Sins of the Father II: Restitution
Prologue
There was a cold hardness to the woman’s dark eyes as she leaned back on the chaise-lounge and absently trailed her fingers through her long, silky hair. She had been a stunning beauty once, an elegant hostess to many social events, and she still retained a gracefulness of limb, whilst her clothing was as immaculate as it always had been. But bitterness and grief had ravaged her looks and when her thoughts lingered on her most recent loss – which was frequently - her face took on the persona of a madwoman. There was a primal savagery to her whenever she dwelled on the past and the few Mexican peons employed by her knew better than to approach their mistress when the demons came to visit.
"Excuse me, senora. This has just arrived for you and Senor Benson is waiting in the kitchen if you need to send a reply."
An elderly woman had appeared on the porch of the Spanish style hacienda and, holding out an envelope at arms length, she instinctively cowered away as the other snatched the small package.
Saying nothing and taking no notice of the rapidly departing servant, the woman ripped open the envelope with the ferocity of a cougar disembowelling a deer.
"Yes! At last!"
The triumphant hiss fell from her lips and her eyes lit up with a maniacal light as they greedily devoured the message in the telegram. Rising to her feet, she clutched the paper to her breast possessively, almost as if she feared someone would snatch away the information for which she’d waited nearly six months. There was purposefulness to her stride as she left the porch and entered the small fenced-in rose garden adjacent to the main house.
Beneath the sweet scented boughs of a lilac tree, there was a small white cross heading a mound of earth, which was covered for the first time with early spring flowers.
"He’s on his way, my sweetest angel. I knew he’d come; he never could refuse me," she murmured, as she knelt down on the grass. Leaning across the grave, but mindful of the delicate blooms nodding in the breeze, the woman caressed the freshly painted marker.
Time meant nothing to her and nearly an hour had passed before she finally stirred. Placing two fingers to her lips, the woman kissed them and then pressed her hand to the ground directly in front of the simple cross.
"Soon our family will be complete and your loneliness will end when he’s resting here beside you."
Carefully getting to her feet, the woman gazed for several minutes at the large, freshly dug hole next to the smaller grave. It had been opened several weeks ago in anticipation of this moment and, unfurling the crumpled telegram, there was a satisfied smile on her face as she allowed the paper to fall into the deep pit.
"He’s not far from us now, my poppet. I promise you, we shall be together once again," she vowed.
Adjusting her shawl around her shoulders, the woman walked slowly back to the house, her mind already occupied with the many arrangements that still needed to be put into place.
Chapter 1
Nathan Jackson quietly closed his clinic door, shakily sucking in the cool night air as he went to lean against the upper balcony railing. He, Josiah Sanchez and Ezra Standish had returned to town four days ago, immediately after Fiona Cumming’s funeral, and it had been an exhausting period for the healer as he’d battled to save Danny Kehoe. The desperate fight had been in vain though for, not more than ten minutes ago, the youth had finally lost his struggle for life.
The healer knew it was a merciful release for the sorely wounded youngster because, even if he’d recovered from his horrendous injuries, there was no question that he would have hung for his crime of murder. That still didn’t lessen the former slave’s sense of failure; in Nathan’s eyes, the death of anyone under his care was a personal catastrophe. It was a burden he’d imposed upon himself many years before, and this most recent loss only served to highlight his lack of medical knowledge.
The healer glanced around as the door opened again, but he was silent as Josiah Sanchez came over to stand beside him.
"You did everything you could, Nathan," the ex-preacher murmured, placing a large hand on his friend’s rigid shoulder. "Andrew’s prognosis was correct and there was only ever going to be one outcome. But that boy made his peace with his father at the end, and he’s purged his soul by telling us who he thought was responsible for shooting Ezra and Fiona."
An hour earlier, Danny Kehoe had roused from his coma and, as quite often happens with someone close to death, had exhibited a sudden burst of clarity and awareness. Lying wrapped within the circle of his father’s tight embrace, the dying boy had given a full account of what had occurred on the day of the explosion at Coyote Pass. Josiah and Nathan had listened to the incriminating evidence against Samuel Joseph and his accomplices, before giving Bryce Kehoe some privacy to share his son’s final moments.
"So that’s meant to compensate for the death of four ranch hands and the cripplin’ of a decent, hard-working man, is it?" Nathan asked angrily.
"No. But God will forgive his transgressions, even if we can’t find it in our hearts to give clemency."
"Do you really believe that? Does God spurn a sinner, unless he repents wit’ his dying breath? I always thought so, but lately I ain’t so sure, Josiah. I’d say that the majority of blame for what that boy and his pards brought about, must rest with their older kinfolk. They may not have laid that dynamite personally but, by conspiring against another rancher, they set somethin’ in motion that could only end in death and destruction."
The older man sighed, his hand unconsciously reaching up to fiddle with the silver crucifix around his neck. "Bryce Kehoe doesn’t need anyone else to tell him that, brother. That man is devastated by what’s occurred and I honestly think that if it were in his power, he would do everything possible to make sure that James and Royal take some responsibility for this tragedy."
"Yeah, like that’s gonna happen," Nathan replied bitterly. "Those pair of jackals ain’t even bothered to come in t’talk to us or to Judge Travis ‘bout the death of their kin – and I don’t reckon they will. Under normal circumstances Royal would’a bin fightin’ up a storm an’ swearing revenge against everyone for the death of his youngest brother. An’ we probably would’a bin preparing the town fer a bloody siege, if James had took up the banner to get even fer the death of his nephew. But they ain’t, so I can only put their indifference down to guilt."
"Sinners have no concept of guilt, until meeting their maker, brother. ‘If a man does not repent, God will whet his sword’," Josiah quoted, in a hard voice.
"Well, that won’t worry that pair of greedy vultures. When Andrew spoke to Kehoe, he was told that one of the Cummings’ men killed at Coyote Pass actually worked fer James. Apparently he’d bin passing on information ‘bout Robert’s movements and business plans. So Mark James accidentally murdered one of his uncle’s own men. I expect the only reason James will come in t’town, is t’recruit more workers fer the first round-up of the year," Nathan said scathingly.
"You haven’t heard the latest news then?"
"What news?"
"I spoke to Conklin earlier, and he told me that James left on a" – Josiah gave his friend a droll grin – "‘cattle buying’ trip to Mexico yesterday. Royal’s done a rabbit too. By all accounts he’s making urgent and ‘essential’ repairs to his property and smallholdings furthest from town. It looks like they’ve decided to keep a low profile until this all blows over."
"Bastards!" Nathan swore savagely. "So we can’t even get ‘em fer aiding and abetting?"
Josiah shook his head. "Not according to Orrin - no. Unfortunately, a supposition isn’t solid proof and, unless they confess, then we have no firm evidence that says those two acted against Robert. Nothing that’ll hold up in court, anyhow. Kehoe’s admitted to having a meeting with Samuel Joseph, but I did actually believe him when he said he never hired the man to set anything up, and that he wasn’t personally involved in arranging the attacks."
"Yeah, so did I. Josiah, if the two men who killed the girl are still riding with Joseph, then we need to get word to Buck and tell him what we know."
"The Telegraph Office was my next port of call, ‘cause I’m hoping they’ve managed to reach a town and Buck’s had the chance to send a wire this evening. The question is - do we tell Ezra what we’ve learned from that boy tonight? I’m sure from his point of view he’ll need the satisfaction of seeing the guilty pair brought to trial, so that justice can be dispensed."
Nathan gave a slow nod of agreement, his face grim as his thoughts turned to the grief-stricken gambler. Since returning to Four Corners with his friends, Ezra had cloistered himself away in his room above the saloon, barely eating, saying even less and ignoring all of those who tried to reach out to him in any way. The healer had, on one occasion, managed to check his friend’s injured shoulder and also change the bandages, but Ezra had shown no interest in anything that Nathan had told him concerning Buck and JD’s progress. The man had withdrawn from everyone and everything; and the shell around him was as impregnable as tempered steel.
"I reckon that may be the only thing he’ll listen to. Nuthin’ else is sinking in an’, t’be honest, I’m outta ideas on what else I can do fer him," Nathan responded at length.
"I’ve come to that conclusion myself, and I know the same applies to Mrs Standish. According to Inez, Maude went into his room this evening with some motherly advice and a dinner tray. Needless to say, her efforts were not very well received."
"He threw her out?" the healer guessed.
"He did - along with the tray and the coffee pot…. and I do mean literally, Nathan."
"Oh, dear Lord! I jes’ hope he don’t somehow get hold of a weapon. I’ve still got his guns in the clinic, because I ain’t sure I trust him not to shoot anyone that crosses him at the moment."
"There’s always the other danger."
"I hear you," Nathan muttered worriedly, running a large hand over his cropped hair. "Why d’ya think I tried t’make him stay up here? It wasn’t that I had any great concern for his shoulder wound, because that’s healing up nicely."
Josiah gave a thoughtful nod. All of his own attempts to get through to Ezra had failed, and both he and Nathan knew that the gambler was like a gunpowder keg waiting to explode – or perhaps more accurately, implode. This could only spell disaster for the younger man. The resulting repercussions would also have a dramatic impact on the other men.
"I know. Maybe this news about the pair of killers will snap him out of his depression. Do you want to talk to him, Nathan?"
"Yeah. I’ll meet ya in the saloon afterwards, shall I?"
"Yep."
The two peacekeepers moved towards the steps, both purposeful as they went to carry out their respective chores.
-7-7-7-7-7-7-7-
There were very few people around as the two trail-weary men guided their horses along the main thoroughfare of the town of Cottarville. The sun had already dropped behind the hills on the western horizon and a few lamps flickered in windows of the various business premises and houses of the good-sized settlement. As the riders passed the area where most of the main establishments were located, the youngest of the pair pointed to a side alley.
"The Telegraph Office’s down there, Buck."
Buck Wilmington nodded, clicking his tongue in encouragement to the horse behind him. He and JD Dunne had ridden hard over the last five days, able to push on at a mile-eating pace mainly due to the spare mount that both of them led. John Cummings had supplied the extra horses when the men had set off from the ranch to search for the two missing peacekeepers, and Buck had been left speechless with gratitude at the Scot’s generosity. Alternating their mounts had enabled the pair to cover a greater distance and, although the animals were still reasonably fresh, on spotting the board proclaiming the name and direction of the nearest town, Buck had decided to rest the horses overnight in a livery. The ladies’ man was also keen to re-stock their dwindling provisions and he needed to send an urgent telegram to his friends in Four Corners.
"JD, could you see to the horses, while I go find the clerk?"
As he spoke, Buck dismounted and handed the two sets of reins to the younger man. His eyes fell upon a weather-beaten board hanging outside a well-lit and rowdy saloon and, gesturing with his head, he said: "I’ll meet you at the ‘Aces High’, as soon as I’m done."
Buck stretched his tall frame upright to get the kinks from his back, as he watched JD ride off in search of the livery stable. The two peacekeepers still hadn’t managed to catch up with Will Tanner, which was hardly surprising considering the quality of one of the Texan’s mounts. The older man had attacked JD and stolen one of Robert Cummings’ English thoroughbred mares, before running out on his colleagues and the peacekeepers. Tanner had chosen well before taking flight; the Scotsman’s prime breeding horses were built for speed, which was an asset that the former security boss was using to his full advantage.
Not that the ladies’ man was going to waste time worrying about Tanner’s whereabouts. He was more interested in the breakthrough he and JD had made that afternoon. Reaching inside his jacket, Buck pulled out a compactly folded piece of material, and studied the tricolour bandanna for several seconds.
JD had seen the cloth snagged in a thorny bush and fluttering in the breeze earlier that day and, on investigation, the pair had immediately recognised the item. They had marvelled at their miraculous find, as the article of clothing belonged to Vin Tanner. There was no disputing this fact. Buck had been in Eagle Bend with his oldest friend when Chris had purchased the neck cloth as a Christmas gift for the tracker, and the gunslinger had then gone on to explain the significance of the design. The garment’s striking pattern represented the Texas State flag, and Larabee, in a rare display of sharing, had told the ladies’ man how he believed the emblem’s ethos and motto matched Vin in every way.
"Yeah, you were right, old pard," Buck mused softly to himself, as he fingered the grubby, rain-dampened material. "Strength, loyalty and bravery, with one beautiful, shiny white star. That surely does sum up our stubborn, ornery, sharp-shooting, apple-pie-hogging Texan!"
With a smile, he tucked the precious bandanna safely into his inner jacket pocket. Wilmington had made a promise to himself and he was determined to see that the cloth was returned to its rightful owner. He was finally starting to believe this vow, as finding something that indisputably belonged to the missing tracker had meant that they were at least on the right track with their search. This was also definitive news to send to the anxiously waiting men back in Four Corners. Adjusting his hat, the moustached man strode down the alley and entered the town’s Telegraph Office.
-7-7-7-7-7-7-7-
Chris Larabee watched through slitted eyes, as the man leading his lathered horse fastened the long rein to a sturdy tree trunk. The party of five men had covered a distance of more than a hundred miles since sunrise, but now the light had begun to fade, and the leader had called a halt for the night. Not that this knowledge gave the gunslinger any degree of reassurance, as he was only too aware of what would be occurring next.
This scenario had been acted out each evening and the peacekeeper could tell that once again the three outlaws were going to be extremely careful in their method of setting up an overnight camp. But, although he knew he was probably being too optimistic, Chris still held onto the thin thread of hope that he might be able to get himself and Vin Tanner free from their captors.
Samuel Joseph, as the two younger men called him, dismounted and made his way over to the horse that Vin rode. Securing the mare’s lead rein to a bush, he then pulled out his knife, giving a disdainful sniff as the tracker attempted to kick out at him.
The gunslinger’s eyes narrowed in dark fury as he saw the older Texan unclip Vin’s saddle girth, and Chris’ tied hands tensed angrily as the other slashed through the rope that secured the tracker’s left foot into the stirrup. There was nothing the older peacekeeper could do as his friend was viciously dragged, complete with saddle and bedroll, sideways off of his horse to smash onto the ground. The leader immediately grabbed hold of the exhausted and winded tracker, hauling him away from the horse and upright, before wrapping a muscular arm around Tanner’s neck to immobilise the dazed man completely.
"You can cut Larabee loose now," Joseph instructed Jeb Randall.
Ian Martin had also stepped forward and his revolver now lined unerringly on the older peacekeeper.
There was a brief silence as Randall cautiously unfastened Chris’ feet from his stirrups, before backing well away from the openly seething, but ever watchful, gunslinger.
Joseph shifted his grip on his struggling captive as he coldly addressed his other prisoner. "An’ if yer reckoning on trying somethin’ stupid or rash, don’t forget whose life I hold in my hands. It don’t take much effort to kill a man that’s not long bin outta his sickbed. Nope, not much effort at all, especially when ya do…" – the man’s bicep flexed, and his arm tightened against Vin’s throat – "…this."
The tracker gave a strangled gasp as his air supply was suddenly cut off, and his rope-bound hands came up instinctively to try and fend off the callous attack. Vin continued to squirm and kick with his one free leg against Joseph, but his labouring lungs quickly felt the lack of oxygen, and he knew that he was fighting a losing battle.
Since their abduction, Vin and Chris had been lashed onto their mounts and pushed eastwards at a fast pace, with very few breaks in their journey. Whenever Joseph had stopped to rest the horses, he’d not allowed either prisoner to dismount, nor had he given them any water during the long, hard days’ travelling.
All of this was starting to take a heavy toll on the stamina of the recently convalescent peacekeeper and, as Vin heard the older man’s sneering laugh in his ear, he felt the inevitable darkness closing in on him.
"That’s taken the burr outta his saddle but good! You show ‘im who’s in charge, Mister Joseph!" Randall crowed delightedly, pointing at the collapsing Vin Tanner.
Chris had kept one eye on the armed man as he slid from his horse and, seeing his friend’s body go completely limp in Joseph’s crushing arm lock, the gunslinger recognised his first real chance at freedom. The two younger men had gleefully witnessed the tracker lose his fight for consciousness and, as a result, the revolver pointing at the gunslinger had dropped downwards. Darting across to Martin, Chris kicked the man’s weapon from his hand, throwing himself to the ground and rolling as he scrambled to reach the gun. Stretching out desperately for the Colt, the peacekeeper’s bound hands inched closer to the firearm, until his fingertips made contact with the barrel.
Joseph hastily dropped the unconscious tracker. Pulling out his knife once more, he raced over to the other peacekeeper, grinding his heel into Chris’ right wrist as he barked out a warning.
"Back off! Or I’ll break both yer hands – afore I slit yer throat!"
Larabee held his breath as the cold, sharp steel pricked at his jugular vein, unable to react even to the crushing pain being exerted on his hand. All he could think of was that he’d failed his best friend once again. Licking his lips and trying to subdue his increasing anger, Chris closed his eyes in reluctant submission, knowing he had little choice in the matter. If he was dead, then the tracker’s situation would be very bleak indeed.
"Let me see to my friend," the gunslinger muttered savagely.
Martin had picked up his revolver and, as Joseph stepped away from Chris, the two younger men trained their weapons on the furious peacekeeper.
"Git over there wit’ him. An’ if you value Tanner’s life, sit still an’ keep real quiet," Joseph told his prisoner, as he re-sheathed his knife.
Chris knew he would be cut down without mercy if he disobeyed so, letting out a heavy sigh, he went to sit beside the motionless tracker.
-7-7-7-7-7-7-7-
Joseph and Randall followed the gunslinger and, at the leader’s nod, the younger outlaw knelt down and started to put the ankle chains on Chris. The peacekeeper stiffened, frowning in puzzlement as the clasp was locked tightly around each of his boots; this was a slight deviation from what had occurred previously, but he couldn’t comprehend the significance of the action. Every night since their capture, the two men from Four Corners had been shackled together at the ankle and the rope securing their hands when riding had been replaced with handcuffs, which had effectively curtailed any escape attempts. As Chris’ eyes met the older Texan’s mocking gaze, he felt a shiver of apprehension slide down his spine and he knew that something different was going to happen tonight.
"Why are you doing this? And where are you taking us?" Chris demanded coldly. These were questions that he and Vin had asked countless times over the past days, but the leader of the gang had never given them any explanations.
"You’ll see soon enough, Larabee," Joseph replied with a cruel laugh. "Martin, get the canteens filled and give one t’this bastard. I want Tanner awake."
Chris glared icily at the three men as they started to make camp and tend to the horses, although he was relieved to be left alone to care for his friend. Dragging the blanket from Vin’s saddle and picking up the canteen that had been tossed his way, he gulped down some water before turning his full attention to the unconscious man beside him.
With gentle hands, he rolled Vin onto his back, removing the other’s hat but ensuring the storm strap wasn’t too tight around his friend’s raw-looking neck. Vin’s gaunt face was pallid, almost grey underneath the trail dirt and stubble, and his cheeks and eyes were sunken as a result of both the exhausting ride and the lack of proper food and water. His friend’s bandanna was missing and, as Chris put two fingers to the pulse point below Vin’s ear, the gunslinger’s blood boiled in impotent rage at the sight of the red marks around the man’s throat. With a furious hiss, the peacekeeper took off his own neck cloth and sluiced water onto the material, his mouth set in a tight, grim line as he started to carefully wipe the tracker’s face and neck.
Letting some of the moisture pass between the other’s flaccid lips, Chris’ mounting concern was alleviated somewhat as a low, breathy moan from Vin announced the tracker’s return to consciousness. Propping his friend’s head on the rolled up blanket, the gunslinger put the canteen to the other’s lips and, as the younger man instinctively nuzzled at the spout, Chris tipped a small amount of water into the opening mouth.
The awakening man shuddered and gasped, but his tongue worked hard to catch the precious water. Tanner licked his lips, as he savoured the few cold droplets that trickled down his dry and painful throat. A blurry, white blob hovered above Vin and he blinked rapidly to clear his vision, frowning in confusion as he felt a warm hand rest on his forehead.
"Vin? Hey there, pard. You with me yet? C’mon now, Vin!"
Chris’ soft, but persistent voice dragged the tracker back to a reality he really didn’t want to accept and, as Vin slowly opened his eyes, he saw his friend bending over him. Anxiety was etched on every part of the gunslinger’s face, although the worried look was quickly masked as the tracker gazed up at him. "Damn! This is getting… t’be a habit," the Texan croaked, wincing as painful daggers speared his bruised windpipe.
"Easy, Vin, he choked you out. Don’t try and talk just yet. Here," Chris pressed the canteen into his friend’s hands, "take this and keep drinking, while I get your leg sorted as best I can."
With the tracker’s right foot still tied into the stirrup iron, it wasn’t easy getting the younger man upright although, finally, Chris managed to push the cumbersome saddle to one side. Then between them, they were able to propel themselves backwards a few feet, until they were propped against a large boulder. Glancing up as the moon suddenly appeared from behind one of the dark clouds, Vin settled back with a weary sigh. The tracker cautiously swallowed some more water, whilst he surveyed the moonlit area and watched the three men set up camp.
"Chris."
At Vin’s raspy call, the gunslinger moved his head closer to his friend. "Yeah?" he mouthed, glancing out of the corner of eye at the younger man.
"You gotta try an’ escape. I reckon we’re not that far across the border, but ya might be able t’get a sheriff’s help in a nearby town," the tracker whispered.
"We go together, Vin, or not at all."
"I cain’t see ‘im lettin’ his guard down wit’ me, but you might be able t’get free on yer own. That skinny bastard don’t look t’be made of the same stuff as t’other two, so mebbe ya could get away t’morrow. I could create a diversion or somethin’."
Chris pursed his lips, his tightly fastened hands coming up to scrub at the growth of whiskers around his chin, as he weighed up their escape options. "On the trail could be our only hope, because we’re too tightly bound to try anything at night. Whichever way we play it, it’s gonna be risky for both of us."
"Hell, I know that, Chris! But we’re running outta time, ‘cause each day gets us deeper into Texas. You know I ain’t afraid of dyin’, but I’d prefer t’go down fightin’ an’ mebbe take one of ‘em out wit’ me. Better that than being strung up like some mangy dawg!"
The terrifying memory of seeing Vin with a noose around his neck suddenly slipped into the gunslinger’s mind. He’d been in a position to act on that occasion and had successfully got his friend away from Eli Joe and his fake marshal, although it had been an extremely close call. But the incident had raised uncomfortable moral issues for Chris. With the outstanding bounty on his friend’s head, there was always the chance that he might someday have to witness Vin’s execution, and he knew that he could never allow the younger man to endure the indignity of a hanging, legal or otherwise. There was no doubt in Chris’ mind; he would be prepared to take matters into his own hands - whatever the personal risk.
"That’ll never happen, Vin. I wouldn’t…. couldn’t let you die like that," Chris murmured, his hazel gaze locking with the other man’s in mutual understanding as he made his pledge.
The tracker closed his eyes briefly, remembering a similar conversation with Will Tanner less than two week’s ago.
"Hmm. You may not want t’hear this, but you have more in common wit’ m’pa than ya realise," Vin said at length. "Chris… I was gonna tell you this when you turned up at Robert’s the day we got captured, but then what wit’ everything happening… an’ I know you still believe that Will’s involved in all this shit, but…"
"I don’t need or want any more explanations, Vin," Chris put in. "He’s your father – your own flesh and blood – and whether I trust him or not is irrelevant. You have to make up your own mind, and if me and the fellas don’t figure in your future plans, well… that’s just too bad."
"Unless we get free from these bastards, neither of us are gonna have much of a future," the tracker muttered in response. "I want yer word, Larabee…. if you see a chance to get away, you’ll take it, regardless of what ‘appens t’me." Vin’s mouth thinned into a hard, determined line as he made his forceful demand.
The older man sighed heavily, his head falling back against the rock as he contemplated the tracker’s insistent instructions. The idea of attempting to escape without his friend didn’t sit very well with Chris, but he understood what had prompted the younger man’s firm entreaty. And he knew that Vin was right. The three men, Joseph in particular, kept the still not fully fit tracker on a very short leash, knowing that the gunslinger would behave whilst his partner’s life was held so closely under their control.
"We ain’t out of options yet. The fellas’ll be looking for us and I know Buck won’t give up until…"
Chris stopped, unable to voice what he knew to be the inevitable. Their captors hadn’t bothered to hide their identities, so it was clear to both peacekeepers that their lives would ultimately be forfeit.
"I ain’t given up neither, Chris. I’m figurin’ he wants us alive fer now, but I’ve gotta real bad feelin’ in m’gut that’s sayin’ Joseph’s business is wit’ me. I dunno who he is or what he wants, but all the while he’s got both o’ us… well…. he knows he’s holdin’ the winning hand."
"Let him think that. Complacency makes a man relax and when that happens… he makes mistakes."
"Mebbe. But they ain’t taken any chances thus far and I don’t reckon they will." Vin fell silent, as the subject of their conversation sauntered over to the pair of peacekeepers.
"There’s no point in looking for yer friends to rescue you, ‘cause them an’ that Scotch fella have their own problems t’deal wit’," Joseph told his two prisoners, having picked up snatches of their quiet conversation.
"So you ain’t the boss man then? Yer working fer those ranchers t’bring Cummings down, ain’t ya?"
"That’s where yer wrong, Tanner. That business wuz jes’ a little sideline – a bonus fer me if you like. I only stirred a pot that wuz already boiling. I reckon folks in the territory are knee deep in a range war by now, and once those three cattlemen are done, there won’t be much left of yer precious town either," the outlaw scoffed.
Chris’ hazel eyes drilled the older man, and if a look could have killed, the Texan would have dropped dead in that instant. "If innocent people die because of you, I’ll skin you alive, Joseph. And you’ll be begging me for a bullet to end your worthless life," the gunslinger vowed, in a tone that dripped with venom.
"Yer an arrogant bastard, ain’t ya Larabee? But it amuses me t’hear yer empty promises. In case you hadn’t noticed, I’ve kinda got the upper hand here. Now shut up an’ git t’yer feet," Joseph ordered in a cold voice.
Chris slowly climbed to his feet, his eyes constantly roving around the area, as he continued to assess the dangerous situation. This could be the opening he was looking for.
The older Texan had kept his gaze focussed on the black-dressed peacekeeper but, seeing the other’s shoulders bunch with tension, Joseph quickly drew his revolver. "I wouldn’t even think ‘bout tryin’ t’jump me or m’men. M’first bullet’s got yer amigo’s name carved on it," the man warned Chris, aiming the gun directly at the tracker’s head.
Randall had just appeared holding a coiled up length of rope and, with a self-satisfied grin, he began to thread the rope around and through the gunslinger’s existing bonds. A large tree dominated the clearing, its thick branches reaching out into the dark night like so many grotesquely twisted arms, and Chris didn’t resist as he was dragged under the spreading canopy.
Aiming the longest end of the rope for a particularly strong-looking branch, Randall’s first throw was on target and, grabbing the dangling end, he then shortened the loop, jerking Chris’ hands upwards. He continued pulling until the peacekeeper’s arms were stretched to their limit, and only tied off the rope once he saw that Chris was forced to stand on tiptoe to relieve the taut pressure on his suspended limbs. Walking in front of the strung up gunslinger, Randall whipped his hand up and contemptuously flicked off the other man’s black hat. The young outlaw licked his lips in anticipation as he visualised what his boss would be inflicting on this proud and self-assured gunman and, thrusting his leering face close to his victim’s, the man blew several times into Chris’ eyes.
Chris shrank away from the other’s foul smelling breath, but he remained silent, fuming in powerless anger as Randall fumbled to undo his shirt buttons.
Vin scrambled to his feet, ignoring the revolver still trained on him, but unable to move much because of the bulky saddle still anchoring his left leg. He’d seen Martin place the long blade of a knife into the glowing embers of the fire and, as he watched the other outlaw yank back Larabee’s shirt to expose the gunslinger’s bare chest, Vin felt fear and anguish clutch at his heart. There was no doubt in the tracker’s mind about what the outlaws’ intentions were; he’d witnessed similar barbaric tactics being used on prisoners that the Kiowa Indians had captured during raids on other tribes. As Vin stared at his friend, he knew that Chris had also guessed what was in store for him.
"Sonofabitch! I’m gonna cut off yer balls, an’ feed ‘em t’ya!" the tracker spat out, his eyes flashing angrily as he saw the tight expression on the gunslinger’s features. "Let ‘im go, you yella bastard! I don’t care what you do wit’ me, but cut ‘im loo...."
"Waal, I thought this ‘ud make you a mite co-operative, Tanner," Joseph interrupted, shooting a smug grin at the securely bound gunslinger. "We’ve got a heap of things to discuss, an’ tonight is when I start t’get the truth outta ya."
"What truth? What d’you want with me?"
Joseph let out an evil laugh, paying no attention to the tracker’s heated questions as he addressed his two accomplices. "Randall, get some more rope an’ lash Tanner over there," he ordered, gesturing with his revolver to a smaller tree in the camp area. "Get rid o’ that saddle, tie his ankles together an’ then you can sit ‘im down…. but make sure he’s facing Larabee. I wouldn’t want ‘im to miss out on the fun! Martin, leave the hosses fer now – you can bed ‘em down later. Bring me m’saddlebag an’ whip, an’ then the pair o’ ya can make yerself scarce fer a spell, while I entertain our guests. Don’t ferget t’take yer rifle’s wit’ ya, ‘cause I gotta hankerin’ fer some meat in tonight’s pot."
It took several minutes for the two younger men to complete their errands and as Vin felt the rope tighten around his chest, immobilising his fettered hands rigidly into his stomach, he knew that he didn’t stand any hope of trying to break free.
-7-7-7-7-7-7-7-
It was approaching nine o’clock in the evening, but the saloon was unusually quiet as Nathan entered the building. Suddenly feeling the need for a drink to bolster his nerves before confronting the mourning Southerner, he crossed to the bar and ordered a whiskey from Inez. The former slave lounged at the counter as he sipped the liquor, his mind whirling as he considered what to say to his friend in the upstairs room.
"Could I have a word with you, Mister Jackson? Mister Jackson? Are you listening?"
Nathan gave a guilty start, suddenly realising that someone was talking to him. He’d been so engrossed in his own thoughts he hadn’t even noticed Maude Standish enter the saloon, let alone approach him. "Umm…. Yeah… I’m sorry, ma’am, I never saw you there. What can I do for you?"
"I…. I don’t believe that Ezra requires my presence any more, so… I’ve decided to catch the early stage tomorrow morning. If you want to reach me, I’ll be in St Louis for the next few months."
"I thought you were… gonna stay here fer another week or two, at least until…" Nathan allowed the comment to trail off, frowning in confusion at the woman’s sudden about turn.
On arriving at Four Corners and learning of Fiona’s tragic death, Maude had initially been a tower of strength for Ezra. She’d provided sympathetic advice, and offered comfort to her grief-stricken son, whilst displaying a maternal protectiveness that Nathan would never have believed possible. But now it seemed she had tired of playing the caring mother. Reverting once again to her normally self-serving attitude, she was running out and turning away from any parental responsibility. It wasn’t that surprising, but the healer still couldn’t comprehend the woman’s reasons for abandoning her only child at a time when he needed all the support he could get.
Maude smiled brightly, but the warmth never reached her eyes. Unable to maintain the healer’s hard, disbelieving stare, she fiddled nervously with the bead-encrusted purse in her hand.
"There is nothing more I can do for him," she said by way of explanation. "I’ve tried to help m’darlin’ boy recover from his loss, but he refuses to listen to me. I do understand what he’s going through; I’ve been in a similar position, Mister Jackson. When my fourth husband passed away, I quickly realised that life had to continue and, moreover, I had to carry on with the plans that we’d made together. It may sound like a harsh reality, but Ezra must come to his senses and pick up where he left off."
"I’m sorry, ma’am, but you make it sound so simple. Grief doesn’t work to any timescale, and we all deal with the loss of a loved one in different ways. It’s still early days, but I reckon Ezra will eventually have need of ya, once he recovers from his injury an’ begins to get over the initial shock."
"Well, I’m afraid I don’t have the luxury of time. I have an important meeting with an associate, one that I cannot afford to cancel. Ezra’s a businessman; he will understand why I have to leave."
Maude rummaged in her purse and pulled out a small card, which she offered to the peacekeeper before continuing. "I may not see him before I leave, so could you give him this, please? It’s the name of one of the best lawyers in New Orleans, who is also a very dear friend of mine. He was most accommodating when one of my own business ventures went sour."
Nathan automatically took the card, but his face mirrored the stunned disbelief that he felt inside, and for several seconds he was totally speechless.
"Business venture?" the healer finally asked. "Is that what you think Fiona was t’Ezra? I hope you never said that t’him, ma’am."
Nathan stiffened in anger, as the woman suddenly broke eye contact. "Oh, good Lord! What exactly did you say t’him, Miz Standish?" he asked in a coldly suspicious tone.
"He barely knew this girl, so I’ve told Ezra that he should be able to get some type of monetary compensation from her family to cover the costs that he’s incurred since their meeting. After all, it wasn’t his fault that his ‘mark’ died before he was in a legal position to inherit her money. I’d be grateful if you could convey that to him, because I don’t think m’darlin’ boy was paying a great deal of attention to what I said."
"His… his ‘mark’? You think he was only after her money an’…? Dammit! How could you say that to yer own son? You don’t got no right t’call yerself a mother. I’m thinkin’ Jezebel’s closer to reality!" Nathan exclaimed, pointedly ignoring the indignant outrage on the woman’s features.
"Well, there’s no reason to be discourteous and rude to a lady, Mister Jackson."
"I don’t rightly know that I was jes’ rude to a lady!" the man retorted heatedly, as he flung the card down onto the bar counter.
"There’s really no need to be insulting, sir!" Maude muttered huffily. "Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to start packing," she said, with a dismissive toss of her head.
Nathan deliberately turned his back on the departing woman and, quickly throwing the remainder of the whiskey down his throat, he hastened up the stairs as a new worry for his friend suddenly came to the fore.
-7-7-7-7-7-7-7-
"Now, Vin, ain’t this real sociable?" Samuel Joseph asked his silent, but overtly glowering prisoner. "I love these here family reunions. It kinda r’minds me o’ happier times, when the Josephs and Tanners used t’meet fer a nice neighbourly shindig," he remarked in a conversational tone, re-holstering his gun as he watched his cohorts reluctantly wander away from the campsite.
Once the two men were out of sight and earshot, the older Texan crouched down beside Vin and cupped the peacekeeper’s chin in his hand, spitefully squeezing the jawbone as he forced the other around to face him. "It’s bin some years since I last saw you, Vin, but I’d’ve easily picked ya out in a crowded saloon, ‘cause yer a chip off the old block. So why don’t we take this chance to get reacquainted, huh?"
"I ain’t never seen you afore, ya sick bastard! An’ you know nuthin’ ‘bout me, or m’family!" Vin shot back hotly, managing to jerk his head away from the other’s cruel grip.
"Now that’s where yer wrong. I knew all of yer kin, an’ jes’ because you cain’t r’member me visitin’ yer folks in Grendon, it don’t mean I’m a stranger t’ya. There’s bin many a time when you were a babe that I’ve bounced ya on m’knee, so it’s good t’see you ag’in as a growed man. Yer ma ‘ud be proud of you, Vin. I’ve also bin finding out how you an’ yer six amigos have bin building a name fer yerselves back in that town. How very noble an’ heroic! Yer grandpa was good at playin’ the knight in shining armour ‘n’ all, an’ it looks like you’ve got the same high principles!"
"My… my grandpa?"
"Yep – George Vincent Tanner. It’s his fault yer in this mess, an’ unfortunately yer gonna hav’ta pay th’ price fer his foolish meddlin’. Y’see, I knew the old man from years back, but he stole somethin’ that’s rightfully mine - an’ I want it back. Now I know you lived wit’ George fer a few years after yer mama passed on, an’ ya must’ve bin to all o’ his haunts around the homestead. Which is why yer useful t’me now. So, I’m gonna cut to the chase, Vin. Why don’t you tell me where the hero of the Alamo stashed the gold?"
"What gold? I dunno what ya mean. You’ve got the wrong man, ‘cause I don’t know what the hell yer talkin’ about!" Vin exclaimed.
"I like t’see some grit in a man, an’ I’m patient up to a point, but you don’t want t’play games wit’ me, Vin. I know you’ve bin told about the robbery all those years ago, so I’ve got every confidence that ya will eventually lead me t’where m’money’s hid. An’ if you play straight wit’ me, then I’ll set ya free once I’ve got m’property back. How does that sound?"
Vin gave a sceptical, humourless laugh. "It sounds like yer a stinkin’ liar! You’ve got me an’ m’pard trussed up like turkeys at Thanksgivin’, an’ I’m expected t’believe what ya say?" he retorted.
Joseph responded with a dismissive shrug. "I ain’t fussed either way. This’ jes’ a little demonstration t’show you how serious I am ‘bout findin’ out what ya know. You followed that old man around like some li’l puppy dawg, so you must’ve seen where he buried the gold."
Vin closed his eyes, his mind racing as he considered everything he’d recently discovered and remembered about his grandfather’s violent death. Joseph was obviously linked to and had an insight into his family’s past, and the tracker suddenly realised that he and Chris were probably being held by the same person who had killed the old man all those years previous. It gave him little comfort but, regardless of the consequences, Vin needed to know for sure.
"You murdered him, didn’t ya? It was you that day at his cabin."
"Nope. Despite what you’ve probably bin told, that warn’t my doin’. George was no good to me dead, because he was the only one left who knew where the gold ended up. He was supposed to safeguard it fer us ‘til things had quietened down some, but I reckon he jes’ got too damned greedy."
Vin bristled silently, his anger growing at the taunting jibes issued by the outlaw. If Joseph could be believed – which the peacekeeper doubted - it sounded like the tracker’s grandfather had a nominal involvement in the same robbery that his father had participated in. But this disgraceful hypothesis went against everything that Vin held dear, and he suddenly experienced an inexplicable need to defend the integrity of his family’s name. He was a Tanner; his mother had constantly drummed that into him and, particularly in the case of his grandfather, it had become a symbol of honour, a decree for the esteem that imbued his clan. The tracker wasn’t about to let this ruthless outlaw tarnish the old man’s memory.
"Grandpa never had any gold – an’ he wouldn’t’ve done no robbery or used stolen money!" Vin replied in a clipped tone.
"No, he wuz too upright an’ law-abidin’ fer that! But luckily fer me, yer pa warn’t afflicted wit’ the same righteous measure of honesty, an’…" Joseph paused when he saw the perturbed look on the tracker’s face. "Well, you didn’t think he wuz some kinda Robin Hood, did ya? We were partners – thieves together, an’ we masterminded that Army robbery atween us. So if you want t’blame someone else fer yer present troubles then you’d best start cussin’ that double-crossing, bag of shit called Will Tanner."
"Don’t you dare bad-mouth m’pa, ya murderin’ scum!"
The defensive words slipped out before Vin could stop himself and he turned his head to one side, in an attempt to ignore the older man.
"That’s another raw nerve I hit! Y’know boy, we should’a had this li’l talk years ago, ‘cause it would’a saved you a whole pile of grief an’ pain now. An’ I’ve gotta admire yer loyalty, Vin, although it’s sorely misplaced after all this shit that yer folks left behind fer ya. They didn’t care that their sins ‘ud come back to destroy their only surviving kinsman, now did they?"
"Yer lyin’! Will wouldn’t do that t’me. He’d’ve told me…" Vin took a steadying breath, darting an anguished look at Joseph, as he suddenly realised what the other man was implying. "Wha’d’ya mean, left behind? What…. What’ve you done to Will? Where is he? Tell me, you sonofabitch!"
A puzzled frown briefly creased the older man’s brow, but then he shook his head in bemusement, smiling at what was obviously a private joke. "Well, this is provin’ t’be more interestin’ than I’d thought," Joseph murmured, as he reached into his jacket pocket to pull out a silver liquor flask.
The older Texan was thoughtfully silent, but his staring eyes locked on the tracker’s profile as he sipped the tequila and considered his next move. This was an unexpected, but not unassailable complication for the wily outlaw. However, if he played things right, then he could still get what he wanted from Vin Tanner.
"I ain’t done anythin’ to yer pa," Joseph eventually replied to his prisoner, as he recapped the flask and stowed it in his pocket. "But it looks like I warn’t the only one that was deceived by him. The only reason he came looking fer you, was so’s he could find out what ya knew ‘bout the gold. I spoke t’him some time back and he told me that he’d found out that you were livin’ in Four Corners. We struck a deal then to meet in Grendon and split the money once ya’d led us to the hiding place. He was positive that ya knew where it could be found an’ he even mentioned that you’d get a decent cut of the money, or mebbe he’d buy a lump o’ land so’s you both could live together as a family at last. I reckon the stockade must’ve knocked all that crookedness outta him! Anyhow, despite all those noble intentions, he still wanted to find the gold, because he said he’d paid his dues to the Army and it was rightfully his now. But he was draggin’ his heels - an’ I’d bin cheated by him afore - so I decided t’come to Four Corners an’ handle this personally."
‘Buy a lump o’ land, so you could both live together as a family.’
Joseph’s comment rolled around in Vin’s head, and his thoughts went back to the conversation he’d had with his father about wanting to buy a ranch in the area to breed horses. Had Will intended to use stolen money for this overly ambitious scheme? And would he have told Vin where the funds had come from? The tracker pushed that ugly thought away, determined not to show the outlaw that he was shaken by what he was hearing.
"No, I ain’t gonna listen t’yer filthy, lyin’ tongue," Vin growled, shaking his head in denial. "Will ain’t workin’ wit’ ya. M’pa’s ramrod straight now, and he wouldn’t do nuthin’ to put me in any danger. He’ll be on yer trail already, an’ when he finds ya then ya’ll learn the real meanin’ of pain."
"There ain’t bin a Tanner born yet that can outsmart a Joseph! Not that he needs to. Y’see, Vin, this was all part of his plan; he’s on his way home too, so you can have yer lovin’ family reunion when we get to the homestead."
Vin glanced over at Chris and saw the open suspicion, but nonetheless acceptance of what he was hearing in the gunslinger’s eyes. On the first night of their capture, the tracker had given his friend a detailed and concise history of his father’s criminal activities, and now it appeared that Chris had been right to mistrust Will Tanner to some degree. The security boss hadn’t told his son all of the facts regarding his shady past, and hadn’t even mentioned that his former partner was still alive and actively seeking the plundered booty. Unwittingly, both peacekeepers had suddenly become pawns in a perilous dispute that evidently went back decades.
Joseph saw the look pass between the two men and he let out a snorting laugh. "Yer amigo knows I’m tellin’ the truth, boy, but I ain’t gonna waste any more time talkin’ about Will’s many shortcomings. If ya value yer skin, why don’t ya jes’ tell me where ya used t’go wit’ yer grandpa," he urged, smiling as he picked up the bull-whip.
There was an avaricious pitch to the outlaw’s crooning voice and, as the man ran his hand up and down the plaited whip handle, his eyes lit up with a sensual hunger. In that awful second of comprehension, Vin realised that both he and Chris would be tortured and abused in ways almost unimaginable, before death finally claimed them.
-7-7-7-7-7-7-7-
Author’s note: Warning - this following section of the torture scene contains an inference to male/male rape.
Vin’s breath caught in his throat as the older man suddenly leaned closer, and he squeezed his eyes shut as the Texan almost lovingly stroked the tracker’s face and neck with the handle of the whip. Joseph chuckled as he quickly unfastened the ties on the peacekeeper’s jacket and, taking great delight when the younger man shuddered, he then gouged the gnarled end of the whip’s handle into his prisoner’s torso. Vin winced painfully, and sweat beaded his forehead as the hard object was dropped lower and poked forcefully into his flesh around the still tender operation scar.
The outlaw continued to sadistically prod with the tormenting instrument and, with his heart hammering in his chest, the tracker’s stomach gave a slow, queasy roll as the whipstock was suddenly thrust forcefully into his groin. Vin angrily swallowed the hot bile that threatened to rise from his fluttering belly and, as the rough leather then trailed slowly up his body, neck and face, he flinched at the man’s cruelly provocative touch.
Joseph licked his lips, savouring the apprehension on his victim’s features as he rolled the whip’s handle against Vin’s cheek. "Tell me what ya know, an’ I’ll go easy on you. It’s as simple as that, son," the older man whispered in the tracker’s ear.
"I ain’t yer son!" the tracker answered hoarsely. "An’ yer loco if you think I know where this gold’s buried. I was jes’ a kid, an’ grandpa never spoke ‘bout any hidden money."
"Mebbe he didn’t tell you in so many words, but ya did spend time together, so ya know all o’ his movements up to the time o’ his death. An’ that must include the location o’ the gold," Joseph said in a firm voice.
"Look, I ain’t got a clue where it is," Vin replied earnestly. "Hell, I couldn’t even recall where m’own family lived! So I’m tellin’ you ag’in, I don’t know where this gold is. An’ there ain’t nuthin’ you can do or say that’ll change that."
"Oh, there’s plenty I can do t’make you think differently, an’ it’s a long ride t’Grendon. I can be very persuasive, y’know, an’ I don’t think I need to spell things out. Why d’ya reckon I had Larabee brought along fer our ride home?"
Vin watched in helpless horror as the older man got to his feet, and then wandered over to stand behind Larabee. Joseph flicked out the whip in a snaking arc, and the tracker’s stomach clenched in renewed fear as the Texan absently toyed with the thickly plaited grip in his hand.
Chris had been following the conversation and, as the older Texan moved closer to him, the gunslinger gritted his teeth and suddenly swung his shackled legs around and up in an attempt to kick the outlaw. Sweat poured down his face as the pressure increased on his shoulders and torso but, although the pain was starting to intrude on his concentration, the peacekeeper pushed aside his growing discomfort as he tried to gain the upper hand.
"I thought you’d bin too quiet, Larabee. But you need t’do much better ‘n’ that!" the outlaw jeered, as he sidestepped away from his prisoner’s flailing legs. "It’s a shame Tanner ain’t bin more forthcoming, ‘cause his continued defiance spells trouble fer ya. The Mexicans and Indians mastered the art o’ makin’ a man talk, an’ I’ve learnt plenty offa ‘em over the years. But it ain’t all ‘bout inflictin’ pain, y’know? There’s many ways t’skin a cat, an’ when I’m finally finished wit’ you – yer amigo will tell me what I want t’hear," Joseph promised in a silky tone.
"Go t’hell!" Chris snarled fiercely, biting his lip as the coarse rope chafed his sore wrists.
"No! You leave him outta this, you sick whoreson! This is jes’ between us, an’ it don’t involve Larabee!" the tracker yelled simultaneously, as he struggled desperately against his bonds.
"Yeah, it is our problem, boy. But I reckon ya still need t’see some proof that I mean business. An’ I know how t’make ya talk, because it looks like I found yer Achilles’ heel. Blondie must be kinda special t’ya. How very touchin’! So I’m gonna ask ya one last time, Vin. Where did the old man hide m’gold?"
"I don’t know!"
Joseph sidled closer to the gunslinger, his hand reaching out to touch the man’s exposed chest. "Not the right answer, Tanner. The word is that Larabee’s one tough an’ determined hombre. I’ve also heard that the gals like to cosy up t’him fer some lovin’ o’ the flesh. Or do you an’ ‘im share more than a campfire when yer out on the trail? Women are scarce on the frontier, an’ the nights can get real cold an’ lonely, so there ain’t no shame to admittin’ that ya like t’feel a hard cock inside ya. Is that the way it is between you an’ yer amigo, Vin? Do ya pleasure each other? Y’can tell me, boy. I won’t be disappointed, y’know - especially if yer willin’ t’share ‘im wit’ me an’ m’men. Not that you’ll have much choice in the matter," he smirked, enjoying the flagrant disgust and humiliation on the tracker’s face.
There was a light of desire and arousal in the older man’s eyes that was hard to miss and, in that moment, Vin sensed that Joseph’s deviant sexual appetites had been whetted. He had an unfulfilled need, a consuming lust for another man, and it appeared that Chris Larabee had suddenly become the Texan outlaw’s ultimate prize. The tracker’s cheeks flamed red in embarrassment and he gulped audibly, turning his fearful gaze to his friend.
Chris saw Vin’s look of shame-faced horror, but he said nothing. Joseph had now centred his attention on the fair-haired peacekeeper and Larabee couldn’t control the involuntary shiver as the older man ran a roughened hand over his bare skin. The gunslinger could feel the gorge rising in his throat but, as the groping fingers pinched at and lingered on his nipples, Chris forced himself to ignore the man’s titillating touch. Closing his mind to the older man’s licentious actions, the peacekeeper shifted his aching feet. He dropped his heels several inches hoping to take his body weight off of his toes without causing more pain to his over-strained arms.
Viciously kicking the gunslinger’s feet from under him, Joseph grinned as he stepped away from his now dangling prisoner. "It’s a real shame, ‘cause Larabee cuts a fine figure o’ a man as things stand at the moment. A body ain’t a purty sight once a few lashes have found their mark, although I ain’t too fussed if I take damaged goods. It won’t be the first time. There’s a fine line b’tween pain an’ pleasure, an’ it’ll be interestin’ to see which one Larabee experiences first when I eventually have ‘im."
The outlaw ran an anticipatory tongue over his lips, as he considered the forthcoming sexual feast. His left hand went down to rub at his crotch and bulging manhood for a few seconds, and he mouthed an exaggerated kiss at his still defiant victim.
"But that’ll be somethin’ to look forward to, because I’ve got to sort out m’business afore I can start to enjoy m’self," Joseph continued in a matter of fact voice. "You see, Vin, because of yer continuin’ silence, its jes’ like yer using this whip yerself. His sufferin’ is all down t’you." The older man smiled, savouring the look of guilt and uncertainty that briefly flickered across Vin’s features.
"Don’t listen to him, Vin. The sick bastard’s… playing with you. This ain’t your doing, it’s his, and I don’t blame…."
Chris’ absolving plea to his friend abruptly ended as the whip suddenly whistled through the air and snapped across the gunslinger’s back. The peacekeeper jerked as the stinging blow landed, his head falling forward and his eyes screwing up in agony as the thin leather cut a biting weal through shirt and skin. His entire body tensed from the excruciating pain but, although his mouth formed a wide, gaping O, he never cried out.
"No! I’ll kill you, y’sonofabitch!"
Vin threw his full body weight against the rope as he yelled at the outlaw. An icy sweat covered his face, and a raging fury filled him as he hopelessly struggled to reach his stricken friend. There was nothing he could do as the whip looped out and connected for a second time with the gunslinger’s body and, as Chris writhed in agony from the fresh assault, hot tears of frustration pricked at Vin’s eyes, temporarily blurring his vision.
"No! Don’t! Leave him alone, y’bastard!"
Joseph ignored the younger man’s frantic cries and, tensing his arm slightly, he increased the momentum and velocity of the whip making the third strike even harder.
Mingled sweat and blood trickled in red rivers down Chris’ spine, the salty wetness burning like acid in the open welts on his skin. As the whip lashed out and landed for a third time, no amount of willpower could stop the tormented scream that escaped his lips. The fiery pain reverberating through the gunslinger’s abused body sent all cohesive thought from his mind, and he wasn’t even aware of his younger friend’s distraught and frenzied attempts to stop the savage attack. For Chris, nothing existed now outside of the incandescent heat from the whip; he was rapidly drowning in a molten sea of burning pain and misery. The brutal scourging was an indescribable hurting that transcended everything else.
"NO!"
Vin’s horrified cry rang out again, his stomach giving a sickly flutter and knotting up in abject fear, whilst his own back tingled in shared sympathy as yet another biting lash landed on the fair-haired peacekeeper. But Chris was beyond hearing or feeling anything now. After the fourth stroke from the whip, the gunslinger had slumped downwards, his full weight now being supported by his bound arms and his head lolling loosely as he finally lost consciousness.
Grief and terror battered Vin in almost equal measures and his heart was racing at the cold-blooded violence he’d just witnessed. The tracker could only watch in helpless despair as Joseph lowered the whip and walked across to slap the gunslinger’s ashen face several times.
Sinking his fingers into Chris’ sweat-dampened hair, the older Texan yanked back his victim’s head, and then thrust his face into the other man’s. His slobbering lips latched onto the gunslinger’s slack mouth, and Joseph’s teeth bit at his prize as the obscene, bruising kiss continued. There was no still reaction from the unmoving peacekeeper and then, finally breaking the vicious embrace, the stocky outlaw briefly placed a hand on Chris’ clammy chest.
Joseph’s face immediately lit up with a victorious smile, and he slowly looked around to stare belligerently at the shocked and white-faced tracker. "Now this could be a first even fer me, Vin. I ain’t never taken a dead man afore, but there’s a first time fer everything," the outlaw sneered.
Vin’s stomach suddenly convulsed and he only just managed to turn his head to the side, as vomit spewed from his mouth. The violent spasm caused his insides to clench, and pain from the healing operation area caused him to lose his breath for several seconds. Choking and spluttering still, but ignoring his own discomfort, the tracker shuddered and lurched angrily against his restraints, his fear increasing ten-fold as he desperately tried to reach his fallen brother.
"CHRIS! Y’killed him, y’fucking bastard! Leave him be!"