Divergence
By: Yolande
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.
