DISCLAIMER: The following is a work of fanfiction based on the CBS television series, The Magnificent Seven. It is in no way intended to infringe on the copyrights of CBS, MGM, The Trilogy Entertainment Group, The Mirisch Corp., or anyone else who may have legal rights to the characters, settings or song references. I don't own the characters. This story is strictly for entertainment. No monetary gain will be made from anything contained in this story.
AUTHOR'S NOTES: This was written as a birthday gift for Winnie. This is the only story I've written and my thanks go to Deirdre who helped me and provided hours of support. Her magic touch enriched what otherwise would have been a crude attempt at writing.
Vin Tanner's soft sigh was barely audible, but his saddlesore partner heard it clear enough. It was not so much in words, but in the tracker's silent body language. The three-day trek from Four Corners took them through rough terrain, while delivering a murderer for trial. Chris Larabee glared openly at the young prisoner on the horse behind him. He was a wild kid too eager to make a name for himself.
"That damn half-breed a cripple too?" he sneered, watching the longhaired man in the distance squirm and grip his back. His smile faded when a lightning quick draw brought a pearl-handled revolver into the fading sunlight. "Hey, you can't kill me, I'm unarmed and tied up."
"Kill?" Chris grunted, smiling evilly, "Who said anything about killing you? Could be I was firing at a coyote and your knee got in the way. Either way, you're crippled, so shut your fuckin' mouth!"
The fading roses in the sky that signaled the end of the day shone like a ray of hope to the weary tracker. He lowered the spyglass and arched his back, hissing as a bolt of pain lanced it once again. An escape attempt the day before resulted in a severe blow to his back, aggravating the torment he was already suffering. The journey had been three days of Hell, pure and simple. The prisoner never stopped griping and Chris lost his last shred of patience during that altercation. He was riding on empty and Vin could feel his temper waiting to explode. Eden was just ahead and named most appropriately. The sharpshooter was weary to the bone and in need of a hot bath, some good grub, a full bottle and a soft bed, in that order.
Tom Peters looked away from the steely gaze of the blond gunslinger. He'd heard all the legends about Chris Larabee and after spending three days with him, he had no doubt they were all true. A killer himself for over five years now, since he met up with the Red River Gang, he knew the look all too well. He shifted uncomfortably in the saddle, every inch of him sore from the harsh trip. Even the bunk in the jail looked good now. At least he wouldn't have Larabee's wrath to contend with. He eyed the buffalo-hide coat returning and shook off a tremble. Larabee's sidekick didn't talk much, but something about the look of those blue eyes and the way he moved was scary enough. He saw the tracker staring at him again and narrowed his gaze, not hiding his contempt. He could smell a half-breed a mile away and this guy reeked of Indian-lover.
"Three hours," Vin pulled up short of Chris, "I'll ride ahead, we're late and the law's likely to be wonderin'..."
"We're fine," Chris answered the concern flickering in the blue eyes. "I'll see you in the saloon, don't be cheap." Chris saw a smirk tugging on the weary man's face as he turned to ride away.
Vin could cut the time short if he pressed hard. That would give him time to rid himself of three days worth of grit, dirt, grime and whatever vermin was making him itch. Peters was going to trial for murder. He didn't think the judge would have any trouble. There were several witnesses who saw the kid gun down a helpless woman and child. They were the innocent victims of Fate's fine hand that morning. Mrs. Abigail Anderson was in the bank, depositing twelve dollars she'd earned from stitchery. Joshua was only four and anxious to get outside, he didn't like the bank. So when the thieves burst in, he'd become frightened and started to cry. That set off the blond, blue-eyed bandit who'd been guarding the door. The boy's wails drew the attention of passersby, who in turn alerted the law. Peters grabbed the boy and his distraught mother followed. Between the kid screaming and the mother's hysterical cries, Peters lost it and killed them both. The gang got away but the law notified all the surrounding towns. The Seven split up, each taking a section of the county. Chris and Vin tracked him down near Copper Hill, a small mining community. Chris wired Four Corners to alert J.D. and Eden as well to alert them. That was three days ago. Vin dismounted outside the sheriff's office and grimaced as both his headache and backache protested in unison.
"You Graves?" Vin asked, taking his hat off and swiping the sweat from his dirty face.
"Who's asking?"
"I'm with Larabee," Vin offered, not willing to give his name, the fear of his own bounty hovering close. "We wired ya 'bout Peters...he's behind me 'bout a half hour. Bathhouse?"
"Down the street, ten cents including soap and a clean towel. Thanks for bringing him in, this is one I'll enjoy watch dancin' on the end of a rope."
Vin didn't take the hand offered, nor did he like the reptilian smile on the lawman's face. He merely nodded and backed up, seeking refuge in the guise of steaming water.
Chris could feel his temper rising as the desire to exterminate Peters from this life scorched his very being. They were approaching the town and the kid continued to assault him with taunts.
"Bet them injuns taught your friend how to carve up a body real good. Too bad I didn't have more time with that little fella. Now, don't get me wrong, I ain't one of them freaks what like to do it with men but I had me a little injun once and he was so..."
The horrific narrative was cut short as an iron vise grabbed Peter's throat. Seconds later he felt the sharp tip of a blade pierce the fabric of his pants and a trickle of wetness at his groin as the knife penetrated the tender flesh.
"I don't think the fine citizens of this town care if you hang with or without your balls. Far as I'm concerned, a man like you don't have any." The blond's menacing threat was accented by deadly intent.
Eyes bulging in fear, the doomed man looked into a face that promised the threat was not an empty one. Chris's gaze burned with an intensity that transformed the green eyes into twin beacons of emerald fire.
The gunslinger fought to control his thirst to inflict agony on the filthy piece of humanity before him. His knuckles whitened with the effort to halt his urge to carve the loathsome flesh. Peters rocked back in the saddle as Chris released him with a muttered curse.
"You were saying?" Chris let his eyes and the knife punctuate his question.
The captive swallowed nervously and knew that the man would carry out the threat without a qualm. The rest of the journey was completed in blessed silence and soon the duo pulled up in front of the jail.
"You must be Larabee." Graves felt a tremor of fear at the menacing sight of the man in black. This was a man that you just didn't cross if you wanted to see the sun rise in the morning.
Chris paused and scanned the figure before him. The corpulent body and the ruddy face with its small beady eyes did not instill an impression of capability. Sparing a brief nod to the man, the blond reached over and flung his charge to the ground. He watched in satisfaction as Peters landed on the dusty street with a bone-jarring thud.
"This piece of garbage is Peters, he's your problem now." Uninclined to spend any more time in the company of the two men, Larabee turned his horse in the direction of the saloon.
Vin experienced a brief surge of relief as the batwing doors opened and his best friend strolled into the saloon and up to the bar. Conversation ceased and silence reigned as the patrons stared at the newcomer. An aura of danger seemed to emanate from the black garbed stranger. Ignoring the stares, Larabee ordered a whiskey and quickly consumed it. His hand snaked out and grabbed the bottle as the bartender started to move away. Casually flipping a coin on the counter, Chris turned and directed his infamous glare at the occupants before moving towards the table in the corner where Vin was sitting.
"Nice entrance," Vin grinned laconically as Chris gracefully folded his frame into a chair. The blond noted, without surprise, that the tracker selected a table which offered a clear view of the entire room. His hat nearly covered his face, an attempt to disguise his identity from any would-be bounty hunters. He marveled at Vin's relaxed stance. He was certain that being in a town that was hungry for a hanging had to have the Texan edgy.
"Got a bath with salts from the Chinaman who runs the place," Vin answered the intense gaze that swept across his back,"...helped some. I sent word home t'Mary. Might be a good idea if we head out tonight..." Vin sipped his whiskey carefully, watching Chris's fingers flexing. The blond's face was pinched with rage and the tracker knew he was in a lot of pain. Seeing the mother and child murdered had stoked the fires of injustice inside the gunslinger. He had a hot itch inside, the dangerous kind that only pounding flesh would quell. Vin didn't like the looks the strangers were giving them. He liked the sleazy sheriff even less. So as much as he longed for a bed to rest his aching back, he couldn't leave Chris, not in this hostile atmosphere. He shifted and wasn't able to mask the grimace of pain as the fire stabbed his back again. On top of the injury, he was worried about the crimson tinged urine he'd been producing.
"The only thing I aim to do tonight is empty this bottle." Chris replied as he downed the contents of another shot glass.
The gunslinger's face conveyed not only the exhaustion he felt, but also the deeper anguish of once again fighting the demons that plagued him. The horrific thought of the mother and child slain during the robbery conjured up images of Sarah and Adam. The reflection of what they suffered tore at his soul and posed a threat to his sanity. Tonight he would allow his mind to be numbed by liquor. When dawn eased its way over the horizon he would once again focus on the living.
The sharpshooter peered into his friend's face and recognized the grief. He'd seen it many times before and knew this particular foe would be one he could never vanquish.
Chris tossed back another shot of whiskey, which only fueled his anger. He let his eyes slide around the room, sizing up the nosey patrons. He heard the hiss emerge from his partner, the same time the Texan's features screwed up. Vin never talked about his back, Nate said it traced back to an infirmity when he was a kid. He warned the others about this adding to Vin's testy mood when he rode too long. The stifling heat of the smoke-filled saloon and the weariness in his lean frame only added to his misery. The damn drunks and gamblers were whispering and staring behind crooked teeth. To hell with them... he tossed another shot back and saw the dead child's eyes rise up before him. The line of liquor in the bottle disappeared, as did the hours of the night. Beside him, Vin shifted and hissed again.
"Jesus Vin," he snorted, "I've seen men of ninety more limber."
Vin eyed his companion and the quickly disappearing liquid in the whiskey bottle. He signaled the barkeep for a mug of ale. He spent the next half-hour nursing the watered-down brew and felt Chris's rage coming to a head. He knew Chris wanted to vent and unfortunately, he was the only likely target for the sharp barbs.
Chris knew what Vin was doing and that only added fuel to his fire. Who the hell did Tanner think he was? He finished the bottle and his headache got worse. The faces were leering at him and the scene in the street unfolded again...with Sara and Adam lying dead. Vin's beer sat half full and the fact that the lanky tracker was shifting again in the chair that should be vacant, bothered him.
"I don't need no fuckin' babysitter," Chris snarled, sending the beer across the table and onto the floor.
Vin followed the rolling mug until it came to rest against a leg across from them. He saw the two cardplayers halt their game and smile, tossing their cards down. Vin narrowed his gaze and sent the repellent gambler a silent warning.
"Ya lose somethin' Pretty Boy?" the cardplayer asked, caressing the mug that hit his leg. He gripped it in tobacco-stained fingers and stood, leering openly and waiting for a reply.
Vin's usual catlike reflexes were hampered by his injured back. As he struggled to rise, a hand clamped down on his shoulder, sending rippling waves of pain through him. He was firmly planted in the chair again.
"I'm gonna be usin' them them balls of yours for dice if you don't move that ugly face from in front of me," Chris growled, hands tingling over his colts.
"Aw, hell..." Vin muttered, seeing a disaster ready to unfold. He shook off the pain and stood, putting himself between the quartet that now joined the drunk and Chris. "No harm done," Vin offered, before the black sleeve sent him hard onto the chair once more. As Chris went to move by him, ready to pounce on the baiting group, Vin's fist flew out, cuffing him. It stunned the blond long enough for the struggling sharpshooter to drag him to the door.
"You're making the wrong kinds of enemies," Chris slurred, shoving Vin hard, "Hell, you're the one with the price on your head..."
Vin saw the combination of liquor and the punch take it's toll and caught Chris as his legs buckled. By some miracle, he managed to get them into the hotel. Fortunately, their rooms were on the ground floor. By the time he dumped Chris on the bed, he was too weary and wary to leave. He took his coat off and curled up across the room, using it as a crude pillow. Home couldn't come soon enough, the fire in his back reminded him. He drifted off into an uneasy rest, unaware that the unsavory bar patrons understood Chris's reference all to well and danger lurked on the horizon.
Dawn was spreading her glorious golden cape when Chris emerged from the hotel. Squinting against the hint of daylight, he paused to massage his screaming temples in an ineffectual attempt to ease the headache that thrummed through his skull. The orange ball in the sky would prove to be his worst enemy. He already felt the unquenchable thirst building and the headache threatening to explode.
"Goddamn jackass Larabee. You just don't know when to quit." He muttered to himself. Crossing the street to the Livery, he could make out the form of a horse and the figure of Vin Tanner.
"Horses are set, ya sure yer up t'this?" Vin's voice was clipped, matching his mood. He'd gotten little sleep and been thrown up on to boot. By the look on his face, Chris had no memory of the long night he'd put his best friend through.
"Are you?" Chris brushed past him, scowling in contempt, his eyes sweeping over the smaller man, whose pinched features bespoke pain and fatigue. The night before was a throbbing blank spot. He'd woken up alone, reeking of liquor, tobacco and vomit.
Vin felt his temper flare. The persistent ache in his back had abated somewhat, but the scarcity of sleep made his eyes feel like they were fireballs. Despite the lure of the bed that he'd not gotten a chance to sleep in, making tracks was vital. A wanted man could ill afford a surfeit of sleep or alcohol.
"Nobody put a gun t'yer head and asked ya t'drink all night did they?"
Startled by the vinegar of Vin's statement, the gunslinger paused in his attempt to tighten his cinch and turned to glare at his friend. "That your back talking for you?" he spat.
"It's fine," the Texan shot off, mounting Peso and heading out of town.
"Goddammit!" Suppressing a moan from the pulsing agony that resided in his head, the man in black quickly mounted and followed his friend at a leisurely pace. Neither of the headstrong pair was aware of the dark cloud that Fate cast on the road ahead.
The two short-tempered peacekeepers rode in silence. That was nothing unusual, but on this day the stifling hush was marred with a growing, palpable rift. Since leaving Eden, neither man attempted to bridge the gulf that existed.
Finally, Chris's pounding head and sour stomach won out. He pulled Pony to a stop after they crossed a small stream. The hospitable sight of the shade provided by a cottonwood tree was too much to forgo. He managed to get behind the tree and toss up the biscuits and eggs he'd eaten earlier. He moved over, sat up and leaned back against the trunk, uncorking his canteen.
The tracker glanced back and was clearly annoyed to see his friend hunkered down in the shade taking a long swallow of water. He saw the question lingering in Vin's eyes and supplied a short answer.
"Horses need a rest."Peso was accustomed to long hauls over rough terrain with little rest but Pony was clearly showing evidence of fatigue. Dismounting, Vin grumbled "Iffen ya got yerself a decent horse, we wouldna have t'make so many stops."
"There's nothing wrong with my horse. In fact the only problem I see is that you seem to have lost your sense of direction. When were you gonna tell me we were taking a different trail back to Four Corners?"
The sharpshooter ignored the question as he dismounted and moved to squat near the edge of the stream. A small twinge of guilt flared briefly in his consciousness. The others always trusted his uncanny sense of direction and tracking skills to get them home. Most likely Chris knew from the very start that he opted to take an alternate route home, but chose not to question it until now. Whether or not Vin consciously recognized it, the gruesome specter of his own body dangling by a rope was clouding his judgement.
"Vin?"
"I's just thinking we could make it back t'town quicker this way. Take at least half a day off the trip."
"What's got you all fired up to get back? I thought you enjoyed being out in the middle of nowhere. All of a sudden it's like you got a burr under your butt."
"Half-hour" Vin splashed his face, ignoring Chris's question, but feeling the green eyes burning a hole in his back. He took a long drink and moved stiffly behind the rocks to relieve himself. Upon finishing, he glanced down briefly, glad to see that the reddish color was fading a little. He moved over to a shady spot, knowing despite his foul mood, Chris would watch out for him. His lack of sleep the night before was catching up to him. The Texan was relieved at the opportunity to allow his back muscles to relax. Once again, the small jar of Nathan's liniment appeared in his mind. The cream was the only true respite he had when his back hurt this much. With a long drawn out sigh of relief he leaned against the tree trunk and closed his eyes.
The Gunslinger's cautious gaze watched as his friend's eyes drooped and finally closed. Vin was reluctant to admit weakness of any kind, even to himself. He felt a pang of remorse for not being more observant. The two men shared a special bond and if he hadn't been determined to drown himself in a bottle last night, Vin would have gotten the sleep he needed. Ignoring the incessant pounding in his skull, the resolute blond settled in to stand guard.
"I say we take them now."
Jack Miller considered the words of his companion before spitting tobacco at his feet. The two men were following their prey at a safe distance, waiting for an opportunity to strike. He and Zeke Daniels were the gamblers that Chris Larabee came close to fighting with the night before. Overhearing the comment by the blond about the price on the other man's head led to a profitable discovery. The wanted man was Vin Tanner and he was worth 500 dollars, dead or alive, in Texas.
"We hit them when and where I say." The words were uttered with deadly intent and Zeke shook off a brief feeling of dread before remounting his horse. Thoughts of his share of the reward overriding his apprehension, he followed his partner.
Battling the pain and fatigue that continued to haunt him, Vin tried to focus his attention on the trail ahead. The brief rest revived his energy and relieved some of the agony in his back, but he soon found himself surrendering to his body's betrayal. They were entering an area called Devil's Gulch and the tracker was all too aware that this portion of the trail put them in a vulnerable position. An attacker possessed many vantage points from which to launch an assault. In choosing this route, his consciousness fought this acknowledgement. Faced with the reality, he attempted to squelch his fear and trained his eyes on the cliffs around them.
Chris Larabee also felt his instincts kick in and he slowed his horse and carefully eyed the terrain around them. Although they were again riding in tense silence, he was aware of the tracker's position behind and slightly to the right of him.
Vin's eagle eye caught a reflective flash that reeked of trouble. Seconds later, the air was shattered by the loud report of gunfire. Aiming his mare's leg he fired in the general vicinity of the attackers. Peso reared up at the sudden and violent attack. Fighting to stay in the saddle, Vin registered the harsh recoil of Chris's head and the spray of blood as he was struck. Unable to retain his seating, the sharpshooter felt the breath exit his lungs in a painful rush as he landed on the unyielding ground. Flames of agony engulfed his back and he lay struggling to breathe and conquer the pain. He was barely aware of his partner's dazed and reeling form as Chris stumbled to his feet. He watched in horror as the blond cried out in pain and fell back clutching his right thigh. Desperation fueling his determination Vin managed to crawl to his friend's side.
"Damn!" Vin hissed, as he caught hold of Larabee's muscular arms and began hauling him towards the closest rocks. Sensing the lack of immediate threat, the hidden gunmen rose to gain a clear sight of their targets. The Texan swore as he felt a rock chip graze his cheek. With cat-like swiftness and grace, Vin flung himself forward to lie on his stomach. This allowed him to offer some protection to the gunslinger's body while he brought his weapon up to shoot.
Miller watched with a mixture of shock and admiration at the bullet that pierced the forehead of his companion. He quickly ducked back behind cover and considered his options. Obviously he failed to estimate the skills of his foe. On the bright side, one of the men was incapacitated. He couldn't outshoot his quarry but he lacked the distraction that the wounded man would provide. Glancing around the cliff, his eyes sought and discovered a safe and viable path that lead down into the gully. With any luck he might be able to assault his bounty from behind.
"At least I won't have to share with you." Punctuating his comment with a kick to the body of the dead man and a harsh chuckle, he initiated his descent.
In the meantime, Vin hastened to gather the wounded body of his friend and hauled them both to the relative safety behind an outcropping of rocks. After ensuring that Chris was in a position that would afford him the best protection available, the sharpshooter attempted to locate the position of their attackers. He was pretty sure he managed to kill one of them but he was still in doubt about the number of enemies in the surrounding cliffs. Furiously scanning the area, he failed to find any visual evidence. He was dismayed to discover that the horses were also not present, having bolted at some point during the melee. A heated groan to his left drew his attention. Chris's eyes were fluttering and he was clearly losing the battle to stay conscious. Blood covered the right side of his face, creating a macabre mask. The crimson tide dripped down onto his shirtfront in a steady stream. Even more alarming was the widening red pool under his leg. Whipping off his bandana Vin dropped to his knees and tried to staunch the flow.
"Git yer eyes open, Larabee!" Vin growled.
"V..in... you okay?"
"I'm fine," Vin's reply rode out in a hurry.
Chris's muddled mind replayed the attack and assessed their situation. He knew the leg was bad, he'd been there before. The steady flow of blood from the throbbing wound on his head spelled trouble, especially with no horses. They had only one choice. "Vin..." The rest of the blond's reply was cut off as he tried to bite back the scream of pain that clawed at his throat. His face was a mask of distress and confusion, but his eyes silently pleaded with his friend. "...get going..."
"...save yer breath..."
Chris attempted to rise, which was a bad mistake. The unholy firewall shot up his leg and exploded through the top of his skull. The piercing agony erupted into fiery glory as he lost the struggle with awareness and slid bonelessly to the ground. He never saw the anguished face or felt the comforting arms that caught and held him.
"Gonna get us out'a this, Cowboy." The tracker hoarsely whispered, his trembling hand cupping the noble bloodied chin. He was cognizant of the dangers they faced, but was fearful that his friend would bleed to death before he could get help. Scanning the area around them, his eyes rejoiced at the sight of a small, dilapidated line shack about two hundred yards away.
A sudden tumble of small rocks drew his attention to the bottom of the gorge. Grasping the fact that one of the gunmen was venturing down the cliff in order to come up behind them, Vin steadied his arms on the rock and sighted along the barrel of his mare's leg. A fleeting glimpse of cloth was all he needed. Not willing to risk the opportunity for a better target, he pulled the trigger. A faint echo of a scream and another shower of small rocks proclaimed the fact that his aim was true. The absence of return fire also announced that there was perhaps, no attackers left. Recognizing that he would not be presented with a more preferable opportunity, he hoisted Chris over his shoulder. His blue eyes bulged and he didn't try to suppress the scream of agony that the additional weight produced. Pushing the pulsing fire behind him, he wrestled the awakened demons in his back, while embarking on the most crucial journey of his life.
The two hundred yards to the cabin may just have well been two miles. Sweat was coursing down the lean body of the sharpshooter and his ragged gasps were hardly sustaining his oxygen-starved lungs. His back was an all-consuming blaze of pain; he'd passed agony long ago. He was certain that he would feel the impact of a bullet at any moment. Reaching the haven, Vin was thankful to see that the door hung partially open. His staggered steps resembled a drunk on a three-day binge. The only sound that split the air emitted from his lungs as they sucked noisily for air. He blinked back the sting of sweat running in his eyes and bit his lip, forging onward. Finally edging his body and the burden it was transporting through the door, his eyes fell on the welcome sight of an old dirty mattress lying on the floor. Trembling violently, his legs finally surrendered and he collapsed to his knees. He channeled his last stores of energy into getting his friend onto the bedding without aggravating any injuries. His burden safely deposited, the tracker paused to control his breathing. He spent several precious seconds sucking in air, swiping a distracted hand on the river of moisture pouring down his face. Scanning the surroundings, he realized that the shelter would offer protection, but no more than that. There was no sign of water, food or any blankets. There was a small fireplace, but no wood to provide the fuel. Whatever furnishings inhabited the cabin were long gone, probably providing some other wanderer with the comfort of heat.
Turning his attention to Chris, he grasped the torn fabric of his friend's pants and cut an opening in order to examine the wound. Chris was still losing blood at an alarming rate. Vin quickly shrugged out of his jacket and shirt. The outer covering was tossed over the Blond in an attempt to keep him warm. Tearing the sweat dampened shirt into pieces, Vin applied a portion to the leg wound and tied the ends securely in order to provide pressure. He felt the shifting of bones under his hands and knew the bullet had broken the leg. He realized with a sick feeling that the wound was a serious threat to his friend's life. Turning his attention to the head wound, he was relived to see that the bleeding was almost stopped. Using the dampness of the cloth to wipe away the red stains on his friend's face, Vin felt over whelmed by the gravity of the situation. His options were very limited but he was cognizant of the lack of water and the dire circumstances that would result. While he could survive without water for awhile, Chris would die without the life sustaining fluid. After applying a crude bandage to the head injury Vin discarded the rest of the blood stained shirt. Having made up his mind to go search for water, he gently placed his hand on the stricken man's forehead. He winced at the cold, clammy skin and the deathly pallor that testified to the seriousness of the wounds. The fact that the blond did not move during the ministrations to his body was alarming.
"Chris, open yer eyes."
Failing to get a response, he realized that he would have to cause his friend some pain to get him awake. Grasping the left shoulder and shaking the still body, he bent close to the gunslinger's ear and shouted.
"Chris! Ya gotta wake up!"
The maneuver had the desired effects and the closed eyelids began to flutter. "That's it Cowboy, shoot some green fire this way."
Vin could see the effort that was being expended on obeying his order and sighed in relief as the gaze settled on his face. The emerald orbs reflected confusion and pain. Waves of guilt washed over the tracker threatening to drown him in hopeless despair.
"V...Vin?"
"Wondered if ya was plannin' on sleepin' all day" Vin's steady voice betrayed the large hole inside him.
"What...what happen...." The question was cut off as Chris's stomach abruptly gave up its contents. Turning his friend swiftly on his side, Tanner provided reassuring support until the vomiting subsided. If it was possible, Larabee was even paler and he fought the pain that reverberated throughout his body.
"Chris, I gotta find us some water."
"Wa..water....thirsty.." The gravely wounded man attempted to rise, only managing to raise his head slightly. Pain lanced through his body and the room began to sway. He fought the darkness that threatened at the edge of his blurred vision. Without warning, an army of violent images assaulted the wounded man's pounding skull. Broken pieces of the puzzle came together. A hot ride, even hotter words, a decision to change their route, gunshots...gunshots...indescribable pain in his head.
"Ya just sit tight, yer safe here. I'll take care o'things..."
"Safe..." Chris's grunt was highlighted by the thousands of poisoned spears that were being driven into every inch of his flesh. The driving pain in his head was making words and movement by the tracker double his discomfort. "...you did a fine job already 'taking care of things'. It's your fault I'm layin' here with my fuckin' head near blown off. Some shortcut...shit..." The wall of agony became too much and he slumped back, not seeing the unbridled horrific guilt his best friend wore.
The words struck Vin like physical blows and he reeled with the pain. Stumbling back from the mattress the blue orbs never took their focus off his friend's face. With mounting guilt and self-recriminations, he watched the accusing green eyes slowly close as Chris lost his courageous battle.
He's right, it is all my fault. I'm so sorry Chris, sometimes I'm a selfish bastard...didn't mean for you to pay for it.
Tears stormed their way to his muddled sky eyes and hovered dangerously, ready to attack, as his mind continued to replay the events of the last day and guilt reigned over his emotions. The quest to save Larabee's life became his driving force and Vin clung to that determination like a drowning man. He rested a trembling hand on the bloodied badge of honor over the strong heart.
"...m'sorry, Chris..." was all his cracked voice could manage. With a deep sigh, he turned away, his heavy heart full of pain.
He remembered a small stream that they passed about a half-mile back. Scanning the room for a container to put some water in, his eyes fell on an old battered canteen hanging near the door. Rising to his feet re-awakened the torment in his back but he forced his body past the pain. He was relieved to see that, although the canteen was in bad shape, it would hold water. Easing the door open slightly, the sharpshooter saw that the sun was positioned overhead. It would be much safer to wait for the cover of darkness but he couldn't afford that particular protection. He was willing to risk everything for the man who was his brother in everything but blood. With the reassuring weight of his gun in his right hand and, keeping as low to the ground as his back would allow, he crept out the door.
Vin's normally cat-like grace was replaced by an awkward stumbling gait as he inched towards the stream. He kept to the rocks and shadows to avoid revealing his movement to an attacker. The Texan moved with as much stealth as he could. However, the parasitic pain that ate at his back dulled his senses. He wasn't aware of the occasional noise his footfalls made. Each stumble over a tiny rock made him want to scream his torment to the world. He was blissfully unaware of his nefarious shadow. Miller's evil grin bespoke his belief that his prey was reduced to easy picking.
Tanner sighed in relief as he spied his goal less than a hundred feet away. Pausing at the streambed, he paused to wonder how he was going to ease his body down to reach the precious fluid. Bracing himself for the agony that lay ahead, he slowly bent at his knees. A grunt was all that escaped the lips that longed to open in a piercing scream. Finally he was resting on his haunches and a shaking hand was pushing the mouth of the canteen under the running water.
He never saw the triumphant shadow shift behind him. The raised rifle stock was visible only to its owner. The tracker felt the blow to the back of his head, gasping in shock as a drapery of darkness began stealing his vision. The cry born of despair, fought through bloodied lips and echoed fearfully through the valley.
"CHRIS!"
Then all was silent.
Buck Wilmington climbed slowly and carefully out of his saddle, grateful to be home. Five days of hard riding took its toll on a man and he was feeling every minute of the journey. He was weary down to the bone and covered with dust, grime and grit. He was grateful to hand over the reins to the youngest member of the group who's endless energy seemed unaffected by the last few days.
"I'll settle the horses and then meet you in the saloon Buck."
"Sure Kid." The ladies man watched as the youth bustled away. Ah, what he could do with that kind of energy, especially when it came to the fairer sex. Shaking his head, he entered the cool, dim interior of the saloon. Spotting Inez at the bar, he assumed his most engaging smile and stepped forward.
"Did you miss me Darlin'?" Buck boomed, smacking the swaying backside gently.
With a winsome smile Inez offered forth a beer and her answer. "Why, were you not here?"
"Inez, you're breakin' my heart." Buck gripped his chest dramatically. " All a man wants when he comes home from a long ride is a good meal, a strong drink, and a warm, ripe body to share his soft bed."
"Perhaps it is you who are too warm," she offered breathlessly, resting a small hand on his cheek and stroking it. She pressed her body against his and parted her ruby lips, licking them invitingly. Feeling him stir and hearing the groan, she pulled his face lower, her mouth nearly touching his. "I believe I can offer some assistance..." she whispered, then without warning, she upended the mug, sending the cold liquid down the front of the hot cowboy's pants.
"Jesus, Inez..." Buck yelped, his cheeks glowing from the loud laughter of the amused patrons. Wilmington glanced ruefully at his stained pride. The vixen's sultry voice still rang in his ears and her scent still clung to him, even though she was once again behind the bar. Sighing and scowling, he then made his way over to his favorite table, noting the absence of Chris and Vin.
"Afternoon Brother Buck." Still chuckling, Josiah poured a mug of beer from their pitcher and offered it to the shamefaced newcomer. Wearing a sly grin, he imparted some worldly advice, "...nice cold bath might make a world of difference."
"Mr. Wilmington, rest assured that this peaceful little borough was sorely lacking in entertainment without you."
"Shut the hell up, Ezra," Buck chastised, smacking the smirking Southerner's arm. He then directed his worried gaze at the vacant chairs. "They're not back yet?"
"Got a wire from Vin yesterday. They were stopping for the night in Eden and then heading home." Nathan explained.
"I would be extremely grateful to never have to see another member of that nefarious gang again." Ezra declared.
"What are you so pissed about? At least you got to stay here and guard the town while we wore our butts to pancakes sitting in them saddles for hours." Buck was amazed that the gambler had the nerve to complain.
"You do grievous injustice to my character Mr. Wilmington. Your absence caused me many sleepless hours worrying about your well being."
"What Ezra means to say is that the gang scared away any potential marks just waiting to get their money fleeced." Nathan knew that few travelers arrived in the town during the absence and could not resist the opportunity to tease the gambler.
Any retort was interrupted by the arrival of the harried sheriff. "I'm starved." J.D. declared, patting his stomach. " Anybody see Chris and Vin?" Sitting down he gratefully accepted a mug of beer.
"Nate was just telling us about a wire they sent from Eden." Josiah offered with the brew. The mug halted its progress towards his mouth as the kid turned pale.
"J.D.? C'mon now you gotta tell us what's wrong here." Buck was worried at the expression on the youth's face.
"Did you say E...den?"
At the nod to his question, J.D. pulled a telegram from his pocket and wordlessly handed it to Wilmington.
"What is it Buck?" Sanchez did not like the look of alarm that Buck was now sporting.
"The Red River Gang attempted to free the prisoner that the boys dropped off. The Sheriff was killed in the shootout. Seems that Vin's wanted poster was found on the body and the Deputy wants to know what's going on."
"But if he's dead, then how could he pose a threat to Vin?" Nathan pointed out.
"It stands to reason that if the Sheriff did not apprehend Vin while he was still within the town boundaries, he was not alone in this venture. Suffice to say, he must have compatriots waiting to undertake Mr. Tanner's capture after departing Eden."
As Ezra's words sank in, each realized that their friends were in grave danger. Even riding hard, Eden was at least a two days away.
Ignoring the protests of his aching posterior, Buck rose to his feet. "J.D., you send a wire to that deputy and tell him that the wanted poster is a mistake. The rest of us will gather the supplies and get the horses ready."
Chris Larabee looked at the unfamiliar faces around him. The air was scorching, heat waves rose from the choking dust of the street. He felt the fire sucking his strength, his mouth unable to produce even a tiny bit of spit to relieve the arid thirst of his body. He was unable to resist the wave of people that drew him forward like flotsam trapped in a current. The crowd was noisy; laughter, jeers and catcalls assaulted his ears.
The citizens started to part in front of him as they arrived at the cause of the celebration. He eyed the wooden structure with pressurized trepidation. The Hangman was standing beside the trap door, his pride in this latest achievement evident in his face. Slowly the blond moved forward, his shocked gaze drawn irresistibly to the ground beneath the gallows.
There were two figures; a woman cradled the head of the executed man in her lap. His thundering heart drowned out the noises around him. His mind registered the familiar features even as it fought to deny them. Long, curly brown hair did not completely hide the bloated, lifeless face of his best friend.
"God, no. Please no....Vin?" the words staggered through his cracked lips, born of a broken heart and delivered by a shattered soul.
Hearing his plea, the woman's head rose, the blonde tresses parting to reveal her identity.
The shock reverberated through his body, weakness drove him to his knees. It just couldn't be real.
"Sa..rah?" Chris hissed through cracked lips.
"You promised him. How could you Chris? He was counting on you just like me and Adam. You've let us all down." Her tears flowed from eyes full of loathing and accusation.
He watched with horror as the dead man's eyes opened, the blue orbs ruined with the bloody tears that ran unchecked. The gunslinger felt the air leave his body, the world swirled in a haze, his heart slowed. Remotely his mind registered these sensations and he wondered if this was what dying felt like. Even as his sight dimmed, he knew he would shoulder the burden of betrayal into eternity. The cry was born with his last breath, his last act here on this earth.
"Vinnnnn.....!!"
Awareness returned slowly. His pulse roared through his ears and beat against his chest like a trapped animal. Starved lungs fought for every harsh, gasping breath. Conquering his fear, he managed to open his eyes a fraction. Despite the fading light he could see that he was in a small cabin. The pain bloomed into life then and agony threatened to force him back into darkness. Tremors shook his body as he felt the cold of the encroaching night bite into his skin.
Despite the torrent of pain attacking him, he felt a small respite of relief at the realization that he had been caught in a nightmare. Vin wasn't dead. Through the haze of confusion he remembered bits and pieces. Fingering the bandage around his head, Chris realized that he must have been shot. There was a vague recollection of someone trying to tend his wounds. His hand dropped to his leg, the agony there evidence of another injury. An attempt to move his leg resulted in a pain so fierce it engulfed his entire body. He began to tremble violently and he was able to turn his head to the side just as his stomach rejected its meager contents. Muscles heaved and convulsed as his helpless body reacted to the brutal assault.
Long minutes later, he finally lay spent. He clung to consciousness tenaciously, unwilling to return to the tormented dreams waiting in the darkness. Desperately needing water, he searched around himself for a canteen. Feeling a dampness under his hand, his fingers found the source and grabbed a hold. It was a piece of cloth soaked with a sticky substance that he knew could not be water. Focusing his gaze he recognized Vin's shirt and the terrible dark stains painted upon the garment.
"Vin?"
A terrible realization washed over his trembling body. The tracker was with him earlier, he recalled vague memories of that time. If he was alone now, it meant only one thing...something so horrid he couldn't grasp it fully. His solitary state was only because his friend would die before leaving him here alone.
"No...nooooo." he choked, burying his face in the Texan's mettle of honor. The Tanner scent clung to it, assaulting his senses and breaking his heart.
The cry exploded violently in his mind but his weak throat would only allow a meek whisper. It didn't matter anymore whether he succumbed to the darkness. His dreams were real. As he allowed the blackness to swoop down, Chris wondered if the gruesome specters of his dreams would follow him to Hell.
The first thing he felt was pain. His head felt like it was going to crumble into dust and shrivel to nothing in the dry, arid heat surrounding him. Each step the horse took echoed through every nerve in his body. He was slung like a piece of meat over the saddle, his hands and feet tightly bound.
The torture seemed to last forever but, it was only minutes after returning to consciousness that Vin felt the horse being brought to a halt. He felt a rough hand grab his hair and stars danced in his eyes as his head was jerked upwards.
"Well, Pretty Boy is finally awake." The comment was accompanied by a violent shove that sent the defenseless tracker tumbling to the ground.
White-hot currents of pain surged through his raw flesh from the reawakened agony in his back. Despite his reluctance to reveal the weakness, this last insult set loose a gasp of agony. Slowly the flaming arrows ebbed and he shivered as the cool evening air struck his body. Where was his shirt and coat? Confusion reigned as he fought to remember the events that brought him to this moment. With a terrible rushing violence, the memories returned. Chris was badly wounded and he was trying to find water. Despair struck him like a fist as he thought of his best friend lying helpless, perhaps even now dying.
A hand grabbed his undershirt and effortlessly repositioned him so that he was sitting up with his back to the nearest tree. The repulsive face of his keeper moved close...too close. The dangerous shine in the attacker's eyes made Vin's stomach drop. The feel of the man's hot fetid breath on his neck and the stench of his unwashed body made him gag.
"Tanner, I don't give a damn if I haul you back to Texas dead or alive. It's all the same to me. Seein' how it's just the two of us we could have us some fun." Caressing the long brown locks with one beefy hand, which idled against Vin's neck, the tobacco-stained fingers moved lower, under the ripped undershirt and drove the intent of the statement home. "Might be worth keeping you alive." The guard laughed, sending a wave of tobacco-soured breath onto the prisoner's face. As he fought hard not to vomit, Vin felt the other vile hand move across his pants. His anger grew and he screwed his face up. Struggling to free himself, the Texan managed to turn his head, muster up what little saliva he had and spit it at the animal that was assaulting him.
Miller rose to his feet and wiped the spittle from his face. "You are going to be one sorry bastard."
A curtain of blackness once again draped itself over Vin as the huge fist smashed into his face at the same time he felt a booted foot connect solidly with his side.
The five peacekeepers covered a considerable distance before the fading light called an inevitable halt to their progress. Each man was reluctant to stop but knew that they could only push the horses so far. J.D. was sent to scout for food as the other men set up camp.
The tense silence was broken by the sound of galloping hooves. The meager light from the fire illuminated the arrival of their youngest trailing two riderless mounts.
"That's Pony and Peso!" Buck moved quickly to examine the horses.
"I found them about a half-mile back near a small creek." J.D.'s voice was breathless with agitation. He dropped the rabbit's he'd caught and jumped down.
"It looks like they've been running hard." Nathan could see the symptoms of exhaustion in their bodies.
"Nate, take a look over here." Josiah was examining dark splotches that covered the saddle and the body of Chris's horse.
"Damn." The healer's face could not hide the dismay he felt.
"What is it?"
"Looks like dried blood. My guess is that whoever's blood it is, he didn't stay in the saddle after being shot"
Buck's anger blossomed at the healer's words. "What do you mean, 'whoever's blood it is'? That's Chris's horse and it's his blood you're talking so casually about."
"Easy Brother, we're all on the same side here." Josiah soothed, moving next to Buck.
Buck turned and took a few steps to look out over the darkness blanketing the landscape. "Sorry Nate, it's just so damn frustrating. " He kicked the tree next to him in frustration, "Out there, somewhere," he lamented, pained gaze raking the horizon, "...they're layin' bleedin'...hurt...or worse..."
"We can't just stand here, let's go look for them." J.D. was naive and eager to be back on the trail.
"I suggest we pause to consider the evidence presented to us." Ezra was silent to this point, his mind trying to fit the pieces into order. "The horses have been fleeing hard, the blood on Mr. Larabee's mount is not of fresh origin. We can assume that an assault upon our compatriots would be conducted as expediently as possible after they departed Eden."
"Damn it Ezra! " Buck scowled, "Quit spittin' out a dictionary. How can you be so calm?"
"Mr. Wilmington, I assure you that I am as worried as you are. I am merely trying to point out the facts."
"Look Buck, what Ezra means is that whatever happened, it took place further than we can get to tonight."
"Thank you, Mr. Sanchez. We cannot go charging into the night. Like it or not we will have to defer our search until first light."
"I'm afraid Ezra is right." The preacher reached over to place a reassuring hand on Buck's trembling shoulder.
Nathan stepped forward to take charge. " Ezra, you and Buck see to the horses. Make sure that they get cooled down and watered. J.D., put some coffee on and me and Josiah 'ill skin them rabbit's and get 'em on a spit."
The men set about their tasks, glad to be doing something, any small thing that would bring them one step closer to finding their friends. Buck's hand rested on Pony's soft mane as he stood still, his gaze searching out into the darkness. His soft promise floated out on the soft breeze. "Hold on Pard. We're coming."
The world outside the line shack was eerily quiet. The only sounds came from inside the small cabin. Chris Larabee lay helplessly caught in a dream world inhabited by demons of past foes and ghostly specters of lost loved ones. He could hear Sarah and Adam screaming his name and pleading for help. The heat of the flames scorched his skin and burned his lungs. No matter how hard or how fast he ran, the burning house seemed to get further away from him. Evil laughter erupted from the green bloated faces of enemies long dead.
The gunslinger's sweat soaked head tossed from side to side; his fists gripped the filthy mat and his chest heaved in pain. The fever that began hours ago now raged out of control. His body seemed to be shrinking inward, each tissue and cell crying out desperately for water. In a voice weak and tremulous, the blond searched for the one person even he knew could not respond.
"Vin..."
The five peacekeepers downed a quick meal of biscuits and a hot mug of coffee as they prepared to resume the search in the new light of dawn. The night was reluctant to withdraw from the first glow of day and time weighed heavily on each man. Their grim eyes bore silent witness to the lack of sleep but determination dominated over the visages.
"J.D., your tracking skills good enough for you to pick up a trail?" Buck asked of their youngest.
"Should be pretty easy. Pony has a little notch in the shoe of his right foreleg. Vin showed me a few weeks back and we trailed Chris to..."
"The fishing hole where our nefarious friend was able to catch our Leader unaware. While Mr. Larabee was swimming with Billy, Vin misappropriated his usual black garb and replaced it with my finest apparel."
Even Buck laughed at the memory of the irate Larabee riding back into town wearing a frilly silk shirt and red pants. "Ez, I could understand the shirt but what the hell were you doing with red pants?"
"They were a gift from my dear Mother who has the taste of a brothel madam when it comes to choosing attire befitting her prodigy." At the puzzled looks this statement earned he attempted to clarify its meaning. "If Maude ever offers to help you choose a wardrobe, run and hide. Consider yourselves warned."
"Yeah and if you spot a bored, blue-eyed Texan with that little gleam in his eyes, you better find an excuse to leave town for a couple of days." Nathan joined in the lighthearted banter that was alleviating some of the tension.
"Brother Vin has a way of pulling off some pretty impressive practical jokes." Josiah smiled, thinking on the devilish smile that Tanner wore.
J.D. put voice to the question on everyone's mind. "Buck, do you think they're still alive?"
"I hope so Kid, I sure hope so."
Thirty minutes later found them back on the trail, each of them hoping to find their friends alive by the end of the day.
Vin was awakened by a kick to his bound feet. His side and back ached fiercely and the growling from his stomach was evidence that he hadn't eaten for many hours. It was his thirst that finally overcame his reluctance to speak.
"Wa...ter."
Miller turned from his task of changing the bandage on his left arm. He had no intention of turning his captive in alive. But he was damn well going get some pleasure first, before the real torture began. He'd been in a Mexican prison once and the memories of the questioning ordeal by the guards still remained. Revenge for this bullet wound was going to be sweet. Holding the canteen to the prisoner's mouth, he allowed a few swallows of the vital liquid. Then, grabbing a fist full of hair he began to pour water into his prisoner's mouth faster than it could be swallowed. Helpless to move his head, Vin began to choke and thrashed violently against the bindings that held him in place. Just as he was sure that his lungs would never feel blissful air again, the canteen was removed. He vomited violently, water shooting from his nose and mouth, leaving him weak and disoriented. Painful coughs wracked his lean frame and he struggled to draw precious air into his body. He heard his captor's laughter and knew the sadistic bastard would enjoy watching him suffer.
Remembering the events of last night, the Texan realized that he had to escape before nightfall. He didn't even know if Chris was still alive. The thought of his friend lying helpless, possibly bleeding to death was too much to bear. A sob of despair rose in his throat and he fought to control it. He shuddered as he felt himself lifted and slung like a piece of meat across a saddle. Fighting the darkness that threatened to envelope him as his nerve endings screamed in pain, he felt himself being tied to the horse by the waist. Hope flared into being as he realized that this could be the fatal mistake he was waiting for. While his hands were still bound, he could still maneuver them to search in the saddlebag for a weapon.
Dunne studied the ground before him, trying to remember all that Vin taught him.
"Listen J.D., you've got to be sure about this. If you're wrong and we go off in the wrong direction, it could cost Vin and Chris their lives." Despite the burden that the statement implied, the look on Buck's face was one of open concern for his young friend.
"I'm telling you the tracks are leading that way." The young sheriff's hand pointed ahead and to the right.
"Why would they take a different trail? Only route to Eden that I know of is this one." Wilmington couldn't allow their youngest to take the responsibility of a decision onto himself. That meant that he had to make the choice and it was eating away at him.
"Perhaps Mr. Tanner knew a shortcut through the hills. After all, Eden is a three day ride from Four Corners and his wire did estimate their arrival in two days." The Gambler offered. "Maybe we should separate and explore both routes."
"It's been at least twenty-four hours since the injury. One of 'ems hurt and we can't afford to split up. Whatever trail we take, we go together." Nathan was trying to hide his worry but he was certain that time was not a commodity that they could afford to waste.
"Then we follow the trail up into the hills and pray that we find them." The verdict made, Buck mounted his horse and moved forward.
Vin could not believe his luck. His search of the saddlebag turned up an old knife. Not as sharp as he would have liked but he was slowly sawing through the bindings at his wrist. As the last strand broke, he almost cried out with the joy of it. He frantically rubbed the circulation back into his hands. This time the pain was a welcome friend. All he had to do now was wait until his captor chose to call a break.
He didn't have long to wait as fifteen minutes later they came to a small stream. Miller figured the horses needed the water and it was time to have a little fun with his bounty. Visions of the prisoner's young body caused the leering guard to itch. He rubbed his groin in eager anticipation. Easing the horses into the water, he reached over and cut the rope holding Tanner to the saddle. A light shove was all it took to send the smaller man tumbling helplessly into the stream.
Vin felt the shock of cold water and clung to the knife with desperation. Despite the suffering that engulfed him he had enough wits about him to keep his unbound hands hidden beneath the surface.
"Sorry about that but I like my piece of ass nice and clean." The leer that accompanied this statement sickened Vin.
"Yer a lot of talk, I laid with snakes that're cleaner..." Vin's battered brain fought to find ways to make the brute angry with him. He hated the thought but he needed to get real close to the enemy if he was going to win this battle.
"That so boy? You ain't never been with the likes of me," he warned, grabbing his crotch. "I'm hung like a horse, gonna split you wide open. You're going to beg me to shoot you."
"Yer kind is all talk," Vin hissed, tensing as the brute approached. "Ya couldn't get it up with a ladder."
The remark had its desired affect as Vin watched the rage suffuse Miller's face with a dangerous shade of red. With a raging howl, he saw the beefy guard bending over him. Praying the knife was sharp enough, the Texan gripped the knife and waited until the target was almost upon him before raising his hands out of the water. The force of the impact drove the weapon into the chest of the heavier man. It also sent Vin reeling backwards. With his feet still bound together he was unable to maintain his balance and his head slipped under the surface. Desperately his feet sought purchase so he could stand again. Just before he was able to accomplish this, he felt a hand grab his shirt and pull him down. The Tracker felt his lungs begging for oxygen, his brain was pleading for another breath. Seeing his last chance, Vin gathered his strength and savagely bit down on the arm wound he had inflicted just two days ago.
Suddenly released, the sharpshooter's head reached the surface and he greedily gulped the precious oxygen. Ruthlessly, Vin grabbed his weakened opponent's neck and thrust his head under the water. Miller's waning strength was no match for the desperate prisoner and minutes later, his struggles ceased. The body floated to the surface and Vin pulled the knife from the gruesome wound. It was a few awkward moments before he reached shallow water and could sit and saw at the ropes binding his feet.
Despite his own discomfort and the fatigue that dogged his steps, Vin willed his body up and moved towards the tethered horses. Searching the dead man's saddlebags, he found some stale biscuits and hardtack. It was not exactly appetizing fare, but he realized that his body needed the fuel. Grimly, he chewed at the tasteless food, his mind conjuring images of Chris lying wounded back at the cabin. He was a good one-day ride from the shack and despair surfaced as he acknowledged the fact that the blond could very well be dead by now. Swallowing his fear, the Texan mounted the stronger of the two horses and spurred it into a gallop.
The tracks left by the horses proved easy to follow and the searchers were able to close in on their quarry by late afternoon. Looking at the steep walls of the surrounding canyon, Buck voiced the thought on all their minds.
"Hate to admit it, but if I was planning an ambush this is a perfect spot."
J.D. continued to scan the ground, his meager tracking skills confused at the trail which had been marred by the hoof prints of at least two other horses. Bending low to examine the puzzle laid out before him, the youngster was the first to find evidence of human tracks. Circling behind a group of rocks he made the grim discovery.
"Buck, over here."
"What is it Kid?" The older man moved to examine the findings. He grimaced as his eyes recognized the telltale pool of dried blood. "Nate?"
The healer also recognized the brown stain soaked into the ground but did not mention the fear he felt at the amount of it.
Dunne was following another trail, having spotted small maroon stains in the surrounding area. He spotted the small cabin in the distance and quickly summoned the attention of his companions. "Hey, there's traces of blood on the ground. Looks like they lead to that shack."
The others looked at the object the young lawman pointed to and drew their guns.
"Nathan you're with me. The rest of you keep an eye out." Wilmington ordered.
The two men crept slowly towards their destination. While the shelter could be harboring the missing men, they were also wary of a trap. Buck stood to one side of the door as he reached out with his foot and kicked the feeble door open. Crouching with his gun ready to fire, his eyes swept the contents of the room. Sighting the lone occupant, his weapon dropped from his hands as he rushed to the side of his friend.
"Chris!" His shaking fingers pressed against the fever-slick neck, searching for a pulse. Eyes filled with grief he looked up at the Healer. "No pulse...I can't find a pulse. He's...dea..dead."
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