Larabee's Greatest Foe by the poet, Rowdy Tanner

He could hear the noise from the bed where he lay. It had awoken him only because he was a light sleeper. He always had been, unless he was drunk and then he could sleep through the apocalypse itself. His muscles tensed and was at the ready. Dawn had broken, and pale light was making it's way through the thin curtains hanging at the window of his room at the boarding house where he stayed when he was in town.

There it was again, the same noise. A scratching sound over by the door. Reaching for his revolver from his gun belt over the headboard, he raised his head from the pillow to see if his worst nightmare had come true. It had. The thing he feared most in all the world. No, not death. That had long since ceased to hold any fear for him. For the last few years he had welcomed it. Sought it out in fact.

No, this sent chill all through his body. Turned his stomach. It had materialized in his very own room and materialized in his small sanctuary. He looked at the evil scrabbling thing over by the door. There it was barring his way to freedom. Standing between him and escape.

What was he going to do? Shoot it? If he wanted to escape, he could think of no other alternative. Then there would only be the endless explanations, the excuses, the countless apologies. Perhaps even tears and recriminations.

He considered praying to a God who had long since declined to listen, or so he thought.

He was momentarily distracted by something moving by the window. The thin curtains were lifting now, caught by a gentle breeze. The window! It was open! Escape! Thank you merciful God!

Slowly he slid from the bed and keeping his nemesis covered with his gun, he lifted the sash. When he felt he had opened the window sufficiently to effect his escape, he threw his leg across the windowsill and stuck his head outside.

"Come down from there afore ya fall," drawled a familiar Texan voice.

Damn it to hell! Trapped! So much for God being merciful. Josiah did say He had a sense of humor, only who knew it would be this wicked. He glanced back inside the room at his adversary and then back down to the boardwalk. Caught between scrabbling evil and the long haired rat squinting up at him with an impudently lazy grin on his unshaven face.

How had he, the fearless black hearted gunfighter of Four Corners, become embroiled in this farcical scene? He was grateful that his brothers weren't there to see what was happening. Thankfully no one here knew his secret and his reputation had remained intact until now. He knew that Vin would keep it to himself: something that he would trust only with the tracker. Not even Buck knew. Had the ladies man only known, Chris knew he would never be able to live it down.

"Is she that ugly yer resortin' ta fleein' out of yer own window? Told ya afore ya should choose yer women afore ya get inta yer whiskey bottle!" he replied.

"Tanner?" Chris said as he looked at him below.

"Yeah?"

"One word about this to anyone and I will shoot you dead a bit at a time." he told him, as he held the gun in his hand.

"If ya want ta give yerself flyin' lessons I ain't goin' ta tell no one." the tracker said with a grin.

"Good."

"Is it so bad ya jus' want ta end it all?" asked the sharpshooter consolingly.

"Tanner!"

"Ya see the fall ain't lookin' likely to kill ya. It don't look high enough do it? Reckon I could show ya some higher places..."

"Shut up!" he said with a touch of annoyance.

"Only tryin' ta help a friend commit suicide properly no need ta go an' get testy on me."

"I'll try and land on you when I do jump if you don't clear off!"

"Ya want me ta go? Awrighty. By the way, ya left a note?" he asked.

"Do you want to help?" asked the gunfighter realizing at any moment the town would stutter into life and he would soon have an audience.

"Well, my scribin' ain't real pretty in fact it's as ugly as a toad but..."

"Not with a note you jackass." he said barely under his breath.

"No need fer name callin' ya low down yellow-bellied snake."

"Get inside if you want to help." Chris said with a plea in his voice.

"Yer goin' ta throw down a key?"

"Er, no," he replied glancing back inside the room at the key in the distant door.

"Ya surely like makin' my life difficult don't ya? Don't go anywhere, wait there."

"Tanner," he hissed through gritted teeth as the sharpshooter disappeared from view.

He ducked back inside before he was spotted and waited. Nervously licking dry lips and wiping beads of sweat from his brow. He had no idea how Tanner would find his way inside and he preferred not to know. There came a knock on the door and the doorknob was rattled.
"Larabee, open up!"

"I can't." he whispered.

"Ya lost yer key? Shall I kick it in?"Vin asked softly.

"No! The key is in the lock."

"So open up, it's easier than it looks ya jus' turn the key, Larabee."

"I can't there's something between me and the door."he said dejectedly.

"Reckon I should shoot my way in?"

"No, don't do that! Find another way." he replied while at a loss as to how and trusted on his friend's ingenuity.
"Another way? Aw, I see, ya want I should turn in ta a puff a smoke an' waft under the door? Ya gone crazy, Larabee?"

"Vin, please." while thinking if anyone could do it that way it would be the long haired tracker.

"Wait there an' don't run away."

Running was not a bad idea, he thought to himself. He waited for what seemed an age and then came more scratching and scrabbling at the door. A sheet of newsprint slid under the door. Seconds later the key rattled and jumped in the lock until it fell onto the newsprint which was swiftly drawn back under the door. Tanner put the recovered key in his side of the door and stepped warily inside Larabee's room one hand on his sawed-off Winchester.

He looked across the room at his good friend and then down on the floor at Larabee's greatest foe. He smiled when he saw what the fuss was about. He looked at Chris with a touch of sympathy when he saw the fear in his friend's eyes. Bending down he gathered it up in his arms.

"I'll jus' take Miz Rand's pussycat back ta her then, Cowboy, c'mon Muzika," winked Tanner.

"Wait, Miz Rand's cat?"

"Yep," drawled Tanner as Muzika purred and rubbed her head under his heavily stubbled chin that she seemed to think was there purely for her benefit. Her fur was soft as he continued to pet her and feel the vibration that ran through the contented cat.

"The same Miz Rand that cooked you up that mess a ribs the last time you were shot, stabbed, pistol-whipped, clubbed senseless and run down by a herd of wild mustangs?"

"Yep. Mighty fine they was too. Reckon it might be worth getting shot, stabbed, pistol-whipped, clubbed senseless and run down by a herd of wild mustangs ag'in fer another plateful” Vin said as he licked his lips thinking of the meal that she dished up.

"Gimme the cat."

"Ya what, Cowboy?" rasped Tanner.

"Gimme the cat, Tanner! I figure them tasty ribs is worth getting over my fear of cats for."

"Ya sure it's just the ribs yer after, Cowboy?" Vin asked as he remembered the way the woman looked in her apron and the shirt that was open just a tad lower than propriety warranted. He had seen more than one of the seven admire her charms. Chris was human after all and this proved it decisively.

"Just gimme the damn cat!"

finis