Part 17
“Do it, Buck. Let him go.”
Wilmington stiffened when he heard the gruff voice at his back. Nathan was right – Chris was on his feet again, which meant the ladies man would suffer a reproachful ‘I told you so’ when the healer woke up. He turned and stared at the figure standing hunched over behind him. The gunfighter looked ready to drop; he also looked ready to kill. Nevertheless, he had to stop Ezra from doing himself permanent damage. “I can’t, Chris, he’s gonna tear himself up fightin’ us the way he is.”
“He’s fighting you because he thinks you’re the ones who did this to him.”
“I’ll get through to him.”
“Not like that you won’t, now let him go.”
Buck looked back again to see Larabee step into the light cast by the bedside lantern. The expression on his friend’s face was something akin to worry only a hundred times more dangerous. He glanced at Vin and together the two men surrendered their hold. When Chris staggered towards the bed, Buck went so far as to surrender his seat. He then took the gunfighter by the elbow and helped him settle on the mattress as he discreetly motioned for Vin to fetch Nathan.
Chris briefly clung to Buck to steady himself against the rush to his brain. The journey across the room had cost him what little energy he’d gained from his short nap and the dizziness was overwhelming. He’d wakened the moment Ezra started tossing in his delirium, but it had taken him all this time to gain his feet. Now there was next to nothing to pull from, but still he had to find the strength to do what needed doing. He ran a hand through his tousled blond hair and straightened as best he could.
Detecting the weight on the mattress Ezra clambered backwards until he had no place else to go. He yelped in pain when his torn back bumped the solid headboard. He tried to regain control, wanting desperately to say something, but in the end couldn’t make himself understood.
“Ezra,” Chris called quietly.
The Southerner didn’t acknowledge him. Instead he abandoned his attempt at speech and began struggling against the sling tied around his body. “Let… go,” he finally got out.
Chris called again and moved closer, being careful not to touch him. “Ezra, look at me. It’s Chris.” The fight against the imagined assailants lessened only a little, but it was enough for the gunfighter to hope he might have a chance of getting through to the gambler.
“Don’t,” Standish said ahead of a stream of mumbled words, and pulled away.
“I said look at me,” Chris insisted in a tone he’d used in the past to get the gambler’s attention. It apparently still had some effect because the scramble to move off the bed stopped even if the battle against the sling didn’t. “Do it, Ezra.”
Unseeing eyes moved suspiciously from side to side. Someone was with him… someone who shouldn’t be. A flicker of memory flashed through his brain. “No,” he whispered in warning. “Go away.”
“I’m not leaving you.”
The flicker returned, slowing just enough for him to recognize who was there. “Chris?”
“Yeah.”
“You have to go. I can’t do this… much longer.”
“You don’t have to, Ezra.”
“Can’t… I can’t…” The gambler jerked hard against the sling. “I can’t feel…” He fought harder but achieved little more than breaking open wounds Nathan had sewn closed. Blood seeped through the white bandages around his chest and abdomen, but he was determined and wouldn’t give up until he freed himself. “Get off me,” he yelled.
“Ezra,” the gunfighter said sharply. “Don’t move! You hear me? Stay still and let me cut you loose.”
Standish froze. Chris was going to cut him free? Hadn’t he already made that promise? There was pain in his wrists and he was hanging, but he couldn’t remember why or how. His mind was such a jumbled mess he couldn’t make sense of events or the passage of time, but it didn’t stop him trying. “They hung me… I can’t stand.”
“I know. I’ll cut you loose, just stay still.” Chris reached for the piece of cloth holding Ezra’s sling in place but fumbled slightly with the knot. He bumped the Southerner’s arm and felt him pull away. “It’s alright, be still.”
Surprisingly, Ezra did as he was told.
Buck watched in amazement. He’d never seen Chris so at ease with Ezra before. There was a trust between the two that quite frankly took him off guard. He wasn’t sure if they were even aware of it, but that trust was the only thing holding the gambler together at the moment and he prayed Chris’ strength would last long enough to see him through. He tore his eyes away long enough to see Vin and Nathan standing in the doorway to the back room. Both men stared but neither man moved. They were obviously as astounded as he was.
Chris finally loosened the stubborn knot and untied the strap around the sling. Ezra was free to raise his elbow now but his arm was still trapped in the confines of its cloth cradle. When he reached to untie the material behind his friend’s neck he heard two voices call out. One was Ezra, startled by the hand near his face, and the other was Nathan, warning him against releasing the injured arm. He caught the green eyes staring at him in fear and reassured the gambler with a few quiet words. He let Buck handle Nathan, and listened as the ladies man asked him not to interfere. A moment later, the sling was lowered and Ezra was allowed to bring his two hands together. “Go slow, don’t move too fast,” Chris cautioned.
Again, Ezra did as he was told and slowly rolled onto his side. “Hank,” he said unexpectedly.
“What?”
He tucked his chin and repeated, “Hank.”
A little surprised by the gambler’s concern, Larabee answered, “Hank’s fine, he’s gone now.” There was no sense telling him Connelly was dead and his sacrifice had been for nothing.
A small smile appeared just before a deep hacking cough overcame him and doubled him over. Everyone in the room reacted at once and reached out to offer comfort. The closeness and the contact drew the demons from Ezra’s mind and he was forced once again to retreat. “No,” he cried. “Get off me!”
The three men standing backed away.
Chris stayed put. “It’s alright, Ezra, no one’s gonna touch you. No one’s gonna hold you down.”
“M-my sins… my sins,” the weary man mumbled. He drew both hands towards his chest and flinched when his left shoulder moved forward.
“What’s he saying?” asked Buck.
Nathan neared the bed. “I don’t know, but we need to watch that arm of his. He can’t afford to pull that shoulder out again. You shouldn’t have untied those bandages, Chris.”
“I had no choice. Tying him up is the last thing he needs right now. If we’re gonna get through to him we need to let him know he’s not with the Nichols any more. They held him down to butcher him; we ain’t holdin’ him down to help him.”
Buck stood next to Chris. “Well, you gettin’ him to settle down is as close to him knowin’ he’s safe as he’s been since we cut him down at the hotel. That was good work, pard.”
“He ain’t safe yet. We still gotta get through to him and this fever ain’t helpin’,” Larabee answered. “Nathan, can you make up some of that tea of yours? I’ll see if I can get him to take some.”
The healer nodded. “I’ll be right back, just keep him still, alright?”
Chris agreed and shifted uncomfortably on the bed.
“You okay?” Vin asked, seeing the gunfighter pale. “It’d probably be a good idea for you to have some of that tea yourself.”
“Later, right now we need to…”
“Noooo,” Ezra said tightly, rolling further onto his side.
Chris noticed the awkward position he was forcing his shoulder into and put a hand out to stop him. Ezra jerked away and began muttering a stream of curses the gunfighter was sure he’d never heard the eloquent man use before. “Don’t, Ezra, don’t move.”
The curses soon faded but the hallucinations of Standish’s delirium seemingly ushered in a deeper feeling of dread and fear. “Knife… no, not a knife… next time… next time…”
“Easy, Ezra.”
“No… Oh God...” The Southerner’s breathing quickened and before he could say another word he choked.
Buck and Vin moved to either side of the bed. Chris scooted further up the mattress. Damn, how the devil were they going to get through to him if they couldn’t touch him? Then Chris recalled his original plan. They couldn’t touch him, but… “Ezra,” he called. “Can you hear me? I need your help.”
Ezra was still gagging but appeared to be searching for the voice speaking to him.
“We have to get out of here and we have to do it now. But I can’t reach you. I need you to give me your hand.”
The gambler actually swallowed the strangling sensation in his throat and tried to listen.
“Come on, Ezra, we have to go. Give me your hand!”
“I can’t.”
“Yes you can.”
Confusion filled the blind eyes. “I don’t understand. You… can’t be here.”
“I am here, Ezra. I’ve cut you loose and we’re gonna go see Nathan, but you have to help me.”
“Nathan… was here.”
“Yes he was. He came and told me where you were. He brought me here.”
Standish’s green eyes grew large with fear. “No, no, no,” he said quickly. Then he twisted around suddenly and grabbed hold of Chris’ unbuttoned shirt. “They’ll kill you!”
The reaction was so abrupt the gunfighter barely had time to respond. He snatched the smaller man’s wrists and held on tight to keep himself from being knocked off the bed.
“They’ll kill you,” Ezra cried. “I didn’t tell them, I swear!”
“Ezra! No one’s gonna kill me! It’s alright.”
“They’ll kill you!”
Nathan ran back into the room just in time to see Chris seize Ezra by the wrists and shake him. “What the hell?”
“Listen to me. No one is going to kill me,” Chris cried. He let go the hands when he noticed blood soaking through the bandages. He hadn’t meant to grip him so tightly but he had to get the gambler to make a move towards his own rescue. “Come on, Ezra, it’s time to go! Give me your hand!”
“I can’t!”
“Damn it Ezra, don’t argue with me!”
“You shouldn’t have to pay… for my sins… They said they’d do it … Please, Chris…”
“What are you talking about? What sins?”
“Punished me… for my sins,” he answered stiffly.
“The Nichols?”
Wild eyes searched the low light until they found Chris’ face. “I didn’t tell them… I know I didn’t.” The fearful stare lowered and came to rest on two bloody wrists. “S-so they did it.” When Ezra raised his eyes again, they were so filled with pain, Chris thought his heart would stop. “Oh God, they did it,” the gambler said despondently. Finally, after several moments of repeating the same words over and over, the overwhelming fatigue in his body forced him into collapse. Chris caught him as he pitched forward, gathered him carefully against his shoulder and maneuvered him back onto the pillows.
The fight had gone out of Ezra; giving Nathan the opportunity to coerce him into drinking. The gambler swallowed the liquid obediently but still didn’t like being touched. He drank his fill, curled into the pillows and returned his hands to his chest. Every breath he took after that elicited a pain-filled moan, but he never spoke another word.
Buck fell into the chair next to the bed. “Nathan, is he gonna be okay?”
“We need to get his fever down. His body’s fightin’ as hard as it can, but he’s gettin’ weaker.”
“How ‘bout his mind, Nate?” Vin asked. “Seems like it’s fightin’ just as hard.”
The healer didn’t answer and it was that awkward silence which drew Chris’ attention to the peculiar look on Jackson’s face.
Buck bent forward to rest his elbows on his knees. “That was good thinkin’ not telling him about Hank, Chris. I just wish I knew what he was talking about when he said ‘his sins.’ What did he mean?”
The gunfighter was so rapt in thought he didn’t realize he’d been spoken to. He just stared at Ezra and thought about the things he’d said. The fear was indisputable – he was genuinely terrified and absolutely convinced that whatever the Nichols had threatened him with, they had done. He listened to the words in his head again and tried to piece things together. It didn’t take long for him to begin to understand. “Oh, shit,” he said suddenly as he reached for one of the hands folded on Ezra’s chest.
“What is it, Chris?” asked Buck.
Ezra withdrew but Larabee took his hand anyway. “Hold his arm, Buck,” he answered sharply, “carefully.”
“Do you know what’s wrong with him?”
Gently he pulled the hand into the light and stared at the bloody bindings.
Nathan, busy wiping Ezra’s face, stopped when he noticed what was going on. “Chris, leave those bandages. I’ll change them once he’s gone to sleep.”
The gunfighter turned the hand and continued to stare.
“Did you hear me? I’ll take care of those.”
He looked at the healer’s face and saw an unsettling nervousness. “You know, don’t you? You’ve known all along.”
“Chris…”
“Vin, get me a pair of scissors.”
Tanner did as instructed. “You have an idea what Ezra was talkin’ about?”
The gunfighter cautiously snipped the cloth around the tattered wrists. “Yes.”
Wilmington hovered behind him. “What did they do to him?”
Chris kept working.
“Talk to me!” Buck hollered impatiently.
“Well, if you were going to make a gambler pay for his sins, where would you start?”
“Hunh?”
“What does a gambler need most in his profession, Buck?” Chris slowly peeled back the bandages.
“Oh hell,” Wilmington replied when he figured it out, “his hands. Those bastards threatened to take his hands.”
“Exactly, and Ezra thinks they did it.”
“But they didn’t, they’re both still there.”
“His mind’s tellin’ him something else. He thinks they really cut ‘em off.”
“My God…”
Chris raised the injured limb to the light. What he saw turned his stomach.
Nathan appeared behind him with a basin of clean water and a rag. “Let me clean him up,” he said quietly and waited for Buck to move the gunfighter to the chair.
Chris paled even more but held himself together. “Why didn’t you tell me, Nathan? You knew and you didn’t say anything.”
“I suspected, I didn’t know for sure,” Jackson replied.
Buck stepped closer. “What are you talkin’ about?”
“When ya’ll brought him in, Chris noticed his wrists were messed up pretty bad. I looked at ‘em and knew somethin’ wasn’t right about the wounds, but I didn’t figure it out ‘til Ezra started talkin’ in his sleep.”
“What d’ya mean?” Vin asked.
Jackson offered the naked wrist for Tanner’s inspection. Vin took the trembling hand in his own and examined it thoroughly before he spoke. “The underside’s torn up from his weight pulling on it. You can’t hardly miss rope burns. But the back’s been cut,” he said, glancing at Nathan, “with a knife.”
“Repeatedly,” Chris added.
Buck was incredulous. “You mean they told him they were gonna cut his hands off, then cut him just enough to make him think it was happening?”
“Over and over. Remember what he kept saying: ‘Next time, next time they said they’d do it’. They played with him for a long time but at some point they made him believe they actually went through with it.”
“Son of a bitch!” Buck growled. “So he keeps reliving the moment he thinks they took his hands.”
“He’s too sick right now to know the difference,” Nathan said as he began washing and rewrapping Ezra’s injuries.
Chris straightened against the back of the chair. “What I want to know is why you didn’t tell us. Even if you just suspected what they’d done, you should have said something.”
“So you’d’ve had more reason to put yourself at risk?”
The gunfighter didn’t understand.
“Look at you, Chris, you’re so sick you can barely stand. You’re just too damned stubborn for your own good. You hid bein’ hurt from us, you fought me when I took that bullet outta you, and you ain’t barely had a minute’s rest since this whole thing started. I had no idea what you’d do if I said somethin’.”
“I’m fine, Nathan, so just stop worrying about me and concentrate on helping him,” Larabee answered, pointing irritably at the man on the bed.
“It’s my job to worry!”
Chris raised himself off the chair. “I’m nobody’s job!” he shouted. The sudden movement sent him sideways into Buck.
“Alright,” Vin hollered, “knock it off! We need to save the fightin’ for the Nichols.”
Buck sat Chris down again and waited for him to catch his breath. “You okay?”
He gritted his teeth against the hurt in his belly. “Yeah,” he said. “Vin’s right. We have to take those bastards down and we have to do it soon. Get out there and find them.”
The tracker grabbed his gun and headed for the door.
“Vin.”
Tanner turned back to see Chris’ fevered eyes boring into him.
“Save a piece for me.”
Part 18
Josiah stood outside the door of the jail and scanned the streets as Archie Sanders walked Mary back to the safety of the Clarion. The older gentleman had taken it upon himself to escort many of the ladies around town so they could conduct their business without fear, and since Mary had insisted on preparing and delivering meals for the seven men who protected Four Corners he was only too happy to accompany her on her mission. Archie hurried along to open the door to the newspaper office for his pretty young charge, waved her inside and made sure the door was secure before he departed.
Surveying the area one last time, Josiah finally gave in to the smell of hot food and reentered the jail. As he locked the door behind him, he saw JD stuff a large piece of bread into his mouth. “Much better than the food at the saloon, ain’t it?” he remarked.
JD nodded as he savored the taste in his mouth. It was the first time Josiah had ever seen the boy actually take time to chew. Usually he bolted his food without regard to what it would do to his stomach, but this was home cooking, something neither of them had tasted in months.
“You know that bread tastes even better when you slather butter all over it,” he advised, scooting JD around the desk and into the chair as he made himself comfortable on the bench he’d dragged from the window. “Pass me some of that stew before my stomach thinks my throat’s been cut.”
JD obliged him and dove into the large helping he’d spooned out for himself. After several enthusiastic bites, he finally came up for air. “That was real nice of Miss Mary to do this for us. I ain’t tasted nothing this good ever. I bet Nathan and the others were sure glad to get some.” That said, the young man filled his spoon again and shoved it into his mouth.
Josiah wiped his chin. “Amen to that. I doubt Nathan’s had time to even think of food, much less where it was gonna come from.” He pulled the buttered bread apart with his fingers and paused. “He sure looked worried when he was here before. Ezra ain’t doin’ so good.”
JD stopped chewing at the mention of the gambler’s name and stared at the preacher.
“There’s not much tellin’ what those men did to him in the time they had him.”
Dunne set his spoon down and pushed the bread aside as his appetite began to fade. “I ain’t never seen anybody so torn up before. Can a man survive what he’s been through?”
“I suppose that all depends on the man.”
“Yeah,” he said sadly.
“Just remember, that man’s Ezra. I have a feelin’ he’s been through many vicious times in his life, probably all on his own. There’s no reason to think he won’t get through this, especially with all of us to help him.”
The young sheriff didn’t look convinced.
“Have faith, JD.”
“Oh, I have faith in Ezra, Josiah. I learned a long time ago he ain’t all about fancy clothes and pretty talk. He’s tougher than he looks. I’m just worried we might not get our old Ezra back when this is all over.”
Sanchez thought a moment before he spoke. “I can’t say what Ezra’s gonna be like on the other side of this, but I figure we’ll all be changed by what he’s goin’ through. We deal with it together. We don’t let him down and we don’t let him think he’s let us down.”
“How could he think he’s let us down? He nearly died tryin’ to protect Chris and Hank.”
“When a man suffers at the hands of someone as evil as the Nichols family you don’t know what he’s liable to wake up thinkin’.”
Understanding crossed the young man’s face. “It won’t matter though, will it,” he said with a hint of hopefulness. “We’ll take care of him.”
Josiah smiled his agreement.
“We’re his family now,” Dunne added decisively, as if the declaration was something he’d been giving considerable thought.
“From your lips to God’s ears.”
A grim laugh sliced through the moment like a knife. “A family? You really believe you bunch of heathens are a family?” The laugh sharpened.
JD began to rise but Josiah put out a hand to stop him.
“You’re a gang of hired guns!”
Josiah calmly pushed his bowl from the edge of the table, stood and walked towards the cell housing John Nichols. The man now sported two wrapped limbs cradled in the same sling across his chest. He looked ridiculous, sprawled on the cot, but he doubted the youth was aware of it given his ego. Sanchez stood tall outside the cell and looked down on its occupant. “You do like to hear yourself talk, don’t you?”
John craned his neck to look up. “I have to entertain myself somehow, there’s so little intelligent conversation around here.”
“You may be a talkative sort, son, but intelligent you ain’t. Seems to me a rabid dog might have more meaningful things to say. And I mean no disrespect to the dog.”
“You’re out of your mind. You don’t seem to understand what it means to be a Nichols.”
“Oh, I understand, I’m just not particularly impressed by it.”
“You might wanna rethink that, old man.”
Josiah paused and cocked his head as if awaiting some sort of divine inspiration. “Nope, mind’s made, there’s no changin’ it now.”
JD grinned.
“As a Nichols, I’m a part of a family who’s respected and envied. Back home, folks would give their eyeteeth just to be near us. We’re strong, and powerful and capable of achieving any goal we set. My brothers and cousins want for nothing. My ma and uncle have done great things to secure our future so we can focus on making our family grow and prosper. It’s an empire; one that’ll last forever.”
“That’s quite a leap from family to empire.”
“You couldn’t understand.” He tried to raise himself to a more comfortable position.
“You’d be surprised. In the traditional sense families are usually created by the procreation of a man and a woman united in matrimony. It’s a blessed thing in the eyes of God. But I hardly think the Good Lord would be displeased by those families created through experience, likeness of spirit or even a common goal.”
Nichols scowled.
“Family are simply those people who put you before themselves; they protect you, support you, and jerk a knot in your tail every now and again just ‘cause ya need it. My good friend Ezra, the man your family took a knife and a whip to, he’s my family, as are Chris and Nathan and young JD here,” Josiah said as he squatted down to meet John face to face. “And when I hear someone bad mouthin’ ‘em I admit it really makes me angry, and I wanna forget I’m a man of God and permanently shut their mouth.”
JD couldn’t see the look on Sanchez’ face, but he knew it must have been intense because he could have sworn Nichols shudderd before he pulled away.
Josiah continued. “But I value my family and I wanna continue to share in the good fortune of having found it, so I control myself. There are times when it takes every ounce of my strength, but I do it.”
“Control is highly overrated.”
“It’s the only thing keepin’ you alive at the moment.”
John backed away even further. “You call yourself a family. There’s no blood between you, not like me and mine.”
“Oh, there’s blood between us, plenty of it, every time we fight -- for each other and for this town.”
“You know what I’m sayin’.”
“I’ll give it to you that you and the others all sprang from the same womb, but that ain’t all it takes to make people family.”
“We didn’t all spring from the same womb,” he answered smugly, “but our blood all comes from the Nichols line.”
JD came around the desk and neared the cell. “What d’ya mean?”
“Peter, Mark, Paul and Anthony are all my brothers. Matthew and Luke are my cousins, but they were both raised by Ma. Uncle Simon knew his wife couldn’t raise them properly so he put ‘em in Ma’s care. He always says she’s done an amazing job bringing them up.”
“Your uncle just took ‘em away from their mother?”
“She was too weak, too tolerant to raise ‘em right. Uncle Simon spotted it right off.”
“So what happened to their ma?” asked JD.
“My uncle kept her around for a while but she kept causin’ trouble. Didn’t take long for him to get a gut full and take care of her.”
“Take care of her how?”
Nichols cracked a devilish grin. “It’s probably best you don’t know. You don’t look man enough to handle it.”
Josiah watched his friend ’s look of bewilderment, grateful the youth hadn’t been goaded into responding to John’s last statement. “JD,” he called, “why don’t you get back to that stew? It’d be a shame to let it get cold.”
The young sheriff followed his advice and returned to his place at the desk. In the meantime, Sanchez rose eyeing the smirk on his prisoner’s face. “You’re a lost soul, John Nichols.”
“No I’m not, preacher; I know exactly who I am and what I stand for.”
“Well I’m afraid you have your ma to blame for that,” Josiah replied and turned to walk away.
“They’ll come for me. My brothers, my blood, will come for me. They’ll show you what family is about!” John shouted just before he broke into a maniacal fit of laughter.
Josiah ignored him and took his seat on the bench. Then he pushed his half empty bowl towards the pot of steaming stew and motioned to JD. “Care to warm it up for me, brother?”
Dunne beamed when he caught the preacher’s meaning.
M7M7M7M7M7M7M7
Vin had been searching the north end of town on his own for more than two hours before he decided to go by the jail to ask Josiah to lend him a hand checking the buildings lining either side of the main street. He banged on the locked door and waited for JD to let him in. “Everything all right in here?” he asked Dunne.
“Yeah, we’re good, what’s happenin’ back at the clinic?”
“When I left, Buck and Nathan had their hands full. Chris is worryin’ the hell out of ‘em and Ezra’s in a bad way.”
“How bad?” Josiah asked as he raised the light in the lantern.
“Bad enough. I’ll explain it all later, right now I need your help lookin’ for the Nichols. I can’t figure where they’re hidin’ but we need to find them before that wagon comes tomorrow.”
Sanchez double-checked his gun belt. “Good idea, it would be a shame for the brat to be all by his lonesome on his trip to Eagle Bend. Any idea where we should start? We’ve looked the town over three or four times and ain’t seen hide nor hair of ‘em.”
“We start at the beginning – the hotel. JD, you keep a close eye on our prisoner. If you even think his kin are makin’ a move to grab him, make as much noise as you can and we’ll come running. Don’t take any chances, got it?”
“I got it, Vin. Don’t worry about me. Just find the bastards who hurt Ezra.”
Tanner clasped a hand to the young man’s shoulder and silently promised he would do his best.
PARTS 1-4 / PARTS 5-7 / PARTS 8-10 / PARTS 11-13 / PARTS 14-16 / PARTS 19-20 / PARTS 21-23 / PARTS 24-26 / PARTS 27-28 / PARTS 29-30 / PARTS 31-32 / PART 33 / PART 34
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