Mexican Standoff
By: Rhicy
Thursday - Coming Together:
If any of the birds flying over the converging trails between Four Corners and Beggars Canyon had cared about the unfolding human drama below them, they would have been in for a show.
Riding Southwest at breakneck speed were JD and Casey, pursued closely by Turner and his boys. Further South, and nearly upon Beggars Canyon, were the slowly moving pair of Sanchez and Jackson, both men walking their horses.
Riding Northeast, heading up from the canyon were Chris, Buck, Ezra and Vin, with their prisoners, Hefner and Temple.
The last group of humans was not moving at all, rather they were arrayed in the bushes and rocks from the last scattering of foothills from the watershed, lying in wait for their prey. Since the only bird winging its way across the heavens was a meagre sparrow, searching for a meal, it neither cared nor noticed the humans below.
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To describe the atmosphere between the men riding north as tense would be a grievous understatement. Chris had escorted Hefner and Temple down from the canyon rim, forced to leave his friends to make their own way down. The long, two-hour ride had grated inexorably on Larabee's nerves as he kept a baleful eye on both prisoners, neither of whom was bound. Rather than risk coming into close proximity with the wily outlaws and offering them the opportunity to overwhelm him, Larabee had to suffice himself with confiscating their weapons and keeping his gun trained on them as they rode. Hefner's reputation at evading capture was legendary and Chris was taking no chances with these men. He informed both in a calm voice, all the more frightening due to the lack of overt threat, that if either of them so much as blinked wrong, they'd each be seeing out of a third eye socket.
Larabee's own reputation was no less impressive than Hefner's and both men had reluctantly obeyed his every command. Temple was waiting for Hefner to make a move and Hefner was just waiting for the perfect opportunity he knew would present itself. In all the years of his career as an outlaw, Hefner had always found a way to escape the long arm of the law and he fully intended on doing so again.
On the other side of canyon, Buck and Ezra had collectively gathered their supplies, horses, weapons and injured friend. Vin's injuries truly did look worse than they were; his head wound superficial and the various scrapes and cuts minor, despite the amount of blood. His dislocated shoulder was another matter entirely, along with the strain of muscles stretched beyond their limit in keeping himself and Ezra alive. Exhaustion from the collected days of hard riding and exertion along with his new injuries had sent their young friend into a deep unconscious sleep. Neither Buck nor Ezra felt secure enough to try and pop Vin's shoulder back in and, since the tracker wasn't awake to do it himself, they had decided to leave the task for Nathan.
The moment Chris had disappeared from sight, guarding his prisoners down the trail to the opening of Beggars Canyon to the north, Buck and Ezra bound Vin's arm to his side, then tied him to his saddle before making their own descent to the canyon below. They figured it would take them a good hour to meet up with Chris again, and both men fervently hoped that they would regroup later without further incident. Buck's verbal response to that belief had been a "Yeah, right!"
The only hiccup presented to both parties was the trip taking longer than expected. Roughly two hours after they had parted company, Chris met up with his friends. Midday had passed already but the sun was still beating down on the earth below. Ezra sat atop his horse decidedly morose. While the day was not nearly complete, it felt like they had crammed an entire week into one morning. After his close brush with death, Ezra found himself shaking at the memory of that terrifying sensation of waking up and realising nothing but his friend's strength stood between him and an unpleasantly long drop. Throughout the ride down to meet Chris, Ezra had replayed those horrific minutes over and over again, more than once finding himself staring at Vin without realising he was doing so.
Buck had been too focused on following their incoming trail to pay much attention to the gambler who was charged with ensuring that Vin stayed in his saddle. But now, as the pair of them waited for Larabee to close the distance between them, Buck noticed the slight shake in Ezra's hand as the Southerner raised it to shade his eyes from the sun.
Buck couldn't wait to get back to town and just let this day be over but it was unlikely that they would reach Four Corners before nightfall. As it was, it would take a good half-days' ride to reach Beggars Canyon from Four Corners and the day was already half over.
Vin had made no sound during the entire trip, remaining slumped over his horse's neck. Had Ezra been less preoccupied with his thoughts, he might have noticed that Vin periodically awoke during the ride, his knees tightening slightly to keep himself upright in the saddle. Vin was far from being fully aware of his surroundings; his throbbing headache, painful shoulder and aching body conspired to send him into the emptiness of slumber.
Buck and Ezra were waiting for Chris on a small rise that flattened out into a wide wash. The trail north ran directly across the wash and up ahead to the left, raised the last remnants of the foothills that Vin Tanner had led them through previously in order to shake Don Diego. Buck had unsheathed his rifle and it was laying across his legs as Hefner and Temple rode up the rise, Chris behind them with his pistol still trained at their backs. Buck swung his rifle around to cover the prisoners, his eyes hard with suppressed anger.
Ezra had remained at Vin's side as Larabee and the prisoners arrived, Tanner's head shot up, his gaze not falling to Larabee like Standish expected, but boring into Hefner. Dirk seemed to realize he was under such focused scrutiny and turned to see who was sending daggers his way. When he saw that it was the young buckskin tracker who had held onto the cliff for so long, Dirk smiled nastily and sent a mocking salute Vin's way. "Seems you've got a new fan, Dirk," Charles muttered soft enough for Dirk and Chris to hear.
Glaring, Chris growled at the pair, "Dismount and get your sorry asses over there," pointing to a spot well within Buck's aim. Without tearing his gaze from Hefner and Temple, Chris growled, "Ezra, get Vin off that horse. We're going to stop here for a while."
Judging by Larabee's mood, Ezra decided against commenting that it might be better to press on and reach Four Corners as soon as possible. Glancing briefly at Vin, Ezra had to concede that Tanner looked exceptionally pale and that the young man could use a break. The fact that Tanner did not argue with the order either meant that he was definitely feeling worse for wear.
The Southerner dismounted at the same time as the pair of prisoners. Just as Ezra's boot heel touched the red-coloured earth, a volley of shots was directed at them. Judging from the amount of guns firing on them, the four regulators and their prisoners were surrounded. Before Standish could even collect himself enough to draw his gun, a wave of ragged men charged at them from all directions.
Gunfire erupted on both sides as Chris and Buck returned fire. Hoarse cries were intermingled with the screams of men wounded, horses rearing in panic, rifles booming, pistols cracking and bedlam ensued. The attacking Mexicans seemed more intent on causing as much chaos as they could, than they were in killing the Americans.
Buck and Ezra found themselves fighting hand to hand almost immediately, trying to fend off groups of three or four men. Chris remained an unassailable fortress on his horse, dealing out death and injury without pause, his revolvers spitting out bullets faster than the eye could see. Dirk Hefner's horse went down squealing as a stray bullet crippled it, its frantic cries adding to the melee. Charles Temple was struggling with several men, his bright blonde hair dishevelled as he pulled out of a headlock. Chris was cursing loudly as he fought to keep the seemingly endless stream of attacks from reaching him, Buck was shouting obscenities at a scar-faced opponent who had cut a long thin line of blood across his arm, the split flesh beneath welling up with more blood.
Striding through the chaos, as easy as a hot knife through butter, came Don Diego, his pistols drawn, but still cool having only been fired in the first volley. He drew a long bead on Chris Larabee, a rising target above the battle, cocked his weapon and tightened his finger on the trigger … and an enormous bellow echoed over the brawl.
"SHUT UP!"
Amazingly enough, everyone stopped mid-punch or mid-shot. Buck's right hook never landed, Ezra escaped a boot in the ribs, Chris kept his gun trained on a man cowering behind a horse and the Don stayed his finger, for now.
Standing a little ways from the battle, as if he'd been stopped just short of escaping, was Dirk Hefner. His eyes were wild, his teeth bared, and kneeling at his feet was Vin Tanner, the outlaw's pistol pressed under his chin. Dirk had Vin's left arm twisted up behind the Texan's back, the pressure of his gun forcing Vin's head up at a painful angle. Judging by the renewed stream of blood running down Tanner's face, the young man had suffered yet another blow to the head.
"Everyone just shut the hell up!" Dirk screamed, emphasising each word by digging the barrel of the gun into Vin's neck. Smoothly and unerringly Chris shifted his aim to Hefner, his black revolver an extension of his hand, and without looking behind him, lifted his other gun and pointed it straight at the Don. Don Diego barely blinked at the new threat, simply moving around the obstacle of Chris and pointing his own second gun at Hefner.
The scene around the protagonists was one of complete carnage. There were only three Mexicans left, one for Buck, Ezra and Charles. Those six men remained exactly were they were, eyes half fixed on each other and half riveted to their leaders. Bodies of both men and horses were strewn across the ground, their blood seeping into the red soil, spreading like dark patches of corruption across the earth. After the thunder of gunfire and shouts, the silence that had fallen after Hefner's shout was almost deafening.
Vin fought back the rising bile in his throat as Hefner pulled more on his dislocated arm and pressed the gun harder into his throat. He had seen Hefner trying to make his escape during the confusion of the Don's attack and had spent a frustrating few moments cutting himself free of the ropes keeping him in the saddle. Dirk had almost cleared the fight when Vin tackled him, sending them both to the ground. The one-time pirate had kicked out at Vin and succeeded in hitting the tracker in the head. Why Hefner had not simply continued to run, Tanner did not know. The next thing he realized was sharp daggers of pain were cutting through his arm and shoulder as Dirk twisted his limb behind his back, a hot pistol barrel was shoved into his throat.
No one moved, everyone afraid to spark off the next round of violence with an inadvertent twitch. De la Vega was furious to realize that his gang had been reduced to three men, and Chris had eyes only for Hefner, trusting his back to Buck. Ezra bent over clutching his aching ribs, struggling to draw shuddering breaths, and tasted blood in his mouth. His opponent was swaying on his feet, about to collapse. All Ezra cared about was taking in a breath full enough to ease his burning chest. Buck tracked his eyes from the Mexican standing next to him to Chris and the Don, waiting for someone to make the first move and praying that that first move wouldn't be Vin's brains scattered all over Hefner. Temple shuffled his feet uncomfortably, concerned more with his last attacker and the knife clutched in that beefy hand more than anything else.
It was a stand-off.
Hefner, now had everyone's attention. He shouted, "Lessen' you want to see his brains splattered all over, I suggest you let me walk outta here!" His words were directed specifically at Larabee, whose expression did not change but his finger imperceptibly tightened over the trigger, itching to use it.
"No way in hell!" Buck shouted, wishing he hadn't lost his rifle during the fight. Dirk just laughed a little maniacally and yelled, "You reach for it, mister, and I swear he's dead." Wilmington, confused at first, realized that Dirk was shouting at Ezra, who had been reaching for his gun. In response, Standish silently raised his hands to show that he was no longer a threat and painfully straightened up.
"I'm dead serious! I'll kill him!"
"And then I'll kill you."
Hefner looked straight at Larabee, who had neither blinked nor flinched during the tense moment. Looking into those eyes, hard as agates, Dirk Hefner knew that the he would never escape Chris Larabee short of dying himself and, even then, the ornery bastard would probably follow him to hell to make sure the job had been done right.
Almost forgotten in the intensity of the situation, Don Diego weighed his options. He had attacked the men hoping to kill the gunfighters and capture the gambler. Uppermost in Diego's mind was finding Helena Demarco, and he knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that Ezra Standish could tell him where the wench was.
He needed to be in control of the situation, so the Mexican Don shouted out, "No one is going anywhere, hombres! Not until I get my deed and that thieving whore back!"
Ezra opened his mouth to reply to the Don but Chris caught his eye and, with barely a flicker of his eyes, told Standish to stay out of it and let him do the talking. "We don't know what you're talking about, De la Vega. You won the poker game - you kept your deed."
His dark eyes flashing with anger, Don Diego practically spat the words out, "Liar! The marker was worthless. That bitch stole my land and I damned well saw him," the shouting man pointed at Vin, "saw that dog attack my men and help the wench escape me!"
Hefner, his narrow eyes drawn to the gesticulating Don, hissed softly to the man at his feet, twisting Vin's arm viciously as he spoke, "Been playing hero again?"
Grimacing at the increased pain in his shoulder and arm, Vin gasped, "At least I ain't a gutless wonder." Dirk smiled and pushed his gun harder into Tanner's throat, right against his windpipe. "Seems I ain't doing this right if'n you got the breath to sass me." The Texan truly couldn't find the breath to make any reply, as he struggled to draw in sufficient air.
Dirk's actions were not unnoticed by Larabee, whose index finger flexed on the trigger of his gun even as he listened to the Don. Still without looking at the Mexican, Chris said, "Tanner may have rescued Helena but we sure as hell don't have any deed."
Scornfully disbelieving, Diego snorted, "You expect me to believe that?"
The revolver aimed at his head being cocked was the only answer Don Diego received.
"I don't care about no deed, Larabee, I ain't sticking around while you lot discuss it. The hero here and I are leaving. Now." Dirk acted as he spoke and pulled Tanner to his feet, the injured tracker forced to comply. Now the ex-bounty hunter blocked any shot at Hefner, his lanky body a convenient shield for the outlaw.
Vin was far from helpless. As Dirk forced him to stand, he stared straight at Chris and the gunfighter tensed in preparation.
Smoothly Tanner slipped the thin knife he had taken to keeping up his right sleeve into his palm, reversed the hilt and stabbed the blade into Hefner's thigh. Reflexively Hefner screamed in pain, the hand holding the gun to Vin's neck dropping to clutch at the knife embedded in his leg. Chris fired, not at Hefner but at Don Diego, his bullet hitting the Mexican in the shoulder, sending the man backwards to the ground.
In an unexpected rush JD and Casey arrived, with Turner and his boys right behind them. The kid rode straight through the stand-off, heading unerringly towards safety - Buck. Alvin Turner rode straight into Don Diego's sights. Just as the Mexican collapsed with Chris' bullet in his shoulder, the aggrieved Don fired at Larabee but hit Turner, sending the bank robber careening off his horse.
Wilmington and Temple acted simultaneously, both taking advantage of the surprise of the new arrivals to take out their Mexican opponents; the scoundrel knocking his man unconscious and Charles stabbing his foe with the man's own knife.
Dempsey, riding hard after JD, catapulted himself off his horse and landed on Ezra by mistake, pinning the slippery gambler to the ground, the breath knocked out of him, again. Swanson, unheeding of Turner's fate, was caught by an unexpected attack. Casey leapt, out of nowhere, to pull him from his horse, and then to find JD, standing above him, his lightning Colts back in his own hands.
Chris, after shooting the Don, had been about to make for Vin and Hefner when the last two parties arrived. Juan broke cover from the same bushes the Don and his men had been hiding in and fired at Chris. Helena, using Gomez's distracted focus, spurred her horse towards relative safety - the rest of the Seven. Riding hard, having been drawn by the gunfire, came Nathan and Josiah.
Nathan, trailing Josiah, was greeted by a scene of bedlam. Ezra fighting some longhaired man, both men rolling in the dirt, Buck wrestling with what looked like a Mexican, JD and Casey standing guard over a man lying on his back, Chris trading shots with a gunman near some bushes, Helena Demarco riding towards the fight, Vin struggling with Dirk Hefner and several bodies scattered around.
But all Josiah saw as he rode was Charles Temple. Vin was too preoccupied with Hefner to care about Temple trying to escape. Snarling in fury, Sanchez leapt from his horse and tackled a startled Temple, who suddenly found himself fighting for his life. When he recognised the mountainous man piling into him, his own anger erupted and he fought back with everything he had.
Nathan stood stunned for a precious couple of seconds, too much going on to be able to judge where he was needed most. In those couple of seconds, Standish lost the upper hand and began to take a severe beating at Dempsey's hands, and one of the bodies moved, pointing a gun straight at Chris Larabee's back.
Nathan, acting without thinking, drew one of his knives and threw it at Chris' attacker. The finely honed blade sank into Turner's arm, throwing his aim wide, and the shot that would have been a few seconds too late to save Larabee, killed Alvin Turner outright.
JD looked up at Nathan with wide eyes, his guns still smoking. Suddenly the kid found his own problems. Swanson kicked at JD's knee, and as JD collapsed, the bank robber grabbed for one of the Colts.
Buck, breathing hard, wiped a trail of blood from his nose, and ran to help Ezra, leaving the last Mexican unconscious. Chris had to seek cover as the wiley Gomez stayed just beyond reach and was keeping the gunslinger pinned with uncomfortably accurate shots. There were too many moving bodies, friends and foes indeterminable at times, for Chris to risk shooting into the fray. Casey was helping JD, her well-timed kicks at Swanson giving the kid an edge. Still undecided, Nathan watched in horrified immobility as each of his friends were encompassed in the fight.
Josiah felt great satisfaction in being able to finally vent his fury. So much in his life had been shaped by his father and there had been too many years filled with regret and shame to add to his anger. Hannah had paid a terrible price for her defiance and her love. Josiah had never been able to forget the part the man now reeling from his punches played in his sister's misery. So great was Josiah's anger that it did not diminish as he fought, it grew and grew until not even Temple's own strength was insufficient to keep Sanchez at bay. With a bone-shattering fist, the preacher knocked Temple senseless and, as the outlaw folded in on himself, his eyes rolling back, Josiah felt a momentarily spark of shame.
Dirk Hefner couldn't fathom how the wiry tracker was still fighting. No matter how many times he paid special attention to Tanner's shoulder as they fought, the Texan kept coming at him. It was like nothing on this earth was going to stop him, not even a dislocated shoulder, from enjoying this fight. Dirk would put everything he had into a punch or kick, try to dislodge the tracker and instead of his fist meeting soft flesh, his target would move and tensed muscle would take the impact. For every blow landed, Hefner took at least one in return. Tanner was not above using the outlaw's own injury to his advantage; more blows were aimed at Hefner's leg than anywhere else. But Dirk Hefner was as tough as they come and neither man was showing any sign of giving in. Vin's previous fatigue had disappeared as adrenaline surged through him, his memories of Jeremy driving him beyond the limitations of his injuries.
Riding through the ensuing brawl like she was parting wheat through a field, came Helena Demarco. No one seemed to notice her or even care that she was there. Her horse slowed almost on its own accord, reluctant to get too close to the battling combatants and, for a few heart-stopping moments, she sat there like a mythical embodiment of victory, her long black hair streaming across her face as she turned to look for Vin. If Ezra had been able to sit and appreciate the moment, he might have compared the scene to one reminiscent of a Renaissance picture capturing the fervour of a momentous war, with Victory looking on. However, the poor Southerner had troubles of his own. Although Wilmington was on his way to the rescue, Dempsey was enjoying himself, kicking the gambler, who was on his hands and knees, unable to breathe, with a vicious boot being thrust into his ribs repeatedly.
Helena had trouble coming her way too, for she had paused right beside where Don Diego had fallen. Rising like an embodied corpse, covered in blood and dust, the Don reached up and pulled the startled woman from her horse. For the second time in two days Helena found herself facing the Don's wrath and she couldn't stop her scream from rending the air as a blade pierced her side.
Vin's head jerked up as he heard the scream and he watched as Diego withdrew his dagger, the small blade covered in blood. In that instant Hefner was forgotten, Helena's need greater and Tanner was running towards the Don without a second thought.
The woman's scream had also drawn Josiah's attention and, as the preacher looked up from Temple's unaware body to see what was happening, he saw Vin. Something inside Josiah snapped. It hadn't been enough to beat Temple senseless; the rage was still a burning inferno inside him. And there was Tanner, the man who had nearly let Temple escape, running away, again. So great was Josiah's anger that reason fled, and before he even knew what he was doing, he was racing Tanner, not to reach Helena first, but to catch the Texan.
Don Diego hissed in Helena's ear, "Where is the deed you, bitch?" holding his knife covered in her own blood in front of her face. "I'm going to keep cutting until you tell me!"
Tanner had almost reached the Don when Josiah ran into him like an express train, bowling over the smaller man. Finally galvanised into action, Nathan screamed, "Josiah, NO!"
There was no reaching the big man, a red haze having fallen over his eyes, only the need to make someone pay paramount in his mind.
Helena's scream had done more than just get Nathan moving, it distracted Swanson enough to allow JD and Casey to pin him. It drew Gomez's eyes for a split second too long, allowing Chris to finally find his mark. The diminutive would-be-bandit died with a bullet between his eyes. The scream startled Dempsey so that when he looked around to see who it was, he instead saw Buck's fist swinging down into his face.
Diego, face twisted in a perverse smile, lowered the knife to cut Helena again. He barely noticed the tracker being tackled and pounded into the ground. All he saw was Helena's blood and the fear in her eyes. It made him strangely excited.
Vin wasn't even aware that Josiah's meaty fists were pounding him, after the first punch, the tracker had fortunately lost consciousness. The preacher however was far from unaware of the damage he was inflicting. He wasn't seeing Vin though, it wasn't Tanner's face or body he was picturing as he vented, it was a mixture of Temple, his father and every other man to ever cause him harm. Over and over again he slammed his fist into Tanner, unsure if the roar he heard was only in his head.
The frightened woman stared at the blade hovering in front her eyes, fixated on seeing blood she knew to be her own running down the hilt onto Diego's hand. "Please, Diego? Please no."
Instead of feeling the cool metal slit her flesh again, Helena heard her attacker shriek in pain, drop the knife and clutch his arm. A quick snap of elbow and fist dropped the Mexican to his knees, groaning. Startled Helena looked up to see Nathan Jackson standing over the Don, his normally gentle eyes flashing in anger.
Dirk, momentarily shocked by the fury of the Sanchez's attack, soon snapped to his senses and was about to slink away unnoticed when a black dusty boot shoved him flat on his back. Hefner stared up at the barrel of Larabee's gun for the second time that day.
Shaking his head, Chris turned away from Hefner, his right gun still aimed at the outlaw's head, and fired his left revolver at Sanchez. The bullet whizzed by the preacher's head, narrowly missing tearing a chunk out of his ear, bringing Josiah's attention back to the present.
The red haze faded, the roaring in his ears dissipated and Sanchez blinked. Before he could look up and see who was shooting at him, Josiah noticed the blood on his hands. Long rivulets of blood were tracing a haphazard pattern across his knuckles, the hairs on the back of his hand already stiffening with the drying blood. But it was the battered form lying limply between his hands, held up only by his own two bloody fists, that caught his breath in his throat. Vin Tanner.
As hot and powerful as the anger had burned within him, the sight of his friend, a man he respected and cared for, lying senseless, bruised and bloodied, sent a wave of cold fear over Josiah. The familiar shame surged through him, like it had countless times before when he had lost control, his temper getting the best of him, was doubled by the horror of having done this to a friend. His heart breaking in shame, Josiah gently lowered Vin to the ground and stepped away from him.
Looking up, as if realising for the first time that the rest of the Seven were in fact present, Sanchez saw each and every one of them, staring at him. JD, his mouth an open 'O' of shock even as he kept his guns trained on Swanson and Dempsey. Buck, bent over helping Ezra to stand, his usually expressive face shuttered with anger. Standish, pale and breathless, his eyes betraying the horror he was seeing. Nathan, pressing a pale white cloth, which was rapidly turning red, into Helena's side, trying to stem the flow of blood. Jackson's face was the hardest to take, his anger palpable, and directed entirely at Sanchez. The preacher barely noticed the still form of Don Diego, sitting sullenly clutching a knife buried to the hilt in his upper arm.
If Josiah had thought that Nathan's anger was tangible, it was nothing compared to the waves of fury emanating from Chris Larabee. The tall gunslinger, his boot firmly on Hefner's chest, both guns still pointed at enemies; one at Hefner and the other at Josiah.
"Ya done?" There was so much derision and scorn in those two words that Josiah felt his shame blossom tenfold and the preacher took a couple more steps away from the broken victim of his uncontrollable temper.
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The Aftermath
Pete Dempsey watched in astonished silence as the men worked in smooth unison to make sense of the day's events. The Kid, JD, despite having ridden hard all day to escape Turner, was running errands for the darkie healer, his energy boundless. Joe was tied up next to him, both bank robbers under the careful eye of Casey Wells. Pete had thought the tall moustached man had been joking when he had asked the young girl to watch their prisoners, but as Casey had levelled a rifle right at them, her face serious, Dempsey had to re-evaluate his first impression. She looked mad enough happily shoot him or Swanson the moment they tried anything funny.
The atmosphere in the little camp was exceptionally tense. Sitting beside Pete was also the Mexican Don, his arm roughly bandaged by the healer. Diego had not said one word to his fellow prisoners, his face set in a deep scowl that he alternatively directed at either Larabee or Helena Demarco. Pete, once he had realized that Helena was involved, couldn't help feeling like things were getting way out of control. Sure, Alvin had this bizarre plan of selling the Don his land deed back but it had only been a little sideline to the bank robbing. Now all the participants, willing or unwilling, of Turner's scheme were present, and Dempsey didn't like his chances of escaping any its backlash.
What had been even more surprising to discover, was that the kid, Dunne, had turned out to be a lawman. Swanson had scoffed at the idea when Pete had whispered it to him, but there was no denying that Dunne was part of this group of peacekeepers. These 'regulators' sure didn't look like any bunch of lawmen Pete had ever seen. A gambler, a blackman, a gunslinger, Chris Larabee at that, and a kid! Not to mention the tall man with the moustache, called Buck according to Swanson who had heard JD talking to the man.
Pete wasn't too sure if the tall mountain of a man was part of the group or not. He had after all attacked the Texan, who had yet to regain consciousness. Everyone was giving the big man a wide berth and earlier Larabee had ordered him with a snarl to guard the other two prisoners, Dirk Hefner and Charles Temple. Whatever else the gunslinger had growled at the grey-haired man, Pete could not hear but the young outlaw never wanted to have that sort of fury directed at him by a man like Larabee.
Of all the men in the camp, only the black man was busier than JD. He appeared to be a healer of some sort and had been moving nonstop between the injured for the last two hours. The gambler fellow had three or more broken ribs, most of them a gift from Pete himself. Dempsey quashed any guilt at the Southerner's pain; it wasn't his fault the guy had taken offence at being landed on.
Helena, looking very pale and in a lot of pain, was propped up against a saddle, a blanket covering the evidence of her injury. Pete had been looking forward to watching as the darkie tended her, the stab-wound was in her side, hidden by her blouse. JD and Buck had set up a tent-like structure for Helena to rest in, and it had given her the privacy that decency demanded. Casey had scowled fiercely at both bank robbers when each had groaned in disappointment when it became clear the injured lady was not going to be exposed for all to see.
All of the injured prisoners had received care as well, albeit only after everyone else had been seen to. Charles Temple still looked very groggy from his fight with the tall preacher and Dirk also looked a little worse for wear after tangling with the tracker. It was the slight buckskin-clad man who was the focus of most of the healer's attention. The darkie had spent more time and more effort with the Texan than any other. What exactly was wrong with the injured man, Pete did not know, he could only guess at the damage a man like the preacher could inflict on a body.
Larabee was stalking around the camp like a dark spectre, his duster swirling about his feet as his rapid footsteps covered the entire area. The gunslinger seemed tied to the insubstantial form of the Texan stretched out on a bedroll. He wouldn't come closer than three feet to the tracker but his wide circuit was never out of earshot of that bedroll.
The bodies of Turner and the Mexicans had been unceremoniously piled a hundred metres away, in a deep ditch nearby. Since the sun was beginning to turn a deep red as it began to set, Pete Dempsey was pretty sure that they would be spending the night out here. What the hours of nightfall and morning would bring, the young bank robber had no idea.
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Nightfall - Settling in
The night sky was awash with stars, tiny pinpricks of light sweeping across the heavens. The moon had yet to rise, so a spectacular display of celestial glory in all its magnificence was available to anyone who cared to gaze up and partake in its majesty.
Vin didn't have much of a choice in the matter; it hurt too much to look anywhere else but up. However, the young man was grateful for the beautiful display above; it took his mind off the various aches and pains of his bruised body. By only moving his eyes, Tanner tracked his way across the heavens, naming the stars he knew, as if greeting old friends. It would have been a peaceful moment, one he had often enjoyed in the past, stretched out on his back stargazing. The atmosphere was tainted however, first by the insistent pain of his injuries and second by the anger emanating from the man sitting next to him.
Chris hadn't said a word, even though he could see Vin was finally awake. The gunslinger merely sat beside the tracker, one arm resting on an upraised knee. Larabee's chin was resting on his arm, his hat low and covering his face. Vin had never needed to see Chris' expression to know what the gunfighter was thinking. Right now, the tracker did not want to broach that barrel of fish, so he let Larabee stew awhile longer, and tried to enjoy the stars.
The moment didn't last long as Nathan's head soon obscured his view; the concerned healer studying Vin's face. Apparently satisfied by what he saw, Nathan lifted the blanket covering the Texan's chest, sending a shiver down his narrow frame from the cooler night air. The healer quickly but thoroughly checked the bandages wrapped around Tanner's ribs and shoulder before replacing the blanket.
"You with us yet?"
It took Vin a few moments to decide how to answer Nathan's question until he choose to whisper. Chris, drawn by the hissed reply, finally turned to look at his friend. Tanner had an unhindered view of the anger that washed over Larabee's face as the gunfighter took in the bruises and cuts covering the tracker.
"I don't think I need to tell you that you're gonna be aching something fierce for the next couple of days," Nathan whispered, keeping his voice soft. It was only when Vin let out a soft chuff of laughter that the healer smiled, a small sad sort of smile.
"Don't reckon you do, doc."
Larabee watched as Tanner stretched slowly, discovering for himself exactly what hurt and how much. Jackson also studied Vin as he shifted position to get comfortable, his eyes trained for any hurts he might have missed. The small movements had cost the young man more than he let on, a headache developing between his eyes the longer he fought the urge to sleep.
But before he could slip back into a doze, he had to tell Larabee, everything. Vin's simple "Nate," was more than enough to tell the healer that he needed a moment with Chris. The tall black man nodded and moved away, close enough to reach Tanner if the tracker needed him, but far away enough to stay out of earshot.
The Texan took a moment to collect himself, staring at the heavens again. Larabee had also returned to what he'd been doing earlier, glaring at Josiah. Drawing in as deep a breath as he could manage, Vin sighed, the words escaping his lips, the bottom one split from the fight. "Temple's married to Josiah's sister."
Larabee's unconscious flexing of his fist stopped as the gunslinger heard Vin's words. Instead of relaxing, the bony knuckles of Chris' right hand turned white and the gunfighter growled, "That ain't an excuse!"
"Sometimes powerful emotions can move a man to do things he regrets later," Vin said, his eyes watching as those white knuckles grew whiter and the bones in Chris' hand jumped out in stark relief to his flesh.
"Still ain't right."
"Nope, don't reckon so." Larabee finally turned to meet Vin's eyes only to find that his friend had fallen asleep again, his face relaxing from the hard angles the pain had drawn across his cheekbones. It hadn't only been his face that Josiah had punished; Vin had his own set of broken ribs to match Ezra's. With almost his entire chest and abdomen bruised, Vin would have difficulty breathing for a couple of days. Hefner had managed to add his own set of bruises to Tanner's legs and arms but judging by how gingerly the outlaw was moving the Texan had left more than a few marks of his own.
Alone with his thoughts, Chris groaned and rubbed his face vigorously, still humming with anger. After his brief order to Sanchez, Larabee had avoided the preacher to the point of actually refusing to even look at him. That is until he had sat down next to Vin and his gaze had been drawn to the shadowy profile of Josiah standing guard over Hefner and Temple. Larabee didn't think he could say more than two words to Sanchez without fighting the urge to lay into him and the gunfighter didn't think he'd try that hard to restrain himself. Judging by the guilty glances Josiah kept shooting in Vin and Chris' direction, Larabee half hoped that he would let him beat him to a pulp in recompense. Knowing the peculiar preacher, he probably would.
Larabee's unresolved anger didn't change the fact though that he still needed to find out exactly what had happened today. How JD had happen to ride in with bank robbers hot on his trail, what in the hell Helena had been doing outside of town and why Josiah had decided to follow them anyway?
Quickly checking that Vin was still sleeping, Chris stood, a blacker piece of night against the starry horizon. JD had taken over Casey's guard of the Don and the pair of bank robbers. The young lady was helping Wilmington prepare an evening meal, the smooth scoundrel making her laugh with his antics around the campfire.
Both of them had kept their merriment to a low key, aware that not everyone at the camp shared their sense of relief. Casey was relieved to the point of giddiness that she was back amongst friends and able to relax enough to smile with genuine affection for the Seven. There was nothing else on this earth quite like being amongst the Seven, their vitality and joy in life was infectious. Not to mention that Casey knew she had nothing to fear while she was with them. Even though relations were still very tense around the camp, especially amongst the Seven themselves, the young lady couldn't help but feel safer and happier when with them. Buck, ever the optimist, had gladly joined in Casey's high spirits, absolutely certain within himself that despite the rift between Josiah and Chris, everything would work itself out. It always did.
Ezra was resting near Helena, both of them wrapped in blankets. The gambler was dead to the world; he had fallen asleep the moment Nathan had finished wrapping his ribs. Miss Demarco though was wide-awake, her watchful eyes keeping tabs on everyone in the camp, well everyone except Don Diego. While the Mexican Don was not even looking in Helena's general direction, his eyes downcast constantly, the young woman kept her gaze away from him.
Under Josiah's distracted care sat Dirk Hefner and Charles Temple. Neither of friends had spoken a word to the other, both wrapped up in their own thoughts. Charles, his face a mess of bruises, his head still ringing from Sanchez's punches, was simmering with fury. After years of searching for Hannah, the key to her location was standing above him. Judging from Dirk's lack of surprise at seeing Sanchez, Temple was certain that his friend had known his brother-in-law was in the area. Furious with his partner, frustrated by the situation he found himself in, Charles mirrored the same anger that radiated from Larabee. He really wanted to hit somebody, preferably Josiah, but Dirk would do.
As Nathan bent over Vin on the opposite side of the camp, Charles grated out harshly, "You satisfied with your handiwork, Sanchez?" Josiah didn't react to the taunt, his face remaining an impassive mask, but Temple wasn't done. "You always thought you knew better than everybody else. Never considered that maybe you were wrong, didn't see the whole picture. Just like your old man never did!" Unable to stop himself, Josiah turned to glare at his brother-in-law, silently demanding that he shut up.
Grinning nastily at Sanchez's grimace, Charles continued, "You've been wrong about nearly everything, Josiah, Hannah and me, what we meant to each other."
The rifle in Josiah's hands snapped as he primed it, the long barrel drifting over to point at Charles. "Shut up. You have no idea what you are talking about," Josiah growled, anger tempering every word.
"What are you going to do, Sanchez, that you haven't already done? Beat me up? You've done that a few times already and I'm still here! Chase me off? No way am I ever leaving again! Kill me? You killed whatever hope I had in the future when you hid Hannah. You might as well finish the job you started and end my life!"
Charles wisely made no sudden moves, giving Josiah no excuse to fire at him. For years Temple had written off ever having the kind of life that did not involve crime or scheming. He had resigned himself to an existence without love or passion. He had become a notorious outlaw, the friend of Dirk Hefner, a wanted man. He was good at what he did, it had become both his purpose and his curse. There was no going back now. Faced with Josiah, the man who had stolen his future, now resurrected all those old feelings and desires. Hannah's father may have reduced her to the broken shell of a woman he had seen briefly, but Charles placed just as much blame on Josiah.
Josiah blamed Charles equally, both men torn by what had happened. Sanchez, however, was a different man than the one he had been then - young and angry, still fighting his own demons. But now, older and wiser, even though he didn't always act it, the preacher found himself faced with an unexpected quandary. As Charles' words cut into his soul, Josiah felt another surge of guilt. He briefly thought that maybe it was just a remnant of his guilt over Vin but he couldn't deny the sinking feeling growing in his belly.
Had he made the right decision all those years ago?
Dirk was studying both men, his expression not giving anything away. Hefner had always known that his friend harboured enormous resentment for Josiah Sanchez, he had just never realized how deep it was. From the brief flicker of uncertainty in Josiah's eyes, maybe Sanchez had never realized it either.
Hesitantly, with less anger in his voice, Josiah rumbled, "I did what was best for Hannah."
"No, you did what was best for you… what suited you!" Charles shouted, no longer caring about the gun in Josiah's hands. He lurched to his feet, his face red with anger. "I loved her, damnit, and you kept her for me! We would have been happy! It would have worked out. She would have got better! But you locked her away like an animal!"
Dirk fully expected Josiah to explode, to charge in and rip Temple's head off. It seemed Charles expected the same because he visibly braced himself to meet Josiah's attack.
A strange thing had occurred though. For a moment, while Charles was mouthing off, Josiah saw a tall handsome man, with a broken but sincere heart in the place of the conman he had always believed Temple to be. Sanchez looked over his shoulder at the blanket-covered form of Ezra Standish. The gambler had taught Josiah long ago that it was a mistake to judge a book by appearances. The Southerner hid a kind and gentle heart, one that craved affection and reassurance.
Looking back at Charles, Josiah could still see that broken heart. Years of anger and violence, had deprived him of happiness. The cold, calculating image he had always cultivated of Temple shattered as Josiah saw this new side, the side that Hannah had seen and loved. Seeing for the first time what his own friends must see every time he went on an anger-induced rage, fuelled by shattered illusions and disappointment. Josiah felt the well of rage inside him dry up. It changed nothing, this destructive fury raging inside, it only hurt those who dared try and help you, like Vin. Sanchez didn't need to look at the sleeping tracker to feel the weight of that guilt. For the first time in years, Josiah let go of his anger and tried a different path.
The sad sigh that emerged from Sanchez caught Charles off guard, but that was nothing compared to what happened next. "Charles, I apologise for my behaviour, I should never have acted this way. I'm afraid we both hold part of the blame for Hannah." Temple opened his mouth to scream his denial but the preacher's soft voice that so often had soothed a troubled soul, continued, "You left her, Charles, left her to my… our father and she paid a terrible price. We both abandoned her. And it is something I will regret for the rest of my life."
Stunned, the blond outlaw stared at Josiah, unable to believe what he was hearing. "I place the largest portion of blame on my father, but everyone involved carries their own share, including Hannah. She didn't deserve what happened, but it did, and no matter how guilty you feel about it, where she is, is best for her."
Temple snarled loudly, "It was not your decision to make! I'm her husband for heaven's sake!"
"And you were not there!" Josiah shouted in return, and immediately regretted his outburst. "It cannot be any other way. The mission is all she knows now."
Temple ignored the small offering Sanchez had made, telling him about where Hannah was. The tired, heart-broken words that Charles uttered tore at Josiah, "You never let me try. You never gave us a chance."
A darker presence behind him drew Josiah's attention and the big man turned to see Chris Larabee. The cool look the gunslinger directed at Sanchez told him that Chris had been standing there long enough to have heard most of the conversation. Well, most of the camp had probably heard parts of the argument. Larabee's invitation to join the campfire was a mere nod of his head and then the black-clad man was stalking away.
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Spilling the proverbial beans
The evening meal was over and all seven regulators were collected around the campfire. All five prisoners were seated together under the watchful eye of Casey. It was only a temporary measure while the men quickly caught up on the events of the last couple of days.
"You robbed the bank?"
Buck's face was comical, his jaw hanging open, his eyes wide. JD squirmed next to the ladies man, his face beet red. Ezra was half-reclining on the other side of JD, resting on his saddle. The gambler couldn't keep the smirk out of his voice as he drawled quietly, "You had best close your mouth, Mr. Wilmington, lest an errant nocturnal insect decides to investigate its nesting potential and mistakes your epiglottis for a tidy morsel of sustenance."
Buck shut his mouth momentarily before he retorted, "Any of you ever notice that Ezra gets windier when he's hurt?"
"Thought I smelled something funny," came Vin's voice from the pile of blankets next to Buck. The tracker had insisted on joining the boys around the campfire and Nathan had acquiesced, on condition that Tanner did not get agitated and cause himself any more harm. Vin's reply had been a dry smile and, the moment the healer had deposited the injured man next to Buck, he had curled up in some blankets and for all appearances gone to sleep. Until now, there had not been a sound from him and only Chris knew Vin had been listening to JD's story.
"Very amusing Mr. Tanner, I would present an argument in defence of my good name but I, however, unlike your good self, am not in the position of laying directly in the line of fire from Mr. Wilmington's posterior."
A shaky hand snaked up out of the blankets and Vin's pain-filled voice replied, "Ya got a point, Ez. Help me up, Cowboy."
"Hey!"
Not even Chris could keep a smile off his face as he helped the Texan sit up, but the smile didn't last long as Vin's battered face became visible. The light atmosphere amongst the friends died as the real reason for their impromptu council was remembered. Josiah, sitting as far from the fire as possible, made no effort to quash the guilt that rose.
Never one to dance around an issue, Larabee struck at the heart of the matter. "I'm pretty damned sure that Josiah needs to do some explaining. Now."
An uncomfortable silence fell over the group as everyone looked at Sanchez. Josiah didn't mince any words as he explained, keeping his sentences concise and to the point. He told them how he had made Vin promise not to tell anyone about Hannah or Temple. And when Hefner and Temple had arrived in Four Corners, it had been Charles that Josiah wanted to pursue, not Hefner.
Chris' face was positively thunderous as Sanchez accounted his belief that Vin would let Temple go if forced to choose, in light of the tracker's own history with Dirk. Josiah struggled to find the words to describe what had happened during the fight.
"I wasn't seeing anything but red by then. I know it is no excuse but when I saw Vin attacking Hefner and letting Temple escape I thought… I … "
"You thought you'd beat him senseless!" Chris snapped, his voice an angry growl. The gunslinger wasn't prepared to hear Josiah mutter, "Yes. Yes I just wanted to pound him into the ground."
The preacher looked up at Tanner, meeting his eyes for the first time since the fight. "I am truly sorry, Vin. I have no excuse good enough to justify what I did. You did not betray my trust… only I did."
About to open his mouth to ream Josiah, Chris felt a callused hand brush his leg and the gunfighter swallowed his words. "I've been accused of a lot of things in my life, Sanchez, and most of them were true. But this ain't one of them. I ain't saying I had you or my promise foremost in my mind this afternoon but I sure as hell didn't betray no one."
Vin paused briefly to catch his breath, Wilmington wincing at the obvious effort it was taking for Tanner to speak. "I reckon I got plenty a reason to be sore at you preacher-man and things might be off between us fer awhile. But a man makes mistakes and in the middle of a fight, even the best of promises can be put aside. Things happen, and we pay the consequences. I reckon you're beating yourself up almost badly as you did me."
The long speech had cost Tanner dearly and an uneasy silence hung over the group as they waited for him to catch his breath. Fighting the urge to cough and aggravate his ribs, Vin sighed, "Damn, that hurts. So here it is, preacher." The Texan's blue eyes bored into Josiah, his words slipping out a soft sigh, "I figure you owe me big, pard. And I aim to collect. Big time." An impish grin broke across Vin's face as he finished, near laughter colouring his voice, "I'm thinking never havin' to buy a drink for the rest of my life."
JD and Ezra couldn't help but smile, while Nathan hid his grin behind his hand. Buck openly laughed, slapping his knee in glee. Chris looked like he half wanted to deck Vin and Josiah, his own anger not so easily dismissed. Josiah shook his head though, completely baffled at the ability to forgive some people had, if only he could do the same. "Vin, I owe you more than a life-time's worth of drinks, and I do intend to make this up to you… friend."
Serious again, Tanner said, "I'll hold you to that, Josiah." The preacher nodded and the issue was dropped, although Larabee still looked furious.
Buck Wilmington, now that the air been cleared, blurted out, "You robbed the bank?"
JD went bright red again but managed to retort with, "At least I didn't kiss Inez!"
His eyes wide, nodding in agreement, the ladies man laughed, "That's right, you didn't. Ez?"
"Not right now, my obsessive friend. I am a little indisposed."
Helena, who had been sitting between Josiah and Ezra all this time, remaining remarkably quiet, said, "I did not know you liked my cousin, Senor Standish."
"Now, I …" but Ezra got no further as Buck interrupted, loudly exclaiming, "Ah ha! So you do like her!"
Sighing dramatically, more than willing to join in with Buck's efforts to alleviate the tension, Ezra said, "I never denied liking Miss Recillios. On the contrary, I find Inez's company both stimulating and desirable. And unlike you, my dear Mr. Wilmington, she does not greet me by upending a beer on my head each time I enter the saloon."
JD chuckled at that and Buck swatted the kid with his hat, "Yeah, well you bunch still have to explain that piece of filth over there!" Wilmington indicated towards Don Diego, who was pretending to be sleeping. Standish, ever willing to regale his own adventures, immediately launched into a detailed account of 'the con'. Chris added a few corrections to the story but otherwise let the gambler run his course, as happy as a pig in mud, using bigger and bigger words until JD started getting a bemused expression on his face. "Wait, wait Ez, what's a curmudgeon?"
"A curmudgeon, JD, is a killjoy, a wet blanket."
"So kinda like Chris then?" Vin drawled. He had lain down again during Ezra's little speech and so the others could only hear the smile in his voice.
Standish, smiling at the glare sent Tanner's way, said, "I hesitate to agree with you, Mr. Tanner, for I fear you may be correct." The Larabee glare directed at the gambler could have drawn blood and Ezra chuffed, "But in the interest of my continued health, poor though it may be, I digress. After paying my fortunate accomplices, I rejoined Messieurs Tanner and Larabee."
Ezra deftly avoided any mention of Vin's attraction to Helena, since it was only speculation, but deftly wove a tale of Vin's rescue of Miss Demarco with the lady in question adding the occasional comment. Vin, characteristically, remained silent, his thoughts elsewhere. Josiah too was only half paying attention to Ezra and Helena, his mind focused more on the sulking figure of Charles than anything else.
"… which lead the grateful Miss Recillios to bestow her thanks on my willing lips."
"Ah ha! So she was only thanking you!" the ladies man jumped in, practically crowing in delight.
"Did I not just say so, my rambunctious friend?"
Wilmington was rubbing his hands together in glee, and wagged his eyebrows at Ezra as he said, "Where there's a glimmer of hope, there's a chance for Buck Wilmington!"
Nathan, sipping at his coffee, asked, "Whacha talking about, Buck?"
The scoundrel's smile was all teeth, and he purred, "Iffen Inez can thank a homely guy like Ez with a kiss, jist imagine what kind of a thank you is waiting for a handsome devil like me!"
Guffaws of laughter echoed around the campfire, dispelling the last of the tension. Even Josiah and Chris smiled at Buck's tenacity in the face of Inez's continued rejection. Standish took the insult in good grace, content in the knowledge that the fiery bartender had actually kissed him, while Wilmington was still trying. A shaky hand snaked up from Vin, about to make a point, and the ladies man whined, "Ah hell, Tanner, jist let it lie for once, will you!"
Only Chris and Buck heard the soft chuckle from Tanner and JD had to grin at Wilmington's pleased smile.
"I will rest on the laurels of my success until such time as Inez takes a shotgun to you and I can happily grow old with the knowledge that I am the sole beneficiary of her lips," the gambler sighed, patting his dusty chest softly.
The banter around the fire continued for a few minutes before those assigned to keep watch and guard prisoners took up their duty. The five prisoners found themselves under Larabee's stern eye while JD took first watch.
The night slipped away, the stars overhead racing across the heavens, the small tell-tale smoke from the fire rising up into the night air, a lone signal in the wilderness.
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A leopard and its spots
The early morning sun was bright and hot; it was going to be another scorching summer day. During his various shifts and turns of a restless sleep, Ezra's hat had fallen at an angle allowing the newly risen sun beams to pierce the inner depths of the gambler's darkened slumber. As the light and heat grew too much to bear, Standish rumbled into awareness and sat up with a groan that was partly misery from waking up so early and the rest pain from forgetting his broken ribs.
"Aww hell…"
Behind the pounding now beating inside his skull, Ezra realized that someone was shouting. Listening attentively, trying to sort out the muffled words, Standish realized it was Chris that was shouting, at JD and … Buck?
"… just let her walk out …"
"… she needed to go to the privy and I wasn't about to …"
"… you damn well don't need a horse to go to the privy …"
"… maybe she just …"
Finally opening his eyes and immediately regretting it, the Southerner groaned again as the sunrays pierced his skull. Squinting, his eyes peered in the direction of the voices. The gambler could vaguely make out the shapes of Larabee, Wilmington and Dunne. JD was practically hiding behind Buck, his eyes darting nervously between the gunslinger and his oldest friend.
"And you didn't think it was strange that she didn't come back after a few minutes?" Chris snapped at Buck.
"Shoot, Chris, that's when we changed watch. JD took over and I plumb forgot to tell the kid that Helena was still out there."
"Forgot?"
As the camp came into focus for the disoriented Southerner, he finally could make out Josiah standing guard, Nathan hovering over Tanner, who was still flat on his back, and the arguing trio. No Miss Demarco in sight.
"Have we actually ascertained that the lady in question left of her own volition?" The slightly rougher drawl than usual interrupted the escalating conflict and Larabee turned to see a dishevelled Standish owlishly blinking up at him.
"Vin checked out the trail as far as he could. She headed straight through the canyon."
"Ah, " Ezra grunted. Considering that the sun was still low on the horizon, the news that Helena had disappeared was old. Realizing the debate was probably on whether to go after the troublesome lady or not, Standish sank back onto his bedroll and listened to the argument continue.
"We gotta go after her, Chris. Who knows what sorta trouble she'll run into!" Wilmington said loudly.
"Seems to be that she causes more trouble than anything else. She chose to leave, let her!"
"But, Chris, "JD said, "what about Inez? We can't just leave her cousin out here alone."
Standing up from his crouched position next to Vin, Nathan mused aloud, "She don't seem too keen tah stay with us. She's already left town and this ain't the first time she's tried to put some distance between her and us."
"Yeah, and last time Tanner had to rescue her from the Don! And Turner!" the handsome scoundrel pointed out, his moustache dancing a merry jig in his agitation. "We can't jist leave her!"
Silent so far, Josiah offered his piece of input, "I think she wants to be somewhere… and it ain't here."
"Don't make no difference, Josiah. It ain't safe for a lady to be riding out here on her own, especially so near to the Mexican border."
Buck would have continued but Chris cut him off, "I don't like leaving her out there either, but I need all able bodies here and now to bring the prisoners in. If you two ride out, we going to be short-handed." Larabee glanced at the sullen forms of Hefner and Temple. "I'm not willing to take that risk."
"But…"
"Ain't no buts about it, kid. We leave now and get to Four Corners. Then you two can go and try find her if you want." Chris' statement left no room for argument; the decision was made. Since no one else seemed inclined to continue the debate, Buck and JD subsided and continued to break camp.
Laying on his back, watching the sky lighten, Ezra wondered on Vin's silence. The tracker had attempted to follow her trail, had he done it of his own accord? While Standish knew that Vin could keep his feelings well hidden, especially on matters of the heart, he had thought that the Texan was attracted to Helena. The attraction had seemed mutual. Surely if there was a vested interest, the tracker would push to follow Helena, even offer to do it himself, despite being injured. It seemed even less like Tanner to actually let a young woman wander a territory notorious for its danger, especially one he apparently liked.
As much as his infrequent words were insightful and intelligent, when Vin chose not to speak, his silence spoke volumes. Ezra had no idea what Tanner's silence meant this time.
Larabee, who had disappeared momentarily, returned to the camp. He strode directly to the prisoners and stopped in front of the Don. The black-clad gunslinger thrust a battered piece of paper at Diego and said, "Here's your deed. Pulled it off of Turner. Take it and get out of here."
Slowly Don Diego stood, and snatched the deed from Chris' hand. Diego's eyes were hard and unforgiving. He snarled angrily at Larabee in Spanish, grabbed his few possessions, mounted up on his horse and rode out of the camp without looking back.
"What the hell did you do that for, Chris?" Buck shouted, "What if he finds Helena again?"
"He won't." The dry Texan drawl was barely audible.
"How can you be so sure?" the ladies man demanded of Vin. Ignoring Buck, Tanner sat up slowly and asked Chris, "You get what he said?"
"Most of it."
Translating for the others, the ex-bounty hunter said, "Diego told Chris he blames us for everything. Doesn't care about Helena no more. Told Chris to watch his back, that he shoulda killed him when he had the chance."
"Well that's just terrific, purely marvellous. Another crazed villain gunning for us. Fantastic." Ezra had managed to find a clean shirt and was buttoning it up, the bandages around his ribs matching the pristine white of the shirt.
No one argued that Larabee should have killed Don Diego. The man had been wronged, by both Helena and Turner and, while the Seven had played a part in their scheme, there was nothing they could do to remove any blame that the Mexican laid at their feet. What was done was done.
"We only got his word that he ain't going to trail Helena," JD pointed out, still keen to follow the missing lady.
Larabee glared at the kid for bringing up the argument again, and Dunne subsided. Nothing had changed; they still needed to get their prisoners back to Four Corners. Sighing softly, JD got back to work.
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Home Again
Mary and Inez watched the group of riders approaching, both women able to pick out distinct members of the Seven. Unable to suppress the feeling of relief that swept over her at the sight of the all the regulators returning, Mary smiled at Inez.
"What do you think JD's story is going to be?" No question in Mrs. Travis' mind that JD was innocent of any wrong doing, the blonde reporter was more eager to hear the story behind his caper yesterday. Quite a few of the citizens of Four Corners stopped to watch their protectors return, their own sense of relief evident.
As JD and Buck rode into town, ahead of the rest of the group, Harry Conklin bustled forward, opened his mouth to demand that Wilmington arrest Dunne, when Buck exclaimed, "It sure is good to be back home, kid. Whadaya think, slam these idiot bank robbers in the jail and head to the saloon?" The ladies man said this loud enough for anyone in Eagle Bend to hear, but Conklin would not be dissuaded. He tried again, opened his mouth and this time JD beat him to it. Shouting just as loudly, the kid bellowed, "Do you think folks'll understand I rode with them bank robbers only to catch 'em?"
Slapping JD on the back soundly, Buck yelled, "Sure, kid! Anyone who'd think you were stupid enough to rob your own bank, must have mush fer brains!" Wilmington directed the last part right at Conklin, who flushed and hurried away, his tail between his legs.
A few spectators smiled at the vocal duo, who continued an ear-shattering conversation down the street with Dempsey and Swanson in tow. Chris and Josiah followed with Hefner and Temple behind them, neither of the regulators concerned by the whispers that their passage generated.
Nathan made a beeline for his room above the livery, Ezra and Vin in tow. It had been a long ride and both injured men were looking forward to getting out of the saddle. Standish would have preferred to head straight to his own room, and Vin to his wagon, but the healer had his own ideas.
Once the prisoners were safely stowed away, and Josiah left to watch them, Chris walked over to Mary and Inez, who were still waiting by the Clarion.
"Ladies," Chris muttered and tipped his hat to the pair of them. Mary gave him a semi-cool look, not yet prepared to forget their argument. The object of the gunslinger's attention was Inez though, and not the widow. "You know that Helena left town?"
"Si, Senor Larabee. I realized yesterday and I think my cousin is hiding something. She is not the same person I once knew."
"We ran into her and a Mexican fella near Beggars Canyon. He was bringing her to Don Diego. She left camp early this morning, before sunrise, headed south to Mexico."
Inez nodded, sorrow colouring her features. "From the beginning Helena has been trying to go her own way. I think that it is best that we let her. She makes her own decisions, she can pay the price."
Chris nodded, knowing how hard it must have been for Inez to admit that. Trying to protect your family, even from themselves, was a hard habit to break. Since her cousin was determined to keep her secrets and play things her own way, it would be better for everyone if Helena stayed away.
Nodding in agreement, Larabee tipped his hat again and walked his horse to the livery, leaving the two women behind.
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Three weeks later, Gulch Junction
Full Circle of Regrets
Dirk Hefner was dead.
The boy-pirate turned American-outlaw had been tried, found guilty for his crimes and executed. Miles from the rivers of his youth, years from the innocence that briefly flared in the shadowed depths of the Amazon, Hefner ended his notorious career at the end of a rope.
Since being captured by Larabee, Dirk had spoken no more than two words to anyone. Those two words had been shouted at the judge when he was pronounced guilty. The few ladies present at the court at been horrified by his vulgar language, their bird-like chatter rude enough to garner a fierce glare from the outlaw.
Charles Temple had also been found guilty, and was due to be executed immediately after Hefner. With Dirk's body being cut down, the blonde man was led from the jailhouse and marched to the scaffold.
In the crowd gathered to watch his hanging, stood Josiah and Vin. Both men had reason to see justice done, Tanner for a crime that he still bore the scars of and Sanchez for the crime that he and his brother-in-law shared, failing Hannah.
Josiah had tried to talk to Temple during his trial, tried to reach an understanding between the two men. But, with the noose hanging over his head, Charles had not been prepared to forgive or forget. His final angry words to Josiah, before refusing to say another word, had been, "My blood is on your hands, Sanchez, and so is Hannah's!"
Tanner had kept a low profile in Gulch Junction, but the likelihood of anyone recognizing him was slim. As the sheriff led Temple up the scaffold, Vin felt Josiah stiffen next to him.
"Come on, Preacher; we don't gotta watch this."
Shaking his head, Sanchez sighed, "Yes, I do. I owe him this."
When it was over, the last twitch played out and the deputies moving to cut Charles Temple's body down, only then did Josiah tear his eyes away from the scene. Tanner was gone, no longer standing next to him and the preacher hadn't even heard him leave.
Turning to look over his shoulder, Josiah saw Vin astride his horse, Josiah's next to him, waiting for Sanchez. Walking towards the waiting Texan, Josiah knew that that hanging had been too close for comfort for the wanted man, the scaffold still a possible future.
As the pair rode out of town, Sanchez uneasily silent, difficult thoughts running through his head. Tanner quietly broke the silence by saying, "It ain't easy leaving things in a hard way with a body. But I reckon we don't get neatly wrapped happy endings in life."
Josiah looked up at Vin, his blue eyes meeting the Texan's, "More often than not, life leaves you with a tangled mess of knots that you have no hope of ever unravelling. And no matter how hard you try, what's done is done."
With that, the pair turned onto the trail home, both men filled with thoughts of what might have been and what was.
The end
