, I'm here playing card with you about to lose what money I got. Why wouldn't my heart be in this?"
Ezra raised his sea colored eyes and stared at Nathan hard for only a second but it was all that was needed to discern what was at the heart of Nathan's anger. "How many of them chose not to appear for their appointments?" he asked quietly.
Nathan dropped his eyes to the table, feeling the anger rise up so suddenly that it almost choked him. "All of them."
'Bastards.' Ezra swore inwardly, feeling as if the insult was not given to Nathan but to all of them.
It was strange - this symbiotic existence that had been formed since they had first come together as seven. When Chris was feeling particularly sorrowful or somber about his wife and child, they all felt it in someway. When Vin decided that he had a point to argue, each one of them would argue it with the tracker, come hell or high water and when Buck feared for JD, they all worried too. If even one spark of innocence was taken from JD, they all felt its loss just as they felt the hidden pain that Josiah tried daily to forget by waiting for the crows to come claim him. It was an odd existence for a group of men who had lived their lives as loners. Now, Nathan's pain was tearing them all apart, Ezra in particular, because somewhere along the line, this man who he initially had not even deign to ride with had become one of his best friends. Nathan was his morale gyroscope. Whenever there was a question of ethics, Ezra could always count on Nathan to answer it.
"This will pass," Ezra responded. "Once the trial is done, no one will have any reason to doubt you. You did everything possible to help Alderson."
"No, I didn't!" He flung the cards on the table. "I did everything I could do, not everything that was possible!"
"That is all anyone can do, Nathan," Ezra answered, uncertain what the healer was getting at.
"Ever since I woke up in that army hospital, all I ever wanted to be was a doctor," Nathan whispered, his eyes closing as he remembered that day so filled with pain and blood. "I never knew where my place was until that day. I realized that to heal was my calling."
"We know that," Ezra agreed, quickly, grateful they were alone for this conversation. "You have proven yourself a capable healer more times than any of us can count. You should never doubt that about yourself."
"I accepted that being black meant being a doctor was impossible," Nathan continued, showing a vulnerable side to himself that Ezra had never seen before. He always seemed so sure of everything he did that Ezra was as much fascinated as he was worried by this sudden display. "I could live with that because no one could stop me from learning or helping, even if I didn't have the piece of paper. Until Alderson, I thought that was enough but it isn't. He died because I had no idea what to do!"
"That is not your fault," Ezra declared. "It is the luck of the draw. It was time for Alderson to go. It may not be the answer you wish to hear, but sometimes fate decides how things are going to be whether we like it or not."
"If there had been a doctor here, he would still be alive," Nathan said adamantly. "He wouldn't be dead. I failed him because I didn't know enough."
"Nathan," Ezra said firmly, refusing to let Nathan accept responsibility for Alderson's death. "You did not kill Alderson. He drew a gun on a man when his back was turned. What happened to him would have happened if he were anywhere in the Territory. The only difference is, you bothered enough to try and help him. You should not punish yourself for that one act of benevolence, no matter how it turned out in the end."
He opened his mouth to respond when suddenly the door knob twisted and Ezra prayed it was because they had to go and deal with some outlaw. Nathan simply did not look up for that at the moment. The door swung open and Chris Larabee stepped into the room. The expression on the gunslinger's face immediately put Ezra on alert. Something was wrong. Chris looked so mad that he was ready to spit. His eyes were like granite and the look that every member of the seven recognized as the side of Chris Larabee ready to kill was etched across his face.
"What has happened?" Ezra asked.
Chris' eyes shifted towards Nathan and his jaw tightened. "Jason Alderson has appointed a lawyer to represent the case to the Judge."
Ezra was almost afraid to ask. "Who?"
"James Lightfoot," Chris answered, barely managing to form the words as they escaped in a lowered hiss.
"Well, that seems right," Nathan leaned back into the seat. "He convicted my daddy, don't see no reason why we can't keep it in the family and have him send me away too."
"That's not funny," Chris barked at him. "Josiah will speak for you."
"Chris," Ezra immediately responded. "That is unwise. The community at large already believes that we are attempting to protect one of our own. We should attempt to have a legal mind represent Nathan in this instance. Someone who is impartial to everything except the judicial process."
"A lawyer costs money," Nathan pointed out. "I ain't got none."
Ezra took a deep breath and hoped that Mrs. Standish, wherever she was, had no idea what her little boy was about to do because it was quite possible that he would not live it down and she would die of a stroke. "I do. I have taken certain economy in my expenditure of late and a good run of luck at the tables. I have some money secreted away. Enough, at least, to provide a lawyer with a retainer."
"You would do that?" Nathan looked at him with surprise.
"Of course, I would," Ezra shrugged, feeling uncomfortable at the reaction his magnanimous act was garnering. "Let's just say that most it is yours anyway and, might I add, I do expect free medical services when all this is over."
Chris was still staring at him, but the corner of his lips had curled slightly upwards into the barest hint of a smile. "You getting soft on me, Ezra?" Chris asked.
"Now if you are going to be insulting about it," Ezra retorted, "I will excuse myself from your company."
"Ezra," Nathan swallowed. "Thank you."
"There are a dozen things that we have to do before this lawyer, whomever he is, even gets here, so I would not be too grateful just yet," Ezra pointed out.
"Mary might know someone," Chris added. "I've got a couple dollars in the bank left over from the sale of my ranch. Used enough to buy the land my shack is on but the rest of it is still there doing nothing. I think that could probably go some ways to making up that retainer for a lawyer."
"I don't know what to say." Nathan stammered, feeling his emotions rise up from his insides to choke him with intensity.
"Don't say anything." Chris replied, realizing Ezra was even worse at such moments then he was. "We're your friends. You would do the same for us."
It was true, Nathan would but it was sure good hearing though.
As Four Corners awaited Judge Orin Travis to arrive in town to preside over the case of Bill Alderson's death, the whispers in town increased in their frequency and seemed to take on a life of its own. Rumors and innuendoes suddenly became tasty morsels for gossipmongers to pick at like carrion on the carcass of a rotting beast. Some of the whispers were about Mary Travis and her unnatural attachment to the seven men who defended the town but this tales were hardly new. The first time anyone had ever seen the lady together with Chris Larabee, the rumors had begun. However, on this occasion they seemed to be particularly venomous. Soon the tales began to escalate about how the seven brought more trouble to Four Corners than preventing it. How many times had the
danger originated from one of their old foes drawn to Four Corners for one reason or another, ensuring that violence followed in their wake?
It was an issue that polarized the community because there were those who believed that the peacekeepers were a godsend and had justly earned their sobriquet of the 'Magnificent Seven.' These were folk who remembered what it was like to live in Four Corners when shootings, murders and all kinds of lawlessness plagued their lives on an almost daily basis. For these members of the community, the seven had been a stabilizing force in their turbulent lives. No matter what the trouble, they could always rely on Chris Larabee and
his men to deal with it in some way, despite the fact that sometimes its went beyond their
capacity as lawmen.
Most vocal of these were Virgil Watson, who for a time had Vin Tanner as an employee, though he often said that the man was better with a mare's leg than he was with a broom. Then there was Gloria Potter, whose husband had been gunned down mercilessly by Stuart James' nephew. The seven ensured justice was done. Nettie Wells, too, had brushed aside all talk about the seven being more trouble than they were worth, claiming that if it were not for them she would having been run off her farm by Guy Royal ages ago because he wanted her land to sell to the railroad. William Anderson, a carpenter who had settled in Four Corners only a fortnight ago had been fortunate enough that Nathan had come across his heavily pregnant wife Rose after she had unwisely left her parents to
join him in Four Corners. Thanks to Nathan's abilities, Anderson was grateful that his wife and new child were around to being their new life in the town.
And so battle lines were drawn across Four Corners with the voices against and for the seven rallying to the cause with equal fervor. With Judge Travis' arrival approaching quickly, Four Corners became more and more gripped with the notion of the seven's presence in town rather than the question of Nathan's innocence or guilt.
It was in the midst of all that James Lightfoot, attorney at law, sat in his room and reviewed his notes on how he was going to fight this case. If it were anyone but Judge Travis presiding, Lightfoot could be convinced that the case would be won on Nathan's racial background alone. Still, there was a good chance that Lightfoot could push for a jury trial. In a matter as incendiary at this one, he was convinced Travis might acquiesce. If it did come to a jury trial then Lightfoot's chances of having Nathan convicted was good. No matter how enlightened people thought they were in this day and age, a black
healer and gunfighter murdering a white farmer and family man was not going to sit
well with them if Lightfoot presented it in the correct light.
However, it was not in Lightfoot's nature to simply take for granted that he might
convict on those grounds alone. If he did not get his jury trial and Judge Travis had to hear the case, then Lightfoot would actually have to argue points of law instead of exploiting emotions of the twelve men in the jury box. Judging by the interviews he had with the townsfolk so far, it was evident that Nathan had been practicing medicine without a license. Even though there were numerous healers of the same type scattered across the Territory to make up for the lack of real doctors, the law had been rather lenient with them so far. Lightfoot realized that if he convicted Nathan for this crime, it could be the spark that ignited litigation and prosecution for all the would be physicians. Some of them were downright dangerous; performing surgery without even a working understanding of anatomy. Was Nathan Jackson one of those? If he came across Judge
Travis, he would have to prove it.
Lightfoot was pondering all these thoughts and scribbling them across his lined notebook when he heard a knock on his door. He glanced at the clock and noted that it was scandalously late but deep into the night to warrant concern. At first he thought it might be one of the seven, come to frighten him with threats and violence but brushed the thought aside quickly. Larabee was a dangerous man, but he was by no means stupid. Lightfoot decided that it could be his client. Jason Alderson was rather passionate about seeing justice done and client's like that tended to have no sense of time when they wanted to say something to their lawyer. Tossing his notebook aside for the moment, Lightfoot decided to end his internal quizzing and simply answer the door. What would happen would happen.
Opening it, he found himself staring at the figure of a woman in the hallway outside his room. She was draped in a heavy cloak; a hood pulled over her head. Lightfoot could not imagine anyone being dressed like that in this heat but soon came to the conclusion that the heavy clothing was not because of weather but rather for the purpose of subterfuge. The woman kept her distance enough to ensure the shadows in the darkened hallway could not expose her face although Lightfoot's eyes glimpsed a thick lock of white gold hair.
"Mr. Lightfoot," she spoke finally, her voice soft and mysterious.
"Yes, can I help you?" He asked wondering what this was all about.
"I have some information for you," she answered and once again, Lightfoot clung to her voice trying to identify it. The inflections were familiar but he could not place it enough to recognize the speaker.
"Regarding?" he asked suspiciously, evidence delivered in this manner was usually difficult to corroborate let alone use in court.
"Nathan Jackson," she responded, her head tilting slightly enough for Lightfoot to realize that her eyes were examining each side of the corridor to ensure no one was coming. "I have news about Nathan Jackson."
"Would you like to come in?" Lightfoot inquired, certain such business would be best discussed indoors instead of in this corridor.
"I can't." She shook her head quickly. "I'm here because I want to see justice done."
"That's admirable but there is no danger," Lightfoot insisted. "I promise you'll be protected."
"I have a position in this community," she said firmly. "I need to remain impartial if I am to function here. I'm here because of justice."
"All right," Lightfoot sighed, starting to get very tired of this whole cloak and dagger business. "What is that you wish to tell me?"
The woman lowered her head and that long lock of gold hair spilled out beyond the hood of her cloak and Lightfoot caught a glimpse of alabaster skin. "Nathan Jackson was a stretcher bearer for the Union Army during the war."
"Go on," Lightfoot prodded his interest piqued.
"He learned most of what he knows there, but who knows how he used that talent," she replied suggestively.
"I don't follow you," he declared, wondering where she was going with this.
"What If he didn't like Bill Alderson and allowed Alderson to die when pretending to treat him? Who knows how many Confederate soldiers he might have done the
same to during the war?"
Lightfoot began to understand. It was certainly not any tangible evidence but the innuendo alone would be enough to stick in the minds of the jury. He might even use it to turn public favor against Nathan before it even got to the trial. It would certainly make the public outcry loud enough that Travis would have no choice but to convene a jury trial. Lightfoot liked this idea a lot.
"Was Alderson a Confederate soldier?" He asked because the answer would make the innuendo all the more substantial.
"Yes." She nodded after a pause. "He was a cavalry man."
"Well thank you, Mrs. Travis," Lightfoot responded, not really thinking.
She reacted immediately, retreating back against the far wall as if the distance alone would shield her from his discovery.
"Mrs. Travis," Lightfoot said quickly, realizing what he had done. "I promise you, I'll not tell anyone about this. Like a journalist, I protect my sources."
"Thank you," she said clearly relieved. "I must go now." She started to turn away. "I hope what I gave you helps."
"It does," he answered with a little smile. "Thank you kindly."
With that, she swept down the hallway, her dark cloak trailing behind her as she disappeared into the shadows once more, leaving Lightfoot with a new avenue to pursue.
Maybe it was time to leave.
For the first time since this had all began, Nathan Jackson began to seriously consider that possibility. Sure it was a coward's way out but was remaining in Four Corners where it was likely no one would ever trust him to heal them again, any better? And what about this trial? What if he were found guilty? At the very least, he would be jailed for the rest of his life. At the worst, they would hang him. Nathan knew he had done nothing wrong. It was his lack of ability that had killed Alderson, not any malicious intent. While he could accept punishment for not knowing enough, he would not be labeled a murderer for anything. If he remained in Four Corners and let himself be judged, that could very well happen. Nathan considered the idea of running and where he would go. Almost immediately, the Seminole village came to mind. He could finally settle with Rain and
raise a family. The Seminoles needed his help and they wouldn't care what color he was.
But he was a member of the seven.
He could not just run out on the friends he had made here. Chris and the others were standing by him, refusing to let him be railroaded by Alderson's kin. Leaving Four Corners would mean leaving them and that was the part that Nathan could not stomach. He was not a superstitious man by any means but he recognized that seven was a number of power and that being a part of the fellowship protected him somehow. If he left, he would be breaking the circle not to mention leaving its safety. Nathan was not sure he was prepared to do that yet.
A knock on the door interrupted his thoughts on this subject and just as well too
because Nathan was not eager to go down that track unless he really had to. Rising from the table where he had been rolling up bandage strips to keep himself busy, Nathan went to answer the door and found himself standing before an unfamiliar face. The man was in his mid thirties, wearing steel rimmed glasses and a tweed suit of gray. His arms were laden with books and he appeared rather nervous.
"Can I help you?" Nathan asked suspiciously.
"Mr. Jackson?" he asked in what was clearly an English accent and tried to shake Nathan's hand while carrying his books before succeeding in dropping them spectacularly around his feet. "Oh dear!" he muttered and immediately bent over to pick up his fallen cache.
"Let me help you there." Nathan offered and very soon they had gathered all the books off the floor of his doorway. Nathan glanced at one of the thick leather bound copies and realized that they were law books.
"You're a lawyer?" Nathan asked almost in disbelief.
"Well, yes," the man nodded, pushing his glasses further up his nose. "Your lawyer actually."
"My lawyer?" Nathan exclaimed, somehow finding it very hard to picture this blond man as his lawyer. He appeared more like a librarian. Still, he had a more pleasing disposition than Lightfoot so Nathan did not have reason to complain. Besides, he more than anyone else, knew what it was like to be judged on appearances and not on ability. He would not do the same thing to this man.
"Yes, I was contacted by Mrs. Travis and retained by Messrs. Standish and Larabee." The man responded reaching into his coat pocket to produce a folded telegram, which he handed to Nathan for confirmation. "My name is Winstanley. Garth Winstanley."
"Please to meet you, Mr. Winstanley," Nathan said, genuinely pleased to see the man. "Come on in."
For a few minutes the duo engaged in the usual banter of introduction. Nathan learned that Winstanley was from Bitter Creek and had only recently settled there. He had left his native England out of some strange fascination for the West and had set up a law practice. Nathan had the impression that Winstanley had not as much experience as he liked and while that should concern him, Nathan knew that sometimes all one needed was a chance to prove himself. Like others had given him the opportunity when they had entrusted him to help when they were hurt. After brewing coffee, both men sat down to discuss the matter at hand.
"Regarding your case, I am guessing that with Mr. Lightfoot's involvement, he will
attempt to put into effect the legalities of practicing medicine without a license."
Winstanley said getting down to business as he flipped open a note book and took up a sharpened pencil for his note taking.
"Oh," Nathan said uncomfortably. "I didn't cut him open or nothing. I just couldn't stop the bleeding."
"I see," Winstanley nodded, scribbling that down on the crisp white paper. "Tell me about the injury itself."
"Not much to tell," Nathan replied, lowering his coffee mug after taking a sip. "He got shot in the femoral artery. The bullet went straight through it. The femoral artery is one of the main arteries from the heart. Each time his heart beat, more blood pumped out. I used a tourniquet to stop the bleeding but I couldn't do it for long. If there was a way of stopping it, I sure as hell didn't know how."
"Was there anyone else in town who might have been able to do this?" Winstanley asked, keeping a neutral expression as he asked his questions.
"No," Nathan said automatically. "I wish there was. Nearest doctor is in Bitter Creek."
"So you handle all of Four Corner's medical needs?" Winstanley looked at him with no small measure of shock.
"Most of the time." Nathan nodded. "I can't just sit by and let people go on hurting when I can do something to help. It wouldn't be right."
Winstanley smiled faintly and nodded. "No, it wouldn't be." His voice softened and suddenly, the lawyer felt a great deal of respect filtering into his opinion of Nathan Jackson. "So, you've never had any complaints until now?"
"No," the healer shook his head in response. "Not until now."
"Any idea why this is so different?" Winstanely asked, easing back into his chair.
Nathan knew exactly why this was so different. Alderson. It had everything to do with Alderson. He let out a sigh and began explaining the fight that had preceded Alderson's death. Winstanley listened intently, scribbling in his note pad, each time he heard something worth noting. For a long time, Nathan's words were punctuated by the sound of Winstanley's pencil scraping against the paper. Strangely enough, it felt good talking about things to a stranger, who was completely impartial to the situation and was willing to judge what had happened without any emotional involvement. Nathan also liked the way that Winstanley regarded him because the Englishman saw a client sitting across the
table, not a black man or a white man, just a client. There was a purity in that simple
classification that made Nathan feel more confident about having this man defend
him in court.
"You think we can win?" Nathan asked Winstanley as they neared the end of the
interview.
Winstanley removed his glasses and considered the question. "Yes, I think we can. I have a pretty good idea how Lightfoot is going to act. First of all, he will try to move for a jury trial and if he gets it will attempt to fill that jury with men who have slightly prejudicial views. I believe that our best chance is to keep it in the purview of Judge Travis. From all accounts, I have heard that Judge Travis is a honest and fair man, unlikely to be swayed by issues of colour."
"He is a very fair man," Nathan agreed.
"Lightfoot's case is based almost entirely on your colour. He will of course attempt to bring up the issue of you practicing medicine without a license but as I understand it, you are not the first in the Territory to call himself a healer. I see by the sign outside your door, you have made no claims to being a physician. Your patients came to you knowing full well that you were not a licensed practitioner and since you have made full disclosure of that fact, I see no reason to hold you entirely culpable of Alderson's death."
"That sounds pretty impressive," Nathan remarked, feeling somewhat better hearing all that legal jargon and knowing that the person who was saying it believed he was innocent.
"I hope it impresses the judge," Winstanley answered with a smile. "Now, if I need a list of names of people you've treated in the past. It will show the court that you are quite adept as a healer because I guarantee Lightfoot will attempt to assassinate your character in any way possible."
"With the way folks are acting," Nathan said bitterly. "I don't think he'll have much trouble doing that."
Winstanley could see that Nathan was hurting over this and offered gently. "Mr. Jackson, moments like this serve to remind us who our friends are. No doubt, the muckrakers always seem to make the loudest noises, but there are a good many people who will stand in your defense. If you have been the sole provider of medical services in this town, I cannot imagine it being any other way. While the occasion is rare, people can surprise you. I suggest you let you allow them the opportunity."
Nathan stared at the quiet and unassuming lawyer that had taken up his cause and supposed that the man was right. "Yeah," Nathan met his gaze. "I guess they can."
The trial of Nathan Jackson began the day after Judge Orin Travis arrived in Four
Corners. Since Four Corners was not large enough to warrant a courthouse, legal
proceedings often took place within the confines of the town's grain exchange building. The appointed hour for the court to begin its session was nine o'clock but the case had captured the town's attention to such a state that people started gathering as early as seven. All were trying to get a seat in the makeshift courthouse in order to miss none of the deliberations for the day. There was almost a perverse sense of fanfare about the entire occasion that seemed to deepen as the hour to the courtroom proceedings neared.
"This looks like a goddamn town meeting," Chris growled as he approached the courtroom with Vin. The two gunslingers were less than happy at the number of people gathered outside the building and could tell as they approached the building that the interior was just as crowded. Once again, Chris started to feel his anger surface at how easy the folk of Four Corners found it to turn on his men. Why were they risking their lives for a community who thought so little of them?
"Yeah," Vin nodded, his cobalt colored eyes moving across the faces. Some where hostile and some were friendly enough but they were damned by simply being here. Shifting his gaze slightly, he noted Chris' expression and guessed immediately what was occupying the gunslinger's thought. It was what they had all been thinking since that ugly exchange where Nathan had agreed to all this.
"Mr. Larabee," James Lightfoot greeted as they reached the steps leading to the front entrance of the temporary courthouse. "How nice to see you again."
Chris averted his eyes in the direction of the lawyer and remarked shortly. "Pleasure's all yours."
Lightfoot chuckled, knowing that Chris' insult was just a sign of how helpless he felt in this situation. "Now, there's no need to get all testy now. I'm just here to see that justice get done."
"The hell you are," Vin snapped, disliking this smarmy man to no end. "You're here to lynch our friend for something he ain't done."
"That nigger's a murderer!" Jason Alderson who was next to Lightfoot exploded angrily. "When we're done here, we're going string em like all mongrel dogs out to be!"
"Jason shut up!" Lightfoot ordered, seeing no reason for things to degenerate to that level when they would make their case well enough in a court of law.
However, it was too late, Vin Tanner was already making his way to Jason and the
young Alderson was surging forward to meet him head, on, unafraid of the tracker even though he ought to be. The crowd immediately smelled blood and pushed into view of the fight. Jason shoved Lightfoot, who was attempting to restrain him, out of the way and swung at Vin as the tracker came into reach. Vin ducked easily and slammed his fist into Jason's ribs when the younger man failed to connect. Jason uttered a cry of pain and stumbled to his side with Vin taking a step towards him prepared to hit again when Chris' hand caught his fist and stopped him from getting any further than that.
"Stand down Vin," Chris ordered sharply.
Vin saw Lightfoot picking himself off the dirt and Antoinette Alderson, Jason's mother and Aldersons' widow, running to her son's side as he clutched his ribs in pain. The tracker had no wish to brawl in the face of her presence and lowered his hand and shifted his attention to Chris long enough to apologize. "Sorry, Chris."
"Its alright," Chris muttered, glaring at Jason. "For what he said to Nathan, I wouldn't mind taking a piece out of his hide either but now's not the time."
"Keep your man under control!" Lightfoot shouted at Chris.
Chris shot him a look that would have frozen the air between them in its iciness. "Why don't you keep your client under control. Seems to me he swung first."
"Only under provocation!" Lightfoot returned.
"That's not how I see it." Chris replied wondering if Vin's approach to Jason Alderson would not work on Lightfoot as well. At the very least, Chris would feel a great deal better.
"That's enough!" Orin Travis boomed.
The Judge's voice silenced everyone concerned. Orin stood only a few feet away from the center of the skirmish but he had everyone's undivided attention. "There'll be no more of this foolishness," he said sharply. "One more incident like this and I'll have all of you in jail to cool off! That includes you Counselor. If your client cannot comport himself accordingly, I suggest you leave him at home." Travis stared at Lightfoot with a glacial expression on his face.
Lightfoot swallowed thickly, not liking being dressed down so publicly. "Yes Sir," he answered as if there were a bad taste in his mouth.
"Same goes for you two," Travis gave both Chris and Vin a hard stare, showing
them that he was playing no favorites here. Chris nodded his compliance to the Judge's harsh but understandable demand.
"Sure," Vin responded, his eyes fixed on Jason Alderson even though he was listening to every word the Judge had spoken. Despite Lightfoot's assurance that Jason would behave, Vin had a sense that it would take more than a lawyer's word to restrain the hot headed young man filled with so much vengeance over his father's death. He was almost certain that no matter what the outcome, Jason would not rest until Nathan was lynched by his hand. Vin knew it and judging by the way he was observing the young man, Chris knew as it as well. Jason had trouble written all over him and it was only a matter of time before that thirsty need for vengeance would overcome him.
By now, Buck and Josiah had emerged from the makeshift courthouse to see what the commotion was outside. Chris had sent them in earlier to ensure the crowd inside the building did not get rowdy. With the way Four Corners was divided on this issue and the heated emotions involved, Chris had no mind to tolerate any outbreak of violence inside the courtroom. If he had his way he would have barred anyone except the people directly involved in the case from the vicinity. However, Nathan's trial had captured such public interest that Chris did not think such an action was possible without causing the same kind of violence he had hoped to avoid in the first place. Ezra and JD were already inside the courtroom with Nathan, in part to act as protection from anyone who wanted to take the law into their own hands. Aside from Alderson's immediate family, the deceased farmers had friends who were just as hungry for revenge as Jason himself.
"What's going on?" Buck asked Chris as the gunslinger made his way though the crowd towards the entrance with Vin and the Judge following closely.
"Nothing," Chris retorted glaring at Jason as he and his family began moving up the stairs towards them. Instead of dwelling too much on the uneasy feeling that Jason would not let this go despite the outcome of a trial, Chris reminded himself that there were other concerns he needed to focus on at this time. "How's it going in there?" he asked.
"Smoldering," came Josiah's short but descriptive reply. "Light a match in there and the whole place is likely to go up. I wonder if a closed court is not a bad idea. You've got people who are for Nathan feeling just as passionately about protecting him as those who want to lynch him."
Chris took this in, somewhat surprised. He supposed he had been rather harsh on the entire community of Four Corners, owing that amongst all the detractors that seemed to make themselves known in the last few days, their supporters had also emerged in force. Still, he could not help feeling bitter at how their services always seemed to fall into question whenever someone had a grievance with one or all of them. It was like the past two years of protecting Four Corners had never happened and they were being judged as the gunmen they were when they had first arrived in town. If it had been himself that was being publicly scrutinized this way, Chris supposed he would not have been as incensed as he was. He had a reputation and when it came down to it, he had been the one who had
killed Alderson. However, Nathan had done nothing except try to save the man's life. He
had been doing so ever since he arrived in town, well before the seven had come into being and as far as Chris was concerned, the only reason he found himself before a jury at this moment was because of the color of his skin.
Chris refused to accept that on any level, not for anyone and certainly not for one of his own. "How's Nathan holding up?" he asked quietly as Alderson's family brushed past them on their way into the building.
"He's trying not to get discouraged," Josiah answered honestly but the frown marking his face indicated there was more to it than just that. "He's hurt inside and he's trying hard not to show it."
"Yeah," Buck agreed on Josiah's assessment. "But you can still see it in his eyes."
"Why should he be hurt?" Vin demanded, this whole issue was hitting too close to home for Vin to keep his own emotions from spilling over his usual unflappable manner. "He's been helping folks in this town for two years, longer than anyone of us has even been here. All it takes is someone like Jason Alderson to make everyone turn on him?"
"Not everyone." Buck quickly pointed out. "They're folks out there who're standing up for him."
"Yeah, but they know him personally while others who don't know him but are aware of the good work he's done in this town who won't say nothing because of the color of his skin! I mean it's Nathan today, what about tomorrow? Hell, what happens when a Marshall comes after me, or someone comes for all those cons Ezra has done? What about you, Buck? One fine day an angry husband is going to show and they'll just serve you up like a free lunch."
"Okay, okay," Chris stepped in to diffuse the argument before it escalated any further. He understood Vin's feelings all too well but this was hardly the time and place for it. "We're not doing this. We're not going to get crazy when we need to focus. Vin, are you gonna be alright in there?" Chris asked firmly. He did not want the tracker to make any kind of outburst in the already tense atmosphere inside the courtroom.
"Yeah," Vin nodded with a shrug, feeling somewhat embarrassed at letting his emotions run away with him. "I reckon I will be."
"Good," Chris let out a heavy sigh, filled with reluctance. "Let's get this over and done with."
Judge Travis took his customary seat at the head of the room and immediately brought the rumbling chatter to a gradual halt by presence alone. The path from the door to the table that served as a judiciary bench for Travis to hear the case felt like a line drawn between the supporters and the detractors of Nathan Jackson and the Magnificent Seven. On one side of the room, Walt Simonson, Hiram Nechaus, Jonas Conklin and Alderson's family represented the ill feeling in Four Corners for the accused and his companions. On the other, Mary Travis, Nettie and Casey Wells, Inez Rocillos, Virgil Watson and Gloria Potter were a few of the faces that saw the seven for all the good they did and felt strongly
that Four Corners would simply go to hell without them. Although Mayor Weston sat on this side, all those present knew that he was a neutral party and his choice of seating had to do with availability more than his loyalties. Weston was interested in seeing justice done and had no particular preference for one or the other parties in this issue.
Unfortunately, the hopes of keeping the trial under the purview of Travis' judgment alone had been discarded with the amount of public interest in the case. For the sake of quelling public sentiment that Travis might rule in favor of the defendant, the Judge had little choice but to appoint a jury and those men composed of citizens from Four Corners now held Nathan Jackson's future in their hands. For the seven, it was an uneasy feeling as they stared at the faces of men they had seen on a daily basis in Four Corners, with no idea what those men might think of Nathan Jackson.
"I call this courtroom to order," Travis said after the sound of his gavel against the wood had died away, bringing everyone's undivided attention to him. "United State Territorial Circuit Court is now in session. The matter being the people versus Nathan Jackson. How does the defendant plead?"
Gareth Winstanley glanced at Nathan instructing him to remain seated. It was his lawyer's place to answer that question. The quiet, not particularly impressive Englishman rose to his feet and replied quite succinctly, "Not guilty."
His response ignited a rumbled reaction from some of the spectators that was immediately silenced by another hard bang from the judge's gavel. "Order!" Travis demanded loudly. "Anymore outbursts and I'll clear the court."
Once the room had settled, Travis turned to James Lightfoot. "Mr. Lightfoot, your
opening statement."
Lightfoot glanced at Jason Alderson and then at Nathan Jackson before he crossed the floor to the jury and observed the faces before him. He had scoured this little victory of a jury trial and was confident that he could manipulate them into seeing Nathan Jackson the way he needed them to. Taking a deep breath, he began speaking.
"Your honor, gentlemen of the jury, today you sit in judgment of an issue of murder, though slightly different from most kinds of murder. The people will prove that Nathan Jackson, a 'supposed' healer did willfully under the guise of administering medical aid, maliciously end the life of Bill Alderson by withholding the correct treatment required for Mr. Alderson's recovery. A man who kills while pretending to heal is a creature that must be removed from society in the most expedient way possible lest he attempts to do it again. Gentlemen, Nathan Jackson has no qualification to show that he is capable of healing anyone. Would you place your lives in the hands of a man who may be incompetent or worse yet, a murderer?"
His statement sent ripples of shock throughout the courtroom, mostly because to hear a crime that they had been arguing the last few days displayed so starkly was rather disconcerting. Even Chris felt himself flinching at the stirring remarks of the lawyers and asked himself for the hundredth time how he could have let this entire situation with Alderson reach this point.
"It is just legal showmanship," Ezra who was sitting next to Nathan whispered in the healer's ears.
"It's got my attention," Nathan whispered back, bristling at the accusation and almost on the verge of standing up to defend himself. However, an instinctive hand on his shoulder by Winstanley to restrain him convinced Nathan to let his lawyer handle things.
Winstanley rose to his feet and wiped his glasses with a handkerchief as he proceeded to the jury box. Unlike Lightfoot's overpowering demeanor, Winstanley was rather reserved and understated in comparison. He paused in front of the man and met each of their eyes directly.
"Murder," he stated first and foremost. "Mr. Lightfoot bandies that word about rather frivolously even though he has no hard physical evidence to back that claim other than the angry word of a bereaving son. Mr. Jackson has been a resident of Four Corners for two years now and he has been practicing the healing arts for most of the community. The defense does not deny that Mr. Jackson is not a certified physician, but can prove, most irrevocably that he is qualified in every sense of the word to administer medical treatment in lieu of a doctor being available. We will offer the court the testimony of people he has provided medical services to and we will examine the case of Mr. William Alderson who died under his care. Gentlemen, we will prove that Mr. Alderson's injuries were so substantial that it was simply beyond the capability of my client or any doctor present to administer aid. Mr. Alderson is dead and that is a tragedy, but it was an act of God, not a act of murder."
A small burst of applause followed the end of speech, finding its origins from Casey Wells who was not about to hide her belief in Nathan's innocence for anything. Her show of support gained solidarity from Inez, the Andersons and a few other members of the community before Travis' gavel brought silence to the court once more. Chris looked over his shoulder and gave the young lady a little wink, bringing a tinge of red to her cheeks. He turned to the front and saw Winstanley taking his seat again. It was good to know that they had someone able to argue for Nathan, but somehow Chris knew it was going to take more than words to see this end the way it should.
Unfortunately, this was just the beginning.
The witnesses for the prosecution were called first.
Simonson swore on the bible and took the oath to tell the truth even though almost everything that came out of his mouth was an outright fabrication or an embellishment of what truly happened that night. His remarks were laced with innuendo and gave Lightfoot what he needed the most; a motive for the murder of Bill Alderson. With Alderson's feelings towards Nathan spelt out in garish detail before the jury at how Alderson blamed the abundance of non-whites in the Territory for their inability to become a state, Lightfoot wove a convincing tale of vengeance given opportunity. Alderson's injury had put him under the mercy of Nathan who had taken advantage of his critical state and killed him.
Winstanley, however, challenged most of this in the cross-examination, forcing Simonson to admit that Alderson had begged for Nathan's help when he had discovered the extent of his injury. The defense attorney ensured that there was corroborating evidence provided by witnesses, other than the seven, who had been at the Standish Tavern during the fight. Eventually however, Chris Larabee had to be called to the stand, mostly because he was the man who had actually pulled the trigger on Alderson.
Chris had everyone's undivided attention when he was sworn in and gazed at Nathan, issuing a silent promise that he would try to do his best for the healer. As Chris was Winstanley's witness, the defense attorney had the opportunity to question Chris first. After Chris had gone through the formalities of identifying himself, the questioning began with Winstanley taking the opportunity to present the incident the way it had actually happened.
"Mr. Larabee, can you state for the record to your best recollection what took place on the night that William Alderson was killed."
"Sure," Chris said simply and let his gaze move past the lawyer into the faces watching him closely. He saw Mary offering him a silent wish of luck before turning back to her note book where she had been scribbling notes for the Clarion's coverage of the trial.
"Alderson and Walt Simonson were already at the bar when all of us were together," Chris began.
"By all of us, you are referring to yourself, Messrs. Buck Wilmington, Josiah Sanchez, JD Dunne, Ezra Standish, Vin Tanner and the defendant?" Winstanley interrupted.
"Yes, that's right." Chris nodded and then continued. "We were having a few drinks, congratulating Nathan on a baby he had delivered."
"Objection, your honor." Lightfoot spoke up immediately. "We do not need to hear the nature of their drinking session, just the events that followed." He capped the statement with a smile any of the seven would have loved to wipe off his face.
"Your honor," Winstanley sighed, as if he were dealing with an impertinent child in Lightfoot and continued. "Mr. Lightfoot is the one who has introduced my client's competency as a healer into this case. I have the right to make rebuttal."
"Objection sustained," Travis said shortly. "Carry on."
"Thank you," Winstanley replied graciously and turned back to Chris, not even bothering to see for himself the glowering expression on Lightfoot's face. "Please continue, Mr. Larabee."
Chris offered the lawyer a little smile, deciding that he quite liked Mr. Winstanley
and that usually took some doing. "As I was saying," he glanced at Lightfoot with
a satisfied smile on his face. "We were congratulating Nathan on the baby he delivered when Alderson who was more than a little drunk starts going on about statehood. He claimed that the reason the Territory hadn't gained statehood was because of all the non-whites that lived here."
"Is that how he described them?" Winstanley interrupted again.
"No," Chris shook his head, disliking even to say the words himself. "He called them 'niggers', spics and Injuns."
The response from the courtroom was instantaneously with a mixture of booing and jeering intermingled with cheers. It was a riotous mix that demonstrated perfectly the contrasting views on the case. Judge Travis brought the room to order again and the questioning resumed at Winstanley's prompting.
"I decided to put a stop to the situation. There were people in the saloon who would take offense to what he was saying, my men included. I didn't want things to get ugly so I told Alderson that his opinion was his own business but he should keep it to himself in public."
"How did he react?"
Chris stared directly at Jason when he answered. "He tried to shoot me when my back was to him."
"That's a lie!" Jason stood up and shouted angrily. With him, the rest of Alderson's family and supporters made similar cries of outrage. This incited the other half of the courtroom to explode into similar displays and soon Travis was pounding his gavel on the bench trying to bring order to the courtroom. It took several minutes before the questioning could resume and Chris concluded his testimony by admitting he had shot Alderson in self defense, a statement already corroborated by the witnesses that had been called earlier in the day. When it was all said and done, Chris felt pretty comfortable with what had been said and was glad that he had been able to speak the truth on Nathan's behalf. However, before his testimony could be concluded, he would first have to endure Lightfoot's questions."
"Mr. Larabee," Lightfoot asked staring at Chris like a lamb about to be slaughtered. "Do you know anything about repairing arteries."
Chris' jaw tightened but was forced to answer. "No."
"No?" Lightfoot latched on the answer in triumph. "So you have no idea what Nathan Jackson did to Bill Alderson when he was 'supposedly' treating him for his injuries?"
"No," Chris answered, feeling a sour taste in his mouth as he spoke.
"Thank you, Mr. Larabee." Lightfoot retorted, contented that he had made his case. "You are excused."
Chris started to rise from the chair, never feeling a more powerful need to put a bullet in a man than at this moment. However, before he could, Winstanley spoke up once more. "Your honor, I have a final question for the witness, if it pleases the court?"
"Go on," Travis replied.
"Mr. Larabee, how did my client react following the death of Mr. Alderson?"
Chris understood what Winstanley was getting at and answered without hesitation. "He was pretty broken up about it. He had said that he wished that he knew more so that he could have helped Alderson. I know my friend and I know when he's hurting. It hurt Nathan to see Alderson die, just the way it hurts him to see anyone die because it is simply beyond his power to stop it."
Chris met Nathan's eyes and smiled, wanting the healer to know that his words had come from the heart. It was rare that he spoke up for anyone in this manner, but the situation definitely warranted it and he hoped it would help Nathan's case.
"Thank you, Mr. Larabee," Winstanley said, pleased with his response. "You are excused."
As it was getting rather late in the day, Judge Travis called an adjournment until the following day where other witnesses would be called. All in all, it had been a good day in court with Nathan's innocence being laid out for all to see despite Lightfoot's innuendoes and venomous claims. Whether or not it would make a difference to the jury was another thing altogether.
That evening the seven gathered in the Standish Tavern with Winstanley present since he had proven himself to be the man of hour for being able to play James Lightfoot's ugly games with equal, if not superior, expertise. Nathan felt gratified that he had dared to give this inexperienced lawyer a chance because the man was providing him with a superior defense in court. Inez had closed the tavern early that day, not wishing to have any of the ugliness in court spill out into this room after she had cooked these men who were dear friends, some dinner.
On the house, of course.
"Mr. Winstanley," Ezra said raising his glass. "Might I say that you were definitely worth the sum of my new saloon."
"Is that what you were saving that money for?" Buck looked at him with a chuckle. "After the last time?"
"I learn from my mistakes," Ezra said haughtily. "This time it will be different."
"And if it is not," Inez remarked as she brought over a new round of drinks. "I can manage that saloon too."
This resulted in a burst of laughter as Ezra frowned at Inez's pleased smirk as she withdrew into the kitchen.
"Seriously, Mr. Winstanley. Ezra resumed his congratulations. "I do love the way you made Mr. Lightfoot flinch."
"Thank you," Winstanley replied graciously. "His case is based on very little so it required a modicum of my talents to accomplish it."
"Hell Ezra," Vin remarked. "He talks just like you."
"Only with modesty," Josiah added, chuckling.
A little bit more laughter followed before Winstanley turned to Nathan who was feeling at ease for the first time in days. "Mr. Jackson, chances are Mr. Lightfoot will attempt to get you on the stand tomorrow. I would prefer that you do not."
"But I've got nothing to hide," Nathan said automatically. "If I don't go on the stand and speak for myself, people will think I'm guilty."
"Nathan maybe you ought to take Winstanley's advice," Chris replied. "He seems to know what he's doing."
"I know that," Nathan stared at his lawyer, not wanting to think that his feelings were based on any disparagement on Winstanley's ability. "It's just that I have to live here when it's all said and done. Even if I do get off, I don't want people looking at me as if I had secrets to keep because I wouldn't testify in my own defense."
"Man's got a point," Josiah agreed.
"He has a moral point," Winstanley countered. "But not a legal one. As our attorney, I advise you against it."
"I'm sorry," Nathan let out a deep breath, understanding that Winstanley's concern was for him personally but he simply had to do this. "I have to speak for myself. I will not go through my life in this town ashamed of what I did. He was hurt and he needed my help. I did the best I could. When push comes to shove, that's gotta count."
Winstanley's frown indicated he thought otherwise but Nathan was his client and if he could not change the healer's mind, he would have to abide by Nathan's decision.
"So what's next tomorrow?" Buck asked, in an effort to break the mood of tension that had fallen across the table following that discussion. "Other than Nathan that is."
"Well," Winstanley took a sip of his drink and considered the question. "I've seen
Lightfoot's witness list and I'm assuming that these are people who will have something negative to say about you. I have profiled most of them so there are no surprises coming our way. I have character witnesses of our own. The Andersons have agreed to testify, as well as a few other townspeople you've administered medical treatment to. Lightfoot has a doctor coming from Sweetwater."
"A doctor?" Vin exclaimed. "You mean a real one?"
"Yes." Winstanley nodded and noted the worried expression on their faces. "It is routine in these cases. I actually think that it will be more beneficial to us rather than damning actually."
"How so?" Nathan asked, feeling tendrils of fear at what a proper doctor might think of his abilities.
"I have been consulting with the doctor in Bitter Creek by telegraph regarding Mr. Aldersons' condition to provide quite an effective cross-examination," Winstanley
explained. "There's nothing to worry about, I assure you."
Nathan hoped so too because he had no wish to be hung if Winstanley was wrong.
Winstanley was right.
There were no surprises when it came to the testimony of Lightfoot's witnesses. Hiram Nechaus took the stand, taking everyone, including JD Dunne who wore a stony expression throughout the man's testimony, through the painful ordeal of his wife's death. Annie had been shot fatally by JD during a foiled bank robbery and despite Nathan's efforts to keep her alive, she had died nonetheless. Although it was hard to prove that Nathan had been incompetent in his inability to save her, Lightfoot nonetheless alluded such to the jury. Winstanley did an admirable job of repairing the damage but unfortunately, the jury remembered what they heard.
Other witnesses came and went. Some were in his favor and some were not. An uneasy balance of views were placed before the jury who took everything in stoically, giving no indication of whether they were being affected by the words and faces that came before them. The two lawyers argued their cases and examined their witnesses with equal vigor. The attendants at court were often reminded to keep their personal feelings subdued and Jason Alderson spent the entire day glaring at Nathan as if the outcome of the case was merely a formality and that he would soon have his vengeance. Nathan's attention was
focussed on the widow Alderson who appeared sad and aggrieved, not for the loss of her
husband but for the public forum his death had caused. He had a feeling she was tolerating this for her son and not over any quest for justice.
It was almost to the end of the day when Nathan finally took the stand to testify in his defense. Despite the fact that Winstanley had protested this action almost until the point Nathan had left the table, Nathan was adamant in speaking up for himself. Four Corners had to hear him speak or else they would never be sure that he was entirely innocent even if he was found so by a jury. Winstanley was clearly unhappy to have him on the stand but performed his duty nonetheless. His questions to Nathan firmly established that the healer had acted to help Bill Alderson despite the man's odious behavior earlier on in the night.
"They're just words," Nathan had said to the jury. "Words don't hurt you unless you let it them and I certainly don't think that they're worth killing for."
All in all, he had felt he explained himself rather adequately and the approval he saw in Winstanley's eyes and the reaction of his friends seemed to indicate that they felt the same as well.
Then it was Lightfoot's turn to question him and everything went to hell.
"Mr. Jackson, where did you acquire your skills?" Lightfoot's initial question had been easy enough, Nathan had no difficulty answering it.
"I was a stretcher bearer for the Union Army during the war," he stated firmly.
"For how long were you employed in this activity?" Lightfoot questioned again.
Nathan waited a second to answer because his attention was captured momentarily by Winstanley who had a puzzled look on his face. Throughout the trial, his lawyer had presented a facade of utter confidence in what was transpiring. Even the negative testimonies had been accepted by Winstanley with almost stoic deliberation. This troubled expression on his lawyer's face suddenly made Nathan feel a corresponding anxiety.
"Three years," he answered, remembering that he was being spoken to.
Next to Winstanley, Ezra leaned over to the lawyer and asked beneath the hearing of anyone else. "What is the point of this?"
"I do not know," Winstanley responded in a whisper, experiencing a premonition of something terrible coming their way. There was no reason for Lightfoot to be probing into this part of Nathan's life. The man's ability as a healer was no longer in dispute after all the evidence given by witnesses who had been healed by Nathan in the past. There was no reason to revisit this subject unless there was something to be revealed that was previously unknown.
"Three years." Lightfoot nodded as if ruminating his response. "Did you care for both Union and Confederate soldiers during that time?"
"Yes," Nathan nodded, becoming just as perplexed as his lawyer.
Your honor," Winstanley spoke up, deciding enough was enough. "Is there a point to this line of questioning? Mr. Jackson was a stretcher-bearer who was probably under the supervision of field army doctors. I do not see what relevance this is to our present case."
"Mr. Lightfoot?" Travis turned to the lawyer. "I am forced to ask the same question."
"Your honor, if you just indulge me, I am getting to the point of this line of inquiry," Lightfoot responded.
Travis took a deep breath and replied with an unhappy rumble. "Get to it soon."
"Yes, your honor." He faced Nathan once more. "Tell me Mr. Jackson, how many Confederate soldiers did you have access to during your time as a stretcher bearer?"
"All of them," Nathan answered readily. "There were not enough nurses and doctors to go around," he explained. "We all helped our where we could."
Lightfoot smiled, his teeth pulled back in an almost leering expression. "How many did you help die?"
"OBJECTION!" Winstanley fairly exploded. "You have no evidence whatsoever to take this turn. Nathan you are not required to answer that question!"
"Why not?" Lightfoot demanded. "Is it that many? How do we know that his penchant for preferential treatment of his patients didn't begin that far back? He was a Negro and a newly freed slave. Are you telling me he would not have harbored perhaps a modicum of ill feeling towards the Confederacy who was the symbol of slavery, the symbol of his previous bondage? Did you know that Alderson fought for the Confederacy with the Calvary, Mr. Jackson?" He shouted at Nathan.
"NO, I DIDN'T!" Nathan roared back angrily, unable to believe this was happening.
His tenure as a stretcher-bearer in the Union Army was one of the proudest moments of his life. It was where he had learned that healing a man was so much greater than killing him. How could Lightfoot take and destroy it so blithely?
"I put to you that you knew that Alderson was a Confederate when he was injured
and that you took the opportunity to take your vengeance on all Confederates the way you did during the war. I put to you that you murdered him because he represented everything that kept you from being a real doctor!"
Winstanley was screaming his objections by now. "Your Honor, this entire line of questioning is based on supposition and a blatant attempt to cast aspersions on my client's character by implicating him in crimes that do not even exist! It has no basis in fact and it's completely hearsay and I might add entirely the opinion of the prosecution!"
The courtroom was in similar uproar with voices crying out loudly, supporting Lightfoot's claims and condemning his lies at the same time. The two lawyers were battling it out, throwing legal jargon at each other while in the center stage, the peacekeepers saw their friend taken apart brutally by the mere suggestion of such crimes. Nathan appeared dazed with astonishment at the vile suggestion flung against his credibility by James Lightfoot.
"MR. LIGHTFOOT!" Judge Travis roared angrily and shattered the pandemonium
with the crack of his gavel against the table. "Your attempt to introduce inflammatory material into this court room will not be tolerated. You have no evidence of any kind to suggest that Mr. Jackson was responsible for any of the crimes you alluded to. If you try this again in my courtroom, I will have you thrown in jail for contempt, do you understand me?"
"Yes your honor," Lightfoot replied, not all repentant because he had accomplished exactly what he had set out to do.
Travis tried not to show how furious he was at the lawyer's behavior. He turned to the jury and spoke in a taut voice. "The jury will disregard Mr. Lightfoot's statements. I want it stricken from the record."
But it was too late and they all knew it. The jury had heard and they would remember.
"That son of a bitch!" Buck cursed out loud after Travis had called an adjournment and the seven and Winstanley were alone in the courthouse. "Where the hell did that come from?" The big man was pacing the floor in an effort to control his rage.
"He just made it up," Chris answered smoking his cheroot. "He knew he had no proof but he was playing the jury."
"We should have never agreed to this!" Vin snapped, infuriated that Nathan was in this position and they could not do a damn thing to help their friend. Vin was at his most volatile when he was at his most helpless.
"Mr. Lightfoot has no real evidence," Winstanley attempted to be the voice of reason among these passionate friends who were liable to do something foolish if their anger was allowed to continue unchecked. "His entire case is based on public opinion and today's display was a desperate effort."
"Unfortunately, it was a rather prolific one." Ezra replied, taking a good swig of whiskey from the metal flash he kept on his person for occasions such at this. He handed it to Josiah, gesturing to the preacher to pass it around in order to assuage the hot tempers that were presently flaring out of control in the room.
"How bad did he hurt us?" JD spoke up, asking a sensible question in Chris' opinion.
"Bad enough." Winstanley frowned. "Tomorrow, the doctor will testify and I will regain some ground. I am hoping that the jury is able to see what Lightfoot was attempting and disregard his attack as the judge ordered."
"And if they don't?" Josiah asked.
Winstanley could not bring himself to answer.
"Nathan, are you alright?" Ezra turned to the healer following that less than encouraging response from the lawyer. Throughout all their discussion, Nathan had not spoken a word but they all felt for him, even if they could not imagine what he was thinking at this moment.
"You know, I was proud to be a stretcher bearer," Nathan said softly. "Until then my whole reason for joining the army was to have somewhere to go after I left the plantation. Being North was no better than being in the South and I had no place in either. So I joined the Union Army hoping that if I couldn't live a free man I could at least die like one. Waking up in that hospital was the first time I realize that there was more to me than just being a colored slave who was free. I could help people and when I helped them, it made no difference what color I was, they just saw someone who could take their pain away. It was a good feeling. I was proud of what I learnt as a stretcher bearer. It made me what I am and I was grateful because no matter happened, they couldn't take that away from me." He shook his head and his voice betrayed the tears that were trying to shatter his
composure. "Until today."
With that, he walked out of the room, leaving the others silent and angry and so damn helpless.
"Ezra," Chris ordered without looking up. "Go after him. In his state, I don't want to know what he could do to himself."
Ezra could only nod and follow.
When Mary Travis heard knocking on the door to the Clarion News office, she wished she could tell whomever it was to go away. After the courtroom proceedings today, she had no wish to see anyone. Even though she would have probably been told it was foolish, she felt entirely responsible for the situation Nathan Jackson found himself at present. If she had not convinced Chris that a trial was a necessary step in proving his innocence, he would not have endured the hell he had been put through today by that damned Mr. Lightfoot. She was tempted to write a scathing editorial but told herself it would probably do more harm then good at this point. Besides, she had meddled enough in the affairs of the seven of late.
Muttering under her breath, Mary went to open the door following the gentle tap she had heard. Swinging it open, she almost slammed it shut again when she saw James Lightfoot standing before her.
"What do you want?" she said in less than a friendly tone as she stared at the man who had taken a part a dear friend a piece at a time on the witness stand.
"I came here to thank you of course." Lightfoot stared at her, somewhat puzzled by her hostility.
"Thank me?" Mary blurted out in astonishment. "What on Earth for?" she demanded. "If I had my way, I'd round up a posse and run you out of town after what you did today."
"Madam," Lightfoot straightened up in response to her rebuke. "What did you expect me to do with the information you provided? If you did not want precisely the result you received today in court, you should not have brought it to me."
"Excuse me?" Mary stared at him in astonishment. "I brought you nothing!" She hissed. "How dare you?"
"You came to my hotel room the night before the trial was to begin and gave me the information about Mr. Jackson," he insisted. "I saw you!"
Mary slapped him hard across the face. "Mr. Lightfoot," she hissed, her rage and temper getting the better of her all at once. "I do not visit the hotel rooms of odious men such as yourself and I certainly did not pass on inflammatory information that has no basis in fact!"
Lightfoot clutched his stinging cheek and started to understand that he had been tricked, but by whom? He had to confess that he had thought it extremely peculiar that the idea of Nathan's complicity in Confederate deaths during the war had come from Mary Travis. She had always been an ardent supporter of the seven peacekeepers and would not knowingly implicate them in anything. Now that he saw her reaction, he understood that he had been played like a fool.
"Mrs. Travis," Lightfoot swallowed hard. "I apologize for my inference but you must believe me when I tell you that the night before the trial, a woman dressed in a heavy cloak approached my door, claiming to be you and passed me this information."
Mary started to see that he was not lying to her and genuinely believed that she had been the source of his scandalous information. "I can assure you it was not me. The night before the trial, I was entertaining my father in law, Judge Travis."
"It appears that we have both been the victim of someone else's scheme," the lawyer answered. "I shall trouble you no further."
Mary watched him go and felt her shock and confusion give way to anger. Someone impersonating her was enough to infuriate her to no end, but someone doing so while giving Lightfoot the means to slander a close friend? Well, that was war and she knew just the man to wage it for her.
Chris Larabee.
"Uh, Chris," Buck Wilmington, who happened to glance out the window of the Four Corner's jailhouse, said to the gunslinger who had taken refuge from the day's events inside the one place no one was likely to visit with any frequency.
"What?" Chris growled, already in a foul mood. At the moment, he had his bottle of whiskey and with any luck would be good and drunk before twilight.
"You do anything to tick Mary off?" Buck asked as he saw the widow storming across the street with hellfire in her eyes.
"Other than the usual?" Chris looked over his shoulder at his old friend. "Not much. Why?"
"Well she's coming over here and she looks really pissed off."
"Great," Chris rolled his eyes, hiding the bottle in the desk drawer for the time being. "A perfect end to the day."
"I'll leave you two to it then," Buck chuckled as he went towards the door. As much as he enjoyed watching the duo pretend to not have any feelings for each other, he had a date with a pretty saloon girl that was just not going to wait.
"Coward." Chris called out as Buck threw him a devilish grin upon opening the door, only to be greeted by Mary.
"Afternoon, Mary," Buck tipped his hat at her but she was fuming so visibly that it was permissible when she did not respond and barreled straight past him.
"Good luck," Buck mouthed quietly at Chris, earning him the gunslinger's narrowed gaze wishing him a slow death.
"Chris, you have to do something," she stated as she reached the desk. Her cheeks were flared pink with annoyance and Chris realized that Buck had not been remiss in his earlier observation regarding her state of mind. "Its unforgivable! I want whoever she is to be drawn and quartered!"
"She have a name?" He asked in perfect contrast to her frothing rage.
"Mary Travis!" Mary exploded. "She impersonated me to that vulture Lightfoot of all people! It was she who gave Lightfoot that disgusting idea that Nathan killed Alderson because he was a Confederate soldier!"
Chris sat up immediately, that little bit of information capturing his attention completely. "You're joking."
"Mr. Larabee," she rarely called him that unless she was about to strangle him or worse. "You know that I find what happened to Nathan today utterly appalling and to think that someone might have planted that loathsome suggestion in his head impersonating me makes me so mad I could...could....spit!"
Chris was suddenly glad he was armed.
"Just calm down." Chris told her gently, rising to his feet behind the desk. He placed his hand on her shoulder as if he were settling a particularly spirited horse. Truth be known, he sometimes wondered if there was any difference between the two. "We'll get to the bottom of this."
She gazed into his sea colored eyes and felt those faint stirrings deep inside she did not wish to acknowledge and brushed them away for the more immediate need to be comforted. "Thank you, Chris," she sighed with a little smile. "This frightens me."
Despite her anger, he could see that. "I won't let anyone hurt you Mary," he said in that silky voice of his that had so much power over her. "I promise."
When he said it, she could believe it because it was seldom untrue.
Following the debacle of the day before, Judge Travis finally ordered the court cleared as the testimony of the final witness was heard. Outside the grain exchange, folks were gathered waiting for news as those who were allowed to be present emerged periodically to give reports on the progress of the case. Only Alderson's family, Mary Travis acting as the court reporter and the seven as Nathan's chosen supporters and the lawyers were allowed into the courtroom. Travis wanted this trial over and done with, refusing to tolerate any more grandstanding by Lightfoot to delay the proceedings.
The doctor's name was Richard Addison. He hailed from Sweetwater and had been a practicing physician for nearly ten years in that town. He was a respected member of the community and had been willing to testify when Lightfoot first approached him about participating in the case. Winstanley suspected that he was going to claim that it was Nathan's incompetence that had cost Alderson his life. When the arguments and the innuendoes were discarded with, that was all Lightfoot really had in the way of a case. It was Winstanley's opinion that this should never have gone to trial in the first place. There was no justification for it however, the family's concerns and public sentiment could not be ignored and so this farce had been allowed to continue, dragging a good man into the
dirt needlessly.
Chris Larabee watched Winstanley and saw a man preparing to attack the way a hunter watched and stalked a prey before moving in for the kill. Winstanley did not appear predatory. The man did not look threatening. He did not look like a formidable presence which was why when he went for the jugular, those he was attacking were taken completely by surprise. Nathan could not have found a better man to defend him and Chris was actually grateful that Ezra suggested a lawyer instead of having Josiah speak for him because with all due respect the preacher, Chris could not say that he would have performed as well as Winstanley.
"Doctor Addison," Lightfoot asked, bringing Chris' attentions back to the proceedings. "Is there a treatment for repairing the kind of damage that Mr. Alderson suffered?"
"Yes," Addison said readily. He was a distinguished looking man with a heavy mustache and dressed in a dark suit that seemed to fit his persona of a professional man. "Usually, with the damage to a femoral artery, we would clamp both sides of the artery before the damaged section, which would create a back flow that will keep the patient from bleeding to death. After this is done, we would have time to repair the artery."
"I see," Lightfoot looked at the jury and then glanced disapprovingly at Nathan. "So you're saying he could have survived his injury."
"Yes," Addison replied. "This is the standard treatment performed by a qualified physician of course."
"Therefore, if Mr. Alderson had been in the care of a proper doctor, he would have lived?" Lightfoot asked once more, just to drive the point home.
"Almost certainly." The doctor nodded, not looking at Nathan as he answered.
"Thank you, doctor," Lightfoot replied. "No further questions."
The lawyer had retreated to his side of the room before Judge Travis regarded Winstanley. "Your witness, Mr. Winstanley."
"Thank you, your honor," the Englishman replied and stood up. He turned to Nathan and offered the greatly demoralized healer an encouraging smile. He hoped it would convince Nathan that things were not as bleak as they seemed. "Doctor Addison," Winstanley asked. "How was your trip here?"
The question took the doctor with just as much surprise as everyone else in the room. It took a second before his confused expression bled away and he answered with renewed confidence "It was fine. The weather was good so I was able to make good time."
"Really," Winstanley smiled. "How fortunate and exactly what would you call 'good time'?"
"Oh, a few hours," Addison replied, trying to see past the lawyer at Mr. Lightfoot.
Winstanley shifted slightly and ensured that his line of sight to the prosecuting attorney was obstructed. "A few hours. A nice day trip, you would say?"
"Yes," the doctor responded, a little uncertain regarding the relevance of the question.
"Now, in regards to this procedure that you have discussed with such detail under Mr. Lightfoot's questioning, I have a few questions." The lawyer's tone moved from amiable to serious in seconds, hardly allowing anyone but Chris to become accustomed to the change. "How long would it take for a man to bleed to death from a severed femoral artery if nothing was done?"
"Well, it is a major artery from the heart. It is an artery that controls the circulation," Addison answered, quick to show his acumen on the subject. "If it is severed, it would take three to five minutes for a man to lose more blood than is capable of sustaining life. He would die in less than ten minutes."
"That quickly?" Winstanley said with surprise. "So isn't it safe to say that even if my client had done nothing, Alderson would have died?"
"If there was a proper physician...." Addison started to stammer having fallen into
the trap so perfectly set by Winstanley.
"If a proper physician were called, it would take almost a day for him to arrive in Four Corners to offer Mr. Alderson any treatment. That's half a day trip to reach a physician with the news of the injury and another half a day for that physician to get to the patient. What needed to be done, had to take place in a margin of ten minutes. My client has never claimed to be a certified doctor. The death of Mr. Alderson could not be prevented even if he had done nothing to help the man."
"Objection!" Lightfoot cried out on the defensive.
"Overruled," Travis said almost immediately in anticipation of this response.
"Your honor, members of the jury," Winstanley continued to speak. "We feel a great depth of sorrow for the death of Mr. Alderson. We grieve with his family and we empathize with their loss but a courtroom is a crucible in which we burn away the irrelevancies to deal with the truth, not the innuendoes of past deeds that never existed, but the truth, in its pure and simplest form. If Mr. Jackson was a physician trained in a medical school, he could have saved Mr. Alderson's life. The defense does not deny this. However, he is not a physician. He does what he can to help and as we have seen throughout this case from the testimony of numerous witnesses, he has helped many people in this community. However, if you think him liable for being unable to help Alderson, think of the outcome if he had done nothing. Someone would have made a futile effort to ride to Sweet Water for a trained physician, an exercise which would have taken a day at least before Alderson would even receive any treatment. In the meantime, he would have died ten minutes after being shot, having bled to death long before any
doctor could reach him, let alone administer treatment."
Winstanley paused catching his breath. "Your honor, Nathan Jackson has done nothing wrong except try to help. There is no evidence he held any grudge against the man other than some opinions that are mostly prejudicial because of my client's color. All this has done is to make him question whether or not some people are worth helping if this is what he is going to be subjected to each time he tries to comes to someone's aid." He let his gaze sweep across the courtroom, not only to the faces of the jury but to the seven and Alderson's family.
"It is a tragedy for the next one of you that is hurt or in need of medical assistance and cannot afford to wait for it to come from Sweetwater. That will be the true crime in Bill Alderson's death. The defense rests."
Travis took a deep breath and released it after Winstanley's words had seeped into his audience and left its mark. "Since there are no more witnesses, the jury will be sequestered to make their deliberations. The court is adjourned for now."
As Judge Travis made that statement, Chris could not help noticing that Jason Alderson had left the room and that filled him with a great sense of foreboding.
The jury's deliberation did not last long.
An hour after delivering his final remarks, Winstanley and the seven found themselves inside the courtroom again. This time, Jason Alderson was present though his disappearance earlier had given Chris cause for concern and the gunslinger wondered how he was going to handle the decision whatever it was. The courtroom was filled with anticipation as all parties waited for the jury to return. Nathan was tense and Ezra who had been impeccable in providing moral support throughout all this remained faithfully at his side. Chris could not help seeing the irony of it, recalling a time when Ezra had refused to join them because Nathan, a black man, would be riding with them. Times had
certainly changed, Chris thought.
"Nathan," Ezra whispered to the healer as the jury filed into the room. "I would like you to know that if this does not go the way we wish, I will be on hand to help you in any way possible to escape your unjust incarceration."
"You'd break me out of a jail?" Nathan stared at the gambler with a little smile.
"Oh, it will be far more imaginative than a nail file in a pound cake I assure you, but yes," Ezra cracked a grin. "I would help you abscond. I hear Mexico is charming this time of the year."
"You'd do that wouldn't you?" Nathan met his eyes seriously. "You really would."
"Well, I cannot continue my journey to moral fortitude if you are not there can I?"
"Hey, Ezra," Nathan took the opportunity to speak before time ran out. "No matter
how this does go, thank you for being here. I don't know if I could have managed it otherwise and I'm not just talking about paying Mr. Winstanley."
Ezra knew precisely what he meant and the gambler had to avert his eyes lest his true emotions come rushing to the surface and create all kinds of awkwardness. "You are my associate. What else could I have done?" he said softly and for a brief instance, Nathan caught a glimpse of the Ezra Standish beneath the mask of indifference he wore like a shield. Nathan hoped that he would see that person again soon.
He was someone worth knowing.
"Has the jury reached its verdict?" Orin Travis asked the jury a few seconds later. The room was charged with anticipation as everyone waited for the trial to come to its conclusion.
"Yes, your honor," the head juror remarked and handed the slip of paper that would decide Nathan's fate to the judge.
Travis studied its contents and then ordered Nathan to his feet before instructing the juror to announce their verdict.
Nathan took a deep breath, telling himself that if worse came to worse, he had options and friends who would help him. His heart was pounding in a mixture of terror, panic and resignation at what would come next. It was a heady feeling. Behind him, the rest of the seven were just as agitated. Each man was trying to decide how they would react if the verdict was not in their favor. Most had come to the conclusion that they would risk everything if it meant their friend would not hang. He was innocent and men who made laws and judgments could make mistake as this whole trial had proved in its very existence.
Everyone's breath stayed in their throats as the juror finally opened his mouth to speak. "We, the jury, find Nathan Jackson, innocent of murder."
The courtroom exploded with sounds of applause and approval at the decision, eclipsing Judge Travis dismissal of the jury and the voices of protest. Buck Wilmington threw his hat up in the air and crossed quickly to the table where Nathan was seated, embracing the man in a bear hug while Vin and JD patted him across the back and Ezra took the opportunity to shake Winstanley's hands as Josiah offered similar thanks. Nathan was soon surrounded by well wishers, with Mary in the lead. The lovely newspaperwoman found herself hugging the healer, caring little about how improper such an act probably was. However, in the euphoria of the moment no one seemed to notice its impropriety.
Although Chris Larabee was grateful for the verdict, he was far from ready to enjoy the moment. Following the delivery of the verdict and the pandemonium that ensued, the gunslinger had lost sight of Jason Alderson. The young man had left the courtroom the minute the jury had announced their decision, leaving his mother and sisters to lament the judgment. Simonson was also nowhere to be seen and suddenly Chris had a very bad feeling that something was in the wind that did not bode well for Nathan. He shifted through the group of well wishers around Nathan and tapped Vin's shoulder lightly. The tracker had only to make contact with his eyes to know that something was up and immediately pulled himself away from the others.
"What's up?" Vin asked.
"You see where Jason and Simonson went?" Chris inquired, knowing that there was very little that Vin did not notice although on this occasion it would be permissible if he left the duo slip past him.
"They stormed out of here the minute the verdict was read," Vin answered and saw the tension in Chris' jaw at that news. "You think there's trouble?"
"Yeah," Chris nodded looking around the rapidly emptying courtroom. Lightfoot
was walking the Alderson women towards the door and Chris could hear the chatter of people outside who were told of the verdict. It was difficult to tell from in cacophony of voices whether the news as good or not. Chris looked at Vin and said in a low voice. "Take JD and get up high. I want you to keep an eye on things from above."
Vin's response was the barest hint of a nod before he disappeared out of the courtroom, taking JD with him. It was at this point that Chris went to Nathan. The somber expression on his face immediately dampened the light atmosphere but those who knew Chris also understood that it was usually displayed with good reason.
"Something wrong?" Nathan asked Chris.
"Mr. Winstanley, I think you and Mary ought to get out of here and indoors someplace else," Chris ordered. "Judge, you too."
"What's up Chris?" Buck asked automatically as Josiah took Chris' instruction to Winstanley, Mary and the Judge as his cue to usher them out of the building.
"I've got a bad feeling," Chris said simply.
"I hate those feelings," Buck grumbled. "Alderson's kid?"
Chris nodded in answer.
"I thought the boy seemed a might hot headed." His old friend sighed. "What do we do?"
"I want you to go around the back, see if we got any surprises coming our way," Chris ordered. "I've already got Vin and JD taking point so you'll have someone watching your back."
"You think he's going to try and shoot me?" Nathan looked at Chris.
"I think he's going to try and lynch you."
"He would be insane!" Ezra exclaimed.
"Boy's angry and he thinks that justice hasn't been done. He's liable to do something stupid so we're not taking any chances," Chris replied. "We're going out the front door. Ezra take flank."
"I can look after myself," Nathan declared, not about to let his friends be harmed because of him. They had already done enough for him.
"Learn to take your own advice Nathan," Chris replied crisply. By now, the courtroom was empty and they were the last ones in the room. Chris and Ezra took flanking positions next to the healer as they walked out the doorway.
Daylight hit their eyes as they emerged into the afternoon sun. There was still a large body of people on the street, some applauded upon seeing Nathan, while others jeered. It was hard to say who outnumbered who. Chris scoured the crowd and tried to spot Jason amongst the faces.
There were too many people on the street for his liking and Chris had no idea when Jason would strike since he only had this gut feeling to tell him that trouble was eminent. It was a feeling heavy on instinct but unfortunately short on detail.
They started down the steps when suddenly Chris saw doors swing open at the saloon directly across the street from the grain exchange and men appeared through the door, striding towards them at a brisk pace. Jason was in the lead and Simonson next to him. All were heavily armed. Some of the faces were men Chris recognized during the fight that saw Alderson killed. Others were people he saw around town but did not know personally. Chris assumed that Jason had rounded them up during the hiatus between the jury's deliberation and their eventual verdict.
Their appearance sent people scattering, creating a wide berth as they strode towards the three members of the seven. Chris looked around and saw no sign of Josiah, assuming the preacher was probably laying low and taking up an optimum firing position. Antoinette Alderson watched in horror as her boy strode forward and was held back by her daughter from running after him. Lightfoot was watching the proceedings from as far behind the remaining crowd as possible, while Mary, Winstanley and the Judge were predictably at the head of it.
"We want the nigger!" Jason shouted, his weapon drawn. "Give him to us!"
"Boy, you're walking into a world of trouble!" Judge Travis shouted and found Simonson double barrel aimed promptly at him. "The jury has made their decision!" Travis said nonetheless, afraid of nothing and proving it.
"Then they're wrong!" Jason shouted. "He killed my pa!"
"I killed you pa!" Chris shouted back. "I pulled the trigger."
"You just shot him!" the young man barked. "That nigger killed him!"
"You're right I did," Nathan declared suddenly, silencing everyone.
"There! You admit it!" Jason roared triumphantly. "Say it again!"
"Okay," Nathan nodded. "I killed him by being what I am. He hated me so much that he died for it so I suppose that kind of makes it my fault, doesn't it?"
"You're damn right it does," Jason snarled and raised his gun to fire. Chris reacted drawing his own gun with Ezra doing the same before someone else's voice spoke up and it was neither the seven's nor the judges.
"If you pull that trigger, you're going have to shoot me to get to him," Rose Anderson declared stepping in front of the boy's gun. The young woman was carrying her baby in her arms and following her was her husband.
"Get out of the way!" Jason shouted. "I'll kill you, don't think I won't!"
"You're going to have to shoot me because if it wasn't for Nathan, me and my baby would have died so I'm not letting you do it," Rose stated boldly. She was a petite thing but when she spoke, she commanded the attention of everyone who saw her. "I'm not letting you hurt him because you can't accept that your father was beyond help."
"Then you gonna have to shoot me." Anderson spoke up for his wife. "Because I owe Nathan Jackson a debt of thanks for saving her life and my little girl."
"Nathan's helped my son through measles, the chicken pox and just about every ailment he's had in the last four years." Mary said coolly and joined the young couple. "I guess you'll have to kill all three of us."
Suddenly, a most amazing thing happened that surprised even the jaded soul of Chris Larabee. Virgil Watson stepped forward and counted himself among the growing human shield willing to die to protect Nathan. Virgil was followed by Yosemite and then Mayor Weston. Next to him, holding her young niece's hand was Nettie Wells. Gloria Potter and Inez Rocillos stood next to them and suddenly, Jason could not even see Nathan anymore for the swelling ranks of faces who were refusing to let him lynch an innocent man.
"Enough Jason," The last voice to speak was the one who finally drove home the
futility of this entire action. "Your father is gone and this man had nothing to do with it."
Jason Alderson stared at his mother in betrayal. "How can you say that?" he demanded. "He killed pa!"
"He didn't kill anyone." Antoinette shook her head, having no wish to bury a son so soon after his father. "Your father is dead because he was beyond help. Let it go son, for me."
"Listen to her Jason," Chris spoke sharply. "I don't want this to end bloody and you know it can happen that way. Your ma has suffered enough." Just to make his point, Chris glanced over his shoulder. The men with Jason followed his gaze around and saw Vin Tanner with his rifled aimed into the thickest part of their number and JD Dunne was primed with both guns drawn. With perfect line of sight to fire at them, Buck Wilmington and Josiah Sanchez were equally ready to cut them down.
"Please," Antoinette implored her oldest, placing her hands on the gun he would have used to kill Nathan and forcing him to lower it.
Jason met her gaze and felt his expression melt because Larabee was right, he could not make his ma suffer, no matter how much it hurt to lose his pa. "I'm sorry ma!" He cried out, dropping the weapon and allowing her to take him into his arms as he wept the first real tears he had shed since his father had died. "I just wanted to do right by him." He wept in her embrace. "I just wanted justice done."
"Justice got done, boy." Travis offered gently. "It's not easy to accept it sometimes, but it was done."
Chris glared at Simonson and hissed. "It's over, go home."
Simonson wanted to argue but like the rest of his companions saw that they were alone in their wish to prolong this incident and the accusing eyes of their neighbors was enough to convince them that it was time to withdraw. With a scowl, Simonson retreated, the others in his party following him. Antoinette Alderson drew her son away, the rest of the family following so that finally they could put this behind him.
"You see," Mary came up to Chris and remarked with a proud smile as she saw Nathan waving to the friends who had stood up for him and the townsfolk who had come through for him so valiantly and shown him that perhaps color did not always divide people. "We can surprise you."
"You're going to never let me live this down are you?" Chris grumbled.
A mischievous smile crossed her face and she replied with a thoroughly evil glint in her eyes. "Not if you live to be a hundred."
Chris glared at her and retorted. "Keep it up and you won't live that long."
Two days later and things in Four Corners had pretty much returned to normal. The heat was still blistering and the talk had reverted to statehood and its pros and cons. Folk were hiding in the saloons and staying indoors to escape the warm temperatures and the seven found themselves in the Standish Tavern having an afternoon drink following a rather uneventful day. Gareth Winstanley had returned to Bitter Creek with the seven's thanks as well as a promise to refer any one who needed legal help to his door. After his performance in Nathan's defense, he was about the only lawyer that any of the seven could stomach.
Lightfoot, on the other hand, had slithered out of town quietly, tail tucked between his legs. Jason Alderson had taken up his father's farm and was more interested in looking after his family than stirring up any more trouble. Simonson was still around and Chris was certain that they would have to deal with the man at some point in the future but that could be dealt with another day.
The only thing the seven had in mind for this afternoon was beer and a card game.
"Any luck on that impostor?" Nathan asked as he sat around their usual table, playing cards with Buck, Ezra and Josiah.
"No luck at all," Chris muttered unhappily as he nursed his mug of beer. "Of course Lightfoot is the only one who saw her and after getting his ass kicked in court, he was not that eager to talk to us."
"Imagine that," Vin said sarcastically.
"Are you sure you won't join us Mr. Tanner?" Ezra looked in his direction, trying to entice him into playing since he had already cleaned out his present company of players. "I've taken all the money there is to be had on this table. I need fresh capital if I'm going to buy another saloon."
"Ezra, how many times do you need your fingers burnt?" Buck teased as he tossed his cards down on the table in defeat.
"You know, Ezra," Nathan spoke up. "I'm gonna pay you and Chris back every cent it cost you for Winstanley."
"Forget it," Chris said automatically. "My money's just sitting in the bank doing
nothing."
"And exactly how much is that Mr. Larabee?" Ezra asked.
"Enough." Chris grinned at him, knowing the lack of an answer would drive the gambler crazy, especially where money was concerned.
"Seriously," Nathan refused to let his friends distract him from the point he was making. "I'm going to pay you both back, " he said firmly and then added in a slightly melancholic tone. "That is if people ever trust me as a healer again." He sighed gloomily.
"Give them time," Josiah replied automatically. "Once this business with Alderson gets forgotten, they'll be knocking on your door again."
"Yeah, Nathan," JD added. "I mean where else are they gonna go? You're all they've got!"
"Smooth JD," Buck rolled his eyes. "Real smooth."
Nathan frowned and realized that the two pair in his hand was not even that. "I hope you're right, it's been mighty quiet...."
The batwing doors swung open and suddenly young Donnie Collier ran through the door and headed straight for their table.
"Mr. Jackson, Mr. Jackson, you got to come quick! Pa came home drunk and fell over and broke his leg and ma can't get him to stop throwing up. There's puke everywhere!" The boy grabbed Nathan's hand and fairly yanked the healer out of his chair.
"You see, Nathan," Vin grinned. "You get to do all the fun stuff."
Nathan's reply was a universal gesture involving the middle finger but the rest of the seven could swear that as he was being dragged out of the saloon, the expression on his face was a smile.
THE END
The Scribe would love to hear what you thought of her episode!