The same afternoon
"What kind of a man buries someone alive?" JD asked softly, breaking the silence the four men had ridden in for most of the day.
"The worst kind," Buck replied, his tone cold.
"I can't believe Vin's ever done anything that would. . ." JD trailed off, not sure what it was he wanted to say.
"Sometimes a man doesn't have to do evil to have evil visited on him, son," Josiah said, his deep voice soft.
"What do you think Chris is gonna do to these men when we catch 'em?" JD asked the others.
"I believe we're better off not knowing the answer to that particular question," Ezra offered.
"Prob'ly right," Buck replied, the touch of a feral grin on his lips. "But God help 'em if Chris and Nathan find Vin dead . . . God help us all," he added quietly.
"It's gettin' on to sunset," Josiah cut in, not wanting the conversation to take that turn for fear it might become true. "We should think about finding a camp for the night."
"I do not believe that will be necessary, Mr. Sanchez," Ezra said, pulling his gelding up and gesturing toward a small stand of trees. Between the trunks they could just catch glimpses of a fire, and two men moving around the camp. "I do believe Lady Luck is with us," he said. "And we have found our quarry."
The four peacekeepers rode off the trail and sat on their horses, watching the pair for while. When it was clear that they hadn't heard their approach, Buck said, "All right, boys, let's split up an' come up on 'em from two sides."
"Why not four sides?" JD asked him.
Buck thought for a moment, then shrugged and grinned. "Hell, why not make it four."
JD grinned back. "I'll take the side where the horses are. Peso likes me better than he does the rest of you."
"Fine," Buck agreed. "I'll take the far side. Ezra, you and Josiah go east and west."
The two men nodded.
"We'll wait 'til JD's get to the horses, then take 'em." He looked at the younger man, asking, "Ya remember that call I taught ya?"
JD nodded.
"All right then," Buck said, "move careful, an' watch your backs, boys."
They each faded into the gathering shadows as the sun slipped behind the line of broken hills.
* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *
JD walked slowly toward the three horses, whispering softly. The animals flicked their ears forward, watching him intently as he drew closer.
Peso nickered softly and tossed his head, recognizing him.
"Shh, easy, boy," JD said quietly.
About ten feet away from the geldings, he stopped and squatted down, pulling up a handful of green grass, then continued on, waving the grass at the horses.
The three animals waited until he reached them, and then Peso stretched out his neck, nibbling on the tender shoots while the other two watched. JD patted the black's neck and scratched between his ears. "We're here to take ya home, boy," he told the horse softly. "You just have to be quiet for a little while, all right?"
Peso rubbed his head against JD's shoulder.
"That's a boy," the young man said, grinning at the big black. "Okay, I've got to go now. You just stay here and be good."
Then, with careful movements, he found a spot where he could fire into the camp and still have sufficient cover to protect himself, if it came to that. When he was ready he used the soft call Buck had taught him, one that mimicked an owl.
Vin had told him that many of the tribes in these parts saw the owl as a harbinger of death and, in this case, he decided they might just be right. A moment later he heard the ladies' man.
"Easy boys, you're surrounded," Buck called into the camp. He stepped out from the shadows just far enough for the men to see him, and the gun he was holding on them.
"He is correct, gentlemen," Ezra said, appearing and then disappearing from sight.
"Better listen," JD called, but he stayed behind the tree trunk, leaning against it.
"Amen, to that," Josiah rumbled from the shadows. "Hell's full enough as it is."
The two brothers glanced nervously around. They had drawn their guns as soon as Buck had spoken, but the realization that they were, indeed, surrounded, and outgunned, left them frozen with indecision.
"Who are ya?" Lyman snarled angrily.
"Friends of the man ya tried to kill," Buck replied, his tone matching the hard edge of his expression and the anger in his eyes.
"Ya talkin' 'bout Tanner?"
"I am," Buck said.
Lyman snorted and spat a stream of tobacco juice into his campfire. "Didn't try, friend; done it."
"You, sir, are the one mistaken," Ezra replied, his stomach cramping at the nonchalant tone of the man's voice.
"Buried 'im myself," Lyman growled. "He's dead. Got five hundred dollar waitin' fer me back in Texas fer doin' it, too."
"The grave was empty," Buck told them. "Some other friends of ours went after him."
"Tanner's alive?" Tom gasped, looking to his brother, who shook his head sharply.
"Ain't possible," the older of the two siblings insisted.
"It was a blessed miracle, that's true. Brother Vin dug himself right out of his own grave," Josiah told them. "Don't think he's going to be real happy to see you boys, do you?"
"Toss your guns over here," Buck said. "And don't try nothin' funny. What ya done to Vin, we ought to shoot you where you stand."
"Don't see how it's any skin off yer back. Man's wanted for murder in Texas."
"In case ya hadn't noticed," Buck growled, "this ain't Texas. Now, do what I told ya."
Lyman glowered and thought for a long moment before he cursed softly and tossed his gun away. Tom did the same immediately afterward.
"If Tanner's a friend of yers, why didn't y' jist shoot us?" Lyman asked when Buck and the others emerged out of the shadows.
Wilmington smiled, the cold hatred in his blue eyes adding impact to his words. "Ever heard of a man named Larabee? Chris Larabee?"
Lyman nodded. "Gunslinger. Got himself a purty good reputation."
"That he does," Buck agreed. "He's also a good friend of Vin's. And he's got his own plans for you boys. We figured it'd be more fun ta see what he's got in mind for ya than to kill ya ourselves."
Tom went pale and swallowed hard. Lyman just chuckled softly and shook his head. "We done what we had t' do. Guess you boys'll do the same."
"Guess we will at that," Buck agreed. He looked to the others, saying, "JD, bring the horses in. Josiah, you and me'll tie these two up."
"And what shall I do?" Ezra asked the ladies' man.
"See what they're havin' for supper," Buck told him. "Don't know 'bout you, but I'm hungry."
* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *
Middle of the night
Vin moaned softly as he lay, shivering under the blankets from both Chris's and Nathan's bedrolls. The healer had built up the fires as much as he dared, and still the tracker trembled, his teeth sometimes chattering in the quiet stillness of predawn. The scattered fires were more than enough to keep him and Chris warm, but they hadn't seemed to do much for Vin.
Desperate to warm the tracker so his already abused muscles would stop seizing up with chills, Chris stretched out alongside the younger man and carefully inched near him, offering him the only help he could in the from of his own body heat. He was too afraid to actually reach out and pull the tracker close enough to touch, sure any pressure on the dark, purpling bruises would only be additional agony for the man. He spoke softly, muttering encouragement without really realizing what, exactly, he was saying.
A few moments later, Vin shifted closer to the offered warmth, nestling into it with a soft sigh and Chris allowed himself a small, grateful smile.
That's it, he silently told the tracker, I'm not going to hurt you, Vin . . . Not any more than I already have . . . Bastards . . . When Buck and the others bring 'em back, I swear they'll pay for this. He sighed softly, wondering what he himself should have to pay for his part in Tanner's suffering. I should've gone looking for you the day before those drovers rode in . . . Christ, Vin, I'm sorry . . . not that it makes a damned bit of difference . . . Christ.
Several long minutes later, the tracker finally began to relax and, slowly, the chills subsided and his half-grunted pants faded at last into long, deep breaths.
"I think he's just sleepin' now," Nathan said softly from where he sat close by, keeping the fires burning strong.
Chris started to pull away from the tracker, but the healer's hand on his shoulder stopped him.
"No, Chris, you stay right there. I want Vin ta stay calm and sleep. Want him ta stay warm, too. This arrangement seems ta be workin' just fine."
Chris nodded, strangely content to remain right where he was. He closed his eyes and listened to the soft sound of the tracker's breath, letting it slowly lull him to sleep as well. Live . . . you have to live, Vin . . . Please . . . Just keep fighting a little while longer. . . .
* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *
Chris woke with the dawn, immediately aware of two things, the need to relieve himself and the stillness of the man lying next to him. The first was forgotten as the implications of the second asserted themselves in his still sleep-numbed mind.
"Nathan!" Chris cried, scrambling up and back so he could look down at Vin.
The quiet desperation in Larabee's voice jolted the healer awake and he quickly maneuvered to the tracker's side. Reaching out, he pressed his fingertips to Vin's throat, feeling a steady, albeit weaker bet than he'd hoped to find. He glanced up, meeting Chris's worried gaze and said, "He's just sleepin'."
Larabee dipped his head and scrubbed a hand over his face. "He's so . . . still."
Nathan nodded, taking the opportunity to check the injured man's wounds. "Man been hurt this bad, sometimes his sleep can be deep. We'll let him sleep some longer, then I want ya to try and get some more tea into him."
Chris nodded. "I'll get started on that litter," he said, his voice sounding raw in his ears.
Nathan nodded. "Made some coffee. Get yo'self a cup."
Larabee nodded, stumbling off to take care of his own needs, and then find some wood he could use to rig up the litter. It took him a while, but he finally found what he needed, and carried them back to the camp, sitting down on the ground and, after pouring a cup of the coffee, set to work on the travois. He watched Nathan as he did, the healer working over Vin, cleaning a few of the infected wounds again and then checking the man's feet. He saw Jackson frown.
"What is it?" he asked.
"Infection. It's getting' worse. His fever's building. I ain't got enough supplies here fo' him."
Chris sighed softly. "Buck and the others will probably show up this afternoon."
Nathan nodded. "Hope so," was all he said, and it sent a chill snaking down Larabee's back. He looked away from Tanner, determined to get the travois finished as quickly as he could, cursing himself the entire time.
* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *
That same afternoon
Vin's fever climbed slowly. Nathan made a lean-to in order to protect the tracker from the worst of the sun, and he and Larabee had dressed the tracker in spare clothes from their bedrolls – Larabee's pants and Nathan's shirt – which also helped protect him from the sun, but the healer glanced out at Four Corners and said, "We waited long 'nough, Chris. We got ta head fo' town now. Don't think he'll make it though another night like the last one."
Larabee nodded, standing and breaking their camp, then walking over to get the horses ready. Once their gear was loaded and the litter was hitched up between the two geldings, neither of which were too happy about the situation, he walked back to where Nathan was wiping Vin's face with a damp cloth.
"Damn near out 'a water, too," the healer said with a tired sigh.
"Horses are ready."
Nathan nodded and stood. Together they lifted Vin, carrying him to the travois and settling him on it. Chris waited with him while the healer went back for a blanket, covering the injured man with it and then tying him down on the litter with leather straps from his saddlebags.
"You mount first," Chris instructed, waiting for Nathan before gathering his own reins and swinging into his saddle.
The headed for home, keeping the horses to a walk. Between them the travois jerked a little and Vin moaned.
"He gonna be able to take this?" Chris called out.
Nathan looked back over his shoulder, studying the injured man for a moment. "Ain't sure. If it gets too bad, I'll dose him with laudanum and let him ride with one of us."
"Just say the word," Chris replied, wishing the others had gotten back. Buck's big gray could easily carry two people the rest of the way home.
* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *
Chris's gun was in his hand before he realized who had ridden up on them.
"Whoa, easy there, pard," Buck said, flashing the gunman a grin, but it faded the moment he saw Vin. "How's he doin'?"
"Not good," Larabee replied, his gaze locked on the two strangers, their hands lashed to their saddlehorns and being led by Josiah and JD. "These the bastards?"
Buck nodded.
Larabee lifted his Colt, aiming at Tom, who flinched and turned his head away.
"Chris," Buck said, reining his gray in closer, putting himself between Larabee and the two men, "this ain't the way. Least, not here, not now. Let's get Vin home, then we'll worry 'bout what t' do with these two."
Chris fought the desire to just shoot the two men and be done with it, but reason finally won out. He slammed the Colt back into his holster and looked away from the men, snarling, "We stop here. Ezra, you and Buck take Vin next. Make damned sure he don't get bumped around too much."
* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *
That evening
They reached Four Corners just after dark. Josiah carried Vin, cradled in his arms, up to the clinic, Nathan following behind them, looking worried. Buck and JD took Tom and Lyman to the jail. And Ezra followed Chris to the saloon where the gunslinger ordered a glass of whiskey, gulped it down, and immediately ordered another.
Inez glanced over Larabee shoulder to Ezra, who gave her a signal from behind the gunslinger's back that she understood. She smiled at Chris, saying, "Go sit down, Seņor, I will bring you your drink, and some supper."
"Ain't hungry," he said, then added, "but I appreciate the offer, Inez."
She nodded. "Go. Sit. I will bring it."
Chris headed for his usual table in the corner and she turned back, pouring a shot glass half full with whiskey, then adding water to fill it the rest of the way. She stirred it and took it over to him.
"Might as well bring me the bottle," he told her as soon as he tossed the second shot back.
She nodded, saying, "Si, Seņor," before she turned and walked back to the bar. She took down a bottle and poured half the contents into an empty bottle, filling Larabee's with water. She shook it and handed it to Ezra when he said, "Allow me to take that to Mr. Larabee, my dear."
"Is Vin all right?" she asked him, glancing at the worn-out looking gunman.
"I'm afraid our Mr. Tanner is not doing well. Mr. Jackson is doing all he can for him, however, and Nathan does seem to be able to perform miracles. I just pray this will be another one."
Taking the watered down whiskey, the gambler delivered it to Larabee's table, setting it in front of the man before joining an ongoing poker game, sitting so he could keep an eye on the blond while he played.
* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *
In the clinic, Nathan and Josiah laid Vin on a narrow bed and carefully undressed him so Nathan could check his wounds. He cleaned some, adding slaves and powders to others.
While not truly awake, the tracker still tried to fight the treatment, and Josiah captured the younger man's hands in his own, holding them and praying softly. He could feel the tracker's fever burning through his skin.
Almost an hour later, Vin still lay naked on the narrow bed, weakly tossing as that same fever continued to ravage his already brutalized body. Josiah continued to speak softly to the injured tracker while he bathed his chest, neck and face with a damp cloth, trying to keep him cool.
"Wish Chris was here," Nathan said softly as he cleaned Tanner's feet again, trying to get the upper hand on the infection. "Vin quieted right down when he was with him out there."
"I have a hunch Brother Larabee's fighting his own demons right about now," Josiah replied, taking in the extent of the younger man's injuries yet again and wishing they had just killed the two men responsible when they had found them.
The door to the clinic opened and Buck came in, walking over to the bedside. He looked down at Vin and paled, glancing quickly away. "Lord God but he's catawamptiously chawed up," he said thickly, turning greenish-gray.
Nathan stood and sighed heavily. He shook his head. "It just ain't lookin' good fo' him," he said softly. "Infections still hangin' on strong, fever's climbin' . . . and he ain't really woke up since we found him. Can't get water or medicine into him like this."
"You send Chris out?" Buck asked, glancing around the clinic.
Nathan shook his head, saying, "Figured he was helpin' you and JD with the two who done this."
"Damn," the ladies' man sighed, jaw muscle popping. "I'll send him over in a little while . . . might have ta sober him up first," he said, then turned and headed out.
* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *
Buck found Chris right where he expected to – in the saloon. Seated at his corner table, Larabee was just tipping out the last shot from a bottle of whiskey.
Buck glowered at the gunman and started over, only to be intercepted by Ezra, who steered him to the bar, greeting loudly, "Ah, Mr. Wilmington, I see you've taken care of those two miscreants. . ." When they reached the bar he added in a much softer voice, "I had Inez water down the bottle, but Mr. Larabee has still made amazing progress in the short time since we have returned."
Buck glanced over at Chris, who was staring off into the shadows, lost in his own recriminations. The ladies' man was familiar with the expression and it sent a chill snaking down his back to curl up heavily in his guts. If they lost Vin he was sure they would lose Chris as well.
"I'll take care of it," he said softly.
"If you require any assistance, you need only ask, my friend."
Buck looked back at the gambler, a little surprised by the offer, and grinned. "Thanks, Ez, but I'm hoping he'll listen ta reason."
"Well, they say there's a first time for everything," Ezra muttered under his breath and Wilmington started over to Chris's table.
* ~ *~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *
Vin thrashed, crying out in what Josiah thought must be Kiowa or Comanche. It sounded like he was talking to someone, but whatever they were arguing about, Vin seemed to be on the losing end.
He wrung out another cloth and laid it over the tracker's chest, Nathan doing the same with others across Tanner's legs.
"Easy, son, easy," Josiah said softly, reaching up to push the tangled, sweat sodden hair off the tracker's forehead and face. "Fever feels like it's come down some," he commented to Nathan.
The healer nodded. "Wounds are drainin' a little less too, last time I checked. Nothing more we can do fo' him now, 'cept wait and keep him cool."
"Then that's what we'll do, brother."
"Wish there was more . . . maybe when Chris gets here. . ."
Josiah nodded. "I can try and see if he'll take some more water."
Nathan shook his head. "Spilled mo' than he drank. Don't want ta waste the medicine. I'll get Chris to try when he gets here."
"You're assuming he will."
Nathan paused, his hand in the basin of water. "You don't think he'll come?"
Josiah thought a moment, then said, "Oh, he'll come. Just not sure how much help he's going to be."
Nathan nodded, understanding.
* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *
Vin felt like he was running through an endless night, unable to stop and unsure where he was, or where he was supposed to be going. Pain was his constant companion, dogging his heels every step of the way, clawing through his body with red-hot talons that shredded his body and his soul.
In the far distance he could hear voices, sometimes one, sometimes more than one, but he couldn't make out who was speaking, or what was being said.
The voices were oddly comforting, and they gave him hope, but something seemed to be missing.
He continued on, running through the darkness, fighting the agony that gripped him, struggling to reach the voices, but never getting any closer.
Damn it!
He stumbled to a stop, his hands braced just above his knees as he bent over, gasping for breath. Sweat rolled off his body.
Where the hell was he?
He looked around, squinting, trying to find some feature in the blackness, but there was nothing.
How had he gotten there? Wherever the hell there was? He couldn't remember. He forced himself on, trying to outrun the agony that threatened to overwhelm him.
The voices continued. But now a new voice seemed familiar somehow, and he felt like he should know who it was.
He slowed, trying to listen, but the agony flared again and he picked up his pace, pushing on doggedly.
But the voice sounded so familiar . . . sounded like the promise of relief, of hope, if he could only reach it . . . but it was so far away . . . impossibly far away.
From time to time, Little Deer appeared next to him, reaching out, trying to help him when he stumbled, but he refused to let her. He had to keep running. He had to escape this place. There was something he was supposed to do. And, if he reached for her, he knew he'd die.
He couldn't die. Not yet. Not until he did whatever it was he had to do . . . whenever he got out of this place . . . wherever it was . . . God, he was tired, and he hurt. He wanted to stop. He wanted to take her hand and be done with it, but he couldn't. He just couldn't.
And then he remembered why: Larabee.
He had to get back to Four Corners. He had to get back to Chris and the others.
But where was it? Where was he? Had it gotten dark again? Was he still walking across the desert?
He glanced around, but he still couldn't make out any shapes in the landscape, and there were no stars in the endless sky above him.
He stumbled to a halt. Where the hell was he?
The voice sounded louder now . . . and it was calling to him.
Chris?
He turned, trying to decide which direction Larabee's voice was coming from, but he couldn't tell. Still, it was getting louder.
Chris?
He concentrated on his friend's voice and started running again, running toward the voice.
Keep, talkin', Chris. I'll find ya. I swear I will. I won't let y' down again. I give y' m' word, Cowboy. Just keep talkin'. . . .
* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *
Stalking over to Larabee's table, Buck stopped his hands on his hips. "What the hell do y' think you're doing, stud?"
Chris looked up at the ladies' man, his eyes full of pain and remorse. "He's dyin', Buck," he choked.
"Last I saw, he was still fightin' . . . unlike you. He was still tryin' to live . . . Can you say the same, Chris?"
That got the blond's attention and Larabee looked up at the ladies' man, green eyes narrowing.
"No. Don't tell me. Let me tell you," Buck continued, heedless of the danger flashing in those green eyes. "Chris-Almighty-Larabee isn't fightin'. Oh, hell no! Chris-Almighty-Larabee is sittin' in the saloon, drinkin' himself blind while his best friend's over in the clinic, fightin' for his life! Alone!"
"That's enough, Buck," Larabee hissed, his shoulders drawing up.
"I don't think it is enough, Chris," Wilmington said, pulling out a chair and sitting down across the table from his long-time friend. Blue gaze locked on green, neither man willing to look away first, which suited Buck just fine. He wanted Larabee's complete attention, and he had it. "You listen to me, Chris, and you listen good. I watched you damn near kill yourself after Sarah and Adam died, and I'm not about to sit here and watch it happen all over again. And I sure as hell ain't goin' to let you do it when Vin's still alive.
"What the hell are you doin'? You should be over there in that clinic, talkin' to him, keepin' him fightin' when he's too damned tired to fight any more. You should be there, damn you, helping Nathan and Josiah take care of that boy. But no, oh hell no, here you are, drinkin' your misery from a glass when your soul's already drunk with it. It ain't right, Chris, and by God you know it ain't right."
Larabee opened his mouth to speak, but Buck cut him off, adding, "What Vin did out there with that wagon train was wrong. You know it and I know it, but we've all made mistakes. You made one when you didn't go lookin' for him when you should've. We all make mistakes, Chris, but damn it, he was tryin' to make up for his. You know he was. He was tryin' to get back to us, to you, so you'd know–" His voice caught and he stopped, tears standing in his eyes, jaw muscles twitching.
"Ain't your funeral, Buck," the gunman slurred. "Leave off."
"Like hell I will," the ladies' man managed, his voice breaking. "He deserves better from you, Chris, and by God you're goin' to that clinic if I have to carry you there myself."
"You can try," the blond hissed, his eyes narrowing dangerously.
"What're ya goin' ta do, Chris? Shoot me?"
"Might."
"Then go ahead," Buck snapped, standing, the force of if turning his chair over behind him. He stepped around the table, reached out and grabbed Larabee's arms, jerking the gunslinger to his feet. A moment later Chris's gun was pressed hard against his ribs.
"Get your hands off me," Larabee growled lowly.
"Just because you were too damned stubborn to go looking for Vin while he still had a chance don't mean he ought to die alone, ya bastard. Why do ya think he was comin' back here?" Buck demanded, knowing he was pushing Chris as hard as he'd ever dared – harder. But he knew he had to do it. He wasn't going to lose two friends tonight. "It was for you, ya damned ass," he said, just loud enough for Larabee to hear him. "He killed himself tryin' to get back so you wouldn't think he'd run out on us again. Least you can do is tell him you know that before he's gone, damn it. He deserves that much from the man who once called him his friend."
Chris went pale and staggered back like he'd been slapped. His eyes rounded with terror. "He's dying?" he gulped.
"He's bad, Chris, real bad. . ." Buck took a step closer to Larabee. "Nate ain't sure he's goin' ta pull though this one."
"Oh fuck," Chris gasped, lurching for the bat-wing doors, roughly shoving aside a patron who was just coming in. Buck followed closely on his heels, muttering a brief apology to the cowboy.
Ezra, ordered a round for the man, on the house, and hurried to the doors, watching his friends out on the boardwalk.
Outside, Chris grabbed one of the four by four that held up the overhang, his stomach turning over violently. He had killed his friend. He had killed Vin.
He heaved into the street, again and again, until his stomach was empty and it was just dry heaves assaulting him.
Ezra stepped out onto the boardwalk, but Buck looked back and shook his head. He gestured at the saloon, and the gambler nodded his understanding. He would see to it they were given their privacy, or at least as much as he could manage.
Buck turned back to his friend, waiting until Chris was through, then he took the blond by the arm and led him slowly down to the clinic. They stopped in the livery, Buck giving Chris some water to wash his face and rinse his mouth out with. And with that done, he guided him up the stairs and to the door.
"I'll do it with you," Buck said softly, his hand on Larabee's shoulder.
Chris glanced at his long-time friend and offered the man a small, sad smile as he shook his head. "In case I haven't ever said it, you're a damned fine friend."
Buck blushed and dipped his head. "Come on," he said softly, "let's get this over with before we're both bawlin' like a couple 'a old widows." Gonna be doin' that soon enough, he thought, remembering the look in the healer's eyes.
* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *
Nathan looked up from the cup of hot water he was stirring herds into, his brow furrowing with worry. "Chris?" But the blond didn't hear him, he was staring across the room at the towel-draped man. The healer looked to Buck, asking, "What happened to him."
"Met up with a bottle . . . and the truth," he said sadly.
Larabee stepped away from Buck's grasp and shuffled to the bed, dropping into the empty chair he found there. He looked across at Josiah, who was praying softly as he bathed Vin's face with a damp cloth. "What can I do?" he rasped.
Josiah stopped praying and looked up, meeting Larabee's eyes and smiling tiredly. "Still tryin' to keep his fever down, why don't you change those towels on his chest."
Chris nodded, his trembling hands making the work hard, but not impossible.
Buck stepped up to next to Nathan, asking softly, "He doin' any better?"
The healer sighed heavily, telling him, "Fever's down some, infection's doin' some better, too, but if he don't wake up soon, don't think he'll be wakin' up at all."
"He'll wake up," Chris snapped, looking down at the swollen, miss-colored flesh on the tracker's face. "You hear me, Tanner? You're goin' to wake up, damn you. You aren't goin' to die on me. I'm not going to let you . . . I don't need that damned five hundred dollar bounty yet. Fight, you stubborn bastard, fight, damn it."
* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *
Late that night/the following morning
The six regulators worked throughout the night, JD and Ezra joining the others a few minutes after Buck and Chris got there. They kept the tracker as cool as they could while his fever raged. They held him up, dribbling small amounts of water into his mouth in the hopes that he might swallow some. They cleaned his draining wounds and redressed them. And they talked to him.
By late morning, against all expectations, Vin's fever had finally broken and Nathan sent the rest of them off to get some rest. Larabee, however, refused to be budged.
"Fine," the healer said, "you stay with him then. I'm goin' ta get me somethin' ta eat, then sleep fo' a couple hours. You come fo' me if he needs me, y'hear?"
Chris nodded.
Nathan rested his hand on the gunslinger's shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze. "He's doing better, Chris. He's got a chance now."
Larabee nodded, knowing it wasn't much of a chance if Vin didn't wake up soon. When Nathan was gone, he pulled his chair closer to the bed and reached out, taking the tracker's hand in his own and saying, "Vin, I'm hoping you can hear me . . . there's something that needs sayin'. . ."
He paused, running a hand over his hair and taking a deep breath, unsure if he could say the words he wanted to say. But he had to, just in case.
"Hell, Tanner, you know I'm not good with words . . . but I want you to know . . . I know you didn't run out on us . . . you were here, before those damned drovers rode in; I'm sure of it . . . and as for what happened on that wagon train . . . well, a man'll act like a damned fool when he's in love . . . and I guess you loved her. I still ain't sayin' it was right, but I understand love . . . and what it can lead a man to do." He reached out and pressed his palm to Vin's cheek, finding it cool at last. "Come on, Vin. You have to wake up and take some broth and medicine so you can fight this . . . you can't let those bastards beat you . . . I– . . . I can't– . . . Ah, hell, Vin, I can't lose you, too," he said softly, his voice catching and choking him. "I just can't do it, pard . . . not like this . . . please. . ."
* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *
Vin continued running though the darkness, but he was reaching the end of his endurance.
The voice grew steadily louder and louder, but he still couldn't make out what Larabee was saying to him, but he was certain it was Chris who was calling him home. If only he could find it before his strength was finally gone.
Catching sight of Little Deer, he glanced over at her, saying in Comanche, "I have t' go back, Sister. I have t' set things right with Chris an' the others. They're m' family, an' I let 'em down. I have t' make that right. But t' do it, I got t' leave y' . . . but you'll live in m' heart forever. I swear it, Sister. Help me, please. Help me find m' way home."
She gazed at him for a long moment, and then she smiled and nodded, her love for him clear in her eyes.
With a graceful wave of her hand she showed him a path through the darkness.
He gave her one last smile and forced himself to press on just a little farther. He prayed he had the strength to make it. And then he heard Chris's voice.
Come on, Vin. You have to wake up and get some broth and medicine into you so you can fight this. . .
"'M tryin', Cowboy." And, in the distance he saw the first glow of some kind of light penetrating the darkness that held him prisoner.
I– . . . I can't– . . . Ah, hell, Vin, I can't lose you, too . . . I just can't do it, pard . . . not like this . . . please. . . .
The man's voice was close, so close. Vin stopped, trying to figure out how to reach it, how to reach Chris. He had to reach Chris. He would not disappoint the man again . . . never again.
And then, suddenly, it felt as if he were floating in a huge tub of cool water, rising up from the bottom of some black lake. He flailed, trying to find the surface, but he wasn't sure where it was. He surrendered to the voice calling him home, trusting it to guide him the rest of the way.
And he rose farther and farther, the light growing brighter until he broke through the surface of consciousness and felt the first powerful wave of pain crash over him, stripping his breath away and leaving him caught in a storm of sensations that all seemed determined to subdue him and kill him on the spot. But, as he adjusted slowly to the aches and pains that assailed him, he heard Chris begin to speak again.
He rolled his head to the side and commanded his heavy eyelids to open. They obeyed, albeit slowly.
"I don't know if you can ever forgive me for leavin' you out there . . . but I swear to you, Vin, I–"
"C'ris. . ." he breathed airily, the bowed head of the gunslinger swimming into view as his eyes opened wider.
Larabee's head jerked up and he stared into the half-opened blue eyes of the tracker. "Vin?" He laughed shakily. "You awake?"
"I know. . ." he breathed, his voice so weak he was surprised when Larabee heard him.
"Know? Know what?" he asked, leaning closer, worry and happiness mixing on his face.
"I know . . . why I . . . done it."
"Vin, don't try to talk," Chris said, unsure if he'd even heard the man's words right. Knew why he'd done what? He reached over for the tin cup filled with water and medicinal powder he was supposed to get into the injured man as soon as Tanner woke. "Here, can you drink some of this?"
"C'ris. . ."
"Not now, damn it," Larabee snapped, fear making his heart beat so fast it left him lightheaded. He reached under Vin's head and lifted it, pressing the cup to the man's lips.
After the first taste of the concoction Vin rolled his head away. "Taste's like . . . horse piss," he grimaced, coughing softly.
"I don't care if it is horse piss, you're gonna drink this," Chris told him.
Vin looked back at the gunslinger, the fear in Larabee's voice and eyes clear enough to tell the tracker he was hurt pretty badly. He sighed and let the blond guide the cup to his lips again, and this time he drank all of the medicine without complaint. Anything to erase the pain and fear he saw in the man's green eyes.
Chris settled him back against his pillow and asked, "Think you can eat some broth?"
"Give me . . . l'tl bit . . . don't feel right . . . in m' belly," Vin said, his eyes already closing despite his best efforts.
"Rest for a while, then. I'll keep it warm for you," Larabee promised him.
"Mmm," Vin replied, slipping into the welcome arms of sleep.
Chris reached out, lightly pressing his hand to the tracker's chest, taking comfort in the slow rise and fall, taking strength in the steady beat of the man's heart beneath his palm.
His eyes closed. "Lord, thank you," he whispered thickly. "I truly do thank you. . ."
* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *
An hour later
"C'ris. . ."
Larabee woke with a start and, for a terrifyingly long moment he wasn't sure where he was, or why his back felt like it was on fire. But, as he sat up in the chair he'd fallen asleep in earlier, he remembered.
"Vin?" he asked, concerned. He leaned forward toward the man, still lying in the narrow bed. The tracker's blue eyes were open again.
"Wa . . . er?" Tanner rasped thickly, trying to swallow.
Chris stood and quickly fetched a full cup, helping Vin to drink it. Then the gunslinger went for the still warm broth, bringing a bowl back to the bed. And, after helping Vin sit up a little, he ladled spoonfuls into the man's mouth, ignoring the annoyed glower prompted by the action.
"I c'n do it," Vin grumbled, trying to push himself up a little more, but his muscles immediately seized painfully and he was forced to stop. Groaning, he sagged back against the pillows, his battered body telling him in no uncertain terms that he wasn't going anywhere, anytime soon.
"Sure you can, but why don't you humor me and let me help," Chris said, muttering under his breath, "Damned mule-headed Texan."
Vin sighed and scowled, but he nodded. Then, after several more spoonful, asked, "Y' find 'em?"
"The men who did this to you?" Larabee guessed.
Vin nodded as he swallowed another spoonful. It tasted so good and he was so hungry.
Chris nodded, his expression turning stony.
"They dead?" Vin asked, his voice just above a whisper. He was too afraid to hope.
"Will be soon enough," Chris promised, feeding the man another spoonful.
Vin swallowed, his eyes rounding. "They're alive?"
"Have 'em over in the jail. I wired the Judge. He'll be here for a trial in a week or so."
Vin's eyes closed and he slumped bonelessly against pillows and mattress. His chest jerked, although from a sob or laughter, Chris wasn't sure.
"What?" Larabee asked gently, reaching out to rest his hand on the top of the man's head. "Vin, what's wrong? Should I get Nathan? Vin?" He set the bowl on the bedside table and started to stand.
"No," Tanner said, stopping Larabee before he reached his feet. "Don't need Nathan." He lay for a moment, catching his breath, then said, "Those men . . . they c'n . . . clear m' name, Chris . . . they's with . . . Eli Joe . . . when he killed . . . that farmer . . . Jess Kincaid."
Chris's eyes went wide. "They tell you that?"
Vin nodded. "They's kin . . . 'a Eli Joe's . . . cousins . . . was ridin' . . . with 'im . . . when he framed me."
Larabee's eyes narrowed and the smile that turned the corners of his mouth up was decidedly feral. "Don't worry, Vin, they'll tell the Judge everything they know. I swear it."
"The big one," Vin said, his eyes beginning to close again, "y' ain't goin' . . . t' get 'im . . . t' talk . . . easy."
"You leave that to us, pard," Chris said, reaching out to pull the blanket up, covering the sleeping tracker's chest.
"Chris?"
The gunslinger turned at the sound of the voice, eyes swimming with tears as he smiled at the healer, who walked over to join him. "He woke up, Nate, twice. He drank that cup of medicine the first time, and I just got half a bowl of broth into him."
Nathan smiled broadly, clapping Larabee on the shoulder. The man's excitement made him sound more like Billy Travis than the feared gunman he was. "Thank God! Here, let me have a look at him."
Chris stepped aside to give Nathan the room he needed, then walked over to the stove and poured himself a cup of coffee. He noted the plate of food that was sitting on the small table. It looked good, which surprised him.
"That's fo' you," Nathan called softly. "Ya won't be any use ta Vin if you don't keep yo'r strength up. You sit and eat that while I see how he's doin'."
Chris nodded, sitting down and making his way though the meal Nathan had brought from Inez's kitchen. Nathan joined him just as he finished.
"So?" Larabee asked, looking up at the healer, hope shining in his eyes for the first time in a long while.
"Fever's gone down, and the infection looks like it's clearin'. Gonna be a while befo' he's ready to leave that bed, though. And his feet still look pretty bad, but if he keeps eatin' now, I think he'll make it." He shook his head. "Don't believe it, Chris. The man should've been dead . . . never seen anyone fight like that boy."
Chris nodded, glancing over at the injured man. "Stubborn as an Arkansas mule."
Nathan chuckled and nodded. "And I thank God fo' it, too."
"Amen, to that," Chris agreed, his chin trembling slightly.
"I want ta treat his feet an' clean up a couple of them other wounds. Why don't you go get some sleep? Josiah's comin' back in a few hours to spell me, and I want ta sit with him t'night, in case that fever comes up again. You can take over after breakfast tomorrow, if ya want."
Chris wanted to say no, that he would spend the night with Vin again, but he knew he needed the sleep, badly. He nodded. "But come get me if anything changes."
Nathan nodded. "I'll do that." He saw Larabee glance at the injured man again. "I promise. He's just gonna sleep t'day, except when I wake 'im up to give him mo' medicine or some mo' broth."
"Good luck," Chris said, a small smile lifting the corners of his mouth. "And if he gives you any trouble, just tell him you're gonna get me up and have me do it. I think that might make him a little more cooperative . . . and believe me, you're going to need any advantage you can get."
Nathan grinned. "Sounds good. I might just do it, too, if he gives me too much trouble."
Larabee nodded, a part of him hoping Vin did. He wasn't sure he'd be able to stay away until the following morning.
* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *
The next morning
Buck and the others, except Josiah, who was still sitting with Vin, gathered in the saloon to break fast together the next morning.
"Vin's awake?" JD asked, looking at the healer, excited.
Nathan nodded. "Doin' a whole lot better 'n I expected, that's fo' damn sure. Been good 'bout eatin' and drinkin' what I give him, too." He grinned at Larabee across the table and added, "But I don't expect that'll last too much longer."
"I'll be damned," Buck said, leaning back and shaking his head, enjoying the happiness he saw in Chris's eyes. "That boy's got more lives 'n a damned cat! And thank God for each an' ever'one of 'em."
"He's gonna get a new start for the ones he's got left," Chris said, the others all looking at him, waiting for him to explain. "Yesterday, Vin told me the two men we've got locked up can clear him. They were with Eli Joe when he killed that farmer and framed him."
"Then he won't be wanted anymore!" JD said, grinning widely.
"Ah, but only if those two villains will confess to their participation in a crime that could put them on the end of a noose," Ezra warned them.
"We're going to see to it they do," Chris said, the tone of his voice stating clearly nothing less would be considered. "The Judge is going to hear their confessions soon as he gets here – one way or another."
"I think we can take care of that for ya, stud," Buck said, his grin telling Larabee the big ladies' man was going to enjoy this particular assignment.
The others nodded as well.
"I'll fill Josiah in," Chris said, standing.
"I'll be over in a couple of hours ta take a look at Vin," Nathan called as Chris left. "Tell 'im I'll bring him somethin' to eat."
Larabee nodded, his glance grateful as he left, heading for the clinic.
* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *
Josiah glanced up and smiled as Chris entered the clinic.
The blond crossed the room and looked down at the sleeping tracker, then at the preacher. "How's he doin'?"
"Well," Josiah replied, "been taking whatever I give him without a single word of complaint so I figure he must be sick . . . in the head. Never seen him so cooperative."
A small grin lifted the corners of Chris's mouth. "Sure he ain't really dead?"
That made Josiah smile. "Very sure."
Chris pulled up a chair and sat down next to the older man. "Nathan said he was being good about the medicine. Don't know why he's being so cooperative . . . expect it can't last long."
Josiah studied the man for a moment, then said softly. "You."
Larabee looked at the preacher. "Me? I threatened him, sure, but–"
"He saw the fear in your eyes, heard it in your voice when he first woke, and knew he was close to death. He's been taking whatever we give him to make sure he doesn't die before he sets things right, with you. After that, well, I'll wager he'll get a little more ornery."
Chris looked away, his cheeks coloring. "He tell you that?"
"Not straight out but, well, that's what he was sayin', yeah."
The gunslinger thought for a moment, then nodded. He looked at Josiah and said, "He told me yesterday that those two sonsuvbitches were riding with Eli Joe when he killed that farmer. They can clear his name, if we can convince them to talk to the Judge, tell him the truth."
Josiah smiled, but the predatory gleam in his eye robbed the expression of any joviality. "Confession is good for the soul, brother."
Larabee nodded. "For their sakes, I hope so . . . Buck's headin' up the charge, and Nathan's coming over in a couple of hours to check on Vin; bring him something to eat. I'll sit with him until them. You go get some rest."
"I'm sure brother Vin will be very glad to move on from broth," Josiah said with a slight grin. Then he stood and stretched, saying, "And I'll be more than happy to visit the blessed arms of slumber for a few hours. But first I have to see a couple of men about a confession." He looked down at Vin, adding, "Sleep well, brother."
And with that he departed, leaving Chris alone to think.
* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *
The five remaining regulators met in front of the jail, discussing amongst themselves what their next step should be to ensure the two men inside talked to the Judge. Several minutes later they had finalized their plan and set it in motion, Buck entering the jail first.
The big ladies' man sauntered over to the two cells and looked in at the brothers. "You boys are in one helluva fix. But then, I guess you already know that, don'tcha."
"Don't need y' yammerin' in our ears," Lyman growled from under his hat. The man was stretched out on his cot, legs crossed at the ankles, arms folded over his chest, and his hat sitting over his face.
Tom, on the other hand, had been pacing restlessly in his cell, but had stopped when Buck entered, taking a seat on the edge of his cot. He looked skittish and Buck played to that.
"Well you better listen, friend," Buck warned him, "'cause the Judge'll be here in a few days, and whether or not you're alive to hear the charges is goin' ta depend on how well ya decide to cooperate."
"Cooperate?" Tom asked the ladies' man.
"Shut up, Tom," Lyman snarled from under his hat.
"That's right," Buck said, walking over and grabbing the bars of Tom's cell. He gave them a hard shake. "You two are gonna tell the Judge how Vin was framed by ol' Eli Joe."
"Like hell we are," Lyman replied.
Buck's angry blue gaze pierced Tom's brown and he saw the man tremble with fear. "Oh, you will," he promised. "Because if ya don't, what ya done to poor Vin is goin' ta look like he's been to a Sunday Social. And my word's good as gold, boys. You just think on that for a spell."
Buck gave Tom a fiendish grin, then turned and left.
* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *
Chris was reading when Vin woke with a soft cough. He set the book aside and picked up a cup of water, helping the tracker as he drank almost all of it.
"Think y' can help me sit up?" Vin asked, his voice still rough and dry. "Gettin' damned tired of starin' at the ceilin'."
"Sure," Chris said, helping the man to sit up so he could rearrange the pillows to support him.
Vin gasped as the muscles over his ribs pulled on the broken bones, sending fiery shards of pure agony slicing through his middle.
"You all right?" Chris said, holding the tracker still.
Vin nodded, but the color drained from his face and sweat broke out on his upper lip.
Using one hand to hold the tracker in place, Chris quickly arranged pillows with the other so Vin could lean back against them. "Easy, pard, let me do the work now . . . I've got ya." He carefully eased the man back, asking, "Better?" once he was settled.
Vin nodded, too winded by the ordeal to speak yet. He closed his eyes and panted, trying to regain his breath. When he could breathe and the room stopped spinning, and his stomach didn't feel like it was trying to worm its way up his gullet, he opened his eyes again, only to find Larabee waiting with the cup of doctored water. He finished all of it and tried not to look ill-tempered when Larabee pulled up his blankets for him.
"Need anything else?"
Vin's cheeks colored.
Chris grinned. "Yeah, I know it's hell, but it's better 'n sitting there wishin'," he said understandingly. He retrieved the chamber pot, helping Vin as best he could, then fetching the tracker a cup of the medicinal tea Nathan used.
"Y' know what this damned stuff tastes like," Vin grouched, accepting the cup from Larabee.
"I told you I didn't care."
Vin sighed softly, unable to do any better with his broken ribs. He started sipping on the brew. While he worked on the contents, he watched Larabee from the corner of his eyes. There was something supremely humbling about being watched the way the gunman watched him, something humbling and comforting.
The tea smelled at least as bad as it tasted, and Chris leaned back in his chair to escape the foul odor. "How're you feelin'?" he asked Tanner when the man was almost finished.
Vin thought for a moment, then replied, "Reckon I'll live."
Chris smiled thinly. "Glad to hear you and Nathan are in agreement on that."
Vin stared down into his cup and muttered, "'Less this damned horse piss kills me. . ."
Larabee grinned. "Nathan's bringing you something a little later."
"Swear t' God, Larabee, if it's mush 'm goin' t' crawl out 'a this bed and hunt m'self some real food."
Chris fought hard not to smile as he growled, "You'll eat whatever the hell he gives you and be glad you're here to enjoy it, you hear me?"
Vin cocked his head to the side, meeting Larabee's eyes. He grinned just slightly. "I hate them damned boiled oats, y' know I do."
Chris grinned. "Yeah, I know. But I figure he knows better what your stomach can take right now."
Vin sighed. "It c'n take a plate 'a eggs 'n' some 'a Inez's biscuits."
"I'll see what I can do," the gunman promised. "Maybe for supper."
Vin grunted.
"The Judge'll be here day after tomorrow."
The tracker looked up, meeting the gunslinger's eyes. "Them two ain't gonna talk, Chris. It'll put their necks in a noose fer sure."
"Things worse 'n haning," Larabee told him.
Vin's eyes narrowed slightly.
"Look, you don't need to worry about anything, except healin' up."
"Chris–" Vin started to argue, but Larabee held up his hand to stop him.
"Let us help you, damn it."
Vin thought for a moment, then met Larabee's eyes, saying, "Judge ain't goin' t' believe a word if'n they're beat bloody."
A grin and a nod from the man in black. "Other ways to make a man talk."
Vin nodded. "Could tell y' 'bout a couple, if y' need some ideas."
"I'll let you know." Chris took the empty cup from the tracker and asked, "You want some broth or some tea without the medicine?"
Vin shook his head. "Maybe just some water – plain water."
Chris nodded and fetched a cup for him, then settled back in his chair, his hands clasped between his knees, his head hanging down. "Vin, got some things that need saying between us."
"Reckon so," the tracker agreed with a single nod.
"You up to hearin' me out?"
Tanner considered the question for a moment, trying to honestly assess his condition. "I'll try 'n' keep my eyes open," he said, "but I can't promise I'll be able t' keep it up fer long; sneaks up on me."
"Don't need long," Chris told him.
"Reckon I might."
Chris turned his head to meet the tracker's eyes, a small smile on his lips. "I just want you to know . . . I was a damned fool, Vin, a damn fool, and it almost cost you your life . . . Hell, Vin, I'm sorry. I never meant for any of this to happen."
Vin nodded. "I know that. An' I figure y' had cause t' be mad at me. Wasn't like I've been pullin' m' share 'round here . . . an' I sure as hell didn't out on that wagon train."
"Sarah always said I had a bad streak of pride, and she was right. I let it twist my thoughts up. I should've come looking for you sooner. But you'd been away so much . . . First I thought you were sneakin' off to see her, but I knew that wasn't true . . . Guess I thought you'd soured on us . . . on me . . . Where did you go, Vin?"
He sighed softly. "Out t' the desert, tryin' t' find a vision."
"A vision?"
He nodded. "Learned it from the Indians – fast fer three days, stay awake . . . I needed t' understand why I done what I done . . . why I ran out on y'all . . . why I ran out on the man I swore I'd ride the river with. . ."
Chris dipped his head, saying softly, "I have to admit, I wondered the same thing . . . but I figured you must've loved her."
"Hell, I don't know," Vin replied, his voice thick. "Maybe I did, maybe not . . . but I when y' said y'd ride with me . . . I never meant fer that t' change, Chris . . . not in m' heart."
Chris nodded. "I know. I knew it even then. . ." He looked up again, meeting the tracker's eyes and asking, "And did you? Find a vision?"
Vin shook his head. "No, not 'til I was walkin' back t' town . . . then I saw her."
"Charlotte?"
"No," Vin said, his voice catching. He fought, trying to stay awake so he could explain, but he was losing the battle.
"Why don't you get some rest," Chris said. "I'll be here. You can tell me when you wake up."
Vin glanced at the man, grateful. Reaching out his hand weakly, he felt Chris grab it in his own and squeeze. "Still want t' ride with y', pard," he said, eyes closing. "If y'll still have me. . ."
"I'll have you," Chris replied. "Now, get some sleep."
"Damned . . . bossy . . . cowboy. . ."
Larabee grinned still holding the man's hand in his own. "Damned stubborn tracker," he replied.
* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *
"Well?" Buck asked when JD left the jail, grinning like fox. "What happened?"
"I think ol' Tom's ready to talk to anyone who'll listen, any time we want him to," the young sheriff replied. Then he frowned. "But the other one . . . he's just plain mean, Buck. Mean to the bone."
The ladies' man sighed. "He'll come 'round," he predicted. "I heard part of the speech Josiah's goin' t' be givin' the two of 'em."
"You really think we can make him talk?"
"I'm afraid we don't have an option, gentlemen," Ezra said from where he sat outside the jail, waiting for his turn at the two men. "Mr. Tanner's future depends upon our . . . creativeness."
"Well, everybody knows how creative you can be," Buck teased the gambler, "'specially at the poker table. Whatdaya have in mind for these two?"
"I was remembering a story my uncle told me once, when I was but a tender lad of five or six . . . a tale of an ancestor, from France, as I recall, who fought in a battle to free Jerusalem. It was full of descriptions about what those foreign men did to the French soldiers they captured – descriptions full of knives and their creative uses."
"Sounds like that'll make an impression," Buck said, smiling and nodding.
"Let us hope so," Ezra said, standing. "I know it gave me nightmares for months upon hearing the gruesome details, and I plan to embellish upon my uncle's meager storytelling skills."
"Good luck," Buck said.
Ezra stood, straightened his jacket and stepped inside the jail, closing the door behind him.
* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *
Chris was reading when Vin woke again a couple of hours later. The first thing he did was give the tracker some more water with the medicinal powder stirred in. While he watched the younger man drink it down, his face pinched in response to the bitter taste, he decided Vin was starting to look better.
Tanner handed back the empty cup, shaking his head. "Damned stuff could kill a buff."
"Or cure a buffalo hunter," Chris countered.
"Never wanted t' hunt buff," Vin said, his tone sad. "Army handed me over t' some hunters after they caught me ridin' with the Comanche. . . I had t' work t' buy m' way out 'a their camp . . . took me too long t' do it, too."
"You don't talk much about that time . . . about your past."
Vin shrugged. "Ain't much t' say . . . 'cept what I need t' tell y' now."
"You sure you're ready for that?" Chris asked, looking for the signs the tracker was fighting sleep, but there were none.
"Reckon I've waited long 'nough." Vin took as deep a breath as he dared and glanced over at the window and the sunlight beyond that. "After the war, I headed back t' only family I really knew."
"Indians?"
Vin nodded. "But the Kiowa had already been rounded up an' put on reservations, or killed . . . mostly killed . . . I fell in with Comanche."
"Lucky you didn't end up dead."
"Not luck," Vin corrected, "I knew some 'a them. They took me in, but I wasn't much more 'n a slave . . . had t' prove m'self 'fore they made me one of 'em."
"And, knowing you, you did."
A single nod. "They made me ol' Red Flower's son. She'd lost her other sons t' the Army."
"They adopted you?"
"Reckon that's as good a way t' say it as any." Vin fell silent, finding it more difficult to tell Chris the truth than he'd imagined.
"What happened?" Larabee asked him softly.
"Red Flower had a daughter, her youngest . . . she was a year or two older 'n me . . . most beautiful thing I'd ev'r seen. . ."
Chris smiled a little, remembering his reaction the first time he'd seen Sarah.
"But seein' as I's her brother, weren't no way I could court 'n' marry her. Would've, too, if I could've."
"She must have been something special."
Vin nodded. "She kind, Chris 'n' full of life . . . her laughter sounded like music."
Larabee nodded, dipping his head. Sarah's laughter had always sounded like music to his ears as well.
"She was being courted by a' Comanche warrior . . . Black Knife. He was older 'n her, a lot older, but he was respected and he'd beat the Army a few times . . . but he was mean. Mean in his heart and in his soul . . . when they married . . . she changed." Tanner stopped, scrubbing a hand over his face. "I knew he's beatin' her, but there weren't a damned thing I could do 'bout it. I tried talkin' t' Red Flower, an' the chief, but the times . . . the Army was crowdin' in, tryin' t' round the People up an' move 'em onto reservations . . . warriors was dyin' . . . weren't no time. . ."
"One young girl wasn't important to them," Chris said when he heard Vin's voice catch.
"Reckon not . . . She got so's she looked so sad, so scared . . . I didn't know what t' do. I's ridin' with one of the warrior societies, learnin' how t' track 'n' hunt. It took me away from the camp . . . when I got back one time, I– I found her . . . He'd broke her neck . . . I'll never ferget those black eyes, lookin' up at me, still sad . . . I took her back t' Red Flower."
Chris shook his head. "It wasn't your fault, Vin."
The tracker shook his head. "Maybe, maybe not . . . but when I saw Charlotte . . . She had them same eyes, Chris . . . I knew just lookin' at her, her husband was hurtin' her. I jist– . . . I jist wanted t' do fer her what I couldn't do fer– . . . I jist wanted t' help her . . . Don't know if I loved her, or the memory of– . . . But what I done was wrong, I know that . . . an' ridin' out on y'all– On you– Hell, that was more wrong."
Chris looked at the tracker, understanding making his heart ache for the man. "You did what y' had to, to honor the memory of that girl. Nothing wrong with that, Vin."
"Runnin' out on y'all was wrong."
"I would've agreed with you, but not now. Hell, if I'd met a woman who reminded me of Sarah on that train, don't you think I would've done the same thing? Done anything to protect her?"
"But it weren't you," Vin corrected. "I broke m' word, an' that's all a man's got, 'sides his name, an' I ain't even got that 'til I'm cleared of that murder charge."
"Ain't got it back yet," Chris told him. "You'll be cleared, Vin. I swear it."
"Don't promise what y' can't deliver, pard."
"I won't."
"Still, broke m' word."
"Maybe so, but it was for a good reason. Guess I broke mine, too, when I didn't come looking for you sooner. So what do you say we call it even? We both made a mistake, but it's over and done."
"I jist want y' t' know 'm sorry 'bout what I done, an' that's why I done it."
"And I was a damned fool not to trust you," Chris said softly. "I damned near got you killed. You sure you still want to ride with me?"
"Reckon so," Vin said, his eyelids starting to droop. "Can't think of none better. . ."
Chris watched the younger man fall back to sleep and reached out, giving his shoulder a gentle squeeze. "Neither can I, pard, neither can I."
* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *
Buck laughed and slapped the big preacher on the back. "Hell, Josiah, I don't know which had me shakin' in m' boots worse – your stories 'bout what them Huns done to them Chinamen, or Nathan's ideas 'bout how he could cut a man up and still keep 'im alive while he done it."
"They were both pretty bad," JD cut in, then shivered. "But where you'd come up with hangin' a man upside down and boilin' his brains over a fire?" he asked the big ladies' man. "That's terrible!"
"Somethin' Vin told me 'bout once," Buck admitted. "Sounded damned painful."
"No doubt," Ezra mumbled.
"And your stories, brother," Josiah said to the gambler as he placed his hand over his heart, "they were inspirational, truly inspirational."
"Why, thank you, Mr. Sanchez, that is most kind," Ezra replied, grinning. "I do believe our friend Tom wet himself in the course of one of my little tales."
"What do you think 'bout Lyman?" Nathan asked the others. "I could see he was getting' scared, but he's a damned stubborn man."
"I think he knows he'd better talk," Buck said. "And if he don't, he's gonna wish he had."
"Hope you're right," JD said. "Sure be nice to get that bounty off Vin's head."
"Amen to that," Josiah said and the others nodded their agreement. "Perhaps we ought to go back and remind them what will happen if they don't help us do just that."
The others nodded.
* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *
Two days later
The Judge stepped down off the stagecoach and was immediately greeted by his daughter-in-law and his grandson. Chris watched the family exchange hugs, then slipped inside the jail, leaving the other regulators outside.
He walked over to the desk and took out his Colt, setting it on the desktop and then walked over to the cells and stopped, saying, "Judge is here."
"Ain't that nice fer him," Lyman snarled.
Tom looked ready to throw himself on the man's mercy at the first opportunity, but without his brother backing him up, Travis would have to assume they'd just frightened Tom into talking.
Chris met and held Lyman's gaze, saying softly, "I know the others have been in here, telling you stories about what they're going to do to you if you don't tell the Judge the truth about the murder of Jess Kincaid. And I'm guessing you know as well as I do that they won't actually do any of it." Larabee's lips curled back off his teeth. "Me, I'm another matter all together. Let me tell you what's going to happen . . . You tell the Judge the truth, you'll probably hang. You don't tell him, he's going to sentence you to a few years over in Yuma prison. And he's gonna ask me to see to it you get there."
The gunslinger walked over to Tom's cell, peering in at the man. "You," he snapped, watching the man jerk and cower, "you're going to die trying to escape. Shot in the back of the head. Too bad, Judge, we tried."
The outlaw sat, huddled in the corner of his cot, trembling. Of all of the men to come in, terrorizing them, this one Tom believed. He was a dead man, whether or not he talked.
Chris walked back to Lyman's cell, capturing the man's gaze again. "But you . . . running isn't your way, is it."
"Nope," the older man spat, looking defiant.
"Nope, didn't think so. But I'll bet the Judge'll believe you tried to help your brother. And he'll believe you got away from us . . . Too bad the Apaches are goin' to find you before we do. We've been having trouble with them on and off – renegades from off the reservation, or ones that slip over the border from Mexico. Locals tell me they have a special way of killing their enemies, Lyman, and that's how they're gonna find you. That way they'll know it was renegades who caught you. And you know what that way is?"
"Don't know. Don't care," the man growled standing and moving up to the bars to stare Larabee down, but the gunslinger was more than a match for the outlaw.
Chris shrugged, then, with his lightning quick reflexes, reached between the bars and grabbed the outlaw's shirt, jerking him up tight against the bars and hissing, "I think it's only fair to tell you. Give you a chance to die quick, at the end of a rope."
"Don't do me no favors, Larabee," Lyman said, buut he was afraid for the first time.
"These renegades, they take their prisoners and tie 'em to a tree. Then they cut their bellies open and pull their guts out, nice and slow. They hang 'em up in the branches so the crows'll come and eat 'em. Then they leave 'em there to die. And it'll take a while, I promise you that. And the whole time you can stand there, watching the birds eat your fuckin' guts while ya bleed to death."
Chris smiled, the gesture so cold, so predatory Lyman knew that that was exactly what was going to happen to him if he didn't tell the Judge what Larabee wanted him to. He swallowed hard. "Go t' hell," he said, but it came out sounding scared, even to his ears.
"Plan to," the gunslinger replied casually, the smile turning even colder. "But you're gonna get there a whole lot sooner, you worthless bag of shit." He released the man and walked back to the desk, sliding his Colt into his holster before he looked back to the two men one last time. "It's your choice, boys."
And then he was gone.
* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *
Judge Travis stood at Vin's bedside, looking down at the injured man while Nathan explained everything that had been done to him by the two brothers. The older man shook his head and sighed heavily, glad the young tracker had slept though the list.
"He going to make it?" he asked when Nathan was finally finished.
"Yes, sir, he is."
The Judge nodded. "Can't say the same for the two men responsible for this brutality." He turned and left, shaking his head. Larabee and the others met him outside the clinic. He glanced from man to man, wondering how they had convinced the Long brothers to confess and deciding he might not want to know, but his curiosity, he knew, would demand he at least ask. "Gentlemen," he greeted them.
"Well, Judge, what's goin' ta happen to those boys?" Buck asked, his hands on his hips, his stance demanding justice for his friend.
"Given that they confessed to being participants in a murder, they'll hang, although I would've been hard pressed not to order the same punishment if they hadn't, given what I just saw in there. Is he really going to be all right?" he asked Chris.
Larabee nodded. "Nathan thinks so, that's good enough for me. What about getting that bounty off his head?"
"I'll wire the law in Tascosa and start things moving. Eventually Mr. Tanner will have to return and see the local or circuit Judge in Tascosa, but I think the confessions will be all he needs to clear his name. I'll see to it that happens. No one should have to suffer like that; it's the least I can do."
The assembled peacekeepers erupted into cheers, JD pounding Buck on the back, Buck punching Chris's shoulder.
The door to the clinic opened and Nathan leaned out, scowling and scolding, "I've got an injured man in here who's tryin' ta get some sleep. Take yo'r celebratin' someplace else."
"We were just leavin', Nathan," JD assured the healer. "But the Judge just said he can clear Vin's name."
The healer smiled. "Well, now, that's gonna be some powerful medicine for him, that's fo' sure." He stuck his hand out to the Judge, saying, "Thank you, sir."
"And thank you, Mr. Jackson," Travis said, shaking the healer's hand, "for another demonstration of your amazing skills."
Nathan nodded and dipped his head, a little embarrassed. He disappeared back inside the clinic.
"Gentlemen, I suggest we take this budding celebration to the saloon, for a proper fęte," Ezra suggested.
"No, not me, thank you anyway, Mr. Standish," the Judge said. "I'll be dining with my grandson and his mother." He looked to Chris, asking, "Would you like to join us, Mr. Larabee?"
"Thanks anyway, Judge," Chris said, "but I've got some good news to deliver when Vin wakes up. Don't figure he should be kept waiting."
Travis nodded, impressed as he always had been by the loyalty these men showed to one another. He looked at the others, asking, "How about you boys?"
The others considered for a moment and then agreed.
"I'll send Nathan along," Chris said, then watched them head down the stairs, following the Judge down the steps, the older man saying, "Never had a couple of hardened outlaws like the Long brothers just up and confess to a crime, let alone murder. Any of you boys want to tell me how you managed it?"
"Well, now, Judge, that's a long story," Buck said, "and I don't think it's one we ought to be tellin' you over the dinner table."
Travis laughed. "That bad, huh?"
"You have no idea," Ezra replied, their voices fading.
Chris shook his head. Whatever they'd told the two men, it had Tom ready to talk, if not his brother. But the gunslinger had known Lyman would realize none of the others could carry though on their threats. But he could, and would have done it gladly. And that much Lyman also knew to be true.
He turned and went inside the clinic. "The Judge is buyin' dinner for everyone. You go on and join 'em. I'll sit with Vin."
"You sure?" Nathan asked him.
Larabee nodded, taking a seat in the bedside chair and reaching for his book.
"I'll bring you back something," Nathan promised. "Vin, too."
"Long as it ain't mush," Chris called with a grin.
Nathan chuckled as he grabbed his coat and ducked out the door.
Chris watched the door close, then paused before he opened his book, looking down at the sleeping tracker and allowing himself a small smile. "It's over, Vin. It's almost over."
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Author's Note: This story first appeared in the Mag 7 zine, Let's Ride #3, published by Neon RainBow Press, Cinda Gillilan and Jody Norman, editors. When we all decided to post the stories that have appeared in the issues of Let's Ride that are more than two years old, we opted to use a generic pen name because, while Patricia Grace is the primary author of this story, she had so much help from the other folks writing for the press that it just made sense to consider the story to be written by the Neon RainBow Press Collective! Resistance was futile. So, thanks to the whole Neon Gang – Michelle Fortado, Patricia Grace, Erica Michaels, Kasey Tucker, and Lorin and Mary Fallon Zane. Story lasted edited 2-1-2005.