FORTITUDE
Buck hissed as he leaned over JD. Dunne still lay curled with his back to his two friends. The sheriff had refused to move.
"Gawd damnit, JD, you roll yer ass over and look at me or I'll slap ya silly." The vehemence in his voice masked his fear and trepidation. 'These gawd damn sons of bitches were after himself and Tanner...damn kid had nuthin' to do with this mess. Innocent stupid kid. Wrong place wrong time. Standish, too. Damn, damn, damn....'
Tanner kept a watch out of the corner of his eye but did not involve himself in the dynamics between those two. Instead, the tracker focused his attention on his targets. He studied their movements their habits. Which ones acted first; which ones thought before moving? Did they prefer left hands over right or visa versa? Who would be more likely to act in an unpredictable manner? Act outside their set dimensions for behavior.
Any animal in fear for its life would act in an irrational manner. Some cowered, some attacked, and others employed both tactics. Vin watched and learned.
Wilmington waited a moment as his harsh words struck across the short distance to Dunne. Buck had finally lost his patience with the kid and slid forward to roll JD over himself.
JD closed his eyes. He rubbed the few lingering tears that clung to curled lower lashes on his shoulder. Catching his breath, he slowly rolled himself over and faced Buck.
Wilmington caught his breath. 'Oh Gawd, kid. Oh Gawd, I'm so sorry, kid. . . .'
"Leave 'e alone Buck," JD's words lisped out between puffy torn lips. Swollen cheeks, sealed eyes. Blood trickled down from an unseen cut about the hairline.
"Sorry, kid, can't do that." Wilmington cast a singular burning gaze across the encampment. He vowed to fight Vin for a chance to kill these bastards.
"Look at his feet." Josiah held up a raw bloody ankle up off the bed. Dirt and debris stuck to the underside of a blistered lacerated foot. Desert clay mingled freely with the dried blood, forming a kind of paste.
How long had he walked without shoes?
"Wonder where he found those?" Josiah kicked at the discarded worn boots on the wood floor. They were large enough to fit Buck or even himself.
"Ain't his boots. He didn't have shoes on for awhile," Nathan observed. The healer worked the soft oversized shirt from his patient.
"Sweet Jesus," Jackson's soft prayer pulled Sanchez's attention from the abused feet to the torso. Chris stepped away from the window he was leaning against. The twilight reflected the harsh glint in his eyes.
The windows had been shoved open in vain hope for a breeze. Curtains had been pushed back, casting some light into the room. Lean shadows stretched across the hard wood floor. The room was too small and too stuffy for this many visitors.
Nathan pulled the shirt out from under Standish, revealing the purplish-red, burned chest and stomach. Skin had dried out and pruned painfully across the torso. With a tentative movement, Jackson rested a hand on the tissue. Heat waved from the body like invisible flames.
"Wonder if he lost his shirt same time he lost his boots?" Josiah muttered darkly.
Jackson merely shook his head in angry disgust. How do you save someone from something like this? "Gawd, where are the others?" Nathan's troubled eyes searched the faces of the two men across from him vainly.
"We're gonna find out." Larabee stood against the bed. He let his eyes rove across the gambler, memorizing every bruise, every cut, and every blister. The gunslinger took stock of the wounds, the feel of the heat and the stark raw pain that would have come with such burnt flesh. He could imagine the crazed single-minded desire for water; an almost insane urge that forced its victim to drink sand. Larabee's blood boiled.
"Nathan, you tell Mary and Inez what you want done with him and then we're riding out." Larabee met the healer's eyes squarely.
Nathan nodded. He found no argument that would wholly explain his fear for the man near death before him. Nor the three friends out there probably in worse shape. They had to be. They were the kind of men that would protect those who were down and recovering. Ezra would never have been allowed to succumb to this condition if Buck, Vin and JD could have prevented it. Gawd, what would those three look like when Chris found them?
It would be dark in a few hours. Josiah gazed out the window at the fading light. A few hours might get them closer to finding their friends. Sanchez leaned on the wall and watched the slow raspy rise and fall of the burnt chest.
Mary and Inez smiled grimly at the task lay before them. They could hear the horses shifting impatiently down on the street. The creak of leather, the hushed voices, even the sounds of the evening crickets sounded rushed and impatient.
Nathan stood at the open door, saddlebags draped across his shoulder, his hat pulled back off his head.
"Keep trying to cool'im down, n' don't let'im drink...not at first," Jackson repeated himself again. "Ya make poultices like I showed ya . . .fer his feet. And use this mixture for the burns on his shoulders and stuff," the healer paused as if thinking of one last thing. He took a breath and sighed, a solemn expression tumbled over his features. "He might not make it." Jackson schooled himself for the possibility...the probability. " 'n iffen he doesn't, it ain't got nuthin' to do with what ya ladies did or didn't do. Ya understand me?" He held Mary and then Inez's gaze trying to make himself clear. The only blame, if the southerner should pass on, would lay on those who had done this to him.
It was too hot to keep a body unburied for long. Jackson clenched his jaw. He had every intention of being back here in town before Ezra ever opened his eyes. The rotten, no good gambler was gonna make it. Gonna make it even if Nathan had to beat the life back into him. 'Damn man, don't ever do what's good for him, just like the rest of the idiots he continued to ride with. Gawd, what am I doing with these six men? There had to be an easier way to deal with life!'
Mary and Inez both nodded. "You better go, Nathan." Mrs. Travis' voice softly reminded Nathan of the two men waiting for him. "We'll do our best."
"That's all ya can do, ma'am." Nathan gave the two ladies one last glance. He let his gaze linger on Standish stripped to his under things under a light sheet. With a shake of his head, Jackson disappeared out the doorway.
Mary and Inez stood planted, listening to the sharp staccato as boot heels skipped down the stairs, crossed the hard wood floors of the saloon and then disappeared under the noise of swinging bat wing doors.
The two women crossed to the window and watched the three regulators trot out of town. They only had an hour or two worth of daylight left. When the riders disappeared from sight, the two women turned and stared forlornly at the form under the sheet.
With twin sighs, they busied themselves for the task at hand. What would Chris and the others find out there?
God help them all.
"Don't worry, kid, ol' Chris'll be here in no time to save our bacon," Wilmington whispered, wishing he could lay a hand on JD's shoulder. Dunne curled tighter into himself, pressing his back into Buck's leg. The young Bostonian slept fitfully. His muscles shivered and twitched under imaginary blows.
"Ya think Ezra made it?" Tanner leaned back against the wagon wheel, resting his head against its iron rim.
"Had to 've." Buck watched the dancing, flexing flames of the campfire a few yards away. "Ain't no other way to think it." Dry wood snapped and popped, sparks twisted and floated into the air in vertical spirals.
"Salt Flats ain't forgiving. Even to a man with a canteen and good horse." Tanner avoided the firelight. He watched the sentry on duty. Damn fool kept glancing in the direction of the camp. 'Ain't never gonna see anything comin' at 'im from the dark. Jist as well....'
"Ezra knew what was laid on the table." Buck turned his head to face the tracker. Vin sat nestled in dark shadows. If it weren't for his voice Wilmington would never known he was there. Damn firelight ruined his night vision. "Ezra ain't gonna quit on us."
"Ain't sayin' he would...not if he had a choice." Tanner met Wilmington's steely gaze. He knew the Buck couldn't see him...not after watching the light.
"Damnit, Vin," Buck ground out. "Ezra ain't dead." His hissed words stung the night between them.
Tanner smiled and leaned back against the spoked wheel. "I know he ain't, Buck." The tracker turned his head and let a slow smile curl his lip. "Jist wanted to hear ya say it."
"Bastard."
"Yup." A Texas drawl-laced chuckle carried on the breeze.
Chris kicked dirt on the burning embers of their campfire. Josiah had the horses saddled and ready. Nathan packed the last of their gear away. The sun had yet to crest the horizon. The ground still carried the chill of a cold evening. Birds chirped and whooped in the early morning light. Like last night, no clouds marred the sky. No trees dotted the landscape.
Sage and sun seemed all they had to look forward to today.
Following Standish's tracks had been easy. The heavy plodding of shuffling feet on the main road out of Four Corners proved to be unchallenging. Last night, they had camped a mile off the road. Five miles from town. Chris pushed a punishing pace. They covered some ground.
The trail became more difficult with the increase of ground cover. Sage marred the area. The telltale marks of boots meandered haphazardly over hard earth. The lack of light, the fear of losing a twisting trail forced them to stop as stars dotted the sky.
This morning Larabee had led them over land. He leaned forward in his saddle, sometimes standing in his stirrups. The pace had slowed considerably.
Mid afternoon the threesome came to a covered wagon. A small team of mules stood to the side foraging for morsels to eat. The mules brayed a warning to their handler. A woman gazed up from a wooden bucket she was stooped over. In a flash of panic, she called out two names. A child no more than three and naive to the dangers of strangers, ignored his mother and continued to pile sand. The mother quickly crossed the distance to her son and scooped him up protectively. Though not a large woman, she gave the impression of a hellcat should one come between her and her baby.
A man stepped out from around the wagon brandishing a weapon. The long double barrel shot gun looked unsteady and gangly in his shaking hands. Worn suspenders held equally tattered pants. His frame seemed even slighter than his wife's, though he easily held the height of Nathan.
"Hello, in the camp. We come in peace." Josiah's voice rumbled across the distance. Its tone somehow managing to portray a tint of friendliness.
"Don't come no further." The voice shook nearly as much as the hands that fought to hold the shotgun steady.
"We don't mean ya no harm folks." Nathan lifted his hands from the reins of his horse and held them outward in a show of peace. The three regulators continued forward. "We're trying to track a friend of ours. Hopin' ya might've seen'im...."
Nathan let his voice taper off when he noticed the man's feet.
He wore only socks.
"What happened to your shoes?" Larabee had no compulsion with frivolity.
His inquiry was met with a wary gaze. The wife and son had disappeared from sight.
"We're the law in the next town over," Josiah informed the man quietly. He watched as the gun lowered slightly. It amazed the ex-preacher just how quick people listened and believed the words of strangers. Ezra and Maude's world did not seem so strange at times.
"Y'all the law?"
"Yes, sir, we are," Jackson answered again. "Now about 'em boots?"
"Jist couple of nights ago some dang fool run off with my boots and a shirt. My good Sunday meetin' shirt too." The shot gun barrel now pointed toward the ground. Nathan could almost hear Chris suck in his breath when the barrel rested in the dirt.
"That all? Any money or food or water?" Josiah rested his wrists lazily across the horn of his saddle.
"Nope, jist my boots and a shirt. Had some money tucked away right near the shirt but they left that."
Nathan leaned close to Chris and whispered, "Ezra wouldn't have been in his right mind....not bin 'imself."
Josiah heard the comment and chuckled.
"Y'all lookin' for the man who robbed us?"
"Reckon." Larabee reined his big black away from the wagon.
The man hitched a hip. "Snapped some buckles on the harness. Been stuck here for three days and nights. Can't git the team fixed up to move. . . ." The hint and plea hung heavy in the air.
"Head east for a day or so and you'll hit a town. Blacksmith there will fix ya right up." Josiah fell into step behind the other two horses.
The men tipped their hats. A few yards out they picked up a barefoot trail.
Josiah cursed.
"Come on, boys." A solid boot connected with Wilmington's lower thigh, just over the knife wound. Buck's eyes snapped open and he lunged for the offending body. The ropes that bound him to the wheel severely stunted his movement. Manacles bit his wrists.
"Oh, bit of a temper in ya yet." The dust-covered tormentor raised a leather baton to club his prisoner.
"Cletis, Tiny, enough of that shit." Samuel Rosenberg gathered up his gear. "They need to be able to walk and they can't be doin' that if ya bust 'em too bad."
Cletis stared at the ladies' man in warning. Buck met his gaze and then dropped it. It would not do anyone any good to get killed today. Fury hammered Buck's heart.
"Damn Texas Rangers ain't so tough after all," the captor sniggered as he began to saunter down the row. On second thought, he snapped his wrist back, slapping the baton squarely against Wilmington's face. Tiny laughed as he headed toward his boss and Digger. Cletis was determined to badger his victims.
Not that Tiny minded. Hear tell that Cletis' old man got hisself shot down durin' a bank robbery gone sour. And that the Wilmington fool shot the ol' man, right there in the street. Now, if one listened to Cletis' view of the facts, his old man were jist 'bout outta bullets and didn't kill no kids. Jist that one lady and bank teller but he asked for it or so Cletis tells it. And then that puff-chested Texas Ranger had shot 'im down. Ranger jist a kid 'imself at the time, not much older than Cletis hisself. Shot the old man right there on Main Street.
Tiny weren't gonna interfere if Cletis wanted to beat 'im silly. No way, no how. Cleat could be down right loony and ya don't mess with someone not in their right mind. Not if ya want to live to see ya next birthday and all.
The baton snapped Buck's head to the opposite shoulder, smacking his head on the wagon. The ladies' man caught his breath and folded into his shoulder instinctively. The stinging pain bolted through his head and cheek. He sat up slowly with measured breaths as the world spun by, as if it had been caught in a dust devil.
"Nope, ain't so tough at all." Cletis swung the baton in his hand as he headed for Tanner.
JD sat beside Buck. Dunne kept his mouth shut and his eyes downcast. His stomach burned and ached. And his head throbbed. His arms and shoulders were cramping and he could no longer feel his hands. Despair welled inside him. "You okay, Buck?" His voice sounded small and fragile, even to himself. He wondered how Buck and Vin could be so fearless.
"Fine, kid, just fine." Wilmington slid his gaze over JD. Dunne must be made of something stronger than the rest of them. Damn kid had more grit than Larabee.
Cletis squatted in front of Tanner, just out of striking range. "How's it feel to know yer gonna swing in Tascosa?" The leer on the man's face matched the words with biting intensity.
"Probably nothin' like what ya gonna feel when I lay yer throat open." Tanner's softly spoken words held no malice or anger. His captor created more space between himself and the bounty hunter.
With struggling bravado Cletis continued, "Ya gonna die, Tanner."
Vin smiled briefly, a flash really. "Yup,"
The large man stood up slapping his baton smartly in his hand, liking the sound of leather striking flesh.
"But not before you." Vin's words halted the baton's actions.
"Cletis, leave 'im alone and 'elp us git ready to move out." Rosenburg's voice shot harshly across the camp ignorant of the promise just uttered.
Cletis Downy backed away from the tracker.
Nathan wiped his brow again. His hat felt tight on his head. The sun seemed to bake right through it. He could feel the sun burn his skin even through his shirt. How did Ezra make it this far?
Josiah pushed the cork back onto his canteen. Between the three men they had six containers of water. The smaller watering holes had dried up long ago. It had not deterred Standish from weaving from empty water source to empty water source. Sanchez could not imagine the despondency he would have felt if he had continued to find dried up ponds and oases. Sanchez stared at the black shirt of the man in front of him.
Chris led them on, seemingly unconcerned or bothered by the oppressive heat. Sweat sucked his shirt close to his body. Dirt covered everything. The sunlight wavered off the ground in reflective pools preventing them from getting a look at the trail in the distance.
At one point, Larabee stopped. He gave no signal. Josiah and Nathan flanked him. Larabee merely nodded toward the ground. A small stained area of dirt protected by some dry grass and brittle weeds sat just off the trail.
"Looks like he mighta got sick here." Jackson did not bother getting down from his horse. The animals swiveled their ears forward and sideways trying to discourage the ever-present flies. Occasionally, out of frustration, a gelding would toss its head lazily. The shake of leather and whoosh of mane and forelock only temporarily deterred the insistent pests.
Chris nodded and gently clicked his mount to continue the painfully slow pace. Larabee's mind focused solely on the haphazard trail. Why had Ezra been separated from the others? Where were the others and were they still alive? Chris mentally shook the thoughts from his head. He would believe they were alive, otherwise there would be no point in being out here. If only they could have found some indicator that they were following the correct trail.
Josiah sat back in his saddle and closed his eyes against the glare of the late afternoon sun. He brushed at his forehead and paused. Two human silhouettes, leading horses, grabbed his attention. One horse apparently severely lame.
"Brothers?" He pointed to the figures just on the horizon.
Larabee nodded and headed off toward them.
