On The Shores of Lake Titicaca - Section 3!

PART 19:

Chris sipped his coffee as he waited in the Redbird. Inez came ahead of her usual schedule and had been there before dawn with him.

Josiah was the next to show up, also while the sky was still dark. The two of them sat in silence, ready for a difficult ride. JD and Buck arrived together just as the sun broke the horizon.

The four regulators waited, drinking their coffee, getting ready to go. Nobody had much to say. They all had their own silent worries to occupy them. Nathan was the last to walk through the door, delayed by packing everything he thought he might require. When Jackson finally strode in, Inez pressed a mug into his hand and nodded him out the door. The other peacekeepers followed.

Before Larabee made his way out, Inez grabbed hold of his arm and said quietly, “Bring them back.” Her warm chocolate eyes seemed to bore into Larabee’s. “Please,” she added.

Chris gripped the brim of his hat and nodded tightly to the saloon manager before he followed his men into the new day.


PART 20:

Ezra opened his eyes slowly and gazed out at the warming day. He felt strangely detached, as if he was no longer part of his body.

He blinked and tried to swallow. The world floated around him. He was lost in it, held tight to the ground while everything drifted around him.

He felt as remote as a lake, too high in the mountains.

The world was drifting away.  Nothing seemed real any longer -- it was all a haze. Sounds became muddled to a constant buzz. Light was fading even as the day grew warmer.

He was leaving soon.

There was so much he was going to miss.

A black speck hovered in his eyesight for a moment before disappearing. It took him several minutes to realize that it was a fly. The insect landed on his face and danced about to aggravate him.  Ezra tried to shift his head to dislodge it, but it seemed of little use. The fly continued to scuttle over his face. Worse yet, he didn’t seem able to lift his hand to swat it away. Something weighted it down.

Slowly, he turned his head so that he could see his hand. He focused on the indistinct form beside him. It took some effort, but he finally was able to comprehend that it was Vin -- that the tracker was the reason his arm couldn’t move.

Vin, he thought, and tried to smile.

With some effort, Ezra squeezed his hand, barely feeling Vin’s gentle grip. The tracker didn’t move, too exhausted to stir.

With a tired sigh, Ezra closed his eyes, knowing that, at least, he wasn’t alone.


PART 21:

Chris kept his horse at a quick gait as he followed the tracks left by the stage. He watched the horizon, hoping that they’d find them soon…or hoping that he wouldn’t find them at all -- that Vin and Ezra had spent the morning looking for that new tailor in Cedar Ridge, causing trouble and annoying the residents.

Buck rode alongside, watching his friend. “We’ll find ‘em,” he assured.

Chris grunted in response.

“Ya figure those bandits caught up with them?” JD asked innocently as he caught up.

Chris threw JD a deadly glare and Buck rolled his eyes in commiseration for his young friend.

JD fell back immediately and joined Nathan and Josiah. “I hoping they made it through just fine," JD said. “Maybe they made it to town after the wire shut down for the night and we left too early to get any word from them when it opened this morning.”

“I certainly hope that’s right, JD,” Josiah responded. They looked up when Chris and Buck came to a halt before them. Chris squinted at something and then spurred his horse to a gallop. The others followed in close pursuit.

Some strange hump altered the landscape.

At first, JD had trouble deciding what the shape was. It was only as they were closing on it that he realized it was the stagecoach, tipped over -- its busted top pointing toward them. JD and the others slowed as they passed the tumbled bodies that littered the path to the coach. Apparently the scavengers had found them already; they were ripped and torn and left to the sun.  Each one was scrutinized. They looked for a familiar face, hoping not to find one.

Chris spurred his horse onward, leaving the others behind at their task. In his heart, he knew that his men wouldn’t be left on the trail. They’d be at the stage. They’d be just fine, sitting there waiting for help to arrive -- guarding the gold and getting impatient in the wait.

He drew his gun as he came nearer. Ezra and Vin should be standing to meet them. Ezra should be grinning, showing off his gold tooth. Vin should be leaning against the downed stage and calling him 'Cowboy'.

He searched, recognizing the coachman stretched on the sand, then the driver not far from the front of the vehicle. He crouched low without dismounting to glance into the coach. The large chest was visible in the smashed interior. He tightened his jaw. Why was it unguarded? Damn, if it was still here and his men weren’t guarding it… Damn.  Damn it all!

He rounded to the front of the stage and grimaced at the sight of the dead horses, broken by the accident, shot by a gun, torn by scavengers and buzzing with flies.  A few bold coyotes and buzzards still lingered, but shied at the gunslinger’s approach. Chris skirted them, pulling wide around the tangled heap, still looking for his missing men. Where?  They wouldn’t have left the gold behind. No, they would have at least hidden it if they had to walk out. Damn!

An unfamiliar man in gray and green was flopped on his back, shot in the chest. Beside him -- a dead coyote. Chris kept moving.

He saw the dying fire next as he came around, then drew his horse to an instant stop. Vin was curled on his side, tucked in between the wheels. His leg wrapped and bandaged and reddened with blood. A canteen lay by his side, along with a half-empty bottle of whiskey. “Vin!” He leaped down from his saddle.

“Vin!” Chris called again as he fell to his knees beside the tracker. He did a double take when his gaze suddenly landed upon Ezra, only his head was visible from beneath the broken stage. A blanket haphazardly covered part of his arm and neck. The gambler looked dead … gray. “God, no.”

“Nathan!” Larabee shouted. Ezra’s one arm was outstretched, and Larabee noted with a sad heart that Vin had been holding onto him. Carefully he pulled Tanner’s hand away. Ezra’s fell lifelessly to the ground.

The tracker groaned as Chris rolled him onto his back. “Vin, come on, wake up,” Chris encouraged, hearing the others charging up. He glanced discontentedly at the trapped gambler, fearing the worst. A fly buzzed and crawled across Ezra’s pale cheek, acting as if it owned the place. With a scowl, Larabee swatted at it, shooing it away. Damn it! Stay off him!

If Standish was dead…Chris winced at the thought, realizing he’d never have a chance to explain.  Too late, he thought.  I’m always too damn late.

He turned his attention on Tanner, who stirred and grimaced, and breathed -- which was more than he could say for certain about the gambler. “Vin,” he called.

Tanner squinted and then blinked, looking up at Chris in confusion. “Chris,” he croaked. “Goddamn, Chris.” He tried to sit up, but Larabee kept him down.

“Keep still. Nathan’s coming.”

“Ezra,” Vin groaned.  He raised his hand, as if trying to clasp onto the gambler.

Chris’ eyes flicked toward the unmoving form -- so damn still, so pale and limp -- trapped and crushed.  The fly buzzed around him, considering landing again.

“Nathan’s coming,” Chris repeated, not wanting to say any more.

In a moment Jackson was there, his medical bag in hand and Josiah beside him. They naturally noticed Vin first. The healer squatted beside Larabee, examining their hurt friend. Josiah leaned in to help, and was startled when he finally saw the hidden member of their team.

“Oh, dear God,” Sanchez murmured, quickly squeezing himself into the small space and crouching down beside Ezra’s head. He pulled away the blanket at looked up, stricken, to the healer.  “Nathan…” Josiah turned his eyes on Chris, hoping he could tell him that the con man was still alive.

“Help him,” Vin managed to croak out, pressing a hand against Nathan. “Nate, help him. Don’t let him…”

Nathan, seeing that Vin was still fighting, shifted his attention from the tracker to the gambler.  He lay his fingers against Ezra’s neck. Josiah angrily swatted the buzzing fly to the ground, and smote it into the sand.

JD and Buck charged into the group, and they watched in silence as Jackson hunched under a big wheel and searched for a sign of life in Standish.

“Buck,” JD said softly.  “He ain’t dead, is he?”

Chris winced again as he hung onto Vin.  Not dead…not yet.  Don’t let him be dead and gone and beyond us now.

Buck didn't respond. He dismounted and pulled his bedroll from his saddle and set it out for Vin.  He handed Chris his canteen.

Nathan let out a slow breath and said, “His heart’s still beatin’, the stubborn cuss.”

At those words, Chris released a sigh. Thank God!

“Let’s get him the hell out of there,” Buck commanded. “Now!” Josiah was trembling with energy as he searched the stage for a good handhold.

Not moving from his position, Nathan lifted one hand and said, “Not so quick.” He frowned as he kept the other hand on Ezra’s neck, feeling his pulse. He glanced at the coach and added, “Seems to have lost a lot of blood.”  He paused before saying, “Might have crushed something inside him.”

Chris was trying to give Vin some of the water from Buck’s canteen when the tracker said, “Shoulder’s out. Said his leg hurt. Told me he wasn’t feelin’ it anymore when I talked to him last.”

“He was awake?” Nathan asked, glad for that small bit of good news.

“On and off,” Vin responded. “Been sleepin’ a lot.  I think he got real hurt. Told me he didn’t feel so good.”

“Damn well reason enough to get this shit off of him,” Buck barked.

“It’s been weighing on him for hours, Buck.  Workin’ like a tourniquet or a pressure bandage, I think.”  Nathan rubbed his chin. “Slowin’ down his blood.”

“When we move it, he might bleed out in a hurry,” Josiah realized. His soft blue eyes taking in the heavy vehicle, understanding that the weight of the thing that trapped Ezra might also have helped to keep him alive, but – God – it might have torn him up, too. He ran the back of one hand over Ezra’s face, feeling the cold chill. The preacher closed his eyes and said a silent prayer.

“JD, get that fire goin’ hot," Nathan demanded as he started going through his bag.  He needed to be ready. When the coach was lifted, he’d have to act fast. Ezra had lost blood. If Ezra’s insides were busted up, then there wasn’t much Nathan could do. Hopefully Standish would just die in a hurry without waking up. If he had a deep laceration and the bleeding was bad, at least there’d be hope. As pale as Ezra was, Nathan realized that he couldn’t allow the gambler to loose any more blood. The quickest solution would be to cauterize the wound. He found his firebrand in the bag and hefted it in his hand. The fire had better be hot.

Unable to do much for Ezra until the fire was ready, he moved to Vin to check the bandaged wound. “Help him,” Vin said softly as Nathan hovered over him. The tracker blinked, obviously fighting to stay awake. Vin’s sharp blue eyes looked up at Chris, pleadingly. “I tried, Chris. I couldn’t move it.”

“You did your best,” Chris answered. “You did everything you could.”

Nathan nodded reassuringly. “We’re gonna get him out, but we gotta wait for the fire.   I swear we’ll get him out of there, Vin.”

Vin nodded numbly, accepting Nathan’s promise.

The healer continued, “How you feelin’?”

“Like shit,” Vin responded. “Leg hurts fierce.” He grimaced. “Damn thirsty. Didn’t have enough water. Shared it -- 50-50.”

Nathan said, “Gotta get your leg fixed up and get some water into you.” Losing blood and rationing water was never a good combination. He glanced at the half-empty bottle of bourbon. “You fellas drink a lot of that?”

“Not much…considering.  Used it to fix this.”  Vin frowned at the soiled bandage.

Nathan was grateful that they hadn’t consumed much of the liquor. It would have only further dehydrated them. Now, if he could just get Vin fixed up, he might be able to save one of the two men.

They moved Vin onto the bedroll.  The healer undid the bandage as Chris tilted the canteen for Vin. Jackson nodded to himself when he saw how the wound was doing. It was rather clean, showing that Vin had done a good job of taking care of it. Thank God! Sometimes, it seemed that these men would just forget about proper care of themselves when another of their group was in peril.

The bleeding had stopped, but would need a stitch or two to hold the wound together and stop the wound from reopening.  The stiff and crusty jeans, hacked off just above the wound, let him know that it had bled a lot. He glanced to JD and Buck who were working on the fire -- it would take a little while to get it hot enough.

“I’ll give Vin some laudanum and then I’ll give this a good cleanin’.” Nathan pulled the bottle out of his bag and measured out a dose into a cup of water. Vin hesitated before he took the cup from Nathan. “It’s gonna hurt, Vin,” Nathan told him.  “You’ll want it.”

The tracker glanced to Larabee who nodded reassuringly. “Don’t want to waste time, Vin,” Chris said softly. “Gonna take care of Ezra as soon as we’re done with you.”

Tanner sighed and then drank it down, shaking his head at the taste of the medicine.

Jackson handed a fresh cloth to Chris.  “I’ll need you to put some pressure on it once I’m done.”

Chris watched his friend’s face as Tanner fought the weariness, the pain and the drug.  Vin was struggling to stay awake. “It’s okay now,” Larabee assured.  “You can sleep. We’ll take care of him.”

Tanner gave Chris a relieved look and then closed his eyes and drifted off.


PART 22:

“Ready?”  Chris called. Josiah and Buck nodded. “Okay. One…two…three…LIFT!” With a grunt the three men levered the stage up, grasping the heavy contraption and raising it upward. Inside, things rumbled and rolled. The heavy trunk tumbled. They had considered removing the chest first, but figured that the pressure should remain as stable as possible to the end -- and nobody wanted to climb inside the stage to retrieve it. The dead horses had been dragged off the wagon tongue only moments ago.

“Now!”  Nathan demanded. Dunne and Jackson grabbed hold, pulled Ezra out from underneath, and gently set him down. Ezra moved slightly, trying to draw his legs up and curl into a ball. Still on his stomach, he could do little. Quickly, Jackson scrutinized him, looking for signs of injury, finding the blood-soaked leg. Nathan fell on the southerner with a bandage, pressing all his weight on the now freely bleeding gash on the back of his shin. Bright blood replaced the darker stain on Ezra’s trouser leg. His whole trouser leg was soaked through. The southerner responded, weakly. His face drew up in a grimace and his hands clenched.

“JD!” Nathan shouted. “Get your weight on this. I need to check him.”

JD nodded tightly as the other three men carefully lowered the stage, trying to keep the dust from flying. Dunne changed places with the healer and did as he was told. Jackson left the wound to the young sheriff as he started his search, running his hands over the cool skin of the southerner, looking for other injuries.

Ezra gasped and his eyelids fluttered for a moment before he was still again. “Hang on, Ezra,” Jackson muttered as he worked.

“You need anything, Nathan?”  Josiah asked, turning his eye on the firebrand, glowing cherry-bright in the fire.

“Give me a minute,” Jackson responded, unbuttoning Ezra’s suspenders and pulling up his shirt and vest.  “Keep all your weight on him, JD!” Nathan glanced at the sheriff, who seemed a little timid at his task. “You ain’t gonna hurt him any worse now. Get on that wound!” He’d swap out Dunne if the sheriff wasn’t up to the task, but the young man nodded determinedly and did as he was told.

JD kept his gaze on Ezra’s face, but the pain-filled expression had fled the gambler as he fell back into a deeper level of unconsciousness. “Sorry, Ez,” Dunne said under his breath as he leaned against the vicious cut.

The dark healer scrutinized Standish’s back – it was a mix of black and blue and red.  The stage had come down hard and scraped him up, but his kidneys and spine might have made it through undamaged. His shoulder was definitely out. Damn, Nathan thought. It’ll be a trick to get it in place again after so long. He felt along his limbs, thankful to find no sign of broken bones. A quick examination of the ribs revealed that although they were badly bruised, the southerner's ribcage was intact. It was a miracle that the stage hadn’t smashed him to pieces. The soft sand and a few well-placed rocks must have saved him from further injury.

He made a motion to Josiah and the big man squatted down to help. The two rocked the gambler to one side, to continue his examination. They unbuckled his shoulder harness and gun belt and eased them off. Ezra’s stomach and chest seemed mostly unharmed, no telltale discoloration or distention that would come from something gone wrong inside, only a deep mottling of bruises to show that he was shoved into the sand with some force.

“Nathan?” Chris asked the question.

The healer nodded.  “Okay. It’s okay.” He smiled weakly at their leader. “I don’t think he’s ruptured anythin’. Will have to wait and see to be sure about that. Bones seem to be sound, but that pernickety shoulder of his is out. He was movin’ a bit, and that’s good news. Means his spine ain’t broke.” He sighed in relief as he continued his scrutiny. He nodded toward JD who was sweating as he pressed against the torn leg, and said, “That seems to be the worst of it. Something must have dragged it’s way into him and cut him up. Probably had enough weight on him to keep the bleedin’ slow, but it kept workin’ on him and bleedin’ out all this time. Must’a hurt somethin’ fierce.”

Chris didn’t look relieved at this news. His eyes were on Ezra’s wan face. The accident had happened yesterday afternoon. How long had Ezra suffered? Josiah sat beside the southerner and laid one of his great hands on the gambler’s head and shook his head woefully.

“How bad is it?”  Larabee asked.

“Gonna see if the pressure stops the bleeding.” Nathan said as he moved alongside JD. “Figure it’d be best if I can stitch it instead of burn it. That way I can get it cleaned out proper. Not tellin’ what sorta crap got in that cut. Gotta keep it from goin’ gangrene.”

Buck milled around, wanting to be of some help, but not knowing what to do. Finally, he stood behind JD and rested a reassuring hand on his shoulder. JD looked up and smiled, keeping his weight firmly on Ezra’s torn leg. Chris, unable to just watch and do nothing, moved back to the sleeping tracker. He sat down beside Tanner and kept a silent watch on him. Vin slept uneasily.

The preacher kept his hand on the gambler’s head. Ezra was so damn pale, there didn’t seem to be anything left to bleed out. “Hang on, son,” he whispered.  “Hang on.”

“Hand me the brand, Buck,” Nathan ordered tensely.

“Ya gonna have to do it?” JD asked, his voice high with worry. He’d never seen a wound cauterized before and he hoped he’d never have to. He wrinkled his nose, imagining the smell of burning flesh, and pressed harder, hoping to save Ezra from that.

“If the wound’s bleeding still, I’m gonna have to burn it,” Nathan responded. “Ain’t gonna let him lose no more blood.”

Buck picked the glowing brand from the fire and crouched down beside Nathan, ready to hand it off if needed. Nathan sucked in a breath and nodded to JD to pull back the bandage. Josiah carefully leaned against Ezra, holding down his right arm, and trying to avoid his displaced left shoulder. Chris sat up, ready to spring to his feet if he was needed.

JD pulled back the bandage and got out of the way, afraid of what would happen next.  Nathan paused. He observed for a moment, then pulled a knife from its sheath and cut back the blood-soaked cloth of Ezra’s trousers, fully exposing the long gash. “Thank the Lord,” he breathed, noting that the bright red blood was minimal. “Let’s get his legs propped up a bit, and hand me the whiskey, JD. I’ll get this cleaned out and then stitched up.”

Josiah sighed in relief and rustled Ezra’s stiff chestnut hair. “You’re gonna be okay, son,” he said softly. As his glance took in Ezra’s grayish skin, he added, “Please, be okay.”


PART 23:

Vin comprehended only bits and pieces of what went on around him. Nothing made sense.

He opened his eyes and Chris was there, watching him with worried eyes. Vin moved his hand as if he could still latch onto the gambler, but he was gone. “Ezra,” he rasped, frantic to find him. His eyes met Chris'. Larabee said something that didn’t seem to answer the question. “He okay?” Vin asked, and instead of an answer, Chris gave him more water. God, he was thirsty -- he could drink a whole lake of water.

Chris turned away, focusing his attention on something nearby. JD was standing beside him, with a hand pressed to his chest as if he was trying to not look horrified. Both were looking in the same direction. Vin glanced over and saw Nathan and Josiah with Ezra. Josiah had Ezra sitting up. For a moment Vin thought that Ezra was okay, but he seemed so limp in Josiah’s arms. He watched as Nathan wrenched Ezra’s shoulder back into its joint in one difficult maneuver. It made a sickening popping sound and Ezra made a sharp cry that sent Vin back into sleep.

When Vin woke again, a wagon was parked near him and Buck was stepping down from his seat. It had appeared from nowhere -- like a mirage on the high desert. Yosemite was there too. 

Chris and Josiah lifted him and for a moment he was floating in the air. Then he was settled in the wagon. He drifted, listening absently as something else was placed in the wagon beside him.

The ride in the wagon was a disconnected series of visions. As the vehicle bounced over the rough ground, he caught sight of Nathan and Josiah near him. Yosemite drove the wagon. Sometimes he’d see the face of a rider on horseback near the wagon -- Chris or Buck or JD. Voices.

Ezra was next to him, in the straw and blankets that lined the wagon. Josiah sat in the far corner at the gambler’s side. Vin wanted to ask how Standish was doing, but the lost look on Josiah’s face spoke volumes. Sanchez kept placing his hand on Ezra, kept holding onto him. Don’t let go, Vin thought. Don’t let him think he's alone.

Nathan was between them. It seemed that every time Vin opened his eyes, Nathan was hovering. “How ya feelin’, Vin?”  “Ya doin’ okay, Vin?” “Hang on a bit longer, Vin. We’re almost home.” “Have some more water.” The black man’s rich voice accompanied him the whole way back.

Then, suddenly, someone was carrying him. He floated again, as if on water. He traveled as if lying back in a rowboat. Someone stripped off his clothing and settled him in a bed. Someone piled on blankets to help combat the chill that had found him. ; His mind was drifting, as if on the surface of a lake.

He blinked numbly at the figures around him, trying to make sense of them all.

“Go to sleep, Vin,” someone said. And so he did.


PART 24:

Chris pressed open the door to the clinic. Outside, night had fallen. From the saloons, a rowdy noise and yellow light filled the street. Townfolk and visitors, ranchers and wranglers were whoopin’ it up in the streets and taverns. It was a typical Saturday night in Four Corners.

The atmosphere within the clinic was vastly different, silent and still.

“How’re they doin’?” Larabee asked.

Nathan yawned and stretched. “Vin’s doin’ fine. Been awake a few times. Lost a good bit of blood, but that bullet hole looks okay after cleanin’. He’ll be tired out and sore for a while, but I figure he’ll be up and causin’ trouble in no time.”

Chris turned to his friend. The tracker lay on his back, his suntanned face looking paler than normal. He slept easily, restoring the strength that had bled out of him through that hole in his leg, through that long wait in the desert without much water. Vin muttered and moved quietly in his sleep.

Jackson’s soft smile dropped as he turned his head toward the other bed. Ezra was still far too pale; his hair was plastered to his head, with the blankets pulled up to his neck. His legs were raised on a pillow to cushion his injury and to keep him from shock. From time to time a tremor would run through him but he was otherwise as still as a corpse.

Nathan rubbed his neck and stated, “He’s got a bit of a fever now. Pretty bruised up. I got his arm tied so he won’t try and move it, and that shoulder’s gonna ache for a while. Got that that gash stitched, but it’s a bit infected.” The healer sighed. “I’ve done what I can to draw it out with a poultice, but he’s gonna need to take some medicine to fight it, some water, too, but I can’t wake him up. He hardly stirred a’tall."

Chris Larabee ground his teeth in frustration. They’d found the two men that morning and brought them back with the gold. Funny, how annoying the precious chest had become. It had too much monetary value to leave on the desert. It was a temptation -- a danger. It had to come back with them. In the wagon, it was only a box that weighed them down and got in the way.

As far as Larabee was concerned, the chest had no value whatsoever

All day long, during the trip home and then in the clinic, Vin had wavered in and out of consciousness, always asking for Ezra when he woke. Nathan treated him patiently, answering his questions without revealing too much.

Ezra, on the other hand, hadn’t shown signs of awakening. When Nathan cleaned out the wound -- pulling out long slivers of wood -- he’d made a token struggle, shifting his legs slightly and turning his head with a sharp intake of breath, but that was the extent of his movements. Even as night fell, the cardsharp remained unconscious. Nathan had done what he could, treating his bruises and scrapes, taking care of the gash on his leg where some sharp part of the stagecoach had carved its way through him. A difficult infection had settled in now that needed to be knocked out.

“How bad is it,” Chris asked tersely, “if he doesn’t wake up soon?”

Nathan closed his eyes as if struck by a pain. How many times would he have to say those words… if Ezra didn’t wake up soon, he’d die. Damn, it had been too often for this cardsharp. Memories of finding Ezra in Kotter’s Ridge still haunted the healer, memories of bringing him back from Vaughn ranch after he’d been held captive for a week, beaten and off his head. Why does this have to happen? Why can’t I help him more than this?

Nathan bit his lip. “I’ve tried dropping water into his mouth, just a bit at a time, but he ain’t swallowing. I’m afraid it’ll get into his lungs and then there’ll be pneumonia to worry about, too.” The thought of pneumonia terrified him. He’d seen too many men waste away and die from it in the war.

“How long can he last, Nate?”

Damn, there was the question he knew would come.  Nathan sighed and sat down at his desk. “He lost an awful lot of blood, Chris. Nearly bled dry. If he don’t get some water, he might make it though the night, but, he’s gotta wake up real soon.”

Chris sighed and sat down in the chair between the cot and the bed. Vin mumbled something in his sleep and Larabee leaned close to hear him say the words, “It’d be a bit of a trip…but I ain’t averse t’goin’ so far.”

Chris frowned, listening to the tracker talk in his sleep. Vin was leaving? “Where you plannin’ on goin’, Vin?” he asked.

Vin’s mouth pulled and his brow furrowed in his sleep. “Ain’t afraid of workin’ a bit to get there…”

“Where, Vin?” Chris asked again, quietly, wondering what went on out in the desert beside that coach. The tracker didn’t answer. He seemed to drift into a deeper sleep and became quiet again.

Larabee patted his friend gently on the arm and then turned to the gambler, watching as his face twitched slightly. “Ezra,” he called softly. He watched as Standish’s eyelids fluttered, his eyes moving as if he was searching for something in his sleep. This was the first movement that he’d seen from the gambler other than his ineffectual struggles against the increased pain they’d inflicted on him.  “Ezra,” Chris called again, his voice quiet but penetrating.

“He comin’ 'round?” Nathan asked anxiously as he came closer to the bed.

“Seems that way,” Chris replied. “Come on, Ezra. We need you to wake up. ”

A grimace crossed the southerner’s face and he turned his head slowly.

“Ezra, you been out long enough,” Nathan chided. “Get up now.”

The grimace increased, then erased itself from Ezra’s face. He said thickly, “rather sleep,” and shifted slightly under the covers.

Both Jackson and Larabee smiled. “Well, I figured on that, Ezra,” Chris commented. “But you’d better wake up for a bit and save Nathan from worryin’ himself sick.”

“Hmmm,” Ezra voiced and became still again, his breathing slowing.

“No, you don’t!” Nathan ordered sharply. “Don’t you go fallin’ back asleep!”

An eyebrow cocked.

“Let’s sit him up, Chris,” Nathan ordered. “He can sleep in a bit, but he’s gonna have to put up with us first.”

Chris nodded and slid an arm under Ezra and levered him into an upright position, careful of Ezra’s sore shoulder and bruised back. He apologized softly when the gambler inhaled abruptly, “Sorry about that, Ezra.”

Ezra’s green eyes finally opened narrowly and he gazed back at Chris. “You’re rather close, sir,” he said in a hoarse voice, staring at the face so near his own.

“Can’t be helped,” Chris responded as he leaned the tired gambler against him. Ezra’s breathing quickened. “Doin’ okay?” Larabee asked.  Standish’s head felt hot as it pressed against his chest.

“Fine,” Ezra responded as he rested on the gunslinger. “Vin?” he asked softly, then his eyes lit on the tracker. “Is he…?”  he trailed off, not wanting to say the words.

“He’s fine, Ezra.”  Nathan responded. “Gonna be up and out of my hair in no time.”

“Good,” Ezra responded. Chris watched a silent struggle play over the cardsharp's face. “My leg?” he asked, not looking toward the appendage.

“You got it sliced pretty bad," Nathan told him.

The lost look only deepened and Ezra stiffened. “Did you…did it require… amputation?” he asked in a flat voice.

The question startled Larabee and he frowned at Nathan, wondering why Ezra even asked it.

Nathan smiled and shook his head. “Well, if you got it cut a few inches deeper you may 'ave done it yourself. I put a couple dozen stitches in it, so it’ll hold together.” Chris felt Ezra relax against him as Nathan continued, “Ya lost more blood than a man should, but I don’t think the damage is gonna be permanent.” He turned his back on the gambler to fill a glass with water. “Ya might not even be left with a limp. Ya just gotta listen to me and behave.”

Ezra uttered too softly to be heard by the healer, “Not likely.”

Chris chuckled.

With his one available hand, Ezra touched his chest “Good Lord, it’s good to out from under there. I thought I’d…” and then his voice drifted off as Nathan came to him with a glass of water. “…thought I wouldn’t escape alive from there.”

“We came as soon as we could,” Chris explained as the healer helped Ezra to drink. “Figured something had gone wrong.”

Nathan pulled back the cup to make sure that the gambler didn’t get sick on it. Ezra blinked at Chris and asked, “Mr. Larabee, how’d you know of our predicament? Did you have a…supernatural premonition?”

Chris replied, “When it comes to you and Vin, it doesn’t take anything supernatural.  I just come to expect trouble.”

“Hmmm,” Ezra responded as he drank again. He gazed back to the slumbering tracker, then lifted his gaze to Nathan. “You’re certain that he’ll be alright?  He was rather on his own.”

“He’ll be fine,” Nathan reiterated. “And he wasn’t exactly alone, you fool. You were there, too.”

Ezra rolled his eyes. “And completely…incapacitated…of no use whatsoever.”

“I figure you kept him company if nothing else,” Chris returned. “And ya probably reminded him to take care of himself. Vin can get a bit distracted when certain things take up his attention.”

Ezra responded with a soft grunt, unable to say anything else because Nathan had pressed the glass to his lips again.

Chris sighed, as he continued to hold the gambler upright. “Figure I owe you an apology for what I said before you all left.”

Ezra pushed the glass away, getting an annoyed look from Nathan. “Whatever for?” he asked softly.

“What I said about the money and you -- it wasn’t right.”

A smile tugged at Ezra’s lips, but already he was drifting off again. “Undeniably, I do have a fondness for it.  The acquirement of money is, in fact, an all-consuming passion with me…all I really care about.  I’d trade any one of you for a half-dollar.”

Larabee frowned and his eyes narrowed to his famous glare. “If you think I believe that, Standish, then you’re dumber than a box of hammers.”

Ezra gazed back at him in disbelief. He seemed about to say something, but instead closed his eyes.

“Ezra?” Chris called, and gently shook the man in his arms. “Come on, Ezra.”

Nathan shook his head. “Looks like he’s done. At least he drank somethin’. Next time we might be able to get medicine into him.”

Larabee looked up to find Vin gazing back at him from the cot. “Don’t worry, cowboy," Vin said. “We’ll get him set straight sooner or later.” Vin smiled. “I’ve been workin’ on him for a while now.”

“Been a bit of a struggle, I take it,” Chris replied, as he and Nathan got the sleeping gambler settled.

“Yeah, well…” Vin yawned. “Seems there’s a bit of groundwork to get broke down first.  We’ll get if fixed if we’re patient.  I ain’t afraid of workin’ a bit to get there.”


PART 25:

They both slept. Vin improved steadily as the night wore on. He woke occasionally, asking for more water.  Nathan pressed him with his usual concoctions that would have made a well man take to his bed. Ezra slept for the most part. They were able to get him to drink a small amount of water each time he woke, but he never lasted long enough for anything more. The fever kept him more asleep than awake, lost in the dream world in-between.

Ezra muttered and mumbled, none of his words very intelligible. Buck, who sat with him for a while, thought he recognized bits of military jargon. He couldn’t quite figure out where the cultured cardsharp might have picked up that lingo. Josiah, when he took his turn, recognized Greek and Latin, a smattering of Spanish and French and other languages. But, as soon as he thought he recognized a word or two, the language would change again -- as if Ezra had a secret ciphering device that wouldn't allow himself to be decoded.

Nathan stayed at the clinic, fighting to keep his eyes open. The previous night, he’d hardly slept at all, worried about their missing friends and checking on the sick baby. Then, the long day and night tending to their fallen comrades had taken a toll on his patience and his fortitude. At least the Wilsons’ baby had improved and could be left to his parents care.

He leaned on his desk, resting his head in his hands, drifting. JD would be up in an hour to take over the watch for a while. Maybe, if he was lucky, Jackson could get an hour or two of sleep. At least Standish and Tanner were asleep and didn’t require any immediate tending. He blinked and grimaced, trying to stay awake. A movement caught his eye and he noted Standish moving his head. Nathan pushed himself to his feet and strode to the bed.

“Ezra,” Nathan greeted. “How ya feelin’?”

“Miserable,” Standish voiced slowly.

“Well, it looks like you’re more awake then you’ve been for a while,” Nathan said, noting the finally coherent expression on the gambler’s face. “Figure it’s time to get you fixed up a bit.”

“Lord help me,” Ezra responded and then breathed sharply as Nathan adjusted his position, setting him up against the headboard.

“How’s your leg?”

Ezra responded by trying to move the appendage, and gasping in pain as a bolt shot through him.  “Fine!” he managed to gasp out.

“Fine, yeah, you look fine.” Jackson crossed his arms over his chest. “How ‘bout your arm? Think you can answer that without makin’ it worse by movin’ it?”

Standish glared back at the healer in response. The gambler hadn’t gained back any of his color yet.  The recent movement only proved to make him tremble.

“Hurt?” Nathan asked, but didn’t get a response. He sighed loudly. “Well, let me give you somethin’ to help.” He moved across the room and pulled a brown bottle from his medicine cabinet. “It’ll keep you quiet if nothing else.”

“No laudanum,” Ezra said softly, recognizing the bottle.

“Now, Ezra, I know how you are about this,” Jackson said as he measured the thick syrup into a glass of water.  “But you know it’s for the best.”

“Please, I’d prefer not,” Ezra responded.

Jackson groaned, too exhausted for a fight. “Ezra, I ain’t gonna take your bullheadedness right now. You always piss and moan about taking laudanum.  But, every time I make you take it, you know it’s for the best.” He shook his head as if he were confronting a child. “I can tell you’re in pain just by looking at you. If you just drink it down like a big boy, you’ll feel a lot better.”

“I’ll do without, sir.” Ezra’s voice took on a certain amount of steel.

Nathan strode to the bed with the glass in hand. “You never know what’s good for you, Ezra. Just take this and be quiet. Then I’ll see what I can do about your fever.”

“No, sir, I will not,” Ezra said firmly.

Nathan closed his tired eyes and fought for control. Earlier, he’d hoped that the cardsharp would wake up and be responsive to him. Now that Standish was ‘responding,’ he just wanted Ezra to shut up and behave. “Ezra, you’re going to take it if I have to force it down your throat, so just…”

“He said, ‘No’,” Vin’s voice cut in. “He don’t want it, Nate.”

Nathan turned to face the tracker, who was sitting up on his cot. Now he had two of them to deal with -- twice the trouble. “Vin, he’s just being stubborn ‘cause it makes him puke sometimes and he doesn’t like how it dopes him up.” Nathan shook his head again, with the same condescending manner. “Really, it’s worth a little tummy ache. I gotta clean out that wound again, so if he’d just shut up and behave…"

“He told ya ‘No’, Nate. Cain’t ya do what the man asked ya?”

Nathan turned back to Standish, who was valiantly trying to keep his head up, weariness tugging at him.

Vin continued, “I know yer tired, Nate, so I’ll give ya leave to be ornery, but ya ain’t gonna give a man what he don’t want. Give ‘im some of that stink-water-tea, but do what he asks.” Tanner figured that they only had a narrow window of opportunity while the southerner was still awake, and Standish desperately needed something to help him fight that fever.

With a disgusted groan, Nathan slammed the glass down on the counter and picked up the kettle from the stove.  Without a word, he prepared the herb-laced tea and handed the cup to Ezra. With equal silence, Ezra drank it down.  There was no comment regarding the taste, outside of the look of revulsion that crossed the gamester’s face. He handed the cup back to Nathan and immediately fell asleep, never looking toward Vin.

“When I start to clean that cut, he’ll be sorry. He won’t be able to sleep through that. You plan to hold him down for me?”  Nathan snapped at Vin, who smiled back.

“Naw, I’m too damn sick to deal with that son-of-a-bitch. He kicks.”

“He’s a damn fool, Vin. I got the tools here to help him and he just throws it back in my face.”

Vin watched the healer carefully. “Nate, I thank ya for helpin’ him and me. I figure neither of us would be here now if it weren’t for you. ‘Preciate that more than you know. Now ya darn near run yourself ragged with tendin’ to us and I know we ain’t the best of your patients.”

Nathan snorted.

“But ya gotta listen sometimes,” Vin continued. “Ya get us under your thumb and it ain’t the most appealin’ thing.”

“I’m tryin’ to help,” Nathan said, his voice softening. “He’s just gonna suffer. I don't want to cause him any more pain.”

“I know and there’s time when ya should press, but right now ain’t the time.” Nathan wasn’t the first one to force the opiate on Ezra, and those recently unearthed memories were pulling the gambler away from the help he truly needed.

Nathan shook his head and said dolefully, “It’s as if he doesn’t trust me, doesn’t trust any of us.”

Trusted me enough to tell me that tale, Vin thought. Trusts us enough to watch his back. Trusted Chris and the others to come for us. Probably just doesn’t trust himself enough. He failed once when they got him with laudanum. He’s afraid it’ll happen again… Thinks somethin’ terrible will happen and it will be all his fault again.

“He trusts us, Nate,” Vin finally said.  “Trusts us a lot.”

“He just doesn’t understand what he’s gonna have to go through.”

“He knows what he traded for.”  Tanner turned toward Ezra, watching as the con man flinched in his sleep.


PART 26:

“Okay,” Josiah said, settling his hat on his head. “I’m gonna go down to the restaurant and sup with our brothers.” He gave the two men a steady look. “I’m gonna trust you both to stay put.”

“Now, Mr. Sanchez,” Ezra said as he studied his game of solitaire. “Why would you believe we’d cause any trouble?”

The big preacher smiled and shook his head. “I would be a fool to believe otherwise.”  He was glad to see Ezra’s grin. The memories of the past few days would haunt the softhearted preacher for some time. He could still remember Ezra trapped beneath that stage. The memory of seeing only his head and arm sticking out of that wreck made Josiah heartsick. He could still recall his pallor and stillness. Vividly, he could bring to mind the afternoon when he’d helped hold down the con man so that Nathan could get the wound cleaned out again. Lord, he didn’t understand why Nathan just didn’t give Ezra some laudanum. The poor man had suffered terribly, but he’d never complained. At least Nathan had been smart enough to move quickly out of the way when Standish couldn’t handle it anymore and kicked out at him. Ezra apologized, of course, but Tanner -- strangely enough -- had laughed.

Sanchez continued, “I figure that the two of you are tired of having a nursemaid hovering over you day and night, and you both could probably stand an hour or so without supervision.”

He regarded the two men in their beds. Both looked as if they didn’t have the strength to move, but there was no telling with either of them. Ezra had been improving steadily.  He sat against a mass of pillows, to cushion his bruised back.  His fever had broken during the night, and he was gaining back some of his natural orneriness. Vin’s leg still troubled him, but he wouldn’t be trapped in this room much longer.

“I mean it,” Josiah stated. “If either of you escape while I’m gone, I’ll never hear the end of it. Nathan will blame me.”

“I wouldn’t want that to happen,” Ezra responded as he laid the red eight on the black nine. “Mr. Jackson’s ire can be formidable.”

“We ain’t goin’, Josiah,” Vin put in. “No need to fret.”

Sanchez nodded and added, “Stay out of trouble!” before he pushed the door open. They heard Josiah descend the stairs outside. Vin sighed. It was nice to finally be out of constant observation. He had felt rather claustrophobic in the confines of the clinic, but having someone constantly peering at him made the sensation even worse. The two sat in silence; the only sound was the quiet flipping of cards as Ezra continued his game.

Finally with his eyes still on the cards, Ezra said quietly, “I’m afraid I may have mentioned something…”

Vin chuckled. “You mention lots of stuff, Ez.”

“I’m afraid,” Ezra said as he ran his fingers along the sides of the partial deck of cards, “that I disclosed an event in my past while we waited at the stagecoach.” He glanced up at Vin, his green eyes somber. “I was unsure of how much I actually told you, but your reaction when Nathan presented his favorite remedy the other day leads me to believe that I may have said too much.”

Vin waited a beat before he said, “Ya mentioned something that happened during the War…somethin’ at an army hospital.”

Ezra nodded and continued fiddling with the cards. “Do I have your word that you’ll not tell any of the others about the…incident…in question?”

“I already told ya that, Ez. Won’t say a word. ‘Sides,” Vin said with a cocky grin. “I know you trust me with knowin’ it.” Ezra continued to mess with his cards, unable to keep his mind on the game. “Ezra,” Vin finally said, noting the silence from the cardsharp. “I ‘preciate you tellin’ me about what happened. It felt good to know you trusted me like that.”

“It’s not easy for me…” Ezra said softly. He started picking up the played cards.

“I know,” Vin responded.  “But, you can talk to me about anythin’ you want, Ez. You understand what I said? My word as a Tanner, I won’t tell no one.” He watched as the gambler straightened the deck. “Sometimes it’s good to talk.”

“No,” Ezra contradicted.  “Usually, it isn’t. Speaking of such things is usually only the incipience of trouble.”

“People caused you trouble about that? About what happened in that army hospital?”

Ezra didn’t answer, keeping his attention on the cards.

“They make you feel at fault, Ez?”

“Certain members of my company, when I encountered them, made references…”

“They’re assholes, Ez," Vin declared. “Anyone who figured you did anythin’ wrong.”

“I know,” Ezra replied hollowly. “I do realize that. But it doesn’t stop me from feeling as if I was at least partially responsible for the death of a good man.” He sighed and muttered, “I wish I could’ve been a better man.”

“So, you figure its my fault fer you gettin’ so hurt under that stagecoach?”

Ezra looked up, startled. “Why no, Vin. Of course not. You had nothing to do with my predicament.”

“Yeah, I was the only one who could move, but I left you under that damn thing 'til it almost killed ya. I must be the one who done wrong.”

“You were injured, my friend, and could hardly be expected to accomplish the Herculean task of lifting the conveyance off me.”

“So, you forgive me for that?”

Ezra frowned. “There’s nothing to forgive. I bear you no ill will and am extremely grateful you were with me at the time.”

Vin shook his head. “Yer a better man than any of 'em, Ez. Ya know that?”

Ezra continued to shuffle his cards, lost in thought.  Vin continued, “You just gotta pick your friends better.”

Standish smiled sadly. “Sometimes, I believe, my mother is the wisest person on the planet.”

Vin frowned at this sudden statement, remembering a conversation he’d heard between the two – when she callously totaled up the dollar-worth of the gambler. “How’d ya figure that?”

“She has impressed upon me the fact that it’s best to never become too attached to anyone. Friends and acquaintances are only marks to exploit. One should take advantage of situations, and not be entangled in them. One must not tether oneself to a locale; it only leads to familiarity, which is the end of any con. For you see, man is ultimately alone in this world.”

Ezra smiled again, the same self-deprecating smile. “If I never let myself be caught up with the war, if I hadn’t allowed myself to look up to the fine captain, if I hadn’t allowed myself to make friendships among my fellow soldiers, then their condemnations would have meant nothing to me.” He shrugged delicately, mindful of his sore shoulder. “None of this would have been a problem to me. I should never have been in the situation at all. I should’ve taken a sojourn to Europe as my wise mother had suggested at the beginning of the altercation.”

Vin said nothing immediately, poking at his healing leg. “It’s easy to be alone, Ezra. I know it. I lived most of my life on my own, beholden to no one. Problem is, ya can’t live your whole life like that. Sooner or later you’ll get to know folk, and then you’ll start carin’ about what happens to them, watchin’ out for ‘em.”

“There’s no profit in it.”

“Aw, piss on profit!” Vin grumbled. “Profit ain’t done me a lick of good. I got a price on my head, remember?”

Ezra looked up at him and then argued, “Well, building friendships isn’t wise. It only leads to trouble.”

“You got it wrong, Ez. Gettin’ friends is about the wisest thing a man can do.” When Ezra raised an eyebrow, Vin continued, “Good friends! A smart man gets a mess of good folk around him. You done that. That way, they all can watch out for you.”

Ezra groaned. “And in return, I must look out for them. It’s a large price to…”

“Ah crap, Ezra. That’s a bargain.” Vin nodded and said, “It was awful wearyin’ bein’ on my own so much, always watchin’ my back. It’s good to know that there’s more than one set of eyes doin’ the job now. And I can trust 'em. I know I can trust all of you. 'Sides, it’s kinda nice just havin’ someone to jaw at sometimes.” Vin smiled, his blue eyes bright. “I ain’t much of a talker usually,” he explained. “But it’s nice to know that there’s folks about who’ll listen.”

“I’ve always been very enamored with the power of conversation,” Ezra put in, his smile finally becoming sincere.

“Yeah, that ain’t no surprise," Vin chuckled, then added in a knife-sharp tone, “You said that friends are just marks to exploit. That ain’t right. You try t’trick me with one of your schemes and I’ll gut ya!”

Ezra gave the comment a solemn moment to take hold before he responded simply, “Understood.”

Vin nodded sharply, calling that matter to a close, and then said, “Ya know, ya told me somethin’ else when you were stuck under that stage.”

“Good Lord.” Ezra rolled his eyes. “What else?”

“Told me the only thing you were any good at was makin’ money by cheatin’ folks.”

“Obviously, that was a lie.” Ezra raised his free arm. “Look at my surroundings, Mr. Tanner. I hardly have a fortune.”

“Well, just the same,” Vin continued. “One of these days I’ll get ya to admit ya make a pretty good friend, too. That’s better than a wad of money to me.”

Ezra just shook his head skeptically and shuffled his cards.

“You hear what I said, Ez?” Vin called, but there was no time to hear Ezra's response.

A heavy tread on the staircase stopped their conversation. Ezra turned to the door and sighed. “It seems that our Mr. Sanchez has decided that we’ve had enough time alone.” He cocked his head and added, “He’s not alone.”

“JD, you figure?” Vin asked, hearing a lighter pair of footsteps follow the first. A third person started ascending the stairs following the other two. The tracker frowned deeply.

Something about the slowness of the steps was enough to make the two suspicious. They glanced at each other and picked up their weapons from the bedside tables -- a convenience that Nathan had learned to make available. After a quick nod toward Ezra, Vin leveraged himself out of the cot and made his way to the far side of Ezra’s more substantial bed. As he crossed the room, Ezra slid out from under the covers, crouching behind the high mattresses.

Vin came alongside Ezra and the two leaned against the bed, the only real source of cover in the room. The gambler’s face was taut as he tried to keep weight off his wounded leg. Sweat was already beginning to appear on his upper lip. Vin was faring little better, doing his best not to collapse beside Standish.  Neither of them were going to last very long in this condition.

The footsteps came closer, too slow and careful to be called casual.  “If it is indeed Mr. Sanchez, Mr. Dunne and someone else….” Ezra whispered.  “…we’ll have to come up with some explanation of our current positions.”

“Nathan’ll have our hides,” Vin muttered.

There was no time to contemplate excuses as the door violently splintered open. A black-haired man leaped forward and aimed his six-shooter at Vin’s deserted cot, but never had a chance to fire. The moment the gun came into view, he was cut down by a shot to the chest from Vin's mare’s leg and a bullet through the arm by Ezra’s Remington.


PART 27:

“Damn it!” a voice shouted from outside as the big man fell. Another man fired blindly through the doorway, leaping to cover before either Ezra or Vin could target him.  The voice, which seemed to be coming from somewhere near the stairs, was urging the shooter,  “Come on, Bruce!  Let’s get out of here!”

“Shut up, Aggie!  We ain’t leavin’ without it!”

Ezra frowned, his eyes never straying from the doorway, watching for the man to appear. “Aggie…” he muttered, leaning heavily against the bed, drawing his breath slowly.

“Yeah?” Vin responded, his clear blue eyes sighting along his rifle, waiting for the right moment.

“…He was at the stagecoach. He was one of the men who chased us down. I recall him shouting to another of his group.”

“Ran off,” Vin added. “I figure I seen him go. How d’ya figure they found us here?”

Ezra rolled his eyes and stated, “We were front page news in the Clarion.”

Vin grimaced, remembering the carefully worded story that Mary Travis posted in her newspaper. Knowing of the bounty over Vin’s head and the possibility of unhappy victims of Ezra’s past life, neither of their names had appeared. But, the story did tell of what happened at the stagecoach, and then mentioned the injuries of the lawmen and their current location. “Damn. Always figured that no news is good news.”

“Well stated,” Ezra returned, keeping his gaze on the door. “Sometimes, I believe, freedom of the press isn't quite all it’s cracked up to be.”

“Pain in the ass, you mean?”

Bruce fired without looking in, shattering a pair of bottles on Nathan’s shelves. Ezra and Vin held their fire, waiting for a decent shot. Vin didn’t hazard a look toward Ezra, but he could hear the cardsharp’s harsh breathing and was damn glad that Standish wasn’t doped up on laudanum. He’d never have managed to get Ezra out of the bed in time. “Hang on, Ez,” he said under his breath.

“As tightly as I can,” Ezra responded.

“Chris and the others are at the restaurant,” Vin said. “Won’t take 'em long to get here.”

“Unless, of course they’re servin’ apple dumplings,” Ezra interjected.

“Look!” Bruce called. “We just want the gold.  We know you got it somewhere here in town!”

“You figure we got it here?” Vin asked incredulously.

“Figure you know what they done with it!” Aggie returned. “It’s all we want.”

“It’s all I want as well,” Ezra called back. “Perhaps we can bargain for the treasure?”

“Bargain?”

“You allow me and my compatriot to safely exit, and I’ll bring you to it. We can divide the spoils 50-50?”

“What?”  the man called. “You want to split it with us?”

“Why not?” Ezra rested his head against the mattress, still keeping a watch on the doorway. He wished he could put his left hand on the bed frame to steady himself, but his arm was too tightly bound in its sling. Damn, he hated slings. He lowered his voice and asked Vin, “What’s taking Chris and the others so long?”

Vin answered quickly, “Gettin’ into position, or takin’ one last bite of dumplin’.”

Ezra sighed and raised his voice again. “I believe we deserve the prize as much as you and your little friend. I can certainly make better use of it than any of you. Besides, how do you aim to carry away the booty?”

“Be a bit heavy,” Vin added.

“Figure we’ll take all we can manage,” Bruce responded.

Aggie, near the stairs, called, “Hurry up, Bruce! There’s fellas comin’ -- tough lookin’ guys! One of them’s got on the roof. Damn it! They’re all over!” His voice grew higher as he spoke.

“Shut up, Aggie!” Bruce barked, the pitch of his voice betraying his own fear.

Vin smiled tightly, realizing that Ezra was doing his best to delay the men, to hold them until the others arrived.  He could hear Chris and Buck shouting up at the outlaws, but it didn’t seem to deter Bruce, who was noisily reloading his gun just outside the door.

“How about 60-40?” Standish drawled.  “It seems more than fair to me.” With his voice too low for the outlaws to hear, he murmured, “Of course there’s no reason to explain who will get the 60 percent and who will leave with 40.”

“We don’t have to give nothin’ to you!” Bruce shouted and fired off another shot, zinging a hole into the wall near the roof. “We want it all!”

“Avaricious toads,” Ezra grumbled, blinking against the sweat in his eyes.

“Yeah,” Vin agreed, holding himself up by sheer willpower. “I was gonna say the same thing.”

“Where the hell is it?” Bruce barked.

“Not here, sir,” Ezra rejoined. “It’s under lock and key at an undisclosed location at this moment. Perhaps you’d like to take a stroll with me?”

Bruce fired blindly again, ducking away too quickly to be targeted.

“Damn it!” Vin growled at the quickness of the man. “If that idiot would just stay still, I could get us out of here.”

“Mr. Larabee and the others are here. They’ll take care of it.”

Bruce fired again, striking the mattress before he hid beside the doorframe again.

“Screw that!” Vin responded. He took careful aim at the wall near the doorway and fired. The powerful sawed-off Winchester blasted a ragged hole in the clinic’s wall. Bruce gasped and then fell noisily to the deck.

“You up there!” the familiar voice of Chris Larabee boomed. “Throw down your weapons and get your hands over your head!”

“I didn’t mean nothin’!” Aggie squealed. They heard the thunk of a dropped gun. “I didn’t do nothin’!  Don’t hurt me!”

Vin gripped Ezra’s arm and together they slid to the floor beside the bed. “I believe,” Ezra said quietly as they settled, “that I’m not quite ready to move just yet.” His face was shinny with sweat, and he’d lost what color he’d been able to gain over the past few days.

“Yeah, me neither,” Vin admitted, stretching his sore leg out in front of him.

“Perhaps Mr. Jackson’s belief that we should remain quietly abed is well-founded.”

“Yup.” Vin groaned as he rested his head against the mattress.

Outside, they could hear the sound of their friends charging up the stairs. Aggie was protesting, and Nathan, Josiah and Chris shoved passed him. Chris shouted, “Buck, get his piece of shit locked up! JD, get off the damn roof before you fall, and help him.” Then, he followed the other two into the little room.

“Vin!” Nathan shouted worriedly as he looked into the apparently empty room. “Ezra! Oh God, not again.”

“We’re down here, Nate,” Vin returned. Ezra was slumping against him, too worn out by the sudden activity to keep his eyes open. Already the con man was snoring so softly it could barely be heard. Vin kept a tight grip on him, not letting him hit the ground. “Why don’t cha come on ’round and see us.” He blinked and nodded, feeling exhaustion pull at him.

Nathan frowned and muttered as noted the damage to the room. Chris shook his head in disbelief. Josiah smiled. Together, the three rounded the bed.

Josiah chuckled softly and said, “I told you two to stay out of trouble.” He shook his head at the two lawmen slumped against each other, asleep.


PART 28:

A week had passed since the outlaws made their second unsuccessful attempt to abscond with the gold shipment. The mineral in question had been transferred under an armed escort a few days after that ruckus. Aggie Dawes, still recovering from his earlier gunshot wound, had departed their company, headed for a prison cell in Yuma.

The town of Four Corners was once again quiet. The biggest excitement of the day revolved around a penny-ante poker game that was in session at the main table in the Redbird. The saloon’s pianist was leaning against the spinet, joking with the bartender. The manager walked around the floor, making sure that all was ready for the evening crowd.

Ezra yawned into his hand and looked distractedly at his cards. “Lord, I don’t think I can keep my eyes open to complete this hand.” A pillow had been added to the back of his favorite chair in the saloon, to cushion his sore back. Nathan had berated him into keeping his arm in a sling for one more day, and he had so far followed that advice. Jackson had expressed hope that the damage done to the leg would not cause a permanent limp…if Ezra stayed off it as much as possible.  Standish had insisted on leaving the clinic finally, but only if he promised the healer that he’d stay put in the saloon until someone came to help him move -- his healing leg wasn’t up to a stroll.  Vin agreed to the same.

“I may have to forfeit the game on account of exhaustion.” Ezra closed his eyes for a moment and leaned back into his pillows.

“Shut up and bet,” Buck replied. “Ya can’t cheat me by pretending to be asleep. I’m wise to you!”

“For once…” Ezra exhaled, and threw a nickel into the pot.

Vin silently threw in a matching amount.

“Damn,” Buck murmured, fingering his remaining stake. “Don’t know if I got enough coins left.”

Ezra smiled his Cheshire grin.  “I’d be more than happy to make change for you, sir. I have plenty.” He gestured to the pile of coins in front of him. With a cock of the head, he added, “It’s a pity. You can’t seem to keep much on your side of the table today.”

Wilmington grumbled, “Pity, my ass!”

Ezra shook his head and rearranged his cards. In a low voice, he uttered, “Pity your ass? Yes, someone should.”

“Now, see here!” Wilmington shouted as he leaped to his feet. His chair rocked dangerously behind him. “Only reason I’m not callin’ you out is because you ain’t altogether on your feet yet. Neither of you got any strength in ya.” He tapped his cards menacingly on the table. “I gotta give ya poor invalids a fightin’ chance.”

The tracker watched as Buck huffed and sat down, but not before the ladies’ man took a discrete look over his shoulder to check out his derriere. “What the hell are you talkin’ about, Ezra?” Wilmington muttered. “The ladies loved my ass!” Buck settled himself and mumbled, “The two of you are just asking for trouble. Should take ya down while I got the advantage.”

“I believe we could take you on.” Ezra threw Vin a look and added, “Either of us.”

“Yup,” Vin said, nodding tiredly.  “Long as it ain’t no runnin’ race.”

With a scowl, Buck tossed down his cards and slammed his elbow down on the table. “Arm wrestle?” He waggled his fingers at Ezra.

“Lord no.” Ezra wrinkled his nose. “A contemptuous activity reserved for barroom brawlers and imbeciles without the mental capacity for verbal battle.”

“Yeah, what he said,” Vin said, smiling as he kept his attention on his cards.

Buck shook his head and chuckled as he picked up his cards again, knowing that Ezra or Vin probably would have taken him up on the challenge on another day. “Ya know, you fellas really piss me off sometimes.”

“Yup,” Vin responded. “Got a knack for it.”

“Yes, it’s our forte,” Ezra added.

Buck finally managed to find a nickel to fulfill his bet, and the cards were called. Wilmington grimaced when he saw the three nines in Tanner’s hand. “Damn you, Vin!” With a disgusted snort, he got to his feet and snagged his hat. “The two of you done cleaned me out. I got nothin’ but greenbacks left in my pockets and you ain’t gettin’ ’em.”

“At least not today,” Ezra said softly.

“Hang it,” Buck uttered, putting a protective hand over his pocket. “You keep your grubby hands off my money.”

Ezra looked hurt as he examined his hands. He turned overly wide eyes on Vin and held up his hands for inspection. “Do these look ‘grubby’ to you?”

“If you were after my money,” Vin returned, “I’d have to say ‘yep’.”

Ezra harrumphed.  Buck laughed and said, “Well, it’s high time that I got goin’. Either of you want to go somewhere? I could give you a hand.”

“I’m quite comfortable where I am,” Ezra said, nestling into his pillow. “It’s remarkably more entertaining here than in the clinic.”

“Yeah, I seem to be farin’ well enough,” Vin put in. “Figger I’ll be okay for a while yet.”

Buck shook his head. “Now you boys play nice. Nate said to keep you two quiet for a while. Don’t know how you'll manage that around here.” He scratched his chin. “Maybe we should send ya both on a trip. Maybe that lake you all were talkin’ about last time we played.” He turned and made his way to the door. “Titicaca,” he chuckled to himself and sauntered toward the exit. “Titty…” he snickered as he walked through the door. He came to an abrupt halt and blanched before quickly stating to someone just beyond the doorway, “No, ma’am. I wasn’t talking to you. I’m sorry. I... ah…” He snatched the hat from his head and made obsequious gestures before darting away.

The tracker and the gambler laughed quietly in the saloon, and then relaxed in the calm. “Would you care for another game of chance, Mr. Tanner?” Ezra asked, after several moments.

“Naw,” Vin countered. “I think I’m pretty tired out.”

“Pity,” Ezra said as he picked up the cards. “I was ready to continue.”

Vin shook his head with a smile, noting the obvious signs of weariness in the cardsharp. Ezra seemed hardly able to hold up his head. For his first day out of bed, he was doing fairly well, but he wouldn’t last much longer.

Ezra continued in a magnanimous tone, “Well, if you insist on drawing this game to an end, I suppose there’s little I can do.” The pile of small change disappeared into the gambler’s pockets and the deck found its home in his vest. With a sigh, Ezra relaxed in his pillowed chair.

Vin rubbed his hand over the elbow of his jacket. “Still needs mendin’,” he commented.

Ezra raised an eyebrow. “I believe you meant to say ‘replacing’.”

“Naw,” Vin returned. “Jacket as good as this deserves fine treatment. Still gotta find a tailor who’s fit to fix it.”

“Try Yosemite. He’s used to stitchin’ up hides.”

Vin snorted. “Guess it’ll have to wait. Can’t even get around town without help, so we won’t be goin’ to Cedar Ridge for a while yet.”

“I would like to avoid that particular route for the time bein’.”

“We had quite a ride this time.”

“Indeed,” Ezra replied. “That riotous trip on the stagecoach will be difficult to forget. What do you say to the idea that we try to avoid future misadventures and not allow ourselves such injury again?”

“Sounds good to me.”

“Then it’s agreed. We’ll wait out the rest of the century in peace and quiet.” Ezra nodded.

“‘Spect there’s some places we could go for that,” Vin considered. “‘Spect Buck’s right. That Lake Titicaca might be a good place to go -- nice and quiet. A man could be all alone there.”

“True,” Ezra agreed, closing his eyes. “It would be a serene and placid existence. One could spend one’s time learnin’ to breathe in a shallow atmosphere and relaxin’ by the water’s edge. Nary another human being in sight.”

After a moment, Vin added, “Get kinda dull after a while, don’t cha think?”

Ezra opened astonished eyes at Vin. “Why, Mr. Tanner, you surprise me. I thought you enjoyed life alone in the wilderness. Certainly you’d feel right at home on the lonely shores of that distant lake.”

Tanner wrinkled his brow. “I don’t know, Ez. I’ve gotten kinda use to havin’ folks nearby. Got to the point where I like it now.” He shrugged. “I figure I don’t need to put myself so far away from other folk anymore.”

“Ah, yes,” Ezra said with a yawn. “No man is an island.”

“I like havin’ friends about. It’s nice to know that there’s folks I can count on nearby.” Vin waited a moment before adding, “What do you think of that?”

Ezra opened both his eyes and smiled broadly. “That sounds excellent, Mr. Tanner. You deserve to be surrounded by trusted friends.”

“Kinda like it that you’re one of them.  Figure you’re one of the better friends I’ve ever had.” And when Ezra opened his mouth to form a protest, Vin continued, “Don’t you deny what I said, Ezra. I ain’t no liar.”

“Your honesty is well known, Mr. Tanner,” Ezra responded solemnly.

“And you, Ez?” Vin tried. “You got anythin’ to say ‘bout that? Anythin’ that won’t sound like you’re callin’ me a liar?”

Ezra paused before saying, “Well, I suppose I must say that I’m honored to be counted as a friend of Mr. Tanner’s. I will do my best to live up to that responsibility.” Ezra closed his eyes and leaned back in his chair. Perhaps he fell asleep. Perhaps he was just playing possum. It was always difficult to tell with Ezra.

Tanner shook his head and chuckled softly before pulling his hat over his eyes and leaning back. At least Ezra had admitted to being a friend. Someday he’d get the cardsharp to admit to the other side of that coin -- that Mr. Standish had friends too -- that they had a responsibility to him.

But, that’d have to do for now.

THE END - By NotTasha

I hope you enjoyed this latest torture fest. Do you want to continue with Turnabout (is Fair Play)
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