Snake on the Loose - the second part

Part 13:

When Ezra saw Wahl shoot down the horses and spur his mount to a gallop, he knew what he had to do. He would not let Wahl get away, not this time. He had let the man loose once and Vin almost died due to his ineptitude. He called Chaucer, mounted and took off after the murderer.

His heart pounded as he chased after Edgar Wahl. He was closing the distance. He held the reins tightly with one hand, more to keep his balance than to guide the horse. His other hand gripped his gun. He had raised it more than once at the fleeing man, firing after him, but not hitting a mark. Damnation, Ezra thought at his lack of accuracy. He could hardly see straight or hold the gun steady. Wahl had fired blindly back at him, and Ezra could only pray that none of the bullets would hit him.

Ezra remembered how only a few days ago he had taken a similar ride, riding for his life...for Vin's life...trying to get back to Four Corners in time. His head was pounding again and exhaustion was reaching for him.

Suddenly, Wahl's horse balked, coming to a hellishly quick stop and throwing Wahl over his back. The killer was launched into the air, flailing his arms for a moment before crashing downward. He disappeared from sight. It was an impressive sight that baffled Ezra for a moment.

The irrigation canal... Ezra had forgotten it existed. The farmers in the area had dug it out several years ago to capture the precious rainwater. This time of year it would be nearly empty.

Ezra pulled Chaucer to a stop alongside Wahl's winded horse. The startled animal threw back its head and took off, following the channel toward the west. Ezra aimed his weapon down into the waterway. His head was spinning now, and he had to grip the pommel of his saddle to keep in place.  Spots showed in his vision.

He spotted Wahl trying to get to his feet in the shallow water...no more than a foot deep at its deepest section. "Mr. Wahl, I believe it's time to give yourself up."

Wahl stood slowly in the murky stream, holding up his hands with a chagrined look on his mud-plastered face. The felon was brown from head to foot in the stuff. Ezra gestured with his gun. "Slowly, Mr. Wahl, won't you make your way to me."

"Can't hardly move," Wahl said with a laugh as he stepped through the thick sludge at the bottom of the meager channel. He chuckled, climbing up the steep bank. He came to stand beside the man and horse. "Man, what a ride!"

Ezra blinked at him, and shook his head in an attempt to drive away the approaching exhaustion. All he wanted to do was to lie down and sleep. It was as if a fog had settled in his brain.

Ezra released his hold on the pommel to pull a pair of handcuffs from his saddle. Wahl, seeing his chance, lurched forward and yanked the failing gambler from his saddle.

Ezra yelped in surprise, damning himself for once again being taken so easily. The two men tumbled into the canal.


Part 14:

"AIDA!"

Chris heard Bonham's cry as the farmer ran at a breakneck speed across the land and toward the sound of gunfire.

"Get down, Bonham!" Chris yelled as he saw the man approach.

Henry was wide-eyed and senseless as he hurtled toward the gunmen, armed with nothing more than a stick.

"What have you done with 'em? What have you done?"

"STOP! Bonham! HENRY!" Chris frantically tried to order Bonham. Henry came into range of the two men who were crouched behind the dead horses. Finally, out of options, Chris fired at the farmer, just ahead of his feet.

Bonham leapt in surprise and then spun around to face Larabee.

"Get down! Damn it! Get down!"

Chris heard Gil laugh and a bullet whizzed past Bonham's ear. The stick fell to the ground as Henry whipped his head around. The farmer fell and covered his head with his hands.

"Get out of the way!" Chris shouted. "Your family's okay! Get to cover!"

At Chris' words, Bonham's panicked expression changed to an inappropriately goofy smile and he scuttled away, toward the back of the house.

Chris returned his attention to the two carcasses and the men behind them -- shortly to become carcasses themselves if this kept up. "You boys gonna be givin' up?"

"I think not," Lewis called. "There's two of us here and jus' one of you that's got a gun. I think it's you that should be givin' up."

Gil fired and Chris had to duck behind the overthrown bench. Both Gil and Lewis put up a barrage, splintering the meager cover. During a pause in the gunfire, Chris leaned out, putting a few more holes in Gil's roan.

Damn, this is going to take forever, Chris thought. He hoped to hell that Ezra was all right. He had heard the gunfire as Ezra chased Wahl across the dry plane. If that piece of shit hurts 'im, Chris thought... Larabee glared out over the bench and regarded exactly how he would deal out his revenge upon Wahl.


Part 15:

The two men tumbled down the steep bank and into the shallow water below. Ezra had lost his grip on his Remington when he hit the ground. It was somewhere above them now. The only good thing about that was that Wahl couldn't get his hands on it. The Colt Richards Conversion had been emptied during the chase.

Wahl was laughing. "Come on, Standish," he chuckled. "Let's call a truce, huh? You and me can work out some sort of a deal, can't we? You can get a cut of the cash, too. You'd like that, wouldn't ya?" He tried to keep a grip on Ezra, but what with the mud and Ezra's naturally slippery nature, Standish shifted out of the man's hands and came up fighting.

"You can go to hell," Ezra responded.

Wahl was stunned when the first blow hit him squarely on his pug nose. The second blow came to his stomach as he tried to protect his face. The third hit him above the ear and by then, Wahl was dazed and pissed.

He swung wide and missed the quickly moving gambler, but the muddy ground and a reluctant leg slowed down Standish. When Wahl launched himself at the cardsharp, it was easy enough to catch Ezra and slam his back into the squelchy riverbed and beneath the surface of the water.


Part 16:

"Wait! Wait!" Larabee shouted when the two men stopped firing to reload.

"What?" Gil yelled back.

"I just want to know something."

"Yeah, what's that?" Lewis returned.

"What are you two gettin' out of this? You've already lost your horses. You're about ready to lose your lives. What exactly are you gettin' out of this?"

"We're gettin' a cut of the grand!" Gil shouted.

"Shut it!" Lewis ordered.

"Grand?" Larabee asked. "Wahl doesn't have any money."

"Yeah, but McCannon did. Wahl says it's still here. We came to get it." Gil explained. "Wahl says it's his and he came to claim it."

"It ain't his!" Bonham's voice suddenly piped in, just inside the doorway. Chris jumped, startled to hear the voice so close. "It's mine and my family's!"

"Ain't!" Lewis yelled.

"IS!" Bonham returned.

"Wahl says it's his," Lewis countered.

"Yeah!" Gil said, trying to back up their claim on things.

"Court says it was Albert McCannon's and I got the paper to prove it."

"I don't give a shit about no paper," Gil said tiredly. "I want that money and I want it now!"

"Ain't here no more!"

"What're you sayin'?" Gil sat up and Larabee had to hold back the urge to shoot the fool's head off.

"I bought me those milk-cows and paid for the move and the funeral and bought the kids some clothes 'n toys and stuff, and some pretty things for Aida, and I got me a watch -- a good one like the train engineers use. The rest I put up for later. It's in the bank," Bonham voice called from within the house.

"What?" Lewis sat up this time, looking over the body of his dead mount. "What you do that fer?"

"The money was lef' to Aida in the Will."

"It ain't here?" Gil was incredulous.

"No, it's mostly gone."

"Boys," Larabee said, breaking up the conversation. "Put up your guns and give up. I can pick off either of you right now. You may as well live."

The two looked at each other and then tossed their guns away.

Chris stood slowly and walked to the men with Bonham following.  Not moving his gaze from the men, he picked up their guns and handed one to Bonham. Larabee jerked the men to their feet and dragged them to the front of the house, shoving them against the first step.

"Bonham, keep this gun trained on 'em." Larabee hustled to the corral where Job was pacing anxiously. He took the time to retrieve his handcuffs and secure the two men to each other, using the roof support to keep them in place. He returned to Job, mounted quickly and headed out after Ezra.

Larabee threw the farmer an encouraging look as he passed him. Bonham smiled and tried to look brave as he held the weapon on the men. Lewis and Gil looked thoroughly disgusted.


Part 17:

Ezra struggled to get loose of Wahl, but the man's huge hands were wrapped around his neck, forcing him down under the surface of the shallow water. Ezra gripped onto Wahl's hands and tried to pry them loose from his neck, but Wahl's hands were like vises. Ezra could find no purchase. He tried to reach Wahl's face to gouge at his eyes, but the man had a better reach and his hands clawed at the air.

Ezra strained his way upward, breaking the surface. He gasped as Wahl relaxed his grip. "Come on, Standish," Wahl uttered. "Don't fight so much. It won' t be so bad." And then the man shoved him below the warm water, squeezing his neck in the process.

Ezra tried to get some leverage on the slippery ground beneath him, to kick the man off, but the mud worked against him at every turn. He attempted to use the slimy surface in his favor and slip out from under Wahl, but the man's weight was fully on him, trapping him.

Again, Ezra forced his way to the surface. "Relax and let it go," Wahl said softly, his voice dreamlike. "It's not as if they're gonna miss you any, those men you work with." Ezra gasped for air as Wahl continued. "You and me are the same that way. Ain't no one'll care once we're gone."

Ezra stared at Wahl in disbelief and tried to form a retort, but Wahl shoved him beneath the water's surface again, down into the thick mud of the riverbed. Standish struggled, Wahl's words ringing through his head. His strength was quickly waning as his heart thudded, as his lungs cried out for air. Above him, Ezra could hear the water-muffled sound of Wahl's laughter. The hands continued to squeeze at his throat. What's Wahl thinking? Does he really need to both strangle and drown me?

He was pulled upward again and Wahl said, "I killed a kitten once, this very same way. No one wanted it either so I did the humane thing and put it down. It was a sweet little cat, but something had to be done." And Ezra was under the water once more.

He could feel himself starting to pass out when Wahl again yanked him up, shaking him violently once his head broke the surface. Ezra coughed and gagged and Wahl continued to laugh. Ezra's vision was spotty as he gulped in air. Wahl grinned merrily. "You and me, Standish. How 'bout the two of us team up? I bet we'd make great partners." Wahl held Ezra just above the water. "How 'bout it?"

"You're a twisted bastard," Ezra gasped and was shoved beneath the water again.

Wahl smiled as he submerged Standish. He tightened his grip on the man's throat, feeling that lovely pulse of life in his hands. The exertion made his wounded arm hurt, but it was a pleasant kind of pain, a wonderful pain. Standish had a narrow neck, easily circumscribed by his huge fingers. The gambler still struggled to get free of those fingers, still fought, although Wahl noticed that the effort was growing less vigorous.

He wondered if he should let Standish pass out completely and revive him before finally drowning him for good. How wonderful, he thought. It would be like killing someone over and over again. The rush...the excitement...the thrill of it all to be experienced repeatedly. He felt light-headed at the idea. Drown him... bring him back...drown him again.

The hands that were pulling at his were growing weaker. Standish would be unconscious soon. Life still pulsed in that neck. He wanted to end it, wanted to feel it end. He didn't have the patience to play this time...maybe the next. He quivered in anticipation.

"Give it up, Standish," Wahl said, squeezing tighter. He bore Ezra no ill will -- no more so than the little tabby cat, but same as the cat, he needed Standish out of the way. He felt no hatred toward him, no feelings at all toward him in particular. Sure, Standish had shot him a few days ago... but the cat had scratched and that didn't affect his reasons for wanting to kill it. He honestly believed that he and Standish could make a fine team, but the game was playing out now and it was better if the lawman was to drown in this ditch. Wahl could feel the man dying away as the struggles lessened. He laughed and licked his lips, waiting for the final heartbeat to pulse in that narrow neck, wanting to capture it in his hands.


Part 18:

Ezra just couldn't manage it anymore. This was it... the end. He had no more energy left and he didn't think that Wahl would let him up again. He gave up his useless attempt to dislodge the man's hands. He had an ace up his sleeve... or rather a derringer. He hoped that the water hadn't dampened the firing mechanisms.

He let go of Wahl and raised his arm above the water’s surface, snapping the gun into his hand. Standish didn't see the surprised look on Wahl's face nor the fear as the murderer released his hold. The murderer tried to raise his hand to swat away the tiny gun that was suddenly pointed at his head. But, there was no time for Wahl to do anything except emit a pathetic little cry. The derringer fired a mere inch from his skull and Wahl crashed down lifelessly upon Ezra.

Thank God! Ezra thought. An incredible relief flooded through him. Dead... Wahl's dead...finally. He could feel Wahl's face against his own, the man's nose and lips pressed to his check. He didn't see the bright blood that flowed from the man's head, becoming mixed with the muddy water, turning dark and brown as the mud. Ezra shoved against Wahl's shoulders, trying to force the body off, but it was too heavy. He shuddered at the effort.

He was trapped...trapped below the surface of the water. Panicked, Ezra pushed against the dead man and was able to raise his face just above the water to gasp in more air before Wahl's weight forced him down again.

Have to get him off... have to move him. Ezra struggled against the body, but his strength had fled. He managed to lift his head again and breathe for a few short moments before gravity and exhaustion pulled him back beneath the surface.

Ezra would have cried at the irony if he were able. To have killed Wahl, to know that the man was finally dead, and yet to have it end this way. Wahl was having the last laugh -- killing the man who killed him. Wahl was going to win this one.

His neck quaked at the attempt to raise his head again. Just a few breaths, just a few... and his head fell back again to the squishy muddy creek bed. My God... my God.

And Ezra had lived most of his life around water... had been able to swim almost before he could walk. He loved water... always enjoyed the ability to take a dip in the ocean, a lake or a river...it relaxed him. He would spend hours crossing back and forth across the big pond on his Uncle Lucas' plantation. He felt free and safe when he swam -- no one could reach him in the water. He was a strong swimmer, capable of besting almost anyone in a race -- and here he was, about to drown, alone -- hopelessly alone, in a few meager inches of water.

He fought, raising his head and letting it fall. He couldn't tell how long this was going on, but he could feel the difficulty rising at each attempt. Just a few inches, Ezra...only a few inches. You can move your head a few inches, can't you? Again and again, he counted the seconds that he stayed submerged, trying to build up his strength for the next attempt.

Minutes passed as he struggled against the weight and the water. His head felt waterlogged and heavy. Just one more time, Ezra. You can do it just one more time.

He tried to raise his head again... tried... and failed.

Part 19:

Chris had heard the shot and pressed Job to a faster speed. Where the hell had they gone? Then he saw Chaucer just ahead of him, mincing about and looking downward. For a moment Larabee was confused as to what was going on. There was no sign of Ezra or Wahl...only the pacing chestnut. Then he remembered the canal that cut along the boarder of this property.

He reined in Job as he reached the edge of the near-dry waterway and drew his weapon before he gazing downward.

His attention was immediately drawn to the body, easily recognizable as Wahl, despite the mud and blood that coated it. "Ezra!" Chris shouted. Where the hell was he? Where did he go? Larabee looked back to Chaucer who moved about excitedly. The chestnut's gaze did not leave Wahl's back.

Chris' gaze fastened on a hand that seemed in a strange position, pressed against Wahl's shoulder. The water was too murky to see how the hand had gotten into that place; perhaps Wahl's arms were folded under him. But the hand seemed backward and Chris remembered that Wahl had such huge paws. This muddy hand was narrow.

"No, no, no," Larabee muttered, holstering his gun to run down the steep sides of the canal. "Oh God, please no!" He clambered down the bank as quickly as his legs would allow and grabbed hold of the dead man. Chris flung back Wahl's body, and seized the still form beneath the nearly opaque water's surface. He yanked Standish upward.

Ezra made no response, showed no sign of life. "Breathe, you stubborn bastard!" Chris yelled, shaking Ezra frantically. He couldn't be too late...not this time...oh God, please not this time. Even with the plastering of mud, Chris could see the blue tinge to Ezra's slack features, a deathly stillness. He wrapped one arm around Standish, leaned him forward and started beating on his back. "Come on, Ez...don't do this to me! Come on back, Ez."

There was no reaction. Standish hung limp in his arm. "Damn it! No!" Chris shouted, increasing his efforts. Not like this. God, not like this. Oh God, please no. Larabee drew his arm back as far as he could and belted Ezra fiercely across the back.


Part 20:

It seemed that only a few seconds had passed since his failure to reach the air. Wahl was alive again. Ezra had felt the weight shift and wanted to strike out against the animal, but his body wouldn't work. Then hands grabbed hold of him and yanked him upward. Oh, please, not again. He tried to thrash, but his arms and legs were leaden. He wanted to breathe...God, he wanted to breathe, but his lungs just didn't seem to remember how the trick worked.

Something was hitting him fiercely on the back. An especially heavy blow struck him and suddenly his body seemed to recall the whole breathing process. He sucked in a quick breath and erupted in a volley of coughing.

Ezra continued to cough wildly. He was desperately trying to draw enough air into his lungs, but he couldn't seem to manage it before he broke off into another fit of coughing. Wahl, he thought...must get away from him. He tried to jerk his way out of the arm that held him and almost succeeded as something continued to beat on him.

Get away.  He had to get away.  Oh God, he didn't want to end like this.


Part 21:

"Ezra! It's me! It's Chris! Stop it!" Chris worriedly said, as he pounded on the cardsharp's back. Ezra didn't seem able to get any air into his lungs and it wasn't helping that he was fighting now "Damn it, Ezra. Just try to breathe deeply."

"Chris?" Standish gasped.

"Yeah, it's me," Larabee replied anxiously.

Ezra accepted this fact. He grasped Chris' shirt and hung on. Why was it so damn hard to get any air in? His lung felt filled with water and he coughed up the liquid.

"Calm down, Ez," Chris said "It'll be okay. I got cha now."

Ezra tried to concentrate... to get beyond the need to cough his lungs out and just get some oxygen into his body. He breathed deeply and was struck with another spate of coughing. He repeated it until the coughing lessened and he could actually begin to make use of the air.

Chris sighed as the gasping became less frantic, as the coughs seemed to be more productive instead of frenetic. His pounding became reassuring pats as Ezra continued to breathe easier, but hoarsely. Larabee's gaze drifted to the dead man beside them, flung up on the bank. He could see the damage done by a bullet to Wahl's temple.

"Scared me half to death," Chris murmured to the still panting gambler. "Thought the bastard had drowned you."

"I had drawn...the same... conclusion..." Ezra managed to say between gasps. He looked toward the body and said, "Judge Travis...will be... disappointed."

"He can learn to live with that."

"That he shall..."

Chris shook his head, remembering that only a few days ago Ezra had been struggling for air. He continued to pat the muddy gambler's back. He could see the angry bruise forming around Ezra's neck and glared at the body of Wahl.

"You gonna be okay?"

"Will be..." Ezra coughed again.

"You open to listenin' to me?"

"Do I...have a choice?"

"Nope."

"Carry on then..."

"Ain't had the chance to apologize to you properly."

"Apologize?" Ezra winced as something he coughed up landed on his already muddy sleeve. "You just ....saved me... from drowin'." His eyes fastened on that blob on his sleeve, his face wrinkled in disgust. "You feel the need...to apologize...for savin' me?"

Larabee growled, "I thought I'd have the advantage with you half out of breath."

"When it comes to words... Mr. Larabee... I always have the ... advantage."

"Well, shut your yap," Larabee said as Ezra rested his head against his chest, his hair all matted with the mud. Ezra's hands still clutched his shirt as if he were afraid of releasing the black cloth. It reminded Chris of Adam. When the boy had been awakened from a nap or was tired, he would cling to his father in the same manner.

"I treated you like crap, Ez.”

“An analogy… I’m not fond of. ‘Crap’ could never be… associated… with such as me…”

"I told you to shut up." Chris smiled though, glad to hear the sarcastic tone of Ezra's comment. "I had no right."

"You were distressed over the similarity..."

"Ain't no excuse for tryin' to hurt you." Chris could feel Ezra resting more of his weight against him. "And I did try, Ez. I admit it. I want to put things right."

"Right as rain..." Ezra murmured.

"And I got to get this through that thick head of yours that you ain't no snake, Ez."

"It is my profession..."

"Nah, not even that."

"Can't be helped... Born to it...It's what I do best..."

"No, Ezra," Chris sighed, remembering what had happened a few days ago, how Ezra had nearly sacrificed his life in order to save Vin. "You're more than some damned 'profession' that your ma chose for you."

Chris continued to pat Ezra's back as the gambler broke into another series of coughs. Seeing that he currently had the advantage, Chris continued. "Ain't no snake, Ezra. Hell, those Bonham kids there were crawling all over you. Do you think they'd come to a cold-blooded reptile? You saved that family from Wahl.”

Ezra continued to cough as Larabee glanced up and caught sight of the chestnut horse, nervously pacing above them, knocking into Job from time to time and making the big black snort in warning. "Hell, Ezra, no horse I know would go anywhere near a snake. Yours would probably curl up in bed with you if you let him."

"Chaucer is a fine animal," Ezra said quietly and the horse whinnied at the sound of his name.

"Yeah, and he's worse than Nathan when it comes to frettin' about you."

"He knows what side his bread is buttered on..." Ezra coughed again.

"We all know what kind of man you are, Ezra. And we aren’t gonna let anyone say that you're a snake 'cause we know better. We won't even let you say it anymore. You got it?"

Ezra listened, not sure if he should believe the words. He wanted to, he truly did. Wahl's words still bit at him, still rung in his ears -- sounding more credible than Larabee's.

"You got it?"

Wahl was a madman. "Got it, Mr. Larabee."

"You were goin' on earlier about how you don't think anyone gives a damn about you. Hell, Ezra, I figured my heart nearly stopped when I realized you were trapped under the water. Thought you were dead. You can't keep doin' this to me."

"I will make a concerted effort... not to."

"You ready to get out of this mud pit and go home?"

Ezra looked down and said, "I hear that many believe mud is beneficial to the body. They pay unconscionable prices to lay in the stuff." He shuddered at the thought.

"That right?"

"Apparently it's good for the pores," Ezra said with a tired shrug.

"Come on, looks like you got your wind back. Let's get on out."

"In a moment..." Ezra mumbled, closing his eyes, pressing his head against Chris' chest.

Larabee waited. He no longer patted Ezra's back, but kept his hand in place, allowing the gambler to rest against him.

"Moment's up," Larabee countered finally. "We're getting out." He sighed when he realized that Ezra had fallen asleep. Ezra's tightly clenched hands finally released the material of Chris' shirt and fell to the water that sluggishly moved around them.

Larabee shook Standish, trying to wake him, but utter exhaustion had finally claimed the con man and Chris knew that he would get no help from him.

Now, how was he going to get Ezra out of here? He looked up to the horses, seeing Chaucer still mincing about above them. "He ever teach you to throw a rope?" Larabee called.

Chaucer snorted derisively and continued his pacing.

"Figures," Larabee muttered. "It's not as if he could teach you somethin' useful."

Chris tried to stand with the gambler, but between Ezra's weight and the shifting muck below them, he couldn't manage it. He was about to leave Standish below, propped against the bank, and fetch the rope himself when he heard something.

Job and Chaucer both came to attention above him, twisting their heads about in alarm and then disappearing from his sight.

"Shit," Chris muttered, pulling his revolver and trying to get between Ezra and whatever was approaching from above.

Larabee smiled when he heard Josiah's baritone booming, "Chris?  You out there?”

"Ezra! Where are ya, ya dang fool?" Nathan joined in.

"Here!" Chris called. A moment later Nathan and Josiah appeared above. "We could use a bit of help," he added.

As they drew closer, Josiah shouted out, "Wahl!"  His eyes fixed on the body, taking a second to realize that the man was dead.  His expression of hatred changed when he saw the mud covered southerner supported by Larabee.  "Ezra," he sighed out.

Both men were off their horses in an instant. Nathan, his face its usual contortion of worry, asked, "Chris, what happened? He all right? I'm comin' down..."

Chris raised one hand; his other arm was firmly wrapped around the gambler. "Stay put. I need the two of you to get us out of here. He just plumb wore himself out and needs a hand."

It took only a few minutes to get Chris and Ezra back up the bank with the help of a rope and the force exerted by Jackson and Sanchez. Chris settled Ezra on the ground and the gambler muttered something quietly. Chris had to lean in closely to hear the words, "despicable way to treat a cat." Chris shrugged and let Nathan step in.

"He's gonna be mad about all this mud," Jackson said once he was assured that Ezra was all right. The gambler was completely coated in the grime -- another fine jacket ruined.

"It's beneficial to the pores," Chris said with a smile.

Josiah wet down a handkerchief and did his best to wipe away the mud and muck from Ezra's face. Ezra turned his head away, revealing the deepening bruises on his neck. Josiah frowned angrily at the sight. He could see the thick imprint of fingers on Ezra’s pale skin.

Chris shoved his hands in his pockets and asked, "How the hell did Wahl escape?"

Josiah continued with his work. "Buck ran into a bit of trouble with some associates of Wahl."

"Is Buck all right?" Chris asked, alarmed.

"He got a pretty good thump on the head," Nathan explained. "Really knocked him silly. Should keep 'im off his feet for a day or so."

"Damn," Chris muttered, picking Buck's hat off the ground where it had landed when Wahl was flung from the horse. Buck's jacket would need cleaning if it were salvageable at all. "How'd you find us?"

"Vin figgered Wahl might come back to the McCannon place," Nathan explained. "We found Mr. Bonham with those two fellas that came with Wahl."

Josiah smiled. "I believe Mr. Bonham was happy to have someone relieve him of his prisoners. We left JD in charge of the captives."

Chris furrowed his brow. "So, we got the four of us here... JD's back at the Bonham's... Vin's stuck in the clinic and Buck's got a concussion. Who the hell is watching the town?"

"Well..." Nathan said, trailing off. "Vin and Buck..."

Chris stared for a moment. "Let me recall rightly... Vin just got shot in the chest and Buck was knocked senseless."

"There's the judge as well, Chris," Josiah added helpfully.

"Lord help us, two invalids and an old man..." Chris shook his head and stood. "Let's get the hell back there before they reduce the place to rubble."


Part 22:

Chris and JD rode in front of the Bonhams' borrowed wagon as Josiah carefully guided it toward Four Corners. The extra horses were tied behind in a hectic bunch. Nathan sat beside the muddy gambler. Ezra had been stripped of the wet and filthy clothes and wrapped in a blanket to keep from getting a chill. Standish hadn't awoken during the process, he had only murmured senselessly. Nathan was somewhat relieved, knowing that, if he awoke, Ezra would begin complaining about the dirt and demand an immediate bath. Ezra did stir from time to time during the trip, coughing and muttering and pulling the blanket close to him. Nathan just shook his head, finding it hard to believe that the gambler had lasted as long as he did.

The two prisoners sat silently at the back of the wagon, beside the body of Wahl. Larabee had promised them a speedy trial, since the judge was already in town... but couldn't guarantee them anything in regard to the outcome. Lewis had cried over the death of his horse, bemoaning the loss of Princess. Gil mumbled oaths regarding the loss of the money.

Chris kept a quick pace toward their home, but dreaded reaching it. With the crowd currently in residence, the place could have been razed by the time they arrived. If the people learned of Wahl's escape and death by a less-than-public means, then there could be real trouble.

It was growing dark as they approached. Chris strained his ears, listening for the expected sound of breaking glass, gunfire, shouting and general hell-raising. Instead, the group entered a near silent town.

"Hey, cowboy," Chris heard a familiar Texas drawl from above and saw Vin sitting on the balcony of the clinic.

"Vin? What the hell you doin' outta bed?" Chris asked sharply.

Vin just raised his finger to his lips and then pointed at an ominous presence outside of the saloon.

The dark shape moved toward them, followed by another form that walked at an unsteady gait from the front of the jail.

"Mr. Larabee," Judge Travis greeted, gripping his rifle tightly as he approached. He dipped his head, taking in the gunslinger's muddied appearance. "I see you ran into trouble of some sort?"

Chris glanced at his clothing and uttered, "Yup."

"Were you able to find your missing man?" The judge sounded genuinely concerned as Buck wobbled up behind him.

Larabee nodded as he dismounted. "Ezra's gonna be fine. Just gotta get 'im cleaned up a bit and let 'im sleep."

The judge had reached the wagon by now and appraised its passengers, from the sleeping, mud-splattered Standish, to the bound captives and the dead Wahl. His gaze remained on the body for a minute, noting the damage caused by the bullet to the head. He had seen many bullet wounds in his career and could recognize the effects of a shot fired at very close range. It looked as if the man had been executed.

Travis looked from one lawman to the next. "So, someone else saw fit to dole out the punishment which I handed down?"

"There wasn’t a way around it, far as I could tell," Larabee replied.

"He was tryin' to drown Ezra," Nathan put in. "Nearly broke his neck. Self defense."

Travis raised his eyebrows, watching as Dunne and Larabee pulled the captives from the back of the wagon, heedless of the fact that the prisoners had to stumble over Wahl's body to get out. With a shove, Larabee sent them on their way toward the jail with JD minding them, his Colts pointed at their backs.

"It was Standish that killed him?" the judge asked.

"Yup," Chris replied as Nathan lifted Ezra to the edge of the wagon. Ezra murmured something as Josiah took hold of him easily enough and let the sleeping man's head rest against his shoulder.

Travis nodded, not having any more to say on the matter.

"Ev'r one, okay?" Buck slurred as he leaned against a pole. "Ez-o'kay?" He watched in concern as Josiah headed up the stairs to the clinic with his burden.

Nate sighed and stepped up to Wilmington. "He's fine. I just haven't released him from the clinic yet. That's a little fact he seemed to 'ave forgotten. And you'd better march up those stairs, too. Gotta keep an eye on you." He nodded to Chris. "I'm gonna need help gettin' Vin back in bed."

"Hey!" Vin called from above them. "I'm right fine. I don't need no help."

"Yeah, right," Nathan commented.

"So," Chris said, looking up and down the nearly empty street as Josiah made his way up the stairs with Ezra. Nathan followed a few moments later. "What happened? Where is everyone?"

"I declared a curfew just before sundown..." the judge replied.

"Curfew?" Ezra mumbled quietly, not opening his eyes.

Josiah smiled, realizing he was the only one that heard the gambler's soft comment. "Go back to sleep, Ezra. This is all a dream."

"Curfew? More like a nightmare..." the con man tiredly drawled. "There'll be a bath soon, won't there?"

"Called off due to the curfew," Josiah responded.

"Damnation..." Ezra coughed and added, "No luck a'tall."

"And a curfew was enough to clear the streets?" Chris continued.

"Well," Travis nodded to the balcony where Nathan had paused to check on Vin, "I was in the middle of town. I had a sharpshooter at this end and a cock-eyed cowboy on the other..."

"Cock-eyed?" Buck sputtered. "Now see here, I may be... I may be..." Chris reached out his hand to steady his friend and push him back against the post.

The judge grinned. "Between Mr. Tanner's accuracy and Mr. Wilmington's lack-thereof, nobody wanted to be caught between them."

"I'z jus' got a knock on the noggin is all," Buck said, rubbing his bandaged head. "Not to worry none."

"And of course," the judge said with a tip of his hat, "I have a reputation of my own."

"Chris!" Nathan called down. "I'm gonna need a hand with this one, and get Buck up here."

"I'm doin' fine right here," Vin declared, glaring at the healer who hovered over him. "I think I'll spend the night."

Nathan sighed his long-suffering sigh. "I didn't think I'd ever see a day when my most compliant patient was Ezra. At least he's asleep and won't give me no trouble."

Josiah laughed as he heard Ezra mutter, "Bath, just a bath is all..."

Josiah kicked open the door and promised, "Don't worry, son, we'll get ya tidied up."

"Come on, Buck," Chris said, grabbing hold of Wilmington. "Let's go on up and see to Vin. Get ya'all settled. Then it looks like I gotta go down and help the judge keep the peace."

"Take your time," Travis said, shouldering the rifle. "Take your time." He watched as Larabee maneuvered Wilmington up the stairs. The mustached cowboy almost toppled over the railing, but Larabee held tightly and managed to save him from disaster.

"Wan' me ta len' a hand?" Wilmington asked as Larabee and Jackson got Tanner to his feet. The tracker groaned but managed to keep from making any further sounds.

"No, Buck, no!" Nathan stated firmly. "You just stand there and help hold up that wall for a minute or so and we'll be back for ya."

"Right... right." Buck rubbed his head and followed them anyway. He made it half way to the clinic door before falling flat on his face.

"Buck..." Larabee looked over his shoulder.

"Jus' a minute now," Wilmington said. "What the hell happened?"

"We'll be back to get'cha, Buck," Nathan said as he continued moving Tanner inside.

Travis turned slowly and headed down the middle of the street, toward the jail. There were many things he regretted in his life and there were things he was damn proud of. His son had been one of those things he was proud of... and Billy, too. Decisions made were sometimes good and sometimes bad. The sweet and the sour seemed to be doled out almost arbitrarily at times.

He paused in the middle of the quiet town and smiled. When he hired these seven men to watch this town... he had done something right. A mighty fine thing indeed.


Part 23:

Chris Larabee leaned against the roof support and gazed out across the quiet town. Word had gotten out concerning Wahl's timely demise and for a few minutes it had looked like all hell was going to break loose. But a few well-chosen words -- backed up with the proper weaponry -- had sent people on their way.

By late morning, the town had returned to normal. Thank God, Chris thought. He could use some normality at that moment. He turned his head when he saw the familiar sight of Nathan managing a tray as he stepped from the restaurant and headed toward the clinic.

"Mornin', Nate," Chris said as the healer passed him with the laden tray. Jackson just grumbled and continued on his way. Chris smiled and followed.

"So, how'd it go last night?" Chris continued.

"Don't get me started," Nathan said. "First off, I couldn't get Ezra shut up until he had his damn bath. Josiah had to go wake up Mr. Breen at the bathhouse to fire up the works so that one man could get 'imself a hot bath. Buck wouldn't sit still. He kept gettin' to his feet... tryin' to 'help' and the next thing I knew I was peelin' 'im off the floor. Then he was up pukin' half the night. Lord, the smell of it. Between that and Ezra's coughing, there was no hope of gettin' any rest. Then Ezra started demanding I get a separate room for Buck, and that only got Vin in on it, too. Vin said he couldn't sleep with either of 'em and would be better off in his wagon...started complainin' about getting out... sayin' he proved he was up to it and should be..."

"Yup, you were right," Chris said with a nod. It wasn't often that Nathan went on for so long. "I shouldn't 'ave got you started."

"I don't know why I do it, Chris," Nathan said as the two of them headed up the stairs. "They're such children! Don't know what's good for 'em... don't listen to a word I say..."

"You put up with it because you love bossin' 'em around while you got 'em under your roof," Chris tried as he followed Jackson.

Nathan snapped his mouth shut and then looked over his shoulder at Larabee. "Well..." he said and then shook his head.

"So you manage to keep 'em in place all night long?"

Jackson snorted. "After yesterday's escape, I figured I'd better take more drastic measures."

"And that would be?"

"Ah, I kinda tied up Ezra."

"Tied 'im? You tied 'im up?"

"Just around his good ankle. Tied him to the cot for the night." Nathan waited as Chris pushed open the door. "I swear, that man just don't know what's good for 'im. I'm thinkin' I may get some handcuffs for the other two if this works..." Nathan stepped into the room and muttered, "Son of a bitch."

Chris almost laughed. The cot where Ezra had been placed for the night was empty, the rope coiled up beside it. Vin and Buck both peered innocently from their beds at the two men in the doorway.

"Buck! Vin!" Nathan dropped the tray to the table. The contents clattered and shook at the violent action. "Where the hell is he?"

"Cain't rightly say," Vin said. "He must'a snuck off while you were gettin' the grub."

"He's a slick devil," Buck assented. "Slicker than a slicked up pig in a pig-slickin' contest."

The other three men exchanged glances and Nathan sighed, wondering if there was any brain damage to the ladies' man. "And neither of you two seen 'im go?"

"He's a master of deception," Buck replied. "He horn-swaggled us."

“Yeah, tricked us good," Vin nodded. "Had us lookin' one way and the next thin' ya know, he's out the door."

"He's on the loose again," Nathan groaned and pressed the heels of his hands to his forehead. "I'll go check the livery... see if he's taken off. Then I'll check the restaurant...might be lookin' for breakfast. He was complainin’ about the stuff I bring ‘round." He looked toward Chris.

"I'll take the saloon and his room," Chris declared.

Nathan sighed. "I just hope he hasn't made it up to the roof-tops again. Won't be no gettin' him down from there." Chris watched as the defeated healer left the room. Once the door was shut he turned to the other two inhabitants. It took only a few seconds for them to break under his glare.

"I had nothin' to do with it!" Buck declared.

Chris turned his gaze on Vin and the tracker shrugged. "He don't like scrutiny."

"Scrutiny?" Chris tried.

"Said he don't like folks hoverin' over him, pokin' at him, fussin'. Don't like scrutiny." Vin said the word carefully, since he had just learned it.

"So you untied him?"

"I owed 'im one, I 'spect," Vin replied. "Ez near killed 'imself to save my life. Least I can do is get 'im away from all the dang scrutiny."

"And you didn't help at all?" Chris turned to Buck.

Wilmington rolled his eyes. "Okay, okay! I didn't want Vin to split a stitch or somethin' tryin' to get that little snake untied. All I did was give Vin a bit of a hand. And... and I got the walkin' stick out of the rafters..."

"Why didn’t both of you leave, too?"

Vin and Buck both had the same look of disbelief on their faces. "Breakfast was coming," Buck finally explained and Vin nodded in agreement. "Speakin' o'which," Buck said, throwing back the blankets and moving toward the forgotten tray. He was wearing nothing but his underwear from the waist down.

"You're hungry?" Chris asked, remembering how Buck had spent the night.

Wilmington tapped his head and said, "Head don't hurt so much anymore." And then rubbed his stomach. "And the belly is awful empty."

"I want some of that toast, Bucklin," Vin called, looking toward the tray. "Put some of those eggs on it and a slab of that ham and get me a cup of coffee while yer up."

"Don't get your panties in a twist," Buck returned, shoving a sausage into his mouth. He harrumphed. "Not nearly enough here!"

"Sausage, too!" Vin pointing to the plate. "And if there's bacon..."

"Well, the two of you are certainly in for it," Chris cut in. "Nathan ain't gonna like this."

"Don't tell Nate 'bout what we did!" Vin exclaimed, a touch of fear in his voice.

Chris shook his head. "You're on your own. You know he's gonna figure this out." He turned his gaze to Buck, who was chewing on a slice of bacon while he assembled Vin's breakfast request. "And don't call Ezra a snake anymore, okay, Buck?"

Wilmington blinked at him as he swallowed the last of his bacon slice. He was confused for a minute, and had to backtrack in the conversation. Finally, he recalled the idle comment and said, "Ah, ya know I don't mean nothin' by that, Chris."

"I know, but don't," Larabee said with a nod. He waited until he received a nod from the two very-much-in-trouble lawmen and turned toward the door. He stopped when he thought of something. "And so he left here near-naked?" The gambler’s clothing had been in desperate need of cleaning when he arrived in Four Corners the previous evening, and had been spirited away to his washerwoman, Mrs. Underwood, who would try to resurrect the stuff.

"Well," Vin sighed and looked away. "He kinda borrowed my jacket..."

Chris' eyes nearly bugged out of his head. "Your jacket?"

Buck laughed as he handed Vin a rather large wad of bread, bacon, ham, eggs and sausage. "Ya should'a seen it, Chris. I bet ol' Ez turned three shades of green when he put it on."

"And pants?"

"He took Buck's," Vin stated nodding to the pant-free Wilmington. Buck grinned and pulled on his shirt, as if he were embarrassed by his current state, playing it up as if he were a bashful schoolgirl.

Vin smirked and then continued, "Took his boots, too."

"Your boots?" Chris asked incredulously, knowing how Buck felt about the footwear.

"He can be rather insistent," Buck explained. “He took Vin’s hat.”

Larabee laughed, trying to imagine Standish in Vin's jacket and hat, with Buck's too-big pants and oversized boots. "I gotta see this..."

Chris left the clinic and clambered down the stairs. He made his way to the saloon where Inez was wiping down the counter, cleaning up after the morning crowd. She didn't say a word, but tipped her head toward the stairs and then went back to work.

Larabee headed up the stairs at the rear of the saloon and found Ezra's door partially open. He pressed it wide, seeing the gambler before his mirror.

"Mr. Larabee," Ezra greeted as he tied his cravat; his voice still sounded hoarse from the abuse that was perpetrated to his larynx. "I heard you comin' and decided against shootin' you." His face was freshly shaven, the lather still clinging to the razor in his basin.

"Good choice," Chris said as he leaned in the doorway. The borrowed jacket and pants were carefully laid across the back of a chair. The boots stood beside the chair like soldiers. The hat was carefully set on the seat. Damn, Chris thought. He was too quick for me. Larabee nodded to the pilfered garments. "So, I see you've experienced the Tanner coat?"

"Experienced?" Ezra shuddered. He ran his hand through his hair, and coughed quietly. He gave Chris a meaningful glance and added, “This is never to be mentioned again.”

We'll see, Chris thought. Ezra reached for a forest-green jacket and pulled it on, brushing at the sleeves once he had it settled to his satisfaction. He coughed again and then regarded his reflection in the mirror. Apparently he was satisfied with what he saw.

Chris noticed that the collar of Ezra's shirt was especially elaborate, most likely to hide the evident bruising around his neck. Bastard, Chris thought, thinking of how Wahl had nearly drowned Ezra in that ditch. Ezra had said nothing about the experience so far, and Chris doubted that he ever would.

Ezra rolled his shoulders and turned his head slowly back and forth as he holstered his weapons.

"Neck still hurts?"

"Not as badly as my back." Ezra gave Chris a look and continued, "I believe you enjoyed administering that drubbing."

"I 'spect," Larabee replied, recalling the fear that had gripped him when he pulled the apparently lifeless Standish out of the water.

"I would think that my absence from the clinic has been noted by now."

"You'll be hearin' from Nathan any minute."

Ezra grinned and raised an eyebrow. "Not if Dame Fortune is with me. I believe that our Mr. Jackson is currently checking the livery?"

"Yeah, that's where he went..."

"After that, perhaps he will be heading to the restaurant?"

"Yeah, he might be."

Ezra's grin widened, revealing his gold tooth. "Then I can make my way to the livery while he is engaged in the restaurant. Mrs. Combé will undoubtedly delay him there for a short time."

"Yeah, and why do you figure that?"

Ezra looked contemplative. "Perhaps because of the order she received moments ago. Apparently, just after Nathan left her establishment with this morning's repast, a new order arrived for second helpings of everything. Misters Tanner and Wilmington are consummate gluttons and will undoubtedly require more to eat this mornin'."

"And where did this second order come from?"

Ezra gave Chris a confused look and said, "That's a mystery." He then grabbed the cane from the bed and used it to hook his hat from the dresser. "I have only a few moments..."

"Ezra," Chris sighed. "You know, it's for your own good. You need your rest yet."

Ezra headed out the door, using the cane to keep weight off the still painful leg. "I'm plannin' to rest, Mr. Larabee. I simply choose to do it elsewhere."

"Away from scrutiny?" Chris shut the door behind him.

Ezra stopped and looked back to Larabee, with perhaps a touch of surprise on his face. He composed himself quickly enough and replied, "Exactly." He pulled a key from his pocket, locked the door and then headed toward the stairs.

"Where're you goin' then?"

"I received an invitation that I plan to keep."

"And what is this invite, Ez?" Chris put his hand under Ezra's elbow as they descended the stairs, careful to keep him steady.

Ezra looked down at the hand, but did nothing to dislodge it as he negotiated the stairs. "Mrs. Bonham, while you were tending the horses, invited me to return for a more proper luncheon. She said that she'd be fixin' a roast chicken with yams today. And there is still that promise of a batch of soda biscuits to take home with me."

"I hear they're the best in the territory." The gunslinger was amused. At least he's back to eating again, Chris mused. The two men nodded to Inez who smiled back at them.

She shook her head, not really understanding what the men were up to. She never really understood. She had seen Ezra pass through earlier in Vin's jacket and Buck's pants. She had stopped him, wanting to say something about his attire. Ezra had held a finger to his lips and had said, "You haven't seen me, my dear." He had glanced down at the ragged jacket and reiterated, "You definitely haven't seen me."

Inez chuckled and continued with her work as Chris and Ezra reached the door. She would file away the image of the dapper man in the antediluvian jacket, the dusty hat perched at a precarious angle across his head, clutching the oversized pants with one hand and trying to manage the cane and the too-big boots as he climbed the stairs. She'd have to draw on that memory on the days that Standish was acting particularly foppish.

"Think you can make it there okay?" Chris asked.

Ezra cocked his head at the gunslinger. "Mrs. Bonham has promised pie for dessert," he said, as if that were an answer to the question.

"Pie. I should have figured as much. I know you can't say no to pie."

"Lord, it is my weak-spot." Ezra paused in the doorway, carefully looking both ways in case Nathan had freed himself from Mrs. Combé’s confusion. He turned back to Chris and added, "You have been invited as well." He leaned back out the door and saw that the coast was clear. "Prepare yourself, Mr. Larabee. We must be fleet of foot."

Larabee tried not to laugh as Ezra uttered, "damn, damn, damn" with every footfall as they ran across the road and into the dimness of the livery. Chris held in his laughter until they reached the building, where he finally gave in.

"Please!" Ezra said urgently. "You are utterly hopeless when it comes to surreptitiousness, Mr. Larabee."

Chris rested his hands on his knees and shook his head. "What kind of pie, Ezra?"

"Cherry..." Ezra said with a nod. "Mrs. Bonham is expecting us before noon."

Well, what else could Chris do but accompany the gambler? Cherry was his favorite kind of pie. "Let's get goin' then."

The END -  By NotTasha

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