Hunted
By: The Scribe
They say the road to Perdition is paved with good intentions.
At this moment, his good intentions looked a great deal more like deception.
Looking in the mirror, he did not know who he was or why he was continuing this pursuit. With each passing day, the man in the glass appeared less and less like him and more like a stranger who was prepared to sell out his friends. It was foolishness, of course, because his reflection remained unchanged. The man he was, when examined closely, was no different except now the image was now burdened with a weight he had not expected to carry when he first rode into Four Corners.
Strange how a place could have so much power over a man who had spent his life roaming from one dusty old cow town, watering hole, and plain forgotten outpost to another, only to find comfort in a place that was little more than a collection of buildings. A collection that struggled daily to keep itself from being buried by the sands borne of the harsh desert wind. He had not intended to stay long enough to like this town but he had. Now it was a weakness that gnawed intensely at him. Almost as intensely as the reason he had come to Four Corners in the first place.
This could not go on.
It was breaking him inside to continue. Each day, he found his resolve starting to crumble just a little more and he was too set in his ways to be deconstructed so late in life. He had to remind himself of who he was before he came to this town and not let the situation drive itself beneath his skin like a splinter of wood. Yet discarding the persona he had worn since arriving would mean losing the trust of one of his oldest friends. As much as he told himself it was a necessary sacrifice, there was a part of him that did not wish to do this. He knew he should have acted months ago but loyalty to the man he owed more than just friendship stayed his hand. Now the situation had taken on a life of its own and he had run out of time.
It was time to act and for the life of him, Baker Campbell hated being forced into it.
For months now, he had been delaying the inevitable. He had spent months in Four Corners, watching and waiting, trying to ascertain how this paradox before him had come to be and finding no answers. His whole life had been spent on following his gut instinct but, on this occasion, it failed him completely. His heart said one thing, while his mind said another. In the scheme of things, he supposed it did not really matter whether or not he could reconcile the two. Duty was an entity existing separately from either and it was not conflicted on what needed to be done.
To Chris Larabee and the residents of Four Corners, he was Baker Campbell, an old friend of the black garbed leader of the lawmen known as the “Magnificent Seven.” He had befriended the group and became a regular face around town, which was more than he had ever intended to be. His original plan had been simple enough: remain in Four Corners for a few days and study his target before the kill. So to speak.
What he had never counted on was the fact that he would find Chris Larabee here. The gunslinger's presence changed everything.
Unexpected or not, explanations were not going to be enough to salve Chris' anger when Baker stood before him and revealed the truth. He was not simply Baker Campbell, his old friend, but rather a US Marshall who had come to town on the trail of a wanted a fugitive.
A fugitive who just happened to go by the name of Vin Tanner.
Even now, Baker had trouble believing that the man was wanted for murder. Unfortunately, it was not Baker's job to question whether or not justice had been done, only to see that it was carried out Tanner had been found guilty by the law in Texas and that was all he needed to know. This simple acknowledgement of the facts alone should have comforted him. Lord knows it had done so in the past, but this time, simply telling himself that a man was guilty of a crime was doing nothing to convince him of it. In the heart of him, Baker knew that following such an immutable creed was restrictive and unyielding. Things could exist in shades of grey but until now he had never confronted with the situation of having to decide for himself.
Vin Tanner was not a murderer.
In every fibre of his being, Baker knew this. He knew the sharpshooter was not guilty of the crime for which he had been accused and tried. There was a difference between being forced to kill and being a killer: Vin Tanner was definitely of the former. A man who stood between life and death in the protection of the innocent on a regular basis could not have committed the crime that Tanner was being accused. Yet, Vin had been found guilty of murder no matter how much Baker debated it or refused to believe it. However, more pressing than even that conundrum was how someone like Chris Larabee could befriend someone that was capable of cold-blooded murder?
Since Baker knew Chris so well, the answer so relatively simple. Chris would not.
The Chris Larabee he knew would never knowingly stand by a man accused of the crime that Vin Tanner was. Despite the tragedies that had been visited upon the gunslinger in the years since Baker had known him, Chris had not shaken that cloak of self-righteousness that made him so distinguishable among men. However, Chris' relationship with Vin was more than friendship, it was almost brotherhood. Even if they did not share the same blood, Baker had no doubt in his mind that Chris would protect the younger man like a blood kin if anyone attempted to hurt him. Unfortunately, making Vin answer for crimes, he may or may not have committed in Texas, certainly constituted as such.
The night air was frosty even in the desert and as he debated these things, with the lights of Four Corners awaiting him on the distant horizon, Baker knew that everything running through his mind was academic, not to mention pointless. The silver star languishing within the folds of a handkerchief during his occupation of Four Corners had made its triumphant return tonight and it gleamed proudly under the moonlight. Feeling it on his lapel gave Baker some measure of comfort, reminding him who he was and what he had to do. The marshal reached into his pocket watch and studied the clock face once more, growing impatient by the waiting.
Fortunately, he did not have long to wait and was less then surprised when he heard the hooves of horses against the dirt approaching him rapidly. Instinctively, his hand went for his gun because it was never wise to simply assume that whoever was riding up was a friend, even if he was expecting them. A few more minutes passed before the sound was given form and finally a group of four riders crested the hill beyond the trees surrounding his campsite. Baker rose to his feet, his posture visibly relaxed because he recognized them under the glow of the moonlight and knew there was no danger.
His horse, named Fiddler's Green for no other reason other than the fact that he liked how it sounded, offered a little nicker and a flick of its tale at the presence of other horses approaching. The riders closed the distance between themselves and the campfire, tethering their horses to the same tree Baker had used for his own horse before entering the circle of fire.
"Marshal," a tall, thin man with pale features dressed in a tan duster and a hat too big for him greeted Baker with a handshake. "It's good to see you," he said earnestly upon removing his hat and running his hand through his sweat plastered dark hair, "didn't think we were ever gonna get your call."
"Good to see you too, Gilmore," Baker replied with just as much warmth. Mike Gilmore was a deputy marshal often lending him assistance whenever Baker had a particularly difficult outlaw to deal with. Usually, Gilmore's help was all that he needed, but on this occasion, Baker was taking no chances and had recruited others.
"I rounded up Vess and Muth like you asked," he glanced over his shoulder at the two men behind him.
Vess was a stocky, middle aged man with thinning hair and rotten teeth. Despite his appearances, he was a good tracker and had ridden by Baker's side enough for him to consider reliable. Muth was the youngest of them, fresh out of the army and looking to make himself a marshal some day in the future. The kid was a straight arrow, if a little too hungry for Baker's liking, but then he was young and no less driven as Baker had been at his age.
"Howdy, marshal, been awhile since the last time." Vess tipped his hat at Baker as he chewed on tobacco, making loud squelching noises that were the main reason why he was still unmarried at his age. "I was beginning to think you'd gone and retired." He grinned.
"Never happen," Baker retorted and made eye contact with Muth. "Ain't you made marshal yet, Muth?"
The comment drew a snigger from the others and the young man laughed good naturedly, accustomed to the marshal's ribbing about his dedication to acquiring a tin star of his own.
"I'm still working on it Marshal," he replied before Baker's attention turned to the last member of their company.
"Hey, Roman," Baker tipped his hat at the former lawyer turned marshal.
Roman Klein had been a lawyer for some years in Arizona before discovering enforcing the law held more fascination for him than arguing it. Klein was roughly Baker's age and spoke with an eastern air. If one did not know better, it would have been easy to mistake the man for something of a bookworm since he looked more suited to being inside a library than behind a gun.
"Baker," Roman greeted, revealing his greying hair tied neatly with a leather thong when he removed his hat. "I was surprised when Gilmore here told me you asked me to join you boys. Not that I'm averse to riding with you, just kind of curious."
In truth, Baker did not know why he had sent for Roman. If another gun was all that he needed, there were a dozen names off the top of his head that would have served just as well but something almost as compelling as instinct drove him to request Roman's presence for the task ahead.
"I feel the need to have your company on this one, Roman," Baker answered after a moment, "I don't know why yet."
Roman stared at him a moment, trying to decide whether or not this was a good answer, before he replied to Baker's statement, "I guess we'll work it out together."
"I guess we will." Baker offered him a wry smile and bade the others around the campfire, where a bottle of whisky was promptly produced and passed around in good order.
After everyone was sufficiently satisfied with a swig of whiskey to warm them far more effectively then could be managed by any fire, Baker decided to get to the business at hand.
"I called you boys here for a good reason," he began when all eyes were upon him and waiting for him to continue. "I've got a bounty to bring in and its not going to be easy. The outlaw we're after has been charged and tried of murder in Tascosa."
"Ain't that for the Texas Rangers to bring him in?" Vess inquired.
"No, the Rangers aren't too happy to deal with this one and there's a territorial judge involved in the whole mess that might just make things ugly. If too many people get involved, the judge could be facing trouble for allowing this to go as far as he did."
"What's a judge got to do with an outlaw?" Muth asked with obvious puzzlement.
"Apparently the outlaw works for him," Baker replied, trying to make his references to Vin Tanner as impersonal as possible because detachment was essential if the Marshal was going to do his job. "He is one of seven men protecting that town over there."
"Protecting?" Gilmore stared at him. "Like a lawman?"
"Like a lawman." Baker nodded grimly. "Doing a pretty good job of it too. Apparently, the town was a little bit of a hell hole before the seven of them took on the role of lawmen."
Confusion swept through their faces except that of Klein who simply remained silent, observing what was being said and allowing the others to ask the obvious questions. Baker could not blame them for their puzzlement; he himself had been wrestling with the paradox of the whole thing.
"I don't know of many outlaws that take to protecting a town unless there's something in it for him," Gilmore retorted with natural skepticism.
"Nope, nothing like that," Baker ended that particular speculation swiftly. "Apparently, he just works for a dollar a day, free room and board."
"Okay," Muth spoke up, "I'm getting confused here. He is wanted for murder, isn't he?"
"Yep," Baker nodded, "tried and convicted of the crime. He claims he didn't do it, that he was tracking another outlaw by the name of Ely Joe, who tricked him. Apparently, Tanner, that's his name, had never seen Ely Joe before and he found a dead body matching the man's description. When he brought the body in, it was discovered that it was a farmer named Jesse Kincaid. The sheriff of Tascosa naturally assumed that Tanner killed Kincaid to claim the bounty."
"And he was convicted on that alone?" Roman inquired, starting to understand why Baker had brought him in on this.
"More or less." Baker shrugged. "You know these small town lawmen, they usually don't spend a lot of time investigating and Tanner didn't help matters much by taking off either."
"That's for sure," Vess retorted. "So what are we gonna do, bring him in to hang?"
"That's about the size of it," Baker admitted distastefully. "But it ain't going to be easy; we have to get through his friends to reach him."
"Hell, we've done that before," Gilmore said smugly.
"Maybe you have," Baker replied, wondering if he ought to tell them why this instance was so different and supposed they had a right to know what they were in for. "But his friends will die before they let us take him to Tascosa to hang.”
"Can't say I blame them," Roman replied. "If he ran from Tascosa, there'll be a lynch mob waiting for him when we bring him in."
"It's not just that," Baker sighed, sparing them nothing in the knowledge of just how much resistance they would encounter in Four Corners. "They think he is innocent."
"You're kidding," Muth exclaimed incredulously.
Baker wished this were a joke but then he never joked when it came to friends or family and very soon, Chris Larabee would be neither.
