Chris Larabee.......Michael Biehn
Vin Tanner...........Eric Close
JD Dunne.............Andy Kavovit
Buck Wilmington....Dale Midkiff
Josiah Sanchez.....Ron Perlman
Ezra Standish.......Anthony Starke
Nathan Jackson......Rick Worthy
Guest Stars:
Ethan Farrow........Bill Paxton
Jared Farrow.........Bruce Willis
Molly Appleton......Angelina Jolie
Jasper Edmunds.....Kevin Spacey
Padre Emilio..........Henry Darrow
The Shepherd.......Anthony Quinn
The Dog..............Niña
The sharp retort of gunfire shattered the stillness of the night, cutting through the darkness with small bursts of bright orange flame and the smell of burnt sulfur. Instantly awakened from sleep, Chris Larabee rolled from his bed in a single fluid motion, one hand reaching for his gun while the other snatched up the pants he had discarded earlier. Struggling quickly into the black denim, he made his way across the room to the square glass window overlooking the main street of town.
Gun raised in his right hand, senses acutely heightened, he stood just off to the side. He cautiously pulled back the curtain as he peered out into the darkness and searched for the source of unexpected gunplay. Loud male voices shouted down towards the end of the street. Chris alertly focused his attention in that direction. Sharp green eyes narrowed against the shifting shadows cast by the small street fires holding back the night.
As near as he could tell from this distance, there appeared to be five of them, two on horseback and three spread out along the length of the boardwalk in front of the general store. From the flash of the gunfire, they appeared to be shooting mostly into the air much like a group of drunken trail hands. But when a shout and an answering gunshot from the opposite side of the street sent them scrambling for cover, the barrels of their revolvers lowered to concentrate on the source. A rapid volley of exchange fire then filled the night air.
"Shit!" Chris cursed silently underneath his breath. Who the hell was on night patrol? They were supposed to be watching out for things like this, to stop any trouble before it could even get started. Whose turn was it tonight and where the hell were they?
The higher pitched bark of a small handgun almost instantly told Chris that their resident gambler, Ezra Standish, was the one who had pulled duty for the evening. His concerned gaze drawn by the spark of return fire, Chris quickly located Ezra's position. Standish was pinned down behind a stack of crates outside the telegraph office. Even if the gunfighter couldn't see his face, he would have recognized the outline of the southerner's hat and known that it was him.
The rapid movement of a dark form through the shadows captured his attention and Chris easily identified the tall figure of the healer, Nathan Jackson. It was obvious from his rapid gait and the silhouette of the rifle in his hand that he was headed in the direction of the fight going on up the street. Ezra definitely needed backup against superior odds and Nathan was quick to lend a hand as always. Chris reached for his gun belt as he headed for the door.
Grabbing up his shirt as he went, Larabee threw his arms into the sleeves before leaving his room at a dead run. At the back of the boarding house, he descended the stairs, his bare feet flying rapidly down the wooden steps. The orange glow of a street fire reflected eerily off the pale skin of his bare chest, the tails of his open shirt flapping wildly behind him as he ran.
Pausing at the side of the building, Chris looked right and then left, his mind working furiously to come up with the best approach to reach Ezra's position. There wasn't much time and the gambler was in desperate need of assistance if the sounds of the escalating gunfight were anything to go by. Crouching low, the gunman darted across the street, long legs quickly covering the distance before he gained the opposite boardwalk. A frown of concentration creased his forehead and narrowed his eyes as he moved on nearly silent feet. He stopped only to scan the surrounding area before starting forward, keeping to the shadows as much as possible.
Hang on, Ezra! Chris urged silently. The cavalry's coming!
The sharp reply of gunfire continued to echo in the night and he could make out the distinctive retort of Vin Tanner's sawed-off Winchester. Passing in front of the bank and moving into the alley next to it, Chris paused to catch his breath and reassess the situation. More return fire was coming from Ezra's side of the street, which meant that more of the town's peacekeepers had managed to come to the southerner's aid. The drunken trail hands were still wreaking havoc and so far, all but one had apparently avoided taking a fatal bullet.
Taking a slow deep breath in and then out through his mouth, Chris prepared to move forward once more when a small noise from the back of the alley captured his attention. He turned his head in that direction, his frown of concentration dissolving into an expression of puzzlement. Chris hesitated... waiting and listening... until he picked up the faint sound of horse's hooves and booted feet. He took a tentative step in that direction, momentarily distracted from the gun battle behind him.
Who in the hell was in the back of the alley?
Chris didn't know but all too soon, the decision was taken from his hands when he heard the slight sound of a woman's muffled cry. Dread rose in the back of his throat at the thought that there might be other troublemakers about who were preying upon the town's citizens. The gunman darted towards the back of the alley, rounding the corner before his bare feet slid to a stinging halt in the rough dirt.
Shock widened his wary green eyes even as the gunfighter reluctantly lowered his raised revolver. Two masked men with several horses stood before him, one gun trained directly on his exposed chest... another on a young woman held hostage in the taller man's arms.
"Drop it or she dies!"
Vin Tanner rolled out of his bedroll with all the sharp, alert instincts of a mountain cat, his fingers sliding around his sawed-off Winchester even as he landed on his feet. Gunfire had woken him from a restful sleep and instantly alerted him to the presence of troublemakers beyond the confines of his covered wagon. Taking a quick glance around outside, the lithe tracker then dove head first out of the back of the wagon, curling his lean form into a ball as he rolled on the hard ground before regaining his footing.
Coming up behind a half-empty rain barrel, Vin's sharp gaze swept the dusty street in front of him. He quickly counted four shooters, five with the dark form laid flat out in the middle of the street. Apparently, whoever was on night watch had managed to take down at least one of the bad guys. Cautiously raising his head a bit, Tanner looked to his left and right, searching out the hidden locations of the rest of the town's protectors. He easily found the gambler pinned down behind some crates in front of the telegraph office. The sharpshooter grimaced in sympathy as he watched Ezra fire a shot over the top of his hiding place before ducking back down under a hail of bullets.
Quickly scampering forward and around the side of the closest building so that he was within earshot of the southerner, Vin called out to him. "Ezra, you okay?"
He swore he could almost see Ezra's gold tooth gleaming in the dim light as the smoothly accented voice replied, "That depends, Mr. Tanner, on your definition of okay."
A bullet whizzed by close to Ezra's ear and Vin watched as the gambler grabbed hold of his hat with one hand while attempting to duck down lower behind his precarious shelter.
"I count four," Vin called back as he moved up the length of the boardwalk, working his way closer to Ezra.
"Congratulations, Mr. Tanner!" Ezra snapped back somewhat sarcastically, his breath coming in short agitated gasps. "You win the prize."
Turning quickly to his left, the gambler got off another round at the men across the street. "Perhaps you would care to assist me in evening the odds somewhat?"
Standish dropped back quickly behind his cover, curling himself into as small a target as possible. Vin could hear the southerner muttering and cursing underneath his breath and couldn't resist a small smile at the other man's expense.
"Jes keep yer tail feathers down, Ez! Helps on the way," Vin assured him, his raspy voice managing to carry above the continued play of gunfire.
"Indeed!" Ezra responded thankfully. "And may I say... not a moment too soon!"
Vin stepped back quickly into a doorway when several shots were fired in his direction. He had so far managed to keep to the shadows making it difficult for the troublemakers to pinpoint his exact location. Getting off two rapid successive shots with his Winchester, Vin spun around and kicked in the door nearest to him, sliding inside the darkened building to locate a more suitable position from which to return fire. He quickly sidestepped the main window fronting the room and picked a spot in the far corner. Breaking out a small portion of the glass with his left elbow, Vin raised his gun and began to return fire, his keen eyes and sharp senses waiting for the flash of gunpowder to tell him where the enemy was hidden. The tracker got off two more quick rounds, a grim smile of satisfaction crossing his lower face as he heard one of the bullets find its target.
A movement to his right drew his attention and he gave a slight nod of approval as he recognized Nathan Jackson moving in to help out. The healer was headed over towards the seamstress' shop, dropping back with a furtive step when he spied a way up onto the overhead balcony to gain the higher vantage point. Easily scrambling up a post, Nathan dropped into a cover position behind the decorative advertising sign nailed against the wooden railings.
A loud curse followed by a sharp cry of pain and continued muttering announced Buck Wilmington's arrival into the fray. The ladies' man came flying out the batwing doors of the saloon, dressed only in his hat, socks and red union suit as he threw himself to the ground behind the nearest water trough. Sliding into cover behind the wooden box, he yelped as his left shoulder jammed up against it. Flipping onto his back and quickly checking the number of rounds in his gun, Buck hollered over his shoulder "Ezra, how many?" before loosing another round of curses. He'd left his gun belt upstairs where he'd been enjoying himself entertaining one of the town's soiled doves.
"I count four, Brother Buck!" Josiah's deep rumbling voice revealed his position over by the side of the grain exchange building. The ex-preacher had strategically located himself where they could keep the fight confined to this end of town. If the troublemakers tried to make a run for it, they'd easily be caught up in a crossfire.
"Give it up, boys!" Vin hollered from his hidden location. "Got ya surrounded 'n there ain't no need fer nobody else ta git hurt!"
The tracker instinctively ducked back as a hail of bullets shattered the window to the side of him. Aw hell! Vin thought grimly. So much fer these boys comin' easy!
Chris uttered a low curse, his lips curling back over his teeth as he hissed with displeasure. A muscle began to tick in his lower jaw, evidence of the rising level of agitation and anger he was struggling to control. Green eyes narrowed dangerously as he focused his piercing gaze on the two masked outlaws. He ignored the girl for the moment, concentrating instead on the more immediate danger the gunmen represented. It was obvious that he was caught up in a hostage standoff that looked to be a no-win proposition. He was damned if he did and damned if he didn't! And Chris had no idea how in the hell he was going to get the girl, let alone himself, out of the situation alive!
"I told you to drop it, mister!"
It was instantly clear to Larabee that the bigger of the two bandits was the one in charge, a pair of cold pale eyes shining mercilessly from beneath the dark mask, almost gleaming in the small amount of light that found its way into the back alley. He held his gun pointed steadily at the girl's head while his other arm was wrapped tightly around her throat. The smaller of the two men fidgeted nervously in agitation, his rough voice snapping Chris out of his momentary indecision.
"You heard 'im, mister! Now drop it 'fore I drop you!" The barrel of his gun wavered momentarily but never seemed to lose its target on vital parts of Chris's tall frame.
The girl gave a small whimper of fear, succeeding in drawing Chris's attention to her. Her small hands were clasped tightly on the gunman's arm around her neck, her dark eyes wide and dilated with fear. She trembled from head to toe, her body shaking almost violently. If it hadn't been for the gunman's hold, she would have fallen into a boneless heap in the dirt.
Realizing he had no choice, Chris reluctantly tossed his Colt Peacemaker aside, his leather gun belt falling from his opened left hand. In the distance behind him, he could hear the gun battle being waged and recognized the raised voices of his men. He hoped like hell they blew the bastards away because it was too much of a coincidence to believe these two in front of him weren't somehow connected to what was going on just up the street.
The shorter of the two men started towards him just as Chris caught a glimpse of the open doorway to his left, a doorway that Larabee knew led into the back of the bank. In that instant, he realized what the outlaw's master plan had been and just how well it was apparently succeeding. The fighting down the street was just a diversion while the real crime was taking place under the cover of darkness. The bank was being robbed and no one would be the wiser until morning. At least, that's the way it would have been if Chris hadn't happened to stumble upon their getaway.
He recognized the girl now. Her name was Molly something-or-other. Dawson, the bank manager, had hired her a couple of weeks back as his new assistant clerk. And how on earth she'd come to be outside the bank in the middle of the night was a mystery to Larabee. But however it had happened, she was definitely in the wrong place at the wrong time and it looked as if both of them would pay the price.
"Get his gun and tie him up, Jared," the larger of the duo ordered.
But the one called Jared obviously had other plans. Without taking his gaze away from Chris, he asked over his shoulder, "Why cain't I just shoot 'im instead? Save us a lot of trouble if'n ya ask me?"
"No!" His partner responded harshly. "You shoot him now and it could bring the rest of them running. No, just tie him up like I said and let's get the hell outta here." He gestured with his gun to emphasize his point, his tone of voice brooking no argument from the other man.
Jared eased his gun back into his holster then knelt down to retrieve Chris's revolver from the dirt. He tucked it into the back waistband of his pants, the eyes behind his mask never leaving Larabee's face. Moving forward, he seized both of Chris's wrists, tying them tightly together with a length of rope grabbed off of one of the nearby saddles. Unresisting, the gunfighter stood stiffly as his bonds were secured, flexing his long fingers as the rope threatened to cut off the circulation to his hands.
"You got me. You don't need the girl. Let her go." Chris knew he had to try something... anything... to get them to release her before it was too late. But his low-voiced plea didn't stand a snowballs chance in hell of changing the minds of the two thieves. In fact, his words only seemed to invoke the smaller man's anger.
Stepping in closer to Chris, he snarled up into the blond-headed man's face. "Who the hell tole you ta talk, huh? Nobody said nothin' 'bout you talking! You only speak when spoken to, ya got that?"
Chris's gaze never left the man holding the girl; green eyes stared intently at the masked face. The gunslinger's expression, cold and neutral, betrayed nothing of his thoughts. His lean features were carefully devoid of emotion, his disregard for the outlaw in front of him clearly conveying his contempt for the smaller man and his bullying tactics. An icy calm slowly spread through Larabee's mind and body. He wanted to get a reaction out of this Jared, something that would show him that he could get underneath the man's skin and rattle him... something that might give him an edge when the time came. Because one false move by either of these two bastards and Chris knew he wouldn't hesitate to take the pair down. The problem was going to be keeping the girl safe in the meantime.
In the next instant though, Chris paid a price for his insolence.
"Look at me when I'm talkin' to ya, mister!" Jared demanded angrily. "You look at me! Not him! Me! You understand?"
Infuriated by the fact that the prisoner was obviously ignoring him, Jared drew his gun and pistol-whipped Larabee across the left side of his face. The gunfighter felt the hard metal cut sharply into his cheek as he staggered under the unexpected blow. Stumbling sideways, he lost his balance only to land on his knees in the dirt as pain etched its way across his features. He pressed his lips tightly together, his mouth forming a thin white line slashed across the lower half of his face. Warm liquid ran from a cut high on his cheekbone. Raising his bound hands in front of him, Chris absently wiped at the blood running down his face with the back of a sleeve. Sucking in a deep breath and calling upon his reserve of stubborn pride, Chris refused to give his captors the satisfaction of knowing that he was hurting. Green eyes blazing with anger, he gingerly climbed to his feet, swaying slightly as his breath sawed in and out of his chest, waiting for whatever came next.
Taking a bandanna from around his neck, Jared moved behind the furious gunfighter, arms reaching upward as he placed the gag in Chris's mouth and tied it tightly at the back of his head. The barrel of his gun then prodded Larabee sharply in the small of his back and Chris stumbled forward, bare feet stinging from the feel of the hard ground beneath him.
"That's enough, Jared," commanded the other man, his eyes darting anxiously to the entrance of the alleyway as the sounds of the gunfight in the background died away. "Just bring him along and let's get out of here. We can decide what to do with him later." Turning on one booted heel, he shoved the frightened girl in front of him and led their horses off into the night.
A hand on his shoulder roughly shoved Larabee in the direction the taller man had taken and Chris reluctantly allowed himself to be poked and prodded into following. His mind reeling with the sudden turn of events, Chris Larabee could only hope and pray one of the others would notice his absence long before it became too late.
Turning to the street again, the sharpshooter began to return fire, the bark of his distinctive Winchester encouraging his comrades to do the same. Flashes of light and the smell of burnt gunpowder filled the night as the gun battle raged between the two sides. Taking aim and waiting for the exact right moment, Vin fired his weapon again and was rewarded by one of the dark figures tumbling awkwardly off the sidewalk. The man lay unmoving in the street.
After that, it was just a matter of time, a few minutes really, before the town's protectors emerged victorious, having dispatched the five unknown assailants to their ultimate reward. As the sound of gunfire died away and the smoke cleared, Vin eased his way out of his corner, his lean figure still on the alert, eyes sharp and gun raised as he cautiously stepped through the shattered window frame.
Easing himself down towards the street, the tracker called out "Ever'body okay?"
Not until he was reassured that his partners were all right did Vin let his guard down. He slowly lowered his Winchester and just as slowly walked out into the street where the bodies lay scattered about. Josiah came from his left, one big hand wrapped in the coat collar of a man who had died up on the boardwalk. A single shrug of the ex-preacher's massive shoulder sent the body into the center of the street where it joined the rest.
"Hey, fellas! What'd I miss?"
Vin looked around to see the half-dressed figure of JD Dunne flying down the street towards them. The kid had obviously been asleep because his dark hair was tousled and his shirt was hanging half out of his pants. He'd apparently stopped long enough to grab his gun belt and put it on, both of his pearl-handled revolvers in his hands and pointed up in the air as he ran. But he had neglected to completely button up his pants. The only thing holding the material up around his slender hips were a pair of suspenders.
"Just some bad guys decided to shoot up the town," Josiah reassured the boy as JD slid to a halt next to him, his breath coming in short hitching gasps, his hazel eyes sparkling with tension and excitement.
"Question is... why?" Nathan murmured as he joined the group, a puzzled expression on his dark face as he stood with his rifle slung over his right shoulder.
"So what the hell happened?" questioned Buck's smooth voice as he walked over to join the others, one hand rubbing absently over the top of his jammed left shoulder. His red long johns were streaked with dirt, the front only half buttoned revealing a dark thatch of thick curly chest hair.
Vin just shrugged his shoulders when they all turned questioning eyes towards him. "Don't rightly know," he rasped. "Best ask Ezra... he's the one's got the night watch."
The tracker's intense blue gaze passed over the men surrounding him, the hackles on the back of his neck rising as a sense of something not quite right washed over him.
"Indeed, gentlemen! I am as much in the dark here as yourselves." Ezra had managed to crawl out from his spot behind the crates and eased his well-muscled frame to a standing position. He stretched his knotted neck muscles and then proceeded to readjust his clothing, wiping surreptitiously at the dust that had collected on his shirt cuffs.
Standing above them on the boardwalk, he continued. "I was merely fulfilling my assigned duties on this fine evening when these... uncivilized miscreants took it upon themselves to fire upon my personage."
"You ever seen any of these fellas before, Ez?" Buck asked as he bent down next to one of the bodies lying in the street. It was possible that these trail hands might have had a grudge against the gambler if Standish had played poker with them in the past. That could explain why they had started shooting at him... but it didn't explain why they fought to the death rather than surrendering. Buck shook his shaggy dark head in puzzlement.
"Mr. Wilmington, I can't say that I spent a great deal of time perusing their faces when this incident began but if you are attempting to suggest that perhaps I have absconded with monetary gains from these... gentlemen, then I can assure you that is not the case!" The southerner sounded almost insulted that Buck would suggest such a thing.
"Then who are they?" JD piped up curiously as he eased both of his revolvers back into their holsters.
"That's what we're tryin' to figure out, JD." Nathan's calm deep voice belied the unease that now seized him as well. Liquid brown eyes looked over and captured Vin's concerned gaze as the two men silently acknowledged the worry that was now plaguing them both.
A soft voice came from over the tracker's shoulder. "Mr. Tanner, I assume you are in need of my services?"
Vin turned to find the undertaker, William Stowbridge, standing behind him along with several of the town's more prominent citizens. Their faces reflected a varying amount of worry, fear, concern and relief as it became obvious that the situation was now under control. Stowbridge, a thin, dour-faced man, had risen from his soft, warm bed at the sound of gunplay, pulled his pants on underneath his long white nightshirt and waited patiently for the shooting to end. Lighting a kerosene lamp, he had then made his way down the street.
"Got five of 'em fer ya, Mr. Stowbridge." Vin acknowledged the man's arrival with a slight nod before turning back and flipping one of the bodies over with the toe of his boot. Squatting down on his haunches next to the dead man, he motioned for the undertaker to bring the light closer.
"How 'bout you, Vin?" Buck asked as he removed the hat on the body nearest to him, looking closely at the face in the meager light provided by the yellow lamp. "You ever seen any of these fellas before?"
Copying Buck's actions, Vin sharply tugged the hat off the body closest to him and shook his head negatively. "Ain't never seen this one afore." Looking up, he continued, "Ain't never seen none of 'em afore... but that don't mean they ain't wanted somewheres." Turning to look up at JD, the tracker asked in a carefully modulated voice, "JD, you got any new posters in this last week? Anybody I ain't seen yet?"
But the kid wasn't paying any attention to their conversation now, a frown wrinkling his forehead as his concerned gaze scanned the street up and down in both directions. His hands fidgeted nervously with the handles of his guns and he shifted his weight from one foot to the other distractedly.
"JD?"
Hazel eyes turned to meet questioning blue as the boy asked, "Vin, where's Chris?"
A cold knot of dread as hard as a rock settled in Vin's gut as the implication of JD's quietly worded question hit him. Rising to his feet, he stared at the younger man for a second before turning to scan the town. His sharp blue gaze traveled the length and breadth of the street and brushed over the small collection of faces that had gathered to witness the results of the gun battle. But there was no familiar figure dressed in black or a tall frame capped by tousled strands of short blond hair. One look was all it took to confirm what the tracker's instincts had been screaming at him since the entire gunfight began.
Chris Larabee was not there. Something was definitely wrong.
Vin turned to look at the stable master who had also joined the small crowd in the now eerily quiet street. Nodding his head in the man's direction, the ex-bounty hunter asked in a curt voice, "Chris ride out ta his place this evening?"
The faint thread of hope Vin was clinging to was snapped by the other man's negative shake of his head. "No, sir. Mr. Larabee's horse is still at my place, all bedded down nice and cozy for the night."
Vin glanced silently at the five men surrounding him, the concern and worry written plainly in every pair of eyes and on every shadow-kissed face. Not wanting to spook the townsfolk any more than they already were, Buck stepped forward and lowered his voice. "I don't like it, Vin. It ain't like Chris to not show up when he's needed."
The tracker looked worried as he answered softly, "Yeah, I know." He gazed around surreptitiously before continuing. "Got a funny feelin' this thing ain't over yet. We find Chris... reckon we find out what's behind all this."
"I think you may be right, Vin." Nathan had learned quite some time ago to trust Vin's instincts. "I shoulda met Chris comin' out the boarding house but I didn't."
"Then might I suggest, gentlemen, that we proceed with all due haste to locate our missing comrade-in-arms before circumstances render our assistance unnecessary?"
The whole ordeal was setting the gambler's nerves on edge as well. For one, he didn't much care to be shot at. But more importantly, he had the uncanny knack of being able to decipher people's thoughts and emotions, a talent that served him well in his chosen profession. The townsfolk surrounding them were definitely on edge and becoming more nervous by the minute at the realization that one of their protectors was apparently missing. A potentially volatile situation to say the least and Ezra didn't like potentially volatile situations. People got anxious... scared... jumpy... and then, someone would end up shot. The southerner just hoped it wouldn't be him!
"Vin?" Fear and worry caused JD's youthful voice to tremble slightly.
Tanner chewed on his bottom lip a moment before lifting his gaze to meet the pale blue-gray eyes of Josiah Sanchez, the eldest of their number. An unspoken question passed between them before the ex-preacher slowly nodded his gray head in acquiescence. To any one watching, nothing untoward had occurred and yet... in that single act of acknowledgment, Josiah once again accepted the tracker's role as Chris Larabee's second-in-command. Five pairs of eyes turned towards the man who would now lead them until the missing gunfighter could be returned to the fold.
Quickly formulating a plan, Tanner called out to the assembled townsfolk. "Coupla you men help Mr. Stowbridge git these bodies offa the street. The rest of ya... go on home, lock yer doors 'n keep yer eyes 'n ears open. Don't come out 'til ya know its clear. This thing ain't over yet."
A few low mutters and grumbles greeted the tracker's orders but none dared to question the longhaired man with the piercing blue eyes. They slowly shuffled off in pairs and small groups, heads close together as they speculated on what the night's adventures had wrought. A few stood still, dumbly staring at the carnage lying in the street.
"Go on now! Y'all heard the man. Git!" Buck Wilmington's booming voice shook them out of their reverie and sent the few remaining stragglers on their way.
The undertaker along with three other men, moved to retrieve the bodies from the street. Talking quietly amongst themselves, they hauled the refuse off for proper disposal.
Taking a moment to clear the spent cartridges from his gun, Vin reloaded while issuing his orders. "Me 'n Ezra'll go check Chris's room. Buck, JD... y'all take the left side o' the street while Nathan 'n Josiah take t'other. Go building by building, checkin' anythin' an' ever'thing ya come across. Don't leave nothin' unturned. I gotta feelin' there's more goin' on here 'n somehow Chris may be caught up in it. Find something... holler."
Five men nodded in terse agreement as Vin crooked his head to look over at the gambler. Blue eyes collided with green as the pair started off up the street. Ezra proceeded to reload his weapons with a look of grim determination settling upon his face, words failing his glib tongue for once as the gravity of the situation became even more apparent. They hadn't gotten far when Nathan's soft voice called out to them.
"Hey, Vin? Ezra?"
Moving as one, the pair turned to look back at the healer. Nathan ducked his head slightly and gave them a small white-toothed grin.
"Watch yer backs," he admonished gently before turning to head off after Josiah's larger figure.
Vin and Ezra exchanged brief smiles at this obvious display of Nathan's concern for their safety before turning to head over to the boarding house where Chris kept a room.
JD stood owl-eyed in the middle of the street, his sluggish mind still trying to come to terms with the fact that he'd apparently missed the gun battle but it didn't look as if things were over just yet. He jumped when a big warm hand landed heavily on the back of his neck and Buck came to stand beside him. Looking up, he was surprised to find an amused grin playing about Buck's handsome features.
"JD, button yer pants, boy, 'fore ya end up scaring someone."
Despite the grim situation, there was a definite thread of amusement underlying Wilmington's words and the ladies' man was hard pressed not to laugh out loud at the flush of embarrassment covering JD's features. The boy's hands fumbled clumsily with his shirttail and pants buttons before he looked up again to glare in frustration at the older man. Seeing that Buck was in somewhat of a state of undress himself, JD couldn't resist some teasing of his own.
"Well, at least I'm wearing pants, Buck!" JD grinned up at him, his eyebrows rising suggestively.
Buck gave a low chuckle and replied, "Yeah, but me being undressed don't scare nobody. In fact, the ladies kinda prefer it, if ya know what I mean!"
He gave JD a mischievous wink before releasing his hold on the younger man's neck. Hefting his gun in his right hand, Buck turned to find Blossom Culpepper standing in front of the saloon doors holding his gun belt, pants, shirt and boots, an expression of extreme irritation covering her gaudily painted features. He stepped over to her and leaned in close, left hand reaching out to gather up his belongings as he whispered huskily, "Keep the bed warm fer me, darlin!"
He gave Blossom a quick kiss on her ruby red lips and then motioned for JD to follow him up the street.
JD gave an exasperated sigh and followed after Buck, shaking his head in resignation as he watched the other man hop from one foot to the other while he attempted to dress.
Another hard shove in the back sent Chris Larabee sprawling into the dirt, his cry of pain muffled by the gag tied tightly around his mouth. His bare feet were quickly getting raw from walking across the rocky ground and he had already stumbled several times. Cursing himself for not taking the time to finish dressing before leaving his room, Chris took a deep breath in and was halfway to his feet when a hard kick in his ribcage sent him flying sideways.
Shit! Tightly pulling his legs up into his body, he swore silently as tears of pain and frustration gathered in his eyes. He bit down hard on the gag, using the strength of his jaw muscles to bite the cotton material and stifle any evidence of outcries on his part. A hand fisted painfully in his hair and Chris felt his head being jerked back even as the cold metal tip of a gun barrel came to rest beneath his chin.
"You go down again, mister an' I'll shoot ya where ya lie, you got me?" a harsh voice grated in his ear. When Chris didn't respond, the gun barrel was shoved harder into the underside of his jaw while the hand in his hair tightened even further. "Or..." continued the outlaw, "...I could jes blow yer damned face off right now. How'd you like 'at, Mr. Big-time-hero?"
The click of the hammer being cocked on the loaded revolver Jared held was enough to convince Chris to cooperate this time. He managed to nod his head just a bit, the bitter taste of bile and blood filling his mouth as he fumed angrily at his own helplessness. Try as he might, Chris hadn't been able to slow them down much since they'd left town and he hadn't been able to detect any sign of pursuit. The lack of outcry at their quiet departure had him worried and he found himself more than a bit fearful that one or more of the other men might have been injured in the gun battle. How else could it be possible for the bank to have been robbed and no one yet noticed?
The bigger of the two outlaws kept one hand on the girl's arm while leading a pair of horses with the other. Chuckling with satisfaction, Jared released his hold on Chris's hair and jerked the gunslinger to his feet, then roughly shoved him in the direction taken by his partner. He then reached back to grab the reins of the horses he led, his expression gleeful and full of malice beneath the mask as he watched their captive stumble almost drunkenly before righting himself once again. There was a heady sense of incredible power that came with knowing he had this dangerous looking man completely under his control and Jared Farrow was drunk with the feeling of it. He planned to have himself some fun before all was said and done, regardless of what his big brother, Ethan, had to say about it.
Ethan Farrow chuckled and shook his head. Jared was obviously enjoying tormenting the blond man who had surprised them outside the bank, their one piece of bad luck in the entire night's adventure. Everything else had gone as smoothly as planned. And now there was a bank bag holding fifty thousand dollars sweetly nestled inside his saddlebags... not to mention five less men to share it with. All in all, not a bad night's haul as far as he was concerned. It was just dumb luck on the stranger's part that he'd somehow managed to stumble across them as they were leaving the bank. Dumb luck that was going to cost the man his life.
That little chore would be left in Jared's hands since he was going to be otherwise occupied with the dark-haired girl beside him. He didn't doubt that his younger brother would find some particularly cruel and terrifying way to make the man's death as slow and painful as possible... dragging the process out for as long as he could while still keeping his victim alive. He smiled but there was no humor in it. Ethan had always known his younger brother was a bit touched in the head, probably from one of those times their father had hit him too hard.
But Jared had paid the old man back in kind, using a hammer to exact his revenge. The two brothers had been thieving and running from the law ever since. Now, with the haul from the bank heist, they had a chance to finally stop running and settle down on a place of their own... just as soon as they finished taking care of the rest of their business. He glanced at the girl beside him, admiring the delicate line of her face and the smooth curves of her figure. Yeah, he had business with her all right!
Pausing briefly to listen, Ethan didn't hear any sounds of pursuit. This time, the smile behind the mask was genuine but cautious. They were still close enough to town that he didn't feel safe letting his guard down just yet. Glancing around the darkened landscape to get his bearings, he turned eastward and led the small procession toward a formation of rocks off in the distance. He was still amazed that walking out quietly had allowed them to do just that... walk out quietly... no posse hard and fast on their tails. And with the roundabout route he had taken to their camp, no one would be able to track them. Ethan smirked confidently.
Ethan Farrow didn't realize he'd just made his second mistake. The first had been taking Chris Larabee captive. The second was underestimating the ability and the tenacity of the six men he called friends.
Knocking cautiously on the door of Chris's room, just in case they were wrong and the gunslinger was still abed, Vin reached out and gently turned the knob. Nudging the door open with the tip of three fingers, he slid cautiously inside, his eyes searching the darkness for a familiar form, his ears tuned to the slightest noise... listening and hoping to hear a soft snore from the bed or a familiar voice curse at him from out of the darkness.
But there was nothing; the room was empty.
Putting away his gun, Vin walked across the floor to where he knew there was a lamp sitting next to the bed. With practiced ease, he removed the glass cone and lit the kerosene-soaked wick. Warm golden light filled the air as he turned to find the gambler slipping inside the door after him. Ezra's troubled green eyes quickly darted about the room, disappointment, concern and a trace of fear edging the rounded pupils before the southerner recovered his normally smooth composure.
"I take it Mr. Larabee is not in residence?" he drawled needlessly.
Vin made a small face of irritation at the gambler but didn't bother to answer. Instead, he stepped over to the wardrobe where Chris kept his clothes. Opening the doors, he quickly assessed the contents, not surprised to find the usual compliment of dark shirts and pants that Larabee preferred. Undergarments were folded and stacked neatly to one side, everything in order and everything perfectly in its place. Finding nothing helpful within the cabinet, Vin closed the doors and lifted his head.
A concerned expression crossed his features as he let his sharp gaze scan the rest of the room. His eyes sought and easily found evidence of the gunslinger's presence... the rumpled bed sheets, the flat brimmed hat, the trademark black duster draped across a chair, personal items on top of the bureau, even the woolen poncho but not the gunslinger himself. He looked to the bedpost where Chris hung his gun belt but found no length of seasoned black leather adorned with shiny silver studs and conchos. A set of dark brown saddlebags rested on the table near the window along with a scabbard containing the length of Larabee's rifle... waiting... silently. It was almost as if Chris had merely stepped out for a moment and would return shortly.
Vin felt a cold shudder run up his spine as the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end, his tracker's senses telling him that something was definitely wrong here. Where in the hell was Larabee? He watched silently as Ezra crossed the room and walked around to the other side of Chris's bed.
"It would seem that Mr. Larabee departed in a rather precipitous manner," Ezra's soft voice drawled smoothly.
"How's that, Ez?" Vin asked as a hard frown settled across the line of his mouth.
The gambler gracefully bent down to retrieve something off the floor. Standing, he turned to look across the width of the bed at Vin, holding out his hands so that the tracker could see what it was he had found. "He left without these."
Vin stared in growing fear and concern at a pair of gray woolen socks and black leather boots, silver spurs jingling softly in the suddenly much too quiet room. They belonged to Chris. And it was obvious that wherever it was that Larabee had gone, he'd done so on bare feet. The former bounty hunter just hoped he hadn't gone very far.
A loud shout from the street below startled both men out of their morbid thoughts and together they took off running for the back stairs of the boarding house.
Chris Larabee's feet were bruised, raw and starting to bleed. He'd walked on and tripped over so damned many rocks and branches and God knew what else that he was beginning to think there wasn't a single soft piece of ground in the entire universe. Damn, what he wouldn't give for a pair of boots!
To hell with that! he decided grimly. He'd be more than happy to skip the boots and go directly to a nice relaxing soak in a hot tub of water, a full bottle of whiskey easily within arms reach. All that was missing was the fragrant scent and biting taste of a good cheroot. The gunman sighed a bit wistfully at the fanciful mental image.
He wasn't sure how long they'd been walking or even why when the outlaws had horses, but it was costing Larabee twice the effort and energy because of the damage being done to his unprotected feet. He was nearing the point of exhaustion. He'd remained mostly silent, small grunts of pain his only concession to the stinging slice of rock or bramble into his exposed flesh.
He had stumbled and nearly gone down again when the side of his foot caught a particularly sharp edge, the warm trickle of blood quickly welling up and oozing between his toes where it mixed with the dirt to form a messy gritty paste. The wound served to make it even more difficult to walk than before. A small smile of wry amusement crossed his face. Chris supposed it was a good thing that he was at least leaving lots of trail for Vin to follow.
The gunslinger was torn between surprise and relief when the taller bandit led the small procession around a large rock outcropping and halted just inside a sheltered recess. Surprise because the outlaws had unerringly found their way to it despite the moonless night... relief because he wasn't sure how much farther he could make it on foot. It was obvious the pair had been to this place before and knew its location well. Exhaling through his nose, Chris sighed heavily with fatigue, pain and no small amount of irritation.
Larabee swayed unsteadily on his feet, his hands still bound in front of him as a stab of orange light pierced the darkness. He blinked rapidly against it, eyes watering with the sudden brightness as the smell of burnt sulfur teased his nostrils. The light's glow revealed the trappings of a makeshift camp and from the amount of goods scattered about, it looked as if the bank robbers had been there for several days. Chris was a bit unsettled at the thought that this robbery had obviously been planned for quite some time, the gang waiting patiently outside town until the time was right to strike.
How in the hell they had gone undiscovered was a mystery to him, especially with his men riding regular patrols through the area. Even more disturbing was trying to figure out just what they had been waiting for? Was there something going on at the bank that he didn't know about? And if there was, why the hell weren't he and his men told? How much did these men know about the town and the seven men who protected it? How much did they know about Chris Larabee?
Chris watched through narrowed eyes as the girl was shoved down onto a nearby rock, a small cry of pain escaping from her lips at the rough treatment. She had remained silent for most of the journey and avoided drawing attention to herself. He didn't know if that was smart on her part... or just plain dumb luck. But for whatever reason, the bank robbers had left her alone... until now. If they ended up making camp for the night, then there was no telling what the duo had in mind for both of their captives.
A sharp jab in the middle of his back reminded Chris of the man behind him and he staggered forward, hissing beneath the gag that filled his mouth as another stone bit into the sole of his foot. A hand on his right arm shoved him towards the rocks where the girl sat silent and motionless. The gunslinger could feel Jared trailing along behind him, a grim chuckle escaping the man's lips as he reveled in his power over the hostages. "Not much of a hero now, are ya, big fella?"
Larabee's temper had been doing a slow burn ever since he'd encountered the bank robbers. Jared's softly worded taunt only served to crank it a notch higher, green eyes blazing with anger as Chris bent to awkwardly seat himself near the girl. Any words he would have spit back were silenced by the grimy bandana that was making his mouth feel as dry as a desert. The smaller man grinned at the impotent rage on his captive's face, backing away from the gunslinger while running a dirty hand over his own mouth and down the front of his shirt. He then aimed his index finger at Chris, cocked his thumb and pretended to fire a gun as he quietly exclaimed, "Boom!"
Jared Farrow laughed out loud and turned just in time to catch the canteen of water his brother threw at him.
"Give 'em some water," Ethan snapped in a rough voice, not even looking to see if Jared was doing as he'd ordered.
The older man continued to tend to the horses, grabbing up the reins of the pair following Jared and leading them over to a makeshift picket line.
"Aw, come on, Ethan!" Jared protested. "What'd I gotta give 'em water fer? They ain't gonna need any fer much longer anyways. Make more sense jes ta pour it in the dirt than waste it on them."
"Just do it!" Ethan shot back. His irritation was evident by the way he was jerking on straps and cinches as he checked over the horses and began loading items from the camp into any empty saddlebag he could find.
Grumbling under his breath, Jared angrily stalked back over to Chris and the girl. Stopping in front of the gunslinger, he glared from beneath his mask at the man seated before him. "You make one noise, jes one little noise 'n so help me, I'll blow yer brains out right where ya sit. You understand me, mister?"
Chris waited and then gave a slow careful nod, his eyes never leaving the pair boring down into him from above, memorizing their color and expression, the look of the other man despite the hood covering his features. Jared had just called his partner Ethan so now Chris knew both of their first names. That bit of information would be useful. Because if he somehow ever got out of this thing alive, Larabee knew that he would hunt both men down to see that justice was served.
Chris also knew he needed water, needed it badly if the dryness in his mouth was anything to go by. But when Jared reached up, gun still held fast within his hand, and roughly jerked the gag from his mouth, the gunslinger swallowed hard before attempting to speak.
"Girl first," he managed to rasp even though his tongue felt like it was swollen and covered with sand.
"Guess ya don't hear too good, mister!" Jared snarled. "I tole ya ta shut up... unless you'd like ta see yer brains scattered all over them rocks?"
"See to the girl first," Chris whispered defiantly, refusing to be intimidated by the smaller man's ire.
Larabee rubbed idly at the rope binding his wrists before reaching up to tug the bandana lower around his neck. Despite the rage building inside him, the gunslinger maintained an air of deadly calm, the cool façade reflected in an unwavering stare of ice green.
"You sonuvabitch!" the outlaw bit out furiously as he raised his gun, preparing to make good on his threat as the tip of the barrel came to point right between Larabee's eyes.
"Jared!" Ethan called out harshly from across the camp. "Not here. Not now."
The no nonsense tone told his younger brother he expected to be obeyed and Jared reluctantly lowered his gun. He could wait, he told himself silently. He could wait and then he'd make the man pay. He swore he would.
"Please, could I have some water?" The girl spoke, drawing attention to herself for the very first time. "Please?" she added softly when Jared hesitated.
Her liquid brown eyes darted fearfully between the two men, one standing and one seated, sensing the hostility and confrontation that was building. Jared wordlessly handed her the canteen and she took several long swallows before passing it back to him. Chris got his first good look at her when she lifted her head and murmured a quiet word of thanks to the outlaw. She was young, not much older than JD he reckoned... with long dark brown hair, brown eyes and delicate features. She wore a gingham dress and Chris found himself again wondering just how she had gotten mixed up in a bank robbery at this time of night anyway. It didn't make much sense. But then again, she did work at the bank and had perhaps been working late, although he had to admit the idea seemed a bit farfetched.
Or perhaps she had been like him... simply a victim of bad timing and circumstances. Regardless of the reason, he would have to wait until he could talk to her in private to find anything out.
"Well, well! Ain't we bein' all nice 'n polite," Jared grinned at the frightened girl, sarcasm dripping from every word. "Ever'body sayin' please 'n thank you! Maybe we all oughta take a lesson in mindin' our manners. How 'bout you, cowboy? You wantin' a lesson in manners."
There was more behind the words than a simple taunt and Chris had no difficulty imagining what Jared's version of a lesson in manners would involve. It angered the gunslinger even further to have to sit there and silently endure the man's ridicule, but he swallowed back the bitter taste of bile in his throat and focused on keeping his temper under control. Letting it loose now would only end up getting someone hurt... most likely him or the girl... and Chris wasn't ready to take that risk just yet. Not when there was a good chance that Vin and the others were already riding hard on their trail.
He jerked his foot out of the way when Jared aimed a kick at his leg.
"Hey, cowboy! I'm talkin' ta you. I asked ya if'n ya want a lesson in manners? Ain't polite not ta answer back, boy!" When Chris remained silent, Jared's face flushed a red beneath his mask. "What's the matter, mister? You deaf? Cat got yer tongue? Hey, mebbe yer retarded 'r something."
The outlaw shuffled closer and deliberately dropped the canteen of water on the ground in front of the gunslinger, paying no attention to the clear liquid spilling from the open mouth as he once again pointed his gun at Chris's face.
"That's it, ain't it? Yer a retard!" Jared chortled gleefully. "An' ya ain't got no manners ta boot. Mebbe it's time somebody dun learned ya some, whatta ya think 'bout that, cowboy? Want me ta learn ya some manners?"
The outlaw appeared to think it over for a moment before glancing downward. Smiling fiendishly, Jared raised his other hand and began to undo the buttons on his pants, his attention momentarily diverted from the bound man in front of him.
Fierce green eyes narrowed with fury as they followed the movement of Jared's hand. It was quickly apparent what the outlaw planned to do. A thunderous black rage rose up to seize Chris in its unyielding grip. All thoughts of safety... his and the girl's... were ruthlessly shoved aside as the gunslinger simply reacted to the volcanic eruption of anger flowing through him.
Chris threw his bound hands upward, knocking the gun from his captor's grasp. He then lunged for Jared's throat as his own scream of pure rage echoed eerily off the rock walls surrounding them. Staggering beneath the unexpected charge, the outlaw stumbled backwards and went down, his smaller frame absorbing most of the impact as Chris bore him to the ground. Larabee immediately pressed his advantage, pummeling the man trapped beneath him. His bound hands doubled together, he swung savagely at any part of the bank robber he could reach.
Raising his arms in a protective gesture, Jared yelled for his brother. His hooded mask came loose from around his neck and was torn from his head with a brutal yank. More punishing blows rained down upon him and he yelped in pain as the bones of his nose broke beneath a hard fist. Blood streamed freely down his face and into the back of his throat, choking him in the process, and Jared bucked in vain beneath the weight pinning him to the ground.
Chris knew he didn't have much time to take Jared out before the other bank robber stepped in. His breath coming in short ragged gasps, Chris concentrated on attacking Jared's head and face, hoping to knock the man unconscious so that he could then turn to deal with the other threat. But the journey on foot had taken more out of him than he realized and his reflexes were slowed by exhaustion... the flurry of blows and punches not quite Larabee's usual speed and power. And the man called Jared was tougher than he looked.
Pain suddenly exploded through the left side of Chris's head, fanning out into his jaw and across his face. Brilliant stars flashed before his now sightless eyes as his body stiffened in shock. He felt himself falling, a hard shove from the prostrate bank robber sending him sprawling helplessly in the dirt. Curling protectively into himself, Chris groaned and tried to roll back up to his feet, his long legs suddenly weak and resistant to his command. A swirling darkness rose up around him, roaring in his ears... taking hold of him and dragging him under. Against his will, he surrendered to it with a low guttural moan.
Matching stride for stride, Vin and Ezra rounded the corner of the boarding house at a dead run. Spying Buck and JD at the entrance to an alley beside the bank, both men drew their weapons and sprinted in that direction. Josiah and Nathan were not far behind, all six men gathering at the opening to the darkened passageway. As they drew close, Buck silently motioned for all of them to remain quiet.
The ladies' man turned to peer into the alleyway, the tension in his body and the gun held in his hand a clear signal to the others that something was wrong. He tilted his head slightly, straining to hear even the slightest noise from the shadowy depths untouched by the orange glow of a street fire. A long moment passed before Buck turned back around, his face grim as he whispered, "Back door to the bank is open."
At a wordless nod from Vin, the six men split evenly to take up position on both sides of the alley. There wasn't much cover between the boardwalk and the door so Josiah and Nathan hung back to protect the others as they cautiously crept forward. Slowly, they made their way towards the back of the bank, each man silent and tense with anticipation... an ominous dread in the pit of their stomachs at what they might find.
Reaching the open doorway, Vin slipped noiselessly inside the bank. He was quickly followed by Ezra and then Buck as he made his way across the floor to the first of the teller's windows. Eyes gradually adjusting to the dim interior, it seemed at first as if nothing was out of place. And yet, the hairs on the back of Vin's neck were standing up again, that feeling that something wasn't quite right growing stronger the longer he stood there.
Raising his head, the tracker sniffed the air much like an animal scenting the wind. The hint of something teased his senses... something familiar... something he knew shouldn't be inside a bank... unless...
Gesturing silently, Vin motioned for Buck and Ezra to check the rest of the bank's front room while he headed towards the manager's office. Gun ready in one hand, he slipped the left around the doorknob leading into the other room and carefully opened the door. A sharp coppery smell greeted him, recognition immediate as he identified the scent of fresh blood. His narrowed eyes rapidly scanned the murky room, heart beating rapidly in his throat, hoping and praying that he would not find a familiar lanky dark figure capped by a head of tousled blond hair.
The hazy outline of a pair of boots sticking out from behind the desk brought a nearly overwhelming sense of relief to the tracker. Whoever was in here, it obviously wasn't Chris and that was something that Vin couldn't help but be thankful for. A quick scan of the room revealed that it was otherwise empty and he cautiously stepped across to the other side. Kneeling down next to the body he had found, Vin reached out and touched a hand to the man's neck. There was no pulse... no breath coursing in and out of the barrel-shaped chest... the man was obviously dead.
"Dawson, bank manager," his brain quickly supplied, recognizing the man's portly figure even though the face was covered in shadows.
Vin's fingers briefly touched the dark stain covering the man's white shirtfront, feeling the moisture there... the sticky texture of congealed blood, the warmth that still emanated from the body. Dawson hadn't been dead long which meant that whoever killed him couldn't be all that far away. But it would be slow going to try and hunt them down at night... especially now that the moon had set. And the tracker had a pretty good idea about why Dawson had been murdered in the first place.
His suspicions were confirmed a moment later when Buck appeared at the door and called out to him. "Vin, safe's open. Bank's been robbed."
Rising slowly to his feet, Vin walked back across the room and stopped in the open doorway. His eyes scanned the outer room again as he said, "Dawson's in here... dead... reckon whoever killed 'im musta robbed the bank too."
"Not without first ascertaining the combination with which to liberate the bank's funds," Ezra declared as he moved to join them. "There's no sign of forced entry and the thieves obviously didn't use dynamite."
"Dynamite'd make too much noise," Vin drawled quietly, his brow furrowed in thought. "These fellas didn't want nobody ta hear 'em. Sneak in 'n out real quick like while ever'body was someplace else."
"Vin, you thinking that's what the gunfight was all about?" Buck asked quizzically, a frown marring the smooth line of his forehead. "A setup to keep us from catching on to what was going on in here?"
"It would appear so," the gambler answered as Vin nodded his head in agreement. "It makes for an excellent strategy. Create a timely diversion to draw our attention elsewhere while the real crime is very quietly being committed right here with minimal risk of discovery. A brilliant plan if I do say so myself."
"So who in the blue blazes are these guys?" Buck asked in exasperation. "And I still don't understand just how in the hell they can come in here and rob the bank right under our noses without us knowing. Surely somebody would of seen or heard something?"
"Mebbe somebody did," Vin responded softly, tendrils of dread starting to coil around his heart.
"Whatdya mean, Vin?" Buck had a feeling he wasn't going to like the tracker's answer.
"Buck?" JD called to him from the door and the three men turned to look at their youngest member. Lifting a dark object he held in his left hand, JD's mouth opened and closed several times before he swallowed hard and barely managed to whisper, "I... found this in the alley."
It wasn't until Vin stepped closer that he recognized the length of leather held in JD's hand, the dull gleam of silver studs and conchos reflecting the weak thread of light filtering through the open doorway. It wasn't until he stepped forward for a better look that Vin finally knew why his guts had been tied up in knots since this whole thing began.
JD was holding Chris Larabee's gun belt.
"Josiah, need some more light back here!"
Vin Tanner knelt down in the dirt, scanning the alley outside the bank's back door. JD stood silently behind him, holding tightly to the length of black leather he had found. Buck and Ezra were inside the bank, moving quickly to find a lamp to aid them in their search for clues in the manager's office. The ex-preacher appeared a moment later, a burning length of wood from one of the street fires held firmly in his hand. The bright orange glow caused shadows to shift and then retreat as Josiah approached. The tracker rose to his feet and waited for the older man to join him.
"Bank's been robbed," Vin stated unceremoniously as the ex-preacher eyed the open door.
Sanchez nodded his head. Spying the length of leather held in JD's fist, he raised one bushy eyebrow questioningly.
"JD found Chris's gun belt in the alley but there ain't no sign of Chris. Dawson's inside... dead. Reckon whoever killed 'im musta robbed the bank too."
"Makes sense," Josiah's deep voice rumbled softly. "Folks are starting to gather in the street again."
The big man cast a quick glance back up the alley, the outline of Nathan's tall form at the entryway assuring him that so far the situation remained under control. "Word'll get around fast. You think they got Chris?"
It was a question that had been weighing heavily on all their minds but no one wanted to voice.
"Ain't certain," Vin rasped softly. "But it looks that way. Chris ain't one ta leave his gun belt jes lying 'round."
The increasing volume of voices coming from the street drew their attention and they turned to see Nathan raising a hand to calm the gathering crowd. The healer's low-pitched words seemed to mollify those closest to him but it was apparent that more of the town's folk were determined to find out just what had happened. Vin supposed he couldn't really blame them.
Taking the burning torch from the ex-preacher, Vin angled his head back towards the street. "Josiah, you 'n Nathan keep them folks back while me 'n JD take a look around. An' ya might wanna let Stowbridge know we got another customer fer him."
The big man nodded and turned to walk back up the alley, a grim expression lining his weathered features.
Vin turned back to the young man standing beside him. "C'mon, JD... 'n remember ta be careful where ya step."
Nodding his head in understanding, JD followed after Vin as the two men spent the next several minutes examining the dusty ground in the back of the alley. Both remained silent, their senses tuned to the job at hand, eyes alert and watchful for any clues that might have been left behind. Vin knelt down several times, one hand reaching out to touch and sift the dry grains of earth as keen eyes read the story that unfolded before him. He muttered to himself underneath his breath, his facial expression tight with concentration as his mouth settled into a somber white line of concern. He could feel JD's eyes glancing over at him every once in a while but ignored the younger man as he followed a set of footprints farther back into the alley.
For his part, JD was busy reading signs in the dirt as well. Vin had been teaching him how to track and he was now calling upon everything that Tanner had so patiently shown him. A dark spot on the ground, not far from where he'd found Larabee's gun belt, captured his attention and JD went to his knees for a closer look. Reaching out with one hand, he touched it with the tip of a finger; tapping it gently, he realized the stain was moist. It clung to his skin and he rubbed it between thumb and forefinger. Raising his hand, he studied his fingers before sniffing the slick substance covering them. Recognition was immediate and, hazel eyes widening with alarm, he turned and called urgently to the tracker.
"Vin! Over here!"
Something in JD's voice broke through Vin's concentration and he hurried over to where the youth knelt in the dirt. The frown on the tracker's face deepened as he saw the glistening substance that covered JD's fingers. Squatting down next to the younger man, Vin scanned the dusty ground before reaching out to touch the darkened patch as well, unconsciously biting down on his lower lip as his worry increased.
"Blood," JD told him unnecessarily. The youth pointed to his left as he continued, "I found Chris's gun belt just over there." He paused and then hesitantly asked, "Do you think its Chris's?"
JD was learning. Vin knew he should be proud but right now he was more concerned about the implications of what the kid had found. And Vin had no doubts.
"Yeah, reckon it is, JD. Chris ain't one ta go peaceable like... damn hardheaded sonuvabitch!" he swore softly.
Rising from the ground, Vin and JD turned to find Buck and Ezra coming out of the back door of the bank. The gambler held his white handkerchief in one hand and extended it toward them as he spoke. "Well, gentlemen. We seem to have located the murder weapon."
A silver letter opener was nestled within the cotton material, darker areas of stain gleaming dully off the slender length as the torchlight caressed it. "It would seem that Mr. Dawson was impaled with his own blade which would explain the lack of a gunshot to raise the alarm. A rather painful, if somewhat inglorious way of departing this earth, if you ask me."
"No one's asking, Ezra," Buck grumbled from beside him. Blue eyes rose to meet the trackers across the distance of a few feet. "You find anything, Vin?"
Tanner gave a sharp nod before jerking his head toward the back of the alley.
"Got two sets of boot prints, man-sized, leadin' in 'n outta the bank. Looks like they had horses waitin' on 'em jes 'round the back corner." The tracker then dropped his gaze, idly shuffling his foot as he continued. "Found two other sets o' prints as well. One's a smaller boot, most likely a kid. Seems ta go off with t'others."
"And the other set?" Josiah's bass voice rumbled gently as he and Nathan joined the others. The duo had seen their partners emerge from the bank and, after instructing the gathering crowd to stay put, had walked down the alley to join in on the discussion.
Vin hesitated a moment before answering. "Barefoot... most likely Chris since he took off outta his room without his boots."
"You sure?" Nathan asked quietly.
"Yeah." Vin's answer was so soft that the others had to strain to hear him. "JD found Chris's gun belt an' some fresh blood over there in the dirt. Don't rightly reckon it could belong ta no one else."
All six stood silent for a moment before JD impatiently cut across their dark thoughts.
"So whatta we do now? Go after them? I mean, if they got Chris, shouldn't we be riding out or something?"
"Ya cain't track 'em at night, JD. Not without moonlight," Buck answered in an exasperated tone of voice, his worry for Chris making his explanation sharper than he had intended. "We'll have ta wait until morning ta go after them," the ladies' man continued, softening his words. "Otherwise, we could be riding right into a trap."
Hazel eyes turned pleadingly in Tanner's direction.
"Buck's right, kid. Cain't track what ya cain't see," Vin responded with a reluctant shake of his head. He didn't like it any better than the rest of them but now was not the time to go doing anything stupid, especially something that might end up getting Chris killed.
"Then, gentlemen, might I suggest that we conclude with our business here and agree to meet at the livery stable at dawn?"
Ezra normally wasn't one to greet the sunrise with any degree of warmth or welcome but in this particular case, the gambler was willing to make an exception. After all, he had a small amount of money invested in the bank, the result of some information received about a new business venture coming into town. Information gained in exchange for the absolution of the gambling debt of one... now deceased... bank manager. And Ezra Standish was never one to overlook a financial opportunity.
At least that was what Ezra told himself was his rationale for suggesting such an uncharacteristically early hour. He'd be damned if he would admit to it being for any other reason. Any concern or fear he felt for Chris Larabee was a wholly separate issue that he would never willingly confess. It might ruin the reputation that he so carefully cultivated.
"Agreed." It was Josiah who answered the gambler's suggestion.
"Somebody's gotta stay here. Cain't leave the town without protection." Nathan's gentle voice reminded them of their obligation, their reason for being there in the first place. All eyes turned expectantly to Vin.
"I'm going after Chris," Buck stated emphatically, his hard tone of voice daring anyone, even Vin Tanner, to oppose him. "The rest of y'all can stay or go but I'm going."
Flashing blue eyes gleamed with a furious determination in the light of the torch as Wilmington's tall lean frame quivered with tension and no small degree of fear for the life and safety of his oldest friend. A shout from the street startled them, drawing their attention, and they turned as one to find several of the townsfolk peering into the alley.
"Aw, hell!" Vin muttered under his breath.
The tracker, knowing there was no getting around it, made his way back towards the crowd, their collective faces anxiously following his every step. The gathered townspeople shifted nervously, expectantly, waiting to hear what the longhaired man had to say.
Vin was suddenly uncomfortable beneath the amount of attention he was receiving. The quiet tracker normally preferred to stay in the background, a silent shadow slipping in and out, only coming to the forefront when and if it was absolutely necessary. Having to step forward and assume Chris's mantle of leadership was not something he cared to do. But since Chris's life might well be on the line, he would do it willingly. Vin stepped up onto the boardwalk.
"Bank's been robbed. We'll be ridin' out after 'em come morning. You folks go on home now."
Vin kept his words short and to the point. He turned a steely-eyed blue gaze on the gathered throng, that look letting them know that he was the one in charge now and that he expected to be obeyed. He felt the other five men move up the steps behind him, their very presence showing their support and affirming his role as leader in Chris Larabee's absence. It felt good to know they were there.
Several people along the fringes of the crowd began to slowly drift away, disappointed that they wouldn't be getting any more information than what little the tracker had said. Suddenly, a loud voice protested from across the street.
"Now hold on just a minute, gentlemen!"
Vin looked up to see a man standing almost directly across from him, face hidden beneath the brim of his hat and a cigar held casually between two fingers. He was leaning against a post, his posture indicating an apparent boredom with the entire proceedings. The tracker's eyes narrowed uncertainly, taking in everything about the man in a glance as he quickly realized he'd never seen him before. Vin risked a brief questioning look over his shoulder and was met with a small shrug from the others who indicated that the man was unknown to them as well.
The dark figure wore expensive-looking boots, tailored pants and a form-fitting coat along the style and length that Ezra typically preferred. White frills at his throat indicated a degree of polish and sophistication not usually found in places this far west of the Mississippi and the smooth cultured tone of his voice only served to set the tracker's nerves on edge once again. Several of the townsfolk turned to look at the stranger in anticipation as he straightened and then stepped casually down into the street. He walked slowly forward as he spoke.
"You mean to tell these good people here that the bank has been robbed, their money is now gone, and you aren't going to do anything about it until morning. So they should just go on home like good little children while the thieves conveniently make their escape?"
There were a few murmurs of general agreement that rippled through the crowd as a pair of cool blue-gray eyes slowly lifted to meet the heated gaze of the tracker.
"What's next?" the stranger continued. "Pat them on the head and send them off to sleep with milk and cookies?"
A low growl from behind Vin's right shoulder had him throwing up a warning gesture to silence Buck. He could feel the anger radiating off the taller man behind him but knew there was nothing to be gained from instigating a fight in front of witnesses.
"You got somethin' ta say, mister, then why don't ya come right out 'n say it?" The ice in the tracker's lazy drawl and his steady gaze wouldn't have melted beneath even the hottest noonday sun.
The stranger gave a short bark of harsh laughter. "I believe I just did, my good sir. But then perhaps in such a provincial setting there are those without sufficient intelligence to understand plainly spoken English?"
A slow sardonic grin curved the corners of his lips as the man brought the cigar to his mouth and inhaled deeply, holding the fragrant smoke in before slowly breathing out.
Vin Tanner didn't need to be able to read or write to know he'd just been insulted. It was there on the man's face and in the arrogant tilt of his head, those pale eyes gazing up at him like he was some sort of curiosity in a circus sideshow. And the tracker didn't much care for it. Forget Buck! He was on the verge of putting the man in his place himself with a well-aimed fist when Ezra unexpectedly stepped forward.
"Indeed, sir! I, myself, ever despair of finding someone of sufficient knowledge and culture with which to carry on even a decent conversation. The lack of intellectual stimulation alone would classify this town as a veritable wasteland. I would welcome the opportunity to share a discourse with you upon the subject in question. The name is Standish... Ezra Standish, and you are...?" The gambler laid a gentle restraining hand on Vin's right arm, releasing him only when he felt the tension drain from the bunched muscles beneath his fingers.
"Jasper Edmunds, at your service, sir!" The stranger raised his other hand and elegantly tipped his hat in the southerner's direction. "And I would be more than happy to make your acquaintance over a glass of brandy as soon as my business here is concluded."
"And, pray tell, what might that business be?" Ezra inquired smoothly. Years of experience had taught him that tact and diplomacy, along with a little application of his God-given talents could indeed go a long way toward getting the information that he wanted from others.
"Well, now, Mr. Standish... I do believe that these bank robbers have made off with a goodly sum of my company's money and I intend to see that they are apprehended without delay."
"Your company, Mr. Edmunds?" Ezra was fairly certain that he now knew who the gentleman was and couldn't help but curse silently as he realized that the bank manager's well-kept financial secret was about to become public.
"Why, Bartlett and Edmunds Freight Company, of course! Surely you've heard of us?" Edmunds stepped forward, the light from the torch illuminating more of his features as a murmur of surprise rolled through the listening crowd. "Why, we deliver freight where trains fear to tread! We plan to expand our operations with another branch right here. We'll put this town on the map, make it a thriving center for jobs, commerce and other various enterprises... or at least we planned to until these hoodlums made off with the company's money."
He paused for effect, every ear straining to hear his next words.
"Now," he lifted his shoulders expressively. "Who can say? I'm not sure my business partner will agree to finance another operation if the money is not recovered. We specifically chose this town because we had heard it was protected by seven hired guns. But from what I've seen and heard this evening, it doesn't appear as if there is anyone protecting these good folks at all."
This last was uttered with a pointed look directly at Vin Tanner's scruffy figure as a low rumble of agreement floated up from a few stragglers on the edge of the crowd. Ezra smoothly stepped in front of the former bounty hunter as he felt the gathering anger getting ready to explode from Tanner's wiry frame.
Smiling politely, the southerner answered, "Be that as it may, please rest assured that there are indeed seven men protecting this town albeit we are one short at the moment. We have every intention of recovering these good people's money and seeing that the miscreants who perpetrated this crime are punished to the full extent of the law. Have no fear, Mr. Edmunds. Your money shall be returned. Justice will prevail."
"One would hope so, Mr. Standish. One would truly hope so." Edmunds took another draw on his cigar and made as if to turn away. He stopped suddenly as if he had forgotten something and looked back, a thoughtful expression on his face.
"You say there is one of you missing?"
"Unfortunately, yes," Ezra answered in a cautious voice, guarded green eyes closely watching the other man for his reaction. There was something just a bit unsettling about this slick stranger, something that Standish couldn't quite put his finger on. He reminded the gambler of... himself, he realized. Perhaps this was what was bothering him about the man... one conman simply recognizing the other.
"I'm afraid we have been unable to ascertain the whereabouts of our leader, a Mr. Chris Larabee, and fear he may have met with less than fortuitous circumstances."
"I see," Edmunds murmured softly, a considering look crossing his features.
Something about the way the man spoke those two simple words set the gambler's teeth on edge although he was careful not to show it. He purposefully ignored the warning hand Vin placed on his shoulder. "And what precisely do you see, Mr. Edmunds?"
The freight company owner shrugged his shoulders carelessly. "Nothing, Mr. Standish. Why, nothing at all. It just seems a bit... convenient, shall we say, that a man trusted to guard this town and the people in it should suddenly turn up missing after the bank has just been robbed."
JD's jaw dropped in shock but it was Buck who angrily stepped forward, eyes shooting daggers at the elegantly dressed stranger standing in the street. Josiah and Nathan stood on each side of the ladies' man, hanging on to Wilmington's muscular arms, holding him back to keep him from pummeling the man named Edmunds into the dirt.
"Mister, since you're new in town an' don't know no better, I'm gonna cut you a break." Buck's voice was all the more menacing for the sibilant tone in which he spoke. "Now I don't know you an' you don't know me. And you sure as hell don't know Chris. But if I ever hear you slander that man's name again, I'll shoot you down like the yellow-bellied cur you are. You got me?"
"Buck," Vin rasped warningly.
Jasper Edmunds merely smiled and tipped his hat at the peacekeepers. "Gentleman, I admire your loyalty. Indeed, I do."
Turning on his heel, the freight company owner walked off. Sensing that the confrontation was over and there was no further information to be gained, the remainder of the crowd also began to drift away.
Buck gave a low growl of frustration and wrenched his arms free of Josiah and Nathan's grasp. He stood staring after the stranger for a moment before cursing under his breath and stalking off in the opposite direction. With a deep sigh of relief, Nathan watched him go, his heart heavy for the burden that he knew Wilmington carried. Buck had known Chris longer than any of them and he was fiercely loyal to the man. The pair had their differences now and again, but when push came to shove, they'd ride to hell and back for each other.
Only one man was closer to Chris Larabee than Buck Wilmington.
Vin stepped up next to the gambler, a voice inside his head telling him that something wasn't quite right... warning him. Vin had learned long ago to listen to that voice. Two pairs of wary eyes watched Jasper Edmunds disappear into the darkness.
"Ezra..." Vin said quietly.
"Consider it done, Mr. Tanner."
Without even glancing in the tracker's direction, Ezra stepped down into the street and followed Jasper Edmunds towards the hotel. The southerner was now a man on a mission and his mission was to find out anything and everything he could about Jasper Edmunds.
Vin silently shook his head at the gambler's retreating back, a brief smile playing over his lips at this small bit of silent communication. For all his reserve, Ezra was more a part of them than he cared to admit. The tracker walked over to throw the torch he held into the nearest street fire. Taking a deep breath in, he exhaled with determination. There were things that needed doing before he rode out at dawn and Vin was a great believer in not wasting time... especially not with Chris Larabee's life riding on it. Turning back around, he looked at the three men remaining.
"JD, need ya ta go through all them wanted posters again. See if there's any new faces or ones that might look familiar."
"But Vin, we don't even know what these guys look like," JD protested.
"I know, JD," Vin quickly assured him. "Keep an eye out fer the ones workin' in pairs, the ones that's wanted fer bank robbery mostly. Josiah, go 'n git that telegraph fella outta bed. Need ta start asking 'round 'bout any other banks bein' robbed, any other towns bein' hit like this. Nathan, git yer stuff together. Yer ridin' with me an' Buck come morning. I gotta feelin' Chris is gonna need ya."
"But Vin..."
"Don't argue, JD!" Vin ordered a bit sharply.
"I wanna go too," JD stated firmly, unable to keep a small note of pleading from creeping into his voice.
Vin relented slightly and softened his tone as he told the younger man, "JD, I need ya ta stay here with Josiah 'n Ezra ta keep an eye on things."
A look of disappointment entered JD's hazel eyes.
"Look, JD... find Buck 'n then meet me down'ta livery. Gonna need an extra set o' hands gettin' the horses ready to ride, 'kay?"
JD nodded solemnly as he and Nathan left to carry out their appointed tasks. Josiah, however, lingered behind and Vin looked up at the ex-preacher questioningly.
"We may have another problem," the older man said in a low voice. "Mrs. Landers, the one who rents rooms for ladies...?" He continued at the tracker's nod of recognition. "One of her boarders is missing. Seems the young lady went out for an evening walk and hasn't returned."
Tanner frowned with concern and asked, "Which one?"
Josiah's answer didn't bring them any good news. "Her name's Molly Appleton and she works at the bank. Just got hired two weeks ago."
Vin nodded thoughtfully. More pieces of the puzzle had just fallen into place. The smaller boot prints in the back of the alley weren't from a child. They belonged to the woman who'd been working as a clerk in the bank. Threatening her would have convinced Dawson to cooperate with the bank robbers and give them the contents of the safe.
That was probably how they'd had gotten the drop on Chris as well. Larabee's options would have been severely limited by the presence of a hostage. Chris wouldn't have wanted to risk the girl's life. And shooting the gunslinger outright would have drawn attention to the robbery taking place. They'd had no choice but to take Chris with them but for how far and for how long, Vin mused silently. The bank robbers had already killed Dawson. One more body wouldn't matter to them.
Chris Larabee knew he'd probably had worse nights somewhere before. The problem was, he couldn't seem to remember when. He wasn't even sure how long he'd been unconscious after getting hit over the head, but he'd spent the rest of the dark hours trussed up better than a prized bird in a turkey shooting contest. His hands and feet felt like ice from the desert's nighttime temperatures. And a stiff wind had arisen, bringing with it a chill that settled over his body. Now, as the first colored tendrils of the morning sun stretched across the velvet sky, he was still no closer to figuring out how to get himself and the girl out of the mess they were in.
The throbbing pain in his skull and along the length of his jaw had pulled him back to awareness some time ago. The left side of his face was covered in a stiff crusted layer of blood. His hair was matted with the dried red liquid, chunks of dirt mixed in with it. His left eye was swollen shut, cheek and lower lip badly bruised and swollen as well. His tongue felt like it was about three sizes too big for his mouth and there didn't seem to be a muscle in his entire body that didn't ache. Then he made the mistake of trying to move.
The foul-tasting gag stifled the involuntary groan of pain as it erupted in the back of his throat. Somehow he knew that Jared had been the one to tie him back up after Chris had attacked him. How else could he explain the awkward position he'd been stuck in for the rest of the night? His hands were now tied tightly behind him, knees bent as a short length of rope ran from his wrists down to another piece of rope knotted around his ankles. Chris reckoned that he must look like a calf that had been roped and thrown. All that was missing was a cowboy and a branding iron.
A short humorless chuckle bubbled up inside his chest, threatening to force its way out from behind the gag. The sound quickly turned to a hiss of pain as abused ribs protested against the movement. Damn! Chris cursed silently. Jared must have also gotten in a few well-placed kicks to his ribcage while he was out. Chris couldn't say that he was sorry he'd missed that particular part.
Lifting his head gingerly, he struggled to open his eyes and take stock of his surroundings. The girl was curled up in a blanket several feet away, her wrists likewise tied together but her feet unbound. No cruel gag had been forced into her mouth and Chris was relieved to see that so far it looked as if the bank robbers had left her alone. The pale lines of her face were softened and relaxed as she slept.
He'd been forced to lie on his stomach for most of the night, dirt and small rocks biting into the exposed skin of his chest and upper abdomen where his shirt fell open. The times he'd tried to roll onto his side put too much strain on his shoulders and arms until he'd finally given up and fallen into an exhausted sleep an hour or so before dawn. But his rest had been fleeting and Chris knew that with the rising sun, the bandits would be anxious to head out. The question was... would they take their two captives with them? Or leave them behind as fodder for the vultures?
A wave of dizziness washed over him and Chris briefly shook his head, trying to clear away the cobwebs that remained. A movement to his right drew his attention and he rolled slightly to see the man called Ethan stroll casually back into camp. He watched as the outlaw stretched and gave a huge yawn, seemingly unconcerned with the approach of dawn or the possibility of a posse riding up on their tails. Using the tip of his boot, Ethan rolled his partner out of bed and gruffly ordered him to get up.
Belatedly, Chris realized that neither bank robber wore a mask, fleeting memories of stripping the one off of Jared the night before coming back to him in a sudden rush. Now, in the growing light of day, both of their faces were in full view... something Chris instinctively knew was not a good sign. If the two men weren't concerned about their faces being seen, then they obviously weren't planning on leaving anyone around who could identify them either.
Witnesses couldn't testify if they were dead.
Chris glanced up to see Jared approaching, a grin of unholy delight crossing the man's battered features. He watched as Jared reached into his boot and extracted a bone-handled knife. Kneeling next to the gunslinger's prone form, pale eyes sparkled with glee as he held the blade in front of Chris's face. The bandit chuckled as he dragged the pointed tip down the side of Larabee's swollen cheek, scratching lightly but stopping short of drawing fresh blood. If he was hoping to get some sort of reaction from his captive, then Jared was disappointed. Chris never moved. He stared straight past him, refusing to even acknowledge the other man's presence.
Jared seethed with anger at the silent insult. Whipping around, he cut the length of rope binding Larabee's ankles and wrists together.
"Get up, you bastard!" Jared snarled furiously.
He just as quickly sliced through the loop around Chris's legs then grabbed hold of him by one arm and roughly hauled the gunslinger to his feet. He smiled with undisguised satisfaction as the man reeled drunkenly, a hiss of pain escaping the prisoner at the further abuse of sore tendons and muscles
Chris was shoved across the camp, back toward the rocks. Jared forced him to sit with a hard hand to his shoulder. Arms still bound behind his back, the gunslinger stumbled helplessly as the myriad of cuts and bruises on his feet protested the additional insult. The girl, Molly, soon joined him as Ethan deposited her next to Larabee. The taller bandit hardly even spared him a glance as he began snapping orders to his partner as they prepared to break camp.
"Hurry it up, Jared. Sun's coming up and we need to get riding."
Satisfied their hostages weren't going anywhere, the bank robbers virtually ignored the prisoners while they finished packing the horses. The gunslinger took advantage of their carelessness and looked to the girl. Catching her eye, he motioned with his head for her to move nearer. He turned his back partially towards her and offered his hands to indicate that she should untie him. But she merely looked at him through fear-filled eyes and shook her head.
Chris cautiously moved closer, smoky green eyes flashing at her, the commanding tilt of his head insisting on her cooperation. A low growl emanated from beneath the tight gag, the tone compelling her to obey as he again thrust his hands in her direction.
Once more, she shook her head, liquid brown eyes rising to briefly meet his narrowed angry ones. "No, I can't. They'll kill me," she whispered in a trembling voice. She moved away from him, her expression pleading with him to understand. "Please, no."
Chris cursed under his breath. The damned fool girl was clearly frightened half to death but sitting around waiting to be killed wasn't his idea of a good time. If she wasn't smart enough to realize what the outlaws had planned, then Chris knew he was just going to have to figure something out without relying on her for help. The question was... what?
Chris looked up to see Jared and Ethan crossing the camp towards him. Something in the younger man's eyes set off warning bells inside Larabee's head and his body tensed of its own accord at their approach.
"Get up!" Jared growled at his captive, obviously expecting his order to be obeyed.
Chris bristled with fury at the tone of the other man's voice. He'd be damned if he'd make this easy for them! Quick as a striking snake, he lunged forward, his shoulder catching Jared in the mid-section and driving him to the ground. The gunslinger rolled as he landed, ordering his battered body to keep moving. He swung out with one long leg, surprising Ethan with a hard kick to the back of his thighs, driving the outlaw to his hands and knees. Larabee then managed to stagger to his feet only to turn and find Jared coming at him again. Drawing back, he quickly head-butted the younger man, ignoring the flash of pain inside his own skull at the blow. A sense of grim satisfaction filled him as he saw his opponent double over in agony, hands clutching at his forehead. Thrusting sharply upward with one knee, Chris caught the man beneath the chin, stunning the bandit and sending him crashing to the earth.
A sharp agonizing blow to the middle of Larabee's back brought a swift end to the brutal fight. Against his will, Chris sank to the ground, landing hard on the packed dirt. The world spun dizzily about him and he gasped for air through the filthy gag crammed into his mouth. A tight hand fisted in his hair, cruelly drawing his head backwards as the tip of a gun barrel filled his right ear.
"You try that again and I'm gonna let my little brother here start carving you up. You got me?"
"JD, hand me some more of them extra cartridges," Buck requested as he continued to pack his gear into his saddlebags. The younger man silently handed him two more boxes as Buck nodded his thanks.
Daylight was fast approaching. The six remaining peacekeepers had gathered outside the jail to finish their preparations. Three horses, saddled and trail-ready, waited patiently at the hitching rail. Nathan, Buck and Vin all hurriedly checked their gear, packing away last minute items and securing bedrolls and canteens before riding out. Conversation was scarce; each man caught up in his own private thoughts, various expressions of worry and concern a common thread binding them together in the pale gray morning light.
It had been a long sleepless night for all of them, one filled with more puzzling questions than there were actual answers. They were all nervous... edgy... anxious to ride... wanting to do something... anything.
Vin turned to speak to the three peacekeepers who would remain behind. He looked to the eldest.
"Might wanna let the Judge know."
"Already done, Brother Vin," the big man responded with just a ghost of a smile, white teeth gleaming against the darker tan of his weathered features.
"JD, don't ferget ta keep an eye out on them wanted posters an' ya might wanna check with the territorial marshal. Let 'im know what's goin' on."
The dark-headed youth nodded his understanding, his hands clenching and unclenching around the butts of his twin pearl-handled revolvers. He wanted to ride out with them so bad that JD could almost taste it. But Vin had made it clear that he needed him to stay here in town to watch over things. And as much as JD wanted to go, he was also determined to prove that he could be relied upon to do his job and do it well.
"Ezra, you find out anythin' 'bout that fancy fella?"
The gambler stepped forward from where he had been leaning against the wall. "Indeed I have, Mr. Tanner. It would seem that Mr. Edmund's assertion of having placed a significant amount of funds within our local repository is indeed true. The recently deceased Mr. Dawson's records indicate a deposit in the amount of fifty thousand dollars only two short days ago. All of which means that our thieves have managed to abscond with somewhere over and above that rather generous amount."
Vin nodded his head once again. "All right, you stay on 'im, Ezra, an' see what else ya kin find out. Somethin' 'bout that fella don't sit right with me an' I don't much care fer him all but accusin' Chris of robbin' the bank."
"I am ever diligent, Mr. Tanner... ever diligent," Ezra replied as he grinned and gave the tracker a two-fingered salute to the brim of his hat.
The lithe tracker swung easily into the saddle, his horse prancing beneath him just a bit as his weight landed in the stirrups. He quickly spoke to the animal in a low soothing voice, his calm demeanor and gentle hands a sharp contrast to the fierce emotions swirling behind his deep blue eyes. To those who didn't know him, the longhaired man seemed cool, composed and withdrawn. Even to those who did, they would see very little amiss in his quiet reserved nature. But to the men who rode with him, there was a tightness about the line of his mouth, a certain predatory look to those cold sapphire depths, a tension about the lean whipcord strength of his body. Gone was the easy-going, affable man whose rough exterior housed the heart and soul of a poet. This was the former bounty hunter... the relentless tracker. This was a man who knew what it was to be both the hunter and the hunted... who had seen the dark side of death and lived to talk about it... who would ride to hell and back again to save a friend. This was the man who swore silently that he would find Chris Larabee or die trying.
This was the man now mounted before them.
Nathan and Buck quickly mounted their horses as well, Wilmington's large gray gelding sidling over to stand next to the rail. Settling in and checking his stirrups, Nathan tugged sharply on the front brim of his hat as he turned to look over at the tracker.
"Where we gonna start, Vin?" he asked quietly, an expression of steadfast determination covering his dark face.
"Last place we know Larabee was," Vin answered shortly. "Behind the bank."
The healer nodded his head in understanding, his normally gentle brown eyes moving over the faces of the men assembled before lifting the reins and urging his horse forward.
"Ready, Buck?" The former bounty hunter glanced over his shoulder questioningly.
"Ready as I'll ever be, I reckon," the ladies' man answered softly, resolutely. He turned worried blue eyes in JD's direction as he said, "JD, you stay outta trouble now, ya hear?"
JD couldn't help but grin at the admonition. "Shoot, Buck! You know me... trouble's my middle name."
He had meant the words to be lighthearted and teasing but Buck's solemn answer quickly wiped the smile from JD's face. "That's what I'm afraid of, kid. That's exactly what I'm afraid of."
With a brief nod in the tracker's direction, Buck spurred his horse forward and followed after Nathan's retreating form. Vin lifted the reins in his hands as he prepared to move out only to pull up short as the gambler called out to him.
"Vin?" Green eyes met determined blue ones. "Safe journey, Mr. Tanner... and good hunting," the southerner offered quietly in his smoothly accented tones.
The tracker's gaze roamed over the faces looking up at him, acknowledging each man in turn before glancing back at Standish. "You too, Ezra... you too."
The three men left behind watched silently as Vin caught up to Nathan and Buck before all three riders disappeared from view around the corner of the bank. Josiah, JD and Ezra stood there a moment longer, each man lost in thought... each man hoping and praying... each man knowing in his heart that it wasn't the money that the others were riding out to find and bring back.
They rode for Chris Larabee.
The flies kept buzzing around his head only adding to Chris Larabee's discomfort. They landed on his face, drawn there by the coating of dried blood, biting into his flesh and making his skin itch something fierce. He tossed his head slightly as another one landed close to his swollen left eye, the movement briefly throwing strands of limp dirty blond hair off of his forehead. He glanced up at the sun appraisingly, squinting against the bright glare while doing his best to keep track of direction and distance.
They had left the makeshift camp on horseback some four hours ago as near as he could tell, traveling south towards the borderlands at a steady pace. Whoever these two men were, Chris didn't understand why they weren't riding hell bent for leather and looking over their shoulder for signs of pursuit. He reasoned that either they didn't think they'd get caught or perhaps they were simply too stupid to realize their danger. Either way, Chris knew it didn't solve his primary problem of how to get himself and the girl out of this situation alive. And it was going to be more than a bit difficult to do with his hands still tied tightly behind his back, a gag stuffed in his mouth, no gun and no boots!
And just where in the hell were Tanner and the others? They should have caught up to the outlaws some time ago according to Larabee's calculations. Vin Tanner could track almost anything, anywhere and at any time. He was like a bloodhound hot on a scent. Chris knew how the younger man worked; he'd watched him in action. It was only a matter of time. All he had to do was wait.
The gunslinger tried to counsel himself to remain patient but it wasn't easy. He wasn't used to feeling helpless like this and he didn't much care for it... not one damned bit! He'd already given in to his anger twice and done nothing but gotten himself walloped in the head for his troubles. Chris knew deep down that help was on the way but they were sure taking their own sweet time about getting there.
Larabee looked up in surprise when Ethan called the small group to a halt in almost the middle of nowhere. He glanced around furtively. Seeing nothing, he cautiously relaxed his stance in the saddle, glad for the brief respite no matter what their reasons for stopping. Dehydration, lack of food and sleep combined with the injuries he had suffered, were exhausting his strength. Chris wasn't sure how much longer he could remain upright. Dizziness and a curious roaring noise in his ears had already combined to nearly send him toppling from the saddle twice. He looked over to see Ethan watching him with a slight smirk on his face.
"Reckon this is about as far as you go, mister."
His barely audible words sent a cold chill up Larabee's spine and Chris unconsciously straightened in the saddle. This was what he had been waiting for. Beside him, the gunslinger swore he could feel the girl tremble with fear.
Jared laughed from where he sat astride his horse. "Yep, I reckon folks in these here parts'll remember the Farrow brothers fer a good long time ta come!"
He grinned at his brother beside him before slowly pulling his gun from its holster. Chris tensed for what he knew was coming, his heart now pounding wildly in his throat.
"Adios, cowboy!"
Chris heard the gunshot just a fraction of a second before the bullet tore through his right side, a shaft of white hot pain suffusing his entire body in a shroud of agony. The force propelled him sideways and backwards over the horse's hindquarters, an involuntary cry erupting from his throat as he tumbled awkwardly to the ground. Unable to use his hands to break his fall, Chris landed hard, his voice silenced as a rock cracked solidly against the side of his head. He was briefly aware of the second sharp pain, bright pinpricks of light swimming in front of his eyes before a swirling darkness carried him quickly downwards. Oblivion claimed Chris Larabee as victim while his captors silently watched.
Three riders now stared at the crumpled figure lying bent and twisted amongst the dirt and rocks, the sight of his life's blood draining rapidly from his side and the unnatural stillness of his body confirmation enough that the deed was done. Death had come calling and found Chris Larabee waiting. A slow flush of triumph and pleasure crossed the young woman's face as she lowered Chris's own gun that she had secreted beneath her skirts.
"Dammit, Molly! I wanted ta shoot 'im," Jared complained heatedly as he fixed her with an angry glare.
"Nice shot, Molly!" Ethan's quiet words of praise were welcome. She was happy to finally be getting out of that hellhole of a town. She turned sparkling brown eyes towards Ethan as he continued, "Got 'im with one bullet using the bastard's own gun at that. That's my gal!"
Spurring his horse forward, Ethan leaned over and placed a quick kiss upon Molly Appleton's receptive pink lips. She allowed the brief caress because it suited her purposes to do so. Turning his mount southward again, Ethan smiled with grim satisfaction at the bounteous yield that the day had wrought. Everything had gone perfectly to plan... well, almost everything, he reminded himself silently... and he now had over fifty thousand dollars to make a better life for himself, Molly and Jared. The men who had ridden with them into town weren't important, their names and faces forgotten as quickly as their deaths. They had served their purpose and been properly disposed of... just like sacrificial lambs.
They'd gotten away clean with no witnesses to their crimes, save the dead man lying motionless in the dirt behind them. But he was also of no consequence, no one important... not really. Most likely no one would miss the misguided hero, let alone care that he was dead. So now everything was truly perfect. Ethan felt a sense of invincibility fill him and silently congratulated himself on his own cunning as the trio turned to head towards Mexico.
His arrogance was Ethan Farrow's third mistake.
Buck spun in a circle on one booted heel, a frown turning down the corners of his mouth as he glanced around him.
"It just don't make sense, Vin! Why in the hell would they make camp?" The ladies man ripped the hat off his head and smacked it against his thigh in frustration. Dust went flying in every direction.
"Nobody said bank robbers was smart, Buck," Nathan remarked grimly.
The three men had ridden steadily since sunrise. With the coming of the sun, a hot dry wind had started up out of the west and now blew sand and grit in their faces. It tugged insistently at their clothing while they followed the trail left by the bank robbers.
Vin shook his head in confusion. He didn't understand the bank robber's behavior any better than Buck did. They had turned and circled back a few times, making a half-hearted attempt at throwing off any pursuit, but it didn't look as if they made any real effort to hide their tracks. To the tracker's experienced eye, their trail was so easy to read that even a blind man could follow it.
Going down on one knee, blue eyes continued to scan the ground. Sifting the ashes of a still warm campfire through his fingers, the tracker absently answered the question.
"Don't know, Bucklin."
"Looks like they was here for more than one night," Nathan observed offhandedly. "Too much stuff left behind... too much stuff fer jes two men iffen ya ask me."
"Yeah," Buck agreed in a gruff tone of voice. Running one hand through his curly brown locks as he wandered aimlessly through the makeshift camp, the gunslinger stopped to pick up a rounded tin plate. He then rapidly tossed it aside as a hiss of exasperation escaped from between his pursed lips.
"I just don't get it. What in the hell is going on here?" Wilmington turned his bewildered gaze back to the tracker. "Vin, you reckon those fellas we shot in town were all camping out here for awhile before they hit the bank?"
"More 'n likely. Prob'bly waitin' on the money... checkin' out the town."
Vin rose to his feet, dusted off his hands and moved towards the edge of the camp. Something on the ground there had caught his attention and he wanted a closer look. The tracker knelt and retrieved the item, turning it around slowly, studying it. Glancing over at the other two men, he held it up for them to see. Nathan and Buck could both make out the dark brown stain that had worked its way into the fibers of the piece of cut rope Vin had found.
"Chris?" Buck rasped. His normally smooth voice sounded almost strangled to his own ears. He watched as Vin nodded his head in answer.
"I reckon."
The tinkling of ivory piano keys greeted Ezra as he pushed his way through the batwing doors of the saloon. He inhaled deeply of the smell of tobacco and whiskey, sharp green eyes surveying the room. It was an ingrained habit, one practiced since childhood, of searching for possible marks to entice into a game of chance. Exhaling contentedly, he headed towards the bar to order a bottle from Inez, a pleasant smile of greeting on his face.
"Good day, Inez. And may I say you're looking lovely as ever?"
The beautiful Mexican woman regarded him through large doe-like brown eyes, as she absently wiped at the bar counter with a polishing rag. A slight blush colored her cheeks at his compliment, and she nodded in his direction.
"Gracias, Señor Standish," she returned, her voice thick with the accent of her native country. "What can I get for you today?"
"Whiskey, if you please, Inez. And perhaps a bite of something to eat... that is, if the menu is any good today?" The twinkle in his eye let her know that he was only teasing.
"The food is always good, Señor Standish," the feisty petite woman was quick to reply with a smile that spoke of a challenge. "It is just some people who cannot appreciate it."
She turned with a flourish to reach up to the shelf behind her for a bottle of what she knew to be the gambler's favorite brand of whiskey. She spun back around and set the bottle in front of him with a decided thump.
"Well then, my dear," Ezra played back, his smile broadening. "I shall henceforth make it a point to compliment the chef on those days when I do appreciate the proffered cuisine."
A loud laugh from the far corner had the gambler turning to find the source of amusement. He spied the freight merchant, Jasper Edmunds, at one of the back tables surrounded by a few of the local townsfolk. The southerner's eyes narrowed thoughtfully. He felt Inez place one slender hand upon his arm and he turned back to look at her. One sandy brown eyebrow lifted questioningly.
"Señor Ezra, it is not true what this man says, Si?"
"And what might that be, Inez?"
She lowered her voice before she answered him. "He say that Señor Chris robbed the bank. That is why he is... how you say... está ausente... gone?"
Ezra had to tamp down hard on the immediate spark of anger that flared inside him. It was just as he had suspected. Evidence clearly pointed to the gunslinger being abducted by the bank robbers, yet for some reason, Edmunds was determined to cast aspersions upon Chris Larabee. The thing that Ezra didn't understand was why. Why would Edmunds do something like that? The man didn't even know Chris, and yet...
And yet...
The gambler's tongue played about his lower lip as he watched the merchant continue to weave his tale to those listening. The thought began to take hold...
...it is an excellent way to keep your own name above suspicion. Point the finger of blame at someone else, especially when that someone else is not there to defend himself.
It was a ploy that had worked for Ezra on more than one occasion and could be extremely effective if carried out convincingly. And from the increasing number of men who were gathered around Edmund's table, the gambler believed Mr. Jasper Edmunds was being very convincing. Perhaps, he decided thoughtfully, he should go and listen for himself.
"Never fear, Inez. I can safely assure you that Mr. Larabee would be the last person in this town who would ever commit such a heinous crime. Now, if you will excuse me, Señorita..." Ezra patted her hand lightly. "I believe Mr. Edmunds could use some enlightenment as to that fact."
He released the barmaid with a flirtatious wink and, wrapping his fingers around the neck of the whiskey bottle, sauntered off in the general direction of Jasper Edmunds. He nodded briefly in passing as Josiah entered through the saloon doors, the ex-preacher's blue-gray eyes following the gambler's progress before the big man seated himself at his usual table and signaled Inez for a beer.
Chris could hear someone moaning, a low pitiful sound full of pain. He tried to locate where it was coming from, not surprised to find it was issuing from his own throat. God, how he hurt!
He struggled to open his eyes, the crusted blood on his face cracking with the movement as he blinked rapidly against the harsh light. The blue sky lay above him, tilted at a crazy angle. Dirt and rocks dug sharply into his face and torso as a harsh wind gusted over him. It brought with it the sting of biting sand and flying nettles against the unprotected flesh of his chest and abdomen. He was in hell. He had to be. No place else could possibly hold all this pain, heat and relentless misery. There wasn't anywhere on his entire body that didn't hurt and damned if someone hadn't stuck a red-hot poker in his right side. He could feel it burning, searing through his flesh with a scorching intensity that threatened to snatch his breath away. The warm sticky fluid running across his belly was blood... his blood and he needed to find a way to stop it.
Whoever had left him here, whoever had done this to him had done an excellent job of it. He was messed up pretty damned good. Chris knew because he could feel every bit of it throughout the entire length of his aching body.
Needing to take stock of his surroundings, the gunslinger lifted his head... and instantly regretted the movement as sharp daggers stabbed the inside of his skull and his shoulders screamed from the additional strain caused by his arms still being bound behind him. With a hoarse groan, he dropped his head back into the dirt and closed his eyes. He struggled to breath through the gag, taking in the dry air and waiting for the throbbing to subside. Once he felt more in control, Chris opened his eyes and tried again. Cautiously, he lifted his head...
He was alone. That wasn't surprising; he had already sensed that. But alone where? Endless scrub brush, stunted juniper and brown desert stretched as far as he could see. Nothing else moved to disturb the unbroken line of heaven and dry baked earth.
Laying his head back down, Chris grunted slightly. He had no idea where he was or how long he'd been there, but the gunslinger knew he couldn't stay where he was. He had to find shelter fast. Being shot was one thing but being stranded out in this heat was like being slowly roasted alive.
Chris stiffly straightened his legs and rolled over onto his stomach. He bit back a sharp scream of pain, his body jerking convulsively as his right side exploded in a fiery wave of agony. He lay there panting, sweat beading his forehead and streaming down his face in rivulets of dirt and blood.
Gathering his resolve, Chris rubbed his face against the ground and finally finding purchase, managed to ease the tight gag from between his lips and down to around his neck. An audible sigh of relief escaped him as he drew in the first decent breath of air he'd had since the night before. He swallowed hard, but the cloth had robbed his mouth of any moisture. His tongue felt swollen and his lips were dried and cracked. Still, the smell and taste of dirt was infinitely preferable to the gag he'd been forced to endure.
Chris sucked in a deep breath and doggedly bit down on the inside of his cheek in preparation for what he knew would come next. He was definitely not going to enjoy this. Going slowly, and using his shoulders for leverage, the gunslinger brought his legs up underneath him. He wasn't surprised when a white-hot bolt of lightning pierced his side as he sat up on his knees. Dizziness washed over him and he helplessly hung his head.
Chris waited for the world to stop spinning around him before he forced himself to his feet. He staggered wildly, nearly going down again before finding the strength to stand in the heat of the afternoon sun. He raised his head, strands of sweat-soaked dirty blond hair plastered about his face and neck. Pain-filled green eyes squinted into the distance as the gunslinger turned first one way and then the other, seeking and searching...
And then he saw it. A small rock formation, a collection of large stones leading up into the distant foothills, not much to look at but enough to block the wind and the sun. Staggering drunkenly off in that direction, Chris prayed that the shelter would be enough to keep him alive until help arrived.