Divergence

By: Yolande

Editors: Mitzi, Melanye and Mary-Ann


Guest Starring:
Kenny Rogers as Sheriff Jake Jenkins
Marion Ross as Verna Jenkins
Bruce Boxleitner as Robert Perez
Orson Bean as Wes Barrett
Tommy Lee Jones as Cyrus Hernandez
Guy Pierce as Albert Mitchell
Kellie Martin as Corinne Mitchell




Prologue

When the blow came Vin Tanner was not expecting it. His mouth gaped open and a guttural sound shot forth. The flash of pain exploded inside his head, numbing his senses. He twisted around with uncoordinated movements and with his last resolve speared his aggressor with an expression of trepidation and puzzlement. He could feel his presence of mind slipping away and he reached out to steady himself. Legs became wooden and finally, could no longer keep him upright; with a pitching momentum Vin crashed to the floor. Even then his eyelids fluttered, straining for a grasp on reality. A wave of grey flooded his vision, leaving Vin in a pool of oblivion.


One

The gambler tossed a handful of coins to the centre of the table. He raised a speculative glance at the player on his left and leaned back casually in his chair waiting for the man to admit he had nothing left, and call it quits. A satisfied smile ghosted across his face when the player begrudgingly threw his hand down and scooted back his chair.

“I got nothin’ more!” With a defeated sigh, the card player exited the saloon.

Standish watched the ranch hand’s departure until he was satisfied there would be no reprisals. Ezra focused his attention on the player seated opposite him. “I believe it is your call.”

Perez wiped his nose nervously; a sign that Ezra had picked up on early in the game that indicated the bank clerk had only a mediocre hand. The older man fidgeted on his seat, and eventually withdrew a crumpled note from the bottom of his pocket. He held it hesitantly over the pot, eyeing both Ezra and the fourth player, but the clerk could not read their closed expressions. He coughed once more, and for whatever reason, dropped the money on the mound. He smiled widely, but the tremor in his hands betrayed his façade of nonchalance. “I’m in.”

Standish nodded and turned his attention to Barrett. Ezra had played several rounds with the middle-aged merchant and had been impressed by his knowledge of the game.

Wes Barrett had a moderate stake in front of him, but now he confidently pushed the entire portion to the middle. He grinned as he eyed the large pot expectantly.

Perez turned a pale shade of green at Barrett’s large wager. Standish had to stifle a chuckle. Obviously he was not convinced of his cards superiority. Amateur. “Gentlemen, time to reveal your hand.”

Perez nervously looked down at his hand and closed his eyes, praying for a miracle. His two pairs, nines and sixes, were what he had bet his last dollar on. His stomach flip-flopped in nervous anticipation.

The three remaining players revealed their cards and it was Ezra’s full house that scooped the pot. The bank clerk mumbled unhappily and followed in the wake of the ranch hand. Barrett continued to stare blankly at the face up cards, wondering how he had lost.

Standish raked his winnings closer and began straightening the notes. He smiled pleasantly at Barrett. “Always a pleasure, Sir. Thank you for the game.”

The merchant nodded slowly and sighed as he pushed back his seat. “You wouldn’t be up for another game, mister?”

Ezra smiled. “As much as I enjoy the challenge, I fear I must decline your generous offer.”

“Maybe tomorrow?” he asked, eager to recoup his losses.

“Unfortunately that also will be out of the question. My travelling companion is anxious to depart your tiny hamlet, but I shall endeavour to seek you out next time I am in town,” he added amicably.

Barrett shrugged his shoulders and trudged to the bar. He slapped two coins on the counter and was rewarded with a drink.

Standish remained seated at the table and tidied his winnings into ordered piles, then tucked them securely inside his jacket. He tapped his empty shot glass on the table absently and studied the layout of the saloon. When the bartender edged toward him with a bottle, intending to refill the gambler’s glass, Ezra covered it with his hand and motioned he was content. Once the bartender returned behind the bar, Standish gave the room another pensive glance.

The arrival of a well-dressed male staggering to the long bar, caught Ezra’s attention. He stopped short of joining Barrett, and took up a place closer to the door. This man obviously didn’t invite company. His wardrobe, although neat and clean, was worn and showing its age. Standish watched him for a few moments, gulping a drink and repouring another. His hands shook as they lifted the fiery liquid to his mouth and Ezra wondered whether the gentleman was unwell or already on the road to a drunken stupor. The bartender walked the length of the bar, filling the merchant’s glass and moving down to the other patron. A few words were passed between the barman and the new arrival, but Standish’s interest had dwindled in the gentlemanly drunk.

Ezra consulted his pocket watch and frowned. It was almost two. He licked his lips, and regretted refusing another shot of whiskey; his throat was becoming tight. Tanner had been adamant about stipulating his desire to leave by noon. Why hadn’t he arrived? “Where are you, Vin?” Ezra whispered, keeping his eyes riveted on the swinging doors.

Ezra tapped his deck of cards and proceeded to manipulate them through dexterous fingers. If he’d known Vin was going to be late, then he wouldn’t have been so hasty to finish off his game, or to rebuke the merchant’s offer of another round. He glanced at the long bar, but Barrett had already departed after completing his drink. He noticed, too, that the well-dressed gentleman had also vanished. And the patrons remaining in the Howling Dogs saloon were not fit for intelligent conversation, let alone a game of intelligent poker. With a drawn out sigh he pocketed the deck and exited the building.

Two

Standish hovered out front of the saloon, as the tracker had been resolute in meeting Ezra there, after he’d completed his mission. Whatever that was, Standish mused – Tanner had been mysteriously quiet on the subject, refusing to explain. And Ezra’s offer to accompany the tracker had been thwarted, but to his advantage at least…he’d made considerable profits from the poker games at the tables that afternoon.

Ezra consulted his watch once again and a moment’s doubt started to creep in. He paced to the rail and glanced in both directions, chancing to spot the buckskin jacket that Vin was so fond of, but his initial scrutiny of the street was unproductive. The throng bustled along the sidewalk and Ezra slowly moved to the set of stairs. He paused on the brink of the top step, hoping to get a better view over the bobbing heads. Standish ignored the mumbled complaints as people were forced to sidestep around him while he stood unmoving on the veranda.

He found and watched the merchant’s hobbling gait as he shuffled along the many stores, finally picking his moment to across over to the opposite side of the road. A carriage rattled past, continuing on down the west end, hindering his view for a moment. He lost track of the lame merchant. His shoulder was jostled and the gambler was forced to step backward from the collision to collect his balance.

“Mr. Tanner, where are you?” he mumbled, smiling warily at the obscure glances he received from two young ladies who happened to walk by at the time of his query. Ezra tilted his head in a perfunctory bow. “Could I trouble you ladies for the correct time?” He pulled his watch from his vest and flipped it open. “Mine appears to be running fast.” He hoped. Vin wouldn’t have just left without him? Would he?

The ladies stopped and barely restrained their giggles. One answered that she didn’t carry the time and they hurried down the boardwalk, leaving Standish staring after them.

“Great,” he grumbled unenthusiastically. The Southerner jumped over the edge and hit at road at a jog, in the direction of the livery. If he hurried Tanner would never realise he’d left his post. He just needed to reassure himself that the tracker’s steed was indeed still stabled and that Vin had not yet departed town. He trusted Vin; it was just… precautionary, he argued. But there was a nagging doubt that lingered. After all, Vin had not been open with the gambler about their sojourn to Sovereign. And trusting another went against everything he’d ever been taught.

Ezra discovered the horse stabled, as he’d hoped, alongside his own mount. The black gelding shook its head and edged closer to the half door. It stretched its neck out and pushed at the gambler’s shoulder. “Are you missing your owner?” He rubbed the horse between the ears. “You haven’t seen him, have you?” Standish whispered conspiratorially, checking over his shoulder and expecting at any moment to hear Tanner’s amusement in his dry Texan tones, but the space behind him was empty. “At least I don’t expect you to reply,” Ezra drawled, absently petting the horse.

The gambler spent the remaining daylight hours, searching out the town for his elusive friend, but Vin was nowhere to be found. He asked numerous people if they’d seen, or spoken with Tanner, but unfortunately the tracker had vanished. He hesitated at bringing the constabulary to the attention of Vin’s disappearance, as the former bounty hunter was still wanted with a considerable reward on his head. But as the day came to a close, Ezra’s worry for his missing friend grew and he headed for the telegraph office.

Three

Chris Larabee stormed into the jailhouse. He glanced at the sole prisoner behind the bars and dismissed him as unimportant, turning his full attention on the man sitting behind the desk. Buck. “Leave him,” Larabee ordered, and walked outside, his black duster flapping predatorily behind him.

Buck Wilmington caught up with his friend in the street, but had to increase his pace to keep step with the irate gunslinger. He recognised the stern lines on the face of the gunslinger, it came with many years of knowing the other man. “What’s up?”

“I’ll explain when we’ve got everyone together.”

Wilmington nodded, he knew when it was wise to push Larabee, and now was not the time. “I’ll go get Josiah.” They’d been friends for over a decade. Something was up. And whatever it was, it was important to Chris Larabee. That made it equally important to Buck.

“JD too, if you know where he is,” Chris added before stalking off to the clinic.

Josiah Sanchez, JD Dunne and Buck were waiting in the saloon when Larabee entered. Their talking ceased, and as one three heads lifted in anticipation. Nathan Jackson, the town’s healer, trailed a pace behind the tense enigma.

Chris noted that the room was deserted, other than his fellow lawmen. That could have been just fortuitous, considering it was still relatively early, but he wondered if Wilmington had precipitated it somehow. Buck was always one step ahead. He nodded with thanks to the ladies’ man.

“Got a wire from Standish,” Larabee broke the silence with his terse tone. “Says Vin’s gone.”

“What does he mean... gone?” Buck frowned, fearing that the lanky tracker had met an untimely death. He hadn’t known Tanner as long as he’d known Chris and didn’t share the unique camaraderie that existed between Chris and Vin, but the Texan was someone Buck considered to be a close personal friend and he would be pained to lose any of his friends.

“Vanished,” Chris clarified, handing the note to Wilmington for him to read. “Standish can’t find him.”

“Has he even looked?” Nathan asked caustically.

“Maybe Vin just rode on ahead.”

Chris shook his head at Dunne. Standish would do that, but not Vin. “His horse is still at the livery.”

“Bounty hunters?” Josiah queried, a furrow etched deeply between the preacher’s eyes. There was always that possibility considering the large sum of money that rested on Tanner’s head. They didn’t need to be reminded that it had happened before - and recently at that. Tanner really needed to clear his name. Being falsely accused of murdering Jess Kincaid was going to be Vin’s downfall…if it wasn’t already.

Chris flicked his gaze to the older man and grimly thinned his lips. “Yeah, could be.”

“Ridge City is pretty big. Is Ezra certain Vin is truly missing?” Josiah challenged. “Maybe Vin just wanted some time to himself.” Can be mighty frustrating at times being in the company of the Southerner, without some respite. Standish could talk a dead horse into seeking out a better final resting place. Him jawing on Tanner’s ear for a week solid might have broken Vin’s resolve.

“They ain’t in Ridge City.”

Nathan plucked the wire from Buck’s hands. “Sovereign!” he exclaimed.

Chris rubbed at his jaw. He agreed with Jackson’s stunned revelation and it troubled him not knowing why they had travelled to the progressive western town. It was not on a direct route between Ridge City and Four Corners and Larabee knew Vin was almost paranoid about avoiding large crowds.

“What are they doin’ there?” Jackson questioned suspiciously. “That adds at least two more days on the trail goin’ that way.” Don’t it beat all, he sneered. Standish and Tanner were due back in town on the morrow.

“I don’t know. But I aim to find out!” Then maybe this nonsense can be cleared up. He’d sent the pair to Ridge City to act as protection for a friend of Judge Travis. Job was to last a week and then they were to return to Four Corners. There was plenty of work to do here without losing two of his men to another town on babysitting services. They were shorthanded with two of the seven away and the five remaining peacekeepers had been strung thinly covering their absence.

“We all goin’?” Dunne asked, jumping to his feet eager to get going.

“Yeah. I want to leave within an hour.”

“And Barnes?” Wilmington queried.

Chris arched a speculative eyebrow. “Who?”

“Clay Barnes, the fella we got locked up in the jail,” Buck supplied, a small grin curled under his thick moustache.

“What’d he do?”

“Just knocked over a few stools and smashed a coupla windows.”

“Drunk,” Chris surmised. Friday and Saturday nights were always the same; there was always some fool who wound up in the lock up for the night. Sometimes it was more than one.

“Yep.”

“Let him out with a warning.”

Four

“Sovereign.” Dunne stepped up in his stirrups and casually checked out the town. He brought his hand to his face and shielded it from the sun; the brim of the bowler hat didn’t give him sufficient shade, but he’d never admit that to Buck. Wilmington hated his choice of headwear, but if Bat Masterson could get away wearing a bowler, than so could he. JD planned on making a name for himself and he needed a recognisable trademark. There was no way in hell he was getting rid of it.

While they sat on the crest before entering town a carriage pulled out past them and several men on horseback found their way into town. The carriage continued through the town and didn’t slow up until it reached the far end. Both the riders stopped at the first saloon, leaving their horses tethered to the hitching rail.

Sovereign bustled with activity and although it was only marginally larger than Four Corners, the population was significantly higher. People hurried along the boardwalks, even spilling out onto the road as they went about their chores. Children played hopscotch and marbles in any vacant space. They ran in groups of four or five chasing each other and shouting their pleasure at not attending school.

“Reckon we’re gonna find Vin here?” It had been two days since Ezra had sent word to the remaining seven and upon arriving, Dunne discovered Sovereign busier than he expected it to be. There were folks everywhere! Buck had informed the young gunslinger that he had visited Sovereign many years before, but had not been overly impressed with his stay, stating that he barely remembered the fledgling western town. It had become a boomtown, coming ahead in those years, following the discovery of silver. Not everyone lived in the boarding houses or could afford the prestige of a room in one of several hotels, hence the white city of tents that encroached the entry into town.

The businesses had expanded with the influx of people seeking their fortunes, bringing wealth to the small industries, if not to many of the hardworking miners.

Larabee stared at the young gunslinger for a moment, and without saying a word he continued down the main road. He regarded the hungry look in the many travellers and scowled. How had Standish managed to entice Tanner into coming here? The scent of failure far outweighed those successes and many became so destitute in attempting to reach their goals that any profits made were diminished by the hardships of life. He found it hard fathoming the attraction that digging one’s grave could bring. It irked him that Standish would be interested. Sure, Larabee knew the gambler was greedy and manipulative, hadn’t he abandoned them at the Seminole village to chase after the elusive gold? He wondered who would do the manual labour; Standish was not one to dig around in the dirt.

Dunne sat back in his seat. “Did I say somethin’ wrong?”

Buck shook his head. When would the kid learn to keep his tongue under control? “Not likely that Tanner would still be here. If bounty hunters have got him, then they’d be on their way to Tuscosa by now.”

JD gasped, and his eyes widened. “Then why aren’t we in Tuscosa?”

Sanchez guided his horse alongside the others. It had been a fast and furious trip. His aging bones were feeling aches and pains that in younger years would not have concerned him. “We don’t know that’s why Vin disappeared, son. Could be, he wasn’t taken by bounty hunters.” What was the chance of that? He still held some hope for the Texan – Josiah had not seen any crows.

“So do we check with the sheriff?” Dunne glanced along the buildings searching for the sheriff’s office.

“Might not be wise to invite the law into our search, JD.” Sanchez kneed his mount and led it passed the others.

“Then how we plannin’ on finding Vin?”

“We find Ezra first,” Wilmington advised.


Larabee dismounted the black gelding and loosened the cinch. He stalked to the swinging doors and stood in the doorway getting a feel for the atmosphere. He allowed his eyes to adjust to the dim lighting, clouded thickly with wafting rings of smoke, the bright sunlight from outdoors not permeating into the building. The spasmodic roar of laughter and click of glass drifted to greet him at the entrance, drawing his roving eyes about the hectic interior. His grim expression turned to anger when he discovered Standish at the centre of the room, playing court to a handful of cowboys. His fury increased when Ezra laughed loudly and raked in his winnings. Chris let the door swing back and surged into the room; ignoring the curious looks he received. He wove his way between the furniture and sweaty bodies until he stood over Ezra’s table. He planted his hand amid the gambler’s booty. “Game’s over!” His mouth quirked menacingly and the group dispersed rapidly.

“Mr. Larabee,” Standish drawled, relaxing back in his seat.

Chris hooked a chair with his leg and sank slowly into it, never losing eye contact with the Southerner. “Where’s Vin?” he snarled.

“I trust you had an uneventful journey?” Standish arched his brows. “At least the weather was to your advantage,” he rambled, drawing a pinched look from the gunslinger. Ezra shifted his gaze as the others spread throughout the saloon, wending their way over to his table. “Gentlemen! What an unexpected surprise.”

“What the hell are you on about?” Chris hissed, grabbing a handful of the gambler’s vest and pulling them together. “Where is Vin?!”

Ezra smiled, but the gesture was not friendly. He glanced contemptuously down at Larabee’s hold. There was always a barrier between the pair. If not for the others, Ezra knew his presence would not be welcome. It all went back to his desertion at the Seminole village – it was an ill-conceived idea and greedy trait, but what had been done, could never be undone. He regretted his moment of weakness, and his decision to leave still weighed heavily between Chris and forgiveness. Larabee only tolerated him for God knows whatever reasons. Perhaps his skills were of some use to the gunslinger. Though Larabee would never admit it. Maybe his time with the seven had drawn to an end. “Perhaps we could discuss this in private,” Ezra snarled through clenched teeth, knowing that they had gained the full attention of everybody in the room. News of the five potentially dangerous newcomers’ arrival in Sovereign would be all over town before they left the building.

Josiah patted Chris on the shoulder, squeezing slightly when the gunslinger didn’t immediately release his hold on Ezra. “That sounds like a good idea. You got a room at the hotel, Ezra?”

Standish slowly nodded, answering the preacher’s question. He pushed back the chair and walked at a clipped pace from the saloon.

“Buck.” Larabee gestured with his head.

Dunne stepped in line to follow Wilmington and Larabee, but Josiah’s large hand to the middle of his chest stopped him in his tracks. “But…” he frowned up at the tall man.

“You weren’t invited. And the horses need tending to, son.” Sanchez moved to the bar. He could do with a stiff drink after the bone-jarring ride.

Dunne stood still, his hands resting on his hilt of his guns. “But, aren’t we…we need ta…what are…Aw hell.” He waved his hands high in the air and stomped from the building, mumbling under his breath.

Five

“All right, Standish. What’s going on?” Larabee hadn’t completely entered the rented room before he started. He didn’t take note of the peeling wall paint or the scuffed floorboards; Chris wanted answers, and he wanted them yesterday. His best friend was missing.

The Southerner waited until Buck closed the door before sparing a glance at the irate gunman. “I thought it would be more prudent not to have the entire populace of Sovereign privy to our dilemma, or for them to realise we were all working together, but that is a mute point now.” Ezra startled a fraction when Chris drew his gun and pointed it at his chest. He licked his lips and watched as the gunslinger’s finger tightened around the lever.

“Chris,” Buck warned, but made no move to stop Larabee. Instead, he rested his frame against the door, folding his arms across his chest. “I ‘spect, Chris is mighty pissed considering we come all this way only to find you involved in a poker game. Figured you woulda been doin’ a bit more ta find Vin. Thought he was yer friend!” Wilmington accused.

Ezra stepped backwards cautiously, his back to the window, keeping the greatest possible distance between him and the two angry gunfighters. His eyes still fixated on the Colt in Larabee’s hand. He wondered if the gunman was going to use it. “I didn’t cause Mr. Tanner’s disappearance!” His own anger growing to match theirs.

“Don’t look to me like you could care less,” Larabee snarled, bringing his arm down and making a show of holstering his Colt.

Ezra sighed; he had fully expected a confrontation, but not to this extent. “Mr. Larabee, I have been familiarizing myself with the good people of this town. Getting to know them, and for them to trust me will facilitate their willingness to talk. I needed to gain their confidence. This can only assist in locating Mr. Tanner,” he explained.

Larabee thumped his fist on the bureau, rattling the mirror that hung on the wall. “You lazy son of a bitch! Do you take me for a fool? I could see quite clearly what you were doing when I walked into that saloon, and it sure as hell wasn’t working to find Vin! I don’t have time for this! I’ve got a friend to find,” the gunslinger dismissed, glowering at the gambler as he stormed out.

“Mr. Wilmington,” Ezra paused, waiting until Buck faced him. “Would you please inform Mr. Larabee that it is indeed possible Vin is still in town.”

“But you don’t know where?”

“No.”

“That it?”

He was displeased with how the reunion had panned out and his shoulders sagged, in desolation. “Yes.” He had spent the past two days scouring the town searching for a trace, but he was not a tracker. He had come up with a few clues, but he needed time to analyse them. He thought with the arrival of the others that they could help muddle though them. Perhaps when Larabee had calmed down, he mused. No, he wasn’t going to listen to anything the gambler had to say; at least not for a while.

He rubbed his thumb over his lower lip, staring at the empty room. Maude might have been right after all. He had stayed in Four Corners far too long, formed too many attachments, and now depended on six other men to watch his back. It was a weakness he could well do without. They didn’t trust him to watch their backs. Now the others were here, perhaps it was high time to abandon his façade that he belonged. And before he was asked to leave, it might be wise to make his own plans to slip away.

Six

Tanner shifted his weight, groaning slightly as the manacles rubbed against his raw wrists. His arms were numb from being drawn together above his head and locked against the stonewall. Initially his hands tingled with pins and needles, but that had long since faded. His entire body was a mass of aches and bruises. He brushed his cheek on his shoulder, scratching at the stubble on his face. He wouldn’t say no to a bath and shave at the moment.

Vin licked at his lips, feeling the dry cracks that were split with fresh blood. God, he needed a drink. He longingly eyed the barrel that was temptingly out of reach. “Damn, that son of a bitch!” he cursed, pounding the wall at his back with his boot. Curses to his bad luck! Of all the places he could have visited and it was this piss ant town that somebody recognised him. He hadn’t even considered it. His sole purpose eliminated any prospective threats from his mind. The size of the town had increased since he’d last visited. The discovery of silver proved a boon. He imagined Standish was frothing at the bit to get his hands on some.

The Texan wondered why he’d been shackled in this tiny room, and not on his way to Tuscosa to hang. When he was chasing bounties, as soon as he’d captured the outlaw, Tanner would head them off to jail and claim his reward. This situation was strange. He couldn’t get a grip on why he was being held, unless his captor had no plans on taking Vin to Tuscosa. But that made no sense at all.

Vin was curious as to why he was still in Sovereign, or he presumed still moderately close to town. His keeper lived in Sovereign. He’d knocked Vin out and brought him to this place of hell, claiming to know about the five hundred dollar bounty on the tracker’s head, but as yet, he’d not shown any plans to move Tanner. Vin pondered the reasons his jailor waited. At least the delay in setting off for Tuscosa would give Ezra a chance to find him. That was assuming the gambler bothered. But then, what if Ezra was hurt because of him? What if the gambler came looking for him and got injured, or worse, while he looked? What if the cretin who clobbered Vin, wasn’t so forgiving of the Southerner?

Tanner wondered if the others knew of his disappearance. They had to, he mused. Ezra and Vin had been due back in Four Corners a few days ago. Standish would’ve had to tell them something. He knew this without a doubt.

He swallowed painfully; his throat was dry and hoarse from calling out. Guess it wasn’t too important for his captor to feed him regularly or allow him to drink. Reckon if he were going to hang it would be the last thing he should be considering. His jailer came twice a day, once early in the morning before the sun had risen, and again in the evening. He seemed set on the peculiar schedule, offering Vin meagre scrapings and a drink from the barrel. Then the man would desert him for the remainder of the day. The jailer said very little to him at these times and was nervous and fidgety in the tracker’s presence. He’d noticed the wedding band on the man’s finger and wondered if he had family in town. Vin attempted to pump the skittish man for information, but he would only state that he was surprised that Tanner was so eager to die.

Vin wiggled his fingers, attempting to alleviate the numbing sensations. He rested his head between his raised arms, and contemplated for the umpteenth time how the weaselly man had gotten the upper hand. He should never have let his guard down, even for a minute, but that was all it took. He recalled visiting the graveyard and only being vaguely aware of the other man in the fenced off cemetery. He didn’t know how long he stood at the aging headstone. He had swept away the weeds that fought to take over the plot and crouched beside the grave, tears threatening at the corners of his eyes.

His head was buried in his hands as a shadow swept over him. It didn’t immediately register as a threat, but the slight scuffle of boots in the dried clay had his head snapping up and his mare’s leg in his hands aimed and cocked at the intruder. The dark cloaked mourner startled, raising both hands in defence. He apologised for the interruption, stumbling over his feet, and his words, and quickly backing out of the graveyard to rush terrified down the street.

Vin immediately felt ashamed for the fear he’d caused the other man. After all, he assumed, they were both visiting with loved ones. He watched the fleeing back of the other man, taking note of which building he entered. Tanner intended to apologise after he’d finished his visit, before meeting up with Standish at the saloon. It would only take a few minutes longer to make the detour. But he wouldn’t feel right leaving town without first making amends.

That wasn’t exactly how things turned out.

Vin kicked his free leg out angrily, and slammed his head back on the bricks, wincing at the pain the action caused. The knot on the side of his head was healing, but after the rash movement the throbbing renewed, and he cursed his stupidity.

Tanner mulled over Ezra’s reaction to his disappearance. Did Standish even care? The Southerner had been curious to learn why Vin altered their route so they could visit Sovereign, and had badgered him relentlessly until Tanner had lost his temper and angrily told Standish to mind his own business. Their parting words had been quite spiteful and Tanner was ashamed of his behaviour. He hadn’t intended to alienate the gambler, but the verbose man wouldn’t stop harassing him for an answer. One he didn’t feel comfortable discussing with Standish. Not at that time.

After spending the past three days shackled in the gloomy prison he would give anything just for some company. He hated the claustrophobic feeling of the small room, and spent many hours just concentrating on his breathing so he wouldn’t go mad. The room stank of rotting vegetation and, to his embarrassment, his own bodily fluids also merged with the unhealthy odour, not to mention that it was incredibly cold and damp during the night and stinking hot during the day. The ceiling served as a floor to the room above, but it was obviously not used by anyone but his captor. He called out until he was hoarse, but no one came to his aid. The smell of horseflesh and manure drifted down through the trapdoor whenever it was opened, and the curiously strong scent of lumbar.

Vin winced as the manacles bit into his arms, he changed his position again, wishing he could lie down or even sit for a time. How much longer did he have to wait? “Help! Is anybody up there?”

Seven

Chris returned to the Howling Dogs saloon, his mood apparent by the dark scowl and fury in his steel blue eyes. He didn’t pay much attention to the dimly lit saloon; as far as saloons went, this one was no better and no worse then any others he’d visited since his wife’s death. It was a place to meet and drink - nothing more. He laid claim to a vacant table and tossed his hat to the centre.

Josiah and Nathan moved from adjacent corners of the room, joining Chris at the table by the door. Josiah’s deep baritone broke the silence between them. “Nobody’s talking much. Seems like they don’t cotton to strangers.”

Jackson nodded in agreement. “I talked to those folk over there and they aren’t saying much of anything.”

“And we’ve only got Ezra’s word that Tanner was with him when they came to Sovereign,” Larabee snarled suspiciously. Had Standish abandoned Vin in an earlier town, and was he now conning them to believe Vin had disappeared here? Chris had to wonder at the gambler’s motives, if that was the case.

“Ezra may be a self-serving con-artist, but I don’t think he’s lying about this. Don’t reckon even he’d pull something like that,” Sanchez said in defence.

“Maybe he’s got the wool pulled over yer eyes, Josiah,” Chris snorted.

Wilmington brushed through the swinging doors and dragged a seat from elsewhere, edging it between Josiah and Chris. He studied the tight control that Larabee held over his emotions and hoped the mountain was not about to erupt. “Ezra reckons Vin is still in town.” Buck watched the slight tick that began at the corner of Larabee’s mouth and spread to form a sneer. Chris didn’t believe the gambler.

“Did he say what they were doing here?” Standish’s quick get rich scheme, no doubt.

Buck raised and dropped his shoulders into a noncommittal shrug. He hadn’t thought to quiz the gambler on why they deviated to Sovereign. “Does it matter?” The most crucial point at present surely was Vin’s absence.

“Spread out,” Chris ordered. “See what you can find out. Talk to everyone, twice if necessary. And don’t forget those miners.”

“I’ll take the boarding house on this side of the street,” Josiah offered.

Chris nodded. “Get JD to see about the other one.”

“I’ll go talk to the smithy,” Nathan volunteered. He’d noticed the blacksmith’s shop on the way into town. He figured that being an ex-slave himself would be an advantage, considering the dark skin colour of the smithy. Not that Nathan was a bigot, but sometimes they found it easier to talk more freely to one of their own kind. And they didn’t have time for hurt egos. Nathan left before the others had even finished discussing where they would go.

“Buck…”

“I’ll take the Chinese laundry…it’s amazing what you can learn in those places.”

“Fine.” Chris would work his way through the guests at the hotel.



Ezra watched from his hotel window as the five lawmen dispersed from the saloon. He followed the destinations of each and decided that approaching Chris again would not be advisable. He settled on Josiah and checking his cravat in the mirror and straightening it, he left his temporary abode. “There is no point replicating over the same groundwork,” he muttered. “If only Mr. Larabee had listened.”

“Mr. Sanchez, a moment of your time, sir?” Ezra jogged up to him, panting slightly.

Josiah paused, a speculative smile lighting up his eyes. “Somethin’ on your mind, Ezra?”

“I have already spent considerable time questioning these residents about Mr. Tanner’s absence. And they had nought to share worthy of our time.”

The former preacher folded his arms and leaned his back on a support post, his foot resting on the bottom step of the boarding house. “Maybe you didn’t ask the right questions.”

Ezra’s eyes sparked with indignation. “I assure you sir, I am quite adept at eliciting pertinent information.”

Sanchez shrugged, not about to invoke Larabee’s wrath. He intended to make his own inquiries. “You can come with me,” he offered.

Standish smiled wanly, shaking his head. Even Josiah wouldn’t take him at his word. “No, don’t let me delay you any further,” he drawled sarcastically. The Southerner returned to the hotel, muttering under his breath.

Eight

Five of the seven had returned to the Howling Dogs, although Standish sat apart, he waited all the same. It wasn’t long before their final member arrived. Buck joined them, a broad grin clearly seen under the thick moustache. He rubbed the palms of his hands together, his fingers interlacing with each other. “Boys,” he greeted. Beckoning with his head, he left the building.

The mass exodus of the six lawmen drew curious looks from the other patrons, but none of them were brave, or stupid enough, to follow.

“What’d you find, Buck,” Larabee asked immediately.

“Fella by the name of Herb, reckons he remembers seeing someone dressed like Vin, being led outta town a couple of nights ago, with two other men. Could be bounty hunters got the drop on him.”

“Was he hurt?” Jackson asked. Buck shrugged, unable to answer the healer’s question.

“I don’t recall talking with a Herb,” Standish interjected, frowning as he consulted a pocket book he pulled from his jacket.

Larabee cast an impatient look at the gambler and back to Wilmington. “Good work, Buck. Did he say which way they were headed?” Wilmington pointed down the road. “Tuscosa,” Chris grimly nodded. That was all he needed.

“Gentlemen, this can’t be right,” Standish interrupted again, tapping a finger on a page filled with notes and observations he’d collated concerning Vin’s mysterious disappearance. Most of it was useless, but he was certain he had not spoken with anyone by that name. “What did this Herb look like?” he addressed Wilmington.

Buck shrugged. “Kinda average, brown hair, nothin’ real particular about him…”

“That describes half the population in town. Do none of you find this strangely convenient… considering I’ve searched for the past three days for Vin and have not come across this Herb? Yet within a few hours of your arrival, one of you reveals Vin has been taken by bounty hunters. Two night ago, I might add,” he drawled.

“Reckon you weren’t looking in the right place…”

“Just what are you inferring, Mr. Wilmington?”

“Enough!” Chris shouted. “We need to leave, they’ve got a hell of a lead on us.”

“You’re going?” Ezra asked incredulously. “What if you’re wrong?”

Larabee stepped within inches of the gambler. “What if we ain’t?” His words a mere whisper, but the threat behind them was apparent.

“May I ask,” Ezra called after their retreating backs as they raced for the livery to saddle their horses. “Did you find this Herb yourself or did he perchance come to you and offer this information?” Standish sighed despondently as he was left standing in the centre of the street, Wilmington not bothering to acknowledge his question. That was assuming, the larger man had heard it with his haste to leave. Why don’t they listen to me?

“You coming with us?” JD urgently called, spinning in the dirt.

It was a long pause before the Southerner answered. “Not at this time, Mr. Dunne.”

Nine

The gambler waved a solemn hand as his friends left. He stood watching them until the thundering echo of five horses faded in the distance and the clouds of dust settled back to the road. He continued to stare down the path long after they had departed. Should he wait? Or go with them? He numbly held onto the rail, hanging on with a white-knuckled grip. Damn you, Larabee! Damn you all to hell!

Ezra’s eyes widened briefly when he finally noticed, on the opposite side of the road, the intense look the sheriff too, had been giving his compatriots. When the lawman turned his attention to Standish, Ezra saluted him with two fingers. He inwardly groaned as the man set a path toward him.

“You ain’t leaving with ‘em?” He dropped the cigar stub and ground it out with the heel of his boot.

“I’m afraid there are more opportunities at the tables then I expected,” he smiled affably at the sheriff and moved to sidestep around him.

“Standish, ain’t it?” At Ezra’s slight nod the man continued. “Jake Jenkins.” He held out his hand, but when Ezra ignored the gesture he lowered it to his side. “Probably be best if you were leaving too.” The sheriff patted the gun that was holstered in his gunbelt around his broad hips.

Ezra’s smile didn’t falter. “Indeed?” He leant against the vertical post and eyed the aging lawman speculatively. Why did he want the gambler to leave?

“You and yer friends have been askin’ a lot of questions…don’t deny it,” he forestalled by holding up his hand. “I ain’t blind…and I got a lot of loyal deputies that will back me up.”

“What do you want?”

“Want ta know why yer chasing after Tanner, for a start?”

Ezra’s smile withered a fraction, but it was so slight the sheriff would not have noticed. “I’m afraid you’ve been fed some sort of nonsense…”

“I didn’t come down in the last shower, Mister! I know Vin Tanner has a bounty on his head and I’m well aware you know that too. Now, if I have to, I can show you to the jail,” he nodded off to Ezra’s right and then to his left, indicating the deputies that had gathered on either side of the Southerner.

Ezra followed Jenkins’s gaze and cursed. How had he let them steal up behind him? And what exactly was the lawman insinuating? Why would Jenkins suggest locking up the gambler? There were many occasions that he warranted incarceration, but then he was usually at fault and deserving of the punishment. But in this case he had done nothing wrong. At least he didn’t think so.

And the sheriff seemed aware of the bounty on Tanner’s head. Didn’t that make Jenkins a suspect, one Standish hadn’t initially considered in Vin’s disappearance? Was he the man who’d abducted Vin? “If you are after the reward on Vin, I think you’ll find it has already been claimed.” That is if Buck’s information was correct.

Misunderstanding Ezra’s statement, the lawman shook his head. Was Standish saying that the five men who just rode out had captured Vin and were about to claim the reward? “Tanner didn’t leave with yer friends…” The confused expression on the sheriff’s face changed to a grim line as he glanced down the dirt road at the path Larabee and the others took to depart town.

Ezra’s own confusion rose. They seemed to be talking in circles. “No,” he drawled cautiously. “They are friends of Mr. Tanner.” He dared not say anymore for fear that the sheriff would form a posse and send them after Larabee to prevent the gunslinger from assisting the tracker. Or some such notion.

“Yer a friend of Vin’s, too?”

Standish slowly nodded. The sheriff sounded more threatening toward him than he did when he spoke of the tracker.

Jenkins seemed to be considering this news. “I’ve been livin’ in these parts for near on forty-five years,” he revealed. Been sheriff of Sovereign for the past three years. I raised my family here, two daughters and three sons. I lost two of my boys in the first year of the war and lost my first grandchild to scarlet fever. My girls both live in town with their families and my son runs a coach service through here once a week. I’m right proud of my kids. And I believe family should always come first.”

Ezra wondered if the sheriff expected some sort of reply from him.

“Spent the best years of my life in Sovereign. There are some real fine folks here. Some of them have left, but friends are hard to come by, and when you find people who share the same beliefs and goals, they are the ones you remember. The ones who you’ll stick yer neck out a little further to protect.”

“This is all very interesting, but…”

“Tanners lived here a while,” he interrupted the gambler. “Not long, mind you, but Vin’s ma is buried out at the cemetery.” He pointed to the south road that led from town. The cemetery on the knoll was surrounded with a picketed fence. “The boy and his father left soon after she died.”

Standish snapped his gaze up and followed the outstretched fingers. Was that why Vin wanted so desperately to visit here? “This has all been very enlightening, but I must be going.” He was pulled back to the boardwalk as thick fingers dug into his arm, reminding him that he was not at liberty to leave until Jenkins deemed it.

“Let him leave, Turner,” Jenkins ordered the deputy on Ezra’s left.

Ezra quirked an amused eyebrow at the lawman. “Thank you,” he belatedly added as the three lawmen drifted back to the jailhouse. He needed to find Herb. “Do you happen to know where I might find a gentleman by the name of… Herb?”

Jenkins spun on his heels, glanced between his deputies and up to the Southerner. “Ain’t no one in town. ‘Cept maybe Hernandez. Cyrus Hernandez.” He shrugged, could be him, Jenkins mused. “The boys sometimes refer to him as Herb,” he added thoughtfully, rubbing at his jaw. “Lots of new folk coming in all the time though, hard to keep track of them all.”

Standish nodded. He’d seen the steady stream of traffic arriving each day. “Where would I find this Cyrus Hernandez?”

“He’s probably working at Barrett’s, does some of the heavy work for Wes, seeing as how the old codger’s got a crippled leg. If he ain’t there, then he’s got a shack down by the river, about half a mile out of town …”

“Thank you.” He’d seen the merchant’s store and didn’t require directions.

Ten

The gambler strolled along the side of the store. He quickly glanced inside the building and discovered only the elderly Wes Barrett slouching behind the counter. Standish didn’t say anything to the storeowner, as he was reluctant to alert Hernandez, or to have the merchant press him about another game of chance. As much as Standish had enjoyed the challenge the older man presented, he had lost a marginal amount of money to the gambler over the last few days and Ezra was reluctant to take any more of his money. Barrett seemed to be addicted to the game, and when he wasn’t behind the counter in his store he was playing poker in the saloon. Standish didn’t want to be the one to send the merchant into financial difficulties. Although the way Barrett was obsessed with the game, it was only a matter of time before he fell from grace.

Standish skirted the merchant’s store and lingered at the corner of the building, watching as two lumbering giants loaded a wagon with sawn timber. Ezra recognised both men immediately from his previous conversations with each, although neither man’s name came to mind. He had talked with them both regarding Vin’s disappearance, but neither had been forthcoming with any relevant information. He wondered which man was Cyrus Hernandez, and why he had belatedly come forward to speak with Buck. Only one way to find out, he surmised. “Mr Hernandez…” Ezra called out, stepping clear of the building’s shadow.

To the Southerner’s surprise, both men’s eyes jumped to meet his, but only for a fraction of a second. The man closest to Ezra lazily glanced behind himself to his partner and grunted when he was left to struggle alone with the board when the other end was hastily dropped. Hernandez raced to his saddled horse, and sprang into the seat, spurring it into motion.

Ezra arched a speculative eyebrow and shared a brief look with the bewildered lackey. “Was it something I said?” the gambler asked derisively. “That was Cyrus Hernandez, I presume?”

“Yeah,” the giant grumbled, rubbing at his shoulder. “He owe ya money or something?” The lumbering man looked Ezra up and down. He had seen the gambler in the saloon, recently.

“Or something,” Standish admitted and made plans to follow his most recent clue. Herb…or Hernandez must know something or why else had he run? Why had he told Buck about seeing Vin leaving with two bounty hunters? The others might not trust him to find Vin, but he was determined to see this through, especially as Larabee had left him little choice, by going to Tuscosa. Standish firmly believed Vin Tanner was not very far away. There were too many inconsistencies. Too many questions and too few answers.



Standish guided the chestnut gelding along the banks of the river. A well-used path dictated his direction. It wasn’t long before the Southerner could see the cabin. His first impression was that the place was deserted, but on closer examination Ezra could hear movements within the structure. He dismounted, leaving his horse behind to cross the last part on foot.

He picked up a handful of stones, and stalked to the cabin. Nobody came outside to greet him. When Ezra reached the front, he saw Hernandez’s horse tethered under a lean-to. It lifted its head from the bucket of feed, and nickered softly. The mount flicked its tail, but presently went back to eating. Standish tossed one of the stones high in the air; it landed with a soft thud on the cabin’s roof. He threw another one a few seconds after the first. And then a third.

After the fifth stone hit the roof, Cyrus Hernandez threw open the door. He stared wide-eyed and slack jawed into the business end of Ezra’s Remington.

“Mr. Hernandez,” Standish drawled. “We have some business to discuss.” He motioned the larger man back inside the dwelling. How could Buck describe this giant as average height? Maybe average compared to Wilmington, but Hernandez towered over Ezra.

“I don’t know what you want,” Hernandez hedged.

The gambler indicated to his prisoner to sit. “Keep your hands on the table,” he instructed. “You are Herb, are you not?”

The lackey shrugged his agreement.

“Good. You informed Mr. Wilmington, that you witnessed Mr. Tanner being escorted from town in the presence of bounty hunters.”

Once again Hernandez nodded nervously as he kept his gaze on the gambler’s weapon.

“You didn’t inform me of this occurrence when we conversed,” he accused.

Hernandez fidgeted in the chair. “Guess I forgot.”

The Southerner walked behind Hernandez and cocked the pistol close the other man’s ear. He jumped slightly and attempted to move away from the barrel, but Standish anticipated this and brought the derringer up on the other side. “It’s only small, but packs a hell of a punch when it’s this close,” he warned menacingly. “Why did you lie to Buck?”

Hernandez visibly shook. “He paid me.”

“Intriguing. Who?”

Herb swallowed, his Adam’s apple lifted high on his throat. “I needed the money…didn’t reckon it was gonna hurt none.”

“That remains to be seen,” Standish muttered.

Ezra lowered his guns and took a seat beside the nervous man. He placed the weapons threateningly on the table. His grin turned into a feral snarl. “Let’s talk,” he urged.

Eleven

Standish watched the old sawmill for a short time. It appeared deserted, but there were recent signs of traffic leading to the structure. The roof was held upright with a number of large sturdy posts, and originally the building only consisted of a back and side wall, leaving one end open, as well as the front, so the timber could easily be brought in and readily removed. A number of small bushes now obscured the front entrance, and several empty water barrels were piled together in disarray. He tossed his head in wry amusement; there was no way he’d have chanced upon this crumbling mass without the directions supplied by Hernandez, and even then he would have dismissed it. The nervous man’s information had better be right!

Ezra approached from the side, keeping a furtive eye on the road that led to the building. He climbed though an opening in the wall, taking particular care with where he placed his feet, as there were many broken and rotting boards stacked against the sidewall. The mill was dank and musty; the floor covered in a layer of old straw and hay. Old timber rails and support beams were dotted with bird droppings and there was a distinct line indicating where the sparrows rested during the night. Nests lined the ceiling rafters and soft feathers gathered on the floor; particularly thick along the sidewalls. Much of the old equipment had been abandoned and rusted in it is original position.

Standish studied the inner sanctum. It appeared as though somebody had dragged another body inside, between the barricade of barrels and bush. The markings were badly disguised by the use of scattered straw, but someone had gone to some lengths to attempt to hide them. The Southerner kicked aside some of the straw and discovered the tracks led to a section of flooring which was no longer made of natural earth.

Standish tapped his boot on the wooden planks; a distinctive hollow echo replied. He searched the corners for a rake or tool that would easily reveal the floor. Not finding anything so handy he impatiently swept aside the majority of the camouflage with his boot. “This better not be for nought,” he groaned. He wiped his sweaty brow with his handkerchief and openly appraised what he’d revealed. The wooden floor covered a good portion of under-covered area inside, but it wasn’t centred, nor did it extend to the sidewalls.

“Vin?” The gambler concentrated on the floor, crouching to get a closer look at the way the planks locked together. It didn’t take a genius to spot the wide trap door. He ran his fingers around the edge, marking out the shape of the door in the floor. “Vin, are you down there?”

A muffled voice cried out from below the flooring. Standish lifted up the hatch and was overpowered momentarily by the stench that wafted from the hole. “Vin?” he called more hesitantly, peering down into the gloom. Good Lord!

“Ezra,” Tanner welcomed, and in the next breath, demanded; “Get me out of here.”

He hunkered in a crouch, leaning over the hole attempting to see the tracker with his own eyes. He gulped with trepidation. Standish spied the ladder and moved it to the hole, slotting it into position. He stood back and waited. “Whenever you are ready, Mr. Tanner,” Ezra drawled impatiently.

“I can’t, Ezra. You gotta come down.”

Why me? He groaned miserably. Why couldn’t Buck or Josiah have been the ones to find the sunken room? Was it really essential for him to descend into the bowels of depravity? “Are you hurt?” he stalled. He’d jump down in an instant if that were the case, but Tanner hadn’t sounded like he was in any difficulties.

“I’m shackled to the wall.”

With a shudder, Ezra studied the offensive pit and it wasn’t until Vin raised his voice in anger that he began his descent. He took each step with care, concentrating on the floor. He was part way down the narrow step when he took a massive blow to his back, knocking him down the remainder of the stair. He cried out in alarm, tumbling down the hole headfirst and landing awkwardly at the bottom.

The last thing he remembered before darkness overtook his senses was various body parts screaming out in agony as they connected with the floor.

Twelve

“My Love, is something amiss?”

The tired and preoccupied man lifted his heavy eyes from his plate. The meal was ruined and unpalatable. He threw a rueful smile at his wife. She’d prepared dinner and he’d destroyed her fine work. He couldn’t eat at the moment; he had too much on his mind. His hand shook with a fine tremor and he tried to hide it under the tablecloth. He’d never taken the life of another man before; he couldn’t even summon the courage to check. Damn he was a fool! “Just not hungry, is all, Corinne.”

Corinne wiped her chin with the napkin, and dropped the cloth beside her plate. She’d noticed her husband’s unusual mood; it had grown persistently over the past few days. He wasn’t sleeping well and left earlier in the mornings and came home later at night. He was angered quickly, even snapping at his good friends and the worry lines on his forehead were growing roots. She hoped he wasn’t working too hard, but was beginning to have suspicions that there was another woman involved. How would she cope if he left her? She wished he’d discuss with her what was on his mind, get it out in the open.

She watched his face pale and his eyes search the kitchen, but they wouldn’t meet with hers. Her worry for her husband grew with each passing moment of silence. His eyes misted over when they settled on one of the empty chairs at the kitchen table. He couldn’t bring himself to even look at the second empty seat. “Teddy, finish up and go and wash your face and hands,” she ordered gently ushering their youngest child from the room. As the boy raced up the stairs, she called after him, “Get ready for bed, and I’ll be up to read your story shortly.”

The silence lengthened between them. “I visited Elaine’s grave the other day.” He wiped the back of his hand under his nose. He wasn’t going to cry.

Corinne fell despondently into the seat. She hadn’t expected this revelation. She found it difficult talking about her first born. It had only been two years, but the hurt was still there and raw. She was so young, and there had been nothing they could do. Her husband took it badly. “She is safe in the Lord’s care.”

“Do you really believe that?” he roared, slamming his fist angrily on the table causing the crockery to jump. “Could he be so cruel to take both of our girls from us?” he simpered, a tear rolling down his cheek.

Corinne bit her lip and wrapped her arm around his shoulder. “Madeline is going to be fine. You’ll see. We’ll find the money somehow. And we can all go to visit her next time. She’d love to see you and Teddy,” she cajoled.

He smiled bitterly staring at the empty chair and what it represented. “I’ll get the money.” He wouldn’t allow another child of his to be buried up on that desolate hill. He looked out the window into the blackness; his mind’s eye so full of plans. But could he sacrifice one life for that of his daughter’s? He smiled callously…if that was what it takes.



Thirteen

Five horses galloped hard, their riders pushing them to the limits. They had left the main road and forged their own trail overland knowing that time was against them. The sun was well past its zenith and still they didn’t stop. By late afternoon, the horses were on the verge of exhaustion. They would need to stop soon and rest the animals.

Buck slowed his horse until he completely stopped. It wasn’t long before the others followed his lead and reined their mounts back to face the immobile rider. “It don’t feel right,” he voiced thoughtfully. He’d been pondering the information he’d been told and Standish’s reaction to it ever since they’d left Sovereign.

Sanchez nodded grimly. “Been thinkin’ the same thing myself.”

Larabee glared at the ladies’ man. “You were the one to set us on this road,” he ranted.

“I know. But what if Ezra’s right? And we’re leaving Vin in town.”

Dunne frowned at the older man. “But you said that Herb fella told ya he saw Vin leavin’ with bounty hunters.” He couldn’t understand why they were even discussing this. Vin was on his way to be hanged and they were already days behind them. They needed to make up for lost time. If only some of them had gone directly to Tuscosa from Four Corners.

“Yeah,” Wilmington drawled. “Been givin’ that some more thought too. He come and found me. And if he was so worried about Tanner, as he claimed, then why hadn’t he told Ezra what he knew?”

“Ezra had talked to quite a lot of folks before we showed up,” Sanchez interjected.

Larabee raised a quizzical eyebrow. That was news to him.

Josiah lifted his shoulders and shrugged. “Everyone I spoke to said they’d already spoken with Ezra. And didn’t you see that note book of his, it was crammed full with notes and names.”

“So he did actually look for Vin,” Nathan stated dubiously.

Sanchez shook his head. “That boy’s been losing sleep over Vin’s disappearance. Reckon he blames himself.”

“So he didn’t tell Ezra…” Chris mused, wondering what Herb had to gain by not informing Standish. “Does that mean he didn’t know the two of them were together?”

“He woulda had ta blind,” Buck added sarcastically. Why hadn’t he thought of this earlier? It would have saved them a whole day.

“But what if Vin is half way to Tuscosa? We just gonna ignore that?” Jackson spun his mount in a circle and asked angrily.

Chris glanced at Jackson’s irate features and back to Wilmington.

“We could split up,” JD suggested. He didn’t like this any more than Nathan.

Larabee sat straighter in his saddle, the leather creaked as he changed positions. “You reckon this Herb was lying?” Buck reluctantly nodded. “And nobody else came forward with information.” It was more of a statement than a question. They all shook their heads no. “Reckon he wanted us to leave town for some reason. Or somebody did! That can only mean one thing.”

“What?” Dunne asked.

“Vin’s still in town,” Buck clarified for the younger man.

“I wonder whether Ezra was supposed to leave with us?” Sanchez mused aloud.

“Let’s ride,” Chris dug in his heels, spurring his horse back to town. Damn, he hated being played like a puppet.

Fourteen

“Ezra,” Vin repeated the plea. He was concerned by the still figure; he’d been waiting with growing impatience for over an hour. Standish hadn’t moved an inch since he’d fallen and even in the poor lighting Vin could ascertain his deathly pallor. “Ezra, come on, pard. Wake up.” Damn, he felt useless pinned to the wall as he was. He couldn’t even check on Standish. What use was he? He couldn’t help at all.

Tanner stretched his leg out as far as he could reach, but it was nowhere near the downed Southerner. He let the limb fall back and started talking to the unconscious man. He probably wouldn’t have started the diatribe if Standish had been awake, but he wasn’t. He rambled self-consciously to begin with, but as the time lengthened the words flowed more freely. “I’m sorry to get you involved in this. Didn’t mean for ya to get hurt. Just wanted to spend some time with my ma…and wasn’t sure how to explain it.”

The Southerner moaned, moving his arm a fraction.

Tanner smiled, comforted by the slight movement. “Ezra, you want to wake up?” Another moan responded, and glazed eyes fluttered open. “That’s it,” he encouraged. “How you doin’?”

Standish’s eyes sought out the leading voice. He was certain it was less painful in the dark void, but for some reason his body insisted he woke up. “Mr. Tanner?”

“Welcome back.”

The gambler lifted his head and screwed his face as a wave of pain erupted in his shoulder. Through clenched teeth he asked in confusion; “Had I gone somewhere?”

Tanner chuckled lightly; trust Standish to take the literal meaning. “You hurt?” The gambler lay perfectly still on the floor; other than lifting his head he’d not attempted to move anything else.

Ezra dropped his head; it was too awkward to stare up at Tanner from his position on the floor. His cheek rested on the cool earthen ground and he breathed in the strong smell of damp soil. He closed his eyes; a heavy sigh parted his lips slightly. The heavy draw to return to the world of oblivion reasserted itself and within minutes he was safely comforted in the realm of unconsciousness.

“Ezra,” Vin groaned. “You gotta get up. Standish!” he shouted the gambler’s name, wincing at the sharp tone of voice he used. “Ezra, I need yer help,” he implored, but Tanner could tell the Southerner was well past hearing him.

Fifteen

Vin glanced at his unresponsive friend on the ground. Ezra had woken for short periods of time during the night, but he was barely lucid. He wondered how badly the gambler was injured. Once during his brief moment of consciousness, Standish had attempted to roll over; he’d cried out, a hoarse guttural sound, and slipped back into the deep void of unconsciousness. Ezra had not resurfaced since.

Tanner impatiently tugged on the restraints; he rolled his neck on his shoulders and slowly became aware of the movements on the floor above him. “Ezra,” he hissed, attempting to keep his voice to a minimum, but wanting the Southerner to acknowledge his call. Something heavy scraped across the wooden ceiling, and a light shower of dust and wood shavings filtered through the coarse joints between the timber planks.

Vin chanced another look at Ezra, but his position was unchanged. The trap door lifted and a surge of fresh air entered the stuffy quarters. The ladder was lowered down and he watched as a pair of tan leather boots descended into the hole. “You gotta help him,” Tanner implored.

Vin watched in confusion as his persecutor cautiously stepped around the gambler’s form, nudging Ezra lightly with the toe of his boot. When Standish did no more than moan softly, the intruder crept closer and sought a pulse at the gambler’s neck. A kidnapper with a conscience, what next? Standish was obviously not part of the intended equation.

Using exaggerated care, he divested Ezra of his Remington and rolled him over onto his back. Spying the shoulder holster he removed the second weapon and tucked it under his belt. He patted down the coat sleeves and startled when he triggered the derringer and it shot out of the jacket’s sleeve. “He’s got an armoury on him.”

“Be careful,” Vin shouted, when Ezra flopped forward limply.

“Shut up.” What should have been an order came out almost like a plea.

Vin struggled against the hold. “He needs a doctor.” Vin noticed the pained expression that crossed the man’s features before he bowed his head shamefaced and looked at his feet.

“Reckon he’ll have to make do with your company.” The thin man lifted Standish to a sitting position and stood behind him, snaking his hands under the gambler’s armpits. Ezra’s head lolled to the side and he groaned an anguished cry. The captor almost dropped Standish back to the floor; he was so surprised. Instead, he dragged Standish alongside Vin and propped him upright.

Vin stared in horror at the second pair of manacles above Ezra’s head. “You can’t put him in those!”

The captor lifted his gaze and panted. “Why not?” he asked, waiting for a logical reason not to proceed.

“His shoulder could be out…dislocated…he won’t be able to lift it above his head.”

The kidnapper stared blankly at Tanner, undecidedly. He crouched by the Southerner and lifted up his right arm.

“It’s the other one.”

Dropping Ezra’s right arm, he started to lift the left arm. It only moved part way, when Ezra’s green eyes snapped open. He screamed, and passed out.

“God damn it! Put it down!”

The captor did as the tracker ordered and pulled a length of rope from under his coat.

Tanner sighed. “He’s hurt. Where do you think he’s going to go down here?”

“You promise he won’t escape…”

Vin almost burst out laughing. Hell he’d be out of this place in a flash if he could. He wouldn’t be making any promises like that. “Reckon he’ll be needing some help to get out of here.”

The kidnapper seemed satisfied with that and left Ezra slumped against the wall. He dipped a ladle into the barrel and brought it to Vin’s lips.

Vin drank greedily. It had been over a day since his last drink. “Why are you doing this?”

He ignored Vin and refilled the ladle. “You want any more?”

Vin nodded. “You don’t seem the type to get into bounty hunting.” He was almost tender in his ministrations of the gambler.

“I’m not,” he admitted. “Figured I could use the money though.”

“You ain’t in any hurry to claim the reward.”

“I got responsibilities in town…ain’t like I can up and leave, just like that,” he retorted.

“What about Ezra?”

The kidnapper scratched his mop of streaked blond hair and studied the gambler. “He shouldn’t have been snooping.”

“He’s a friend,” Vin admitted, pleased that Standish had stayed in town and come looking for him.

“Yeah, well I ain’t decided yet. He might have a reward on his head too?” he asked hopefully. “You outlaws always travel in a bunch.”

“You won’t find nothing on him,” Vin confidently predicted. “You got a name?”

“You can call me,” he paused a moment, “Bert.”

“Bet that ain’t yer real name…Bert?”

“It’ll do. And it’s all you need to know. Anything special I can bring you?”

“How about some bolt cutters,” the Texan drawled sarcastically.

Bert shook his head. “Reckon I’ll be back again this evening. Don’t be getting up to any mischief while I’m away.”

Tanner watched as Bert climbed out the hole and removed the ladder after him. The trap door closed, shutting out the muted early morning light. He strained to hear the departing horse, but any sounds from above ground didn’t penetrate through to the room below.

Sixteen

The thundering hooves woke the sleepy town. It was still early when the five lawmen returned to Sovereign, and the streets were acutely quiet. A number of curtains at windows were swept partially aside so folks could see out, then after a moments curiosity they were drawn back into position. A light shower of rain during the early hours of the morning had dampened the road and settled the dust, leaving a soft sticky texture on the top surface.

“Josiah, go and wake Ezra,” Chris ordered, wanting to talk with the gambler immediately. “Nathan, you and JD settle the horses, Buck you come with me. We’ll meet at the restaurant.”

Behind them Jenkins stepped from the jail. He cleared his throat and wandered over to the man in black. “You’re back.”

“What’s it to you,” Chris challenged.

“Figured you must have had a lead on Tanner.”

Larabee stepped closer. He glanced at the badge on the man’s chest and up into his pale green eyes. “What do you know about it?”

“Talked to Standish yesterday after you left. He said you were Vin’s friends.”

Buck pushed past Larabee. “We are. Do you know where he is?”

“Can’t say as I do.”

Sanchez jogged along the boardwalk from the hotel, his boots thumping rapidly on the wooden boards. “Ezra’s not there, Chris. His bed ain’t been slept in, but all his gear is still in the room.”

“Check the stables, see if he’s still in town.” The older man nodded and headed off toward the livery.

“He was looking for Cyrus Hernandez after we finished talking yesterday,” the sheriff offered.

“Why would he be wanting to see him?” Wilmington asked.

“Actually, he was askin’ about Herb, and the only fella I knew who went by that moniker was Cyrus. Wasn’t sure though, that was who Standish was looking for.”

Buck and Larabee shared a concerned look. “You seen Ezra since then?”

The sheriff shrugged. “I wasn’t keeping tabs on him,” he answered defensively.

“Where can we find Hernandez?”

“He works on and off for Barrett’s Mercantile,” he pointed in the direction of the store. “And he’s got a cabin down by the river.” He gave direction to Hernandez’s cabin and left the two lawmen to find breakfast.

Josiah returned from the livery with Nathan and JD. He’d told them about Standish’s absence. “His horse ain’t there.”

“Damn!” cursed Larabee. Now he had two men to find. “Let’s get some breakfast, then go and find Hernandez.”

Seventeen

“Corinne!”

The petite woman smiled at the pleasant welcome. She tugged Teddy from out behind her skirts. “Verna. How are you? How is Jake?” The sheriff’s wife had been like a mother to Corinne when she arrived in town newly married with a babe on the way, seven years before. She’d been a confident and a mentor. Corinne was very fond of the maternal woman.

“I’m well.” She patted the blond headed child and winked at him. Verna produced a long strap of liquorice from her basket and offered it to the boy. She held it patiently as Teddy sought his mother’s approval of the treat. His wide eyes shone when Corinne nodded. “I just called past your rooms and the place was all closed up tight,” Verna curiously said.

Corinne glanced down the street, a frown rapidly forming on her brow. She swallowed awkwardly; she was not accustomed to lying, especially not to Verna Jenkins. She could feel the colour rise to her cheeks and the butterflies flutter nervously in her belly. “Albert said… he might start opening a little later, spend more time with Teddy.”

“That’s sweet. How is Madeline?”

“The same. Albert is coming with us next time we go.”

“That’s wonderful news. Business must be good.”

“I must go…” she nervously hurried down the sidewalk, dragging the toddler behind her. Where was he? And why had he slipped from their bed so early that morning? Was he leaving her bed to crawl into the bed of another? She desperately needed to know. And where was the money they’d been saving towards Madeline’s hospital bills? It was missing from the jar above the pantry shelf. Had someone found the hiding place? How were they going to replace the stolen money? Corinne wondered if Albert had reported the theft to the sheriff.

Eighteen

“Are we certain this is the right place?” Larabee rested his boot on the chopping block.

“Only place here-abouts,” Wilmington waved his hand in a circular motion.

Dunne bent to a crouch and examined a horseshoe print in the soil. He lightly fingered the impression. “This is from Ezra’s horse.”

“What make’s you so sure?” Wilmington squatted beside Dunne and studied the print himself.

“See this line? Well I just know that Ezra’s horse has that track.”

The ladies’ man smirked at the young gunslinger. “Vin been giving you lessons?”

“Nope. I’ve just been taking more notice of things like that. Thought it might come in handy.”

“Good work, JD,” Chris complimented. “So Standish was here. Did he meet up with this Hernandez? And if so, where is he?”

Sanchez stood in the doorway of the cabin. “My guess is, Hernandez packed up and left.” The cabin stood naked in empty glory. Stripped to the bare roots of the shell.

“Before or after Standish was here?” Chris muttered. “JD can you tell which way Standish left?”

Dunne studied the ground, walking in small circles, but with a disappointed shake of his head he looked up at Larabee. “The ground’s all torn up from the wagon that left here.”

“Now what are we gonna do?” Buck asked Larabee.

“JD, do you think you can track Hernandez?”

The young Easterner smiled broadly. “Sure!” he almost whooped at the chance to prove himself.

“Then I want you and Nathan to catch up to him. Find out if Standish spoke with him and where Ezra is now.”

Nineteen

“You sure you’re following the right trail?” Jackson questioned.

Dunne reined in his mount and wiped his sleeve across his sweaty brow. “They’re wagon tracks, Nathan,” he exclaimed indignantly. “Ain’t like we could get ‘em mixed up.”

Jackson smiled indulgently. “Guess yer right. Just thought we’d have caught up with him by now.”

“Won’t be too much longer. The tracks are getting deeper, horse is tiring.”

The healer studied the parallel ruts and scratched his chin thoughtfully. He was only teasing Dunne about being able to follow Hernandez’s path, but was surprised at the depth of knowledge JD showed in interpreting the trail. He heard the enthusiastic gunman stating that over the next rise they should be able to see him. “Least then we can get back to finding, Vin.”

“Still reckon some of us ought to have gone on to Tuscosa. You know he’s gonna be hanged once he gets there!”

“Chris seems to think that was all a lie.”

“He didn’t at first,” JD argued.

Jackson pointed, a broad grin widened, showing pearly white teeth. “There he is! About time we got some answers.” The tall black man spurred his horse and surged down the rise, beating a path to the weary wagon.



Nathan grinned widely at the younger man. Aside from the seriousness of the situation he was actually enjoying himself. It had been a simple manoeuvre to stop the fleeing Hernandez.

“Look I told that Southerner everything I knew.”

“I reckon my friend won’t hurt you too much if you tell us the same information,” JD growled, nodding in Jackson’s direction. The healer was idly sharpening his knives against one another.

Hernandez’s eyes bulged. It wasn’t worth the measly sixty dollars he’d been paid, so he quickly relayed his part, admitting he’d lied to Wilmington about the bounty hunters. What did it matter now? He’d told the gambler, now these two.

When Dunne and Jackson were satisfied, they dismissed the informant in disgust. They’d wasted two entire days because of his interference. And Standish was missing also, as a result. Could things get any worse?

Twenty

Vin nudged gently at the crumpled figure with his foot. “Quit yer sleeping, Ezra. You can do that any ole time.”

Standish lifted his head slightly and groaned; coloured dots swam in front of his eyes.

“Ezra!” Vin excitedly repeated. “Ezra, wake up!”

“Mr. Tanner,” Standish replied, his accent thickened and slurred. He thumped his head on the stonewall and gazed bleary eyed up at the chained man. “Could you please lower you voice,” he whispered.

A small smile tugged at the Texan’s mouth. “Can you get these shackles off me?”

Ezra gripped his left arm tightly to his chest, and pushed back on the wall behind him. He screamed loudly and sank back to the floor.

Vin winced at the mind-numbing scream; his ears were ringing with the overdose of noise. “Ezra,” he called after a few moments. “Hey, pard, you hurt?” He was surprised by the uncharacteristic snort from the Southern gentleman.

Standish glared irritably at the tracker. Of course he was hurt! Every bone in his body was making him aware of the trauma it had suffered. He hugged his left arm closer to his chest. Damn, he hated it when his shoulder dislocated. “I don’t recommend falling down a flight of stairs,” he drawled sleepily.

Tanner chuckled dryly. “It’s more of a ladder, Ezra.”

Standish glanced at the empty place where the steps should have been, and sighed. “It is still over-rated.” He slowly straightened his lower limbs, attempting to determine how painful it was to move them.

Vin laughed outright, watching the gambler’s mechanical movements. His brief moment of levity stopped abruptly when Standish hissed sharply. “Maybe you oughta not move.”

Ezra made a pointed look at the closed trapdoor. “If you want to depart this establishment then I need to ascertain which parts I can depend upon.” Having discovered his left knee was a casualty from his fall, Standish avoided putting any undue weight on it and clambered to his feet. He shuffled to the hanging Texan and grinned. His left arm hung uselessly at his side.

“What are you gonna do now?”

Standish inhaled deeply and wrinkled his nose. “You, Mr. Tanner, are in dire need of a bath.”

“You don’t look so good yerself,” Tanner retorted.

Ezra rolled his eyes. A feat that reminded him of a crushing headache, and that he should have resisted the temptation. “Once out, I’ll remedy that. Do tell, why we are incarcerated here?”

“Hell, I don’t even know where here is.”

Standish sagged, leaning into the tracker for support and attempted, one handed, to open the lock. He closed his eyes and concentrated on the contraption above his head. “Old sawmill…”

“Figured we might be. How’d ya find me?”

“Gentleman by the name of Cyrus Hernandez was very forthcoming…”

“Hernandez? He the fella who put me down here?” The name held no meaning to the tracker.

“No. He was compensated to divert our search. He did however, divulge your benefactor was somehow connected to this mill through his wife. Don’t ask me how.” Standish panted after the long monologue. His shoulder and knee were both aching to distraction and a fine bead of sweat broke out on his brow. He was not going to be able to hold the position much longer. Vin’s constant questioning was another irritant to contend with. After five minutes of frustration and failure, he cursed, stepping back awkwardly to reassess the situation. “I can not hold the lock in place and open it with only one hand.”

“I can help.”

Standish waved off the suggestion and swayed. Taking a deep breath, he charged the brick wall, hitting his injured shoulder square on. He cried out, and doubled at the waist, tears streaming down his face. He clutched his injured arm with his good one, and panted. Damn, that hurt!

“Shit! What the hell are you doing?” Vin yelled at the Southerner. “Ezra! Damn it! You all right?”

Ezra straightened slowly and experimentally rolled his shoulder. “Just putting it back in place,” he huffed, wriggling his fingers with satisfaction. At least they were no longer numb.

“You done that before?” Vin queried sceptically.

“Once or twice,” Ezra admitted. He limped back to Vin’s side and resumed the manipulation of the lock. Second time around, it fell open within seconds. A smirk quickly covered Ezra’s face.

“Smart ass!” Vin rubbed the circulation back into his hands and stepped away from the wall.

“You’re welcome.”

Twenty-One

Sanchez sat in the restaurant alone at the round table. He chewed the hardy beef into a tasteless mass and swallowed the remainder of his coffee, grimacing at the cold dregs, to wash the mass down. The evening crowd had slowly started to trickle through the doors, but he assumed it would be a few more hours before Chris and Buck showed up to eat. The last rays of daylight splashed through the dining room windows, and the faded curtains only kept out a minimum of the sun’s strength.

Josiah Sanchez was worried. Two of his young associates were missing, and in a town that appeared less than forthcoming. They had few leads and could only wait. His meal sat mostly untouched on the plate, and he sighed deeply. It was wearing on him to have ignored the young Southerner’s claims and to have abandoned him. He felt dreadful. The preacher scowled moodily at the waitress, who did no more than remove his uneaten meal. His temper was starting to flare. And if they didn’t find their lost brothers soon, he was going to impart his own brand of justice.

Josiah muddled over the situation. There had to be some reason for Ezra’s disappearance and it had to be related to that of Vin’s. That was assuming Ezra didn’t just decide that he’d had enough of Chris and the others, himself included Josiah added glumly, ignoring and dismissing his theories and departed town of his own accord. What then? Would the gambler simply head back to Four Corners? Or would they never see or hear of the Southerner again?

What if someone was after both of them? A group of outlaws set on breaking up the seven. But for that to be correct, why had it taken that much longer for Standish to be taken? Why not take the pair of them at the same time? Unless there were not enough members in the supposed gang to capture more than one of the lawmen at one time. No that couldn’t be right, he ruminated, then all the rest of the seven could be at risk. But if both lawmen were taken for the same purpose, then they certainly would have been a fool for allowing Ezra to contact the rest of the seven and to spend days conducting his own search. Now there was a possibility, he grasped. Ezra must have discovered either Vin’s whereabouts, or information regarding the tracker’s location. That could mean his lost brothers were on their way back to town or that both of them were now in serious trouble. Josiah glumly leaned toward the latter.

Then there was still the unthinkable prospect that a bounty hunter had captured Vin and now threaded their way back to Tuscosa. What of that possibility? They had all returned to Sovereign. Shouldn’t Chris have at least sent some of them on to Tuscosa just in case?

The preacher idly glanced up. He’d felt the intense sensation of being watched, and in a town this size initially he’d ignored it. After all, their arrival had generated quite a glimmer of interest. But whoever was watching him, had been doing so for more than an acceptable length of time. Their curiosity was becoming intrusive. Josiah snapped up his head and left his seat. He caught the shadow of movement beyond the restaurant front windows and raced outside. For a large man he moved quickly.

He swung through the doorway in time to see the dark coated male slipping down the alley between the restaurant and the neighbouring bakery. “Stop!” Sanchez took two giant steps after him, his boots thumping heavily on the whitewashed boardwalk. “I said, STOP!”

When he didn’t obey, Josiah gave chase. His powerful legs giving him the necessary speed to keep the fleeing man in sight. He sprinted between the short alley and sighted him scrambling over barrels to reach the secluded back entrance to the boarding house. Sanchez fired a warning shot into the brick rendered wall, just above his head and jogged over to join him when he turned and raised his hands above his head. “Who are you?”

“Robert Perez,” he swallowed nervously.

“Why were you watching me?”

Perez shuffled backwards, warily watching Josiah’s gun. “I wasn’t. I swear!”

Sanchez stepped forward, not believing the shorter man. “You were standing at those windows and staring through them,” he accused. “You wouldn’t have something to do with our missing friends, would you?”

“I didn’t do anything. You gotta believe me.”

“Drop the gun and step away from him!”

Josiah heard the scuffle behind him and chanced a look. The sheriff and three deputies were cordoned behind him. Sanchez held out his gun, but didn’t release it. “Reckon you’re all making a mistake. Just trying to find my friends.”

“Well shooting off yer gun and frightening bank-tellers ain’t gonna help you none,” Jenkins sneered. “I run a clean and safe town and won’t have the likes of you taking it over.”

“Turner, get his gun.” The deputy held out his hand and was eventually rewarded for his patience. “Mr. Sanchez, you’ll be staying the night in custody.” He gestured for the preacher to precede him.

“What’s going on?” Larabee stepped from the shadows of the buildings. He’d heard the gunfire and like the gathering crowd came to investigate. To say he was astounded to find Josiah in the centre of the dilemma was an understatement.

“Your collaborator attacked, Mr. Perez.”

Chris stared unbelievingly at the preacher. There had to be more to this. “Who’s Perez?”

“I am,” the bank-teller greeted, holding out his hand prepared to shake the gunslinger’s. After a pause he dropped it down by his side.

“Josiah?”

Sanchez shrugged. “You ask him why he was watching me?”

Chris redirected his gaze to the teller, expecting an answer.

“I wasn’t! Like I already said,” he explained to the sheriff as well as the deputies. “I, I…” he stammered. “I was just checking to see…” he swallowed and scanned the faces in the crowd nervously, “if Doris was serving in the restaurant tonight.” He finished in a whisper, rushing his words and tugging at the collar that constricted his throat. A flush of red crept up his cheeks. A slight chuckle travelled through the gathering crowd, and a large bosomed woman cheekily pressed to the front. Perez’s face flamed in embarrassment. “Evenin’ Doris.” He couldn’t escape her now. The entire town knew of the waitress’s infatuation with the sinewy bank-teller. And they were privy to the fact that Perez was more than reluctant about returning her feelings. He cringed as she wrapped her pudgy fingers into the crook of his elbow and led him off to the diner, a ripple of laughter following their progress.

The sheriff and his deputies escorted Sanchez to the jail. The loud clang of the cell door closing echoed as Sanchez sank to the single cot along the wall. He buried his face in his hands and sighed. Lord he’d made a mess of things.



Twenty-Two

Chris gripped the iron bars and shook his head. He was bewildered by the preacher’s reaction and subsequent imprisonment. “Reckon you’ll be spending the night here.”

Sanchez pressed his head further inside his large hands. How had he read the situation so wrongly? He wasn’t normally one to jump to conclusions. He was worried about his younger friends. Not that he could use them as an excuse for his abysmal behaviour. “Have JD and Nathan got back?

“Not yet.” The jailhouse door rapped quietly from outside. Larabee glanced pointedly at Jenkins and across at the door. The gentle knock sounded again. The sheriff was either ignoring it or he didn’t hear it. “You gonna get that?”

Jake stared at the gunslinger, eyebrows arched questioningly. At the third rap, he swung his attention to the closed door. “Yeah?” He growled, wondering why anybody would bother to knock, and not just barge straight inside.

As the door swung opened it revealed a woman’s blue skirt, and a child of three hovering at her side.

“Hi ya, Corinne!” Jenkins dropped his feet off the table and stood to meet the younger woman, before she could come further inside the room. “You shouldn’t be here,” but he smiled pleasantly.

“I wanted to report a robbery, Jake.”

“Then maybe you could have the doc come see me about it.”

“I’m quite capable of filing a complaint, and my husband is a busy man. I’d like this cleared up and my money found.”

Jenkins sighed and shared a look with a curious Larabee. “You mind leaving?” he asked the gunslinger.

Chris pursed his lips. He glanced at the large man behind the bars and back at the sheriff. He rolled his shoulders and with a modicum of ease pushed away from the cell. “Be seeing you later, Josiah.”

Sanchez lifted guilty eyes to the man in black, so absorbed in his error he only gave Larabee a cursory glance, and flopped remorsefully on the cot. His long limbs overhanging the foot of the bed.

Larabee nodded at the couple, even managing a smile at the toddler.

“Why don’t you take a seat,” Jenkins gestured at the chair, “and you can fill me in.” He waited for the doctor’s wife to settle in the seat before questioning her. He knew the money wouldn’t be found and was probably already spent. “How much money?”

“We’d had sixty dollars saved…”

Larabee missed the rest of the conversation as he closed the door.

Twenty–Three

Chris lit a cigar; the orange coal glowing from the shadows of the Assayers office. It had already closed for the day, but it was central to the town and he could see both roads to and from. Someone had set the night fires along the main stretch of road, giving the buildings along either side a shadowed hue. If Larabee had thought that Sovereign would quieten down after the sun’s descent than he was mistaken. If anything, the population had expanded. The saloon’s bulged at the seams and the ruckus inside spilled jubilantly onto the streets. Most of the business came from the tent city. After a full day’s work with little to show, they gathered together, to commiserate and get drunk. He noticed the sheriff moving through the crowd, showing his presence. And there were more deputies in force for the night than he’d previously seen during the daytime hours.

Larabee stayed clear of the buoyant atmosphere. He had enough troubles to take care of without getting embroiled in any other commotion. He cursed Josiah a thousand times, but there was nothing he could do to get the preacher released early. It was probably just as well that he was locked up, considering his volatile temper. Now that was calling the pot black, he mused, a small smile broke across his wooden features.

“Want ta share?”

Chris paused briefly drawing in a long breath of cigar smoke. “Buck. Never figured you knew how to walk quietly.”

Wilmington returned the smile. “There are times that even I need to tread the boards with caution.”

They shared a moment of remembrance. Their past lives joined irrevocably. It was easy for the ladies’ man to slip back into the uncomplicated friendship they had shared years before, but not so simple for the man in black. Too many memories haunted the gunslinger.

“Can’t recall you slipping quietly away from anywhere,” Chris heckled with a long forgotten sense of familiarity with Wilmington’s nature. When they met up again in Four Corners was the perfect example. Larabee watched Buck’s grin grow, then as quickly his smiled dropped, and the serious face of the last few days returned. He knew where Buck’s thoughts had strayed. “Nathan’s with him. Ain’t the first night the kid’s gonna have to spend out in the open.”

Wilmington grinned, ducking his head so his hat covered his eyes. Chris was too good at reading his expressions. “He’s got a good head on his shoulders; he’ll be all right. Just thought they might have made it back before dark.”

Chris nodded. He had thought the same thing.

“You planning on holding up that post all night, or you gonna grab a bite ta eat?”

Chris smiled around the stub on his cigar. Always the pragmatist. “Wouldn’t say no. You buying?”

Twenty–Four

Standish rubbed the length of his arm from his elbow to his shoulder; the numbness had gone only to be replaced with a gnawing ache. He moved his hand slowly up to the joint and continued the methodical massage. He watched Tanner overtly through the fading light as he paced the small cell, wondering how much longer they would be incarcerated in the tomb. He resisted the urge to sigh.

Tanner stopped short in front of the gambler. “Why don’t you ask?”

Standish lifted his gaze up into Vin’s demanding eyes. Ezra licked his bottom lip and waited for a further clue. When Vin continued his soul-searching study of the Southerner, Standish responded. “What exactly am I supposed to inquire of you? Unless it has something to do with you having some significant role in your own abduction?”

“No, nothing to do with that.” Vin hunkered in front of Ezra and eventually seated himself on the floor. “Ain’t ya gonna ask why I wanted ta come here?”

“You mean it had nothing to do with your desire to seek a fortune in Silver?” Ezra goaded. Vin rolled his eyes; almost admitting he was surprised Standish had resisted the urge to do so.

Standish waved a dismissive hand and dropped eye contact. He didn’t want to bring this sore point up between them. “You made yourself perfectly clear in regards to that topic, Mr Tanner. Your reasons are you own. I have no intention of prying.” Besides, Jenkins had already revealed to Ezra why Tanner was partial to visiting Sovereign.

Vin sighed. “What if I wanted you to…pry?”

“You want to discuss your reasons? With me?” he asked incredulously. Standish shifted uncomfortably on the floor. Should Ezra just blurt out that Vin didn’t need to bother? Before he’d made up his mind, Vin had surged ahead.

Vin tilted his head to the side and smiled lopsidedly at the gambler. “Ain’t no one else here.”

“Ah…”

“No I didn’t mean it like that…” Tanner stumbled. “I wanted to explain to you…”

“If it will relieve you of your burden, then I am willing to listen.”

“Ain’t got no burden. Thought ya might a wanted to know, is all.”

Standish shifted his leg and winced at the slight flare of pain. He hadn’t wanted Vin to bring up the subject, because he knew this was how it would end. With them angry at each other again, just like the morning of Vin’s disappearance. “Perhaps we should attempt to reach the trapdoor once more. If you sat on my shoulders you should be able to reach…” Ezra stood, groaning at the increased weight on his knee. He took only one step, when Tanner demanded the gambler to sit back down.

“Sit down!” Vin ordered, his tone leaving no room for argument. “We can’t open it from down here…Already tried. Gonna have to wait ‘til Bert comes back.” And replaces the ladder, he added ruefully. Goddamn son of a bitch! He could have left the ladder in place. He waited for the gambler to settle back to the floor. “My ma is buried here.” His voice was but a whisper.

Ezra remained silent, surprised that Tanner was serious about sharing the information with him. It was something he’d not contemplated. That Vin would consider him worthy of sharing such a deep and integral part of his life. “My sympathies…”

“That wasn’t why I told ya.” He moved away from the gambler, lost in his failing memories. The image of his mother was lost to his senses, only vague reminisces and feelings of comfort and love were all he had left. He patted the pocket of his coat, a whimsical smile fluttered about his lips. He glanced at the gambler, but Standish was studying the floor. What the hell. Vin searched inside his jacket, and withdrew his harmonica. He wet his lips and began playing. The notes held no tune, but the simple jingle hit at his melancholy. He watched Standish raise his head, listening to the jumble of notes, then without a word, or sharing a look, he dropped his head to his chest. It was almost as though Tanner had been given permission to continue.

It was much later, and completely dark, when Vin picked himself up and rejoined the gambler. He had to feel his way along the wall.

Ezra listened to the shuffling Texan as he navigated across the room. He held his console, not willing to scare off Vin before he’d completed the journey.

“It’s startin’ to get cold.”

Ezra nodded in agreement; a smile twitched his lips when he felt the tracker bump into his shoulder. It grew wider when Vin didn’t immediately move away. “Your friend seems to have forgotten us tonight.”

“Yeah. Feeling a mite peckish too.” As if to emphasize his point Tanner’s stomach chose that moment to rumble. Vin punched the gambler in the arm when he burst out laughing. They lapsed back into silence for some time, eventually Tanner asked; “Ya reckon Chris is still heading for Tuscosa?” Standish had explained that their five associates had been misled by the artful Hernandez, and went to Texas on the assumption that Tanner was taken there by two bounty hunters.

“They are intelligent men,” Standish answered evasively. He hoped they would see through the deception before they made it all the way to Tuscosa, but he feared that they would not. The pessimist was in full force and it was only for Tanner’s sake that he held his tongue, not stating what he really thought.

Vin imagined Ezra would be hiding his emotions behind that infamous poker face, but in the darkness he could see nothing. Tanner could read the thick silence and the gambler’s implied meaning - Standish thought they were on their own. “Yeah, they are smart. I figure we’ll be outta here soon.”

“And what brings you to that conclusion?” Standish asked sceptical of Vin’s predictions.

“Well, you found me. Couldn’t be too hard for them to find us.”

Twenty-Five

Chris crawled from his bed early, expecting Dunne and Jackson to return soon. His sleep had been hampered by the noisy revellers and later by disturbing dreams. He wondered how Sanchez had spent his night in jail. He rushed through his morning rituals and wasn’t surprised to find Buck already downstairs. “Buck.”

Wilmington nodded in the gunslinger’s direction. He noticed the haggard appearance of his friend, but didn’t comment on it. He didn’t have the best night either. “Morning, Chris.”

“You been down long?”

“Just before you.” Buck glanced past the gunman, taking a step forward.

Chris followed the direction of Wilmington’s stare and brushing past him, Larabee intercepted the returning regulators. They too, had started the day early. He was glad to see them returned. “Nathan. JD. You find him?” By him, Chris inferred Hernandez.

Jackson reined in his mount beside Dunne’s and effortlessly slipped from the horse’s back. “Yeah, we found him, but he got a lot further than we figured.” They related the news that was passed on to them.

“So he was paid to tell me that he saw Vin being taken by bounty hunters,” Buck clarified, the bitterness and anger in his voice clear. If he’d gone with Dunne, the bastard would have known his fury at being led astray. Buck hated being used as a fool. It made his blood boil.

“Where’s Vin?”

“And Ezra?” Buck added.

Dunne shrugged and Nathan confirmed the youngest’s uncertain answer.

“What! He didn’t know?” Larabee glared at the pair. “Where the hell did Standish go then?” He sure as hell didn’t return to Sovereign. Maybe the cardsharp decided it was better not to return, given the fact that they had departed for Tuscosa themselves. What if Standish figured he couldn’t find Vin, so he just gave up? What was there to tie the gambler to the rest of them? There were pieces of the puzzle that were missing and others that didn’t seem to fit.

Dunne took a step back from the menacing glare. “He swore he told Ezra the same story as us,” JD counted. And there was the added incentive not to lie, the youth glanced at Nathan.

“Then where is he?” Buck asked. “We must have missed something…go through everything again.”

Dunne sighed and started repeating their interrogation of Cyrus Hernandez. It had been short and to the point. Hernandez didn’t know where Vin was, or Ezra and he couldn’t tell them who hired him for the deception. At the frustrated stares from Larabee and Wilmington, JD added angrily, not knowing what else they could have gained from the middleman; “He got this note with the thirty dollars, telling him who to talk to and what to say.” JD looked pointedly at the ladies’ man. “Reckon that had to be you. When he finished the job, there was another thirty dollars waiting for him.”

“You didn’t mention that before,” Chris accused.

“Didn’t think it was important. He didn’t know who gave him the money.”

“You sure about that, JD?” Buck queried. Standish had to have made some connections.

Dunne opened his mouth to protest and waited for Jackson to back up his claim, but the healer was silent.

Sixty dollars…why did that sum of money seem familiar? Larabee chewed on the end of his cigar. It wasn’t an overly large amount of cash, but it rang a bell. He glanced at the sheriff’s office that was down the road and recalled the woman who had entered the jail while he had been visiting Josiah yesterday. Without a word, Larabee strode toward the jail.

“Chris?” Buck called to his retreating back.

“Back shortly.” Was the terse reply.

Buck shared a confused look with the others.

“Where’s Josiah?” Nathan frowned; finally noticing the giant was absent.

“Long story,” Wilmington obliquely answered. “Let’s get some grub while we wait for Chris.”

Twenty-Six

Larabee took off down the road at a steady clip. Sixty dollars. Sixty dollars, he kept repeating over in his mind. Chris blew through the jail’s outer door, whipping his black duster behind him. The door swung back and hit the outside wall with a thump, but remained open, leaving the black demon silhouetted in the sunlight. He glanced at the cell that held Josiah and back at the deputy behind the desk. A number of other cells held occupants this morning that were not filled the previous night. “Where’s Jenkins?”

Turner climbed lazily to his feet. “Ain’t no need for Jake. I’m capable of releasing this one,” he gestured at Sanchez, “with a warning, into yer custody.”

“Mighty glad of that,” Larabee drawled. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Josiah step to the bars. “But I want to speak with Jenkins. He coming in? Or where-abouts can I find him?”

Turner frowned at the gunslinger, undecided whether he should help Chris or not. The choice was taken from his hands when the sheriff arrived.

“Something I can help you with?”

“Yeah.” Larabee looked past the sheriff, pointedly at the deputy. His business with Jenkins was no concern of Turner’s.

“Dal let these folks out.” Jake tossed the keys to the deputy. “Let’s talk.”

Chris asked Jenkins about Corinne’s visit the day before. Most importantly, about the theft of sixty dollars from her house. Jenkins refused to divulge any information stating it was an invasion of their privacy. When Larabee suggested it might be related to Vin’s disappearance the sheriff seemed to give it serious thought, but on the basis of his friendship with the family he’d discuss it with them first.

“And when are you likely to do that?”

“Reckon I could take a walk by the doc’s place this afternoon. He generally takes a break round then.”

“That could be too late.”

“Best I can do.”

Sanchez signed for the return of his guns and joined Larabee. The other revellers collected their weapons and strolled from the jail. “Brother. Nathan and JD returned?”

“This morning.”

“I’m mighty hungry.” Sanchez patted his stomach and when Jenkins turned to the paraphernalia on the desk, he gestured with his head to the door, signalling Chris to follow.

“You hear what they talked about?” Chris asked as soon as they had the closed door between them and the lawmen. Sanchez filled the gunman in on what he had heard.



Chris barged through the clinic doors. The room was nothing like Nathan had set up in Four Corners. He entered the foyer room; each of the three walls was lined with long stools and an assortment of seats. A majority of the seating was occupied and with the gunslinger’s arrival all heads turned on Larabee. Ignoring the looks of consternation and downright fright he rattled on the inner door and without waiting for an invitation to enter, Chris turned the knob. It took only thirty seconds to ascertain the room was empty and Larabee backed out into the waiting room.

“Doc hasn’t arrived yet,” a very obviously pregnant woman observed. She rubbed circular patterns on her belly and smiled to herself. “Normally we can set the time by Doctor Mitchell’s regularity, but this morning I’ve been waiting for over an hour and he still hasn’t come in.”

Chris noticed his friends loitering just inside the open door. “You all waiting to see him?” The group all murmured their agreement. “Anyone know where he is?”

A plump man leaned forward, balancing his weight on a cane. “Usually comes in around eight and starts seeing folks at nine. Can’t say I’ve seen him though this morning, unless there was some emergency out at the pits. That would explain his being late.”

“You might as well go home. He ain’t gonna be back here today.” Larabee announced and left. “Let’s go talk with Mrs. Mitchell.”

Twenty-Seven

Albert Mitchell skidded to a stop. He held a hand over his stampeding heart and choked down the lecherous stomach acids that rose to this throat. He watched the five determined men descend on his clinic and vanish inside. Their faces set hard as granite. This morning was getting worse by the hour. He glanced around quickly to see if anyone had witnessed his untimely stop, but the street was unusually bare, and he stepped back inside the Telegraph office. The operator gave him a bewildered look and the frown became more intense when Albert vaulted over the counter and fled through the back room and out the exit.

The ride to the old mill was completed in a short space of time. The doctor tethered his horse and walked the rest of the journey. He wondered how much time he had, and whether he could summon the strength to follow through with his ill formed plan. He nervously chewed his bottom lip, all the while slowly getting closer to the mill. At the back of his mind he hoped Tanner’s friends would come charging through the brush and rescue the two men he had trapped below the mill, but for that to happen he knew the chances of ever seeing his children and wife again would be squelched to ashes. If only he had arranged for Tanner to be taken out of Sovereign earlier, then the gambler would not have been hurt, and Mitchell’s livelihood wouldn’t now be threatened. But Albert was so desperate for the bounty on Tanner. His daughter’s future rested on an obscene amount of money that he could never collect, if not for this golden opportunity. He wanted the whole reward for himself - for his family, he amended. If only he had wired his wife’s cousin sooner, perhaps it wouldn’t have needed to come to this.

Mitchell rued the day he called on his wife’s cousin - a deputy from a neighbouring town. At the time, Mitchell had no illusions that he could, or ever would capture a wanted man, but for the sake of filling in time he checked out the wanted posters, while he waited for his connecting coach at the town jail where his cousin worked. He possessed a talent for remembering details and when Tanner showed up in Sovereign he quickly added up the resemblance with that of the wanted poster. It was pure luck that they crossed paths at the cemetery and sheer providence that Tanner followed him back to his clinic. Or so he thought. The Southerner’s persistence had worried him, and the arrival of Larabee and his group shattered his confidence totally. He thought he’d been given a reprieve when Larabee left, but he wasn’t gone long and in the short space of time the brooding man in black returned with vengeance on his mind. Perhaps Mitchell should just turn Tanner over to Jake. Let the law handle this situation. Then how could he explain Standish in the scheme of lies?

Albert fumbled with the box of lucifers, even dropping the box before he could open the tin. He dropped to his knees and retrieved the lost matches. He stayed on his haunches and with shaking hands struck the match to his boot. He couldn’t let go of the burning sliver of wood and he held it as the flame ate down the length. So mesmerized by the flame, the doctor didn’t realise that it had burnt down to his fingertips. He howled when the fire scorched the tender skin and flicking the digits to numb the pain he inadvertently set the still burning lucifer to the dry tinder.

In the preceding months the weather had been unusually dry, barely a drop of rain had fallen. The land was tempting with dry grasses and the fire hungrily ate at the long rushes quickly spreading to the mill.

Twenty-Eight

Vin wrinkled his nose and drew in a long breath. There was something odd about the scent of the air. Even despite the stench he’d almost become used to. He looked to the trap door and stared at it for a full minute before scrambling to his feet and standing beneath the only exit. He sniffed again, lifting his nose higher and wrinkling it.

Ezra stood more slowly; favouring his injured knee he limped over and paused behind the sharpshooter. “Has our miscreant returned?”

“Dunno…” Vin lifted to his toes, trying to get a better whiff from the outside. “Somethin’ smell different to you?”

Standish rolled his eyes to the roof. “Are you only now becoming aware of the atrocious odour that shares residence with us?”

“Not that,” Tanner dismissed with a groan. Vin craned his neck higher licking his lips to taste the air.

“Perhaps some of the water could be made of use to…”

Tanner impatiently waved, shushing the gambler to silence so he could concentrate on identifying the new smells. ”Shit!” he swore, catapulting backwards and stumbling over the gambler. He groped Ezra’s arm to catch his balance and with wide eyes explained; “Can smell smoke up there.”

Standish pursed his lips and warily checked above his head. “Perhaps you are mistaken?” Vin stared dryly at the Southerner. “I didn’t think so,” he muttered hobbling to the furtherest corner. “Where there is smoke, there is bound to be fire,” Ezra muttered.

“Might not be the mill.”

“And horse’s don’t shit.”

Vin chuckled. He couldn’t help himself. The Southerner certainly knew how to get his point across.

“That wasn’t intended in jest,” Standish intoned sardonically.

“Sorry. Yer right, don’t reckon it’s all that funny.” He pointed at the thin wafts of smoke that only that moment started to fill the upper portion of the room. This was not going to be good. “Lay down on the floor.”

“Pardon?”

“Give me yer jacket first.”

Standish stared at the outstretched hand for a full minute.

Tanner stripped his own off and tossed it in the water barrel, he grinned at the Southerner’s reaction.

“You are not divesting me of my wardrobe to immerse it in… that!” He pointed, horrified at the barrel.

“Getting a little wet ain’t gonna hurt ya, Ezra.” Hell, that was the least of their worries. Tanner arched his eyebrow and drew attention to the clouds of smoke that had started to fill the room. The Texan stalked the gambler, tugging at Ezra’s jacket and slipping it easily off Standish’s shoulders. “Lay down, I’ll cover you.”

The gambler hesitantly complied. His heart was hammering hard in his chest and the last thing he wanted to do was lie down. He shuddered when Vin draped his cold and wet coat over his head and shoulders and he watched from under the heavy folds for Vin to join him on the floor. But before the tracker did so, Vin pushed over the barrel empting the contents to flood around them.

“Arg…and I thought wearing waterlogged clothing was abysmal, now we are swimming,” he complained.

Vin stretched out beside the gambler. “Didn’t know you could swim.”

“Inevitability of one’s profession, living as a gambler on a riverboat,” he drawled.

Twenty-Nine

Albert covered his watering eyes and coughed. His hands were blackened with soot and blistered. His jacket was in tatters, having used it to stamp out the flames, but the intensity of the fire grew and his feeble attempts were futile. He covered his nose and mouth with the sleeve of his jacket. His shoulders sagged and he considered just walking away, no one would be the wiser. After all, this was his original intent. Nobody knew of the two men beneath the mill. But could he live with his conscience if they died at his hands? He watched silently as the flames licked along the aging woodwork of the mill.

The thump of hooves was upon him and he gawked with dread into five faces of doom. They rode stretched five across; only the black demon of gloom edged slightly in front. “It was an accident…” He stumbled backwards warding off the feral menace that seared through him. He glanced from one deadly expression to the next; searching for the one he hoped would gain him the most compassion. The dark haired youth was his final choice; he’d hold out the olive branch to the youngest hoping he’d persuade the others. “I didn’t mean to…” How had they discovered this place?

“Where are they?” Larabee demanded, jumping from the black gelding even before it completely stopped. Chris lifted the lean man onto his toes, twisting his fingers in the collar of Mitchell’s shirt.

The doctor pointed at the burning structure, and shuddered, gasping under the increased stranglehold about his throat. “There’s a dug-out room below the mill.”

“Chris, we don’t have time for this,” Buck pulled the gunslinger off the doctor. “If they are inside that, we’ve got to get them out.”

“There’s no way to help them now. They’ll be dead.” Albert hung his head in shame. He wasn’t a murderer. He didn’t take lives, he healed them.

Wilmington pushed the kidnapper hard to the nearby river. “You ain’t gonna like us too much if they are,” he growled. Buck tossed his jacket in the water; soaking it thoroughly and putting it back on. Then tied his bandana over his mouth and nose. He watched JD, Josiah and Nathan do similar. Larabee was unmoved, staring into the blaze.

Chris stared at the raging beast. The hungry demon ate and destroyed, gulping and consuming everything in its path. He stood unmoving, unheeded by what was going on around him, mesmerized by the inferno. The heat sucked what little resolve he had and crushed it under foot, flooding him with memories that were more a part of him than he could deny. The crackle and snarl eroded his self-confidence like the threat of a bullet could not do.

He sniffed back the moisture that threatened to fall, and gazed inside the burning structure. He saw Sarah’s image in the centre of the flames, beckoning Chris to join her. He heard the terrified screams of his only child, Adam, burned in his own bed, where he should have been safe. His home. His life. Burnt up in flames. How could a man survive such agonies? How could he rebuild his life, when his future held no promise? How did he move from one day on to another, knowing the very being of his existence has been ripped from his soul? It had been a tumultuous five years, since the death of his family. And many of those days were drowned in oblivion. He owed Buck more than the ladies’ man would ever accept or he could comfortably give. In the bonds of friendship they reached a happy medium.

He’d lost his life to the vagaries of fire. He wouldn’t lose his friends to the same power that stole his wife and son. He couldn’t…no wouldn’t, go through that again. The overpowering stench choked the living breath from his lungs. The fire lapped over the mill, sucking the very strength that had held it together since its demise. And thick curls of smoke danced over the morning sky, giving the sun a dark and orange glow.

Buck watched Larabee’s eyes, and cursed at the darkening pools of pain that reflected the raging flames. “Come on, pard. Don’t give up on them yet.”

Larabee glanced at the ladies’ man and resolutely at the engulfed mill. Chris spat out the bitter taste and turned to the river to catch a fresh breath “I ain’t,” he swore savagely. “Josiah. Nathan, JD, start getting water onto this. Make sure he helps,” Chris snarled in Mitchell’s direction.

“What cha got in mind,” Wilmington asked.

“Get the horses, Buck and lead ‘em round the back.”

Wilmington raced in the direction of the horses with Larabee hot on his heels. Chris pulled the rope off his saddle and removed Buck and JD’s as well. Buck whistled softly, a knowing smile creased his face, grasping the direction of the gunslinger’s thoughts.

Buck lined three of the five mounts beyond the scope of the fire. The heat from the abandoned building was intense and the horses baulked at being so close. It was a hard job keeping the animals from bolting.

Larabee knotted the ropes together and tied the free end to a heavy log; his fingers were clumsy in their efforts to be fast. He trusted Buck to rig up their horses to pull the log as one. He needed only one good throw to catapult the rope around the main beam. He swung high, the rope sailed through the smoke and fire, but it fell short and dropped limply. Chris quickly hauled in the rope, before it caught alight. Tying his colt to the end of the rope gave more power and direction to the second throw. It wasn’t a concern to lose his gun in the aid of rescuing Tanner and Standish. The second attempt was closer and it wrapped around the intended beam. “Buck! Get ready!” he shouted to be heard over the roar. They didn’t have much time; the flames would quickly eat the hessian rope. “Now!” The rope tightened, stretching to full length. The framework creaked and strained under the pull, but eventually crashed to the ground. Wilmington led the horses away from the mill, dragging the bulk of the burning framework clear.

The strong determination of Sanchez, Jackson and Dunne continued ferrying water to the remained walls. With the separation of a majority of the burning material from the mill, the fire was controlled more readily. Mitchell stayed in the midst of the confusion, helping the regulators to put out the fire. What choice did he have?

Larabee sprinted through the smouldering ashes. “Vin! Ezra!” He lifted the trap door, and a puff of smoke spilled from the cavern, filling the gunman’s face with tears. He coughed and stepped back to gather his breath. He felt Buck’s hand on his shoulder, and the reassuring voice telling him that it didn’t have to be him that went below. “I’m going down, Buck.” Chris called again, jumping into the depths. It took a few precious moments to see through the thick haze and when he did, Chris panicked, taking in a lung full of smoke in response to seeing the bodies of his friends lying motionless. His eyes burned and his lungs fought against the intrusion of the thick cloying smoke.

Larabee wasted no time in reaching the Southerner and pulling him into an upright position, then manoeuvred Standish over his shoulder. He staggered under the weight, but refused to drop his cargo. “Nathan!” he croaked, standing below the yawning hole and stretching his body to the limit to lift the unresponsive gambler to the grasping hands. He relinquished his hold when he felt Standish’s weight subside. “Get him out of here!”

Chris spun on his heels and returned for Tanner. The tracker was arranged exactly like Ezra. He lifted Vin to his shoulder and gave up possession to Buck and JD; they bundled his rag body under their arms and followed in the wake of Nathan. Chris circled impatiently in the hole, waiting for one his men to return and deliver him.

Larabee’s entire body trembled as he spun a slow circle inspecting the crude hovel. His eyes flicked in agitation, burning from the fumes and the swell of tears. “Come on,” he growled thickly through gritted teeth. “Get me outta here.” The smoke was slowly dissipating through the opened trapdoor, but the dark coils of smoke lay heavy in the corners and the cloaking smell of death clung in his clothes and hair; once more a shudder passed through his body. His hands clenched, squeezing the nails deeply into the flesh of his hands and his knuckles turned white with the intensity. Only a thin thread held onto his self-control and it was fraying rapidly with each minute he remained in the smouldering den. How much longer could he fight the demons? Chris gulped painfully around the rising lump in his throat, his ears strained and eyes squinted at the exit hole; all the while, his impatience was breaking forth from the fragile casing.

On a wheezing breath, he watched as Josiah’s long arm delved from above and Chris gripped it tightly eager to rise from the tomb. He vaulted out, anxious to leave his troubled thoughts deep inside the dark hole. They were far too raw to consider at this point in time.

Thirty

“I’m a doctor. Let me help.”

Larabee raced away from the mill across the barren ground, where the fire had missed in its destruction. Josiah’s strong legs kept him paced with the more limber man. Chris searched through the crush of surrounding bodies, hoping to see both his men sitting up and talking up a storm. But as he came closer, he saw this wasn’t the case. He pushed roughly at Mitchell’s back, shoving him from their inner circle. He glared at the wayward doctor; a sneer curled the corner of his lips.

After everything they’d gone through. Larabee finally registered the words spoken by Mitchell when he arrived on the scene. He whirled on the thin man, facing him with contempt, standing with his hands splayed on his hips to bar the way. “They don’t need your help. Nathan’s doing just fine.” Chris turned his back on Mitchell. “Buck, get him out of my sight.”

Jackson swallowed nervously. “Might be a good idea to let him past.” His eyes dropped to the ground, unable to meet Larabee’s.

“Something wrong?”

How did Nathan tell Chris his best friend wasn’t breathing? “Vin ain’t breathing.” There he’d said it.

Mitchell pulled out of Wilmington’s hold, squatting in the dust by Vin’s head. “It’s probably just the smoke…filled up his lungs,” he grunted as he sat the floppy tracker up. Vin’s head sagged to his chin. “Turn him on his side,” he commanded, pointing to Standish. And when he starts coming around, sit him up.” That’s assuming he was breathing. Mitchell ignored the distrustful eyes that watched his every move and circled his arms around Vin’s chest; he squeezed hard, lifting him slightly off the ground. He did it again and again, then he thumped viscously on Tanner’s back.

Vin gagged, throwing back his head and coughing coarsely. He sucked in a breath and immediately exhaled with a wheeze.

Chris shared a tight look with Jackson. “They are gonna be okay, Nathan.”

It was more of a statement than a question. Jackson nodded at the gunman’s soft inquiry. Smiling, now that his own uncertainties had been put to rest. The healer fixed the doctor with a critical gaze, and Mitchell returned the stare with a grim nod. It didn’t surprise Nathan that Larabee would query him on the status of Tanner and Standish when Mitchell treated them. “Should be.”



“Take it easy, Vin.”

“Nathan?” Tanner coughed. “Didn’t reckon I’d be gettin’ out of there alive.” He bent forward and hacked. Jackson rested his hand on his back. “Ezra, all right?”

“See for yerself.”

Vin glanced up. “Ezra?”

Hearing his name, Standish lifted his head from his knees. He grinned at the tracker, then covered his hand to his mouth as he was wracked by another bout of coughing. “We seem to have escaped.”

“No thanks to you,” Larabee growled, crouching before the Southerner.

Ezra closed his eyes, unable to meet the glare of the man in black. “My sincerest, apologies,” he rasped.

“Tweren’t his fault…” Tanner defended.

“I never said it was.” Chris smiled at the stunned look Standish bestowed on him. “Just meant, we’d a found you sooner if Ezra hadn’t gone off on his own.” He patted the gambler on the knee. “You could have left us a few more clues. Or waited ‘til we came back.”

“You gentlemen were riding to Tuscosa,” Standish exclaimed, pausing to take another breath before he could continue. “What exactly would you have had me do? You had already accused me of not making a concerted effort to find Vin!”

“What you did was fine,” Nathan declared, attempting to placate the gambler. “A note next time would be good, though.”

Standish opened his mouth to respond, but was again assaulted by a wracking cough.

“Take it easy,” Nathan coaxed. “You two were lucky to get out.”

“Thing I can’t figure, is how you knew to find Vin here?” Dunne asked.

Standish wiped his face appalled to find it smeared in blackish ash; he was tired and perturbed at having to explain his actions. “Mr. Hernandez was most obliging.”

“Wait a minute,” Jackson moaned. “He told you Vin was here?”

“Not exactly. He mentioned the good doctor was affiliated with this mill. It was just a natural conclusion that Vin was here.” Ezra frowned, assessing Mitchell even as he lurked on the outer limits of the group. He wondered why Chris hadn’t secured the miscreant. After all, Mitchell had assaulted and kidnapped Vin and assaulted his person and held them both prisoners. That wasn’t even mentioning the fact that they’d practically been roasted alive.

“Damn!” Nathan swore.

Larabee arched his eyebrows and stared at the healer. When Nathan said nothing further, he levelled his gaze at JD.

“Hernandez told us he didn’t know who paid him. And had no idea where Vin was.”

Wilmington laughed. “Reckon you need a few more lessons from Ezra in how to get all the information.”

Thirty-One

“We set to go?”

Buck adjusted the cinch under his saddle and patted his horse on the rump. “Just as soon as Vin and Ezra get here.”

Larabee rolled his eyes, slowly drew in a long breath and rubbed his jaw thoughtfully. After a long pause Chris finally asked, but dreaded Buck’s response. “Where are they?” Hadn’t they been through this already?

Wilmington shrugged. “Tanner all but dragged Ezra out of the Hotel. Thought they were headed here, but when I turned around they’d disappeared.”

“You don’t think…” He glanced over to the sheriff’s office, gave a two fingered salute to Jenkins who was watching them curiously, then let his eyes take in the rest of the town. Surely nothing else could happen to the troublesome pair. “How long ago, Buck?”

“Ten…maybe fifteen minutes.” Buck smirked at the growl that rumbled from the gunslinger.

“Told ‘em we were leaving this morning.”

“Maybe they had something ta do first.”

“I’ll kill ‘em if they get into any more trouble!”



The Southerner hobbled a pace behind the tracker as they headed for the cemetery. His knee still gave him some concern, but Jackson had wrapped it to give the joint more stability. He felt uncomfortable with Tanner’s request that he should join him at his mother’s grave, but couldn’t very well refuse. That would be churlish.

Vin knelt at the crumbling headstone. “Ezra. I’d like ya to meet my ma.”

Standish crouched similarly, reading the inscription on the stone. It was a simple epitaph.

Ruth Tanner.
Beloved Wife and Mother.
1832 –1856

The love and bond established between mother and child in only five short years was something Standish could never begin to understand. What could he possibly say? Ezra’s relationship with Maude was strange in comparison. “She would have been proud of you, Vin.”

Vin shook his head. “Dunno. Haven’t always done what’s right. But I’ve never killed a man for something he didn’t deserve.” And he had never forgotten who he was. He’d always be a Tanner. His ma’s words were memorised in his heart.

“She must have been a remarkable woman,” a soft note of awe touched his words.

Vin sniffed, lowering his head and wiping his nose on the sleeve of his shirt. “Them’s are just words, Ezra. You have no way of knowing….”

“I beg to differ,” Standish interrupted, resting his hand on the tracker’s shoulder. “She was your mother. Ruth Tanner,” he spoke the name out loud. “She raised you to believe in the ideals. She gave you high standards to strive for and with everything you do, her guidance and teachings shines through.” Standish stood. “And if you can’t believe in yourself, there is a gentleman in town, possibly more, who remembers your mother and will attest to her love of her husband and child.”

“What? Who?”

Ezra was slightly startled by the tracker’s response. “The sheriff, for one. He was willing to protect you on the sole basis of his memory of your mother.”

“He knew my ma?” Standish nodded. “I don’t remember him.”

“You haven’t been back for a long time, Vin.”

“I guess.”

“I shall leave you to finish up and round up our comrades.”

Vin stepped in front of the gambler. “Thanks for everything, Ezra.”

Standish grinned widely, accepting the outstretched hand and shook it firmly. “My pleasure, Vin.”

Thirty-Two

“Here comes, Ezra,” JD said.

Wilmington leant on the smaller man, turning in the direction that Dunne faced. “Vin’s not with him.” He could see the vein in Chris’ forehead beginning to pulse. It would only take the slightest provocation.

“Morning, Ezra,” Josiah boomed.

“Mr. Sanchez,” Standish performed a double take. Always the showman. “I heard a rumour about you spending the night in jail.” The dimples in the gambler’s cheeks showed as he grinned at the preacher.

“Where is Vin?” Larabee asked impatiently.

“He will be here presently.”

“That wasn’t what I asked!”

“Then it isn’t my place to elucidate,” Standish countered. He gathered Chaucer’s reins and climbed into the saddle, taking his time to settle into the seat. He flicked at his cuffs and made a show of straightening his attire, then gave the customary salute before leading his mount from town.

“He is going to be joining us?” Larabee called after the gambler, resisting the urge to smile. That man was so infuriating at times. “Ezra?” His resolve broke when Standish waved his hand in recognition of hearing the gunman’s query, but never turned back to face them. Chris watched the gambler encourage his mount into a gallop, and wondered at the forces that drove Standish. He spent the night gambling at the tables; heaven only knew when he went to sleep. “Buck. Josiah. Go with him.”

“We will watch over our brother.”

“I’d prefer if you could do more than just watch, Josiah. Keep him out of trouble,” Chris sighed.

Wilmington chuckled, sharing a look of amusement with the preacher. “Don’t be long getting, Tanner.”

“Don’t plan on spending anymore time here, than is necessary.”

Epilogue

Dunne rummaged through his saddlebags. He glanced casually along the road hearing the approach of the wagon heading their direction. “I don’t get it.”

“What don’t you understand?” Jackson asked.

JD looked at Larabee, but the gunman glared menacingly at the occupants of the wagon. Dunne could see the anger simmering below the surface. “I just don’t understand why Vin and Ezra let him go?” Dunne nodded again at the wagon. It was loaded to the brink with numerous wooden chests, a dining table and an assortment of chairs hanging off the side. Albert Mitchell sat next to his wife on the board seat and their son Teddy sat next to his mother. The young family was headed back East to be closer to their daughter.

Vin slipped from between the buildings. Hearing JD’s comment, he couldn’t let it pass. “Mitchell didn’t do anything so bad. He was desperate for the money, but couldn’t bring himself to turn me in to collect it. I had a better chance of starving to death, than being hung.” Been through a lot worse at times, he mused.

Dunne started, not hearing the tracker’s arrival until he spoke. “He almost got you and Ezra burnt to a crisp!”

“That was an accident, JD. And he hurt Ezra worse than he did me.”

“That’s another thing. Why would Ezra agree not to file a complaint?”

Tanner shrugged. “You’d have ta ask Ezra that.”

Dunne sighed hoping Chris or Nathan would come to his aid, but both remained silent on the issue. If anything, Larabee seemed to agree with Dunne that Mitchell should not have been allowed a second chance.

The wagon lumbered past the lawmen. Albert looked stoically ahead, not risking a glance to his right as he came level. It clambered at a snail’s pace, every so often someone would rush forward and wish them farewell. It was several long minutes before they passed through the town limits.

“You finished?” Chris asked the tracker. There seemed to be some other silent and unspoken message that passed between the pair, but Dunne couldn’t guess at it.

“Gonna stay on for a few more days.” Got some things I gotta do, some people I need ta talk with.

Damn, if he hadn’t expected this. “Standish know you were staying?”

“Didn’t tell ‘im.” But he probably guessed.

“Want some company?” Just me…I’ll send Nathan and JD home with the others.

“Sure, cowboy. Need someone ta watch my back on the way home. Thanks.”

The End

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