After leaving Inez at the bar, Standish had sauntered over to Edmunds table and discreetly inserted himself into the conversation. His refined manners and educated speech earned him an invitation to join the man for a game of poker, not something the gambler would normally refuse in the first place. But in this particular instance, playing cards with Edmunds served a twofold purpose.
"Well, we started out four years ago with two teams and a wagon." The man's features turned reflective as he contemplated the amber liquid in his hand. Edmunds paused as he took a small sip. "I don't mind telling you, Mr. Standish, those first few months were extremely difficult. Many nights we both went to bed not knowing where our next meal would come from."
Edmunds then smiled broadly in the other man's direction. "But, we persevered and our business flourished. Now, Bartlett and Edmunds own over thirty wagons with twice that many teams of horses and drivers. And we anticipate adding a dozen more routes within the year."
"My, my!" Ezra answered, a suitably impressed expression covering his face. Taking his shot in hand, he raised it high as he declared, "Such an inspiring success story is surely worthy of a toast."
When Edmunds raised his glass, the gambler continued, "To you, Sir, and to your continued good fortune!" They touched glasses briefly before both men downed their drinks. Setting his glass on the table, Ezra smoothly poured them each a refill. "Although I imagine you aren't feeling so very fortunate after the rather unsettling events of the last day or so."
When Edmunds raised a speculative eyebrow in his direction, the gambler added, "What with the bank being robbed and the... temporary loss of your capital. Tends to take some of the pleasure out of starting a new enterprise." Relaxing comfortably in his chair, Ezra began shuffling the cards with agile fingers.
Edmunds regarded him for a moment before replying, "Yes, well, let's hope that the situation is... as you say... only temporary." Pale eyes glittered briefly but revealed nothing of the man's inner thoughts. Ezra was quick to nod his head and smile in apparent understanding. He then fluidly dealt a hand of poker.
"Never having been privy to the details of such a venture, I would imagine that the freight business can be a rather... lucrative one?" Feigning nonchalance, he leaned back in his chair and studied the cards he held in his hand. Almost as an afterthought, he tossed a couple of poker chips into the center of the table.
A small grin lit up Edmunds face as he answered, "Well, considering that we supply areas that the all-powerful railroads have decided to bypass, it makes it a bit easier to turn a profit in those places who are... shall we say... dependent upon our good graces for their items of necessity."
Ezra gave a short bark of amused laughter. "Indeed! It is truly a wise man who can foresee such a need and take advantage of it. Your business acumen is to be applauded."
"Why, thank you, Mr. Standish." The freight manager saluted his companion with a glass of whiskey before downing another shot. "I only wish my partner felt the same way."
The cryptic comment aroused Ezra's suspicions even further and he refilled the man's now empty glass. "Do I detect a note of discord in the home office?" he asked with a pleasant smile while indicating with one hand for Edmunds to ante up.
Jasper Edmunds shook his head, his expression appearing somewhat regretful. "Only that Mr. Bartlett doesn't seem to concur with your opinion of me." He picked up two chips with his right hand and tossed them into the center of the table.
"Why, surely you jest?" the gambler returned with an astonished look covering his features. He laid two cards face down on the table.
"Unfortunately, no." Edmunds studied his cards briefly before tossing down three of them. "Lately, we have a tendency to quibble over even the smallest business decisions and I nearly despaired of ever convincing him of the economic possibilities this town represents." He sighed regretfully as he accepted three new cards from the gambler. "Now that our resources have gone astray, I'm doubtful I can convince him to continue with this operation... at least, not without finding additional sources of revenue."
Edmunds was good. Ezra had to give him that. The man was slicker than warm honey on a hot summer day. With that lightly accented voice, refined bearing and smooth presentation, he'd be a conman that Maude would be proud to work with. Not that he'd done anything overt to give himself away. It was just that Ezra could recognize a hustle from a mile away and he could smell this one coming all the way from the Mississippi.
But one lesson he'd learned early on from his mother... never con a conman. And if you do, then win at all costs. This was going to be a battle of wits and at the moment, Standish was certain he had the upper hand.
Taking two cards for himself, he then tossed three more chips into the pot. The gambler was careful to keep his gaze averted for the moment, his quick mind working three steps ahead of where he knew this conversation was going. Edmunds was almost making it too easy for him.
"Additional sources of revenue, Mr. Edmunds?" he inquired smoothly.
"As in other investors... sell off part of the company... invite outside money into the process."
Edmunds tossed three chips into the center of the table as well and raised his eyes to look at Standish. The polished gambler was a bit difficult for him to read but if his intuition was correct, he could almost smell the money rolling off the elegantly dressed younger man. Their game of poker was momentarily forgotten as the stakes suddenly became much higher.
"And if say, an outside investor were interested in financing your operation, assuming of course that the benefits outweigh the potential risks, what precisely would you or Mr. Bartlett consider a fair offer?" Ezra ventured thoughtfully, green eyes narrowed with speculation.
Ezra picked up his drink and began to sip it.
"Why, Mr. Standish!" the freight manager exclaimed with a large grin. "It sounds almost as if you're interested in our little financial enterprise?" His pale eyes gleamed with sudden avarice. "Let me assure you that should you invest in Bartlett and Edmunds, based on past performance and current business trends, you would more than double your money in the first six months alone."
The gambler nearly choked on the whiskey he'd swallowed. "My, my! What a lucrative business, indeed!"
"Indeed!" Jasper Edmunds couldn't believe his good fortune, especially not in this provincial little town. "Perhaps, Mr. Standish, you would care to discuss this further? Say over... dinner at the hotel this evening? At the very least, I can assure you of a good meal and decent conversation."
"Mr. Edmunds, I would be delighted," the gambler replied pleasantly after only a slight hesitation.
Edmunds smiled as he laid his hand of cards down on the table and rose from his chair. "In that case... I fold. Shall we adjourn until say... sevenish?" He inclined his head in the southerner's direction and Ezra nodded in agreement.
The freight manager then picked up his hat from the back of a chair. "Until then, Mr. Standish," he stated, setting his hat upon his head. Edmunds turned and left the saloon.
Ezra's appraising green gaze followed the man out the door before he tossed back another shot of whiskey. A grimace crossed his face as the liquid burned its way down his throat. He set the glass down and then reached across the table to display Edmund's cards. Disgusted to find two pair that beat his own, he threw his cards into the center of the table with a flick of his wrist. The gambler poured himself another whiskey as he muttered underneath his breath.
"Until then."
Standish glanced up to see JD and Josiah approaching his table. The two men had been watching from the bar when Edmunds made his exit.
"Ezra, what are you doing?"
"What does it look like I'm doing, Mr. Dunne? Playing cards and having a drink," he replied caustically, gathering the remnants of the game from the table.
"That's not what I meant!" JD shot back, exasperation clearly evident in his voice. Pointing after Edmunds, he demanded, "What are you doing even talking with that fella? Haven't you heard what he's been saying? He's got half this town believing Chris stole that money."
Lifting his shot glass, Ezra contemplated the burnished copper liquid remaining in it. "Yes, I believe I have heard that malicious rumor." He downed the liquor, once again welcoming the stinging warmth as it spread out from his belly.
"Well then why were you sitting here with him? How can you even stand to be in the same room as that... as that... snake?"
Sensing that the youth's temper was close to boiling over, Josiah laid a hand on JD's arm.
"Easy, son. Ezra's just doing what Vin told him to do," he soothed in a low but gentle voice. No one could ever mistake the degree of loyalty JD accorded Chris Larabee.
"Yeah, but playing cards and drinking with him? Ezra, that guy's lower than a... lower than a... lower than a I-don't-know-what!" A dark lock of hair fell across his forehead as JD plopped into a chair with a sullen expression on his rounded face.
"Perhaps you should take lessons in creative insults from Mr. Wilmington?" Ezra suggested snidely, more than a bit irritated by the boy's attack.
"Leave the boy be, Ezra. Ain't no reason to be at each other's throats," the ex-preacher warned gruffly. He tilted his shaggy gray head and fixed first the gambler and then JD with a quelling look. Josiah waited until the angry fire died in both pairs of eyes before letting the conversation continue.
JD muttered a soft apology. "So what'd you find out?" he continued.
Ezra reached into his pocket, took out his watch and checked the time. Looking up at them, he answered, "Actually, a great deal it would appear. And hopefully, more will be forthcoming at dinner."
JD's mouth dropped open in angered astonishment.
The gambler leaned back in his chair with a self-satisfied expression on his face. "We're to discuss financial investments, of course."
"Huh?" JD turned his puzzled gaze to Josiah who simply shrugged his broad shoulders.
"You see, JD... Mr. Edmunds believes that he and I are about to become... business partners."
"But Ezra, you ain't got any money!" JD protested.
"Precisely, JD." Ezra responded. "You know that and I know that... but Mr. Edmunds doesn't know that."
Chris stumbled and fell heavily to his knees, fighting back the nausea and light-headedness that had come as another wave of dizziness washed over him. Layers of dirt mixed with sweat and blood covered his entire body and what little strength he had was almost gone. Eyes closed, he slumped forward, blond head hanging low as he rested for a moment. He needed to find a place to hole up until help arrived.
If help arrives, a cynical little voice in the back of Chris's mind taunted. No - he had to believe help was on the way. Otherwise, this entire tortuous journey was nothing but wasted time and effort. Chris Larabee wasn't ready to give up quite so soon; he had a score to settle.
Chris opened his eyes again. Wearily, he raised his head and squinted against the sun's harsh glare. He'd been focused for so long on just putting one foot in front of the other that Larabee hadn't realized how much distance he had covered. He was much closer to his objective than he thought. Now if he could just make it the last hundred yards or so...
The gunslinger doggedly struggled to his feet before lurching off in the direction of the stone refuge, reserving all his energy and concentration for these last few remaining yards. Finally, he was able to drop weakly against the first large rock at the outer edge of the formation. The gunslinger then scanned the area before selecting a crevice that looked large enough to provide shelter from the heat and wind.
He slowly made his way forward again and upward. Shoulders and arm muscles protested against the strain as he tried to maintain his balance for the climb, but there was nothing he could do to relieve the torment. His hands remained secure behind his back, numb and swollen from his many attempts to free himself and his right side was killing him.
Chris finally made his way beneath the granite shelter and collapsed face down upon the ground. Trembling almost uncontrollably, sharp daggers of pain shot through him as he gave in to blood loss and exhaustion. Closing his eyes against the agony, Chris allowed the darkness to rise up and claim him.
Vin dismounted and walked forward a few paces before stopping to kneel down once more. Reaching out, he ran a practiced touch over the layers of sand and dirt, testing the small valleys and ridges before smoothing them away. Narrowed eyes then squinted up against the sun's harsh glare and the sting of blowing dust before the tracker cursed underneath his breath.
"What is it, Vin?" Buck called from where he sat astride his mount. "Something wrong?"
Tanner gazed out over the landscape in growing frustration. Pursing his lips thoughtfully, he rose to his feet and wiped the dust from his palms. The wind snatched at his hat and he reached up with one hand to hold it in place. He silently scanned the brown haze on the far horizon before turning to walk back to his horse.
"Dust storm's coming. Wind'll wipe out the tracks," he told them as he uncapped the leather bota and took a drink. "Not sure how much longer we kin follow. Mebbe an hour... mebbe less."
"How much lead they still got?" The grim line of Buck's normally smiling mouth gave mute testament to the uneasiness that swept through him.
"Two, mebbe three hours at the most," Vin answered in a neutral voice.
The tracker swung back up into the saddle and rested his crossed arms on the saddle horn. The three men had been riding at a steady pace for nearly four hours and had yet to catch up with the bank robbers. Vin had done an excellent job of tracking but it looked like the elements were now conspiring against them.
"Whatdya think we oughta do?" Nathan asked
"Well, up 'til now, tracks are headin' mostly south," he drawled. "Mebbe goin' ta Mexico... might be the best bet." He scanned the horizon once more. "They also could head off purty much in any direction in this wind. They's a coupla watering places east o' here if'n they wanted ta hole up 'til the storm blows over."
Vin knew they were relying on his skill and expertise to find Chris. But he had to make sure that Buck and Nathan understood that he could be wrong. It had happened before and innocent lives had paid the price. Claire Moseley had died because he'd made a mistake. His gut clenched tightly at the possibility that this time the price might be Chris Larabee's life.
"So which way you think they went?" Nathan turned to look at the approaching storm.
Vin exhaled wearily. "Take yer pick."
"God dammit, Vin! That ain't funny!" Buck's worry and frustration exploded into a heated anger at the tracker's noncommittal answer. "They got Chris!"
"I look like I'm laughing ta you?" Vin snapped back, his own temper sparking at the unexpected attack as the two men turned to glare at each other.
"Here now... easy you two!" Nathan stepped in. "This don't help Chris none."
As swiftly as the argument had started, it was over leaving the men silently contemplating the choices placed before them.
"If they's headed south, you think they got someplace partic'lar in mind?" Nathan asked as he gathered the reins in his hands.
Vin knew he'd have to rely on his gut instincts. He thought hard for a moment, calling upon everything he knew about being the hunter as well as the hunted.
"Escondero," Vin replied shortly, a tight frown crossing his lean features at the mention of the town's name.
"Sounds kinda familiar," Buck mused with a puzzled expression on his face.
"Boom town... silver mines... purt near as bad as Purgatorio," the tracker responded heavily. As dangerous as it had been for him to ride into that hellhole of a border town, Escondero was almost as bad.
Buck and Nathan glanced at each other across the distance of a few feet, both men knowing they had come this far based on the tracker's knowledge and skills. If Vin thought the bandits had headed south, then now was not the time to start questioning him.
"We got 'bout two hours hard ride, boys."
Vin glanced briefly at Buck and Nathan before nodding his head and spurring his horse forward towards Escondero. The two men never hesitated before riding after the tracker's retreating form.
This time when he woke, Chris knew he was in hell. His entire body was on fire and the pain was now constant. The injured gunslinger lay on his stomach, hidden underneath a crevice in the rocks, finding just enough room to escape the sun's harsh rays.
Cautiously, Chris raised his head and cracked open his good eye. He swung his head around, strands of limp blond hair falling over his forehead as he searched the surrounding desert. All was still save for the brutal swirling gusts of wind and the swiftly rolling tumbleweeds. Wearily, he dropped his head back to the ground, closing his eye again as he lay there and listened... distant wind howling... brush and mesquite thorns shaken by an invisible hand... his own breath rasping in and out of his lungs. The silence and the fury of the desert stretched all around him, heightening his sense of isolation.
As the day lengthened, Chris drifted in and out of consciousness, his thoughts becoming fragmented and scattered. He was drifting off again when something brought him awake with a start. Gingerly, he lifted his head just off the ground, holding his breath while straining to hear.
A slight noise... almost a scratching really... followed by no more than a couple of small clicking sounds but it was enough to convince Chris he wasn't alone. He waited, listening harder as he pried open his right eye and glanced cautiously around. More clicking noises and a dog barking... then a gust of wind, a soft cry and a tinkling bell.
Suddenly, a small black and white bundle of fur shot through the opening between the rocks. Chris tensed and tried to tuck himself as far back into the crevice as possible, squirming painfully sideways before drawing his legs up in front of him. The animal's small body quivered with energy, mouth open and pink tongue hanging out as a pair of inquisitive eyes stared down at him. A low whine vibrated from the dog's throat.
Chris recognized the dog as a type of collie, one that ranchers typically used for herding cattle or sheep. One sniff of the air around him convinced him of the probability of the latter. Sheep always had a certain smell about them. So did the dogs and the herdsman who protected them.
The dog whined again and stepped closer. Nostrils flared as it delicately sniffed the air. Chris lay as still as possible, unsure of what the animal might do. He was surprised when it gave a low bark and pushed its way farther into the crevice with him. The small body wiggled happily as a long pink tongue came out to lick his face. Larabee tried to turn his head away but there was little room to maneuver inside his hiding place. He had no choice but to tolerate the dog's attention.
Finally, satisfied that it had greeted him properly, the small dog yipped twice and then quickly scooted back out of the crevice. Barking noisily, it took off running and soon disappeared from view.
When the dog returned a few minutes later, it wasn't alone. A pair of sandaled feet came into view beside the quivering animal. Chris's gaze traveled up a pair of white pant legs to a dark red sash slung around a white tunic. Above that, against the sun's bright light, he could just make out an ancient weathered face beneath the brim of a straw sombrero, long white strands of hair hanging loose and windblown about a pair of thin stooped shoulders.
Chris swallowed painfully and tried to speak. A harsh groan was all that escaped his dried lips and he slumped against the ground, descending once more into oblivion.
Ignacio Alvarez was a simple man. Being mestizo, half-Mexican and half-Indian, he belonged in neither world and therefore had chosen to live content with his own company. Being a herdsman who had raised sheep for nearly his entire life of seventy-three years, he had learned that the cattle ranchers hated his sheep and he avoided all contact with these gringos as well. To find one in the desert, so far from anywhere, alone and injured, frightened him. He was on the verge of turning away when the dog gazed up at him with sorrowful brown eyes and whined piteously.
He stood for a moment, then sighed heavily; all he had wanted to do was to use the rocks as shelter for himself and his herd. It was just as well. Father Emilio at the mission would not be happy with him if he turned his back on someone in need. He reached down to give the dog a reassuring pat on the head before issuing the command that sent her running off to stand guard over the flock. Pulling off his sombrero, Ignacio stiffly went to his knees and hastily made the sign of the cross. He said a quick prayer before scooting closer to the injured man.
With gnarled hands, the mestizo ran a light probing touch over the blond head and blood-streaked face. He pulled back the edges of the ragged shirt, fingers gently grazing over the numerous scrapes and bruises before finding the bullet wound in the right side. Moving down the length of the man's legs, Ignacio frowned at the cut and bloodied bare feet. But it wasn't until he touched one angular shoulder that the shepherd realized both arms were bound behind the man's back.
Shaking his head in bewilderment, Ignacio sat back on his haunches. Reaching for the strap of his shoulder bag, he tugged it off over his head and pulled out his knife. He eased the man onto his stomach before carefully slicing through the rope around his wrists. A low moan was the only response as Ignacio peeled away the bindings.
The shepherd lay out his bedroll and rolled the man onto it. Pulling out a cloth and dampening it with water, he placed it against the dried and cracked lips, squeezing gently so that a few tepid drops trickled into the man's open mouth. Throat muscles moved convulsively to swallow the precious fluid. Twice more, he placed drops of water between the parted lips before taking the wet rag and gently cleaning dried blood from the gaunt face.
Moving downward, Ignacio cleaned dirt and sweat from the bare chest, wetting the rag again before gently bathing the area around the bullet wound. Muscles twitched unexpectedly beneath the pale flesh and he looked up to find a single green eye studying him. The other was swollen shut but the intensity of the gaze was enough to rekindle the fear in the mestizo's heart. He pulled away and tried to scurry backwards but a surprisingly firm hand on his lower arm halted the movement.
"Wait... don't..." Chris somehow managed to croak past the painful dryness in his throat. His hand trembled but he managed to retain his grip on the old man's arm.
Ignacio stilled at the pleading tone of the man's voice. The shepherd waited, his dark brown eyes wary as he studied the battered face before him. He didn't understand the words but knew instinctively that the man needed his help.
"Wh-who..." Larabee swallowed hard as his voice cracked. He tried to clear his throat only to find a wet cloth pressed against his mouth. He sucked the brackish water from the rag. The liquid stung the open cuts on his lips but his parched throat greedily absorbed every blessed drop.
Chris rested a moment and then tried again. "Who... are... you?"
The old man smiled hesitantly, ancient teeth gleaming yellow against his deeply tanned flesh and dark gaps filling the holes where three were missing. He murmured softly under his breath before raising a bag of water and offering it to Chris. His grin widened as he watched the blond draw back with a startled expression on his face.
Realizing that he didn't have much choice, Chris reached out a hand and with the other man's assistance, brought it to his mouth. He took a large swig of water. Like most shepherds, Ignacio carried his water in a relatively simple container, one that suited his needs and was made to last. This was not the first man who had drawn back from the idea of drinking water from a sheep's bladder. Chris heard the Mexican chuckle as he reclaimed the water bag.
Chris held the water in his mouth a moment then forced himself to swallow. It tasted awful, even worse than the few drops Chris had managed to suck from the wet rag, but it was better than nothing. He waited patiently for the foul taste to leave his mouth. It never got the chance; Chris's gut rebelled as the salty-tasting fluid hit bottom. Muscles clenched violently. He somehow managed to roll onto his side, legs drawn up tight against his body, before painfully disgorging the scanty contents of his stomach.
When the spasms finally eased, Chris rolled weakly back onto the bedroll. The spell of vomiting had caused the wound in his side to begin to bleed once more; the herdsman again dabbed at it, causing the gunslinger to hiss in pain. Saying something to him in Spanish, the old man gestured at the water jug and then set it aside. The mestizo then reached in to his carryall bag and retrieved a small leather pouch. Loosening the string, he pulled something from it. Ignacio then leaned forward and placed a bitter-tasting root beneath Chris's tongue. Almost instantly, the pain and nausea lessened.
Again, the man said something unrecognizable before reaching into the leather pouch. This time he pulled out a small container filled with a noxious-smelling paste. Liberally applying the ointment to the injury before covering it with another rag, the mestizo then took Chris's right hand in his. He pressed them both against the wound, indicating by gestures that the gunslinger was to keep it in place. Chris grunted at the pressure but held on to the bandage.
The old man then moved down the length of his legs to dress his feet. Chris cried out at the sharp, stinging sensation of water washing over the cuts and raw places. Fire seemed to spread upward through his body and the gunslinger broke out in a fine sweat, dizziness assailing him once again.
Finally, just when he thought he could stand no more, Larabee felt the paste being applied to his feet. He watched through glazed eyes as the Mexican quietly finished his task, tenderly wrapping more rags around them. Damn, but he hurt everywhere...
The old man let out a whistle. A joyous barking marked the return of the small dog before the trembling wiry body came into view. Ignacio wiped the smelly paste from his hands and rose somewhat stiffly to greet her. She quickly rubbed up against him as he patted her head, then offered her a small drink of water from his hand. Her eyes gleamed up at him gratefully before she trotted over to the bedroll and flopped down tiredly next to the man lying there.
The mestizo glanced around; every instinct urged him to pack up his things and go... this wounded gringo meant trouble for him. And yet, he could not disappoint Father Emilio, nor it seemed the little dog who now rested with her head between her paws. Sighing in resignation, Ignacio knelt down beside the injured man and offered him more water.
This time when Chris swallowed, the bitter liquid stayed down and he was thankful for the lessening of the fire in his throat. Feeling somewhat better, he tried again to question the old sheepherder who now tended the abraded flesh around Larabee's wrists.
"Who are you?" His voice was no more than a raspy whisper and earned him only a curious look and a negative shake of the white-capped head. Chris searched his mind for Spanish words that might break through the barrier. "What's your name?... tu... nombre?"
The old man nodded his head and grinned in sudden understanding. Pointing to his chest, he proudly answered, "Ah, mi nombre es Ignacio, si? Ignacio!" He then pointed to the dog and said, "Niña!"
Chris managed a small smile at the elderly man's enthusiastic response. "Larabee... Chris Larabee," he responded in a sand-roughened voice. The old man nodded his head again and continued bandaging the gunslinger's wrists.
"How did you... what are you... aw, hell!" Chris cursed, a grimace of frustration crossing his face as he tried to find the right words. "Do you have a house? A... casa? A horse, maybe?"
Confusion in the man's eyes was the only response.
"I need... a doctor. I... got shot." Of course he'd been shot. The old man knew that. He'd put some sort of poultice and a bandage on it, hadn't he? Chris supposed he wasn't thinking very clearly.
Sinking weakly back against the bedroll, Chris's gaze met the compassionate eyes of the mestizo.
"Please... help me," he grated out before drifting off, pain and exhaustion taking their toll once again.
Ignacio Alvarez didn't need to speak English to understand the desperate look in the gringo's eyes. This man needed more than just his simple medicines. But the thought of seeking help among other gringos filled him with fear and yet, what else was he to do? Ignacio could not turn his back and leave the man to die.
Perhaps if he found someone else...
Father Emilio.
But of course, the old man decided with a small smile. Father Emilio would know what to do, and the mission had a wagon with a donkey to move the injured gringo. Besides, the padre was not afraid of the ranchers, nor would they dare harm a man of the church. Feeling much relieved, Ignacio determined to take the gringo to Father Emilio at the Mission de San Jose. It was not far. Mumbling a soft prayer of gratitude, the shepherd began gathering his belongings for the short journey.
The mestizo placed his water bag and the small amount of fry bread he carried next to the bedroll within easy reach of the injured man. He grunted slightly with satisfaction when he found no evidence of continued bleeding under the bandages. Whistling softly to the dog, Ignacio gestured for her to move off the blanket as he tucked the edges around the still form. He started to rise when long fingers once again gripped his wrist.
"Wait... please..." rasped a soft voice. "Where...?"
The sheepherder looked back, seeing the edge of panic on the younger man's haggard features. He smiled gently, patted the hand that held on to him and gestured to the food and water nearby. He spoke softly, soothingly, much as he had done with the dog, offering reassurance with words he knew the man did not understand.
"Resto fácil, mi hijo. Voy a la misión a conseguir ayuda del padre Emilio. Volveré pronto. Todo está bien."
Chris hesitantly released the mestizo's arm, sensing somehow the essence of the old man's words. The gunslinger nodded his head slightly as his hand disappeared beneath the blankets. Finding the edge of his shirt, he tore off a piece of the tattered material. He then placed it in the other man's hand, gripping the rough fingers tightly as he pressed the cloth into the weathered palm.
"Find... Vin Tanner." His voice shook with the effort to speak. "Vin Tanner... you got it?"
Waiting until the Mexican nodded his head in apparent understanding, Chris released his hold and let his arm drop weakly back to his side. The mestizo covered him with the blankets again before rising to his feet.
Ignacio looked from the cloth he now held to the injured gringo hidden beneath the rocks. The man had tried to tell him something important and yet, the shepherd could not make sense of his words. It was just as well. He would go and get the wagon to take this man to Father Emilio and then let the good padre deal with him.
Slinging his bag over one shoulder, the shepherd set his wide sombrero upon his head and placed his walking stick in his left hand. The mestizo took one last look at the injured man before whistling softly to his dog. She hesitated briefly, running first after her master then back towards Chris before a final sharp whistle reminded her of her duty. Under Larabee's failing gaze, man and dog climbed down through the rocks and disappeared from view.
"Dammit, Vin! Where in the hell are they?"
The three men had ridden hard, pushing themselves and their horses through a good portion of the dust storm to reach Escondero. After an hour of searching the town for Chris, the bank robbers and the girl, the growing sense of failure was making tempers short. The sun was going down and sitting inside the saloon eating dinner, their mood was somber, frustrated... worried.
"Easy, Buck," Nathan murmured. "Vin's doin' the best he can. Ain't his fault they ain't here; we all knew there was a chance. You jes finish up what's on yer plate so we kin all turn in early 'n git some rest." Nathan then waved a fork in the direction of the tracker. "Vin, you need ta eat somethin' too. Come on now, both of ya. Morning's gonna come mighty early."
Vin remained silent. One hand held a fork and absently picked at the plate of food sitting before him, but his deep blue eyes were distant and unfocused, his expression solemn and withdrawn. He had managed to get down only a couple of mouthfuls of beans and rice before what little appetite he had deserted him completely.
"Ain't hungry," he said quietly before the tracker finally threw down his fork and shoved back his chair. He felt two pairs of eyes watching him. They were counting on him to find Chris. Hell, Chris was counting on Vin to find him; he'd done one helluva job so far, hadn't he? Vin picked up his hat, and placing it on his head, stalked out of the saloon.
"Now where does that boy think he's going?" Buck asked in an aggravated tone before taking a large swallow of coffee. His stormy blue eyes followed the tracker's retreating form, irritation evident by the grim line of his mouth beneath the dark mustache. Across from him, Nathan shook his head while he swallowed the food in his mouth.
"Chris is his friend too," Nathan gently reminded him. "Ain't nobody wants ta find 'im worse than Vin. So ya might wanna cut 'im some slack. What he's doin' ain't easy but he's doin' the best he can an' they ain't nobody kin do it better neither."
"Hell, I know that, Nathan. It's just that... it's just... I'm..." For once at a loss for words, Buck growled low in his throat and savagely stuffed a rolled tortilla into his mouth. He dropped his gaze and attacked his remaining food with a vengeance.
The healer smiled slightly before turning his attention back to his plate as well. He was relieved that he'd at least gotten Buck to eat something but Vin was another matter entirely.
The night was going to be another long one for all of them.
JD stepped through the door of the jailhouse, reaching back to close it gently behind him. Standing in the morning sunshine, he slipped his arms into the sleeves of his jacket as hazel eyes scanned the surrounding town. He straightened his collar before running a hand over the lower half of his face, his palm scraping across the light covering of stubble. JD then checked his gun belt around his hips and stepped into the street.
He hadn't gotten much rest last night, his fitful slumbers disturbed by worry for Chris and the others. He'd waited patiently all day yesterday for them to come riding back in, bank robbers in tow, the money recovered and a more than likely furious Chris Larabee miraculously still in one piece. JD had lost count of the number of times that he'd glanced in the direction they'd gone, hoping and praying to see that big gray horse of Buck's come around the corner.
All to no avail.
Evening had fallen without their return and a somber mood settled over the entire town. In fact, things were so quiet last night that there really wasn't any reason for JD to remain in the sheriff's office, sleeping on one of the cell cots, but he figured the jail would be the first place they stopped, wanting to secure their prisoners as quickly as possible. And JD had no doubt that there would be prisoners. His three friends would be relentless in their pursuit of Chris's kidnappers, and Vin was just too good of a tracker.
These thoughts occupied JD's mind as he headed for the saloon, the warm sun shining brightly overhead and promising another day of scorching heat. Stepping up onto the boardwalk, he reached out a hand towards the batwing doors only to have them come flying back in his direction. JD stopped quickly but not quickly enough to avoid bumping into the solid form of Ezra Standish.
"Sorry, Ezra. Didn't see ya coming," JD muttered quickly, starting to push past. JD still couldn't quite reconcile himself to the sight of the gambler sitting and laughing with the same man who was spreading such vicious rumors about Chris.
"That's quite all right, Mr. Dunne. I failed to see you as well." Ezra's normally fluid voice sounded rough and a bit breathless as he tried to regain the air JD had literally knocked out of him. The southerner's red-rimmed eyes squinted blearily up at the glaring sun, a disgruntled expression covering his features at the earliness of the morning hour.
"Yeah, I reckon you are up kinda early this morning at that! Must be something awful important to get you outta bed before noon." JD grinned at the gambler's contrary glare, using the opportunity to get in a little ribbing.
"Out of bed? My dear boy, I have yet to take my repose from this night past," the gambler answered tiredly. "And let me assure you that as soon as I perform one more humble task, then that is a situation that I will quickly remedy."
JD halted, staring up at the gambler in surprise. "You mean you been up all night, Ezra? Why? You get on a winning streak at poker or something?"
Standish's lips quirked into a grimace of self-disgust. "Actually, Mr. Dunne, I was endeavoring to lose at poker which let me assure you, is no easy feat."
JD's brow furrowed.
"Simply stated, Mr. Dunne," Ezra continued, "I was attempting to follow Mr. Tanner's dictates and learn as much as possible about our newly arrived business financier. Furthermore, a dollar a day hardly seems adequate compensation for having to resign myself to deliberately losing at poker," he sighed softly.
Someone was going to owe him recompense when all was said and done. He shuddered with the memory of a perfectly lovely pair of queens and eights that he'd deliberately discarded. Ezra couldn't quite believe he'd done it himself. Then a small smile crept onto his lips. Maude would have been perfectly appalled.
Silently shaking his head, the youth decided he'd never be able to figure the gambler out. "I'm meeting Josiah for breakfast," JD offered, now regretting the harsh words they had exchanged the previous day. "Care to join us?"
"I appreciate the kind offer, JD, but I find my desire for sustenance at this..." the gambler snorted in apparent disgust, "...ungodly hour of the morning somewhat lacking. And now, if you will excuse me, I have an important errand to dispense with. Henceforth, you may find me wrapped in the arms of sweet Morpheus while partaking of the comforts on my down pillow." Two fingers tipped his hat in the younger man's general direction as Ezra stepped off the boardwalk and strode briskly up the street.
JD turned to watch him go.
Molly sat beneath the shade of a tree brushing out her long hair with slender fingers. The wind yesterday had blown the auburn tresses into a mass of tangles. Her dress was filthy and her face was lined with dirt. She was tired, hungry and thirsty. All in all, she couldn't resist a small self-satisfied smile.
It had been easy to talk the Farrow brothers into heading for this watering hole. Even now, they were doing exactly as planned. Ethan was taking the horses down to the spring to water them; Jared was sorting through their saddlebags picking up camp. Neither man seemed to be paying much attention to her. Everything, even the dust storm yesterday, fell into her plan so perfectly. She felt almost giddy from the excitement.
She finished braiding her hair and tossed the long plait over one shoulder. Her eyes briefly scanned the surrounding desert. Satisfied to find there was no one else within sight, she reached beneath her skirts and slid her hand around the gun she had hidden away... the one that belonged to the man they'd left back in the desert. A feeling of incredible power had filled her when she'd pulled that trigger... the secret thrill of life or death resting in her hands.
Molly had to admit, she'd enjoyed the kill - the feel of the smooth metal, the sharp acrid scent of gunpowder, the look of surprise and then pain on the blond-headed man's face as the bullet tore through him. And now he was dead.
"Hey, Molly! Why don't ya fix us somethin' ta eat?"
Jared tossed a can of beans and a sack full of provisions in Molly's direction. She'd done nothing since they'd stopped last night and he figured it was about time she made herself useful. Besides, she was bound to be a better cook than his brother.
Molly bristled at the tone of Jared's voice, and a fire sparked the depths of her brown eyes as she retrieved the Peacemaker. She'd had enough... it was time. The Farrow brothers had served their purpose and were no longer useful. A sinister smile lit her delicate features.
She tilted her head thoughtfully. Pulling out the gun, she set it down beside her and checked once more to ensure that Ethan was still some distance away. Taking the bodice of her dress in both hands, she quietly ripped it open, exposing the white lace chemise she wore beneath. Another tear in her skirt, then one at the shoulder... Taking a handful of dirt, she scrubbed more onto her face before scratching her own nails down the length of one cheek. Pleased with the overall effect of her appearance, Molly picked up Larabee's gun and stood up.
Quietly, she walked down the hill to where Jared still knelt, his back still turned to her. The girl stopped several feet behind him and aimed the gun at him.
"Give me the money, Jared," she demanded in a resolute tone of voice.
Jared laughed and only half looked over his shoulder at her. "What're ya goin' on about, Molly? You kin have a look at the money later. Go fix us some grub."
Molly pulled back the hammer on Larabee's gun.
"I said, give me the damned money!"
The younger man froze, the metallic click getting his attention where words did not. Jared eased his arms out to the side and raised both hands in the air. He slowly rose to his feet and swung around to face her. From that distance, Molly wouldn't miss.
"What's goin' on, Molly? Wha-What's this all about?" he stuttered. "Thought we was gonna wait 'til we hit Mexico? You wantin' yer share now?"
Molly gave him a cold, predatory smile.
"No, Jared. I want all of it! Now!"
The words had barely left her mouth before she pulled the trigger, her smile widening with grim satisfaction at the blossom of red liquid spreading from the middle of Jared Farrow's chest. She almost laughed at the comical expression of surprise mixed with horror that crossed his face as he glanced down at the mortal wound. Sinking slowly to his knees, he looked at her in bewilderment before his features stiffened into a gruesome mask of death and his body pitched forward face into the dirt.
"One down, one to go," she murmured quietly.
Double-checking her appearance, Molly tugged at the strands of dark hair around her face and neck, destroying the neat braid she had so carefully woven. Gun in hand, she then turned and raced in Ethan's direction. She hadn't gotten far when the elder Farrow brother came sprinting around the side of the rocks, eyes wide and gun drawn. Without hesitation, she threw herself at him.
Molly stumbled and all but fell into Ethan's outstretched arms. In one glance, he took in her disheveled appearance - the flushed and dirtied face, the tears now streaming from her eyes, running over the red scratch marks across the smooth skin of her cheek, and the torn gingham dress. She stood trembling and sobbing against him. His eyes narrowed dangerously.
"What happened, Molly?"
When she didn't answer him right away, Ethan gave the nearly hysterical woman a hard shake.
"Answer me, dammit!"
Anguished brown eyes gazed up at him. "Oh, God! Ethan! I'm sorry... so very sorry! I didn't know what else to do!" Molly stammered. "I tried to tell him no but he wouldn't stop. And then he... I'm so sorry! It was an accident. Please, you have to believe me. I never meant... Oh, God! I was so scared! I didn't know what to do!"
Ethan wrapped his arms around her as he comforted her. His eyes quickly scanned their makeshift camp, his heart leaping into his throat when he spied the still form lying in the dust. Slowly releasing the girl, Ethan holstered his gun and began walking up the slope, his gaze never leaving the motionless body. "Why?" he whispered in an anguished voice as he fell to his knees beside Jared's prone form. He turned his brother's body over. One look at the mass of red blood covering the unmoving chest was enough to confirm what Ethan's heart already knew. Jared was dead.
The sound of mocking laughter echoed behind him. Confusion clouded his mind as he turned to look at the woman and the gun she now held pointed at him. Ethan Farrow made his fourth and final mistake... trusting a she-wolf in sheep's clothing. He died instantly as a bullet caught him directly between the eyes. He hit the ground, his body falling backwards across Jared's, the two brothers together even in death.
Molly Appleton wiped almost gleefully at the false tears she had shed. Tucking the gun back beneath her skirts, she quickly sorted through the saddlebags, easily locating the bank money. She rode out a few minutes later, heading back to the small town she had left the night before. Molly had a date to keep.
Josiah stepped out of the saloon and patted his stomach contentedly. Inez sure knew how to fix one heck of a breakfast. The ex-preacher knew he'd probably eaten too much, but Josiah decided that he didn't really mind; it beat having to swallow his own cooking any day of the week.
There was a movement beside him as JD joined the larger man outside. Josiah couldn't help but smile at the red and white-checkered napkin still tucked into JD's shirtfront. Catching the youth's eye, he pointedly raised one bushy eyebrow and merely looked from the boy's face to the napkin and back again. Seeing the direction of Josiah's gaze, JD flushed with embarrassment. He quickly tugged the linen from his collar and tossed it on a table close to the door.
"Josiah, you reckon we oughta make rounds or something? I mean, seeing as how the others ain't back yet..." His voice trailed off as Josiah gave him another inscrutable look.
"You worried somebody's gonna rob the bank, JD?" The ex-preacher's deep voice rumbled with a touch of amusement.
JD made a face before answering, "No, it's just that... it seems like we should be doing something, ya know? Not just standing around like this. We're supposed to be protecting the town and it just doesn't look right if we're not doing... something."
Josiah looked a little bit disgruntled as he answered, "You're starting to repeat yourself, son."
The youth shifted his feet and made a small noise of annoyance. He looked around them, surprised by how few people seemed to be up and about. It was already close to mid-morning and there was nowhere near the usual amount of traffic. If things stayed as quiet today as they did yesterday, then JD reckoned he was going to be bored by noon.
Sanchez glanced at the younger man, sensing the restlessness and pent-up energy building inside him.
"I was figuring on heading over to the telegraph office myself. See if there's been any reply to those messages I sent out." He swung part way around to look at JD. "Care to come along?"
JD quickly accepted his offer. "Beats standing around here doin' nothing."
JD jumped down off the boardwalk. He gave the ex-preacher a quick look over his shoulder and headed towards the telegraph office with slow determined strides. Josiah shook his head. Stepping into the street, a wry smile on his face, he followed JD.
A few minutes later they emerged from the building with no more useful information than they'd started. Two replies had come back from Josiah's inquiries; both were negative. The towns of Sedalia and Parker were quiet. No bank robbers there.
"Wonder why we haven't heard back from Judge Travis?" JD offered, a bit perplexed.
"Could be word hasn't reached him yet." Josiah answered him as they walked slowly back up the street. "He was taking Mary and Billy back east to visit some relatives last I heard."
"So what do we do now?"
Josiah stopped and turned to look directly into the younger man's face. In a patient voice, he answered.
"We do our jobs... and we wait."
The ex-preacher started walking again.
A grimace of frustration quirked the young man's mouth. He wasn't worried about doing his job. What he minded was the waiting. JD wasn't good at waiting. JD exhaled loudly as he trotted off to catch up with Josiah.
"Mr. Sanchez! Mr. Dunne! Hold up!"
A tow-headed boy of about thirteen years of age was running up the street in their direction. Both men stopped and turned as Will, the telegraph operator's son, came sliding to a stop in front of them.
"Glad I caught ya! Pa just got another telegram and sent me after ya straight away." The kid's blue eyes sparkled with excitement. "Told me to find out if ya know where Mr. Standish might be?"
"Ezra?" Josiah asked. The two men looked at each other puzzled.
"Telegram's for him. It's an answer to the one he sent out this morning," Will quickly replied. "Pa said I should get it to him right away. It come all the way from back east."
"Ezra sent a telegram?" JD queried.
"Yes, sir. Just this morning." The boy was practically dancing with eagerness. "Pa said he ain't sent one to Philadelphia in a coon's age! He figures it must be pretty important and said I should find Mr. Standish right away."
Josiah cast another glance at the young man beside him. Turning back to Will, he extended one large hand. "We'll take it to him, son."
"That's all right, Mr. Sanchez! I don't mind, really!" Will returned, gripping tightly the yellowed piece of paper the note was written on. "I can do it."
Josiah smiled, reached out and gently took the missive from the boy's fingers. He then reached into his vest pocket and withdrew a nickel. Winking one eye knowingly, he replied, "Thank you, son. And you can tell your pa you delivered it safely."
The boy looked at the shiny nickel he now held in his palm. A huge grin covered his face as he glanced up at Josiah. With a quick word of thanks, Will turned and took off running towards the general store.
The two men silently watched him go before returning their attention to the telegram meant for the southerner.
"Why in the world would Ezra be sending a telegram to Philadelphia?" JD asked as his hazel eyes stared at the wisp of paper.
Josiah thought for a moment and then turned to look at JD.
"Why don't we go ask Ezra?"
Molly Appleton reined her horse to a halt atop a small ridge. Dropping the reins around the pommel, she took a deep breath in and stretched. She wasn't used to spending this much time in the saddle and a long relaxing soak at the bathhouse was looking good.
She made a face of irritation and grumbled a bit under her breath. Molly guessed she was still about two hours from town, but her smile was quick to return as her hand dropped to pat the saddlebags behind her, draped across the horse's rump.
Fifty thousand plus dollars nestled nicely inside and no one to suspect that the Farrow brothers weren't south of the border enjoying a bottle of tequila. She giggled softly at the thought. She had plans for that money... lots of plans. Nothing was going to stand in her way. Three dead men - four if she counted Dawson - hadn't been able to stop her. And if anyone else tried to get in her way, she'd shoot them as well.
A sudden movement out of the corner of her eye distracted her and Molly turned to gaze out over the desert. Her dark eyes narrowed as she focused on the outline of three riders on horseback coming up from the south. Quickly moving her mount to a position of cover behind a gnarled juniper, she watched closely through the waves of heat rolling from the desert floor.
She smiled contemptuously a few moments later as she identified the three men. It wasn't hard to do. She easily recognized the big gray horse, the blaze-faced gelding next to it and the dark-skinned man who rode the sorrel.
Wilmington, Tanner and Jackson.
She'd known the town would send out a posse, especially after Jared and Ethan had been stupid enough to take Chris Larabee with them. She just hadn't figured on running into them before she got back. Molly chewed on her lower lip in vexation. She had to find a way to keep herself above suspicion.
A slow sinister grin covered her features as she dismounted from her horse. Tugging on the saddlebags, she pulled them off and began to prepare for her chance meeting with the three peacekeepers.
The riders had left Escondero early that morning, even before the sun was up. They hadn't wanted to waste a minute of daylight in their search. They'd ridden hard, stopping only briefly to rest their horses before pushing on again.
When Tanner pulled his mount to a halt, the other two men stopped beside him, looking at the tracker questioningly. So far there'd been nothing, no trace of anyone. Vin couldn't say he was surprised. That damn dust storm had scoured the face of the desert, wiping it clean.
Vin reached down to retrieve the leather bota he had filled that morning. Gauging from the weight of it, he reckoned that it was about half full. If they had to search for much longer, they'd do well to find the nearest watering hole to fill up their canteens. He took a drink before wiping his mouth with the back of one dusty sleeve.
Buck followed suit, taking a large swallow from his own canteen, swirling the water around in his mouth to clean out the grit, then spitting it forcefully out in the dirt. "We been riding for quite a while now and ain't seen nothing. You reckon maybe we got these fellas figured wrong?"
"What'd ya mean, Buck?" Nathan peered at the man, leery that the hostilities of the previous day weren't quite over yet.
"I'm just saying that with that storm yesterday, these fellas could of rode off in pretty much any direction... just like Vin said before. Maybe since we ain't finding they headed south... well, maybe they did ride off another way. Maybe it's time we think 'bout splitting up, each of us take a direction. That way we can cover more ground." The ladies' man absently scratched at his cheek.
"I don't know, Buck. Don't seem like a good idea ta me ta go splittin' up," the healer offered with a shake of his head. "Vin? Whatchya think we oughta do?"
The tracker didn't answer; his gaze was focused on some distant point.
"Vin?" Buck called softly.
Vin nodded his head in the direction he was looking. "Buck? Take a look. You see somethin' out there, off to the left aways... 'bout a hundred yards 'r so in fronta that bunch of scrub?"
Both Nathan and Buck turned to stare at the place Vin described, eyes narrowed against the brilliant glare of the afternoon sun. Neither man commented, concentrating instead on finding just exactly what had caught the tracker's attention. They weren't surprised to hear a series of sharp snaps as Vin took out his spyglass. Closing one eye, Tanner peered through the magnifying lens and off into the distance.
"See anything?" Buck asked after a few silent moments.
"Looks like a horse ta me," the tracker drawled quietly. "Here, you take a look." He handed the spyglass to Buck and waited for the other man's verdict.
After a minute, Buck replied, "I think you're right, Vin. Looks like a horse to me too... with something across its back." He lowered the spyglass and handed it back to the tracker.
"I guess that answers my question then." Nathan smiled gently and gestured with one hand. "Lead on, Vin."
Urging their tired mounts forward, the three men rode on in the blistering heat.
"It's the girl," Buck cried out several minutes later and spurred his big gray forward at a hard run.
Frowning, Nathan urged his horse to follow. But Vin held back, his senses suddenly on edge again; something was making him decidedly uneasy. He kept his gelding at a deliberate trot and quickly scanned the surrounding area. One hand slid down to pull his Winchester free from its leather holster.
Buck's gray gelding came sliding to a halt beside a small chestnut mare, its rider still limply draped over its back. Leaning over, the dark-headed man quickly took hold of its reins, his blue eyes full of concern.
"Molly? Molly?" he called out to her with no response. "Molly, can you hear me?"
Buck had met the young woman twice in the short time she'd been in town - once in Potter's store and the second time as she was leaving the ladies' boarding house to go to the bank. He'd been impressed by her delicate features and glorious long brown hair. Buck muttered a swift prayer of gratitude that they had found her.
Swinging down out of the saddle, Buck moved to stand beside her. Reaching up, he took hold of her by the waist and eased the slight figure down into his arms. He carried Molly a few feet away from the horses before kneeling and laying her upon the ground. The ladies' man heard footsteps and turned his head to see Nathan approaching, a canteen of water in one hand, his medical kit in the other.
"She alive?" Nathan inquired quietly as he caught Buck's eye.
"Yeah," he breathed out. "I think she's just fainted or something."
Buck stood and stepped back. Tugging his hat off, Wilmington ran one hand over his sweaty forehead and through the curling strands of his hair. The healer was already examining the young woman, taking note of the fresh scratch marks on one cheek and the pale streaks left by the tears she had shed. He wet a piece of cloth with water from his canteen and began to tenderly clean some of the dirt from her face. She moaned softly in response, her head rolling weakly to one side.
"Molly?" the healer whispered gently, not wanting to startle the girl from her swoon. "Molly, it's all right. Yer safe now. C'mon an' open up them eyes fer me."
Long lashes fluttered briefly before glassy brown eyes opened to peer up at Jackson's dark face. Confusion clouded their depths but was quickly replaced by panic at the sight of a man kneeling above her. She sat up abruptly, pushing him away before Nathan captured her wrists in his hands.
"No, please! Please stop! Don't hurt me! Oh God! Please don't hurt me!" Fear was evident on her face and in her voice. Molly tried to get away from him but she only twisted and turned uselessly against his hold. Tears formed in her eyes and she sobbed harshly in terror. "Please! I'm begging you! Don't hurt me!"
Nathan tried to reassure the frightened woman. He spoke to her in a gentle voice, but Molly wasn't hearing him above her own panic-stricken cries. Buck moved to kneel beside her again, taking hold of the trembling girl by her upper arms.
"Molly!" he yelled, trying to break through the web of fear that held her in its grasp. "Molly, it's me! Buck Wilmington. C'mon, Molly girl! Look at me." Molly struggled weakly before he gave her a light shake.
"Easy, Buck," Nathan cautioned in a soft voice, but the volume of the girl's cries had lessened. The healer released her wrists and sat back on his haunches. Buck's method seemed to be working.
"Molly, listen to me. It's Buck!" The gunslinger took over. "You're safe now, okay? I'm not gonna hurt ya. C'mon and look at me, darlin! Its just Buck!"
Molly stilled for a moment then blindly turned to look at Buck. Suddenly, without warning, she flung herself into his arms and began sobbing all over again.
"Buck! Oh God! Buck! It was so awful. Thank God you're here. I was so scared. I thought they were going to kill me. Please take me home, Buck. Please? I just want to go home."
Molly pleaded with Buck while keeping her face buried against the solid wall of his chest. Buck's heart ached at the thought of the abuse she must have endured. Lifting one hand to the back of her head, he cradled her against his shoulder, absorbing the terrified sobs that wracked her slender body. He held her close and soother her, offering comfort in the only way he knew how.
"It's okay, darlin." He whispered to her. "Everything's all right now. Buck's here. You're safe. Nobody's gonna hurt you. I'm here. Hush now." He looked across at Nathan with a troubled expression on his face. "You can calm down now, okay. Just calm down."
"Ask her, Buck."
The rasp of the voice caused both men to look up. Vin Tanner was slowly easing his gun back into its holster as he dismounted.
"Ask her."
Buck nodded and turned his attention back to the girl. Lifting her gently away from him and smoothing the hair back from her face with a gentle hand, Buck peered down at her. "Molly, darlin? Sweetheart, I need to know where the bank robbers are, okay? Can you tell me where they are?"
"I don't know," she whispered tremulously. "I got lost."
"Ask her 'bout Chris."
"Molly? Molly, darlin?" Buck put a hand under her chin hoping she would at least look at him. "Sweetheart, you can tell me. Where's Chris? We need to know where Chris is, okay?"
Molly stared at the man blankly, then suddenly, "Nooooo!" she shuddered and moaned piteously, burying her face again into the curve of Buck's shoulder.
Buck looked over at Nathan and then almost helplessly up at Vin. Unshed tears sparkled in the depths of Wilmington's deep blue eyes. But there was no softness, no pity in the tracker's relentless gaze. Tanner's face was set into a hard line and he nodded sharply at Buck to get on with it.
"Molly, please?" he whispered as Buck lifted her chin. "I need to know where Chris is?"
She swallowed convulsively, a shiver rippling through her. Molly then closed her eyes and drew a deep shuddering breath. Quietly she said, "He's dead."
Buck's fingers tightened imperceptibly on her chin, the shock of her answer taking his breath away.
"Are you sure?" Wilmington somehow managed to get out past the painful knot in his throat.
"They k-killed him." Molly began sobbing again. "Just s-shot him down in cold blood." She hiccupped loudly and buried her face in Buck's shoulder again. "Oh God, Buck! So much blood... made me sick. I-I couldn't help it. They j-just rode off and left him there... didn't even bury him. Oh God! It was horrible!"
Her slender frame shuddered against him. Buck's arms came instinctively, protectively around her.
The two men stood there for a moment staring at the weeping woman in Buck's arms. The healer shook his head and uttered a soft word of denial. Vin remained silent, all the color drained from his face.
"Where?" The soft voice of the tracker finally cut through the silence. When Molly didn't answer right away, he repeated it in a hardened voice.
"Where?"
"I don't know!" Molly said into Buck's shirtfront. "I don't know! It all looks alike out here."
"Rocks? Trees? Scrub brush? What else did you see?" Vin returned harshly. "Think, dammit - ya had ta have seen somethin'!"
"I just don't know!" Molly wailed against Buck's broad chest.
Vin suddenly felt a hand on his arm.
"Easy, Vin," Nathan soothed. "She's awful upset and pushin' at her ain't gonna help. Reckon she don't know." Nathan sighed sadly. "She's been through a pretty rough time."
"How'd she git away from 'em, then?" Vin asked sharply, his gaze sweeping past Nathan to the tear-streaked face that turned quickly to look up at him.
For just an instant, Molly's mask of deceit slipped, a momentary touch of panic racing through her at Vin's unexpected question. Then the veil of deception once more covered her features. Simple enough, she thought.
"I-it was last night. Th-they started drinking. I waited until they were sl-sleeping and I-I-I grabbed a horse..." She forced more tears to flow from her eyes, turning to look pitifully up at Buck. "I rode around all night. I was so scared. I got lost..."
The tracker stood there a moment, staring hard at the weeping figure in Buck's arms before uttering a rough curse. There was something... his senses were telling him that she was lying. But about what? And why?
Vin let loose a low snarl as the sense of frustration that had been growing for the past day suddenly met head on with a feeling of failure, uncertainty and grief. Turning sharply on one booted heel, Vin snatched up the reins to all four horses and led them off to the shade of a gnarled juniper tree.
Nathan and Buck watched the young tracker go, grief written in the stiff line of his back and the set of his shoulders.
Tanner sat with his back resting against the stunted juniper, head bowed, face hidden behind the curtain of his long hair. He was aware of Buck setting the girl next to him while Nathan retrieved the canteen of water form his saddle. The healer squatted down and offered her a drink. He then passed the container to Buck who then held it out to Vin. The tracker merely shook his head and kept his gaze focused on the square foot of dirt directly in front of him. A concerned look passed between the two men who watched him closely.
"Buck?" Molly called softly from where she was curled on the ground.
"What is it, darlin?" Buck questioned gently coming to kneel in front of her.
"Please?" she whispered beseechingly, her dark eyes solemn as she gazed up at him. "Can we go back to town now? I just want to go home. Please?"
"I think we'd all like to do that, sweetheart, but first we gotta find the men who robbed the bank," the ladies' man answered gently.
"I don't know, Buck," Nathan interjected. "I think she's been through enough as it is. Seems like one of us oughta take her back ta town. Might be dangerous fer her ta stay out here. They done already kilt two men an' she's an eyewitness. Them fellas might come after her."
Buck looked up at Nathan, then over to Vin and sighed.
"Yeah, you're right," Buck agreed softly. "Mebbe we should all go back then. Get her safely tucked away somewhere. Head back out in the mornin' at first light with more men and fresh horses. See if we can backtrack along her trail to find them."
"Please, I just want to go home," Molly interrupted quietly.
"It's gonna be awful hard ridin' back into town without that money. Lotta folks dependin' on us ta git it back but I don't see that we got much choice." Nathan sighed as he ran a hand over his face.
"Nathan, I don't' give a damn about the money," Buck growled, the undertone of venom in Buck's voice not surprising. "All I want is those two bastards who killed Chris." Releasing Molly, he stood abruptly and paced a few steps away. "I'll give 'em a right proper trial... and a first class burial."
"Buck, ya cain't do that," Nathan slowly cautioned as he also stood up. "You ain't judge, jury an' executioner here. You go takin' the law into yer own hands an' you'll be the one up 'fore Judge Travis fer murder."
"Maybe I can't," Buck agreed quietly. "But I can damned sure be the one to pull that lever."
The two men stared at each other for a long moment before Nathan sighed. "Look, right now, we need to git this girl back ta town. I say we head back, git the others an' start again come morning."
"No!" came softly from behind the curtain of brown curls.
"Vin?" Nathan took a small step towards him, puzzled.
The tracker suddenly shot to his feet and walked over to his horse. He pulled his rifle from its scabbard. Checking the chamber, he made sure it was loaded before sliding it firmly back into the leather sheath.
Confused by the tracker's actions, Buck moved to stand beside him. "Vin? What're you doing?"
"Doin' what I shoulda done in the first place, Bucklin," Vin answered in a rough voice.
"Vin, wait! Where you going?" Nathan called out as he moved closer.
"Goin' after Larabee," the tracker answered brusquely as he made ready to ride. "Gonna need one o' yer canteens an' any extra provisions ya got. Don't know how long I'll be gone. Be back when I can."
Vin swung easily up into the saddle and tugged on the reins to turn his black gelding around. Nathan halted him with a gentle hand on his leg. Dark eyes full of compassion looked up at the tracker as the older man softly said, "Vin, Chris is gone. You cain't do nothing fer him now. Best we git this girl back ta town safe."
"You an' Buck can take her back," Vin responded sharply.
Buck sighed heavily. "Dammit, Vin! You don't even know where to start looking."
"Don't matter none. I'll find him." There was a calm assurance to Vin's words.
"Vin..." Buck began before running a hand through his hair in frustration.
The tracker glared at Buck for a moment before glancing at the girl seated on the ground. "Git the girl back ta town, Buck," was all Vin said.
"But Vin..."
"No!" the tracker cried out in a harsh voice, tugging sharply on the reins so that his horse spun in a circle on its hindquarters. Buck and Nathan had to back away quickly in order to keep from getting trampled.
"Vin, it ain't safe fer you ta go ridin' off by yerself. These fellas is dangerous. We done already lost Chris. Ain't gonna lose you too." Nathan tried to reason with the younger man.
Vin nodded his head, appreciating Nathan's concern, but there was an unwavering determination burning in the depths of his eyes. "I'll be all right, Nathan. I know what I'm doing. I ain't leavin' Chris out there all alone. I'm gonna find him an' take him home."
The three men were silent for a moment before Buck reluctantly nodded his head. "All right, Vin. You bring Chris home. Just be sure to watch your back, pard."
Vin glanced briefly over at Molly Appleton, sudden doubts and misgivings plaguing him at to the validity of her story. He looked back down at Nathan and Buck before two fingers touched the brim of his hat in farewell.
"You jes be sure you an' watch yers."
JD and Josiah walked quietly down the hall to Ezra's room. The younger man started to knock but was forestalled by a quick motion of Josiah's hand. The ex-preacher gave JD a sly grin before reaching out to open the unlocked door. The pair slipped silently into the dim room, closing the door softly behind them. They could just make out the huddled figure asleep in the large bed.
The gambler's tousled hair was barely visible above the blankets that were pulled up almost over his head. The slow, even rhythm of his breathing was evidence of the depth of his exhausted slumbers. As they crept closer, Ezra sighed softly and mumbled something unintelligible causing JD and Josiah to exchange an amused grin. JD moved quietly around to the opposite side of the bed while the older man moved to the window.
Leaning down, JD peered into Ezra's sleeping face, surprised by the black material that covered the gambler's eyes. The youth cast a puzzled look at Josiah who merely shrugged his broad shoulders. JD lifted his own shoulders in response and shook his head as he moved closer. Taking in a soft breath, he called the man's name.
"Ezra?"
No response.
"Ezra?" he repeated, this time a little bit louder.
The gambler still did not answer but one hand suddenly shot from beneath the covers, moving with all the speed of a striking snake to capture the front of JD's shirt. Startled, Dunne swallowed hard and tried to back away but found himself caught in an unyielding grip.
"Mr. Dunne!" Ezra answered irritably. "If you have awakened me for anything other than the purposes of informing me that this establishment is on fire... let me assure you that I will exact the most vile retribution upon your person!" The southerner then released his hold on JD, giving the youth a slight shove.
"Morning, Ezra," Josiah rumbled as he opened the curtains and lifted the window shade.
Warm sunlight streamed in to the room chasing away the dust motes and murky shadows. JD and Josiah blinked against the sudden brightness while Ezra gave a soft groan of disappointment at having his rest so quickly disturbed. JD backed away from the bed as the gambler pushed back the covers and sat up.
"This better be good, gentlemen... or else you may find your lives are in serious danger."
"Got a telegram for you, Ezra," Josiah replied before removing the yellow paper from his pocket. "Telegraph operator said it was important..." His voice trailed off questioningly.
Suddenly alert, the gambler reached up with one hand to remove the sleep mask from his face. Green eyes blinked owlishly at the yellow light filling the room while Ezra ran his other hand through his ruffled hair.
"What the heck is that thing, Ezra?" JD inquired with a pointed look at the silky black material held in the gambler's hand.
"It's a sleep mask, if you must know, Mr. Dunne," Ezra replied impatiently. Turning to look at Josiah, he inquired, "Did the telegraph operator say where it was from?"
"Philadelphia."
Ezra quickly shoved back the rest of the covers and swung his legs over the side of the bed. JD was hard pressed to contain a smirk as he took in the long white nightshirt that fell almost to the gambler's knees. Throwing the youth an exasperated glare, the gambler reached for the green velvet dressing robe lying across the foot of the bed. Standing, he quickly slipped into the garment before belting it at his waist. With a sleepy yawn, he moved across the room to take the telegram from Josiah's outstretched hand.
The ex-preacher looked questioningly at the gambler's bedtime attire as he relinquished his hold on the piece of paper... a look that Ezra pointedly ignored.
Standing next to the window, Standish opened the envelope and scanned the contents of the message. A crooked smile spread slowly across his face as he read the printed words.
"Well, well, well..." Ezra drawled softly.
"What is it?" JD and Josiah both waited for the gambler to share his news with them.
"It would seem that the esteemed Mr. Edmunds is not who he appears to be," came Standish's answer as a devilish glint lit the depths of his eyes.
"Well, who is he then?" JD asked curiously as he stepped closer.
Lifting his head, Ezra turned to look at his two companions.
"A wolf in sheep's clothing, Mr. Dunne... and a very big, bad wolf at that!"
Vin paused just outside the small Mexican village, although it wasn't so much a village as a church surrounded by adobe huts and a few wooden structures. The church was nestled back within the curve of a granite rock formation, the belfry of the mission and its clay colored walls gleaming brightly in the afternoon sun. A tarnished brass bell hung silent within the rounded arch. He had heard the mission's bell ringing out, its rich tones carried to him on a gust of hot desert wind. The notes were like a beacon to an oasis, calling out to him in the vast expanse of empty landscape.
He'd been riding hard since parting ways with Nathan and Buck. Vin was tired, sore and filthy. His horse hadn't fared much better. The weary gelding walked with its proud head down, the sleek black coat dulled by layers of sweat and dust. Vin knew he had pushed the animal too hard but there was no help for it. He was determined to bring Chris Larabee back.
This village was the first sign of life Vin had come across in a couple of hours, if he didn't count the scrawny coyote hunting rodents or the prairie rattler he'd given a wide berth. Otherwise, there sure was a whole lot of nothing out there. The tracker grimaced and sighed heavily. Maybe he'd get lucky and somebody here might have at least seen something... maybe heard something. It was worth a try. Besides, both he and Peso needed a rest.
As he rode in, the tracker could feel dark eyes peering cautiously out at him from behind windows and doorways. Even those villagers who were outdoors turned to stare at the strange gringo riding past. Vin moved slowly and cautiously, uncertain as to his welcome. To his left, a dark-skinned man dressed in simple peasant garb stepped out from the shadows.
"Buenos dias, Senor," the peasant greeted him.
Vin nodded his head in return as he reined his horse to a halt. Wiping his forehead with the back of a sleeve, the tracker sat thinking for a moment. He saw what looked like a stable just up the way; he could get Peso taken care of. Decision made, he dismounted stiffly, loosened the saddle girth and tugged his saddlebags from the horse's back.
Vin turned to question the peasant but was forestalled by the man's soft words of broken English.
"I take horse, Senor. Care for him, Si?"
Surprised, the tracker nodded his head gratefully and mumbled, "Gracias."
"Mi esposa, Margarita, she make good beans y tortillas. You eat, Si?"
Vin smiled crookedly and looked in the direction the man pointed. There were tables and chairs set beneath a canopy of dried mesquite branches. An elderly Mexican woman stood in the doorway of the adobe hut next to it, a friendly smile beaming from her dark face. He gave a brief nod of thanks before letting the man lead his gelding away.
Tanner hefted his saddlebags over one shoulder as the village seemed to come back to life. Soft guitar music drifted in the air from somewhere nearby. Children were scurrying in and out amongst hiding places, running and laughing, while down the street, two women hung their laundry out to dry. All in all, it became a very peaceful setting, far removed from the problems of a small town, stolen money, missing bank robbers... and a dead gunslinger.
Vin shook his head and sighed heavily. He didn't believe it. He couldn't afford to believe it.
Stretching his stiff back, Vin turned to find the woman, Margarita, crooking her finger at him and inviting him to sit at one of the tables. He shuffled over to the chair she offered and set down his bags before sinking tiredly into the seat. She mumbled something in rapid Spanish he couldn't quite make out. So Tanner gave her a small smile and a grateful nod of his head.
Vin reckoned he answered her correctly because she turned and scurried inside the house. She returned a few moments later with a plate full of beans and a basket of fresh tortillas. The tracker sniffed appreciatively, the audible reaction of his stomach reminding him he hadn't eaten since early the day before. The woman chuckled at the noise and gave him a friendly pat on the shoulder. He smiled up at her, blue eyes twinkling with embarrassed amusement at his own expense.
"Eat! Eat!" she commanded. Shaking her gray head at him, she then disappeared back inside.
Tanner hadn't swallowed more than a couple of bites before she was back, placing a bottle of tequila on the table in front of him. Vin looked at it before regretfully shaking his head.
"No, gracias. I'd like some coffee, por favor?"
The Mexican woman complied with his request, then left him to enjoy his meal in silence.
Tanner glanced around while he ate. Several young children ran laughing across the open courtyard, their mothers sitting nearby talking or sewing, while a small black and white dog darted frantically in and out amongst them. Vin watched them with a small, sad smile of amusement before he noticed another man walking in his direction... a man somewhere in his sixties, the tracker observed thoughtfully. The brown robe, sandaled feet and rope sash identified him as the village priest. His black hair was shot through with streaks of gray, but he still moved with the fiery intensity of a much younger man. When the priest stopped beside his table, a genuine smile covered the weathered features. It was accentuated by brown eyes that regarded Vin kindly and Vin couldn't help but smile in return.
"Bienvenidos, Senor! Welcome to our humble village. I am Padre Emilio." The priest extended a hand and Vin reached out to grasp it. Without waiting for an invitation, Father Emilio pulled out a chair and sat down. He smiled thankfully at Margarita as she appeared out of nowhere to pour him a cup of coffee.
"As I said, I am Padre Emilio. And you are?"
"Name's Tanner. Vin Tanner," he replied around a mouthful of beans and tortillas.
There was something instantly soothing and calming about the older man and Vin found himself responding to that warmth. The tracker's grin grew even wider as he realized that Father Emilio put him in mind of someone else he knew... Josiah Sanchez.
"Well, Senor Tanner, I am pleased to meet you. I trust that Stefan looked after your horse and bade you welcome? My apologies for not being here to greet you sooner. I was praying for a member of my flock who is injured."
"No apology needed, Father." Vin shoveled another spoonful of beans into his mouth and chewed thoughtfully, waiting to see what the priest would ask next.
Father Emilio nodded, then settled back in his chair as if prepared for a long visit with the newcomer. "Well, we don't usually get visitors here. The villagers always worry about banditos and gringos who are headed to the border to escape the American authorities. Do you mind if I ask what your business here is?"
"Yer people don't gotta worry 'bout me, Padre. I'm jes out here tryin' ta find someone. Might be somebody here's seen him."
The priest leaned forward, suddenly very interested. "Ah... so you are a lawman, yes?"
Vin sipped his coffee before shaking his head. "Nope. Ain't got no badge." He stared sadly into the dark liquid before setting the mug back on the table. "Jes lookin' ta find a man."
Father Emilio noted the look and frowned as he then sat back. "And this man you search for? Why do you seek him? He has done you wrong? Or perhaps you are paid to find him?"
"Ain't no bounty hunter... not no more," Tanner answered shortly. "An' he ain't wronged me."
The conversation lapsed as the small dog hurtled across the courtyard while three small children chased it. Their peals of laughter rang loudly off the walls of the mission. The collie held something dark within its mouth, darting back and forth, teasing the children by rushing off when they got too close. An indulgent smile crossed Father Emilio's features as the black and white dog suddenly flung itself beneath a table. It lay there panting, tongue hanging out, dark eyes gleaming with mischief.
Normally, the children would have continued chasing the dog, but they stopped short, wide-eyed and a bit fearful at the sight of a strange gringo sitting with the padre. They stood silently for a moment, then turned and raced off in the other direction. The small collie whined her disappointment. She picked up her prize, trotted over to Father Emilio and lay down next to his feet. He leaned over to give her a brief pat before turning to again look at the man across the table.
"So, Senor Tanner, this man you seek... if he is not your enemy and has no price on his head, then why do you search for him?"
But Vin had stopped listening to the priest. His eyes were focused on the prize resting between the dog's front paws... a scrap of black material. Maybe...
"Father, where'd this dog come from? Do ya know who owns him?" the tracker asked in a strangled voice.
Frowning again, Father Emilio wondered why the man was suddenly so taken with the dog. "Si, I know the man," he answered as a bit of caution crept into his voice. "His name is Ignacio and this little girl here herds his sheep. Her name is Nina. Why do you ask?"
"Because I think yer man an' this dog mighta sent the fella I's lookin' fer." Vin reached down and gently took the scrap of material from the dog, rubbing it between his fingers.
"This man, he is a... friend, yes?"
Vin nodded absently as he continued to stare at the cloth. "My best friend," he whispered raggedly.
Seeing the look on the longhaired man's face, Father Emilio knew his words to be the truth.
"I think perhaps you should come with me," Father Emilio said. "There is something here you need to see."
Vin cast an uncertain look at the priest then tossed a couple of coins on the table. Gathering up his belongings, he turned to follow the priest across the courtyard and up the steps of the mission. They entered through the double doors, Father Emilio closing the heavy wooden portals behind them. The interior of the sanctuary was cool and a hushed reverence echoed throughout the length of it.
The tracker was led up the center aisle, through another doorway to the left and then down a flight of stairs. The lower level of the church was apparently carved into the base of the granite formation. He walked behind the padre along the length of the dimly lit corridor and around one turn before being brought to a halt in front of an ancient wooden door.
Tanner's mouth went dry with sudden apprehension. Anxiety and dread formed a cold knot in the pit of Vin's stomach at what he might find on the other side of the barrier, but a nod and an encouraging smile from Father Emilio had him reaching out to place his hand upon the wood. It felt cool and slick beneath his touch. He gave the heavy portal a firm push. It creaked slowly open as the soft light invaded the room's shadowed interior.
It took a minute for the tracker's eyes to adjust, another few moments for his mind to process what he was seeing. And then he couldn't see anything at all as tears filled the azure depths of his eyes.
"Chris..."
JD was sitting outside the sheriff's office playing with his knife when three horses appeared at the edge of town. He glanced briefly in their direction then returned to his game. Suddenly, in mid-throw he froze and looked back again. There was no mistaking the outline of that big gray horse! Buck was back... and Nathan too... and Buck was carrying someone. Relieved, excited and worried all at the same time, JD quickly pocketed his knife and sprang from the chair.
Running toward the riders, his coattail flapped wildly behind him as he held onto his hat with one hand and his gun belt with the other. He shouted loudly for Josiah and Ezra, arousing the curiosity of the gathering townsfolk.
"Buck!" the youth yelled joyously, sliding to a halt next to Buck's mount. "Am I ever glad to see you!" Hazel eyes widened as he saw the sleeping young woman cradled in Wilmington's arms.
Buck nodded his head in greeting as he urged his horse to continue past the livery. When JD started to question him, the older man looked down and shook his head in silent warning. JD was forced to walk impatiently alongside the small procession as they headed down the street toward the boarding house.
Nathan and Buck halted at the steps of the boarding house and were in the process of dismounting when Josiah and Ezra arrived. Without a word, the ex-preacher reached up and eased the girl from Buck's arms. Mady Landers, the boarding house owner, opened the door at Ezra's quiet knock and gasped in shock at the sight that greet her. She quickly ushered Josiah inside, then led the ex-preacher upstairs to Molly's room. A subdued Nathan followed a few steps behind.
Out in the street, Buck stepped down from his horse and broke the silence with an exhausted sigh.
"What is it, Buck?" JD kept his voice low, trying to sound steady and calm. "What's happened? Where's Vin?"
"I-I don't rightly know where to begin." The dejected slump of Buck's broad shoulders and the anguish filling the depths of his blue eyes were readily apparent to JD and Ezra.
"Perhaps it would be easiest if you started with something relatively simple, Mr. Wilmington, like say... the whereabouts of Mr. Tanner?" Ezra offered gently.
"Out searching... tracking..." was all Buck managed to say as he turned away from them.
"By that, I presume you mean to say that Mr. Tanner is single-handedly pursuing these criminals while you and Mr. Jackson return the fair damsel-in-distress?"
"Did you find Chris and the money?" Buck hung his head, unable to face the questioning look in JD's eyes. "Buck?" the youth asked worriedly.
"Yes..." Jasper Edmunds stepped to the front of the small crowd gathering in the street. "Did you find your... associate and the bank money?"
Beside him, JD felt Buck tense as he recognized the voice.
"Mister, this don't concern you none, so I suggest you back off," JD ordered sternly, trying to intervene before more trouble got started. He stepped forward, his hands dropping to rest on the butt of his ivory-handled Colts.
Edmunds just smiled at JD's belligerent stance before he dropped his cigar on the ground, grinding it out beneath the heel of a boot. "Ah, but I beg to differ there, son. I'm afraid this is my business seeing as how the majority of the money stolen belongs to me. And it's also the business of these good people here..." he indicated those around him with the sweep of his hand. "...as many of them had money with the bank as well."
"As did I," Ezra countered, sensing where this was going.
"Well, then... I certainly think the knowledge of the whereabouts of your missing partner and the money he took are well within our rights," Edmunds responded.
Buck spun around as Ezra surreptitiously laying a hand on his arm. Wilmington clenched his jaw tightly in anger, biting back the heated words he longed to spit out at the man. Instead, he deliberately ignored Edmunds and directed his gaze at JD and Ezra.
"Vin said to get some rest and fresh horses. We'll go after them again at first light."
"And where might Mr. Tanner be?" Ezra inquired in a subdued tone of voice.
Buck dropped his gaze, swallowing hard. "He'll be back when he can."
"Really, gentlemen! I must protest! This is too much - absolutely too much!" the harsh laugh from the freight merchant barked out. Edmunds couldn't believe it; this little scenario just kept getting better and better! "Do you now mean to tell these good people that not one, but two of your members are now missing? How tragically convenient!"
"Just what the hell is that supposed to mean?" Buck growled as he took a small step forward.
"Buck!" Ezra whispered warningly but was ignored. Things were getting quickly out of hand. The underlying sarcasm in Edmund's voice had not been lost on the crowd. They understood all too well just what the man had been implying and there was a general murmur of disquiet that passed through them. Ezra was more than a bit relieved when Josiah and Nathan eased through the boarding house door and rejoined them.
Edmunds glanced back over his shoulder, checking the crowd and gauging his support. Sweeping his coat back, he casually placed his hands on his hips. "Well, forgive me if I seem somewhat obtuse, but I must say that I find it terribly coincidental that two of your men as well at this town's money are now missing. It gives one pause to wonder as to who has been robbing whom?"
"Mister, you got about two seconds to git outta my face." The anger radiated off of Buck's tall frame in palpable waves. JD moved to stand beside the older man's shoulder in a show of support.
The freight merchant held up his hands as if to placate the enraged man. "Now, Sir! Please! I assure you there is no need for violence. I am only speaking out on behalf of these honorable citizens who deserve to know what is going on. It is, after all, their money that Mr. Larabee has absconded with."
In the blink of an eye, Buck was down into the street. His hand fisted tightly in the white material of Jasper Edmund's shirtfront as he shoved the barrel of his revolver into the underside of the smaller man's chin. The crowd, shocked by Buck's sudden move, gasped and fell back.
"Now listen to me, you yellow-bellied sonuvabitch! You say one more word... just one about Chris Larabee and I'm gonna blow your damn face off, you got me?"
Edmunds, gasping slightly, was shaken by the attack but quickly recovered his composure. "My apologies, Sir, if I have offended you or your companions. I must say that you seem truly convinced of... this man's... innocence. Now, if that is the case, then you should have no difficulty at all in telling these good townspeople precisely where this Mr. Larabee is."
Wilmington swallowed hard against the painful knot that rose in his throat as tears filled his eyes. He raised his head and glanced wildly about, his gaze skirting over but not really seeing the people gathered there. He could hear the whispers... the questions... the accusations...
"He's... dead," Buck grated out in a harsh whisper as he gave the other man a shove. He dropped his gun to his side and backed slowly away.
"Chris is dead." Wilmington's voice was louder this time but no less agonized.
Buck couldn't turn to look at the others, couldn't stand to see the pain in JD's eyes or the questions in Ezra's or Josiah's... couldn't face them at all. God, he was so tired...
"JD, take care of the horses for me, will ya?" Buck asked without turning around. "I need a drink."
Buck Wilmington walked slowly up the street to the saloon, a cloud of grief and pain dogging his every step. From up in her bedroom, Molly Appleton smothered her laughter with a pillow while tears of mirth streamed down the sides of her face.
Night had fallen by the time Vin had driven the wooden cart into town. He would have stopped and made camp before the sun went down but in deference to his passenger, he'd pushed on, determined to reach Nathan's.
Street fires once again lit the night; the usual cacophony of sound tumbled from the open doors of the saloon, spilling noise and yellow light into the street, but for the most part, the town appeared empty. Vin watched as a couple of laughing cowboys came stumbling out of the door and headed off across the road. A man and a woman strolled casually together down the boardwalk in the opposite direction. Vin urged the mule onward.
Soft amber light poured from the crack between the double wooden doors of the livery and the tracker turned the cart in that direction. The light shining from the window of the room above brought a small sigh of relief from his mouth. Nathan was there.
A large figure stepped silently out of the shadows as Vin passed the sheriff's office. His sharp eyes instantly recognized the solid bulk of Josiah Sanchez. They exchanged a quick glance before Vin jerked his head in the direction of Nathan's place.
The ex-preacher nodded and turned to trail after the small caravan. Josiah fell into step next to the gelding tied to the back of the cart, the horse's head hanging low with exhaustion. One hand absently reached out to stroke the animal's neck as pensive blue-gray eyes roamed over the mass of bedding and blankets piled high in the back of the small wagon. Sanchez silently counseled himself to wait.
Vin pulled up near the steps leading to Nathan's room and wearily climbed down from the seat. He tied the mule to a hitching rail while Josiah led Peso around to the other side. The older man then followed Vin to the back of the cart and stood beside him as the tracker sorted through the layers of blankets. A sinking feeling lodged in the pit of Josiah's stomach as he realized that he probably already knew what lay beneath the blankets. Buck had said Vin was out searching... hunting... and the younger man had obviously found what he was looking for. Josiah sighed heavily and steeled himself against the task to come.
A tousled head of blond hair came into view as Vin pulled back the blankets. The big ex-preacher was startled when there was movement and a muffled curse of "Shit!" came from beneath the layers of wool.
A relieved grin lit Josiah's face as he chuckled softly. "I see that Brother Lazarus has returned from the dead."
Chris groaned from where he lay on top of the hay bedding. "Nice to see you too, Josiah."
Sanchez assessing gaze took in the swollen and cut face, cracked lips, dirty golden hair, bruises and numerous abrasion, sunburned skin and swath of white bandages wrapped firmly around Chris's middle. "I must say, Brother Larabee, that you look pretty healthy for a dead man!" Chris managed a small smile.
"Shut up, both of ya!" Vin hissed at him under his breath. The tracker fixed Larabee with a piercing glare. "N'case ya forgot, yer supposed ta be mostly dead. Now lie back an' be still. Me 'n Josiah's gonna git ya up ta Nathan's." He then tossed one of the blankets back on top of the injured gunslinger.
Vin nodded to Josiah, who climbed up in the cart and lifted Chris underneath his shoulders. The tracker took hold of the gunman's legs, being careful to avoid the bandages on his feet. Together, Josiah and Vin carried Chris up the stairs while Larabee closed his eyes and feigned unconsciousness. There was one brief moment of alarm when Chris's foot accidentally hit the railing and he jerked in surprised response.
"Quit yer squirmin'!" Vin admonished quietly.
"Can you tell he's glad to have you back?" Josiah rumbled softly.
"Funny way of showin' it," came quietly from the unconscious man.
"Shut up!" Vin hissed again, breathing a sigh of thanks when they made it to the top without further incident.
Josiah tapped gently on Nathan's door with his foot, light spilling over them a moment later as the healer answered the summons. Puzzled brown eyes swept past Josiah to the barely visible form wrapped in a blanket. Vin stood waiting on the steps below holding the other end. Nathan moved back quickly and bade them enter, closing the door after a furtive glance around to make sure no one watched.
"What the hell...?" Nathan began only to turn and find the blanket-draped form struggling to sit up on the bed. The wool material fell away to reveal the battered form of Chris Larabee. Momentarily startled, Nathan gasped as his mouth fell open in shock. He stepped back and leaned heavily against the door before a soft laugh worked its way loose form his chest. A large smile covered his face; his dark eyes gleamed brilliantly with relief.
"Damn, Chris! You do know how ta scare a man!"
Nathan could see the injured man was clearly exhausted. Despite Larabee's protest, he insisted on checking the gunslinger over and settling him into bed before the four of them sat down to exchange stories. Finally, wrapping the last bit of clean bandage around Chris's left foot, the healer covered Chris with the blanket and went to put away his supplies. Washing his hands in a basin of water, he dried them with a rag while turning to face the other three men.
"Now, would someone please tell me jes what's goin' on here?" The words were hardly out of Nathan's mouth before the loud pounding of someone hurrying up the stairs drew their attention. Pulling his gun, Josiah moved quickly to one side of the door while Nathan took the other. Vin also pulled his gun and moved to stand protectively over Chris.
JD flung the door of Nathan's room open, bursting through it as if the hounds of hell were nipping at his heels.
"Nathan! Vin's horse is here! Did you...?" JD slid to a halt. His mouth fell open in astonishment as he stared at the bare-chested man lying on Nathan's bed.
"Chris?" JD managed an astonished whisper as Nathan shut the door quietly behind him.
The youth stepped forward, about to say more but Josiah moved quickly to stand beside him. "Stay quiet, JD," he ordered, his voice low. "We don't want anyone knowing Chris is back just yet."
JD glanced around the room in confusion. "...but Buck said..."
The tracker eased his gun back into its holster. Sighing tiredly, he removed his hat and sat down in a nearby chair.
"Buck was wrong, kid." Vin knew just how JD felt. He'd felt the same way when Father Emilio opened the door to the room under the church and Vin glimpsed the blond head lying on the bed.
Stepping up to the foot of the bed, JD rested his hands upon the bed frame while staring down at Chris's bruised and swollen face. He didn't know what to say but he damned sure knew how he felt. Seeing that naked emotion shining in the boy's eyes, Chris gave him a lopsided smile and rasped, "It's okay, JD. I'm all right."
"Now, like I was sayin', would somebody mind tellin' me jes what's been goin' on?" Nathan said, bringing them back to the business at hand.
"Lotta things been goin' on that don't make a whole lotta sense," Vin answered quietly. "Me an' Chris been goin' over it tryin' ta figger it out."
"It would seem to me, Brother Nathan, that we may have a fox in the hen house," Josiah supplied in his rumbling bass voice.
"The problem is," Chris added, "that we've got no proof... nothin' that will hold up in a court of law."
Vin snorted derisively. "Whaddya call gettin' shot?"
"Doesn't matter," Chris responded tiredly. "It's still my word against hers."
"Hers?"
"Yeah, the girl was in on it," Vin replied.
"So what do we do?" JD's voice broke in impatiently.
"Well," Nathan answered. "I reckon we gotta catch that fox while she's thievin' them chickens."
"Anyone got any ideas on how to accomplish that?" Josiah asked as one eyebrow rose inquiringly.
All five men thought for a moment before Vin eased forward in his chair.
"Reckon I do," the tracker answered with a ruthless gleam in his deep blue eyes.
An excited JD Dunne raced into the saloon. He yelled loudly for Buck, pretending he didn't know his best friend was seated at the back table Larabee usually occupied, pretending that he didn't know Buck had been there all afternoon and into the evening, pretending that he didn't know Wilmington was drowning his pain in a bottle of rotgut.
JD went running up to the bar where Inez stood watching.
"Inez!" JD called loudly. "You seen Buck? I gotta find Buck right away!"
Without waiting for her answer, JD stepped back from the bar and looked wildly about the room. The tall, dark-headed ladies' man wasn't there. Shit!
"What is it, JD?" Inez picked up on the younger man's apparent agitation.
JD quickly decided to improvise. He'd worry about finding Buck later. He turned back to Inez. "Please, Inez! I gotta find Buck right away! If you see him, will you tell him I'm looking for him?"
"JD... what... he's...?"
"Just tell him I'm looking for him, okay?" he interrupted in an impatient voice. "Vin just got back and he found Chris. Just tell him that, all right?"
Turning around, JD acted like he'd just spotted Ezra for the first time. He continued to speak loudly as he hurried over to the gambler's table. "Ezra! Did you hear that? Vin's back and he found Chris! Isn't that great?"
JD rushed on, never giving the southerner a chance to answer. "He's over at Nathan's right now. Nathan says he's hurt pretty bad but he reckons Chris'll live! Can you believe it? I gotta go find Buck but if you see him first, you be sure and let him know Chris is over at Nathan's place, okay?"
The small whirlwind that was JD Dunne then rushed toward the saloon doors. He paused before stepping outside and cast a meaningful look back at Ezra's stunned face. JD gave a small nod of his head. The silent communication was acknowledged by the slight widening of the gambler's eyes.
Message delivered, JD turned and left the saloon.
The dim outline of a silent figure drifted in and out of the shadows along the back streets and alleys of town. Moving carefully to avoid detection, the mysterious form was advancing on the livery and the darkened room above it. With one purpose, one single intent, Molly Appleton crept stealthily towards her goal.
She had to kill Chris Larabee.
Molly had been absolutely furious when the news reached her; the broken glass littering the floor of her room was testament to the fit that she had thrown. All her plans, all her carefully constructed lies and schemes were now in jeopardy. Rumor had it that Larabee was in pretty bad shape and not expected to live, but if he somehow managed to speak so much as one word, utter one single syllable, then everything she'd worked for could be blown to hell and back.
Why couldn't the bastard have just died? That's what she'd intended to happen when she shot him in the first place. And there was no way from that close range that she had missed. She didn't understand why he wasn't dead.
Larabee must die!
Molly reached the bottom of the stairs without being seen. She glanced around furtively and, placing one hand on the rail, cautiously edged up the steps. Upon reaching the top landing, she eased the gun she carried from beneath her dark cape. She held her breath and listened warily for any sounds coming from inside.
All was silent.
She reached out with an unsteady hand to grab the doorknob; it turned easily within her grasp. The door swung open and she eased carefully inside.
The room was dark, the furniture and bed no more than murky outlines against the lighter colored wood of the surrounding walls. Stepping closer, she could just make out the form of her intended victim lying covered from head to toe beneath a swath of blankets. The top of his head was barely visible, the lighter color of his hair contrasting sharply against the white pillowcase it rested on.
Molly took careful aim at the cap of tousled hair, her finger easing around the trigger while her thumb slid up to rest on the hammer. But before she could draw it back, a sharp click behind her froze Molly in place.
"I wouldn't do that if I were you," a low voice said behind her.
The sudden flare of a match was followed by the lighting of an oil lamp as a warm yellow glow filled the room. Nathan turned from his place beside the window to regard the young woman who held a gun pointed at his patient on the bed.
"I think mebbe you'd best put that down now," he advised her quietly. "Don't want that thing goin' off in here. Somebody might git hurt."
Glancing over her shoulder, Molly's eyes widened in surprise as she found an apparently sober Buck Wilmington standing there with his gun pointed directly at her. This time, there was no warm gleam for her in his eyes, merely a hard flinty look that spoke of anger and determination. Suddenly, it was all falling apart right in front of her and Molly didn't understand what went wrong.
"Buck?" she stammered helplessly. "I don't understand..."
"Oh, I think you do." He took a step closer. "You had me goin' at first, what with all them tears an' bruises an' torn clothes an' such. But I got to wonderin' jes how come you didn't have no marks on your wrists, no rope burns from where you'd been tied up."
Molly's hand visibly trembled as she couldn't tear her gaze away from Buck's accusing stare. Her mind numb with panic, she struggled to speak.
"N-no! It wasn't like that... you don't understand..."
Buck's eyes flicked to the hand still holding the weapon pointed at the unmoving bundle of blankets on the bed.
"And then I gotta ask myself, jes what in the hell you're doin' with Chris Larabee's gun?"
"You don't understand!"
"Oh, I understand all right," Buck shot back in a gruff tone of voice. "Now, you put that gun down before I have to do something that I won't regret."
"I could well advise you to do the same thing." A voice spoke suddenly behind him. Jasper Edmunds stood just inside the open doorway holding a small caliber gun pointed at the taller man's head. "Gentlemen, if you please?"
Molly sighed with evident relief. Perhaps they could still manage to somehow salvage this situation. Edmunds motioned with his free hand for Nathan to step away from the window as both peacekeepers reluctantly lowered their weapons to the floor. With a tip of his hand to his forehead, Edmunds motioned for Molly to continue.
"Your play, my dear!"
Molly smiled delightedly at the freight merchant and turned back to the bed. There would be a few more bodies left behind this time but perhaps they could come out of this relatively unscathed after all.
"Goodbye, Mr. Larabee!" she murmured as she readjusted her aim.
Her finger was slowly squeezing the trigger when the bed suddenly became a flurry of activity. The body beneath the blankets abruptly sat up, while another rolled from underneath the bed. Molly suddenly found herself staring down the short barrel of Ezra Standish's pocket gun and the twin Colts of JD Dunne. At the same time, Jasper Edmunds felt the cold tip of a barrel pressed against the back of his neck, the click of the hammer both soft and lethal. For a moment, no one moved. Then a devilish grin crossed the gambler's face as he drawled, "Checkmate!"
"Drop it," growled a harsh voice in Edmund's ear. "Drop it 'fore I drop you."
Jasper Edmunds hesitated but was smart enough to know when he was beaten. With a heavy sigh, he released the hammer and uncocked the gun that had been pointed at Buck Wilmington. Buck grabbed the gun from Edmunds and quickly retrieved his own from the floor. He pointed it at Edmunds as Vin stepped back and lowered his Winchester.
Molly continued to hold Chris Larabee's revolver in her hand... and it was still pointed at the gambler's head. Green eyes stared unblinkingly into ambivalent dark brown ones as she stood undecided as to what she should do. She was furious with her partner for giving up so easily. But was she willing to go to prison for fifty thousand dollars? They didn't know she'd been the one to kill Dawson and the Farrow brothers. If Larabee died before he talked...?
"Is that her, Chris? Is she the one?" Josiah stood just outside the door of Nathan's room, one arm wrapped around Chris Larabee's waist while the gunslinger's left arm was draped across the ex-preacher's shoulders. Dressed in nothing but a pair of pants and the swath of bandages around his middle, Chris looked like a good strong wind would knock him right over if not for Josiah's firm hold.
Larabee disentangled himself from Sanchez's hold and haltingly stepped forward. He grasped the doorjamb for support as he stared hard at the back of Molly's head.
"Yeah, that's her. She's the one that shot me." His voice was still rough as sand paper over dirt but Chris's words carried clearly across the room.
Molly stiffened at the sound of his voice and glanced up to see Larabee's reflection in the mirror on Nathan's bureau. "Bloody bastard," she mumbled underneath her breath. By all rights, the gunslinger should be dead so why the hell wasn't he, she fumed silently. He'd ruined everything right from the start!
"JD, maybe you'd best put those cuffs on her and take these two off to the jailhouse," Josiah suggested from where he stood behind Chris.
"Easy, JD!" Nathan cautioned from across the bed, his dark eyes intent on Molly's face.
Dunne gave a short nod of his head. With a last glance at Ezra, he holstered his guns and quickly got to his feet. He stepped cautiously forward, wary of the gun still clasped within Molly's hand. His fingers had just started to grasp her wrist when something inside the woman snapped.
Molly screamed with rage as she flung her arm upward. She caught JD with a glancing blow across his forehead, sending him stumbling back into the shelves full of Nathan's medical books. Reacting quickly, Ezra flung himself sideways out of the bed, colliding with Nathan who had lunged forward to help protect him. Vin, knowing Chris would be Molly's intended target, threw himself at Larabee, bearing the other man to the floor as a gunshot sent a bullet whizzing by his left ear. Chris landed hard with Vin on top of him, a cry of pain wrung from the gunslinger's lips by the unexpected jolt.
Buck turned his head when he heard JD cry out, momentarily forgetting the man he held at gunpoint. The distraction was just enough to earn him a hard fist in the gut, doubling him over as Edmunds made a break for the door.
A second shot echoed loudly through the room...
Vin whipped around and brought his gun to bear on the spot where Molly had been standing. His eyes widened as he took in the sight before him.
Buck's bullet had caught Molly directly in the chest, flinging her back across the bottom bedrail to where her crumpled figure now lay partly on top of Nathan's bed. She gasped for air, her eyes staring upward as she struggled to understand just what had happened. Buck Wilmington was on his knees beside her, eyes wide with shock and the smoking gun clasped tightly in his right hand.
Josiah held a struggling Jasper Edmunds just outside the door while JD picked himself up and rubbed his head as a grimace of pain crossed his features. Nathan and Ezra untangled themselves from the floor and the healer immediately rushed to the woman's side. His brown eyes locked grimly with Vin's as he shook his head. There was nothing he could do.
Vin moved off of Chris and knelt beside him, helping his friend to sit up while he tried to catch his breath. The sound of choking drew Larabee's attention to the mortally wounded young woman a few feet away. As if sensing his gaze, she turned her head to look at him.
"You... bastard!" Molly rasped. "...It was... all so... perfect... the perfect... crime... Why... why couldn't you... just... die?"
She looked away, gasped once... twice... and then all was still.
"Molly!" Jasper Edmunds cried softly.
Nathan reached out and placed his fingers against her neck, feeling for a heartbeat that wasn't there. He sadly shook his head and covered her with the blankets.
Buck rose slowly to his feet, his eyes never leaving the prone form. Chris sat numbly on the floor with Vin's supporting arm behind him. His right side was hurting again but he paid no attention to it. Nathan, however, came to kneel beside him.
"Here, Chris. Yer bleedin' again. Vin, you wanna help me get 'im to his room?"
Nathan and Vin helped Chris to his feet and took him back to his room while Josiah and JD escorted an unresisting Jasper Edmunds over to the jail. Only Buck and Ezra were left inside the small room with Molly's remains. Buck continued to stare at the body; there had been no time to think. All he'd done was react to the sound of the gunshot.
Ezra came to stand beside him, the gambler placing a consoling hand on the taller man's shoulder.
"For what it's worth, Mr. Wilmington," Ezra spoke softly. "I do believe you saved Mr. Larabee's life once again."
Buck stared into the lifeless eyes and nodded his head sadly as he whispered, "Yeah, reckon I did."
Vin rode slowly back into town, hat pulled low over his face and shoulders slumped with fatigue. He was covered in trail dust and weary to the bone. The last three days had been filled with a lot of hard riding and he was glad to finally be home. He absently reached down and stroked the small bundle of black and white fur draped across his thighs. The dog stirred slightly, stretched and then settled once again. She was quite comfortable where she was.
The stable master stepped out as Vin halted beside the doors of the livery. Normally, the tracker preferred to take care of his own horse, but this was one time he was grateful to let the other man do his job. Vin was exhausted but he had other things that needed doing before he could rest. He gave a low whistle and patted the dog on the rump. She responded with a lazy turn of her head accompanied by a sleepy yawn. Standing up, she slid form his lap to land lightly on the ground.
Vin dismounted somewhat stiffly then reached for his saddlebags. Tossing them over one shoulder, he removed his carbine from its scabbard. He turned to hand his reins to the other man with a grateful nod of his head. He briefly patted his horse on the rump then whistled quietly for the dog. Vin strode off up the street.
The tracker was passing the bank when Ezra stepped out and greeted him with a smile. The southerner had his betting book in one hand and tipped his hat with the other.
"Well, good day, Mr. Tanner. Returned from your journeys, I see, and with a new traveling companion by your side." The gambler's eyes fell on the small dog that kept pace with the other man.
Continuing to walk towards the boarding house, Vin nodded his head shortly in greeting but didn't speak. He was a bit disgruntled when Ezra fell into step beside him after giving the dog a wide berth.
"Mr. Tanner, if I may have a moment of your time... there is a small matter I wish to discuss."
Vin sighed and glanced at Ezra. "You git that wire sent back East 'bout that Edmunds fella?"
The gambler paused. Edmunds was not his chosen topic of conversation.
"Well, uh... yes, I did. Mr. Edmunds and his late fiancée were well known to authorities in Philadelphia. They'd been searching for the pair for quite some time now in relation to several complaints of fraud, misappropriation of funds and theft of various items from some of that city's finest citizens. Mr. Edmunds will be departing soon as Judge Travis has relinquished all rights to the prisoner so that he may be returned to the authorities there to stand trial for murder."
Vin stopped in his tracks and turned to look at Ezra.
"Murder?"
"Mmmmm, yes." Ezra nodded his head. "It seems that the sobriquet of Jasper Edmunds was merely an alias which our Mr. Edmunds affected following the rather untimely demise of the name's original owner... a rather prosperous gentleman who was indeed the found father of Bartlett and Edmunds Freight Lines."
Tanner shook his head. Ezra was using his five-dollar words again, but at least this time Vin could understand the essence of what the gambler said. Bottom line, the man over in the jail was no longer his problem. With a pat of one hand on his leg, the tracker turned and walked off, the black and white collie trailing after him. Ezra hurried to catch up.
"And it appears as if the first Mr. Edmunds family has offered a reward of some sort which brings me back to my original point of inquiry." The gambler quickly began thumbing through the book he held in his hand.
"I seem to remember being quoted a wage of a dollar a day plus room and board when accepting this line of employment, and yet nowhere do I recall being asked to impart with my own financial resources while in the performance of said duties. As such, I have made a careful list of my expenses incurred during the last week for which I feel adequate compensation... plus a certain percentage... should be offered."
Vin kept walking and Ezra stayed right by his side.
"Now it would be grossly unfair of me to turn in my request for reimbursement without taking into account such expenses as have been incurred by yourself or one of our other partners. As such, I was wondering if I could perhaps trouble you for an itemized list of your purchases with which to make a complete and final tally?"
Vin climbed the front steps of the boarding house and opened the door. The dog quickly darted through the opening, followed closely by the tracker. With a firm hand, Tanner shut the door behind him... directly in Ezra's face. The gambler was left staring at the closed portal in astonishment.
"Mr. Tanner?... Mr. Tanner, about that list?... Perhaps we can discuss this later?"
Ezra turned from the door with a disgruntled expression on his face.
"Much later," he mumbled under his breath.
Vin walked tiredly up the stairs to Chris's room. Knocking lightly, he opened the door to find Nathan finishing the last bit of bandaging on the gunslinger's left foot. Chris was seated comfortably in a chair by the window, his shirt unbuttoned and open, exposing the wrap of white material still in place around his mid-section. Vin took two steps into the room while the small dog slipped silently in behind him.
Finished with his task, Nathan rose to his feet and nodded a greeting to the tracker. He was startled by the appearance of the black and white collie who barked joyously upon seeing Chris. She bounced across the room, her small body wiggling ecstatically as she greeted him like a long lost friend. Nathan frowned in displeasure as the gunslinger tried to fend off the quivering nose and darting pink tongue.
"Vin, git that dog outta here! Chris don't need ta catch nothin' from that animal!"
With a quick whistle and a flick of his wrist, Vin sent the dog scurrying from the room but not without one last joyous bark in Chris's direction. Still grumbling under his breath, Nathan packed up his supplies, frowning with apparent disapproval at both men before leaving the room.
"Man oughta know better than ta let some mangy hound carryin' fleas an' God knows what else inta a sick room... I swear... got less sense than God gave a mule ta do somethin' like that..."
Vin smiled sheepishly before closing the door behind the healer's departing back. He then stepped across the room and deposited his saddlebags on Chris's bed. Reaching into one side, he pulled out a pair of deerskin moccasins, tossing them at his friend with a slight nod of his head.
"Figgered ya could use those 'til yer feet is healed up some."
Chris caught them with a slight grunt and silently nodded his appreciation. He inclined his head for Vin to take the other seat opposite him across the small table. The tracker silently accepted the invitation but not before reaching into his saddlebags again and pulling out a bottle of whiskey. He walked over and set it down in front of Chris, his own smile widening in response to the grin that crossed the gunslinger's face. Vin sat down with a tired sigh and stretched his long legs out in front of him. Tanner glanced briefly around the room, taking in the spartan furnishings before turning to gaze out the open window.
The two men sat in companionable silence, watching as a wagon made its way down the dusty street. Nathan emerged a short time later from the front of the boarding house and was immediately hailed by the loquacious gambler. They watched the contentious pair make their way towards the livery before Vin spoke up.
"Ezra says Judge Travis is lettin' some fellers back East take Edmunds offa our hands." He paused, gauging Chris's reaction before asking, "You okay with that?"
Chris deliberated for a moment, his expression thoughtful while he stared blindly at the street below. "Yeah," he finally rasped, turning to meet Vin's concerned gaze.
Vin didn't question him further, content to let his nod of agreement signify his accord with the gunslinger's decision. Chris had a right to demand justice after what the pair had done to him but if he was content to let the authorities in Philadelphia handle it, then that was good enough for Vin Tanner.
"Found them two Farrow brothers," he offered after a few minutes more of silence. "Leastways, I found what was left of 'em."
Chris looked at him questioningly.
"Buried what was left... took their gear an' horses to some folks I reckon could use 'em. The good padre was most grateful."
Larabee nodded and then, with a sigh, painfully forced himself to his feet. He shuffled across the room under the tracker's watchful gaze, retrieving a tin coffee mug form the washstand before returning to his chair. Uncorking the bottle of whiskey, Chris poured a measure into the cup, then pushed it across the table towards Vin. He kept the bottle for himself.
Settling back, he raised it to his lips and took a brief swallow. "I see you found the old man." It was more of a statement than a question.
Vin took a drink of his own whiskey, grimacing as it burned its way down his throat before answering.
"Nope."
Feeling the warmth from the liquor spreading through his gut, Vin sighed and said, "Padre hadn't seen 'im fer a coupla days an' was kinda worried 'bout him. He reckons the old feller's heart done give out. Buried him day afore yesterday."
Chris wasn't sure why but the sad news of the mestizo's passing sent a sharp stab of grief piercing through him. He sat silently, remembering the old man who had saved his life... and the small collie who had brought the shepherd to him.
A shout from the street captured their attention. Chris and Vin turned to find JD running after the black and white dog.
"Hey! Come back here! Gimme that back!" JD's shouts were punctuated by the dog's gleeful yips.
The collie had somehow managed to steal the kid's brown bowler hat and was racing frantically through the street in a mad game of chase. She would stop and look at him, a teasing glint in her merry brown eyes. She waited until the youth got close enough to almost snatch his hat back from her before darting off in a new direction. Josiah and Buck watched with interest from the porch in front of the saloon doors.
Knowing it was a lost cause, Vin took pity on JD the third time the younger man slipped and fell in the dirt.
"Might as well give it up, JD. Ya ain't gonna catch 'er," he hollered from the window of Chris's room. "I'd git a new hat if'n I was you!"
JD looked up at the pair watching from the window above. His irritation was plainly evident in the sparkling hazel eyes, and yet, there was a certain gleam of high-spirited enjoyment in them as well.
"This yer dog, Vin?" Dunne called out, having already heard from Ezra about the mutt that had accompanied the tracker back to town.
"Naw!" Vin shook his head. "She belongs ta Chris."
JD went down for the fourth time. "Chris, tell yer damned dog to gimme my hat back," he shouted before Dunne was up and running again.
The tracker chuckled and turned to look at his friend. Chris was staring at him with a puzzled expression on his lean face. Vin merely shrugged his shoulders in response.
"The padre thought ya might wanna have 'er seein' as how she's so attached to ya an' all. Reckon he thought ya'd give 'er a good home."
Both men turned to look as JD yelled again in frustration. Chris was silent a moment before replying, "What the hell would I do with a dog?"
Vin smiled furtively, blue eyes twinkling with mischief as he replied, "Take up sheep farming?"
It felt good to hear Chris laugh again.
Josiah and Buck stood on the front porch of the saloon enjoying a glass of beer as the day slipped into the early evening. They watched the game between JD and the dog with amusement etched upon their faces. Buck shook his head as JD stumbled in the dirt once more, his brown suit already heavily coated with dust. It was good to see that at least the kid was enjoying himself.
Josiah cast a glance at the man next to him; he didn't miss the pensive look that entered Wilmington's normally vibrant blue eyes. He had a distinct feeling that he knew what was bothering the man and reached out to place a consoling hand on Buck's shoulder.
"Something troubling you, Brother Buck?"
Buck sighed and dropped his eyes to the street.
"I don't know, Josiah. I just never thought... somehow I... I never thought I'd shoot a woman, ya know? To me, women are all that's fine and good and decent 'bout this whole world and to have to... do something like that..."
Josiah shook his head sadly, thoughtful blue-gray eyes looking ancient in wisdom and years as he searched for the right words.
"Sometimes, Buck, it isn't a matter of male versus female. It's a matter of good versus evil... of what's right and what's wrong. And in the end, we have to decide for ourselves which path we choose to walk. No one can make that decision for us. She made her choice."
Sanchez released his hold on Buck's shoulder and turned as if to go back inside the saloon. He paused with one hand on the batwing door.
"The way I see it, you had a choice between right and wrong, good and evil. And somehow, saving a good man's life just don't seem all that wrong to me. If you hadn't done what you did, she would've killed Chris for sure. Now where's the right in that?"
Josiah stood there for a moment, letting his words sink in, before disappearing inside the saloon.
Buck looked back to where JD now dusted off his hat, finally having been able to retrieve it from the dog. He thought over Josiah's words. There was a certain simple truth in them that he knew should have brought him comfort, but the wound to his soul was still too fresh and too painful. Perhaps one day, he could accept what he'd had to do, but in the meantime...
His eyes drifted up to the open window of the boarding house where he could see Chris and Vin sharing a quiet drink of whiskey.
Perhaps one day he could accept it. For now, it was enough that Chris was alive.
THE END