Mexican Standoff
By: Rhicy
Early Evening - Picnic Area:
Waiting - impatiently
"Where the hell is Carpenter?" Alvin Turner was pacing angrily, glaring at the distant trail as if willing Josh Carpenter to suddenly appear. Dempsey had taken over the watch a couple of hours ago and somehow, despite his boss' pacing, Swanson was sleeping soundly. Turner's mood had turned exceedingly foul when he woke up and realized that Josh had not returned from Four Corners yet.
Carpenter's mission was simple. Check out the town, its defences, location of the bank, opening and closing times and vigilance of the local law. Josh was very good at what he did, mingling with the town's populace and gathering information without arousing suspicion. Turner also was very good at what he did, and that was robbing banks. Josh was supposed to return to the agreed meeting point before sunset, so that the gang would draw up a plan for the following day.
Josh would tell him who opened the bank and at what time. Turner would ensure that he and Carpenter would be the first customers. Gunther, Dempsey and Swanson would then keep any other early customers away, at gunpoint if necessary. Alone with two heavily armed bank robbers the bank employees would usually comply with their demands and before any one in town, let alone with law any wiser. The gang would depart and the robbery would remain undiscovered until the next customer arrived and found the bank employees tied up. Now that Gunther was dead, Turner was a little uneasy about how successfully Pete and Joe could run interference without the large man's intimidating presence. This unease increased tenfold when Carpenter failed to arrive on time, something Turner had drilled into the young man with several beatings.
"I swear if he's shacked up with some whore again, I'm going to beat him to within an inch of his life." Turner's face was beginning to match his hair as he got angrier and angrier. Dempsey seemed well versed in how to behave around Turner when he got in a mood and the greasy haired youth remained uncharacteristically quiet. JD and Casey needed no encouragement to avoid drawing any attention and only Swanson's snores interrupted Turner's diatribe.
"That no good, lazy, low-down excuse for an idiot is probably trying to make some fool point about how much we need him! Well he sure as hell ain't getting a bigger portion - not in this lifetime!"
An enormous snort ripped through the air as Swanson turned onto his back, his mouth hanging open like a fish's. Like a hawk to its prey, Turner swooped down onto Swanson, kicking him viciously in the thigh. "Shut up!"
His nap brought to an abrupt ended by the pain that flared through his leg, Swanson sat up reaching for his gun. Turner anticipated Swanson's reaction and kicked the fumbling hand away from the gun. Finally aware of what was going on, Joe whined, "What the hell did you do that for? I was having a wonderful dream about that saloon in Texas…" Joe didn't mention his aching hand and leg, he merely continued to lament his interrupted dream.
"Carpenter isn't back yet - that's why!" Turner snarled, shaking his fist in the direction of Four Corners.
Swanson shrugged and quipped, "He probably got drunk and decided to try his luck at a poker game or something. He'll be back - he's just sore cos' Gunther beat on him yesterday."
"I don't care! He's got a job to do - and I ain't gonna let him jist dick around whenever he wants to!" Alvin picked up a rock and tossed it at JD's little bay who nimbly dodged the flying object.
"Jist calm down, Vin. Josh will be back soon, with some excuse about falling off his horse or something," Pete Dempsey said smoothly, as he played with JD's Colts, twirling the guns around on his fingers.
Turner looked like he was going to say something more, but as quickly as his temper had flared, it seemed to disappear. "You two get off your asses and go rustle up some dinner. I'll stay and watch for Josh", Alvin Turner snapped.
Swanson seemed eager to get out from under Turner's eye and quickly straightened his hat. Winking at Pete Dempsey, Joe grinned at Casey and drawled, "You wanna come hunting with us, little girl? I'm sure we would find something we all would enjoy."
Casey glared at Joe, her jaw set but she couldn't keep the fear from her eyes. JD sat up straighter, also glaring at Pete, his hands automatically reaching for his guns. Dempsey chuckled as he holstered his new pistols, watching as JD tried to hide his reaction by sticking his hands in his pocket. "I think this little greenhorn fancies himself to be some sort of a gunman, Joe."
"Reckon you're right, Pete - I…"
"Will you two stop yammering and get going already!" Turner growled, "At this rate we going to be eating Joe's hat again. Git!"
A little sullen at having their fun interrupted, the pair of bank robbers sauntered out of the camp, with more than a few looks directed at Casey. Just before they disappeared out of earshot, Joe yelled, "Don't start the fun without us, Vin!"
JD, Casey and Alvin could hear the pair snickering as they walked away. Turner ignored the comment and just stood watching the trail and his captives, waiting for Josh Carpenter to return.
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Late Evening - trail to Beggars Canyon
There's no escaping…
Ezra was utterly miserable, his clothing covered in a thick layer of dust from a hard day's ride. Vin, Chris, Buck and himself had ridden hard all afternoon to reach the canyon before it grew too dark to ride any further. He was saddle-sore, and tired but Ezra had no idea how Vin was still functioning, considering that the lean tracker had not slept more than a couple of hours in the last couple of days. Today would have been the fourth consecutive day in the saddle for him. At least he and Larabee had a chance to catch some sleep in town, but Vin had trailed behind them all night to cover their return.
Sighing in relief as Chris motioned for the pace to slow down a little, giving the horses a chance to recover, Ezra acknowledged that the fast pace of the ride had been a blessing in disguise. Buck had been unable to harass him about Inez. Wilmington had not had the chance in town to continue his discussion and while, Buck had tried to ride close to Ezra the whole afternoon, the slippery gambler had managed to elude him. Ezra smiled to himself, thoroughly enjoying teasing Buck, drawing out the scoundrel's torture - aware that Buck couldn't stand not knowing.
Drawing up near to Ezra, Buck tilted forward resting his elbows on his pommel. Keeping his voice calm, Buck tried a gentler approach, still desperate to find out if Ezra was courting Inez. "So Ez, what's going on with you and Inez?"
Sighing dramatically, Ezra exclaimed, "Mr. Wilmington - shame on you. Prying into my private affairs, especially involving a delicate matter such as a lady. For shame."
"Knock it off, Ez! Spill it! I gotta know!"
"Why pray tell?" Ezra drawled, picking at a loose thread on one of his button-holes., "It's not as if there aren't a dozen women, heaven knows why, ready to fall at your feet given the slightest invitation from your bushy eyebrows and you certainly seemed more than intrigued by the lovely Miss Demarco."
Ezra, his attention half fixed on Buck, kept a watchful eye on Vin riding ahead of them, keen to see what affect their conversation was having. Either Vin had not heard, or he was keeping his reaction to himself.
"Cos this is about Inez! And I aim to make sure you ain't … compromising her," Buck snapped in reply.
"Comprising? Why, Mr. Wilmington I fear I am rubbing off on you - goodness I hope it's not mutual. Lord forbid start using such colloquial mannerisms as yourself!"
"EZ!"
Buck heard both Vin and Chris chuckling up ahead and shouted, "Sure laugh it up, you two! I'm just looking after Inez's best interests here…"
Chris' voice floated back to Buck and Ezra, "… considering she ain't interested in you."
"Shut up, Chris! And you too, Vin, quit giggling like a girl who's just discovered the hayloft."
Vin laughed even more. Buck then saw Vin say something quietly to Chris, who sent Buck a knowing grin. Ezra however choose this moment to intervene, "Buck, I am offended to believe that you do not consider me to be an acceptable suitor for the lovely Miss Recillios, when it is plainly obvious that she returns my affections unlike your good self…."
"Shut up, Ezra!" at Ezra's quizzically raised eyebrow, Buck spluttered, "I'm working on her - and now you've gone and moved in, just when I was making some headway…"
"Headway?"
The four men had just crested a small rise when a gunshot ripped through the night air. Buck was caught mid-sentence as the bullet blew his hat off his head. "Hell!"
Diving for cover, the four regulators dismounted and sent their horses back down the rise. Vin crawled up the slight hill on his stomach, took his hat off, and peaked out over the top.
"Who is it?"
"Is it Hefner?" Ezra and Chris whispered at the same time.
Vin didn't answer as he studied the area below them, keeping as flat as possible. Another volley of gunshots were aimed in their direction and Vin pressed himself further into the ground.
"Vin!"
Finally, Vin crawled backwards down to his friends, making no sound at all as he moved across the scattered undergrowth.
"Well?" Chris asked.
Vin looked at Chris and Ezra and whispered, "It's the Don."
Ezra paled and Chris swore while Buck said, "What Don?"
"Don Diego de la Vega of the Grande Vista Hacienda, a loathsome curmudgeon and an even worse poker player", Ezra replied his face regaining a little of its colour. "You sure?" he asked Vin, who just nodded and then a broad grin split his face. "I don't see why this predicament is so amusing, Mr. Tanner - why is that cretin shooting at us? It's not as if he knows about our …"
Ezra receive his answer when a heavily accented voice called out to them. "Senor Standish! Senor Larabee! I know you are up there."
Chris frowned at Ezra and yelled back, "What do you want?"
"Oh nothing senor - just your head on a stake and that slimy snake's heart on my dinner plate!"
Buck snorted at Ezra, "I'm guessing you're the slimy snake?"
Ezra huffed dismissively and shouted back at the Don, his voice taking on a much richer, wider Southern accent, "Why, my good Don Diego, what on earth could I have done to get your dander in such an uproar? As I recall, you did win our little poker game and walked away with a sizeable portion of my family fortune."
Buck stared at Ezra in shock, and mouthed at him, 'You lost?' while the Don's voice rose a few octaves at Ezra's response. "What have you done? What have you done? You slippery son of sidewinder! You and that whore are working together!! You … you …tricked me! You .. you .. no-good …"
The Don seemed to have run out of words in his indignation and Chris sighed as the spluttering continued for a few minutes. Swatting Vin, who was now laughing quietly, Chris hissed, "How many of them are there?"
"Three," Vin said smiling widely
"Three!" Chris bit out, "I thought he had a whole gang!" Tanner had the strangest sense of humour, he damned well knew how dangerous the Don was, and here he was laughing because the Don had decided to add Ezra and himself to his list of 'People To Kill.'
"They musta all split up to look for Helena and Ezra," Vin suggested even as Ezra raised himself a little to get his own view of the situation.
Buck hissed, "Why is he after Helena?"
Stretching a little to peer over the rise, Ezra whispered, "Vin is correct and I don't recognise either of the muscle-bound thugs with Don Diego."
Checking that his pistol was loaded, Buck whispered, "Well then why don't we deal with this bunch and high-tail it before the others arrive? Then you lot can tell me what in the hell is going on!"
"Ez, are you alright?" Vin asked as he loaded his Winchester. The gambler was still looking a little pale.
"Yes, yes," Ezra replied as the four of them moved closer to the rise, "I've never had the unfortunate experience of a mark thirsting for my blood because I let him win!"
"There's a first for everything", Chris muttered and took a quick look at where the Mexicans were situated. What he saw riding up the trail towards them, had him shouting for the others to get to their horses. "Get up! Come on! The 'other parties' are here already."
As the other three stood to see for themselves, each had to duck as the approaching gang thundering down the trail fired on them.
"Ok, that's a gang," Buck shouted as he mounted up and turned to follow Chris who was firing on the Mexicans from the back of his big black. Vin's Winchester joined in, laying down a covering fire and the approaching riders had to fall back as three of their number fell to the deadly gunfire.
The four regulators spurred their horses off and tried to put as much distance as possible between the gang and themselves. Ezra risked a quick glance backwards and tried to count the number of Mexicans following them. "There's at least twenty of them!"
"Vin! Can you lose 'em?" Chris shouted at the tracker who was laying over the neck of his horse.
"Yeah, but it's gonna mean riding all night to catch up to Hefner again!"
"Just do it!"
Vin nodded and pulled Unalii off the trail they were riding on and headed cross-country. The flat, open prairie stretched for a good 5 miles before rising into a series of narrow hills and defiles that eventually twisted into Beggars Canyon. Urging his powerful black to go even faster, Vin raced across the prairie. Chris, Buck and finally Ezra trailed behind, their horses nearly matching Unalii's speed.
The Mexican gang burst out of the small wooded area the Don had been hiding in, and pursued the four riders. Vin, looked back to check how far behind the gang was and saw that they were nearly in pistol range. He eased back on the reins, asking Unalii to slow a little and Chris, Buck and Ezra sped past him, following his signal to keep riding. Once the trio was sufficiently ahead of him, Vin sped up again and unsheathed his long rifle. Sitting straight up, he turned in the saddle and uncaring of the bullets that whistled past him, he raised his rifle and fired off five successive shots.
Behind him, in the middle of charging Mexicans, three horses screamed as their riders plummeted to the ground, dragging the reins down with them. Another man slumped in his saddle, whilst the fifth was blown completely off his horse. Instantly the lead riders in the gang slowed down, no longer as keen to be in range of Vin's rifle. As the gap between the groups of riders widened, Vin sheathed his rifle and leant forward over his saddle.
"Come on," he urged Unalii and the black willingly increased his pace to catch the three horses in front of them. As Vin leant low over Unali's neck, he could feel his horses chest heaving in time with the thundering hooves as Unalii effortlessly pushed himself faster. It was an incredible sensation to be astride an animal so powerful. Muscles bunching and releasing in harmony to the run Unalii loved best. Flat out and gaining on his quarry Unalii ate the distance between Ezra's horse and himself, catching up and slowly edging ahead of all three horses to take the lead. Chris flashed Vin a quick smile as they passed, Unalii straining against the reins, wanting to go faster and outpace Chris' black. Pony, picked up his ears and began to match Unalii's stride as he felt his rider's encouragement.
After a good half hour's ride the four riders entered shallow hills and Vin lead them galloping through a twisting maze of backs and ends that seemed to flow into each other. The four were in the middle of the hills before the Mexican gang entered the rising countryside. Vin slowed Unalii to a brisk trot and said, "I'm gonna have to take us right around the canyon edge to get ahead of Hefner. You boys, up for riding a few more hours? Otherwise he's gonna be gone before we get there in the morning."
"We gotta choice?" Buck yelled.
Vin shrugged and Chris fought the urge to rub his eyes wearily. Yawning instead, Chris said, "Hell no. Let's ride."
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Four Corners:
Feminine Wiles
Four Corner's restaurant was busy, the trail hands that had arrived that morning making up for the brawl by spending money in town. Mary had decided to treat herself to a meal she didn't have to prepare. Larabee had left town without saying a word. Still fuming from her argument with him, she was now even angrier with worry about Larabee pursuing Hefner. Billy was staying with his grandparents and she had the evening to herself. Although her meal was delicious, she couldn't seem to enjoy it. She was about to get up and leave when Inez and another woman entered the restaurant.
Usually Inez ate at the Saloon but occasionally she would come over to the restaurant. Mary's gaze was not drawn to Inez as expected, but rather to the beautiful woman beside her. Inez was looking around the room for a spare table and impulsively Mary waved them over. Initially, Inez paused. She then smiled and hurried over to Mary, her cousin following.
Smiling brightly Inez said, "Mary, this is my cousin Helena, who is … visiting me for a few days." Inez's hesitant explanation and Helena's striking looks were enough to make all the pieces fall together and Mary found herself gasping, "It was you!"
Startled, Inez stared at Mary and Helena, who looked a little puzzled. Mary quickly indicated for Inez and Helena to sit and, as the ladies sat down, Mary whispered, "You were the one I saw … uhm … hugging Chr… Mr. Larabee this morning!"
Inez now stared at Helena in surprise. Who else had her cousin been flirting with? Helena didn't seem at all embarrassed by their attention and said demurely, "I was simply thanking Senor Larabee for his help yesterday. It meant nothing more than that."
The blonde reporter didn't know whether to be furious at Larabee for not simply telling her that, or to be angry with herself for jumping to conclusions. Inez pursed her lips and said tartly to her cousin, "First you are making cow-eyes at Senor Tanner, then I see you flirting with Buck and now I hear you were hugging Senor Larabee. I thought you were going to meet your fiancé in Denver?"
The beautiful Mexican lady smiled at her cousin, but her eyes betrayed her anger at Inez and Helena huffed, "I am not married yet, cousin, and I have done nothing wrong." Apparently finished with the conversation, Helena picked up a menu and busied herself, leaving Inez to share a puzzled look with Mary.
All Inez could think was, "You haven't done anything wrong - yet!"
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Late Wednesday Night, Picnic Area:
Illegal Plans
The atmosphere around the little campfire was tense. Pete and Joe had brought back a meagre dinner, a few scrawny birds and a rabbit filled with more buckshot than meat. In any case, JD and Casey had only received a few scraps to eat, the majority of the meal being wolfed down by Pete and Joe. Alvin Turner was too agitated to eat more than a few bites and, throughout the meal, he paced, watching the horizon.
As Turner became more and more quiet, Pete and Joe grew nervous. In a bid to draw Turners attention away from their missing companion, Pete had finally introduced the trio to JD and Casey and demanded their names in return. Dempsey had conveniently edited his and Joe's colourful and illegal past, painting a vivid picture of high youthful spirits at odds with the establishment. "But mind me now, we ain't ever done anything - illegal like, jist had a few disagreements in the finer points of the law."
Casey wasn't too sure what to make of Pete's change in behaviour. He hadn't leered at her the entire evening and seemed more interested in talking than intimidating anyone. Swanson had gulped his meal down and immediately fallen asleep again, his snores muffled by his hat resting over his head. Casey was half tempted to try and win Pete's friendship and hopefully get his help in escaping. She just wished she could ask JD first, but with Pete chattering away happily, there wasn't a chance to do so. Little did she know that JD had much the same idea, and decided a little 'editing' of his own story was required.
He answered Pete's questions about where he was from, how long he had been out West and what he was doing in Four Corners, and JD carefully avoided any mention of being a regulator, or having very impressive friends. Casey turned out to be his fiancé, much to her own surprise, and JD was a reporter for the Clarion and had been in Four Corners for nearly 5 years. Pete was completely sucked in and found himself listening avidly to JD's stories of life in Four Corners, complete with edited versions of his friends' antics.
Casey was surprised at how thoroughly JD could lie, weaving half-truths and misinformation into an astonishing life story, he had obviously learned at the feet of a master, Ezra Standish. Casey found herself joining into the conversation, confirming JD's story and trying very hard not to contradict any of his lies. She nearly laughed out loud at the thought of what her Aunt Nettie would think of all this, sitting around a campfire with outlaws, lying through her teeth. It was very clear that Joe, Pete and Alvin were seasoned outlaws; Pete was not nearly as skilled at hiding the truth as he believed. JD had been especially careful to mention several relatives, both his and Casey's, who would be anxious about their safe return.
At some time during this battle of lies and deception, Alvin Turner stopped pacing and started listening - to JD.
"So then my Uncle Ezra storms out of the saloon, wearing nothing but a table cloth and his hat and boots, swearing to high heaven that he had been cheated!"
Pete hooted loudly at JD's story, slapping his hand on his leg in appreciation. Casey smiled too, having heard Buck tell this story before, but her smile faded when she realized that Turner was staring at JD like he was only now really seeing him. "What happened then, did your Uncle win his money back?" Pete asked excitedly.
JD opened his mouth to reply but instead Alvin's words cut across the night air, "So you live in Four Corners then?"
Blinking a little at the interruption, JD nodded, "Yes, Sir, Casey too." Waving JD's admission aside as if it meant nothing, Turner strode over to the three young people gathered around the campfire. His ruddy complexion, still fierce from his earlier anger, was highlighted by the flickering flames, making his face seem angular and harder.
Suddenly Turner smiled the first genuine smile JD had seen on his face and it did nothing to ease his fears. "I reckon we've been awful rude to you two love birds, keeping you here all this time without any reason why."
Alvin continued to grin, his voice nearly dripping with sincerity and JD felt that he preferred trying to deal with the man when he was angry. This 'nice' face was highly disturbing. "Since you've lived in these parts for a while now, I'm guessing you realize what kind of men we are - and what do we do for a livin'." The smile was still in place, but Alvin's eyes were hard, daring JD to contradict him. JD just nodded while Casey shifted closer to her 'fiancé', drawing some comfort from the feel of JD's jacket around her. The night wasn't particularly cold, but a combination of nerves and temperature had prompted JD to loan her his jacket. It was only slightly too big for her, JD's broader shoulders and wider chest ensuring she had ample room to move. As Turner smiled at the pair of them, Casey was grateful for the added security of the jacket - no matter how silly it seemed.
"If you tell me what I need to know about your little town, I swear that you two will not be harmed," Alvin Turner stated clearly, his sincerity not reaching his hard eyes.
"What with you bein' the type of fellas I think you are - how can we trust you?" JD questioned, careful to keep his tone non-accusatory. Alvin displayed no emotion at JD's question, he just shrugged and said, "Guess you'll jist have to take a chance."
Fighting the desire to glance at Casey, JD stared straight at Turner as he said, "I'm not too sure I can do that, sir."
Grinning at the 'sir', Turner drew his gun, the smile still in place, and deadpanned, "That's a pity, cos' I'm sure your little Casey will tell us everything we want to know. We're very good at being persuasive."
Unable to stop his worried look at Casey, whose own eyes reflected the fear in his, JD sighed and said, "I think we can trust you, Mr. Turner. If I tell you what you want to know about the town, you'll swear to let us go unharmed?"
Alvin seemed to think about the proposal for a minute, even though it was his own idea, and visibly came to a decision. "I'm a mite offended that you don't trust me, kid, in which case, here's the deal. You tell me everything about that sweet little bank in town and I promise to keep Pete and Joe away from your girl. You ride with us tomorrow and help us rob the bank and I swear you two will live to see your wedding day."
JD hesitated to agree, searching for an alternative to Turner's proposal and when he took too long to make up his mind for Turner's liking, the outlaw boss cocked his pistol and growled, "You don't agree, I shoot you now and the boys and I will have a private party with Casey."
Swanson sat up, wide awake at the suggestion of a party, his eyes moving between Turner and JD, waiting to see the outcome. Pete looked a little distressed, his thin lips pursed in a frown. It really wasn't that difficult a choice to make, and JD really didn't want to play by Turner's rules but with Casey's safety to consider, his options were limited. Before Turner could get anymore impatient, JD nodded and said, "It's a deal."
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Late Wednesday Night Four Corners:
Misunderstanding
It was quiet in Nathan's little clinic, only the sound of one man sleeping disturbed the silence. Josiah lay in the bed, unaware of the pain that throbbed from his back, listening to Nathan breathe. Dark, painful memories, far more painful than the wound that prevented him from riding, strolled like a macabre parade through Josiah's mind. Images of his father and Hannah, brief glimpses of the mother who departed all too soon, interspersed with flashes of Temple's hard sneering face. There was a pattern to all the thoughts, but none that Josiah contemplated. He simply let them come, experiencing the emotions over and over again. Despair - utter despair, that he could not save Hannah, that he couldn't reason with his father, that everything had spiralled out of his control long before he even thought to intervene. And then Temple had emerged onto the scene, adding his own brand of despair.
As the memories continued to swirl and merge into an all-encompassing mass of hopelessness, Josiah found his thoughts turned instead to the present and the promise he had made. He would wait. He would stay, and it felt like that promise was going to burn a hole through his brain. He had to go. Now.
Josiah wasn't thinking about trust or about friendship - all he could see was Charles Temple. Charles Temple laughing with his sister, Charles Temple arguing with his father, Charles Temple shouting at Josiah, pointing that manicured finger at him, demanding. Demanding Hannah.
No.
The word was not spoken, but it ignited the air around him.
No.
Hannah's sweet gentle face smiling at her beloved brother turned into the half-crazed, despairing woman that she was now. It all rushed at Josiah, the hate and anger, the frustration and hurt enveloped him until he found it difficult to draw just one more breath into his lungs.
NO!
"Josiah?"
Nathan's deep voice broke the momentum of Josiah's thoughts and the preacher realized that he was sitting up in the bed, his hands clenched into tight fists.
"You alright?"
Shaking his head, Josiah sank back onto the soft covers, his heart still racing. "I have never found it so difficult to keep a promise, Nathan. Never."
Nathan remained silent, his eyes trying to discern something from Josiah's face, but he could see very little in the dark of the room. "I promised Hannah too, you know. Promised her that Charles would never hurt her again and if they don't …" Josiah thought to himself.
"You gotta trust 'em, Josiah. Chris and the others won't let them escape, not if they can help it."
"That's just it, Nate. They might not have a choice. Dirk Hefner is as wiley as they come - and as ruthless and there is still Charles. Chris and the boys might not have a choice."
Nathan rose to his feet and stepped away from the small cot he had been sleeping in. The tall healer reached out to touch Josiah's forehead, checking for a fever. His hands found the preacher's head to be slightly warm, but nothing to worry about and Nathan sought the words to settle his friend down, to reassure him.
"You don't have to worry, Josiah. After what Vin told us, they ain't gonna let Hefner escape this time." Realising that Josiah would not have heard about Vin's last encounter with Dirk Hefner, Nathan continued as he checked the bandage wrapped around Sanchez's chest.
"Sorry, I forgot that you don't know everything. Vin told us that he had been part of the posse that Hefner ambushed a few years back. You know - the one where Hefner led 'em into a box canyon and ... well Vin was there and he barely survived that attack. So he's got just as deep a need to see Hefner caught. I'm just glad that Vin didn't try and go after Hefner alone especially after…"
The rest of Nathan's words faded away for Josiah as one phrase reverberated through his skull, just as deep a need, just as deep a need. A cold, stomach-churning worm of fear awoke inside Josiah as something akin to realisation sunk in. …just as deep a need. Vin had his own reasons for hunting Hefner, his own vengeance to seek. How badly did Vin want Hefner, how fierce did his heart burn with that deep need? Josiah remembered how savage, how desperate Vin had been when Eli Joe had shown up, trying to remove the tracker's threat. How focused the tracker had been, how determined … how blind. Blind to Ezra's troubles with the saloon, blind to Buck's marital plans, blind to everything except Eli Joe.
In that moment of panic, Josiah forgot, forgot why Vin needed … desperately needed… Eli Joe and instead the tall preacher remembered only what he chose. That Vin had thought of nothing else save catching Eli Joe. Nothing else. Now he was on the trail of Hefner - a man who had also tried to kill him. What would Vin forget this time? Would he forget his promise, his oath to Josiah? Would the hunter that hides inside his young friend let Temple go in order to catch Hefner?
The answer whispered in Josiah's brain.
Yes.
Yes, Tanner would. Tanner would bring in Hefner at all costs, and if in the process Temple escaped …? The rage that had been building inside Josiah ever since he caught sight of Charles Temple in the saloon erupted. All Josiah could see was Vin letting Temple go in order to get Hefner and Chris and the others letting him go, because they didn't know. They didn't know!
"Damn him!" Josiah roared, shoving Nathan to the floor and then running for the door. Vin was not going to let Temple escape.
"NO!"
Nathan scrambled to his feet and rushed out onto the balcony, "Josiah!" Incredibly, he saw a lone figure already riding out of the livery stable, racing out of town.
"Josiah!"
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Pre-dawn Hours Thursday Morning:
Buck rode quietly behind Chris as Vin led them through the twisted hills. Despite the fact that they had a large group of angry Mexicans somewhere behind them and a pair of known-murderers in front of them, their pace was relaxed.
Vin was taking no chances as he threaded through the narrow hills, since his view of the road ahead was often obscured by inclines and ragged edges of rock. The path through the hills was three times as long as the direct trail and as such there was no real track considering most travellers used the shorter route. Their pace was easy, as the men gave their mounts a chance to recuperate after the hard ride. In order to catch Hefner before they lost him in the canyon, they would have to ride through the night and then come over a sharp ridge before reaching the canyon mouth. Vin wanted to reach that ridge before sunrise; otherwise the four regulators would be silhouetted across the horizon as they topped it, the sun directly behind them.
Ezra rode in the rear, his hat lowered over his eyes, as he trusted his horse to keep following the other horses. He dozed in a semi-trance, half aware of what was going on around him. He half-expected to hear the sound of hoof beats thundering down the trail towards him, and kept one ear trained for that signal of approaching trouble. Luckily the trail behind was quiet as the late night hours slid by.
Chris tried to ease his tired muscles as his back and shoulders protested the long days of hard riding and little rest. Fighting the urge to fidget, Larabee maintained a watchful eye on the surrounding hills, Vin's story of being ambushed utmost in his mind.
Silence rested over the four men who rode like darker shadows in the night, their passage as discreet as any wild animal. No creaks of leather or straps, their horses attuned to the moods of their riders. There was no apprehension or fear in the air, only exhaustion and wariness. Chris decided to break the self-imposed silence and hissed at Vin.
"Any chance of camping before sunrise?"
"Nope."
Vin turned the next corner, as Chris heard his curse softly. "What?"
"We're further north than I expected. Gonna have to pick up the pace." With tired resignation, they did, each man sat a little straighter in the saddle as they followed the tracker. Vin was determined. No matter how tired, how exhausted he was; he would find Hefner. Don Diego's presence, somewhere behind them, only added to the tension building across his shoulder blades. He just hoped that the four of them tracked down Hefner and Temple before the Don managed to pick up their trail again.
It was going to be a close race.
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Stubborn Pride
Nathan caught up to Josiah sooner than he thought.
Sanchez had stopped at a fork in the trail, his horse breathing hard after the fast-paced ride. Nathan slowed to approach the large man cautiously. He didn't want to provoke Josiah into rage and didn't speak until he was nearly abreast with him.
"Josiah."
Sanchez's eyes were fixed on the dividing trail, trying to determine which one to take. The darkness concealed any sign, any clue. Josiah fought the urge to ride off impulsively, as he knew a wrong choice could let Temple escape.
"Which way did they go Nathan?"
Jackson sighed at the hard edge in Josiah's voice - a promise of violent, uncontrolled rage.
"Jo…"
Josiah yanked Nathan right into his face, his fist clenched in Jackson's shirt. "Which way did they go!" he shouted his eye boring into Nathan.
Nathan knew there was no reasoning with Josiah when he became like this. Only Chris ever had luck controlling a rage-maddened Sanchez and that had only succeeded because Josiah knew Chris would follow through with any threat of violence. All anyone else could do was let Josiah rage until he came to his senses, or in this case, fell off his horse.
"Beggars Canyon…"
Josiah kneed his horse forward immediately and rode like the wind down the trail towards Beggars Canyon, leaving a frustrated Nathan behind him. Picking up the reins, Nathan urged his own horse after Josiah, hoping that the Preacher found reason before he got someone killed.
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Juan Gomez briefly saw the fist swinging at him before he was sent flying off his horse. Writhing on the floor, his grubby hands clasped over his jaw, the sneaky little tracker glared up at the Don.
"I told you not to come back with excuses," Diego shouted. "How hard can it be to find four gringos?"
Juan desperately wanted to snap back and demand that if the Don thought it was so easy, why didn't he just spend the next four hours sniffing through the dirt trying to find a trail. Instead, the cowardly little man prudently mumbled, "Senor, it is dark and that American buckskin is very good. I will find the trail in the morning."
A roar of frustration erupted from Don Diego, who threw up his arms and shook his fists at the heavens. If he had been a man given to paranoia he might have thought that everyone was conspiring to keep him from his goal. Fortunately the Don was a far more practical man than that, all he wanted to do was shoot something, preferably someone in order to alleviate his frustration. First Helena had been whisked away by that gringo, and then that same gringo had helped Standish and Larabee escape. De la Vega didn't have a clear idea of how the gambler and the gunslinger were involved with Helena and her schemes, or the gringo tracker. What the dispossessed Don did know, was that if he got his hands on either of those men, he would soon find Demarco and his deed.
Collecting himself after his outburst, Diego glanced down at Gomez still squirming on the ground. "I have a better idea, Juan. You will keep riding… back to that town we passed earlier and find out anything about those gringos. We are going to camp here and Tito will find the trail in the morning."
The wiry little Mexican opened his mouth in protest but quickly shut it at the Don's icy glare. "Si, senor."
"Get going then," Diego snapped and dismissed Gomez. All around him, his men gratefully dismounted and began setting up camp and none of them even noted the sullen Gomez leave the group, his shifty eyes boring into the back of Don Diego's head.
One day, Senor, one day.
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Sunrise Thursday morning:
Unpleasant Thoughts
Dirk Hefner eyed the canyon mouth nervously. The sun was just beginning to tip the eastern horizon, igniting the top of the canyon walls like a brush fire. Something felt wrong. The same instinct that had kept him alive for so many lawless years was shrieking at him now. Something was wrong.
The whole area was quiet - no sounds of life waking up. No birds, no nocturnal creatures returning to their lairs, nothing stirred as if it were waiting for something. The silence was even beginning to unnerve Charles, who was usually as oblivious to nature as a blind man was to the sun. It was there and he could feel it, but he could never grasp its true beauty.
Hefner had allowed the rumour to grow that he had an Indian half-breed in his gang, someone who could excusably know how to hide trails and read the signs of nature. After all, an ability to disappear into the wilderness, like one born to it, was something to add to your legend, your fame. Dirk Hefner hid his secret from all, save those he rode with and they only knew because he had led them safely for so long. Hefner's secret was simple - he knew how to track, hide his trail and most importantly, disappear when he wanted to.
Charles was breaking camp, his movements unhurried but swift, each item placed meticulously in his pack. Charles always was one for details and not knowing the full details of Hefner's life, sometimes drove him to distraction. Some people whispered Dirk had grown up in England and others said continental Europe. A few outlaws claiming to have ridden with him declared that Hefner was from Canada, his mother a Frenchwoman and his father… perhaps a German missionary. They were all wrong.
He had grown up in Brazil, his father a Welshman earning his living as a riverboat trader. Dirk could remember sitting on the bow of his father's boat as it chugged up rivers and streams, visiting isolated settlements. The crew of the boat had been his family, each man speaking with a different accent, moulding the boy in different ways. It had not been a happy childhood, rather moments of joy interspersed a decade of beatings, hard work and loneliness.
Forbidden to leave the boat as they docked at villages, Hefner had had to watch his father and crew go ashore and leave him behind. A few times, the children of the village would spot him on deck and would shout for him to join them but his father's firm, often-painful grip would keep him onboard. George Hefner always seemed to know when his son was planning an escape, ready to dish out punishment for disobedience.
It wasn't until Dirk was much older, nearly fifteen that he fully realized why his father kept such a tight rein on him. Although he had always known that his mother had left his father when he was still a baby, Dirk had assumed that she had died. After his last attempt to leave the boat without his father's permission, George Hefner had given his only son a beating he would never forget. Amidst the blows that had rained down on him, Dirk had heard the angry words his father shouted at him, but it was only as he had lain crying quietly in his small cabin that the words made any sense.
"You. Are. Not. Leaving!"
Each word had been punctuated by a blow, the last one sending Dirk into unconsciousness. Perhaps if George Hefner had learned from his mistakes and stopped hitting those he loved, things might have turned out differently. Perhaps if Dirk had not been so used to violence and abuse, he might have chosen differently. Perhaps if the old cook had not left the meat cleaver buried in the kitchen door after a row with the second mate, Dirk might have slipped away quietly on his sixteenth birthday.
In celebration of Dirk's birthday the crew had thrown him a party. The party involved a bit more spirits than most sixteen-year-olds' celebrations. George had been particularly proud of his son that night. Shouting loudly, his words slurred beyond comprehension, understood only by those reaching similar levels of intoxication, George Hefner, a man who decked any one who asked why his surname wasn't Welsh, pronounced his son a man and the heir to his 'kingdom!' Roars of approval, disapproval and heaving over the side greeted that announcement as the new heir stared up at his father in shock.
Towering above his smaller son, George grabbed the boy in an enormous hug and whispered loudly, "I'm proud of you, kid."
Dirk stared into his father's eyes, seeing a man less drunk than he appeared, sincerity etched in his face. Trying to understand the emotions surging through him, Dirk, still wrapped in his father's arms felt the big man lurch forward and saw some of the light die in his eyes. His father's eyes continued to glaze over as Dirk stared at them, his father mouthing, "I'm sorry," before collapsing onto his son. It was only then that Dirk noticed that the crew around him where in an uproar - they were under attack. A smaller, but heavier armed boat had pulled up to them unnoticed, the noise from the party masking any sound of approach. The river-trade was a dangerous one, hostile Indians, unfriendly officials and pirates.
The pirates attacking Hefner's boat were experienced in the workings of murder but none of them expected to come face to face with a meat-cleaver wielding sixteen-year-old. The rest of that night was one every survivor of the Welshman would remember. Young Dirk, enraged beyond thinking, led the remaining crew to an incredible victory over the pirates, who abandoned their attempt to capture the Welshman and fled down river. To the horror of the pirate captain, the Welshman fired up her engines and turned to pursue him. Terrified, the pirate captain tried to escape, to no avail.
The story of the Boy Pirate is still whispered along the byways and villages of Brazil, a young man who became one of the fiercest pirates along the rivers, attacking not only merchant barges but also fellow pirates. The fact that Hefner only started to attack traders in his last year of piracy made no difference to the villagers. His fame and infamy grew until he had to flee Brazil and head north to the States, where no one knew his face or name … yet.
Charles Temple had joined up with Hefner only a few years ago, the two men unknowingly in need of each other's skills. While Hefner was an expert at ambushes, robberies and hold-ups, he lacked patience and finesse for long term plans and confident schemes. Charles Temple, a cat burglar and con man loved the thrill of schemes and plots. His fame had spread through the East as the Green Man. His trade mark, a gift of green to his victims, who by then would have realized too late that they had lost everything.
Determined Pinkerton detectives had chased Temple into the uncivilised West where he had met his true-love, Hannah Sanchez. Her name still burned through his brain. It was the last, the only obsession of a man who had lost nearly everything. That is, until he had met Hefner. Together the pair had found a balance, a tempering of natural skill and experience to become the leaders of a ruthless band of murderers and con men, working to line their pockets any which way they could.
Now, separated from their gang by the canyon looming before them, Hefner and Temple were being pursued by a posse. This was something Temple was not used to as he usually planned his escapades well enough to avoid an angry mob of marks coming for him. Hefner, however, had a great deal of experience in dealing with posses. In fact, his experience had won him infamy in the States. The previous day, during their hectic ride from Four Corners, Dirk had assured Charles that he would be able to 'deal' with any posse coming for them. Only now, the following morning, Dirk was just standing… thinking.
That, in Temple's book, was a bad thing. Hefner was good acting on the spur of the moment, but deep thoughts tended to become muddled and these thoughts looked particularly deep.
"Dirk! What's the plan?" Charles said, hoping to snap Dirk back into an automatic mode.
There was no answer from his partner. Hefner continued to study the canyon before them, his eyes narrowed against the rising sun, which was tipping the canyon rims.
"Dirk!"
Snapping out of his reverie, Hefner turned to snarl at Charles, "What? I'm trying to think!"
Raising his eyes in mock-horror, Temple grumbled, "Thinking? Since when do you think, Dirk? Let's just go and you can do what you do best - react!"
Ignoring Temple's last remark, Hefner muttered, "Something's wrong. It's not feeling right."
Okay, this was different. Temple had to concede Hefner possessed incredible instincts about a situation, hence his being able to react so accurately to them. Trying to prompt a more elaborate explanation, Charles asked, "What's wrong? What don't feel right?"
Hefner glanced behind him and then looked forward again at the canyon. "They should be behind us - but I keep wondering…"
"Well wonder while we travel, we haven't got the time to sit and figure this out, Dirk."
Hefner nodded and grabbed the reins to his horse before carefully studying the rising canyon rim again. "No need to worry, Charles, I know what to do." Temple was pleased to note that all of Dirk's hesitancy seemed to have fled and his friend had his usual feral look about him again. "Excellent. Shall we ride?"
