Chapter 1
Four Corners, Arizona Territory. A little town striving for prosperity. Any growth they'd gotten had come at a heavy price. Until the seven protectors had been hired, the citizens had lived in fear of the cattle ranchers, the outlaws, the grifters that had sought to take everything. But since Orrin Travis, the circuit court judge, had hired those seven, prosperity was becoming a definite possibility... not yet, but no longer impossible.
Chris Larabee was there, standing in the middle of the Clarion Gazette newspaper office, located close to the center of Four Corners. He was leaning across the desk, his piercing blue-gray eyes level with hers, mocking her. He was a tall, handsome, well-built man, most often dressed in black. Quite often, the black of his garments mirrored his mood. He spoke little. He was a man people watched closely. They knew little about his background, other than the rumors and reputation that said he had been a known troublemaker and gunslinger before he'd arrived there. His reputation scared them. They watched his reddish blonde hair in particular. If his hair was all in his face, they let him alone. The leader of the paladins, folks called him a protector, lawman, gunslinger, or troublemaker, depending on their valuation, or lack thereof, of his talents and his profession.
Mary Travis was there as well. She owned the place. She'd been in Four Corners for years before Chris Larabee set foot in the town. She wanted the town to prosper, whether he saw the need or not. She'd buried a husband because of this newspaper and this town. She had fought with fist and gun the liquored up cowboys, murders, and swindlers who descended on the town. The people of the town liked her spunk.
Physically, she had long silky blonde hair and was tall, though not as tall as the man she faced. The clear hazel eyes she flashed at him, her beauty, and if he admitted it, her spunk, kept this man more than interested. People speculated frequently about the two, whether the glances they exchanged were indicative of a love they felt. Truth be told, they were attracted to each other; but her temptation some months earlier, to marry an old friend and his carousing ways had put a dent in the romance. They had managed to stay friends. But they both had a liking for their own opinion that could start small wars as quickly as lightening could strike. If they were both in any room together, their conversation was apt to be lively. Today was no different.
"You know this town needs a teacher, Chris, but it won't be easy to find someone who's interested in moving here, especially for what we can pay. I just thought it would be a good idea--" He cut her off.
"I just don't think that's a good plan. You asked her yet? You got any idea what kind of education she's had? She speaks good English, no doubt she's smart. But you think this town's Christian element are going to accept Inez as a combination saloon manager and school teacher? Don't that sort of go against their grain. She can do either job, no problem; but both; I don't see that happening. You'll just get her feelings hurt if you let her get turned down by the town. But shoot, it don't matter what I think... you're going to try to get it done anyway. There's nothing I can do to stop you from--"
They weren't alone anymore. Chris stopped abruptly as the door to the newspaper office opened with the dinging of the little silver bell hung in its path. He tipped his hat, acknowledging the person joining the party, "Afternoon, Nathan."
Nathan, one of the seven hired to protect this place, a healer. Born a slave more than 20 years ago, he had taken the perilous Underground Railroad to free himself from that bondage. His back held the scars of that life, but his spirit and generous nature made him a valuable friend. He'd joined the Union Army near the end of the War Between the States; serving as a medical assistant and stretcher bearer. He had learned as much as he could about helping folks. He never called himself a doctor, but people who came to him for help knew he did the best he could. Beside his six-shooter, he was known for his expert work with knives... both for healing and for hurt.
"Mary, I think this is a story you might just want to put in the paper. What do you think?" Mary had never seen Nathan this excited about anything.
The new commotion amused Chris, "Whoa, Nathan, what's got you so fired up all of a sudden?"
The extremely tall, often too serious black man thrust a paper into Mary's hand. "Mary, you remember when I went over to Ridge City awhile back. Chris probably don't remember much of it, getting so beat up and all. Anyway when I was there I got to know this Dr. Gunter... he's a real nice man." Nathan spoke so rapidly he had to stop to breathe.
Chris clapped the excited man on the shoulder, "Slow down... nobody's going anywhere... we'll get to it all."
"Well, I've talked with Gunter every chance I get since I've been back. If I have questions, he'll always tell me what he knows. Now, he tells me there's another doctor moved in around here somewhere... I forget his name. Well, the three of us have decided to have a sort of meeting to discuss medicine... and we've decided to hold it here in Four Corners in about a month."
Mary's sense of town pride took wings, "How marvelous. That would make a good story for the Gazette... something that shows Four Corners is forward looking, professional, not just another rough and tumble town. It appears all the details of the story are here. Do you want me to say other doctors are welcome if they'd like to come."
All of sudden the healer saw his plans expanding in ways he had not thought of before, "That might be okay, I suppose. You think others will see the story?"
"Well, we're a small paper, but I do send copies out over quite a distance. Don't get your hopes up, but it could work. I'd say we have enough time. Maybe I could rewrite this to include some information on the town to attract interest. Have you given any thought to how the meeting should be scheduled?"
"No, just need a place to talk, hotel rooms, something to eat... that's all."
"Let me suggest that we plan something for the wives of the doctors who attend. We can invite the entire family if you like. We may want to have... well... a party... say on the first evening to let the town people get to know the guests and the guests to know each other."
Chris observed the conversation with growing consternation. "Party??? In Four Corners??? Invite the family? Are we anywhere near that hospitable?"
"Well, long as it's nothing too much trouble... could be real nice. Might help everyone in town feel real good." Nathan was seeing possibilities, too.
The planning began to pick up speed as the woman thought of the possible revenues for the town if the meeting was done right. "This is a wonderful idea. If we start small this year, who knows how big it will grow to be. You just leave it to me. We'll have a nice evening, a special dinner, maybe music... maybe a dance."
Chris's trepidation was becoming amazement. "A dance??"
But Mary's imagination was going strong. "Our guests will remember that Four Corners provided a most delightful time."
Nathan was warming to the idea. "Well, thanks for the help." The more he thought, the more he liked it. "Sounds like a good time, but don't you go to too much fuss and bother, hear. Mostly we just want a place to talk. Since plans are taking shape, think I'll go talk with the hotel manager myself about a couple of rooms."
Just as the smiling, industrious man reached the door, Chris inched close to his side. "You do know what you've just done, don't you?"
"What? Don't you go get your temper all worked up. What trouble could there be from a meeting between a few people who share interests?"
"Plus a little music? Maybe a little dancing? She's making plans, and she hasn't even known about it for an hour. It may be a great party, but we'll be too tired to care. Just remember, your life for the next month is not your own, and neither is mine." He knew Mary very well. He had had to live with her plans before.
As the two men reached the sidewalk, Nathan began a new plan all his own. "I'm a good mind to invite Mandy."
"What? Who's Mandy?"
"Mandy Thornton..."
"Thornton... any kin to Harry Thornton? Shoot, Nathan, you're not thinking of inviting him or the rest of the Hell Hole saloon clientele from Ridge City are you? You do remember that that lunatic almost killed us all last time."
Nathan's smile was dazzling, "No, Chris... Not Harry... just Mandy, she's the woman I met in Ridge City. Now, she's mighty special... even if she does have Harry for a brother, and I think she'd come if the Gunters would serve as chaperone. Could be this is going to be a very special party."
"See what I mean. Between you and Mary, you're turning one meeting and a dinner into a fancy Dan social. I'm not sure Four Corners is ready for this, and I know I'm not."
"Come on, Chris, be reasonable. Mary won't make things too hard... she's just looking after the town. She IS right, you know... this place could use a little boost in spirits and a little recognition too."
Chris's sarcastic laugh broke through Nathan's celebratory plans, "All right... you two make your plans. But I suggest you make time to help ride herd on all this."
"Oh, I will... I will."
"Yeah, right... We'll see,"
From behind them, Mary called in the voice he understood too well, "Mr. Larabee can you stay here for just a few more minutes. I've got some ideas to discuss with you."
It was starting already. "Hear that. Ideas to discuss with me... not with you... with me. Just a little meeting, but I've got a bad feeling that I've just been volunteered for a lot more than I want." As he turned back into the newspaper office, slowly walking straight toward her, he tried the first line of resistance he could think of. "But this is your plan, and it's Nathan's meeting... what do you need me for?"
Nathan left, absorbed in his planning, heading to make his part of the preparations for the meeting. Chris Larabee was there. Mary Travis was there, too. Again, the discussion was getting mighty lively in the Clarion Gazette office.
Chapter 2
One week later, an obviously fidgety Chris Larabee could be spotted glancing over his shoulder as he stood outside the office door of the Honorable Orrin Travis. His glanced repeatedly over his shoulder to make certain nobody he really knew was anywhere in sight. He wore his hat jammed low on his head, but he didn't think it would really hide his identity from those who might see him. He was normally self-assured, a steely gunfighter who could stare the hardest outlaw straight in the eye and smile a wicked little smile that made them back away. He could face a gunfighter with no worries, but this? He paused for one last, deep breath and opened the door to find the Judge poring over papers and books. Circuit Court Judge Orrin Travis looked up, surprised to see the leader of his pack of protectors, who entered but said absolutely nothing. He touched the tip of his hat, yes; but he didn't smile. The intruder's eyes kept darting toward the door, as if he was the prey in a lethal hunt.
Travis observed him with eyes that generally knew how to read a man. Chris was usually reticent, but this quiet? It didn't seem like the man he knew... had never seen him this nervous. It suddenly reminded him of his grandson, who, even at his much younger age, had much the same look when he was getting into or out of mischief. This one was older, but he had a knack for stirring up mischief all on his own.
When the Judge couldn't stand the silence any longer, he went after the information himself, "Is there something wrong? Is there trouble in town?"
"No, sir. No trouble." Chris stood there, not talking. All he did was to push his black hat off his head so it hung down his back. Then he turned his back and began to study the covers of the law books on the shelves in the office. It became a long, uncomfortable silence.
"Larabee... it is almost always a pleasure to see you. But if you don't have anything of importance to say, I do have a trial coming up soon, and I definitely need all the time I have to prepare. In other words, spit it out or get out."
Pressed into talk, the usually reserved man simply blurted out, "I need your help."
"My help? What on earth for? If there's no trouble in town, are you personally in trouble again? Shot someone? Robbed any banks or stage coaches lately?" It was supposed to be a joke.
"No, no, not in trouble... really... I just want...", again he became silent. He actually scuffed his boot at the floor, and fiddled with his gun belt.
He was intrigued to find out what had the man this nervous, but he did have work to do. "Okay, last try. Let's just have it! Or you get out of here and stop wasting my time."
The grown man whispered like a little boy, afraid the walls might hear, "I want to, uh, to dance...", his face went red.
Travis's eyebrows raised, and he made deadpan eye contact with the man who never failed to amaze him, "Dance!! Mr. Larabee?? Not here... not now... and certainly not... I hope... with me!"
The red became crimson, and it reached to the top of his ears, "No, no... Not with you, for heaven's sake... with Mary."
The chance to embarrass the gunman further was too great to miss. A person didn't get to do that to this one often. Smiling a taunting little grin instead, he asked, "With Mary? Why? Why would you want to dance with my daughter-in-law?" He'd seen the man look at her before.
For all his normal quietness, Chris sputtered his thoughts to the Judge. He had forgotten just momentarily that the judge was Mary's kin. "Well, maybe it could help things go just a little smoother between us. She's my friend, you know, but we sorta have a big rift between us these days, never seem to do anything but fight about this town... what she wants done... what I think is right. This meeting that Nathan's got coming up, thought it was the most stupid idea at first. Mary's planning a dance. Well, I just got to thinking that she might just enjoy the dance, and it might be a good time for me to entice her to..."
"So dance with her, if she'll let you. You don't need my permission." Where this conversation was going, the Judge most definitely did not want to know. She was still a daughter to Orrin.
"I know that... That's not the problem. Hell, we're both grown. Wouldn't think I had to ask you."
Orrin Travis was used to being asked for permission for many things. It bothered him a little that this upstart felt no such need to acknowledge his authority. His answer was a trace sharper in tone than he expected. "Oh. Then you tell me exactly what the problem is?"
"Well, I sorta used to know how to dance... my mom tried to show me how when I was a boy... but..."
"You're rusty!" Travis could not stifle a small laugh. "So that's what this is about?"
This discussion had not been a good idea, at least so far. He felt foolish, like a bashful little boy, but he still needed help, and he felt this was the only place he could go and even hope to avoid trouble with the rest. "More than rusty... I wasn't much good at it when Mom tried to teach me."
"A most unfortunate situation, but what have I got to do with it? Certainly Buck, Ezra, maybe Josiah... you could ask them. Any of that pack of yours would appear to know how, with the possible exception of J.D., and he's surprised me before. I'm probably as rusty as you are... Evie being gone and all. How about just asking a friend?"
The thought that the other six would know what he was trying to do, the mental ammunition this would give all of them, especially Buck, to taunt him mercilessly was what had sent Chris to Travis in the first place. Nothing was worth this... well, almost nothing. "No! I thought I could trust you to help me out... not say anything to any of them!! If I can't, then I'll think of something else, or I just won't go." He jammed his hat tight onto his head and headed for the door.
Why not, he thought to himself, he did enjoy a challenge as well as most, and this certainly promised to be a BIG challenge. He liked being in the thick of things, especially when it gave him a chance to get one step up on any or all of his seven protectors.
"All right. Hold on... get back in here and just settle down. If we put our thoughts together, maybe we can think of a solution." After a brief pause, the magistrate began to pace his small office, starting on a plan. He very effectively excluded Chris from the initial process, "You can't learn from Inez... would start tongues wagging among the ladies and all that bunch of yours, and Mary would certainly hear. Can't do it anywhere in town; someone will see and tell." He suddenly fell silent, then showed a slight, self-pleased smile, "How about this? You know I've purchased a small ranch about a mile out of town. I plan for Mary and Billy to live there when the time is right... though she won't hear of it now. Well, I've hired a housekeeper... a Mrs. Ruth Rawlings. Feisty woman... doesn't like for people to pester her, but I've seen her do a little waltzing in the kitchen on occasion when she thinks no one's looking. Has a real silky glide. Let's see what I can do to convince her to give you a few lessons. How long have we got."
"Glad I'm still part of this." Chris didn't like the exclusion.
"You want my help or not?" Travis savored the feel of control.
"Well... the party's in about 2 1/2 weeks. They decided to have it on Thursday instead of Friday night. There's just one problem. Mary's got me tied up doing all sorts of things in town."
"If you're as bad as you say you are, that's not much time. Thought this was Nathan's celebration."
"So did I... but you know Mary."
"Well, Mary can't be everywhere at one time, so she can't always find you. I, on the other hand, can suddenly need you for a great many errands myself... nothing too time consuming or far away from town. You'll need to plan ahead to keep the rest of the boys busy, out of trouble, and out of your way. That could take a great deal of effort on your part, but if they're working, they can't be wondering about you. So, how about you coming out day after tomorrow for your first lesson... gives me a chance to soften up Mrs. Rawlings. This is going to cost me, you do realize that?"
"I'm sure you'll make me pay... but you won't say anything to the others, will you?"
"You have my word."
"Or to Mary?", his worst fear.
Travis just couldn't resist a threat. "Not unless you give me reason to."
Chapter 3
Two days later, he was standing on the front porch at the judge's two-story ranch house. If he thought he had been uneasy asking the judge for help, he was down right nervous standing here. He had been panicky all day, so anxious he had sweat through two of his best shirts. He decided he'd better take a Bath House dip before he left town. Standing on the porch, he raised his fist to knock, only to have the spring loaded door fly into his face.
She looked him over slowly walking in a circle completely around him. He didn't think she missed an inch of him. He returned the stare, wondering what he'd gotten into now.
"You Chris Larabee?" Her first question.
He nodded.
"Well, don't stand there like a big dolt, come in. Take off that hat. Wipe your boots. I'm not cleaning up behind you."
He entered. She was a not-so-tall, maybe 5'4, but buxom woman. Not fat, but no string bean either. Nice waist, short legs that were shapely enough from what he could actually see. She wore a simple house dress with a loose, rounded neckline, but the style was alluring, accentuating her ample cleavage. The color, a rich deep green, accentuated her eyes and hair. The first were gorgeous circles of violet; her hair black as midnight. He couldn't guess her age. She certainly wasn't that much older than he, and she was clearly young enough to be more than pleasing to the eye."
She treated him like a school boy. "Tell me what you need."
"I need to learn to dance." He felt he was facing a formidable foe... so he treated her that way. He sidled up to her. His eyes held hers, straight and sure. He treated her just like any other desperado he'd faced.
"Why?" Her eye contact never wavered, but she did offer a smile.
"There's a dance in about 2 weeks. Want to dance with someone who's pretty special to me, but I don't know how."
He returned the softened expression with a smile of his own.
"Ever try?" Oh, she liked that smile of his.
"Sure. When I was little."
She truly liked that smile. She looked him up and down again, circling around him. "Not so little now. Look, we'll just have to try this. When we schedule a lesson, you'll have to be here on time. You'll have to practice away from here, and be ready for every session."
"Practice?"
"Just like getting anything right. You have to practice. You don't keep up your end, I'll know, and I'll toss you right out of here. Don't have time for people to pester me. And I hate a quitter. You really want to learn?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"Look, you, who you calling ma'am? I'm not old enough to have changed your diapers, so I don't rate the title."
"No, ma'am."
"Forget it. I'll work on that as we go along. Let's get started. The first thing you've got to learn isn't dancing... you can fake a good deal of that. Men been faking that for years. What you've got to know is how to get her to let you dance with her. Women are known to be mighty choosy."
"I'll just ask her."
"Yeah, and if she's any kind of well-bred woman, she'll slap your face."
"She wouldn't..."
"You gonna bet on it."
"Not about this one, no."
"First smart thing you've said today. Now, the only thing you're gonna begin to learn today is manners, etiquette, polish. Lord knows how I'm gonna teach a cowboy like you to be a gentleman, but I'll try." She began the lesson.
"Lesson 1: You got a plan for what you'll wear? Men never think about the important things. We'll talk about it as we go. But whatever it is, you've got to be polished like that pistol you're toting. Come to think of it, take that thing off before you bruise my rump.
Next, you've got to get her attention. Lot of that depends on how you approach her. What would you do?"
"I'd walk up to her and say, Let's dance."
"And you think that would impress her? No, no, no! What you want to do is make her feel like you think she's the only woman in the place."
"How am I supposed to do that."
"By having style... poise... elegance. Watch. You come up to her. Never mind who's there, who can see. You've only got eyes for her. When you reach her, you bow."
"Bow??? I'm not Buck."
"Who's Buck, anyhow. He gonna run your life? Yes, you bow. It's not a threat to your manhood. Left hand behind your back, right hand across your waist, one step forward, bend at the waist. One bow, down, then up. Try it."
He tried. Lord, oh, Lord, Buck was going to give him hell.
"Not too shabby. We'll work on that. Next move. Ask to take her hand."
"Ask her?"
"Only questions I want out of you from now on are how... not if, not what, not how come. After you bow, keep your left hand behind your back. Take your right arm, hand extended, and swing it from the elbow toward the right."
He almost knocked her down.
"Slowly... slowly... you're not in a saloon brawl. Swing that arm slowly to the right, rotating your palm up at waist level. Smoothly, gently, fluid motion. Fluid, you green horn. Stop when you've got your arm near her hand. Then you bow again... just from the neck this time, and you say Whatever her name is, may I have this dance. If she says yes, you know you did it right. She says no... well, don't blame me. Next time you come, I want you to do that before every dance."
"Every time. Doesn't that get a might old."
"You poor cowboy... dumb as dirt. No, you don't ask before every dance, but you'd better get it right the minute it counts, so you'd better practice a lot. Makes a woman feel really special."
He held his tongue. If he berated her for calling him a cowboy, she could always send him packing.
"Lesson 1, Part 2: Do you even know how to stand up straight?"
"I am straight." He stood straighter.
"I said straight. Think of it as being hung by the neck, but without the snap at the end. Straight. Not like you haven't got enough room at the top."
He stood up straight. Then backed up a step when she reached out and grabbed his waist.
"Not going to bite you, hon. Just let me show you how to hold her."
"I know how to hold a woman!"
"Do you, really? Hold her or smother her?" She reached out to him again. "Now, from when you take her hand, it's all one motion. You draw her, slowly and elegantly, into your arms. Your right hand goes on her waist. On her waist, not her backside, or you want to get slapped in public... Lighten up you idiot. Lord, is it a lady or a tart you're courting. Your left hand moves up and takes her right. Gently. Don't crush her bones. Good, good. But let her have one of those smiles of yours, too."
The smile was wax; his arms and hands were like lead. If he moved he would fall down.
"Would you loosen up. Land sakes, how do you ever draw that pistol if you're as stiff as this. That's it; you think about firing a pistol... it's all one motion, right?"
He nodded.
"It's like this." She reversed the holds, placing her hand on his hip, sliding it lower and to the rear, stopping with a pinch. He jumped back. She laughed at him without mercy.
"Whoa, baby boy. It's not an invitation, just a demonstration." She took hold again. "Gentle there, big fella... you're worse that a green colt. You want to lead her... as you move forward, she moves backward... like this." She pressed on his hip, stepped into him, and easily turned him toward the center of the room. He blushed crimson.
"My goodness. I can see we've got a way to go. If you're that spooked by me touching you, what will this special her, being this close the whole night, do to you? After all, you're the leader in this, she's the partner. I think you've got enough guts to handle the situation, don't you? Now you try."
He placed his hand on her hip, took her hand, stepped toward her and stepped squarely on her foot.
"You've got a foot as big as a house. You take small steps. Dainty steps."
"Dainty?"
"I suspect she's smaller than you. You step out full stride you'll knock her down. No, you take small steps... sort of slide your feet, so you don't trample her."
"Damn."
"I heard that."
"Sorry."
"I'm through." She picked up his hat and gun belt, and flung them at him.
"Hey, wait. No disrespect intended. We're not through already are we?"
"For today, we're through. You go home and you practice. Next time, I expect you to ask me real proper like, take my hand, and start out on a real smooth dance. Come Friday, if you get the first part right, we'll go on from there. You mess up, that's all we'll practice the whole time."
"Yes, ma'am." He started toward the door.
"What's that?"
"Yes, Mrs. Rawlings?"
"Come again!" She swatted the seat of his pants.
"Whoa! Yes, uh... Ruth."
"Lesson's over."
Chapter 4
Lesson 2, Friday: Waltzes came first. The music came from two ranch hands... harmonica and guitar. He promptly bribed them both to keep their traps shut. She'd offered to bring in a small group... he would have none of it. He passed his first examination on the first try.
It was worse than having his knuckles wrapped by his old school teacher. "One, two, three... one, two, three. Get off my foot you oaf. One, two, three... one, two three. You hold her like that, somebody's gonna take a swing at you, or she's gonna faint."
He counted, "One, two, three... one, two, three... She isn't that delicate you know."
"Maybe not, but just think the word corset, and you'll get the picture." She deliberately reversed the hold he had, taking control. Without warning she put a bear hug on him that jerked him into her arms and knocked the wind out of him. "Got it?" When he nodded, she returned to the proper hold. They counted, "One, two, three... one, two, three... Chris Larabee, get your big feet off me."
Lesson 3, Saturday: Waltzes, then a square dance.
"Hard to teach you to dance in a group of eight when our group is only two. You'll just have to use your imagination, that is unless you can provide some people to help you with this."
"No!"
"Okay. Just don't blame me."
One of the hands did know how to call the dance, so at least he learned the moves. He was breathing hard when they'd finished the first round. She was a wild dancer in that one. When he'd finally dos-(-dosed just right, he fell over his own feet and landed them both in the floor. They both laughed so hard, Chris thought he'd never breathe again. She reached across and brushed the hair from his eyes, her fingers lingering a few extra seconds on his brow. He didn't pull away.
Fourth Lesson, Monday: Waltz, square dance, Virginia Reel. Fast or slow, he messed the new one up. It seemed his left and right feet always wanted to land in the same spot. He was frustrated and angry with himself. "Damn," came from his lips about the fifth time he'd made a fool of himself.
"I heard that. We're through."
"Ruth... Hey, come on. I'm sorry. Don't stop now."
"Told you I didn't like anyone pestering me. Cursing pesters me a lot."
He cocked his head at her, giving her his very best devil-may-care smile. "Please. I can get this if we keep going."
She liked to tease him. She liked that smile. "Okay, one more time. You mind your manners. Okay, start it from the top... ask me real nice."
"Oh, Ruth."
Lesson 5, next day: Called on account of Mary. She was getting suspicious. It took him three precious days to sneak away again.
Lesson 6, Friday: Waltz, square dance, Virginia reel, saraband. After he had demonstrated the other dances to her satisfaction, she left him standing in the middle of the floor. "Back in a bit. You practice." When she floated down the staircase, it was all he could do to keep his mind on dancing. She'd exchanged the house dress for a long black dress with a free swinging skirts She wore the skirt tucked into her waistband, showing all of one shapely limb. Around her neck and on her ears were elegant white pearls. Her velvety hair was piled high atop her head. The stately, more formal elegance of the dance, the brushing of their bodies so close together, gave her more than ample opportunity to display her gifts. She was coy and sultry. She swayed with the sounds, resting comfortably in his arms. It was a heady dance. When it was finished, the music fading to silence, he forgot himself and kissed her, warm and deep, right on her crimson lips.
He thought she'd kick him out. She just smiled. Just smiled, took him by the hand and led him to the nearby sofa. As he settled into the cushion, she eased into his lap, stroking his chest with a well manicured hand. Then she turned her face to him, nuzzled his neck, and kissed him deeply in return. He was ready for more. Then she threw him out.
Lesson 7, Sunday: They danced them all, with a bit of tango for good measure. He was really getting the hang of all this.
When the last dance was over, she looked into his eyes with a hint of regret. "We're through, you know." She kissed him softly on the lips.
"Not yet. The dance isn't for four days. I need more practice."
"You know all the right moves for sure. Just exactly what other things are we going to practice?" Her eyes sparkled devilishly into his. She reached up and brushed that stubborn lock of hair from his forehead, then pulled his hat to the top of his head, settling it on his hair. "By the way, I haven't been paid for these lessons, you know."
"Paid?"
"You owe me a six-month supply of stove wood, small pieces... and don't you skimp on the load." He nodded in agreement. "And you owe me one more thing."
"What's that?"
"You really are as green as a colt... come here, baby boy. She grabbed him around the waist with that infamous bear hug, knocking the wind out of him. She twirled him into the tango, dipped him backward in her arms and kissed him again, so deeply and so long he blushed crimson to the top of his ears and staggered when she finally let him go. She had held him there for several minutes, savoring his reaction, enjoying his surprise. When she set him on his feet again, she smiled her own devil-may-care grin, "Mr. Larabee, there's pay and then there's pay. Next time the lessons will cost extra. And the form of payment will not be wood." She pinched his rear end, "Don't pester me, you young stallion. Now, git before I forget myself entirely."
Chapter 5
The Judge's plan was working out just fine. The next day, however, Chris was up to his hat in all sorts of plans. There was plenty of work for all of the boys, and Mary now expected Chris to supervise every detail.
From his vantage point in the open space across from the hardware store and near the front of the church, Chris, with a disbelieving smile on his face, watched as Josiah attempted to organize a group of willing volunteers.
Josiah, the clergyman, gunfighter, missionary's son. A total contradiction in any terms you wanted to name. Tall as a tree. Gentle as a kitten. Strong as an ox. A smile as wide as a river. Sadness as deep as a well. He'd once told them he would have been a priest, but he'd had trouble turning the other cheek. None of them picked a fight with him unless they were both drunk.
His volunteer band had a limited assortment of musical instruments, and a range of talent, mostly a narrow range of talent. But they were all here, waiting for Josiah to bring them together. He encouraged his little group. A little pride might not hurt at all, "Don't you all think the town streets are starting to look mighty fine, store fronts are being cleaned, streets swept. You should feel most noble to be part of the festivities."
The seven protectors were all in town. They had been tied to town for the last full week. From time to time, each of the boys was interrupted from assigned tasks to go offer assistance to townspeople who simply could not seem to accomplish anything without their help.
Chris was proud of himself. After Orrin's plan had started off so well, and he saw how curious the others were getting about his absences the week before, he'd tipped Mrs. Potter that the rest of the boys would be disappointed if they weren't asked to help prepare for the party. He'd said they wouldn't feel like part of the town if they weren't included in everything. He'd also led her to believe it was important that the requests didn't come from him. After all, he was already ordering them around on Mary's plans. She assured him that each of them would be kept busy, and they'd never know he had talked to her about them. Now, if it would just keep going for another three days, he was set.
Josiah continued to address his orchestra, "Now, ladies and gentlemen, this is where your platform will be... assuming that our building/decoration committee gets it finished on time. We will meet at the church around two this afternoon for rehearsal. Please be on time and be prepared to play something in heavenly tune, the good Lord willing." He appreciated that they accepted his words as a little joke on his part. He prayed fervently that they each would be blessed with pitch and rhythm.
Ezra Standish, the local gambler and saloon keeper, as allergic today, as usual, to any form of toil or labor, observed Josiah's attempts at leadership from the safety of the sidewalk. He brushed lazily at the sleeve of his bright red coat. His one gold tooth sparkled, giving him what he perceived to be a debonair look. He wasn't tall... taller than J.D. maybe, but not by much. Born to a beautiful but grifting mother, he'd learned her trade from the cradle on. Chris hadn't liked him at first, the others didn't trust him even now. He had a talent though. He could hatch a scheme that would fool most any crook around. Sometimes they needed his skills very badly. Other times, they either stopped his shenanigans or laughed when everything fell through. He shouted to Josiah, "Just in tune would be a decided improvement." After the retort he got from the preacherman, Ezra decided it would be much more prudent, and healthful, if he headed toward the area where Buck, Vin, J.D., and Chris were working.
Buck, often called Buckley by Vin, though nobody knew, or nobody told, if it was his real name or if it was just one of Vin's attempts at humor. Of all the men, he was Chris's long-time friend. He was a real scoundrel and an expert in the art of carousing. Men locked up their daughters, and sometimes their wives, when he was stalking around, but that didn't bother Buck. There were plenty of wonderful ladies to be had, and he wanted to have them all. As tall as Chris, maybe a smidgen taller, not so tall as Josiah or Nathan, he had a way with women. That was putting it mildly. Working girls or prim young misses, he could sweet talk them, and he was proud of it, too.
J.D. Dunne. The one Chris called Kid, the one who'd grown up as part of their band. Small of stature, big of heart, a budding marksman who worshipped Chris and irritated Buck. Born to a charwoman, he'd taught himself to ride. At her death, he'd headed west. His bowler hat infuriated Buck, which made it all the more dear to J.D. His profession, besides being one of the protectors, was that of local sheriff.
And then, Vin Tanner. Buffalo hunter, bounty hunter, sharpshooter. A more trustworthy friend they would never find. His life had been tough, but that was no cause for him to be too. Dressed in his buckskins, he watched with steely eyes, taking the measure of a man, or woman. Once he'd determine someone was worthy, he was a friend for life. Next to Buck, or equal to him, he was Chris's unswerving friend.
Buck, J.D., and Vin. Today, they found themselves up on ladders, with hammers in hand. To their intense displeasure each was covered with colorful ribbons around their necks. Chris was covered in ribbons too, but at least he got to stand on the street below and not be on public display... And he got to give the orders, as usual. Occasionally, they all were the butt of jokes from the rowdies in town, and often passing women gathered to watch the scene and giggle at the men's efforts.
Buck was not pleased. He brandished his current weapon, a tack hammer, at the boss, "Just how could you ever think I would volunteer to spend my days hanging these sissy streamers in the middle of the street in broad daylight? This is not good for my reputation." His attitude took on a different tone as two young ladies walked by and smiled coyly at him. "Ladies." He gave his best, eyes-sparkling smile, but with his ineffectual grip on the ladder he found it hard to tip his hat.
Vin's pride was injured as well. "Yeah. I thought we got hired to protect the town, but not to put up pennants and sweep streets. I've been a sweep at the general store. Makes a feller want to head for the hills, and I think I just might do it right about now."
Ezra joined the chorus of disgruntled working men, while he sat in a rocking chair he had brought to the sidewalk. "Here, here. I feel much the same myself. You know how I loathe servile labor. However, if you trust me and we are deviously clever, we could clear a profit out of this event. I believe, I just may be the man to pull it off."
Vin knew better than to trust him. "Trust you? Not hardly. How you gonna make a profit? It's only three people having one meeting and a dinner. You never miss a turn, but there just ain't no turn here?"
"Just think, my friends. When we have the social, with town folks gathered with the guests, we could perhaps turn this simply boring party into more of a... say... a carnival. A few fliers, some door to door invitations. Introduce a few innocent games of chance for the children, a kissing booth, cake walk, perhaps a little prize wheel on the side... who knows, perhaps an especially nice side tent fill with nubile femme fatales for the gents."
Chris knew it was time to put a stop to the mutiny that was brewing. "Kissing booth? Side tent? Nubile what? And, boys, just exactly which one of you is going to tell Mary about this change in plans? It sure won't be me... I like my hair, but anybody that's involved in this when she finds out won't have much left."
Ezra's greed often outdistanced his common sense. "I might be persuaded to inform her, if we're all agreed on the details. Of course, as the manager of the event, I would take a little extra compensation for myself, but we all should still be able to add to our monthly income with the proceeds."
Vin's distrust was still evident, "Suppose the town's paying the costs, right, Ezra?"
"Leave me out of it." Chris knew it was time to call halt. He needed them in town, working to get the party ready. He didn't want them to have time to think about other things, and he didn't want any of them starting trouble with Mary. "Look! We've only got three more days. You all just quit thinking up other things to do to get out of it. And Ezra, I expect you to move more than your mouth... get to work... you're supposed to be helping Josiah with the musicians. You all leave me here doing this stuff single handed, and I'll set the women on you."
They knew, with those blue eyes and that wicked little grin of his, he could do it, too. Buck made one last feeble attempt at reprieve, "Lord, Almighty, Chris, we've all got a reputation to uphold... and it ain't based on this sissy stuff. What would you say if Top Hat Bob Spikes saw you about now?"
Even thoughts of Bob Spikes couldn't bother Chris. "Well... if he can see me from where he's at, that being hell, I bet he'd rather be a sissy here hanging streamers than a burning lump of coal where he's at. Come on, Buck. Why's everything got to be a fight. It's just something we can do for Mary and for Nathan. You know, I'd kinda like to just get along with Mary at least once in a while." He'd said it. There wasn't any taking it back, but he instantly hated himself for saying it.
Buck saw he wasn't getting out of the work, but he could easily get even with Chris. "Gents, is this the beginning of a new found interest I see blossoming in the eye of ours unredeemable trouble maker?"
Ezra didn't know when to quit. "Boys, what say we start a little wager about the odds a momentous occasion, say date and hour that one young comely widow in Four Corners puts a saddle on one certain ill-tempered, carousing, self-possessed cowboy?" Had he actually called him a cowboy?
They should all have recognized the dangerous ground Ezra trod. Chris fairly snarled at the gambler, and took on the scoundrel, too, "Ezra. Buck. Are you ready to quit discussing my business, or do I have to shut your mouths for you? Ezra... you start anything like a bet that includes my name, I'll start one myself on just how long you keep those teeth."
Ezra finally understood the peril, "Excuse me, gentlemen... I do believe Josiah is ready to discuss the musical selections for the party."
J.D. had watched it all. His thoughts were more absorbed by several young ladies who had come to watch the activities. "Say, Buck, just think... if we get recognized by some of the fine ladies as being willing participants in the festivities, we might just become more popular than we are now."
At his self-confident best, the scoundrel enjoyed the thought, "J.D., I don't think getting more popular could be possible for me."
"Well, it sure couldn't hurt my standing with Casey right now. As for you, among a certain class of ladies, who knows who you might cozy up to."
Thinking it over, and admitting there were some fine ladies he would like to meet, Buck hefted his hammer. "Chris... just exactly how many of these lovely dang sissy streamers is it that we wanted?"
Chapter 6
Vin, Buck, and Josiah surveyed their handiwork. The last three days had required nonstop exertion to finish the preparations. From the middle of the street near the church, everything looked extremely festive. They had everything done... everything except the lighting of the street lanterns they had hung.
Buck was pleased with himself. His contribution to the decorations had landed him a very special evening for himself. "Lookin' mighty fine, even if I do say so myself."
Vin thought Buck was feeling a little too merry, "Who you got on your arm tonight?"
"Why Miss Sarah Jane Wimpler. You?"
"I'll just cut in for a dance or two." Vin loved to dance with the ladies, and he surely planned to dance tonight. But he liked irritating Buck almost as much.
Josiah enjoyed the opportunity, too. "'Spect I will too. By the way, anybody seen J.D. or Chris?
Buck always knew where the younger man was. "J.D.'s gone to pick up Casey. Hope that little miss wears a real nice dress tonight. That boy could use a little encouragement. If she dresses up real pretty like, J.D.'s liable to..."
Vin broke in with his own thoughts, "Chris? Naw... none of us have seen Chris. Think he's gone off somewhere again? I can't believe he'd consider pulling one of his disappearing acts tonight. He's been worrying about something for weeks... and the last couple of days, he's just been taking off by himself at the strangest times. If he's not here tonight, we'd best all hide out cause she's gonna remember it for a real long spell."
"Says the Judge's been giving him extra work. Certainly he'll be here..." Buck suddenly wasn't so sure.
A big, knowing smile crept up Josiah's face, "Yeah, the Judge's had him moving along real fast... and always in the same direction... I wonder.."
"Wonder what? Why you grinning like that?"
"Oh... nothing."
Chapter 7
As the twilight deepened and the street lanterns were lit, the little town began to take on a true party atmosphere. Lights burned, music played and the people of Four Corners became involved in the gaiety of the gathering. The crowd was small but vigorous.
Nathan's invitation had made it possible for him to be dancing with that wonderful young woman he'd met in Ridge City. Mandy was there in a lovely bottle green dress. He danced with her under the pretty lights.
Josiah was the first to notice his friend walking into the crowd. The preacher's grin, now broader than ever, returned to his face. He nodded and smiled with pleasure that he had guessed the secret. Now, it just remained to see exactly what that man had been up to.
Billy Travis was there. At age 7, his attempts to dance with a little girl made the approaching man smile. Judge Travis was just taking Mary's hand as a waltz began.
Mary looked exquisite, wearing a beautiful dress made in a soft cream color, a color the man thought closely approximated the color of her bare shoulders, both in color and in texture. Her hair gleamed in the glow of the lights as she stepped up to the Judge, ready to begin. But the man interrupted the move.
"Excuse me, Judge." He took his position, and he bowed a stately bow. Mrs. Travis, may I have this dance?" The Judge almost laughed out loud to see what he had helped to create.
Mary looked up, astonished to see a transformed Chris Larabee standing before her. Where he was normally clean and neat, tonight the man was superbly polished. His ruffle-cuffed shirt was a brilliant white. He even wore a string tie. His new black vest and pants were perfectly tailored and spotless. He wore no hat, no duster, no spurs, and to her amazement, no gun. She was taken anew by his tall frame, he stood ramrod straight. His hair was groomed, except one lock fell stubbornly onto his forehead. He looked straight into Mary's eyes, with an impudent smile that dazzled her all the more since it was such a rare thing to see.
Mary was the first to break the silence that was only heard by the two. "Why, Mr. Larabee. I hadn't seen you anywhere tonight. I was so hoping you would come to the party... you've been such an important part of the preparations and all."
Alright! Now let's finish it. Chris thought to himself. To Mary he said, "Didn't want to miss out on something this special. I think we've done real well... thanks mostly to you." He resumed his stance, bowed from the neck, and extended his arm, waist high, palm up. "Now, may I have this dance?"
Mary's smile was shy and yet enticing, "Why, certainly."
Mary looked straight into his eyes, then gave him a dazzling smile and fit perfectly into the arms Chris Larabee opened to her. As they began their first dance, Chris smoothly eased them into the crowd on the dance floor. Mary was quite surprised at the man's finesse and elegance. As they danced, people around noticed the pair and smiled with amusement. Who would have thought? Josiah's roaring laugh of approval filled the air, as the rest of the gunmen stared with mouths wide open at the fine manners and dancing skills of their partner, and the prize that he had won for tonight. Josiah laughed again, "Better shut those mouths, boys. Seems there's a pesky old love bug flying around here tonight."
The party was all Chris had hoped it would be. Nathan was enamored of his lady. Casey and J. D. both spent more time blushing at each other than dancing. Mary was obviously pleased to be escorted by Chris; her bright smile and soft laughter told him so. He realized it was because of her that he was at his best. He walked and talked with her, stopping to talk with community folks, talked with a man named Bill Gunter. He helped Mary with her food, fetched her punch, and fended off, in good spirits, every attempt by his friends to steal her from his side.
Mary could tell. He was having a very good evening, and people of the town responded to the newly discovered warmth in his personality. He was opening doors he had slammed shut years before. Even Billy eventually noticed them and came to stand and watch.
He was happy. He couldn't remember when he had felt like this... most likely with Sarah. The thought only made him sad for a minute. But he wasn't used to the talk or to being this sociable. He walked with Mary to the edge of the crowd. "Mary, I think I'm going to get a little air."
"But you're in the fresh air, and you've only just gotten here..."
"A while ago... but it's been longer than you think. Mary, it's been a long time since I've had to make this much small talk... I just kinda need a little breather... I promise, I won't be gone long. Just a short walk down the street. Trust me, I'll be right back."
"All right. Chris?" she said. He turned to walk away, only to be stopped by her question, "Don't you think this is fun?" For a moment she had her doubts that he was really enjoying his time with her. Maybe he'd taken a notion to leave.
Instead, he smiled a dashing, yet teasing, smile at her, taking her hands in his. He answered her question seriously to reassure her. "Yes. Yes, I do. And I think it's been far too long since I've enjoyed anything, or anyone, quite this much. Did I tell you just how beautiful you look tonight?" The last was said only for her as he leaned close, tracing his fingertips along her delicate neck and shoulders, whispering the words in her ear.
She blushed, lowering her head as this strange man walked away from her. His breather began with the words of a song the musicians played... she smiled as she heard him and thought, So, Mr. Larabee. You can sing, can you? Maybe if nobody's listening. She saw him laugh a little to himself as he took a waltz step in the shadows. She laughed too as she watched him go, and she wondered what it would be like to have this Chris Larabee beside her all the time.
Chapter 8
He wasn't really a romantic. At least, he had never thought of himself as romantic. He was generally more reserved and drawn into himself. But tonight, he noticed everything. He saw the stars. Appreciated the sharp shadows caused by the less than half-sized moon. He remembered the music, the dances, and her perfume. When he had walked about half way down the quiet street, Chris became aware of smaller steps on the boardwalk, coming from behind him. Instinct told him to draw his gun, but he had no gun.
"Who's back there... show yourself!" He thought that was really a stupid thing to say if the person behind him was armed. But, then again, maybe sounding like he wasn't afraid would make the one following him think he carried a weapon.
The shadow moved a little into the light. Chris smiled to himself. It wasn't a man's shadow; it was too small. It was a boy, and the shape of the little hat the shadow wore told him this little one was most likely a boy he knew well. He thought, Good, no trouble tonight. He let himself relax.
"All right, come on out of there... you're too young to be here all by yourself."
The shadow gave a little laugh and ran into the man's strong arms. "But Chris... you said I'm a big boy now."
He scooped him up and ruffled his hair. "Okay, Billy, big boy or not, just what are you doing here? Your Mom's going to tan your britches if she finds out you've left that party. She might just tan mine, too, if she thinks I encouraged you."
"But I wanted to take a 'reather, just like you. You won't tell her, will you... will you, Chris?"
It was nice to be a co-conspirator with this one. But he sure didn't want to cross the mother, not now. So, it was a compromise, "I won't lie to her... but won't turn you in either. That is, not if you turn around and head right back there. But, if she's missed you already, you're on your own. Now git..."
Billy's legs carried him back the way he had come. It occurred to the man, as he watched, that those little legs weren't nearly as short as he remembered. He hoped Mary hadn't noticed that the boy was gone... it would be a shame to spoil the boy's fun, or for that matter, his own fun too. He turned, letting his feet move him toward the quiet end of town while his mind still lingered on the success of his plans.
As he passed the jail and moved on up the street toward the entrance to a side alley, nearing the end of his walk, Chris again became cautious. There was a shadowy movement at the far end of the alley. What's with tonight? You'd think people would want to stay at the dance. He laughed to himself, Yeah, and where are you? Maybe somebody else needs a 'reather, too. Might as well check it. None of the alleys in town were especially clean or uncluttered. In this one, Chris passed an old oak barrel with an odd collection of cans on top. A little further in, he walked into total darkness in front of the keg. He thought to himself, This will sure put a scare in them if it's a pair of love birds... or for that matter, Buck and one of his ladies.
Lead flicked into the dirt at his feet like a frog's tongue after a bug. He jumped backwards as bullets fell all around. The flicks were getting way too close.
One caught him. It burned into his upper right leg. He always calculated the damage. He'd had worse, lots worse. He stayed upright and moved. Bullets hit the ground in front and to the side of him. Before he could turn, another bullet found his left shoulder. The impact carried him backward, blood seeping through his shirt and down his arm. An experienced gunman, he knew instinctively to go to ground... to find cover... he backed away keeping as low as possible, hoping to make the safety of the barrel before another bullet struck him.
From behind him, as he sank behind the only protection he had, running footsteps echoed on the plank sidewalk. "Chris... Chris... I heard a gun!"
Chris rose from his refuge, afraid the boy would run past and go into danger. The bullets still echoed in the alley. In his haste to intercept the youngster, he staggered on his injured leg and knocked the barrel over and out of use. He slumped low against a wall. "Billy... get out of here... run."
Instead of running away, the boy ran straight for his guardian and friend, "But I'm scared. I want to stay with you."
The shots still rang, though for a few seconds he thought they stopped. No, not stopped, just not as close together as before. There was no cover. Instead, Chris sheltered the boy as best as he could with his own body. He pushed himself up on shaky legs, trying to keep the child safe behind him. He felt a third bullet enter his side... his mind calculated it... wasn't so lucky this time. He let out a strangled protest, spinning to avoid more. Almost immediately, the fourth found his back, pitching him toward the alley opening. As he fell, feeling consciousness slipping from him, the man grabbed the child, spun him back toward the street, and pushed him hard toward safety. "Billy... run... DO IT... I need... help... Go, Billy!"
Billy Travis was a young child, but he'd learned to be brave when he was even younger. He did as he was told and ran for help.
Chapter 9
The party atmosphere evaporated with the appearance of a terrified Billy Travis, who told of the death of his friend Chris. The six men and one particular woman who were the man's partners and friends were stunned.
It was Buck who pulled the boy into his arms and asked the question they all dreaded. "Son, how do you know he's dead?"
"Shot... Shot a lot."
"Who? Where's he at?"
"End of the street... that way... beyond the jail... I can show you."
"You stay here... might be somebody else with a gun out there."
As they approached, they could see him in the alley entrance. He had fallen on his face, his white shirt and new clothes covered in blood. Buck reached him first. Nathan arrived last, leading two other men to the place.
The healer pushed through the people who hovered over their friend, "Let us in... let us in... Let us take a look." Mary refused to leave his side, "Chris... can you hear me?" Nathan took control, "Get her out of here 'til we can see. Judge you go stand over there with her. We're gonna need a place for him right away... his room's too far..." Only one sound escaped the injured man. Everyone agreed that he said, "Run..."
Awake, he would have said they needed a plan. With him bleeding so badly, they planned fast.
Judge Travis offered the jail. Nathan answered, "Not enough light; too small for us to work." Mary, the newspaper office. "No, need a table, room to move around, place to put him later. Don't you go far, we'll need you when we get him settled." He was all business, making decisions as he worked to save the man. "Looks like two, maybe three. Can't see. Here, Josiah, hold this... tight. Vin, get Buck. We got to move."
Ezra provided the solution. He left at a run, shouting to them over his shoulder, "I'm going to clear out the saloon... bring him there... you can have the whole place for anything you need." J.D. started after him, "Hold up, I'll help you clear it..."
Nathan stopped J.D. by the arm, "You tell Ezra I said to clean off that big table in the back, one at the top of the short steps. Have Inez wash it down with whiskey, cover it with something. Get us every clean towel you can find."
"Got it." J.D. answered, on the run again. "It'll be done when you get there."
Buck was back. He and Vin began to move Chris, pulling him by his arms. Nathan's warning stopped the attempt, "No, no... not that way. Josiah, let Buck press on that. You get me one of these doors..."
Josiah switched positions with Buck, but didn't understand the instructions, "A door?"
"Pull down any of these doors... tear it off if you have to... we'll put him on it to move him. Buck, Vin, stop! Don't turn him... just keep him still and level as you can." As Josiah brought the door from a nearby business, Nathan pushed the men to finish their work quickly, "That's right, just slide him on there as easy as you can. Now, let's move... these doctors have got work to do."
Buck and Vin lifted their cargo. The fact that they were carrying Chris, who very likely would die tonight, began to sink in. Buck spoke first, "Who could have done this?"
Vin's anger surfaced, but he pushed it aside, "Now's not the time to wonder. But tomorrow, one way or another, you and me'll find out."
Chapter 10
The remainder of that night, the friends of Chris Larabee waited in Ezra's saloon. Nathan, Mary, and the two doctors were with Chris, who had been taken from the door and placed, still face down, on the upper level poker table. The judge provided stability for those who waited, but he also waited and worried exactly like the others around him. His most important task was to keep these men together and as calm as possible. His job was not getting easier. Chris had awakened, and with waking came awareness of intolerable pain. He cried out.
Buck didn't take it well, "How long's this gonna take?"
"Nobody knows, he's hurt bad. They're trying to find out what can be done for him." Orrin spoke low, with concern, and with pacification in his voice.
From the upper level, the voice of the other doctor, the one nobody seemed to know, gave crisp, precise instructions, "Hold him down... Hold that light steady and hold it closer... don't want to miss my aim."
Gunter was busy as well. "Look in my bag... I've got just a little chloroform... that might help him get through some of this. Without it, we can't keep him still enough... got to find the bullets, get them out and stop all this bleeding."
The unknown physician warned his colleague, "Not too much of that stuff, Bill... we'll have to know how he really is... and we don't want him trading one trouble for another... you know that stuff can cause big problems if..."
Gunter shook his head to silence the other man, "I know, Frank... but let's not torture him any more than we have to. What a mess."
Buck heard his friend's cries with his own frustration and rage building. He was beginning to think he would go mad, "I could use a drink..."
The bounty hunter's reaction was a more cold, calculating, and truly deadly anger, "Not the time... we're going to have to be ready when morning gets here."
For Orrin it was important that they remain in control. He didn't want to see these men turn themselves loose as vigilantes on a hunt for revenge. Such a hunt would destroy everything he and these men had tried to do for this town. Most of the time, he counted on Chris to handle such things; tonight it was his turn. "Now boys, it's bad... but you've got to stay calm until we can get to the bottom of this. He would expect that of you all."
Buck slammed his fist on the table top, sending glasses and cups skittering over the edge, "The one time he takes off that gun... how many time's I tell him he can't do that anymore... and all because of a dance? How stupid."
Josiah understood where Buck's anger would lead, "That man obviously didn't think it was stupid... and he obviously had a real good time. It was his choice. It's his life."
J.D. always asked questions that irritated the rest, but this one was on target, "What's got me wondering is who would have known he was going to be at that alley? At that spot in the alley, at that time?"
Buck hissed, looking for the conspiracy he felt had been targeted toward his friend. "Just somebody waiting for him to go home... waiting to gun him down... that alley's right on the way."
"But he hasn't been staying there for the last few weeks, least I haven't seen any light when I was making rounds. Buck, how'd they know he'd be there last night?"
"Just lucky I guess..."
Josiah tried to be the voice of caution and reason, "It's a mystery, that's for certain. Could be he was a target, but could be..."
Vin looked up from under his hat, "but could be what, Josiah?"
"Nothing... we'll just have to see"
They would have talked more about could be, but Nathan approached, wiping his hands, hands that were covered in Chris's blood, "Without a doubt, that's the luckiest man, and stubbornist, I ever met. Thought he was dead when we couldn't find him in Jericho. Thought he was gone after Ridge City... but he's been in there fighting everyone and everything, even with all that lead inside."
Vin came to his feet, "What do they think?"
"Docs say they just don't know yet. They got to the one in his back a few minutes ago... say it was the worst. Don't know how he stood it, but he made it through. Now, there's still the ones in his leg, shoulder, and side. Say he's lost an awful lot of blood."
They all needed more assurance from their friend than from any other doctor. Nathan had been right too many times before, "But what do you say?"
"He's alive. I'm not a doctor, but I got a feeling his luck's not run out just yet. They're gonna stop for just a little while. They've decided to give him a little chloroform along. It'll maybe keep him from hurting or fighting so hard. Help him get a little rest. If he can rest and get some strength back, we can finish him up before morning. It'll be hard on him, but he's a fighter. Y'all stay ready. When they start up again, we're gonna have to turn him."
Chapter 11
Early morning, just at sunrise, they were all in the very same place. Fatigue and anxiety plagued them all. Worst of all, Chris was where he had been, except he lay on his back. As in the beginning hours of the ordeal, the moans and outcries from the upper level punctuated the air, but they were getting weaker. Suddenly, the protestations stopped. Chris lay very quiet and very still.
Buck heard the quiet. Was he..?
Nathan approached the table where his friends waited. Seeing their faces, he hastened to explain the situation, "He's alright, he's alive."
"How can you say he's alright... sounds like he's dying up there?"
"No. I wouldn't say that now. They just gave him the last of the chloroform a while back, and it's taken hold, that's all. Side's done... just one serious one to go... his shoulder. Bullet in his side didn't nick anything vital... truth be told, under the circumstances, it actually came out pretty clean; not easy, but clean. Gunter didn't have to dig around too awful much. He's finally got that bleeding stopped. Chloroform's gone. Even with that small amount, he's had way too much of the stuff, but he could sure use some more before long. Going through the next round's gonna set him off all over, and he's mighty, mighty tired."
Orrin Travis was exhausted himself, "When will we know anything for sure?"
"Well, docs say the last two didn't do as much damage as they thought. Side's holding good; one in the shoulder will be a tricky one to get out... appears to be lying against the bone. Hoping it didn't shatter anything. Still, they think he should be okay. He's through with the worst ones. Leg's mostly just a big scratch is all, can feel it not too deep underneath. It'll only take a little stitching, not much digging... might take a little work to get it back in shape... but all in all, he's a lucky, lucky man."
Travis knew Nathan had avoided anything about where the real trouble would lay, "What about the one he took in his back."
The healer's hesitation told them that this injury was the one the healer feared, "Well, at least it's out. They say that one could be a real problem. Don't know if anything's damaged real bad or maybe even got hurt while they dug the bullet out. It's just wait and see..."
J.D. was too tired to understand, "Wait and see what?"
"Wait and see if it kills him," Buck hissed at the kid.
"Calm down. That's the very worst that could happen. From what I know, could maybe go one of three ways... if he wakes up with a lot of bad feeling, or maybe a burning sensation, he'll most likely heal okay. If he's got one or the other, he's most likely got a long road ahead, but he'll probably come out close to okay. But if he hasn't got either, he may not be able to come back at all. Loss of blood, if blood poisoning sets in, it can all kill him. Worse thing would be for him to live and not be able to walk or take care of himself. Like I say, wait and see."
"In other words," Buck said, "he's got a living hell to go through no matter which road he takes."
Travis knew they needed sleep and they needed answers, these men who had waited so long. He knew, too, that there would be no sleep for a good time to come. "Well, gentlemen. We can't do Chris any good sitting here, and it's not doing any of you any good sitting here discussing what might be... Josiah, J.D., let Mrs. Gunter and the other doctor's wife know how things are, then you get Mary and take her out of here for awhile. She won't stay home, so don't try to make her. While you're acting as nursemaids, see if you can get something into that grandson of mine, and do try to get Mary to eat a bite too. That goes for all of you. Try to eat and get away from here for a little while. Nathan, you need any help with Chris?
Nathan shook his head, looking toward where the man lay, "No, sir. Exhaustion and loss of blood have him out more than the chloroform. It's best to keep him that way, just let him rest. One thing, though, I would appreciate it if someone would fix up rooms upstairs for the doctors. Give 'em a chance to rest a little before they start in again."
Ezra, the vigilant host all through the night, appeared calmer than most, but only because he had kept himself very busy. "I'll see to it, and Nathan you'll need a room, too. I'll fix up my room for you and the one in the corner for Mary... I suggest you two make plans to put them to use."
"Ezra's right... don't you forget yourself... you've been at this a mighty long time. Inez will fix something for you to eat. I order you to eat it, then at least go someplace else for a while." Travis was used to giving orders. He attempted to put a sound of optimism into his voice as he clasped Nathan on the shoulder, "Chris is going to need you sooner than anyone expects... trust me." He saw the men respond to his instruction, then turned his attention to the two others beginning to leave the table. "Buck, Vin... wait."
"Judge, don't think you're going to send me on some dang do-nothing errand..." Buck would not be placated that easily. He needed something useful to do.
"Not at all. Mr. Wilmington, Mr. Tanner... gentlemen, it's time we found out who's responsible for this."
Chapter 12
The Judge and the two defenders entered the alley where Chris had been shot. As the Judge stood near the opening, the other two began to canvas the area. Billy Travis arrived last, drawn by the activity, coming quickly to stand by his grandfather.
Travis moved into the child's path, ready to stop the boy from entering the alley while the search was in progress, "Billy, what are you doing here? Does your Mom know you're out alone?"
The boy was more overwhelmed by the previous night's events than curious, "She's back at the saloon. Grandpa? Is Chris going to die? When that man shot my father, he died."
"Well, Billy... truth be told, we're not absolutely sure about Mr. Larabee right now, but he's..."
"But, Grandpa, Chris is tough. When he got shot at our old house, he was okay."
"Well, yes he was... and yes, he is a strong man. But this is different, son... I have to tell you it's a good deal more serious. We'll just have to wait and see for a spell. Still, somehow I do believe he's going to be all right."
"Promise?"
"No, Billy... I can't promise... but why don't we both go say a little prayer for him while these men work." The Judge took the boy's hand in his own. As they walked together, Orrin asked his grandson, "Do you remember anything about what happened last night?"
Billy shook his head, tears threatening as he remembered, "It was dark... Chris yelled at me, Grandpa, and he pushed me... made me leave... He fell... thought he was dead just like my father."
The grandfather knelt to comfort his grandson, "Mustn't worry about that. He just made you leave so you wouldn't get hurt, and he also knew he could trust you to go get help. He cares about you a great deal, you know, and he knows how brave you are. Don't worry, you did the right thing." He gave the child a small embrace, then set him square on his feet again. "That's enough for now, Billy. We'll talk more about it later. You just let me know if you remember anything... okay?"
Together, the boy and his grandfather walked slowly toward Josiah's church.
In the alley left to the searchers, Vin and Buck pursued their goal. Looking toward the back of the alley, they noticed Nathan appear from the trail above and begin to mill around.
After a few minutes, Vin stood still, scratching his head, "Buck, there's just no telling what went on here."
Buck noticed the other at the end of the alley, "Don't appear there's much to go on. Vin, what's Nathan doing here? Judge said Chris might need him soon."
"Buck, you think he can rest now? No more than the rest of us... not hardly. And who knows when Chris is going to need any of us, if ever."
"This is just plain spooky. It's like a ghost shot him... seems everything that could lead us to a man doing this is just not here."
"Nathan, you got anything?" Vin called to his friend. "Buck, there's nothing back there except a couple of sets of footprints, but they're so small, it'd have to be a woman."
Nathan added his findings to the discussion, "Looks like prints from one horse on the path in back, missing a shoe. I found bullet casings in a pretty small area. Chris is real lucky... there's a lot more than four."
Vin suspected an ambush, "Might have been a youngster looking for his first kill. Chris's name'd start a pretty big reputation. Don't seem to be any great talent with his shooter though. Chris's probably just a notch to him. Least ways, seems like somebody brought enough to do it right?"
"When I catch em, they're dead... you hear me?" None of them doubted Buck would keep his word... especially if Chris were to...
"Don't let the judge hear that. He'll stop us cold. You've got to stay calm or we're never going to be allowed to work this thing through."
Josiah, with J.D. and Ezra along side him, entered the alley to join the investigation, "Gentlemen... any useful information?"
"Naw, Josiah, nothing too useful," Vin began to fill them in. "Some footprints around here, but they bother me. Small footprints... too small for most men... but I can't think of a woman who'd want to shoot Chris."
"Well, Vin," Buck smiled in spite of the situation, "I can. There's maybe a vixen or two might want to shoot him... or do something else with him. He didn't get his reputation for being a carouser without earning it."
"Awe, Buck," Vin couldn't resist a smile himself,"...but that's not the case here."
"Bullets aren't the most important thing here. See, I've been looking and wondering," Josiah walked over to the barrel.
"Wondering what?" Vin followed him, trying to see what made the preacher start to wonder.
Josiah rubbed his brow, as he was prone to do when he was deep in thought. "Look here, there's a big group of guns in these parts that shoot .44s. Can't narrow things down dwelling on the gun. What you've got is a dark alley. You notice these cans around here. Then there's this barrel."
Nathan shouted from the rear of the alley, "Josiah, you've come up with what I was trying to get at... look here. Let's try something."
"Try what?"
"See if this tells us anything. Buck, you stand where Chris got hit the first time... there's some of his blood there. Vin, you put that barrel back where it was, see that ring just a little to your right, and then you stand just behind it. Now Josiah, you come here and stand about half way between me and Buck. Don't it seem like if I raise my gun hand it's all in a pretty straight line."
Josiah no longer had to think, "Yeah... you're right..that's the same idea I was having."
"But Chris was standing here... they knew he was here," Buck didn't see where this was leading at all. "Does it matter one damn bit if the shots were in a straight line?"
Nathan's observations were beginning to make sense, at least to Nathan and Josiah, "Maybe, maybe not. It was real dark last night... just a part moon, lots of shadows. If Chris was where you are when the shooting started, the shooter might not have seen him. And the target was really the cans, not Chris at all."
Josiah nodded his head, placing his hand on Buck's shoulder, "See, Chris walked between the shooter and the cans. That got him hit the first time. Then Chris started moving trying to get away. One who was shooting didn't notice probably... maybe didn't even see any motion from Chris. It was real dark by then."
Vin walked it through, "Could account for the bullets hitting him from different angles. And that could explain something else... the small footprints. I've got a bad feeling that this was all a bad mistake."
Buck exploded. "That don't make any kind of sense. A mistake? Four shots hit him... one in the back. Takes a mighty cold man to shoot somebody like that, especially when the man's already going down. How could something that cold be a mistake?"
Josiah gripped the shoulder firmly. "Buck, all you're looking for now is somebody to blame. You can't refuse to consider that this could have been a mistake... and it wasn't a woman."
"Just what exactly makes you think that?"
"He's right, Buck, think about it," Nathan added his observations, "Josiah's right... we're looking for a boy."
"A boy? A little boy?" Buck didn't believe a word they were saying.
"A boy, yes. A little boy? I wouldn't think so," Josiah believed the evidence was fairly clear, at least for now.
"Well, that should be one young man who's easy to find. Let's go get him." Buck began walking toward the livery and his horse. From Buck's gait, Vin knew they needed to check the man's temper for a spell before something happened they'd all regret.
"Buck, hold up, pard... Not now! You're tired... I'm tired... we don't need to go off like this. If it's a boy, you can't just walk up and shoot him. People just might object to that type of judgement. Let's get us a little rest, a little something to eat, check on Chris, and then ride out. It'll take a little while, maybe can't leave until the morning."
Buck began to pace the alley, "I don't think I can wait that long..."
Josiah again gripped his friend's shoulder, bringing his pacing to a halt, "Now, brother... have a little patience... take time for a little meditation... and you'll have a chance to see this thing for what it most likely was."
"A mistake?" Buck stopped his pacing and shook his head.
Josiah took his pistol from it's holster, checked all chambers, and coldly looked straight into Buck's eyes, "I do believe, Brother Buck, that this is so. But I am of a certain we will find the truth. If it wasn't a mistake, then hell will certainly be the only destination for whoever did this, and he'll have to deal with all of us before he starts his journey."
Chapter 13
At least the man had made it until now. It was late afternoon, and Chris had been unconscious for most of a day, weighted down by the lingering effects of the chloroform. While the others checked the alley and plotted their actions, the best thing for Chris Larabee was oblivion. He wasn't being kept under now by much more than total exhaustion and weakness from loss of blood. The chloroform had been wearing off since hours before; and there was no more.
Laudanum would come next. The doctors had argued about it. Neither the chloroform nor the Laudanum was going to be easy for him, and he would have to endure what the bullets as well as the medicines brought on later.
With the chloroform coming out of his system, Chris was restless. The closer he was to waking, the more he needed quiet. Ezra had cleared the tavern of every person who might think of moving a chair, pouring anything into a glass, or shuffling a deck of cards. For only a brief instant, the other more parsimonious side of Ezra showed through... this was ruining his business. Ezra looked at his injured friend, then simply shook his head at his own mercenary tendencies. He threw yet another noise-making blackguard out the front door.
Beside the table where the fallen leader lay, the doctor nobody seemed to recognize hovered, changing bandages, checking stitches, watching for any sign of problems that might come. He seemed more satisfied when Chris finally began to stir. As the pain finally defeated the exhaustion, he awakened with first a groan, then a feeble attempt to move. Suddenly his savaged nerves jolted him into reality. He cried out as the pain reached every injured part of his body. He jerked, his body reacting to the damage. The pain and movement, compounded by the overabundance of chloroform he'd taken, produced an instant wave of nausea.
The tall doctor by Chris's side was stronger than his gray hair would indicate. He pushed obstinately on the injured man's chest, quickly but temporarily forcing him to give up his struggle. "Easy now... lie still... don't move around too much, you'll break all these stitches open. Was wondering when you'd decide to rejoin the living. You're gonna have a good bit of heaving for a while... don't worry about it... got a lot to do with what we've done to you and made you take. We'll take care of the mess."
He didn't understand the words. He understood very well that he was hurt. His long-honed reflexes screamed for him to move... for what, away from what, he didn't really remember. But he had to move, and now. Those reflexes had saved him countless times before. He tried to obey them, but this time, the pain won. As he questioned the one above him, the patient's voice was barely a whisper. "Where?" He found he couldn't really see. "What happened?" His mind wasn't ready to work this out, not yet. As he breathed heavily from the exertion and continued suffering, he struggled to see clearly the face of the one standing above him. "Who're you?"
"Look, Larabee. You're on a table in the middle of a saloon, on what this man named Ezra says is his best poker table... You've been shot, more than once. And you're a far sight more trouble to me than you ever were at Jericho... if that's possible."
The tall fellow knew him... at least knew his name, but from where? Chris opened his eyes, trying to focus. The attempt made him retch again. When he finally was able to stop and to focus, his first thought was Jericho and a name formed on his lips. "Simmons? Doc? Why the saloon?? Never wanted to see your ugly face again."
Simmons, the physician responsible for probably the worst hour of Chris's life, at least until now, had treated Chris at a prison in Jericho. The doctor and the gunmen were both locked up on false charges. Both men's reputations had followed them there. Simmons was made the prison doctor. In a three-to-one fight, Chris was knifed in the side by other inmates. The resulting trip to the infirmary had been the two men's introduction. Simmons had sewn the required stitches with Chris wide awake, chained to a cot, and no pain killer in reach. Chris remembered very well the man's less than gentle ministrations. The knifing wasn't the only time he fell under the man's care. But he had to give the physician credit. Chris hadn't expected to leave the place alive.
So, Simmons was here to minister to him again, "Larabee... thought I had convinced you to lead a less sensational and argumentative life. Just who'd you tangle with this time? Seems you don't take anybody's advice real well, but then, what would I expect."
"What happened? Who shot me?" Determined, he tried to rise. "Where's Billy? How long have I been here? Help me up!"
Simmons reached across the small table standing near his side, picking up a bottle of whiskey. He didn't have time for this, and neither did Larabee... "One, we don't know it all yet. Two, don't rightly know who. Think I heard the one named Buck and some of your other associates are out looking things over. Can't be sure it's even got anything to do with you, but it does appear that's about the only thing they've been working on yesterday and today. Three... just who the hell is this Billy. Four, you've been here a couple of days. Five, you ain't getting up for a spell, so be still or I'll have to make you. You remember how that's done? Just look at this... you've gone and let 'em mess up my handiwork." The handiwork was a ragged scar on Chris's left side. Simmons poked the white line firmly, then with no warning, quickly reached over the required inch and pressed hard on the new incision, satisfied to see that the stitches would hold. Chris sharply cried out, then clamped his mouth shut, struggling to escape the pain. "Larabee, you went and let 'em put that new hole where I so neatly patched up the last one."
Chris remembered well what followed next at Jericho, and the still too-strong memory made him set his teeth and attempt to lurch away from the man as the whiskey bottle came open. Simmons took a small swig for himself. The doctor offered Chris not a drop. Instead, unceremoniously, he poured a large volume of the liquid fire into Chris's raw wound.
Chris's clamped teeth weren't enough. His body shook as the torture flowed over him, leaving him gasping for breath. "And your bedside manner hasn't improved one damn bit!!!" Chris managed to get it said in a fierce snarl before he was sick again.
The physician had little sympathy. What he had to do, he had to do. "Son, you ain't seen nothing yet... you've got a real stretch of bad times coming... enough to maybe teach you to avoid things like this in the future, but I doubt it. Seems to me I remember you're not a real patient man, but you best learn to be. You're luckier than most... I think you'll live. So stop your belly aching and, for God's sake, man, be still."
Recalcitrant as ever and trying to escape more misery, Chris struggled to rise. "Where's Billy?"
This was getting them nowhere. "Okay, Larabee." With one hand again pressing down on Chris's chest, he reached across the table again and swept up a large blue-labeled bottle and a bowl-shaped spoon. "I've told you polite... now I'm telling you straight. Here, take this..." Chris's nose was pinched until he had to breathe. He gagged as the physician poured a brimming spoon of something incredibly foul tasting into his mouth and made him swallow. "You just lie there, be still, sleep if you can, but best of all just plain shut up and stay real quiet. I'll ask around about this Billy... but don't you try to get off that table. You get upset just once or move around too much, and there's gonna be a lot more cutting and stitching. I'm not going to like doing' it, but you've just had the last of anything I'm gonna give you for pain, so I guarantee that you won't like it one little bit neither. Jericho was a nice church social compared to this." Just as he had in Jericho, the man poured more whiskey into Chris's ravaged side.
Chapter 14
Early the next morning, the posse, consisting of Buck, Vin, and Josiah, rode out. J.D.'s questioning of people in town had led them to suspect the assassin, as Buck insisted on calling him, was one of three local boys... or maybe they worked together. The investigation didn't take long. By mid-afternoon, the three men strode into Judge Travis's office, leading one very scared young man and two very belligerent parents.
Buck had charge of the prisoner. If he could have kicked him up the sidewalk, or beat him into the dirt, he would have done it and felt just fine for doing it. But Judge Travis didn't tolerate any such stuff in his jurisdiction, and Buck didn't like the idea of going to jail. "Judge, this here's Charley Langley. His horse's hoof print lead us right to his farm. Got a nick on his right front where he's been riding that poor beast without a shoe. He admitted he did it, and I say he's got to pay for what he did."
The boy's terror grow with each move or remark Buck made. Even Vin would have feared Buck at that moment. All his partner wanted to do was glare at the young man and finger the .44 on his hip. Vin's feelings weren't that much different, but Buck might be rash enough to act. "Hold on, now. He's not full growed yet. Let's see what they all have to say before we hang him here and now."
Josiah had to be the pacifier. "Watch out my friends... we want to make sure we're looking for a balanced justice, not revenge, and that we leave it to the hand of God to seek retribution."
Travis eased a little, ready to hear the truth, "That is certainly true, Mr. Sanchez. Now, young man, uh... Charley, sit down over there. Mr. Wilmington tells me you've confessed that you're the one who shot Mr. Larabee. I want you to take your time, and you tell me exactly what happened." Charley tried to get enough juice in his mouth to talk, but failed as he nervously glanced at the other men. Travis sought to reassure the boy and himself, "Don't be afraid of them, they're just friends of Mr. Larabee, so they're a little disturbed that he's been hurt, but they're not accustomed to beating up young men, especially in front of a judge."
Rupert Langley, the boy's father, made an attempt to show his familial authority. "That boy's been trying to be a bother for a couple of months now. It's not the first time he's run off and got into mischief. You let me take him home, and I'll see he won't do anything like this ever again."
Mildred Langley wasn't having any threats against her son. "Now, you just hold on, Rupert... he's a good boy. Those problems he's had are just a little spreading of his wings... no worse than when you were a boy. He sees these men parading around with these guns, and what a boy sees he's gonna do."
For the judge, she was placing the blame on the wrong people. "I'm not sure that's true, Mrs. Langley. Most folks around here manage to raise their children where the trouble they choose to get into isn't shooting a man in the back in the middle of the night. It's interesting to me that neither you nor your husband has asked how Mr. Larabee is doing."
Suddenly all concerned, Mildred offered, "Why, certainly we want to know... Rupert you should have asked right off how that gunman is..."
Travis cut her off. "No matter. Young man... you tell me exactly... and I mean exactly... what happened in that alley night before last."
Charley was scared of the men, embarrassed by and for his parents, and ready to get this done. "Well, sir, I was just wanting to get in some practice. You see Pa leaves his Colt under the seat of the buckboard lots of times. Every once in a while, I get it out and have a little fun with it... shoot bottles, birds maybe, things like that. Put the bullets back, and he never notices. Well, everybody was at the dance the other night, so I thought I'd get in some good target practice. I'd seen that barrel earlier, and I had some cans... so I set up a stack of 'em on top of the barrel. Hell... 'excuse me, sir... wasn't supposed to be nobody around that part of town. When I set up the target, I rode Bandit back to the path above the alley, dropped down onto the dirt below, and just whipped off a few shots at the cans. Honest... I didn't see him... I didn't see him!... One minute I thought I saw the cans real clear, then there was a shadow, then they was clear again. Wasn't until I heard him cry out at the front end of the alley that I knew he was there, much less been hit. Didn't know how bad he was. Didn't stop to check. All I thought to do was take off before Pa found out it was me. I ran.
Travis was tired of them all, "And we can all be glad Mr. Larabee has lived in spite of your efforts to help him... and that my grandson wasn't a minute earlier coming back to find him."
Charley's mouth opened, "Grandson? Was somebody else there? I swear, Judge, I didn't see anybody else."
"Mr. Larabee pushed my grandson to safety while you were shooting him in the back." Travis fairly glared into the boy's eyes. "You've confessed to a crime called assault with a deadly weapon, and I intend to pass sentence now. Young man," the Judge stopped, thought, took a very deep breath, and began again. "No, I am simply too furious with you right now. I'm sending you home with your parents, but I expect you to be back here in town in two days to face whatever punishment I deem your actions should require."
Chapter 15
Chris was awake and for now relatively quiet. That was more than he could say for the earlier parts he remembered of the day. He hoped, if he lay very still, he could avoid anything these men might plan to do this time. He hurt without mercy. When he hurt, he moved. When he moved or in any way acknowledged the pain, they dosed him with something incredibly vile. He'd sleep a little from time to time, but when the noisome stuff hit his stomach, he was sick all over again. Every time he was sick, he lost what little energy he had. He was confused, and they refused to leave him alone. Throughout it all, fever and chills alternated in their effort to make any rest an indefinite prospect. He wished everything would just quit going in circles.
Nathan was relieved to find him awake, even though being awake meant he had to endure all this. He understood why the man wasn't resting well. The heavy doses of Laudanum were taking their toll. The more they gave him, the more it took to ease his pain. Still, Nathan's only recourse for now was to force Chris to drink more of the tonic. Again, drinking it caused Chris to gag, but for the first time he successfully fought the queasiness.
Nathan felt his forehead, then checked the bandages. "Good. Not leaking so much. Feels like less fever, too. Seems you've maybe turned around and started heading home. Now, Chris... I hate to say it. but you're gonna pretty much have to do without this stuff after this."
Chris didn't mind the news, "That's what Simmons says. What is that awful stuff anyway? You can keep it for all I care. Why do I feel so sick at my stomach?"
"Well, we couldn't keep you still, so we put you out with chloroform to get the bullets. Had to use too much trying to keep you under that long. Didn't want you feeling so much of the pain. Should completely wear off in a few days. Now, we've been making you sleep with something called Laudanum. Lets you sleep, eases the pain some, but not too good, and sure does mess up everything else. Problem is, Chris, it's made out of a big dose of opium dissolved in a bottle of whiskey. Suspect it's mostly the two of them together that have been making your stomach so touchy. Remember Anderson? Well, Laudanum's the same stuff he was on. It can get you where you can't ever get away from it, where you got no sense. Or, it can kill you. Gonna be getting off it at the same time as you're getting off the other. But, Chris, doing without both of them is gonna mean you've got to make it through a lot more pain and with nothing to help."
Chris considered the lack of options, but decided that he'd rather not throw up anymore. "All right... I'll try to be still... and I'll try not to ask for any. But Nathan, a while ago, even with all that stuff, my legs and back hurt bad, and they burned worse. I've been shot, knifed, beat up before, but nothing ever hurt like this. Am I in trouble?"
"Well, thank the good Lord!" Nathan was joyous. "Now that's good news, Chris!! That's sure not trouble. You'll have a lot more of it, I hope."
"Should I say thanks? I don't think so."
"It's a good sign, Chris. Be glad."
Chris didn't understand, "How can hurting and burning like that be a good sign? Feels like hell to me."
"That's what I meant... have to go through a lot more pain. But that burning, it shows there's nothing really messed up in your back or legs. Shows you'll be able to walk before too long. You just work on being patient."
"Able to walk?" Those words held his attention. "Was there a doubt?"
"Doctors and I thought you'd be lucky to get through the surgery at all. None of us would have given any odds on what you'd be able to do for yourself ever again."
"Damn. That close? Thanks Nathan."
"Mighty close, Chris, mighty close. No thanks needed, hear... you just rest."
Chapter 16
That night and the next morning passed much the same. Gunter and Nathan tended to Chris with great care, but he stayed woozy and disoriented. The continuing pain, added to the withdrawal from both chloroform and Laudanum kept him nervous and ill-at-ease. The Laudanum's presence had eased somewhat the loss of the chloroform. But as he arrived at the time the Laudanum also began to wear off, there was no escaping the misery. He struggled to stay quiet, but found himself tossing on the bed, becoming angry and inflexible about practically everything. He knew somehow that he was being unreasonable, but that didn't matter... he hurt, and he needed desperately for it to stop.
Chris didn't realize how tired the rest were. They cared for his needs, no matter how much work they had to do. They'd started taking turns, three on duty every day, rotating hours as they felt best. At Chris's latest protest, made in the dead of the night, about being on public display and being kept on the poker table, they'd put up a curtain to block the non-existent patrons' view of the surgery, and Josiah promised to help Ezra bring him a bed by the next afternoon.
Not long after the promised bed had been installed, and Chris had been transferred to it, the curtain in front of the platform railing slid open, and that same young, light-haired boy stuck his head inside. Billy spotted his target and ran across the short distance. Giggling, he raced around the bed to Chris's better side, then enthusiastically bounced up to land beside him. Chris managed not to yell, but barely. He didn't want to be sick again, especially in front of the boy. He closed his eyes and concentrated on controlling the nausea and pain.
He welcomed Mary's arrival; all the more because she quickly moved to contain the boy's enthusiasm. "You must NOT jump on Mr. Larabee's bed... he's very badly hurt. I only let you come today since I heard he was awake and asking about you, and you were giving me such a problem about seeing him. Now, when we leave here in a few minutes, we're going home and you're having a good lunch and a long nap. Do you hear?"
Billy ignored it. "Chris, I've been telling them all I wanted to see you... but they wouldn't tell me when I could."
Chris struggled to keep a calm expression while the pain the boy had started passed through. "It's okay... I think I might be awake a little more from now on. If you've been trouble for your mom because of me, we'll talk about it later. Are you both all right?"
Billy had indeed recovered from the fright. He was eager to talk with his friend. "Sure. I'm just fine. Mom is too. I was sure scared, Chris... I thought you must have met the devil again..."
"I think he must have gotten real close to me this time, Billy; but, somewhere there's someone who seems to think I deserve a lot of second chances. Seriously, why did you come running back to that alley when I told you to go?"
"I had to come. I was scared... and the last time I was that scared, you kept me with you so I wouldn't get hurt."
"As I remember, kid, I sent you off on my horse that time. You didn't mind very well then either."
The boy thought that was funny, "Yeah, Mom says I'm a lot like you that way."
It was a very small smile, but nevertheless, the first real one in days. "Does she now?" Chris glanced above the boy's head to Mary's reddening face as Billy thoughtfully nodded his head. Chris tried again, "Billy, I have to admit I was mighty glad to see you when you came back that time. If you hadn't, I wouldn't have made it. But the alley was different!"
"How different? I wanted to be with you."
"But I sent you off because I didn't want you to get hurt... don't you understand you're that special to me, and especially important to your mom and grandpa?"
"Chris, I know. But you'd have come back for me... wouldn't you?"
"If there was any way on earth, I would have. But you're just a little boy..."
Billy's eyes flashed in defiance, "You said I was a big boy... and a big boy would protect somebody... somebody he cared for. You've done it for Mom, for Grandpa, and I knew you'd do it for me... 'cause you already did."
As he lay there becoming progressively more tired, he reached to ruffle the boys hair. "Yes, I did say you're a big boy. I guess you've become a bigger man than I'd quite realized." The answer of a young man required the recognition of an older one. Chris's reply was earnest, "I'm glad you were there, Billy. You've seen lots of trouble for a boy your size, but you've saved my life twice. Thanks."
Mary watched the exchange with her tender woman's heart. To them both she said, "Enough, you two, or I'm going to cry." She turned to her son, "Billy: food, bath, nap... in that order, beginning now." She pulled her son toward the edge of the bed, then turned to speak directly to Chris. "As for you, you're as bad as this child here. I can see how tired you are. Just do as your told, eat a little if they let you, and take a nap. We'll think about a bath later."
"Awe, Mom. If Chris doesn't have to take a bath, why do I?"
He was still all boy, and again that made Chris smile. "I wouldn't tempt fate anymore, not if I was you. Remember you're Mom's gonna need a little rest herself. You do what she asks of you, and you can come back tomorrow, okay?"
Reassured, Billy jumped off the bed and headed toward the curtain opening. For Chris, the boy's lively movements caused a new wave of pain. Not wanting to scold the boy, or cause Mary to do it, he spoke quietly and softly to her. "Do you think you can maybe get me something, anything, to make this stop for awhile? I promised I wouldn't ask, but... It's getting pretty rough." If he asked, she knew it must be truly bad.
"Nathan's said no. You're probably hurting some from that medicine wearing off and from Billy bouncing you around, too. I'll check, I promise. If there's nothing you can take, would it help if I read to you?"
"Hell, just sneak me in a gallon of Red Eye whiskey, if that's what's handy. Anything to make this stop." His words came much sharper and more argumentative than he liked. She didn't deserve that, "I'm sorry... Listen, some of Poe's stuff might do it. And bring some of my smokes, too."
She hadn't been offended at all, but she was glad he remembered that he could hurt her feeling. If he cared what he said to her, he must be getting better. "Mr. Larabee," her eyes twinkled as she mock-chided him, "I don't think a man in your condition should be drinking, smoking, or reading... especially Mr. Poe... and don't you read any of those to Billy!"
She wasn't serious, he decided that when he caught her smile. He was so tired, he could find no extra energy to answer her joke. That would have to come later. She recognized the silence as the fatigue he felt. Gathering her wrap and her son, she reached out, gave his hand a small, tender pat, and turned to go.
"You gonna come back?" He wasn't out yet.
"Of course. What was it you told me, trust me, I'll be right back. Well, right now, you go to sleep. I don't know what will work to help you feel better, but I'll see what I can do."