Chris walked slowly into the middle of the dusty road separating the hotel and the saloon. He called out to Mrs. Nichols hoping to attract the attention of the whole Nichols clan. He needed to be the center of attention just long enough to have his men get into place and to be close enough to see if Ezra was still among the living. When he saw the battered Southerner raise his head of his own volition he breathed a small sigh of relief.
The Nichols matriarch heard the hail from the street and smiled. Barely holding her enthusiasm in check, she straightened her shoulders and strolled out the hotel entrance. She casually stepped in front of Ezra, taking out her white lace kerchief and using it to wipe at the blood running down his face and pooling around his collarbone. The gathering of blood was almost an act of ritual, a rite she was careful to perform, and in an instant the delicate white fabric was stained a deep crimson. She held the crumpled cloth reverently in her open hand and moved to stand next to Peter at the bottom of the hotel steps. “I carried a handkerchief exactly like this on the day my David was shot and killed. I held it to his wounds as I watched the life flow from him… I held him in my arms as he drew his last breath. I begged him that day not to die. I’ve begged no man since,” she said tightly, making sure Chris could clearly see the sodden lacey fabric. “Have you made your decision, Mr. Larabee?”
The gunfighter was admittedly taken aback by the vile gesture and wondered somewhere in the back of his mind if she and Hank weren’t both cast from the same mold. They were both grief-stricken, both seeking revenge and both using a piece of cloth to remind them of what they’d lost. The similarities were disturbing but pointless to think about since his focus needed to be on Ezra.
“Mr. Larabee, I’ve not come out here to bake in the sun. What have you come to say?”
Chris looked past her to see Ezra’s head fall onto his chest again.
“I’ll not be playin’ these games,” she snarled and grabbed the small whip from her son’s hand. When she turned to climb the steps, Chris knew he’d run out of time.
“No, wait! I’m here to make the trade,” he said quickly.
She froze on the bottom step and grinned. At last, she thought to herself. She turned and once more revealed the bloodstained handkerchief in her grasp. “No tricks, I warn you. I want Connelly out here in front of me. When I have him, you may have this worthless excuse for a man.” She motioned to Standish, who had grown very still.
“No tricks.”
“John,” she shouted to the son who stood inside the door behind her, “gather the family ‘round and be ready to take your brother’s killer.”
“Ma?”
“You heard me, John! We all have a stake in this murderer’s destruction.” She threw the whip she held to the ground, turned to the son at her side and reached inside his long black coat. She removed his gun and calmly placed it in his hand. “Peter, if you see them so much as…”
She never finished her sentence. Just as she was about to order the swift execution of their prisoner should the trade actually be a ruse, a loud commotion could be heard up the street. There on a horse rearing up for all to see, was the man she’d dreamt of destroying, Hank Connelly.
M7M7M7M7M7M7M7
The atmosphere in the street between the hotel and the saloon quickly sparked with excitement. JD smashed the ill-fitting hat on his head, pulled back the reins of Hank’s horse and forced the animal to take a couple of steps on his hind legs. The horse actually took the pose with ease and JD hastily turned him into two spinning circles before he kicked him in the sides and rode out of sight.
The Nichols boys ran from the hotel building one after the other when they heard their mother screaming at the top of her lungs to go after Connelly and bring him back to her alive. They obeyed without question and scrambled to find their mounts, but when they reached their horses several shots were fired and bullets churned the dirt at their feet.
Seeing the group disperse, Chris made a play to disarm Peter. He barreled into him, knocked the young man to the ground and wrestled for his weapon. Just as he was about to pull it free, he heard a shot nearby and turned just in time to see Mrs. Nichols grab her arm and fall. A dull thud sounded between them and he saw Ezra’s Derringer fall to the ground, a glint of sunlight gleaming off its short barrel. She’d meant to shoot him in the back but Josiah had fired a shot to stop her.
“Ma, no!” shouted Peter, relinquishing his own gun and crawling to his mother’s side.
Chris nodded to Josiah, who was crouched down behind the crates stacked outside the saloon’s entrance. The preacher nodded back and began shouting. Chris couldn’t make out what he was saying, but assumed it had something to do with being ready for the Nichols’ coach. He glanced back at the old lady and her son and quickly got to his feet. Holding the gun he’d taken in one hand he reached for the knife hidden in his waistband with the other.
The echo of gunfire sounded again but Chris paid no attention to it and made his move towards Ezra. He couldn’t let anything distract him, he had to cut the gambler free and get him to safety. He gave thought to changing the plan to use the coach and simply rush Ezra inside the hotel, but the gambler was looking worse with each passing second and needed to be tended by Nathan as soon as possible. There was no time for detours.
The sound of boots skidding in the dirt made Chris glance over his shoulder. He briefly saw Peter Nichols bundle up his mother and pull her toward the alley. She resisted him for a moment as she reached down to pick something off the ground. He watched as she scooped up Ezra’s Derringer and tucked it into the folds of her dress before her son forced her from the street. Damn, he should’ve grabbed that deadly little thing when he had the chance.
He turned his attention to the task at hand, substituting the knife in his waistband with the gun he’d taken from Nichols. “Ezra,” he called as he stood in front of the hanging man. “Ezra, can you hear me?”
One bloodshot green eye opened to stare vacantly at Chris. It blinked then blinked again before a gravelly voice spoke. “Told… you. He won’t… trade… not for m-me.”
Chris patted the gambler on the cheek as he bent down and tried to force him to look him in the eye. “You in there?”
Ezra flinched before he mumbled something that sounded like “Good as dead.”
“You ain’t there yet, but we gotta get you down so we can catch our ride outta here.”
The gambler’s face might have pulled a frown had half of it not been so swollen. He was obviously trying to understand who was speaking to him and why, but the effort was costing him precious strength. Then, as if someone had whispered the answer into his ear, he knew, and that knowledge terrified him. “You can’t b-be here. Oh, God… w-what have I done?” He tried to look away, down at his shredded feet, up at his deadened hands, anywhere but the face of the man standing in front of him.
“Whoa now, hold still, I’m gonna cut you loose.” Chris stared at his fellow lawman long and hard and quickly realized he didn’t know how he was going to do that without causing him unspeakable pain.
“I must have t-told… I swear… I don’t remember…Get away, run,” he stuttered.
“As soon as I cut you down, just stand still.”
“C-can’t… can’t stand.”
“I know, don’t you worry about it, just try not to move,” Chris said, doing enough worrying for the both of them. If he cut Ezra’s good arm loose first that would put all his weight on the dislocated shoulder. If he cut his injured arm free first it would likely twist and drop to the point it would tear something inside and his friend would suffer permanent damage. Some choice, but he had to make it. He’d have to try his best to hold him upright, free his awkward limb and lower it in such a way he wouldn’t injure him further. He prayed he’d figure the last bit out once the arm was let loose.
“Don’t… Hank,” Ezra muttered.
Chris barely understood him. “Hank? Hank’s in the saloon. It’s alright.”
“N-no… Hank,” he said the name again, this time a little clearer.
Understanding Ezra’s confusion, Chris ground out words of encouragement as he worked to set him free. He had to take hold of the battered body somehow but couldn’t see a way to do it without hurting him. He gritted his teeth, slid a supporting arm around the tattered waist, and pulled the gambler against him. Ezra groaned pitifully as the open cuts on his chest and belly pressed against the rough weave of Chris’ serape.
The gunfighter ignored the whimper near his ear and reached the knife over his head to begin slicing through the rope knotted at Ezra’s wrist. Gunfire could still be heard all around them, but he paid it no mind as he cut smoothly and quickly. Just as the last filament of rope was about to snap, he turned and tucked the knife beneath his thumb and used his fingers to grab for the gambler’s wrist. Gently, carefully, despite the chaos around him, he eased the limp arm downward.
There hadn’t been any feeling in Ezra’s hands for a long time, but as his arm began to lower, an overwhelming rip of agony traveled its entire length and stabbed into his shoulder. Blinding pain tore a heart-wrenching cry from his dry throat. His body trembled and his vision blurred.
“Damn, I’m sorry,” Chris apologized, resting the damaged limb as best he could at Ezra’s side. He pulled the shaking body closer and raised a hand to the back of the lawman’s head. “Breathe, just breathe.”
Some part of the Southerner’s brain understood the instruction and directed his lungs to comply. It took only a few moments, but amidst the insanity storming around them, Chris feared if he gave the man any longer to recover they’d be shot down in the street.
“Ezra, we’ve got to make this quick.”
A weak nod against his shoulder told him it was time to cut the other limb free. He was about to reach up with the knife again when he felt the body he held stiffen. The shift was intentional, but he wasn’t sure how the gambler had managed it since his feet were unable to bear weight, one hand was still tied overhead and the other was completely immobile. Something was wrong; he sensed it through the one person who could literally watch his back. “Ezra?” he asked, making no sudden moves.
Standish swallowed painfully as his eyes peered over Chris’ shoulder. “H-Hank,” he whispered near Larabee’s ear.
“Hank?” He couldn’t for the life of him understand why Ezra was so concerned for Hank. Had the old man been caught or worse, shot, by the Nichols?
Ezra drew as deep a breath as he was able and pushed a warning past his lips. “He’ll… kill you… get away from me.”
“I’m not leaving…”
“Damn it, Chris… Hank…” a cough stole away whatever else he had to say.
“You,” someone called from the street. “Turn around you black hearted son-of-a-bitch.”
Shit! Had one of the Nichols managed to sneak past Josiah and Nathan? The gunfighter gripped his burden tighter before he turned to look over his shoulder. Nichols and his mother were nowhere to be seen, but there behind him stood his father-in-law, holding a gun and pointing it straight at him. “Hank, get down, what the hell are you doing out here?”
“I’m here to kill the man who murdered my family.”
“What?” Chris asked in disbelief.
“You killed my daughter, my grandson, you murdered them and you’re going to pay,” Hank answered, his blue eyes distant and haunted.
“Hank, listen to me, put the gun down.”
Ezra didn’t truly comprehend why Connelly would be looking to kill Chris but his mind understood the seriousness of the threat even if Chris didn’t. He was also aware the gunfighter was completely defenseless as long as he was trying to save him. He shifted again and spoke quietly to the gunfighter. “You have to… leave me. Get out of here.”
Chris turned back to look Ezra in his one good eye. He was clearly standing between two madmen.
Hank pulled back the hammer on the gun he held. “You’re gonna die by my hand, for Sarah and for Adam.”
“Listen, old man, I don’t have time for this. Put that damn gun down and get back to the saloon. Don’t you get it, there are people looking to kill you! Remember the Nichols?”
“Nichols?”
“Yes, you killed David Nichols, remember? You said he killed Sarah and Adam. His family is here and they mean to shoot you on sight. Now get back to the saloon.”
The gun in Connelly’s hand wavered as a dark fog began to build in his brain. “Here?”
Chris knew there was no reaching him now. He’d just have to pray they had time to get him into the coach and back to safety. As if on cue, he heard the large vehicle round the corner of the building and move in his direction. “Hank,” he shouted, “when you see Buck, go with him! You understand? Go with Buck!” He saw the old man nod and look away.
The gunfighter turned to finish cutting Ezra loose just as he heard the wagon come to a stop not fifteen feet away. The gambler kept watch as best he could but Chris’ sawing was causing a rocking motion that sickened him. Pain and nausea grew inside and he wanted nothing more than to simply drop to the ground and surrender to his body’s desire to give up, but a greater desire coming from deep inside his soul overtook him.
“Chris,” he choked out as dust from the coach filled his lungs. “L-look out.”
Larabee literally felt Ezra’s warning against his neck as the gambler’s haggard breath blew hot against him. In that moment, time slowed and he became acutely aware of everything happening at once.
A voice from behind shouted, “No, Hank, don’t!” It sounded like Buck, but he couldn’t be sure since the plea was issued as a scream.
The rope holding Ezra’s wrist overhead finally gave way and snapped against the sharp blade of his knife.
A second voice, he assumed was Vin’s, yelled, “Chris, get down!”
The weight of the body he held sagged momentarily then righted itself of its own accord. He tried to maneuver himself into a position to pick Ezra up and carry him to the coach, but the gambler came at him, clumsily swinging his body forward and clung to him.
A horrifying growl filled the air just before the sound of a single gunshot resonated on the porch of the hotel building.
Ezra jerked and his upper body arced away until Chris snatched him back. The movement cost the gunfighter his balance and the two men fell, one atop the other, onto the sidewalk. He grunted in pain when he felt one of his own ribs give when he landed, but shook off the discomfort and tried to see the face of the man who lay over him.
“Ezra?” he asked when he saw surprise and fear widen the gambler’s green eye. “What the hell are you doin’?”
Standish couldn’t answer before his eye slid closed and his head dropped onto Larabee’s shoulder.
Chris took the Southerner bodily into his arms and gently heaved him over onto his back. He looked the beaten body over and quickly discovered a new injury amongst the many, a hole nearly the size of a silver dollar gushing blood on Ezra’s right side.
“Aw, shit,” he said worriedly as he gathered himself and rose to his knees. Standish had been facing him when he was shot. If he had a large hole in his belly that meant the bullet had entered him from behind. He leaned over, slid a hand under the gambler’s neck and pulled him upright to rest his head against his chest. When Chris ran his palm down his back he found what he was looking for, a second hole in his lower right back. “Damn, Ezra, how the hell…”
“Chris!!” Vin shouted from the street.
He turned to see Tanner bending over Buck, who lay awkwardly on the ground clutching his head. He turned his sight a couple of inches further and saw why. Hank had evidently struck the tall cowboy with his gun and was pointing the weapon crazily at anything that moved. “Hank,” he called, “put the gun down.”
The gun swung wildly in search of a victim; it stopped when it found him.
“You’ve gotta die for what you did,” Connelly swore. “You left ‘em, you left ‘em to burn. You left my little girl and her child to die.”
Chris heaved a heavy sigh. He heard the agony in those words, recognized the rage, the torment. He’d blamed himself using those exact words since the day Sarah and Adam had died. But now the bitterness and hurt that grew in both he and Hank had turned to poison and innocent people around them were paying for their grief. He looked down at Ezra and knew there was little time to save him. He’d grown paler than before, if that was possible, and he had to be taken to Nathan now.
Still kneeling on the sidewalk, Chris reached beneath his serape and gripped the gun in his holster. Slowly he got to his feet, and keeping the weapon out of sight, called in a steady voice, “Hank, I want you to listen to me.”
Connelly eyed him warily.
“This is going to stop now before anyone else gets hurt.” He turned at the waist and motioned with his chin. “Vin, get Buck inside the coach.”
Tanner hesitated when he saw Hank shuffle his feet.
“Do it, Vin. Hank ain’t shootin’ nobody.”
The tracker gathered Buck up and moved him cautiously into the black coach. The tall man groaned and shook his head as he leaned back against one of the seats. Vin stayed half in half out of the doorway and waited, his mare’s leg at the ready.
Hank’s eyes grew fierce and it seemed he would fire his gun from trembling as much as through intent. “It’s come down to just you and me, Chris Larabee, just as it’s always been. You ran off then and left her to die, and me, I wasn’t there to protect her.”
“I didn’t run off and leave her, Hank. I was coming back, I did come back.”
“Not soon enough!”
“No, not soon enough, but there was no way to know what was going to happen. I had no way of knowin’.”
“That don’t excuse you!”
“I know that! No one knows that better than me! But we’ve gotta stop doin’ this before anyone else gets killed. We can’t keep blaming each other!”
Connelly raised a sleeve to wipe at his face then gripped his gun in both hands. “I got no one else to blame,” he stated sadly.
When Chris saw Hank’s finger begin to pull back on the trigger, he dropped instantly to his knees at the same time bringing his own gun forward. Unbelievably, the first shot that sounded didn’t come from Hank’s gun or Chris’, but rather from somewhere alongside the hotel. Peter Nichol’s stepped into view, closely followed by his mother. Larabee had just enough time to spot a newly acquired weapon in his hand as Hank jerked and fell to the ground. He reacted instinctively and turned to fire on the man who was now aiming at him. Nichol’s grabbed at his leg and staggered back into his mother. She collapsed beneath him and wailed in surprise.
Vin heard voices coming in their direction. “Chris, come on, we gotta get outta here now.” When he saw the gunfighter move he climbed on top of the rig and grabbed the reins.
Larabee bent down on one knee and carefully gathered Ezra against him. The man hadn’t made a sound since he’d been shot and the silence scared the hell out of him. Not knowing if he was dead or alive, he quickly hefted him in his arms and ran to where Buck was leaning out the door of the coach. Together they maneuvered the limp body inside and the ladies man gently leaned Ezra back against Chris as he felt the rig jump forward. The door swung closed from the motion and they both heard the lock catch.
Buck sat on the floor next to his friends and battled the swaying movement of the coach. When he saw the gambler’s head roll against Chris’ chest he put out a hand to keep it still. “Did we get to him in time?” he asked anxiously.
Chris didn’t answer. He simply pulled Ezra closer, closed his eyes and prayed.
Part 6
The armored coach bounced hard as Vin turned the corner leading to Nathan’s clinic and he earned yet another curse from Buck as the lanky cowboy grabbed for something, anything, to hold on to. He’d tried to steady Ezra against Chris, but the sagging body shifted again and sent an elbow into the gunfighter. A grunt of pain and a whoosh of air preceded a grimace on Chris’ face.
“You okay, pard?” Buck asked as he seized Ezra’s dislocated limb and stabilized it despite the rough ride.
Chris nodded and pushed a hand against his side.
“You sure?”
“Yeah, hurt a rib when we fell, it’s nothing.” He straightened as best he could and pulled the dead weight of Ezra’s body to him. Once he’d situated himself, he looked down at the large exit wound in the gambler’s belly and put a hand over it to stem the flow of blood.
Buck noticed Chris’ awkward attempt to prevent further blood loss and quickly reprimanded himself for not acting sooner. He reached across the seat alongside his friend, grabbed a soft blanket and began tearing it into large pieces. Rolling a portion of the cloth into a tight bundle, he pushed Chris’ bloody fingers aside and pressed it firmly against the open hole in Ezra’s stomach. “I still can’t believe old Hank was gonna shoot you,” he said.
Chris didn’t say a word as he reached for another piece of the blanket and crumpled it into a second patch. He waited for Buck to raise Ezra up then pressed the bundle hard against the bullet wound in the Southerner’s back. Once the two holes were covered, Buck tied the wadded material in place by wrapping a longer strip of the cloth around his waist. The entire procedure took less than a minute, but the effort seemed to sap every last bit of Chris’ strength. He leaned back against the side of the coach and rested his head on its metal surface.
“You sure you’re all right, pard?”
Chris closed his eyes and gave an almost imperceptible nod.
“I’m sorry ‘bout Hank.”
“Yeah, Buck, me too,” he finally answered.
Wilmington shook his head as he busied himself steadying Ezra’s injured arm, but he couldn’t stop thinking of Hank. The old man’s mind couldn’t make sense of the pain in his heart so they both broke under the strain. He’d seen the same thing nearly happen to Chris and he was more grateful than ever his friend was made of stronger stuff.
Ezra groaned and rolled his head against the gunfighter’s shoulder. Chris never opened his eyes as he reached up and gently stilled the insensible tossing.
“Damn,” Buck muttered. “How the hell could any God-fearing person do this to someone?”
Nothing else was said until Vin called to the horses and the vehicle slowed down. Seconds later, they came to a stop and the door was opened.
“It’s all clear, let’s get him to Nathan,” Tanner said calmly.
Buck and Chris were already standing, holding Ezra between them. Vin held the door as Buck stepped backwards out of the coach, and waited to take the gambler’s torso from Chris as he leaned over to lower him down. Ezra’s body was so limp it reminded him of a child’s rag doll and was so awkward to hold he feared his friend would spill away from him onto the dusty ground. He adjusted his grip and waited for Buck to do the same as the tall cowboy hooked his arms gently around Ezra’s knees. Together they moved to ascend the stairs, careful not to jostle the slumped body if they could avoid it.
Chris climbed down from the rig and took a moment to catch his breath. He felt completely drained as he ran an unsteady hand through his blond hair. When he tried to rub at the back of his neck, he realized his fingers were numb. What the devil? He spread them in front of his face and stared; they were all there, coated in blood, yet the feeling in them was gone. He curled them to his palms and looked after the man whose blood he carried. Damn, Ezra, he thought, his mind searching for the ‘why’ of all that had happened. When the ‘why’ didn’t come, he squeezed his hands into fists and settled simply for Damn.
M7M7M7M7M7M7M7
Nathan had been able to make it back to his clinic just minutes before he heard the heavy Nichols rig pull up outside. He cleared the table he used to examine his patients and gathered what he knew he’d need to treat Ezra’s wounds. Once he’d pulled back the curtains and lit a couple of lanterns for extra light he went to the door to guide Buck and Vin inside. Without instruction, they carried the Southerner to the table and gently laid him on his side. Nathan began immediately cutting away the blood soaked remainder of his clothing, which took only a minute since all he’d been left was his trousers, and laid a sheet smoothly over his lower body. He fingered the homemade bandage around his waist and gave a questioning glance to the tracker standing opposite him at the table.
“He was shot,” Vin answered.
Shaking his head in disbelief, the healer went to work.
“What do you need me to do?” Tanner asked anxiously.
Jackson reached down to take Ezra’s head in his hands. He brushed at the sweat-matted hair as he carefully touched the eye that had swollen shut and the large bruises that had blossomed across his face. He pinched at an open cut on one cheekbone before he spoke. “I’m gonna need a lot of clean hot water, fast. There’s a bucket of water in the back, get it boiling then try to get me more. I need to clean the blood off him so I can see the damage. I’m also gonna need your help handling him.”
Vin nodded and left the room, grateful to have something to do.
Nathan patted at the gambler’s cheek. “Ezra, can you hear me?” To his surprise Standish’s eyelid flickered open. Then it closed again. When he felt something bump his leg he looked down the length of Ezra’s body to see fingers flexing. He put his hand over the fingers and squeezed. “It’s alright, I see you. Just hang on and let me get a good look at you.”
The fingers twitched again.
Nathan looked over his shoulder at Buck, who stood quietly staring. “Well, he’s still with us.”
Chris walked inside the clinic just in time to hear the healer’s announcement.
“Where ya been, partner?” Buck asked, eyeing Chris closely as he moved slowly across the room to stand beside Ezra.
The gunfighter leaned against the table and stared down at the gambler’s unmoving form. “I was just making sure the Nichols didn’t follow us.”
“Any sign of them?”
“Not so far, but I have a feeling we haven’t seen the last of them yet,” he answered before he turned his attention. “Nathan?”
“He’s awake, just too worn out to talk.”
“Where do we start, to fix him I mean?” Buck asked as he moved alongside Chris.
Fix him, Nathan wondered. Yeah, he supposed that’s how you’d have to look at someone with so many wounds you were spoiled for choice. He wiped a dark hand across his face. “We need to set that shoulder of his first then we’ll treat the bullet wound. After that, these cuts made by that damned whip need to be cleaned out, then his feet.”
Chris raised Ezra’s right hand from the table. “His wrists are a mess too. That rope did its share of damage.”
“How’s he gonna stand all that?” Buck asked.
“Once I’ve had a look at him I can probably give him laudanum, but honestly I’m hopin’ he’ll be passed out before then.”
“That’s a hell of a thing to hope for.”
Nathan nodded his agreement and carefully reached for Ezra’s left wrist and elbow. “Let’s get it done. I need to put his shoulder back in place before he tries to move around. Buck, I’m gonna need you to hold ‘im for me.”
The large man leaned over the gambler and held him securely between himself and the table. When Nathan manipulated the arm with a twist and a jerk a heartrending scream was torn from Ezra’s raw throat. He bucked beneath the man who held him and tried to scramble off the table. Chris caught hold of his legs and pinned them down as Nathan gently folded the injured arm against his chest and began softly calling his name.
Over and over, Nathan called.
Over and over, Ezra didn’t hear him as he coughed and choked on the bile rising in his throat. The pain ran through him in waves and seemed it would never end until at long last the torrent slowed and he was left gasping, reeling with a hard ache that filled his entire upper body. Then, and only then, did he hear the voice of Nathan Jackson, promising him the pain would be better soon, swearing he would be all right. Strange, he’d never thought of Nathan as a liar before.
Buck and Chris both felt the fight leave Ezra’s body as tightened muscles began to surrender to tremors of exhaustion. Wilmington straightened with a reassuring touch to the side of the gambler’s head. Chris tried to straighten as well, but flinched when a spasm caught him unaware. His hand shot beneath the serape he wore and pushed at the hurt in his side.
“Chris?” the ladies man called.
Larabee, realizing he’d drawn attention to himself, quickly stepped around the table and moved towards the door.
“Chris?”
“Not now, Buck,” he warned.
Vin came into the room from the back carrying a large metal pan of boiling water. “Where do ya want it, Nathan?”
Jackson looked from Chris and Buck back to his patient. “Here on the stand next to me.”
Vin left the water and looked down at Ezra. “I heard him yellin’; you set his arm?”
“Yeah, it was twisted up pretty bad. I’m gonna need to tie it in place, but I’ve gotta tend all those cuts on him first; looks like several of ‘em are gonna need stitches.”
“Nate, he hung on that shoulder a long time. You reckon he’s gonna be able to use that arm after what they done to him?”
“I don’t know, Vin. I can’t know how bad it’s hurt ‘til he wakes up. But he dislocated the same shoulder before and it healed up just fine. There’s a chance it will again.”
“Yeah, but he wasn’t hung and whipped before.”
“I know. We’ll just have to wait and see,” Jackson said and went back to washing his patient.
Tanner turned to see Buck staring at Chris as Chris stared at the floor. “Somethin’ goin’ on?” he asked anyone who cared to answer.
Chris raised his head and moved back to sit on the dresser near the door. “Just wonderin’ where JD and Josiah are.”
“Probably roundin’ up the last of the Nichols family.”
“Any idea how many of ‘em went down?” Buck asked, nearly staring a hole through the gunfighter.
“Peter Nichols is wounded, I got him in the leg,” Chris said. “Josiah winged the old lady, but it didn’t look too serious.”
“I took out the one at the livery when I swiped the coach. He’s down for good,” Vin added.
“I got one of ‘em in the street, and I’m pretty sure Josiah shot one outside the saloon,” Nathan said as he worked to clean and dress the large holes in Ezra’s stomach and back.
“That’s three dead and four alive,” Vin said, “plus the old woman.”
Chris stood and walked to the window. “We need to get that rig outta sight and hide the horses. That family has a twisted sense of justice and they’re probably still looking for Ezra.”
“And you,” Buck pointed out.
“Yeah, and with three of ‘em dead, the ones left are liable to be a whole lot meaner,” Vin stated.
“I’ll take care of the coach,” said Chris, reaching for the door.
“Like hell you will.” Wilmington moved abruptly and bumped the hand from the doorknob.
Chris stumbled back, looking at his friend as if he’d lost his mind.
“You’re the first man on their list of folks to kill. I’ll take care of that armored wagon down there, you just stay here.”
A look passed over Larabee’s face that lay somewhere between anger and worry. There was also an instant of pain, but it passed so quickly Buck thought he might have imagined it.
“I’ll be back soon. Just keep an eye out,” he said in a softer voice, “and look after Ezra.”
Chris looked at the gambler and suddenly felt as if the wind had been knocked out of him. He paled and secretly wished his hands would stop shaking. He tucked them out of sight, took a long deep breath, and frowned at Buck. “Alright, go, just watch your back.”
Buck smiled, walked out the door and shut it. Once he was at the bottom of the stairs, he leaned on the building and shook his head. He hadn’t missed any of the things Chris had tried to hide — the flashes of guilt and pain, the haggard look on his face and the tremors that visibly ran through his body. He was in shock and had every right to be. Ezra had been tortured, Hank had been killed, and all those memories of Sarah and Adam had been mercilessly dredged up to remind him of his past. It all sickened Buck to the point he’d personally like to go find a nice quiet place and puke his guts out, but Chris, he was trying to keep it together, remain in control. Buck doubted he could do it, but he couldn’t help admire him for trying.
Part 7
It took a very long time for Nathan to clean, stitch and dress the countless lacerations covering Ezra’s upper body. To the healer’s surprise, the muscles in his own hand had actually begun to cramp from holding a needle so long. But now that it was done he smoothed clean bandages in place and turned to gently remove the sheet from his friend’s bare legs. Tell tale signs of abuse to the gambler’s lower extremities became evident when the white sheet stained red from hip to knee. It was obvious the whip he’d been beaten with hadn’t discriminated as to where it struck his body. Fortunately, if there could possibly be a “fortunately”, the wounds were treated quickly with salve instead of needle and thread.
Nathan’s worry grew as time passed. He knew for a fact his patient was completely aware of every time he’d been touched, he could feel it beneath his fingers as he’d washed and sewn him together. Despite the fact he’d been given as much laudanum as was permissible for a man in his condition, and that he should have succumbed to fatigue long before now, fine tremors and quiet gasps revealed the gambler had never once fallen asleep or passed out. It made the healer’s job that much harder, but he continued his work until he was satisfied infection wouldn’t take hold and once again covered Ezra’s legs with a fresh sheet. He heaved a heavy sigh, rubbed his chin on his shoulder and gave Standish a sympathetic tap near his ankle.
Vin snagged a damp rag from the side table and offered it to Nathan to wipe his hands. “His feet, Nate, how do we go about gettin’ all that glass out?”
“I’ve been thinkin’ on that. We should probably soak ‘em in warm water for a few minutes; some of the smaller pieces will rinse off, others we’ll have to go after.”
“I sure don’t envy him that.”
“No, but it’s gotta be done pretty soon. One of his feet looks to be swellin’ up and there’s heavy bruisin’ ‘round that ankle.”
“You think that’s from them holdin’ him down?”
“Could be, they weren’t none too gentle. He’s in a lot of pain and he just can’t take much more handlin’, not even by us.”
“Why’s he still awake? Why won’t he just let go and sleep?”
“I reckon he thinks his job’s not done yet. He went a long way to keep the Nichols from findin’ Chris and Hank. He don’t know half the gang is dead.”
“Or that Hank is dead,” Chris said, leaving his watch at the window.
“Hank’s dead?” Jackson asked in surprise.
“Yeah, Peter Nichols shot him in the street while we were tryin’ to cut Ezra loose,” Vin explained, deciding not to bring up the fact Hank had tried to kill Chris.
“Damn, I’m sorry.”
Larabee pulled a stool next to where Ezra lay and sat down. “As sick as Hank was, I suppose it was gonna happen sooner or later. Even if he was outta his head, he had a lot to answer for.”
“Still,” the healer began.
“Forget it. We need to see to Ezra right now. Get that hot water you need. We can move him to the end of the table to soak his feet.”
“One of us is gonna have to hold him up to take the pressure off his shoulder and back.”
“I’ll do it,” Larabee said.
Vin pulled Nathan away and motioned for him to get what he needed. Once he’d gone, the tracker moved alongside the gunfighter and put a hand to his shoulder. He felt Chris’ muscles twitch beneath his fingers and knew the day was quickly catching up to him. “He’s gonna get through this.”
Chris took a deep breath and gave Ezra a long hard look. “I pray he does, because as soon as he’s well enough I’m going to kick his ass from here to Sunday. What was he thinking messing with the Nichols like that?”
Tanner pulled back in confusion. “He was thinkin’ he was protectin’ you.”
“Well, protectin’ me got him tortured.”
“Ezra knows the risks of his job, Chris.”
“Protecting me is not his job.”
“Don’t be an ungrateful bastard, it’s not like he went lookin’ for a fight. He just did what Ezra does best, he conned them.”
“Well, it didn’t w-work,” Chris stuttered. His mouth suddenly went dry and his head began to spin.
“Yes, it did, it gave us time to get Hank outta town. He had no way of knowin’ the old man would come back here, half out of his mind.” Vin saw his friend sway a little. “Chris?”
“I don’t want him dead, Vin, not because of me.”
The guilt that laced his voice caught the tracker off guard. He gripped the gunfighter’s shoulder again and held tight. “I know, Chris, I know.”
M7M7M7M7M7M7M7
Once Buck had corralled the Nichols’ horses behind the livery and concealed the coach harnesses in the hayloft, he returned to where he’d stowed the armored rig and checked it for any weapons that may have been left behind. He ran a hand across its exterior before he opened the door to climb inside. The craftsmanship of the coach was truly to be admired – it was powerful, dangerous and yet strangely beautiful. Large wooden benches topped with deeply padded leather not only offered comfort for its passengers but also provided storage space for ammunition and guns. The small windows on either side and in the back were ideally positioned to shoot out while safeguarding anyone inside. It was a fortress on wheels, a masterpiece of engineering, and here it stood secreted in a barn for fear it would be used once again to destroy innocent lives.
Buck brought his mind back to the business at hand and began searching every bench and cubbyhole he could find. The rummage turned up three handguns, four rifles and eight boxes of shells. There was also a grim assortment of knives, leather straps and rope. It appeared this group had taken vengeance so close to heart they felt the need to carry their own implements of torture, each of them devoting themselves completely to the art of punishment. It was an abysmal thing that an entire family should be so lost in hatred, but sadly it wasn’t the first time Buck had seen it and he was sure it wouldn’t be the last.
He stacked the gathered guns in a pile on the floor of the coach. When he bent down to pick them up, he spotted large smears of blood between his feet. It took several seconds for the significance of what he saw to register in his brain, but when it did intense feelings of anger began to ignite. It was Ezra’s blood and the sight disgusted him. That any part of his friend should be left behind in this place was inconceivable, unbearable. He grabbed the scraps of blanket he’d torn earlier in the afternoon and tried to wipe away both the blood on the floor and the image of his friend’s beaten body from his mind. His fury grew as he scrubbed, but after several minutes of intense scouring and enraged cursing, he was forced to accept there was little he could do to remove either. The blood had been virtually sucked up by the wooden floorboards and the picture in his mind had been made indelible on his brain.
He slammed a fist down before he leaned back to sit on his heals, his mind racing. God, Ezra, I’m sorry. I knew you lied to protect Chris and I knew they’d come after you when they figured out the truth. Why didn’t I come back sooner? Why the hell didn’t I just come back sooner? He dragged his fingertips absently across the tacky boards and fell silent. There was nothing left to do now but catch the people who had done this. He hefted the weapons he’d collected and climbed out of the coach. The admiration he had imagined for the vehicle before was quickly replaced with feelings of revulsion. If he had his choice, he would burn the abomination to the ground, but there was no time for personal indulgence. It was time to do something about the Nichols family once and for all.
M7M7M7M7M7M7M7
Josiah shook his head as he helped John Nichols lay on the cot inside the Four Corners jail. The little fool now had two broken arms thanks to his family’s desire for revenge. Well that and his inability to move stealthily with one arm in a sling. What the hell was the young idiot trying to prove, sneaking up on him in the middle of a gun battle with more bravado than balance?
“You know, next time you come at a man meanin’ to kill him, you might want to make sure you can stay on your feet long enough to see the deed done,” he told the youth.
“I would’ve had you if those crates hadn’t gotten in my way,” John growled as he tried to find a comfortable position in which to lie.
“Son, those crates didn’t come at you, you came at them, remember?”
Nichols turned his face to the wall as Josiah locked the jail cell door.
“Ah, problems with balance and skills of observation, not good qualities for a man hunter. You just sit tight and I’ll see if I can find someone willin’ to fix that arm of yours.”
“Get me that black healer, he did a fine job before,” John ordered.
Josiah turned a look on him that was anything but preacherly. “Mr. Jackson is currently seein’ to the man your family whipped and strung up on the hotel steps. I doubt very seriously he’ll be of a mind to help you anytime soon.”
“But he’s a healer,” Nichols whined. “He has to.”
Josiah raised an eyebrow.
“Make him!”
“Make him? After what you did to his friend? You really want me to force him to come in here, take a hold of your broken bone and twist it back into place. You’re a bigger fool than I thought. You’d be lucky if he didn’t twist it right off.” Sanchez knew Nathan would never deny anyone help, but the boy needed a good lesson in what goes around comes around. Fear could often times be a great teacher.
“It wasn’t me, I didn’t cut that gambler up and I didn’t whip him.”
Josiah winced at how easily the description of torture came to Nichols’ lips, but he also knew his description of Nathan’s treatment was getting to him; he could definitely detect fright beneath the condescension. “You think that’s gonna matter if he can’t save our friend?”
John hesitated just a moment before he said pitifully, “But… you can’t just let me lay here and suffer.”
Josiah was astounded by the man’s overblown sense of self and complete lack of compassion for others. He rattled the cell door to make sure it was secure before he looked Nichols straight in the eye. “Yes,” he said calmly, “I can.” With that, he turned and walked over to throw the keys on the office desk.
JD, who’d listened to the exchange from his position near the gun rack, shared the preacher’s dismay. “It’s hard to believe someone so young could be so coldhearted. He’s no older than me.”
“Yeah, and since his brother ain’t been dead that long, I doubt it’s something that came over him all of a sudden. He was probably that way long before any of this happened.”
Dunne nodded as he threw Josiah a reloaded rifle and grabbed another for himself. “We can’t leave him here on his own. Those brothers of his might come lookin’ to turn him loose.”
“I’ll baby-sit the brat, you go on to the clinic and meet up with the others. Let ‘em know we think three of the boys got away and we’re still not sure what happened to the old lady.”
“Okay, I won’t be gone long though.” He peeked out the window before going to the door. “Looks like folks are startin’ to move around out there. That’s a good sign. I’ll be back quick as I can.”
“You just be careful and watch out for the brat’s kin,” Josiah said.
JD hefted the rifle in his hand and headed out the door.
PARTS 1-4 / PARTS 8-10 / PARTS 11-13 / PARTS 14-16 / PARTS 17-18 / 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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