Somewhere In-Between

PART 8:

The camp awoke at daybreak. Four young men and their father were up and about, while their dog frisked between their legs, waiting for breakfast. Josiah arose, stretched and joined them.

Donny was carrying the coffeepot and a handful of mugs. "Wan' somethin' to drink, Josiah?" the young boy asked. He handed the preacher a mug and filled it to the top before continuing on his way. The kid paused when he looked toward Ezra and, seeing no movement, headed toward his father with the coffee.

Abe laughed as he clattered the cookware together. "Your friend sure sleeps deep, don't he?" He glanced to where Ezra still lay peacefully within his blankets.

Josiah shook his head. "He could sleep through the Second Coming if the Lord allowed it."

Lyle snickered and sat down by the fire. "I hope you boys weren't up all night playin' them cards." He nodded as his youngest son handed him his mug. "Thanks, Donny-boy." He waited until the cup was filled before he grabbed the boy and gave him a fierce hug. The boy struggled playfully, trying to keep from spilling the pot or his daddy's mug.

"Nah, we stopped soon enough," Zeke said. " Didn't have a whole lot to play with, so things ended pretty quick like."

Lyle slapped Hollis on the thigh. "I sure hope he didn't clean you all out."

Hollis shrugged. "He took us for some supplies is all."

Lyle gave Hollis another quick slap and laughed. He turned to Josiah and said, "Last time I took this lot to town, they fell in with this big-city fella who took all their spendin' money. Lucky I held the money from the stock, else-wise Holly would'a lost all we…"

"Pa!" Hollis cried angrily. "I learn' my lesson."

"Only reason I let it go on last night was 'cause you didn't have nuthin' to spend just now, so I figured you all may 'ave learn' some pointers if nothin' else. I was a'feared you'd come to me this mornin' with a note sayin' we owed that man a piece of our herd. I don't want you losin' your hard earned money to the likes of those gamblers."

Hollis stood abruptly and pushed past Abe, who was tending to the breakfast preparation. Donny sat quietly, his knees tucked close to him and the coffeepot's handle clenched tightly in his hands.

"Now, Pa," Zeke said, leaning toward his father. "You know Holly ain't the most sensible of us all, but he had me with him last night and I made sure that no trouble got done."

Hollis shoved his hands into his pockets and said nothing.

"Nothin' happened," Donny said quietly.

"Really, Pa," Abe offered, pulling the skillet from the fire. "We did like you said and didn't bet no money. Just some of the extra stuff we had about."

Zeke nodded toward Josiah, but turned to his father. "Food, some horse feed, blankets and some tin-ware is all."

"We would 'ave just given 'em the stuff if it were asked for," Abe added.

Zeke shrugged. "We won a few hands ourselves. Holly got some hard candy. You know how he likes those sweet things. He gave some of it to Donny, but kep' the rest." He pulled a book from his pocket. "I got this -- Silas Marner, it's called. It's by this fella named George Eliot." He thumbed the pages with a content look on his face, displaying the obvious fact that he treasured books.

Abe displayed a white silk handkerchief. "See what I got? Perty, ain't it?" Zeke pocketed the book and then shook his head knowingly at Donny, who responded to the gesture with a bewildered look.

Hollis continued to stand with his back to the others as if it were enough to make them all go away.

Lyle sighed and got to his feet, walking the short distance to his eldest son. He threw a long arm over the boy's shoulder and stood with his head pressed to Hollis'. "You know, I think you're a fine man. I'm jus' watchin' out for you is all."

"I think I'm gettin' old enough to watch for myself." The young man squinted off into the distance. "I didn't do nuthin' wrong. Don't need to make a fool outta me in front of others, in front of 'company'."

Josiah realized that both Zeke and Abe turned their attention to him. Zeke shook his head and gestured at him, trying to reassure their guest that he wasn't at fault for what was going on.

Lyle sighed. "Sorry son, I forget myself sometimes." He tightened his hold on Hollis. "You're right.  You learn' your lesson. You did the right thing. No harm was done."

"I ain't stupid."

"I know that. I know that well." Lyle stepped back and regarded his son with a critical eye. "You're far from that. Damn, I'm proud of you, Holly! Won't be too much longer and you'll be on your own.  Won't need your old man no more. I 'spect I'm just tryin' to give you all the wisdom I can in the little time I got lef' with you. Some times it don't come off so good."

"I know, Pa." Hollis lowered his eyes and nodded. After a moment he said, "Sorry. Didn't mean to act ... like such a kid."

The older man slapped his son on the back and said, "No need for that, Holly-boy. Let's get somethin' to eat."

The two turned and started back toward the fire when Lyle gave Hollis a punch in the arm. "And don't you go thinkin' that you're too old fer havin' someone watch out for ya. I ain't never gonna stop that. You'll always be my boy. Even when I'm as old and gray as Grandpap and you got your own mess of grown sons strainin' at the bit, I'll always be peerin' at'cha, tryin' to figure a way to make you do what I say." He smiled and added, "You know how Grandpap can be…"

Hollis grinned and punched his father back.

Finally, when the two headed back to them, Zeke grabbed the stack of tin plates and held one for Abe to fill. He passed it to Josiah and asked, "Will there be any luck in wakin' Ezra? None of this ruckus has done the trick."

Josiah pulled his gun from its holster and cocked it in one quick motion.

Ezra came awake in a blur, Remington in hand, his head spinning back and forth in search of a target. The dog, sitting beside Abe, jumped at the motion and took off at a run, barking and snapping at some unseen foe. The cattle bellowed, leaping away from the yelping beast. A group of flighty steers took off at a quick lope. Sadie broke out in a wild series of barks and went after the erring creatures.

Ezra jumped to his feet in the commotion, tangling his legs in the blankets and falling to his knees. He was up again in a moment, swinging his gun around, looking for whatever was causing the fuss. Finally he turned his gaze to the six laughing men.

"That was unkind," Ezra said, holstering the gun, and then running his hand through his sleep-rustled hair.


PART 9:

"Thank you for your hospitality," Josiah said, extending a hand to Lyle.

"No trouble, a'tall. We're all glad to 'ave had the company," Lyle replied.

"Mr. Gant," Ezra said formally, shaking the rancher's hand. "Thank you."

"Mr. Simpson," Lyle replied in kind. 

"Simmons," Ezra corrected with a smile and tip of his hat.

Lyle gave him a slap on the shoulder. His boys came forward to bid their company goodbye, and soon they were driving their cattle again. Sadie lingered a minute and uttered one 'woof' before she heeded her herding instincts and took off to perform her duty.

Hollis was the last of group to go. He turned his palomino and nodded to Ezra and Josiah. "Thanks for the game last night," he said to Ezra. "It was a good way to spend an hour or two."

"My thoughts exactly," Ezra replied.

The oldest boy nodded. "Josiah, it was good to know ya."

Josiah responded, "Take care of your Pa."

Hollis smiled broadly. "I always do." And he kneed his horse into motion, following the rest of his family.

"Shall we continue?" Ezra asked. "If we hurry we may be able to make town by nightfall." With that, he walked to Chaucer and mounted.

Josiah gazed after Hollis for a moment more before he followed Ezra's lead. Miguel was about Hollis' age the last time Josiah had seen him. 

--{[(777)]}--

Josiah had tried to send money, but Miguel and his mother quickly disappeared again. Josiah left word at taverns and saloons across the Southwest, looking for any sign of his son. Years had passed without a word of either of them and Josiah had grown used to the silence, had come to expect it. 

One warm afternoon, he entered a familiar tavern after an absence of two years. The bartender stared at him and then said tentatively, "Sanchez, ain't it?"

"Yeah," Josiah replied. 

"You was askin' about a Miguel Garcia and his ma the last time you were here." 

Josiah came to attention quickly and nodded his affirmative. The bartender related what he knew, that Miguel had come to town with his mother over a year ago, that Amelia had died of drink and some mysterious "woman's disease", and that Miguel just lingered, drinking and causing trouble. The boy had been jailed more than once -- probably would be again. The bartender told Josiah where his son could be found. 

Josiah found the boy, surprised to find that his son was now a man. He was huge, as big as his father. Miguel was slumped forward onto a table in a dim bar where the drinks were cheap. He looked up blearily at the older man and said nothing. 

"Miguel," Josiah started softly.

Miguel continued to stare at him, and then a dull realization crept into his eyes. He laughed bitterly. "Sanchez, you old piece of shit, what're you doin' here?" He said the words without any real malice, as if the vulgarity was nothing. There was no surprise in his voice. 

"Miguel," Josiah said again, sitting down heavily. "I heard about your mother." 

"Yeah, ol' Ma, good ol' Ma…" He trailed off and then took a pull from his bottle. "Good ol' Ma really screwed herself up, didn't she?" 

"I'm sorry I wasn't there."

"Nah, you're not," Miguel snorted. "You're damn happy you weren't no place near here."

"That isn't the case," Josiah responded, not knowing if it were the truth or not. 

"Where ya been?" 

Silence for a moment. "Just about everywhere, I 'spect."

"Figured you was just with some other whore somewheres, with one of your other bastards."

Josiah stiffened. "Miguel, listen to me."

His son raised his head and glared at him. Where had that sweet child gone? Gone was his mother's beauty. His jet-black hair was matted and unkempt, his eyes dim and bloodshot, his teeth rotten and broken. He smelled of alcohol and filth. "I ain't gonna listen to you, old man."

"I want to help."

"You got any money?"

"Some."

"Give it."

Josiah gazed back at his drunken child. "No."

"Fuck you." The young man lowered his head into his arms. "Yeah, fuck you," he said again.

"Miguel, I…"

"Listen, Sanchez, if  you want to live, you'd better get your fat ass outta here. I swear if you show your face 'round me again, I'll shoot your fucking head off."

Sanchez stayed in town for a week or so after that. He heard the tales that everyone had to tell -- how Miguel was a worthless bum -- drunk most of the time. He was usually alone, not having anything that could be called a friend. If anyone ever was with him, odds were that it was one of the town's tired "working girls." His occupation consisted of performing odd jobs that would give him enough money for drink and sex. He'd dig a new outhouse - or clean out an old one. It didn't matter, as long as cash was received in hand afterward.

When Josiah asked if Miguel's attitude was due to grief over the death of his mother, he received a laugh in response. "Hell no," someone said. "He hated the old bitch. He was like this even before she died. He just doesn't give a damn about anything."

Miguel had been jailed twice in that town… once for theft, and again for killing a man, beating him to an unconsciousness that he never woke from. It could never be confirmed who was at fault; Miguel had claimed self-defense.  He had also been accused of lewd conduct around town and was generally regarded with disgust by everyone that Josiah asked.

Josiah fully intended to save the boy, but a gunshot to the shoulder ended that dream. Miguel fired on him during a drunken rage, and by the time Josiah came back to his senses -- his son was gone.

--{[(777)]}--

"You're troubled," a voice drawled near him.

Josiah raised his head to see Ezra gazing at him with concern. They were traveling through a deep, debris-strewn canyon.

"Is there anything I can do to help? Some advice perhaps?" Ezra grinned, showing his gold tooth. "I'm always eager to provide a little fatherly advice."

"No, Ezra," Josiah said tiredly. "I'm simply reminiscing."

Ezra shook his head. "Well, dwell on happier thoughts because your incessant sighing is depressing me."

"Sorry, Ezra," Josiah said half-heartedly. "I didn't mean to bring you down."

"Perhaps if you discussed what is on your mind, it may remedy this situation?  I am a good listener, I've been told.  People speak of my excellent abilities all the time."

"Ezra, don't you ever shut up?" Josiah finally barked, weary of Ezra's prattle.

Ezra continued to smile, but the expressions had a forced look to it. "On rare occasions, I've been known…"

"Let this be one of those occasions."

Ezra finally dropped his smile and returned to the task of finding their way through the canyon. It afforded them the quickest route at this point, but it was a tricky place through which to maneuver. There was a slump to the gambler's shoulders and a look of sad resignation on his face as they continued toward home.


PART 10:

After a long silence, Ezra reined in his horse. "We had best discuss a course of action before we return to the custody of Mr. Larabee," he declared brightly.

"Course of action?"

Ezra rolled his eyes. "An explanation for what occurred in South Bridge."

Josiah nodded. Yes, there probably would be a telegram of some sort by now. "It's rather simple, Ezra. I'll just tell him what happened."

"It's never simple, Mr. Sanchez. There's much to consider. What to tell... What not to tell... Shadings and variations to test...."

"I suspect I'll tell him the truth."

Ezra slapped the palm of his hand against his forehead in frustration, knocking back his hat. "Mr. Sanchez! The truth is too… tactless sometimes." He fixed his hat as he continued, "It would be best if we come up with a believable chain of events to present and we'd best agree on the particulars if we're to evade the wrath of Larabee. He will undoubtedly find some blame to affix to me and I intend to avoid that."

"I was enticed by a woman who didn't want me. I got drunk. I broke up a saloon, busted up a few people and then lit out of town with you at my coattails. Let's go." Josiah was far too tired for this. After the hangover and the painful memories that plagued him, he didn't want to deal with one of Standish's schemes.

Ezra groaned. "That will never do. We'd best discuss this in detail." He dismounted gracefully and held onto Chaucer's reins.

"I thought you were in some sort of a hurry to get home?" Josiah commented, looking down at Standish.

Ezra shook his finger at Josiah. "No, not in a hurry to get home -- a hurry to get away from South Bridge. They are two widely dissimilar things that only happen to end up with the same outcome." He gestured to a group of rocks. "We'll sit here and discuss our story."

"There's no story to discuss."

"It's time we rested the horses in any case," Ezra said, rubbing Chaucer's muzzle. "Isn't it, my friend?" he directed at the horse.

Josiah sighed, but agreed. He dismounted, and Prophet shook himself once the weight of his rider was removed. The two tended to the horses, ensuring that both were watered and provided with some feed. Chaucer tried to steal Prophet's feedbag once Josiah's back was turned.

"Chaucer," Ezra said, wrapping his hand into his horse's bridle and pulling his head away from Prophet's bounty. "We are gentlemen... and must behave, always, as gentlemen." Chaucer looked annoyed and settled on his own meal with a 'huff', as Ezra secured his bag. When the gambler scratched the horse behind the ears, Chaucer nickered gratefully.

Ezra strode over to the rocks he had indicated earlier and sat down. He took off his hat and brushed it off before setting it on one of the boulders.

"Mr. Sanchez?" he called, indicating one of the other stones. "Won't you come into my parlor for a discussion?"

"Ain't nothin' to discuss, Ezra," Josiah growled. God! Standish could be persistent. "In fact, I'd prefer it if you didn't say another word."

A click and a clatter brought both men to attention. Josiah drew his weapon and threw Ezra a quick glance. The gambler was standing again, his gun was out, eyes scanning, trying to find the source of the sound.

"Hold it right there!" a voice called from above.

"Don't move!" another man shouted, directly above Ezra.

Three more appeared on the canyon walls above them. "Drop it!" one of them ordered. "Drop your weapons!"

They were surrounded. Josiah tossed aside his gun and heard Ezra do the same. They raised their arms, but continued to look about wildly, trying to identify the men that had them trapped.

Two reddish-haired men rode into the narrow canyon on their horses, guns ready -- pointed at Josiah. They were both rather bruised, one sporting a broken nose, and the other -- a black eye.

"Ah hell," Ezra groaned. Josiah turned to him, but Ezra's attention was on the newcomers. Josiah returned his gaze there as well.

"Sanchez?" the broken-nosed one said, his voice distorted.

"Don't say it…don’t say it…" Ezra muttered.

"I am," Josiah responded, hearing Ezra respond with a curse.

"Remember us?" the black-eyed one asked.

"I'm afraid I don't," Josiah replied.

Broken Nose pointed to his busted face. "You remember this? Two nights ago? You come to my house lookin' for our sister?"

"Oh." Josiah turned to Ezra and the gambler rolled his eyes. "Then you'd be Laurel's brothers." The two nodded. Yes, of course, they'd have to be the brothers of the woman he had 'courted' two nights ago… the brothers that he had busted up.

"You disgraced our sister," Black Eye said matter-of-factly. "And attacked me and my brother while we were only tryin' to protect our houses and our family."

"Followed ya easy enough," Broken Nose commented. "Just had to ask the folks we met along the way. They all knew 'bout you." He nodded to his brother and then to the men who surrounded them from above. "We come to take you in. To make you stand trial."

Again Josiah could hear Ezra muttering. "Shut up, Ezra," Sanchez growled. Ezra surprised him by actually doing as he was told and he said no more. Josiah spoke to the others. "I want to apologize for what happened."

The two looked stunned. They hadn't expected an apology.

"Apologize?" Black Eye repeated.

"I acted like a fool and disgraced your sister and your family. I was the one who started the fight. I made a terrible mistake and regret my attack on both of you. I'm sorry about what I did and wish to make amends."

The two shifted on their horses. "Like, pay us money?" Broken Nose asked.

"I understand that there were damages made. I aim to see that all is fixed. I want to make things right with you and your sister."

"But…" Black Eye started and then his one good eye went wide. "Chester! Look out!"

Josiah turned in time to see what had caught the man's attention, but could do nothing to prevent what happened next. Chester, stationed above Ezra, had leaned onto the rocks before him. He'd shifted and a stone, the size of a large bell pepper, teetered for an instant and came loose.

"Ezra!" Josiah shouted.

Standish, already on the alert, trying to ascertain where this 'Chester' was, turned to Josiah at the sound of his name. He hadn't the time to form the question that was evident on his face before the rock slammed into him.

Ezra collapsed to the ground, like a marionette that had come loose of its strings.

Josiah froze. He watched in disbelief, expecting Ezra to leap back to his feet, spouting indignities and brushing at the dust on his jacket. Instead, he lay as still as death.

"No!" Josiah finally sprung into action and sprinted across the distance that separated them, heedless of the guns pointed at him. "Oh God, no," he murmured, falling to his knees beside the downed man. Blood was flowing from a gash across the side of Ezra's head; his face was slack and still.

"Oh please, dear Lord," Josiah uttered, pressing his hand to Ezra's throat. Please, let there be a pulse. He waited, his callused hand pressed against Ezra's neck as the blood continued to flow unimpeded from the wound. Please….

There…yes, his heart still beat. Josiah jumped to his feet, shoving Broken Nose out of the way, not even realizing that the man had gotten off his horse. Sanchez ran to the horses and tore into Chaucer's saddlebags. 

Broken Nose and Black Eye were both standing now, a few feet from where Ezra lay, half-curled, on the ground. "Get the hell away from him!" Josiah bellowed and the two leaped back in alarm.

"We're sorry!" Black Eye spouted. "We didn't mean no harm to come to him." 

"Well, it damn well did!" Josiah shouted as he knelt down again beside Ezra. He yanked a shirt from one of Ezra's bags and pressed it against the laceration. He looked to see if there was any response, but Ezra's face remained motionless.

"It was an accident," Broken Nose declared, looking up to where Chester had been. "Chess wouldn't hurt a fly."

"I didn't mean it!" a voice called from above… not directly above them anymore. "Really, I didn't!"

Black Eye crouched down beside Josiah and asked quietly, "What can we do to help?" He looked concerned as he gazed down at the injured man.

"You can get the hell out of here!" Josiah barked.

Black Eye nodded to his brother and then got to his feet and walked back to his horse. He fussed with the saddlebags for a bit and came back with some cloth, food and a canteen. Broken Nose started putting together a fire. The men above moved away from the edge. 

"I said, 'get the hell away from here'," Josiah growled as Black Eye set the supplies down beside him, within reach. Josiah didn't look up, his concentration was entirely on trying to stop the blood that continued to flow from Ezra's head.

"Don't want to leave you in the lurch," Black Eye said. "Our pa taught us to take care of folks in need, to watch out for others, to make things right."

Josiah raised his head, his blue-gray eyes wild. "Go away before I kill you!" he yelled. The timbre of his voice left no doubt that he fully meant to carry out the threat.

Broken Nose stopped his endeavor to start a fire, saying, "It ain't worth it. Let's go." And he hurried toward their horses.

"Yeah." Black Eye nodded and followed Broken Nose. He mounted and paused as his brother made his way out of the canyon and away from the enraged man. He turned back to Josiah and said, "I swear to you that we meant him no harm. Chess owns the saloon and that man there was the one that paid for the mirror and the other damage done there. Chess wouldn't 'ave hurt him at all if he could 'ave helped it. We meant no harm to no one. Just meant to make you own up for what you done." He sighed, watching Sanchez who didn't seem to hear him. "I 'spect you've paid enough now." 

Josiah wasn't even aware that the brothers and their friends had left, all he wanted to do was to get the damn bleeding stopped.


PART 11:

Josiah sighed as he sat beside the fire that the broken-nosed brother had set up for them. He laid one hand on Ezra, watching him breathe. His head was all done up in cloth, reminding him of an Eastern Indian -- Josiah smiled slightly at the thought. But the smile soon faded as Ezra continued to lie nearly motionless, save for the rise and fall of his chest.

It had taken so long to stop the bleeding, but finally it had slowed enough for Josiah to examine the ragged cut along the side of Ezra's head. Please, Josiah thought, let it only be a cut. Ezra hadn't flinched when Josiah cleaned the wound with his best bourbon, not when he worked to pick out the bits of dirt and hair that had been imbedded in there, not when he bound up his head in a fine linen shirt. It may need stitching still, he thought. Best leave that up to Nathan.

Josiah rubbed his hand across his forehead. "You're gonna be just fine, Ezra," he said for the hundredth time. "You're gonna be all right."

Still, Ezra hadn't moved at all, and it had been hours since Chester -- the owner of the Lucky Saloon -- had accidentally sent the gambler into oblivion. It appeared that the rock had struck Ezra with a glancing blow. If it had fallen fully on him, from that height, the gambler would probably be dead now. Lucky.

Damn, Josiah thought, I should have asked those Lamar brothers to send a message to Four Corners... should have told them to send Doc Meer when they reached South Bridge...shouldn't have shouted them away. He looked at his hands, well aware that he had been ready to shoot any of them that came too close to Ezra.

"You're gonna be fine, Ezra," Josiah said again. "You're gonna wake up soon. You're gonna be okay, son."

Son…Miguel would have been about Ezra's age now. But they couldn't be more dissimilar, could they? Miguel was dark-skinned, dark-eyed, dark-haired, while Ezra was fair with glass-green eyes. Miguel was huge and lumbering, and Ezra wiry and agile. Josiah could think of a number of differences in their education and vocabulary, their accents and abilities…other things too...some of them difficult to put a finger on. One was terse and cruel, base and thoughtless -- the other...

The two young men were as different was night and day, but one was his son, his flesh and blood... and the other wasn't.

Josiah sighed and recalled the day that he had heard that Miguel was dead.

A saloonkeeper had told him. It had happened sometime during the War. Whether it was a battle or the bottle that did the deed, the man wasn't sure, but Miguel Garcia was dead. Josiah had been stunned and spent that night drinking -- getting about as drunk as a man could get without killing himself. Looking back, Josiah wasn't really sure why. Were his actions the result of grief, or rather, due to the lack of grief for his son?

Over the years, Josiah figured that it was possible that the saloonkeeper was wrong. Miguel Garcia was a common name, and the young man was possibly alive somewhere. It was strange, for the idea filled him not with hope, but with a strange indifference. He should crave to see his son again. He should want that above all else.

At this moment, he wanted only one thing. "Ezra, can you hear me?" Josiah said softly, clasping Ezra's cool and narrow hand. "Ezra, I want you to try to open your eyes for me, okay?" He waited. "Can you squeeze my hand? Just a little? Just the slightest bit?" Still nothing.

He sighed, remembering the last thing he had said to Standish..."Shut up, Ezra." Damn, he'd been saying the same thing to him for two days now. Please, Ezra, he thought, say something. Josiah recalled the past couple of days, how Ezra had always been there for him, seeing to his needs, watching out for him while he was incapable, keeping him warm and safe and well fed. And what had Josiah done in return? Hell, Sanchez couldn't even remember if he thanked Ezra once for the help.

Damn, Josiah sighed. This was all his own fault. How the hell did Ezra get messed up in this anyway? When the trip to South Bridge had come up, he was supposed to make the journey with Nathan; however the healer's skills were unexpectedly required when Jed Green came down with a high fever, and so Ezra had taken his place. He had done so without complaint, just a shrug of the shoulder.

Then, Josiah thought, I had made such a fool out of myself, falling for Laurel Lamar -- too damn young for me by any account -- and getting stinking drunk over her refusal. Josiah adjusted one of the blankets he had thrown over Standish, hoping to keep him warm -- he felt so damn cool to the touch.  He always seemed to feel the cold more than any of them.

"I'm sorry, Ezra," Josiah said softly. The day was waning quickly. Sanchez wondered if he shouldn't have just gotten Ezra on a horse right at the start of this and taken him on home. They'd be there by now and Ezra would be in Nathan's care. Still, Josiah figured it was best if Ezra wasn't moved just yet.

Besides, what could Nathan do for him now outside of keeping him still and warm? Put a couple stitches in him maybe. Josiah threw another piece of wood on the fire.

"You're gonna wake up in a bit, and you're gonna be just fine," he said confidently. Ezra had been so completely still all this time, just breathing slowly and deeply. "You've got to wake up. You must." You can't leave me. Please, son. Please don't leave me.

He sighed and sat back. "I had a son once, Ezra. Had a son and let him go, lost him. I'm not about to lose you, too.  You're going to be all right, 'cause I don't know what the hell I'm gonna do if you aren't."

Josiah waited. Ezra didn't move. For hours, Ezra didn't move. It grew dark.

Josiah finally had to draw his gaze away from the motionless form. He had to do something beside mess with the fire and the blankets. He picked up an unfinished letter that he had found in Ezra's saddlebags. In the flickering firelight, Josiah read:

Dear Mother: 

I hope this letter finds you well and unincarcerated. I am on the trail once again. Yes, I know you find this terribly demeaning, but there is much to be said about sleeping alfresco. The night air does wonders for the lungs, I am told. The cold, well, I suppose it may aid in digestion. I'm certain that it must be good for something. I am writing to you by moonlight, so you must forgive the poor penmanship. 

I have had a most exasperating day that began with a rather tedious journey to a town known as South Bridge (you've never heard of it). I had plans in Four Corners, of course, but what could I do? I have found the tables to be rather kind at that locale and was not disappointed during my recent visit. Unfortunately, I had to call the game to an early close. Mr. Sanchez (you do remember Mr. Sanchez, don't you?), kept me "on the hop" for a good part of the night and I am afraid I ended up with a rent in my jacket which I have just finished repairing.

He is asleep at this moment, thank the Lord. I don't know if I could have handled him awake much longer -- don't make me go into details. Suffice it to say, he is sleeping soundly and unharmed -- Praise be! I was afraid at one point that he may have come to some painful disaster and it was all I could do to keep that from happening. I don't know what I would have done if any harm came to him while in my care. I am certain that he would, in time, forgive me, as he one of the most moral and charitable gentlemen I have ever known, but, I would have been unable to forgive myself. 

I'm afraid that I will have to stop writing soon and take up this missive at another time as my fingers are cramping in the cold. Yes, Mother, I know...I was never meant for this sort of work. This is not the life you designed for me, and I realize that you will be disappointed at my choice to leave a lucrative table to spend the night beneath the stars. It is not as you taught me. Forgive me my foolishness. I always hope to have something heartening to tell you, but it seems I only end up with discouraging tales and nothing that would please you. I have done nothing of note to report, nothing worth the price of this paper. Perhaps I will be able to find something worthwhile to relate by the time I pick up this letter again.

The letter ended at that point. Josiah carefully folded the paper and returned it to the saddlebag, feeling badly about having read the personal note at all.

He thought about Maude, pondering again the strange relationship between mother and son. Ezra certainly did love her -- Josiah knew that for a fact. He could see it every time Maude blew into town, could see how doggedly Ezra tried to gain some token of affection from her, some word of encouragement, some show of pride. 

Josiah puzzled over the two of them, remembering some of the things Maude had done to her son. It was odd, she almost treated him like a possession at times, something she could train like a pet dog, something she could leave behind like a piece of unwanted luggage. How had that affected young Ezra, and where the hell did his father fit into the picture? Sanchez recalled the idle comments that Ezra had made at the Gant camp in regard to families and children. He sighed, "Oh, Ezra."

But Ezra turned out all right, hadn't he? Sure, he had his faults...but he was a good man. There was no doubt in Josiah's mind on that issue. Ezra had a strong mother, capable and intelligent. Surely, she had raised him well.

Miguel had had a strong mother -- Amelia had been a capable and intelligent woman.

Josiah fixed a meal comprised of the food that Ezra either brought with him from the start or had been able to scrounge from the Fraileys or Gants during the past few days. The Lamars had provided the water. He half hoped that the cooking smells would bring Ezra around, but the unconscious gambler never moved. Josiah tried the trick of cocking a gun, tried it right next to Ezra's ear, but not even a flinch crossed the young man's face. 

The preacher ate his supper silently, not feeling very hungry. When he was done, he leaned against one of the boulders that formed the enclosure around them and waited, watching Ezra's pale face in the firelight. It was a mild night, not nearly as cold as the previous two and Josiah resolved to make it through without a blanket -- having given up what they had to Ezra.

"Don't worry, Ezra, I'm still here. I'm gonna stay right here all night if you need anything. If you ever get the urge to wake up, just go ahead and do it. I'll be waiting."

There was still no response, and Josiah could feel his own hope fading. Ezra had been hit in the late morning -- twelve hours had passed without any sign of his awakening.

"Dear Lord," Josiah prayed. "Please don't take him like this. Don't just let him fade away. If you have a bone to pick with me, leave him out of this. Please Lord, let him wake up."

Josiah remembered the tale he had heard about his son, about how Miguel had beaten a man to death. The victim never woke up from the drubbing he withstood. The man just continued to sleep until he dried up and faded away.

Please, dear God, don't take him from me. I lost my son to the world... I lost my sister to madness... don't take him, too.

Josiah promised that he would stay up until Ezra moved again... stay lucid because Ezra couldn't. He did his best, but the night was long, and his head was heavy, and it wasn't long before he drifted off.


PART 12:

The early morning light woke the preacher. He found himself slumped down beside the now-dead fire, near a pile of blankets. He jerked himself upright, startling the horses that dozed nearby. "Ezra!" Josiah shouted. Damn it! "Ezra!" Josiah jumped to his feet, staring at the empty spot where Ezra had slept. How could he be gone?

He searched about wildly, finding evidence that Ezra had been sick near where he had slept, but there was no further trace of him.

Where did he go? He was hurt, confused probably, not thinking straight. Damn, Josiah thought, realizing the state that Ezra had been in when he awoke…alone. Think… where would Ezra go? He would hide. From time-to-time, when Ezra felt that the ire of Larabee (or some other force of nature) was upon him, he would disappear.

Josiah first looked to the horses. Sanchez had hoped to find Ezra curled up beside his horse -- Standish trusted that animal more than he trusted any human. The chestnut's beloved owner was not beside him. Where next? Where would Ezra go?

High places. Ezra would often go to the rooftops to escape trouble -- to the treetops if buildings weren't available. Josiah recalled how many times Ezra had disappeared in town only to be found on the most inaccessible roof. More than once, he had climbed into trees while they were out of town in order to escape some vengeance that the others had planned for him.

Josiah looked up at the canyon walls around them. He couldn't have gotten up there, could he? In normal situations, perhaps, but not hurt as he was.

Small places. Josiah looked down, spotting the cracks and crevices between the rocks. If he couldn't go high, Ezra would go low -- seeking out the small and forgotten spaces. Once, Josiah remembered, he had found Standish stretched out on his stomach beneath one of the pews in the church. He had been calmly reading in the dim light that slanted in through the windows. Meanwhile Buck had stormed the streets shouting out exactly what he was going to do when he put his hands on the gambler.

Where the hell was he now? Josiah crouched down and peered into the first space he could find, and seeing it was empty, he moved to a narrow space in-between two boulders. He sighed gratefully, finding Ezra there. The lost southerner was peacefully wedged into the small space afforded by the rocks.

Sanchez sat back in front of the opening. "Ezra," he muttered. He reached into the hole and was just able grasp him. "Ezra, you hear me?"

Ezra murmured in response, but didn't move.

"Ezra, I'm gonna get you out of there." Why did Ezra have to find the hardest to reach places to hide in? Why did he feel the need to hide at all? "I'm gonna start pullin' on you, Ezra," Josiah called and received an incomprehensible reply.

Josiah grabbed onto Ezra's collar and started to draw him out of the hole, hoping that Ezra didn't try to fight him. When he was able, he shoved his other arm in, so that he could protect Ezra's bandaged head as he continued to pull him out. The last thing Standish needed was to ram his head into these stones.

Ezra continued to murmur and when he was half out, Josiah was finally able to understand some of what he was saying.

"Sorry…didn't mean it…" His voice was quiet, sounding so young.

"Quiet now, Ezra," Josiah said softly, pulling Ezra out of the hole with little difficulty.

"I swear, I'll be better…" he mumbled, not opening his eyes.

"It's okay, Ezra. I got you now." Josiah had him fully free. He was glad to hear the southerner's voice, but was alarmed at the tone of it.  "It's all right. It's okay." Josiah wrapped an arm around Ezra and drew him close, trapping Ezra's arms in the process. "I don't want you touching your head, now."

"I'll try harder…I will…" Ezra murmured and did not struggle at all.

Josiah just drew him up into his lap and held him. "Wake up, please, Ezra. Wake up." What the hell happened to you?

"Please…" So sad and forlorn… so frightened… so young. "I'm tryin' to be good."

"Shush. It's Josiah. I won't let anything happen to you. I have you now." He thought of his son again, how he used to hold Miguel in his lap and how the boy used to curl up just like this. Josiah remembered how good it had been, how strong he had felt with his child in his arms. He had been a papa then... the most powerful man on earth.

All he wanted was for Ezra to feel better now, for him to wake up fully and get out of this nightmare he seemed to be trapped in. "It's okay, son. It's okay," he muttered over and over again. I could have been a good papa, he thought. I could have been the best.

He held onto Ezra, wishing he would awaken. If he would just wake up, maybe I could tell him what he means to me, Josiah thought -- if he would just wake up out of this mess.

"Please, Father…no…" Ezra muttered quietly.

Josiah continued to hold him, as Ezra finally relaxed back into a deeper sleep. A cold wave passed through the preacher. Damn it all… Josiah thought.


PART 13:

Josiah had just pulled the coffeepot from the fire when he saw movement out of the corner of his eye. He dropped the pot back into position and hurried over to the gambler. Ezra raised one hand and brought it to his forehead, only to pull it away again.

"Aw, hell," Standish grumbled.

"Leave it alone, Ezra," Josiah demanded.

Ezra groaned and opened his eyes narrowly. "What happened?"

"You got hit on the head." Josiah smiled gratefully, glad to see those green eyes again. "How ya feelin'?"

"Like I got hit on the head." Ezra pushed himself up to his elbows and winced. "Where are we?"

"Somewhere in-between South Bridge and Four Corners."

"Ah yes, I remember." Ezra turned his gaze to Sanchez and said, "I see you escaped the Lamar brothers unscathed."

"Nearly," Josiah responded and sat down beside Ezra. You broke my heart, you stupid fool, Josiah thought.

Ezra reached for his head again and was stopped by Josiah's big hands. "Let it be, Ezra."

Ezra tilted his head tentatively as he looked about. "Where are the Lamars and their friends? Don't tell me that you shot all of them."

"I sent them home."

Ezra snapped his head around to look at Josiah, but instantly regretted the action as his complexion took on an unhealthy shade of green. "Oh, God. I'm gonna be sick."

Josiah quickly had Ezra sitting forward and held him upright as he vomited into the dirt. Sanchez discretely kicked the blankets out of the way as Ezra retched.

"You done?" Josiah asked as Ezra trembled and clung onto his arm.

"For now, I believe," Ezra said quietly. "Damn embarrassing." He closed his eyes tightly.

"Can't really be helped. You had a nasty bang on the head. It comes with the territory." Josiah saw Ezra start to reach for his head again. "Let it be! Come on. Can you get to your feet? Let's get you away from this."

"That would be more than appreciated," Ezra said, scrunching up his face in disgust.

Carefully, Josiah helped Ezra to stand and was glad to see that he could take most of his own weight. They walked across their camp to another set of rocks, and Josiah helped Ezra sit down again. "Okay?"

"Yes, yes." Ezra felt about in his jacket in frustration until Josiah handed him a handkerchief from his own pocket. "Thank you," Ezra muttered as he wiped his face. Josiah then handed him a cup of water. "Thank you," Ezra said again as he rinsed out his mouth. "I abhor being ill. It's so… unpleasant."

Josiah smiled. "That's a good word for it." He grabbed one of the tin plates that Ezra had won from the Gants and used it to scoop up enough dirt to bury the evidence of Ezra's illness.

"Sorry," Ezra said resignedly. "Thank you for your assistance in this awkward situation."

"It's no trouble, Ezra. You'd help me if I were in the same shape." For that he received a grin. Josiah had to step forward to stop Ezra's hand from reaching for his head again. "And do as you're told. Don't touch it."

Ezra waited until Josiah's back was turned before he mockingly and silently repeated Josiah's words. Josiah turned in time to catch the end of Ezra's taunt, but Ezra just turned the mouthed words into a yawn.

"You tired?"

"A bit," Ezra answered truthfully and then furrowed his brow. "Head hurts."

"It should."

"The Lamar Brothers…" Ezra started again. "You sent them home?"

"Yes, I did."

Ezra sighed. "After doling out a fit punishment?"

"I figured they'd been punished enough already."

Ezra lowered his eyes and stared off at the fire. "Oh, I see."

"I figured enough harm had been done to them and theirs."

"And so the ills perpetrated against Ezra Standish once again go unanswered?"

"I was the one who started it all," Josiah explained. "And the rock that hit you… was an accident."

"Oh, it always is an accident," Ezra declared bitterly. "An accident or punishment justly deserved."

"Ezra…"

"Once again, no retribution shall be sought for me. Just forget it, Ezra, he didn't mean it. Don't let it bother you, Ezra, you were just in the wrong place at the wrong time."  Ezra sighed and rested his head in his hands. "Shut up, Ezra, you just got what you deserved." He stopped abruptly and continued looking into the fire.

Josiah paused, surprised by what Ezra had just said. It wasn't like the gambler to reveal so much... so easily. "Ezra," Josiah said quietly, sitting down beside Standish. "Ezra?" Ezra didn't turn, his eyes were distant, his pupils uneven. Josiah wasn't sure if he was even aware of his presence.

"I sure am sorry about what happened," Josiah started. "It's all my fault and if there were a way, I would have switched places with you in an instant."

Ezra didn't give Josiah any reply.

"I never would want to see any harm come to you," Josiah said quietly. "I know how you took care of me when I was too drunk to watch out for myself. You got me safely out of town and paid for the damages I'd done. You've looked out for me every step of the way home. I want to thank you, sincerely. I never thanked you proper and I want to do that now." He paused, watching Ezra as he continued to gaze off into the fire. "Thank you, Ezra. You're a good man. Anyone would be honored to have you as their son. Sometimes I think on it...think it would be a nice thing to have you as my boy." He reached out and laid his hand on Ezra's shoulder. "Ezra?"

It took a moment but Ezra finally turned his head. "Oh, Josiah," he said, surprised. "What are you doin' here?"

Josiah sighed, seeing Ezra's confusion. He patted Ezra gently on the shoulder and said, "I think you should get a little more rest, and then we'll be getting home."

Ezra yawned at the suggestion. "I do suppose you're right."

"Just sit here and I'll get your blankets."

Ezra nodded dully and lowered his head as Josiah picked up the blankets and came back. Standish was half-asleep by the time Josiah returned a few seconds later.

"Ezra?"

"Hmmm, yes, Josiah?"

"Let me help you." Josiah lay out the blankets, careful to get as many rocks and sticks out from under them. Once he was fairly satisfied, he offered Ezra a hand and helped settle the gambler on the simple bed.

"Thank you, Josiah," Ezra murmured. "Much appreciated."

"You're welcome, son."

"Josiah…"

"Ezra?"

"I'm not your son, Josiah." Ezra's voice drifted off as he fell asleep.

Josiah was silent, remembering Ezra's ranting when he was drawn from that hiding place. "No, you're not," he said softly as he picked up another blanket and settled it over the sleeping Standish. "My son was lost … both literally and figuratively. I'll never be able to make up for abandoning him to his fate. And I'm not your father… whoever it is who haunts your dreams."

Ezra twitched in his sleep and let out a sigh. Josiah resolved to wake him in a little while; aware of the dangers of concussion, he couldn't let Ezra sleep too deeply.

He smiled. The bandaged head still made Ezra look like an Indian...a Hindu straight out of Southern Asia.  Figuring he’d have to change the overly-large dressing out for a smaller one now that the bleeding had stopped, Josiah still appreciated the image it created.  The headdress drew him back to another place and time, when he lived far from here in a foreign land. Josiah could imagine Ezra walking out of a lush jungle with a tiger at his side. He would live off of pomegranates and figs. His eyes would match the foliage, and the tiger would be both a loyal companion and a fierce protector.

"No, we're not father and son, but I think we're more than just friends. Perhaps we're somewhere in-between," Josiah said softly. He picked up the coffeepot from the fire and finally poured himself a cup. He walked as quietly as possible back to Ezra's side and sat down.

THE END - by NotTasha finished 01/23/01
Would you like to read the next South Bridge story?  Someone Else's Son

I would love to hear your comments and suggestions.

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