Mexican Standoff
By: Rhicy
Four Corners - Thursday Morning:
A Nasty Surprise
Jules Howitt loved his job. It gave him such a wonderful sense of order and security. His boss, Mr. Jones, the Bank Manager, had hired him a few months ago to help the bank cope with the booming business in town. Mr. Jones soon realized that his assistant was exceptionally keen and conscientious, to such a degree that eventually Mr. Jones had no qualms about allowing Howitt to open the bank each morning. Jules, in his enthusiasm, opened the bank fully an hour ahead of schedule. It gave him the time to carefully sort through the previous day's business, re-tally the account books and prepare the spare change for the new day.
He would generally bump into one of the town's regulators on his way to work, the lawmen keeping a watchful eye on the banker. Wilmington and Dunne would always give him a cheerful greeting, Jackson a less vocal but equally warm one. Larabee would merely tip his hat, while Sanchez's mood all depended on the previous night. Be it dreams or drink, Howitt never knew how Sanchez would react each time he met him, and this unpredictability slightly annoyed the fastidious man. He rarely saw the other two regulators, Standish, because the slippery gambler avoided the early morning patrol like the plague and Tanner, because the tracker would keep his movements about town unseen.
On this Thursday morning, according to the rough and annoyingly imprecise schedule Howitt tried to keep on the regulators, Mr. Wilmington should be sauntering down the boardwalk. While an unexpected change was to be…well expected, Howitt could see none of the regulators about. Shrugging it off as an obvious swap in duties, with Tanner filling Wilmington's place, Howitt walked briskly to the bank.
He was already mentally checking-off items on a list of priorities as he bent to unlock the bank's front door. Preoccupied with his planning, Howitt was unprepared to feel the barrel of a gun being placed in the small of his back. Belatedly he realized that someone was standing behind him. Before he could turn to see who the interloper was, a rough voice hissed, "Get inside, now!" The command was reinforced by a sharp shove with the gun and Howitt quickly complied. Stepping into the still dark interior of the bank, Howitt was marched towards the counter. He heard one other man enter the bank with his attacker and then heard the door shut behind them.
Gulping in fear, Howitt felt a cold sweat break out on his face when the rough voice hissed again, "Listen up, dickweed. You're going to open up the safe, give us the money and all without any fuss! Got it?"
Again the command was reinforced with the gun barrel being shoved into his back. Howitt stammered, "Ye.. yes, sir."
"Good, then get moving!"
Howitt stumbled towards the safe, his heart pounding in his chest. He couldn't stop the thought racing through his brain that he was going to die, that today was going to be his last on this earth. His hands were shaking so badly, it took him several heart-stopping moments to open the safe, eventually succeeding, the door swung open on its well-oiled hinges. He risked a brief look behind him at the bank robber and saw only a tall man dressed in unremarkable clothes with a bandanna covering his face. It was, however, the sight of JD Dunne peering through the bank windows that brought him to a dead standstill. JD turned from checking the boardwalk outside and was about to tell Turner that an early customer was heading their way, when he saw Howitt staring at him flabbergasted.
The astonished Bank Assistant's mouth was gaping and JD knew he was about to blow his cover. Acting instinctively to ensure both Howitt's and Casey's safety, JD crossed the brief space between Howitt and himself and slugged the man, knocking him out cold. Turner stared at the crumpled form of the Assistant lying at his feet and hissed at JD, "Nice shot, kid, " and then pointing his gun at JD, continued, "Stupid move though."
Stumbling over his own words in his haste to explain, JD blurted out quietly, "Someone's coming - they would have heard Howitt if I hadn't done something."
On cue, Pete and Joe had stepped forward to delay the Four Corner's resident, giving Turner time to pull JD into the shadows near the back of the Bank. Mrs. Potter, on her way to make a withdrawal from the bank, found herself waylaid by two strangers. The young men asked her where the saloon was and she quickly pointed them in the right direction. There was something a little off about the pair but Mrs. Potter didn't have the time to wonder. She approached the bank and was surprised to find it was still closed, the blinds on the windows still rolled down. Frowning slightly, she tried the door, thinking that perhaps Howitt was running late and had not opened the blinds yet.
Inside the bank, with Turner's hand firmly over his mouth, JD heard Mrs. Potter rattle the door handle and counted his blessings that he had thought to lock the door behind him. Mrs. Potter, deciding that Howitt had obviously been delayed, was going to wait for him as she caught a glimpse of the same two men from earlier hanging about in the alley behind the bank. Fighting a rising alarm, Mrs. Potter tried to walk away casually and look as if nothing was wrong. Instead of heading straight to the jail and giving away her intentions to any watchers, she went into her store, out the back and then through the back alleys to the jail, hoping to find one of the Seven was in attendance.
JD, unknowingly, the only one of the Seven in town, was shoved towards the safe by Turner. "Get moving and fill those bank bags."
Turner moved to watch through the narrow space between window and blind and left JD to stuff the money into the bank bags assortmented neatly at the bottom of the safe. JD stared at the piles of money before him, the entire town's savings. He had thought that the $10,000 that the Stutzs had been carrying was a lot of money, but the stacked piles before him were certainly eye-popping. He grabbed a bank bag and bent to grab a wad of notes when something in the bottom of the safe caught his eye. Once he realized what it was, an ear-splitting grin broke across his face.
Gloria Potter knocked urgently on the jail door, but no one answered. She tried the door and found it was open. Stepping inside, she was horrified to discover that the room was empty. Torn with indecision, Gloria stood in the little room, where the odours of stale beer and vomit, along with gunpowder and cheroot smoke remained, trying to think of a solution.
The sound of thundering hooves brought her rushing outside onto the front porch. Gloria watched open mouthed as four men galloped out of town. Three of the men had their faces covered with bandannas and were clearly bank robbers, but to Gloria's horror, the fourth man, riding as if the hounds of hell were after him, was JD Dunne.
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Thursday:
The past repeating itself…
As the crow flies, Beggars Canyon stretched out for only a mile. Not the largest or smallest of canyons in history, it had the unique honour of being a geological marvel. It ran between two ancient watersheds that had once fed the surrounding rivers. As the climate had changed over the millennia, so had the rainfall decreased in the region. Enough for the watersheds to be eroded until the spring rains falling between the two ridges formed a raging river each year. Slowly and inexorably as all of nature's methods, Beggars Canyon was formed in the most unexpected area. There was no river to feed through the canyon, rather, during the rainy season, the water would emerge from both sides of the canyon, flowing down from the watersheds to join parallel rivers. As a result, Beggars canyon could be avoided entirely by riding up over the watersheds and following the narrow cliff face in either direction. A traveller would be eventually forced to leave the watershed ridges and take a few days to traverse the narrow hills and defiles of the watershed as it sloped away from the canyon. Because directly at either canyon mouth, wide cliffs stretched up from the ground below, sheer in their immensity, most travellers simply used the Canyon as a thoroughfare through the hilly area, a short cut that saved days of travel.
Vin had managed to lead his friends up through the narrow hills until they were riding parallel to the watershed ridges, which bordered the canyon rim. Rather than risk silhouetting themselves and riding on the ridges, Vin was following an unmarked passage over rough terrain. A few scraggly brushes clung to the exposed rock and soil, at risk of being swept away by floods each heavy rainfall. There were few places to hide along those ridges, unless you knew where to look for them.
Ezra was pretending to watch the trail below in the canyon as all four of them lay flat near a small rise of brown stone. His eyes apparently fixed on something interesting, while in fact, he was peacefully dozing in the early morning sunlight. Chris and Vin were taking turns to scan the canyon mouth with the spyglass, watching for Hefner and Temple to approach. Buck wasn't even pretending to be interested in the trail. He was laying flat on his back, his hat tipped over his head with occasional snores escaping his open mouth.
So far there had been no sight of the two fugitives, and it was beginning to worry Chris. It didn't seem to concern Vin too much, whose entire posture oozed confidence as he patiently waited for their quarry to arrive. But Chris was not a hunter like Vin, a man willing to wait for his target to set a trap. Chris' answer to a threat was swift and deadly, and most men who had looked down the barrel of Chris' pistol, never lived to tell the tale.
A snore broke the silence between the pair. Since the noise had come from Ezra rather than Buck, Chris risked a quick glance at the gambler. Standish, in his exhaustion, had turned onto his side and was attempting to curl up, one of his hands sleepily searching for his blanket. "So much for him needing a feather mattress. He sure looks comfortable to me," Vin said without taking his eyes off the canyon trail.
Chris just grunted and fought the urge to sit up and stretch out his aching shoulders. Before he could stop it, an enormous yawn caught Larabee unawares and he felt his jaw pop audibly. Half-expecting a smart comment from Vin, Chris turned to see him stiffen as something caught his eye… and it wasn't on the trail below.
"Ah hell…"
Reacting instantly to the anger in Vin's voice, Chris simultaneously drew his gun, and shoved Buck over onto his stomach, which sent the tall ladies man onto Ezra. Fortunately both Ezra and Buck were experienced enough not to react without assessing the situation first. So when the first bullet thudded directly into the rock they were hiding behind, both unholstered their guns and sought to find a target, weariness forgotten as adrenaline kicked in.
Chris was shifting slightly onto his side, trying to find the shooter, when another bullet ricocheted off the rock and narrowly missed his head. Ducking down further, all three men bit out curses when two more gunshots peppered the sand directly at their feet. "Damn, where the hell is this guy?" Buck snapped as he scrambled to pull his feet out of the way. Vin, unconcerned by the gunfire pinning them down, was calmly searching the opposite ridge to find their attackers. "Well I'll be…"
"Mr. Tanner, if you say 'be damned', I will-"
"Run!"
The urgency in Vin's voice sent all three men scrambling after the wiry Texan. Buck was surprised to find himself out in front after Vin's quick start. He could feel Chris running beside him but before he could locate either Vin or Ezra, he heard a dull thud. For a brief moment he thought could smell smoke, before a terrific force picked him up and threw him forward. Buck landed roughly and belatedly heard a resounding boom as a cloud of dust, smoke and broken debris enveloped him.
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Watching from the opposite side of the canyon ridges, Temple smacked Hefner on the back before shouting over the ringing in his ears, "You cut that kinda close with the dynamite, didn't you?"
Hefner looked at Charles' face, covered in dust as the cloud spread over the canyon to where they sat. "Had to be sure it'd get 'em."
Temple just grinned, his teeth now a marked white against the uniform dirt on his face. "Can we go now?"
Dirk shook his head, "Nah - jist hafta check we got 'em all."
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Four Corners:
Garters up in a gander
The town was in an uproar.
Gloria had not been the only early riser to see the escaping bank robbers. Everyone knew that the four men who had ridden out of town so quickly were bank robbers because as soon as the dust had cleared, Jules Howitt emerged from the bank screaming bloody murder…and something about JD Dunne being an outlaw.
Yosemite had flatly refused to believe that JD was involved. Harry Conklin had gleefully begun to harp on his favourite subject, the failings of the Seven. Gloria had hated to only prove Conklin right when she admitted to seeing JD riding with the thieves. Soon a little crowd had gathered at the jail, many of them demanding to see one of the Seven. When it became obvious that none of their protectors were in town, an angry mutter shot through the townsfolk.
Mary, ever ready to defend the peacekeepers, had not so subtly stepped on Conklin's foot to shut him up and, as the asinine man bit back a yelp, Mary shouted over the noise of the crowd, "We all know where most of the Seven are - tracking down Dirk Hefner, a dangerous criminal who ... "
"Isn't in town, so why are they chasing him?" Conklin shouted as he moved into the safety of the crowd, far away from Mary's feet.
"Would you prefer that Hefner was in town, Mr. Conklin, or does your concern for the safety of the town only extend to its borders?" Before he could reply, Mary shouted to the crowd, "Where Josiah and Nathan are, I don't know. But Nathan is always being called away on short notice, Josiah often accompanying him."
The Bank Manager shouted, "Be that as it may, it doesn't explain why that upstart Dunne was robbing my bank?"
Shouts of agreement and argument drowned out Mary's reply, who had to stand on her tiptoes to try and catch Yosemite's eye. The tall blacksmith saw the blonde's signal and he yelled over the clamouring crowd, "Quiet!"
As a stunned silence fell, Mary smiled softly and said loudly, "Whatever is going on, I'm sure the Seven are on top of things. We just need to wait for them to get back and explain everything. For all we know, JD is following orders, acting part of some plan. Please, everyone, trust that it will all be explained later."
A few voices shouted in protest, Conklin's being one of them, but most of the crowd seemed amiable to Mary's suggestion. Inez, watching the proceedings from the doorway of the Saloon, had to marvel at Mary. Her faith and devotion to the Seven were like a golden beacon of hope for the future and, more often than not, the young widow infused the town with that same hope.
Unseen by either her cousin or the townsfolk, Helena Demarco led a horse from the livery, a bulging saddlebag tied alongside. Her face was hidden by a wide hat, her skirts replaced with trousers and her shapely figure hidden by a long duster. Keeping the horse between her and the town for additional protection, the young woman slipped away unnoticed by anyone.
The moment she had cleared the last building, she mounted up and spurred her horse down the trail, heading south to Mexico, not north towards Denver.
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Outside of Four Corners:
Escape …
Four riders, three bank robbers and one undercover lawman, raced down the wide stage trail towards a small copse of trees. The lead rider, Alvin Turner, brought his steaming horse to an abrupt stop right in front of the first row of trees, narrowly missing a collision with the leafy branches. JD, riding directly behind him, came to a much neater stop, his obedient bay responding to his experienced commands. Pete and Joe, both adequate riders, managed to brush against each other as they slowed, Swanson's gelding snapping at the black bumping into it. Dempsey yelled at Joe to watch where he was going, Swanson swinging a fist at Pete, both men's voices rising loudly, the adrenaline from the robbery and fast paced ride still surging through their veins. Unnoticed by either the quarrelling pair or Turner, JD slipped his left hand into his saddlebag.
Ignoring his arguing friends, Alvin jumped off his horse, flinging the money-filled bags onto the ground and strode into the trees. He re-appeared shortly, dragging Casey by her bound hands. Casey was shooting daggers at the outlaw as she trailed him, a filthy-looking rag stuffed into her mouth. Turner made no move to untie her once he rejoined the others, instead he pulled her closer to him, grabbing her upper arm.
Unbidden, Peter and Joe stopped fighting, their eyes drawn to the young woman in their midst, and JD tightened his fingers around the object he held in the saddlebag. "Give me the money, kid, and then you get the girl back." JD nodded and with his free hand, untied the bags from his saddle horn and tossed them into the pile near Turner's feet.
Dempsey urged his horse closer to the pile of moneybags, his gaze fixed on the impressive mound. Taking the initiative, JD broke the silence by saying, "You got your money so now it's time to let us go."
Swanson instantly swung his head to stare at Turner, as if daring him to actually comply with JD's request. Dempsey looked a little uncomfortable, and JD knew that he had made the right decision back at the bank.
Pulling Casey even closer, Turner smirked at her and JD, saying "Well, now that it's time to part company, I'm feeling a little reluctant to let you leave. I've grown sort fond of this little spitfire." He gave Casey a bit of a shake, causing her scowl to deepen. JD, although still unarmed, felt the anticipation of impending battle race through his veins and reacted the moment Turner's arm twitched to reach for his pistol.
The stick of dynamite sailed through the air in a graceful arc, silhouetted against the sun as it moved. Automatically all three of the outlaws had looked up to watch the path of the dynamite and all three were momentarily blinded by the bright sun. JD, who had moved the moment he tossed the dynamite, sent his hose barrelling into Turner. The kid grabbed Casey's arm and she jumped and swung up behind JD on the horse.
Turner, his gaze on the dynamite interrupted by being sent crashing to the dirt by JD's horse, looked down at his feet in amazement as the stick of dynamite landed smack between his legs. Scrambling backwards on his hands and butt, Alvin scuttled away from the deadly device, while Dempsey and Swanson both turned to run.
It wasn't until he heard the disappearing hoof beats of JD's horse that Turner realized the dynamite stick wasn't alight. The long grey object lay dormant in the dirt, not a sign of any smoke or fire. "That miserable little …" Turner began to yell when he looked up suddenly and saw JD riding back towards him. Straight at him in fact.
Tripping over his own feet in his haste to get out of the way, Alvin caught a brief glimpse of Casey laughing when she leant down and snatched up the bank bags, as the pair rode past him. Finally reaching his feet, Alvin reached for his horse, noting that Dempsey and Swanson were heading back towards him when the sound of a sizzling hiss reached his ears.
As the dust cleared, Alvin stared at another dynamite stick lying right next to the old one, it's new companion most definitely alight. Launching himself up onto his horse, Turner raced in the opposite direction that JD and Casey had taken, passing straight through Dempsey and Swanson, who both tried to turn and follow. By the time, the trio had reached what they though might be a safe distance, an enormous explosion rocked the ground as the sticks exploded. The little copse of trees was set afire and billows of smoke and dust fell over the three men.
Coughing, Swanson waved his hand in front of his face and spluttered, "What the hell happened?"
He turned to question his boss, and from the look on Turner's face, those kids were dead. Alvin's face was bright red, almost no noticeable difference between his skin and his hair, and he was gripping the reins with white knuckles. "That little bastard is going to regret the day he ever crossed me." Turner bit the words out like it was too difficult for him to speak.
Still coughing, Swanson muttered, "So what now?"
Turner was gone, adding his own cloud of dust to the billowing smoke. Dempsey grinned at his friend, obviously excited about the chase ahead and spurred his horse after Turner with a loud whoop. Sighing dramatically, Swanson followed with a lot less enthusiasm - he hated chases.
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Beggars Canyon:
… And Rescue?
Chris drew in a dusted-tainted breath of air, his lungs burning with the effort. His entire chest ached from the force that had driven him the ground and pushed any remaining air out of his lungs. He felt a few sand clods fall on his head and realized he must have lost his hat in the explosion. The enormous amount of dirt in the air was beginning to add a second coat to his already dust-covered form. The dust was everywhere, in his eyes, on his lips, and after that first breath, and all the ones subsequently, in his mouth. He heard a distant ringing and tried to clear his head by shaking it gently. All he ended up doing was sending a cascade of more dirt into his eyes, as the dirt from his hair fell forward. The ringing hadn't subsided but his blurry vision was clearing. Chris could make out a slumped form in the hazy air and as both the air and his vision continued to improve, he could see that it was Buck, stretched out across the sand.
Trying to remember where everyone had been before the explosion, Chris muttered, "I was behind Buck and …"
Slowly he turned his head to look behind him and stared in shock at the gaping hole in the cliff face. An entire portion of the canyon rim had disappeared and there was no sign of Ezra or Vin. His eyes fixed on the hole where his friends should be, Chris struggled to his knees and shakily crawled forward. So intent on reaching the edge, he didn't hear Buck's garbled words as the scoundrel stirred.
Buck pushed himself up onto his elbows and tried to wipe away the dust coating his eyes. Frowning in frustration, as he couldn't seem to focus his vision, Buck leaned over onto his side and saw the blurry figure of Chris Larabee moving towards … something. "Chris?"
The words sounded hollow and dead in his ears, the sound barely making it past his dry lips. The dust was rapidly settling now, and the sun was cutting a swath through the cloud and as Buck was able to see more clearly, it wasn't the gaping hollow in the cliff that caught his gaze, but the silhouette of two men standing on the opposite ridge, watching him.
Chris reached the edge, and found himself hesitating to look over that crumbling precipice. Fear had been his constant companion for many years, driving him just as much as his anger, and now he felt its familiar tickling into the pit of his stomach. As was his habit, Chris ignored these churning feelings and peered over the edge, half-expecting to see the broken bodies of his friends far below him.
About three feet down the new cliff face, clinging on for dear life was Vin Tanner, his right hand white knuckled as he clung to an outcropping rock. Vin wasn't looking up at Chris; rather he seemed to be trying to see something below him. The sloping hole prevented Chris from seeing all the way down the cliff face, so he moved over the edge further, until he could see that Tanner was holding onto the collar of Ezra's jacket. Fortunately - the gambler was still wearing his jacket as he swung unmoving in Vin's grasp.
"Vin!"
Still without looking up at Chris, the Texan called out, "Could really use a hand here, cowboy."
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"Damn," Hefner cursed as he saw that two of the regulators were still moving. When one of them crawled over to the edge and looked down, Temple leant forward over their cover and hissed, "There's two more hanging off the rock there."
Hefner bent forward to look as well. "Not for long," he muttered as he drew his pistol.
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It all happened at once for Buck. The pieces of what he was seeing fell into place and he reacted simultaneously. Snatching up his fallen gun, which he didn't remember un-holstering, Buck leapt to his feet a little unsteadily and fired on Hefner and Temple, just as Dirk was about to pull the trigger. Buck's shot was true while Dirk's missed - embedding itself into the rock inches above Vin's head. Dirk collapsed behind the rock he and Temple had been using to hide their approach from the four men, clutching his arm. Charles also took cover and risked a glance at the two men opposite them. Chris had rolled over onto his back, both of his guns in hand, trained on the outlaws' position. As Temple peeked over the rock, Chris snapped off a shot at the blonde's head.
Cursing, Charles managed to duck in time to avoid the deadly aim and hunched further down behind the rock. Dirk was still clutching his arm, trying to stem the flow of blood, even as he too checked the regulators' position. "Give me a hand quick!" Hefner snapped as a new plan formed in his head.
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Chris fought Wilmington as he tried to drag the gunslinger behind cover. "Vin and Ezra are still alive! We gotta get them!" he growled, pulling his arm out of Buck's grasp. The ladies man didn't waste time arguing with Chris, he just used his heavier weight to pull Chris to the ground, just as Temple and Hefner opened fire. Neither of the outlaws was aiming to hit the regulators, merely snapping off shots to drive Chris and Buck behind cover.
It worked, Wilmington managed to drag Chris over to what was left of their previous cover and, as the pair sank behind the sheltering rock, Hefner continued to send a volley of shots onto their position. Before Buck could stop him, Larabee was up on his knees, returning fire with both guns blazing. Charles, who had been leaning dangerously forward, exposed to return fire, in order to shoot at Vin and Ezra below them, had to scramble back behind his rock as Chris snapped off three bullets in succession.
"Well, so much for that plan!" he shouted over the noise of Hefner's returning fire. Dirk was laying behind the rock, with only the top of his head and eyes visible as he raised his gun to fire on the lawmen. "Relax, Charles. It's all under control."
Busy reloading his second pistol, Temple snorted in disbelief, "Yeah. Pull the other one, Dirk, it's got bells on it."
Withdrawing his gun, Dirk handed it to Charles to be reloaded as he checked on the regulators position. "Don't be stupid, Charles! That buckskin ain't gonna be able to hold on much longer and those two other there know it. They're gonna have to try something soon if they want to help their friends. All we have to do is keep 'em pinned. We'll either get to shoot a couple of dogs or watch another pair try to learn to fly. Time's on our side."
Temple nodded absently, acknowledging Dirk's point, but had to add, "But we ain't got a lot of ammunition left. If we're going to keep 'em pinned like you say, one of us is going to have to go down to the horses and get more ammo." Dirk just smiled at Charles and opened fire on Buck, who was trying to spot Vin.
Unable to see Vin and Ezra's from, Buck was forced behind cover by Dirk's gunfire and he watched as Chris returned fire. "What the hell are we going to do Chris? Vin can't hold on forever… we've gotta get them!"
"I know, Buck, I know!" Chris snapped angrily but, as the black clad gunslinger continued to stare at the outlaws opposite them, no solution presented itself. It was going to take something miraculous to get Vin and Ezra out of this fix.
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Mid-morning Thursday:
The trail to Beggars Canyon stretched before Nathan, and while he didn't know the area as well as Vin, Jackson did know that he was only going to reach the canyon by late afternoon. The sun was already hot and turning the dry air into a scorching morass. Worried about Josiah, who would be pushing himself mercilessly in this heat, Nathan kept up a brisk pace but not too fast in case he missed any sign of Josiah leaving the trail.
Nathan needn't have worried, because ten minutes later he picked out the distant form of a horse and man walking beside the trail. As he approached, the pair resolved into Josiah stiffly walking next to his limping horse. Josiah's gentle horse, which had born his sturdy weight for years was trying not to put any weight on her front leg. Sanchez's headlong rush for justice had been reduced to a gentle shuffle.
Running a keen eye over his friend's stiff posture, looking for signs of any bleeding or fever, Nathan had to admit that Josiah showed no signs of weakness. The blood on the back of his shirt was old, and his too pale face was etched with determination. Nothing was going to stop Josiah.
Riding up to the pair, Nathan guided his horse to walk beside Josiah's lame animal, the horse between Josiah and himself. Nathan could only see Josiah's head as he walked next to his horse, the tall preacher not even looking up to acknowledge Nathan's arrival.
"If you don't stop soon, your horse is not going to be the only thing slowing you down. I imagine that lying passed out on the side of the road won't get you any closer to Hefner."
Remaining stubbornly silent, Josiah trudged on, albeit a little slower as his horse's limp grew worse. Nathan simply rode alongside them, waiting patiently for the inevitable. During the times when Josiah became enraged by some all-encompassing need, he would occasionally push both himself and those around him to their limits and beyond. But Josiah wasn't riding hell-bent to Beggars Canyon anymore, caught up in his fervour of reaching justice, he was ambling slowly down a dusty trail with more than enough time to allow reason to sink in.
Silently Nathan counted down the minutes before thinking quietly, 'Any minute now.'
As if on cue, Josiah stopped, sighed deeply and gently patted his horse, "Sorry, old friend, I had no right in making you suffer for my sins." His horse nudged Josiah as if accepting his apology and seemed immensely grateful to finally have stopped.
Nathan waited for Josiah to acknowledge his presence but he simply guided his weary horse over to the side of the trail and sat down under a scraggly little tree with a groan. Dismounting from his horse, Nathan stepped over to Sanchez and stood before the stubborn preacher. Josiah didn't look up as Jackson's shadow fell over him; he kept his head bowed, his broad hat brim covering his face.
Nathan sank to his haunches and tried to keep his voice even as he said, "You done acting like a fool yet?"
"Nope," came the answering rumble.
"Josiah, " Nathan sighed, not entirely sure how to broach the subject of the preacher's odd behaviour, as the morning sun continued to beat down on the pair. Jackson decided on a direct approach. "You mind telling me what's going on? Cos' I'm getting the feeling that Hefner ain't the only burr under your saddle."
Josiah, still holding his horse's reins, ran the worn leather through his fingers, feeling each groove and notch. As Nathan sat there, waiting for him to answer, Sanchez found himself considering his own actions the past few hours. The blinding rage, ignited by his belief at Tanner's betrayal, had subsided to a dull roar in his brain.
Now that he could think beyond ripping either Temple or Tanner in half. The small voice that too often failed to prevent him from acting in anger, was now whispering softly. Whispering new doubts, new fears, 'What was Temple doing in Four Corners?' 'Did he know where Hannah was?' 'Why had Hefner attacked him, and not Temple?' Unable to come up with any answers that soothed his burning anger, he thought up more scenarios to fuelled his rage. Josiah was pulled as taut as a live-wire. Normally the big man reacted in an explosion of fury. When you pushed him the wrong way, you faced the consequences, immediately. But Josiah was also a long thinker, and at times his anger would build, with no visible sign of its approach, until the resulting explosion was terrifying in its intensity. Once the anger was gone, the target eliminated, Sanchez was able to think clearly again.
Josiah's anger was at its most dangerous when it festered, when the explosion did nothing to remove the aggravation. His relationship with his father had been reduced to a slow burning anger that had never been resolved. The same anger had been transferred to Hannah. While it was not directed at Hannah herself, his fury was pointed at himself and anyone else involved with her situation. Charles Temple was an easy focus, a justifiable one in Josiah's book, and recent events had opened up that horror chamber that was now pouring out unchecked. His initial impetus had been slowed, but the anger had not disappeared and it clouded his thinking. Where normally Sanchez would have listened to reason, tried to see more than one side to the story, with Hannah and Charles uppermost in his mind, nothing else mattered.
As Nathan waited for any sort of answer from Josiah, he studied his friend. The healer had known Josiah for a good while now and he certainly knew him well enough to pick up on his anger. And judging from the uneasy quiet that hung about Sanchez like a shroud, the studied patience, the underlying effort to remain still, Nathan was realising just how potent Josiah's rage was. This sort of cold, hard anger that covered a raging furnace was more like Chris Larabee than Josiah, and to see his old friend like this caused a cold, gut-clenching feeling to settle inside him.
Jackson's instincts to try and ease pain prompted him to try and reach Sanchez. He stretched out his hand and, as he was about to touch friend, Josiah's head snapped up and he levelled such a hate -filled glare that Nathan unconsciously retreated. Not entirely sure that part of that gaze was directed at him, the black healer felt it wise to back off for a moment.
Sitting himself down a few feet away, Nathan muttered, "I guess we can wait for a while."
Josiah grunted in reply and silence descended on the pair.
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Things working out
Things have a way of working themselves out, fate playing a hand or two in the game of life. Juan Gomez was about to be handed a Full House.
The little man had ridden only a few more miles the previous night and had stopped to make his own camp. There was no way he was going to ride all night to reach the town with only a small chance that there was any information on Helena and her gringos.
Rising early enough to put some more distance between himself and the Don, Juan had taken a lazy ride towards Four Corners. He wasn't following a particular path, experience having taught the man that sometimes it paid off to take a different route.
He heard the approaching horse before he saw it, its hooves rapping out a staccato as it trotted down the road. Juan pulled his own horse to a halt and waited in the tree line near the path to see who the traveller was before continuing on his way.
The rider came into view a few minutes later, his identity obscured by a wide hat. Gomez watched the rider from the safety of the trees, a little intrigued by the man. He sat on his horse as if he had been taught to ride by an instructor, his back straight, head up and feet firmly in the stirrups. This was no cowboy, but someone of 'breeding', which translated into Juan's book to, equal money.
Staring at the rider coming towards him, Juan felt a stir of old excitement, a surging of adrenaline at the prospect of an easy mark. Gomez's first real job had been as a bandit in Mexico. He had joined his brothers and cousins in their large gang and had cut his teeth robbing rich fools like this one.
After weeks of taking orders from Don Diego, a man who had fallen in Juan's estimation, Gomez found himself contemplating a renewal of his old occupation. It would help him ease his frustration with the Don and even gain himself a little extra cash.
It took only two minutes for the thieving man to decide and he drew his pistol even as he spurred his horse forward to cut the traveller off. As he burst from the trees, a loud whoop rising unbidden from his lips, Juan felt ten years younger, waving his gun in the air. The unfortunate target of his resurgence in crime reacted just as Juan remembered all his previous victims reacting. Their horse reared up in surprise, they lost control of the animal and before the victim knew it, they were looking down the business end of his pistol.
Juan's excitement faded into something akin to disappointment as the man he was about to rob looked up at him with startled eyes and Gomez stared right at Helena Demarco.
The Mexican didn't even think to be pleased that he had found the object of the Don's search, his disappointment overwhelmed any other emotion. Cursing furiously in Spanish, Gomez shook his pistol at Helena and shouted, "You're not supposed to be here, damn you!"
Helena's face looked even more shocked at his words, but a cold calculating look had entered her eyes. She managed to summon a few frightened tears and was about to launch into a sob when her 'bandit' snarled, "Don't even try it, Senorita. I know all about those weepy eyes of yours. Come on. Get moving."
Gesturing wildly with his pistol, Gomez forced Helena to ride in front of him, back the way he had come, towards Don Diego. For a moment he had been tempted to just shoot the woman and continue of his path, away from the Don and his orders, away from a life he suddenly found very limiting. But Juan knew that more money waited for him than he could get after a hundred robberies.
As the angry little Mexican forced his new captive down the trail, Fate smiled knowingly at the final hand to be dealt. Because only one of the people on the trail below knew that Don Diego was penniless, and it wasn't Juan Gomez.
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Some inconsiderate, soon-to-be-dead fool was knocking on his door at this god-forsaken hour. The knocking didn't stop, in fact, it increased in intensity the more Ezra became aware. He wanted to open his mouth and tell the mind-numbing sod to leave him in peace but as the disoriented gambler opened his eyes, it wasn't his fastidiously clean hotel room that swam into view. Rather a stomach-plummeting drop greeted him, his own very expensive shoes swaying above … nothing. Nothing but one long, very lonely drop.
Beggars Canyon - Thursday
Perhaps not so lonely, Ezra realized as he felt the hand gripping his shirt collar and jacket tighten in response to his involuntary movements.
"Ez?"
The soft, somewhat strained Texan drawl immediately clued Ezra in on the identity of his lifeline. Fighting down the rising fear in his stomach as the canyon floor below came into focus, Ezra gulped, "Mr. Tanner, I will not insult your fine sensibilities by promising heaven and earth to forestall any regrettable … fall - but please, " Standish couldn't keep the fear out of his voice as he whispered, "don't let go!"
Above him, Ezra could picture the dry smile now cracking the trackers lips as Vin said, "Don't aim to, pard." Neither man voiced the unspoken thought that Tanner might not have a choice in the matter.
Ezra tried to tip his head up and get a better look at their situation when Vin hissed sharply, "Don't move, Ezra!" Freezing, Standish could feel how much Tanner's arm was shaking as he tried to maintain his hold on the Southerner.
"Please."
That last word was so desperate that Ezra wanted to look up at Vin and see what else was wrong. There had been pain in that 'please', as close to begging as Vin ever came. When a tiny red drop of moisture fell from above and landed precariously on the gambler's right hand, Ezra had to squash his impulse to move and look up. Still staring at the distant ground, Standish drawled slowly, "How bad is it?"
This time Ezra heard the soft laugh before the Texan's words floated down, "If I weren't the only thing between you and a long ways down, I'd say fine. But since that ain't the case…"
"Bad?" Ezra supplied.
"Yip."
Sighing, the Southerner muttered something about never leaving the comfort of his feather bed again before raising his voice a little and asking, "Chris and Buck?"
"You know, Ez, for a body who can use a hundred words where one will do, you can sure get to the point fast enough when ya want to."
Rolling his eyes, Ezra snapped, "This coming from a man who seems to feel that the time to develop conversation skills is best suited when hanging precariously off a cliff!"
"No time like the present."
"Vin!"
There was no answer from Tanner and Ezra really wished he could get a good look at him, desperate to know how badly injured the tracker was.
"Vin?"
Unable to answer, Tanner hung on for dear life as he fought the growing pain in his shoulders. Standish was getting heavier and heavier, the fingers clutched into Ezra's jacket having long lost all feeling. But it had been the painful 'pop' of his shoulder that had silenced him as Vin felt something give inside his arm.
As he hung there in Vin's grasp, straining to hear any sound from Tanner, Ezra realized that there was sporadic gunfire echoing above their heads. Silently he identified the reports from the various weapons and felt a small piece of the fear clutching his heart disappear as he identified Buck and Chris' guns. Ezra didn't have to think too long about the situation before it all became abundantly clear. Hefner and Temple were keeping Buck and Chris pinned, preventing them from reaching Vin and himself. Ezra knew that if Larabee and Wilmington attempted a rescue without removing the outlaws' threat first, they would be mowed down and he would still be waiting for Tanner's strength to fail.
Which it would - sooner rather than later.
Can this day get any worse?
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Remember the Alamo…?
The sprightly bay horse, usually the last to tire after any journey, was struggling to maintain the pace its master was asking. After carrying two riders for nearly an hour, JD's horse was tiring. The young sheriff astride its back knew that he didn't dare slow down to rest, not with three very angry bank robbers still chasing them.
"JD, where are you going?" Casey shouted, as she clutched tightly to the young man.
Confused, JD shouted in answer, "Back to town! Where else?"
Shaking her head, Casey didn't know whether to laugh or cry. Here they were, running for their lives from three men Casey never wished to see again, unless she happened to be standing behind the entire Seven, and JD had managed to get lost, again. Ironically they were back at the subject of the argument, the one that had started yesterday and had never been resolved. Casey had to correct their route to the picnic area yesterday after JD had begun to wander in the wrong direction, and when she had teasingly pointed out that JD had no sense of direction, the young man had been outraged.
JD's offended pride didn't change the fact than he was no good at finding his way and yet again, here they were, travelling in the wrong direction.
"Town is that way," Casey screamed, pointing to their right, "You're heading south!"
Usually JD would have paused to at least check their direction and then argue with Casey, but at the moment he knew that any delay on their behalf would be disastrous. Turner, Dempsey and Swanson were too close behind them, and JD felt it was better to keep going, even if Casey was right, and head north later.
"I'm sure that the main trail to Four Corners is here somewhere, once we find it, it'll be easier going."
Casey bit her lip, undecided. JD had a point, the main trail would be faster, if they could find it. But she was riding with JD, a young man who she knew had trouble finding his way home on a regular basis. Deciding that it was better to keep moving and hope to find the trail, Casey shouted, "You better be sure about this!"
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Josiah was on the move again, much to Nathan's dismay. They were moving slowly, and Nathan was positive that it was only Josiah's iron determination that was keeping the man on his feet.
Josiah's horse had rested enough to walk, and the preacher had not tried to ride it yet, but setting a brisk pace down the trail. He still had not spoken a word to Nathan, other than the occasional growl at the healer's repeated questions about his health. Jackson was dead certain that there was something more to Josiah's sullen silence. The ex-slave had no idea how right he was.
All Josiah could see, as he strode down the trail, was Charles Temple. During his forced wait, Josiah's anger had built to momentous proportions, and all it would take to ignite that powder-keg was Charles Temple in his sights. His anger at Vin, his father, Hannah, life in general had coalesced into this: Charles Temple. Someone he could beat to a pulp with no qualms, no guilt. Temple deserved everything he received.
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Bridging the Gap
Time was running out, fast.
Chris could feel it slipping through his fingers. Vin and Ezra needed help now and he was stuck trading shots with Dirk Hefner and Charles Temple. Every time he and Buck tried to lay down cover fire so that one of them could make a run to help Tanner, the outlaws would open up a barrage of gunfire that kept both men pinned down. Twice Buck had had to practically sit on Chris to stop him from just running out and trying anyway. Despite the feeling of losing time rapidly, Larabee had no idea how long it had been since the explosion had sent his friends over the cliff. It could have been a few minutes or hours. He had no idea. All that mattered was getting to the Texan, now.
Wilmington checked on Chris again, and knew that his old friend was going to try something foolish again. Buck just hoped that this time, his friend's idea didn't involve the black clad gunslinger dodging bullets. Hefner and Temple were both too accurate to take a risk like that. The scoundrel could see the wheels in Chris' head turning and when he finally met Buck's gaze, he could see that Larabee had a plan.
"How big do you think that gap is?" Chris asked, pointing at the distance between each side of the canyon. Buck shrugged, keeping his eyes fixed on the outlaws across from them, and said, "Don't know, maybe five, six feet. Why'd you ask?"
Silent seconds ticked by and when Larabee failed to respond, Wilmington turned around, "Chris?"
Larabee was no longer hunched behind their rock, and Buck initially looked towards the canyon edge to see if maybe Chris had tried to reach Tanner again. The sound of a horse whickering loudly and then hoof beats approaching him had Buck turning to look in the direction of their horses.
His jaw dropped as he saw Chris charging right past him, astride his enormous black horse, riding straight towards the cliff edge. Diablo's hooves thudded evenly on the dusty ground, sending clouds of dirt into the air as he sped towards the edge, each hoof thudding in time to Buck's pounding heart. Larabee looked like a dark angel of death, his black duster whipping in the air, the tattered wings of the Fallen.
Diablo didn't hesitate nor balk, his trust in his rider absolute, and as they approached the edge, the powerful horse gathered his feet, bunched his muscles and leapt over the chasm.
Vin was drawn to the thundering hooves above him and, as he looked up, he saw a black horse taking flight over his heads, legs out-stretched, front hooves reaching for solid ground, tiny trails of dust spiralling down to their faces. For a moment it looked like Diablo had wings as Chris' duster flapped in the air, Larabee himself leaning forward adding to Diablo's momentum. Tanner could see the horse's pale underbelly, Chris' dusty boots, his spurs catching the noon sun. The pair seemed to hang in mid-air for an eternity as the black horse sailed to safety. The moment when his front hooves connected to solid ground, was like an expulsion of breath.
Caught completely off-guard, Hefner and Temple found themselves staring up at twin barrels of death and the even deadlier glare of Chris Larabee.
"Drop 'em."
Two pistols and a rifle fell to the ground and Chris didn't have to vocalise the order to surrender. Both outlaws raised their hands in the air and Larabee shouted at Buck without taking his eyes off the pair, "Get to them, now!"
Wilmington had reacted the moment Chris had reached the other side safely and he had raced the short distance to the hollow in the cliff edge. Leaning over, about three feet below him, all he could see was the white knuckled hand of his friend, still clinging on for dear life.
"Hang in there, pards, Buck is here to save the day!", he shouted happily as he leant forward to reach them.
"Oh, good heavens," came the disgruntled reply from an as yet unseen Standish. "Will you please hurry up, Mr. Wilmington. I have better things to do than hang off a cliff face all day!"
The smile that broke across Buck's face at the sound of the grumpy gamblers voice seemed wide enough to split his face in half. "Ez, you old snake. You still alive?"
"Not for much longer, Bucklin, lessen' you hurry up," came the pain-filled drawl from Vin whose arms were shaking so badly he wondered that Ezra's teeth weren't jittering.
"Sorry, bud, be right with you," Buck realized that he needed a rope and cursed himself for forgetting it in the first place. Pushing himself up, he shouted as he ran towards his horse, "I'll be right back, don't go anywhere!"
"Like we had a choice in the matter," Standish grumbled, concerned at how badly Tanner was shaking. He was not at all surprised that Chris had taken such drastic measures to save them, but they weren't out of the woods yet.
Larabee watched from the corner of his eye as Buck dashed to his horse, silently urging the ladies' man to move faster. He had a much better view of his friends from this side of the canyon and Vin looked like he was holding onto nothing at all from where Chris sat.
Blinking rapidly to get the sweat from his eyes, Vin had only vaguely heard Buck's retreating promise. The pounding in his head and the knife-like pain running through his arms and shoulders were deafening. There was only one thought running through his mind, 'Hold on.' Even while he had watched as Chris sailed overhead, his inner voice had been repeating over and over again, "Just hold on. Hold on, just hold on. Hold on, just hold on."
The tracker realized that Ezra was talking to him, his molasses voice seeping through the pounding headache but Tanner couldn't make sense of the words. "Vin? Vin? Answer me, Vin!"
Ezra was afraid to move at all, afraid that he'd startle Vin and the wiry tracker would loose his grip. "Where the hell is Buck?" he muttered to himself.
"Right here, Ez, right here. Don't be taking my name in vain," Buck's voice floated down to the gambler who shouted back, "About time, Mr. Wilmington. What, did you have to make the rope first?"
The end of the rope in question fell down in front of Ezra and the gambler immediately grabbed it. "You got it, Ez?" Buck shouted.
"Yes! I'm wrapping it around my waist, hold on." Quickly the gambler did just that and then secured the rope with a knot, giving himself enough room to manoeuvre. Buck felt some of Ezra's weight settle onto the rope and he braced himself.
"You can let go now, Vin," Ezra said loudly but the tight grip on his coat and shirt didn't waver.
"VIN!" Ezra shouted.
"What?" came the soft reply and Ezra let a small sigh of relief.
"You can let go now; Buck's waiting to pull us up."
"Right." Vin's voice was so soft and strained that Ezra nearly didn't hear it but he did feel Vin let go and Buck immediately took up the slack. Wilmington had chucked the rope to Ezra and then run to a jagged rock jutting up out of the ground and braced his knees against the stony surface.
Ezra swung around and tried to find a foothold on the cliff. Once he had, he looked up at Vin and shook his head in amazement that Tanner had been able to hold on at all. A wide spray of blood ran across the Texan's face, the ugly head wound on his forehead still seeping blood. The blood, obeying the pull of gravity had spread a ghastly mask over his friend's face. One of Vin's knees must have scraped against the cliff during the explosion because a jagged rip across his right knee and shin was also still bleeding. If Tanner had any other injuries, Ezra didn't take the time to see as he climbed up enough to take most of Vin's weight and allow the tracker to rest.
Gratefully, Vin felt Ezra come under his loose arm and take his weight, the dreadful pull on his right arm gone, and muscles stretched beyond their limit sent a different sort of pain through his nervous system. Groaning, Tanner tried to hold on to Ezra who had begun to climb up the few feet to the top. Buck pulled as Standish climbed and in no time at all the Southerner reached the top. Once he had judged that Ezra had pulled himself up enough to hold on for a while, Wilmington dropped the rope and ran to help his friends.
Gently Buck reached for Vin and eased him up over the edge and laid him flat on his back. He then helped Ezra over the edge as well, and pulled the gambler to his left. "Damn, Ez, you're putting on some weight there," the ladies man grunted as Ezra flopped to the earth, never more grateful to feel solid rock under his feet.
"I truly hope not, Mr. Wilmington, otherwise Vin is liable to skin me alive."
From across the canyon, Larabee watched as his friends pulled to safety and he let out his own sigh of relief. Buck looked up at him, still astride his horse and shouted, "You gonna fly back over here or what?"
