Rating: PG-17 (for language, violence)
Disclaimer: The following is a work of fan fiction 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 and settings. I don't own the characters. Only borrowing for a short time and will return them in relatively the same shape as when borrowed.
Excerpts from the following works were cited in the course of this story:
Thanks to...
Dina, Jedikay, and Susan_Texas for their feedback, support, encouragement, and, yes, kicks in the behind, to keep me plugging away at this thing;
Zarina and Ice Hunter for sharing their respective knowledge about history and weapons; and,
Dina for once again sharing her betaing skills with me.
All mistakes are mine and do not in any way reflect on those who assisted me.
Author notes: Yes, there are original characters in here. No, they are not love interests or mary sues. <g> Feedback to krhwriter@alltel.net always appreciated. Enjoy.
Pulling the cinch on his saddle tighter in the early morning light, Chris heard familiar footsteps on the boardwalk behind him. The black-clad man proceeded with his task while acknowledging the walker's presence. "Anything back on those telegraphs yet?"
"Nope," Vin answered, leaning against the pole outside of the jail and hooking his thumbs in his waistband. "Be better iffin' there was more than one of us looking for that fella's partner," the tracker observed quietly. Given the fact that the still unidentified man who had tried to kidnap Billy didn't have any gear on his horse and that his feet were bigger than the footprints left by the person who shot into the jail, it hadn't taken long for everyone to come to the conclusion that there was at least one other person involved and that they had to be camped somewhere close to town. Despite objections, Chris said that he would be the one to go looking for the campsite at first light. After a few minutes of silence to his comment, Vin knew Larabee had not changed his mind on that point. Sighing, he finally conceded. "Which way you plannin' on lookin'?"
"Out by Black Ridge, then head south from there," Larabee said, dropping the stirrup back down and adjusting it. "Should be back by two at the latest." Finally turning to look at his friend, Chris found a steady gaze being leveled at him.
"You gonna tell 'em about your suspicion about Terrell?" the long-haired man asked, never wavering his look.
Starting a little, Chris pursed his lips trying to cover his reaction. "Who says I'm suspicious of him?"
"Well," Vin said, shifting his gaze to hide his amusement at Chris' failing attempt to appear unsurprised by his question. Glancing back at him, he finished, "You usually don't send that many telegraphs askin' about a man lessen' you got a reason to think he's up to something."
Smiling slightly at being caught, Chris shook his head. 'Damn tracker is getting too good at reading me.' "Nothing to tell 'em unless something comes from the wires," Chris finally said, shrugging his shoulders. Pulling himself up, he nodded to his friend before turning his horse to leave. He was facing down the street when Vin's voice wafted up to him.
"Mary won't get by me again."
Glancing sideways, Chris allowed a small smile to again play across his features. When he had escorted Mary and Billy back to the hotel the previous afternoon, he had found the normally placid tracker pacing like a caged animal in the hallway outside of the rooms. It took Chris a few minutes to realize that it was because Vin believed that he had failed in his duty by letting Mary get past him and placing herself in harm's way. It wasn't until he saw that she was safely returned to the hotel that he settled down. Although he had tried to cover it up, Chris could still remember the relief that had flooded through Vin when he saw that Mary was all right. Placing one finger on his hat brim, he tipped it slightly as he said "If I thought she would, I wouldn't be leaving." With that he nudged his horse forward.
Easing out of the courtroom quietly so as to not disturb the proceedings nor draw attention to himself, John Terrell settled his hat on his head as he glanced down the street. Spotting Larabee getting his horse ready for a ride while conversing with the tracker, he smiled. 'Perhaps Mr Larabee is going to make this easy.' With that the cattleman stepped off the boardwalk and hurried towards the livery across the street.
After watching Chris ride by, Mary let the curtain drop and sighed as she turned to sit down. She knew that he had decided that he should be the one to search for the remaining outlaw. Part of her couldn't help but question if the gunslinger's decision was for the wrong reason. Did he want revenge or to simply end this thing as soon as possible? Was he blaming himself because he had brought the trial to town and with it the criminals who had hurt Billy? Or was he simply tired of being held hostage in his own town?
"He's a good man."
Mary jumped at the sound of the voice. She had forgotten that someone else was with her. Glancing quickly up at Evie sitting on the other side of the room helping Billy with his letters, Mary nodded. "Yes, he is," she agreed quietly, sitting down and picking up the book she had been reading. "I just wish he could see it."
Chris Larabee was getting discouraged. A full morning of riding had resulted in nothing. He had found no sign to indicate that anyone had been camping — let alone — riding in the area. Realizing he was heading into a boxed canyon, Chris spurred the black so that he would climb to higher ground. About halfway up the incline, he realized that the rock face was looser than it looked. Pebbles, dirt and pieces of shale trickled down the hillside as the black began to struggle for traction in the shifting ground.
Leaning forward and spurring his mount, Chris urged the tentative horse forward. Despite voicing his objection to the journey by snorting, the big black responded to his master's touch.
The two had almost achieved the top of the rocky crag when Chris heard the sound of gunshots echoing in the wind, just as bullets began to dig into the ground in front of Chris. Shards of rock slammed into the black's chest sending the horse out of control. Fighting so as to not slide back down the hill, Chris cursed. Whoever was out there had picked this moment very deliberately.
Another round of bullets ricocheted around them, spraying more rock chips into the mount and rider. The black reared suddenly, screaming his displeasure at the painful pelting and the loose underfooting.
The sudden shifting of the horse's weight caused the already fragile ground to begin to crumble. As both horse and rider began to slide backward, the momentum of their movements caused the ground to give even further. Panicked by the latest turn of events, the black began to fight anew against the rider trying to control him.
Realizing it was just a matter of time before both he and the horse went down, Larabee kicked his feet loose from the stirrups and secured the reins so that they wouldn't get in the way of his dismount. Bracing himself, he waited until the black had all four feet on the ground before he launched himself off the horse.
Rolling in a desperate attempt to stay out of the way of the flailing horse skidding down the hill behind him, Chris didn't see the rider that appeared at the top of the hill. Nor did he notice a second man creeping along the rock face at the bottom.
Coming to a painful stop, Chris coughed and spat to get rid of the dirt and dust that had coated his face and mouth. Painfully regaining his feet, he saw the black running as fast as he could away from him. He bent over to get his gun and had just started to raise back up when a blow to the back of the head sent him into darkness.
As consciousness slowly began to creep upon Chris Larabee, his first thought was that something was wrong. Through the pounding in his head, he registered the sensation of a cool breeze upon his chest and pain radiating throughout his back, shoulders and arms. Forcing his legs to respond, he slowly moved them so they would support part of his weight. Immediately, the pain in his shoulders eased slightly. Fighting through the remaining haze that shrouded his mind, Chris rolled his head upward to see where he was.
He saw two men were crouched beside a fire talking quietly. The man facing Chris saw the peacekeeper's labored movements and nodded towards him to draw the second man's attention to it. "He ain't dead after all," the young man said as he stood up.
"You under-estimate him. A little knock on the head cannot kill the great Chris Larabee," the second man said snidely, as he slowly turned to face his captive.
"Terrell," Chris growled at the man before him.
"Larabee. I take it you were looking for us?" Terrell asked lightly, gesturing towards his comrade. "But where are my manners. Allow me to introduce you to my step-brother, Charles McKeely. Charlie, the infamous Chris Larabee." Picking up a rifle that had been leaning against a rock, he handed it to his younger sibling. "Why don't you keep an eye out while I finish my business with Mr. Larabee."
Fully alert now, Chris tugged on the ropes around his wrists to test how securely they were attached to the trees. The movement was not without a price though as the agony in his shoulders and back flamed anew.
Seeing Chris' jaw tense at the onslaught of pain, Terrell made ticking sounds as he walked around the gunslinger. "That does look painful," he said, peering intently at the scrapes and gouges on Chris' back. "I'm afraid with your horse running off like that, it left us little choice in how we moved you."
Snorting, Chris watched Terrell as he prowled around him. "You couldn't just leave me where I was," he stated flatly.
Laughing at the dryness in the lawman's voice, Terrell shook his finger in Chris' face. "Oh no. I have plans for you." The outlaw moved back towards the fire while continuing to speak over his shoulder. "You have caused me a great deal of trouble. If you and the others had not gotten in the middle of things, I would have been in my new home by now."
"So it was you all along," Chris said, as the man poured himself a cup of coffee. "Why? What do you have against Weatherly?"
"Actually, I have nothing against Robert. He is simply an obstacle that I used to my advantage to get to what I really want," the blond haired man said smoothly as he took a few steps closer to Chris.
"Which is?" Chris asked warily.
"Evelyn Travis, of course. And she played it just as I knew she would, running to her 'dear brother's side,' even if it was to Four Corners and not to Trevorville, as I had planned. But that ended up being to my advantage, also," Terrell boasted. "It allowed me to 'save' her husband and secure myself a reason to be close to her without drawing attention to myself." Stopping immediately in front of Chris, Terrell casually shifted most of his weight to one leg. "But none of that is any of your affair," the smaller blond man said, watching the swirling liquid in his cup. "You have your own problems to think about," he added, before flinging the hot coffee towards Chris.
Wiping his mouth on a napkin, Cody glanced casually around the small dining room. He noted that not many people were in the place. He supposed it was because it was a little late for dinner. Glancing over his shoulder, he motioned for the serving woman to bring more coffee. One more cup and then perhaps he would wonder over to the saloon and spend a few hours in a friendly game of cards. There wasn't much else to do in the small town.
Unbidded, the image of Ezra Standish flashed in his mind. He wondered what kept the con man here. It surely couldn't be because of the money. Cody hadn't seen anything that resembled the kind of wealth that Maude had been training the southerner to aspire for when he last saw them in New Orleans.
'Maybe he changed,' ran through his head as he nodded his thanks to the waitress for the coffee. Sipping it slowly, he pondered the possibility that the gambler had transformed so much as to be happy in a god-forsaken dusty town such as this one. The smell of a passing plate of fish caused Cody to tense.
The odor wafted under his nose, triggering memories he thought had been long ago dead and buried. In less than a heartbeat, his mind flipped back in time to a smoky, noisy saloon on the gulf in Louisiana.
"Ezra, dear," Maude Standish called to the young man passing the table, amusement lacing her words. "Come meet an old friend."
Reaching out to lay a possessive hand on the newcomer's arm when he stopped by the table, Maude beamed with pride. "Ezra, this is Nicholas Cody. Nicholas, my son, Ezra."
Running his eyes over the young man as they shook hands, Cody guessed that he was in his late teens. He could also tell from his eyes that he was far older, and more experienced than most his age. "My pleasure," Cody murmured, indicating all should sit at his table.
"Nicholas and I worked together several years ago, before he left town," Maude offered to her son in explanation, sliding her chair closer to the older man and possessively placing a hand on his arm.
Laughing, Cody patted her hand before looking at Ezra. "I can assure you, I never had your mother's talent," he said, a twinkle in his eye.
"I see," Ezra murmured, knowing from experience that if Cody had worked with Maude, then he was, or at least had been, proficient in their 'trade' as his mother preferred to call it. Eying the way that Maude was fawning over the older man, Ezra also wondered if he had been her lover as well. "And what brings you back to our fair city?" he asked innocently, sipping the glass of whiskey that had been poured for him.
"Business," Cody had replied evasively. He didn't want Maude, or her son for that matter, to know that when he had left town several years earlier it had been to distance himself from her. He had loved Maude with wild abandonment and had tried to convince her to settle down and marry him. He told her they could make a quiet, respectable life together. When he realized that, despite her best intention, Maude was the type of woman who would never be happy in such an existence, he had left, alledgedly for San Francisco. In truth, he had left for several weeks and then returned to New Orleans. He had made a new life for himself far from the circles that Maude Standish and her consorts ran in.
Still, that didn't mean he had forgotten about the beautiful con woman or the thrill of her lifestyle. There were times when he missed them so much he would find a palace or a backroom game of chance to see if he still had the touch when it came to cards. It was this craving that had brought him face to face with his ex-lover and her son on that particular night.
Shaking himself from his reverie, Nicholas sighed. That was a long time ago. Pulling several coins from his pocket and tossing them on the table, he stood and placed his hat on his head before heading out the door.
Pacing outside of the hotel, Vin Tanner paused long enough to let Judge Cody pass before he once again looked at the sun hanging low in the horizon. With only a couple hours of daylight left, he was getting worried. Spotting Nathan approaching, Tanner stopped and waited for him. "Larabee should of been back by now."
"You think he's run into trouble?" the healer asked uneasily, coming to a halt beside the long haired man. Seeing the tracker tense, Nathan followed his line of sight. Stepping into the street, both men held up their arms and said a quiet "whoa" to the riderless horse trotting into town.
"Easy boy," Vin soothed, grabbing the bridle to stop the black from tossing his head. Running gentle hands over the agitated horse, he felt the dried blood on his chest and legs. Taking a closer look, he could see the nicks and cuts that had caused the bleeding. "He's been hurt," Vin observed, as he stood up up. "You find anything?"
Coming back around the black after checking out his sides and rear quarters, Nathan shook his head. "Reins are on the horn," the former slave said. Both men knew that meant Chris had been on the horse when something happened to him.
"I'll get my bag and go with ya."
Starting up the street with the horse in tow, the men were stopped by the sound of Josiah's voice. "Better take a look at these wires that just come for Chris," the big man said, handing Nathan two telegrams.
"What they say?"
"This one's from the land office in Trevorville. No record of John Terrell. Land is owned by Michael Rowe. Bought last year." Switching papers, he continued. "This one's from Fort Laramie. Says the beef contract was awarded to Rowe." Raising his head with a confused look on his face, Nathan continued. "What beef contract and who's this Rowe?"
Looking at the others, Vin handed the reins to Chris' horse to Josiah. "We'll sort it out later. Right now, we gotta find Chris."
Clenching his teeth, Chris Larabee was determined not to yell out and give this bastard the satisfaction of knowing how much he hurt. Digging deep inside of himself, he latched onto the anger that was waiting to erupt. Using it, he slowly raised his head and allowed a small smile to show on his face. "You better hope I don't get loose," he said softly to the man facing him, dangling a bloody riding crop in his hand.
Astounded by the audacity of his captives threats, John Terrell threw back his head and laughed. "I better not hope you get loose?" he repeated. "I think you're missing something. I'm the one in control. You're the one in trouble here."
Slowly shaking his head, Chris' smile grew even colder. "You're a dead man Terrell," he said. "You just don't know it yet."
Looking at the cold blackness in Larabee's eyes, the levity drained from Terrell's face. A trickle of fear crept along his spine for a few seconds. Angrily, he lashed out in retaliation, again thrashing the crop across Chris' ribs. Leaning forward he hissed, "I may be a dead man, but you'll never see it," before stalking off.
Squirming as even more blood ran down his side, Chris blew out several breathes trying to control the pain. Through clenched teeth, he fought against the stinging sensation to speak. "I'll see it, you stupid bastard," he hissed finally.
As soon as the words were out, he could see the effect on Terrell. Chris braced himself, trying to prepare himself for a knife or bullet as he watched Terrell grab a satchel off the ground and march back towards him. Reaching into the bag as he got closer, Terrell began to fling a yellowish substance towards the gunslinger.
The burning started almost immediately. With it, Chris began to experience a new level of agony as the substance entered the cuts, lashes and scrapes. Writhing in a vain attempt to avoid any more of the powder, Larabee howled in pain, anger, and frustration before blackness overtook him.
Stepping back from the unconscious man sagging against the ropes holding him up, John Terrell yelled for his step brother as he brushed the last of the sulfur from his hands. "Charlie! Get over here!" When the younger man skidded to a halt, Terrell continued. "Watch him. If he wakes up and gives you any problem, do whatever you need to shut him up. But don't kill him. I want to see his face when I bring her here."
"You boys keep an eye out for that Terrell fella. Iffin' he shows up, find out where's he been," Vin said from atop his horse, watching as Nathan finished putting supplies in his saddlebag. "Chris said he was headin' south of Black Ridge. Nathan and me are gonna start there. Iffin' we don't find him between here and there, we'll come back to town to get ya' so we can head out again at first light."
"Black Ridge's got a lot of shale and stuff that could've made those cuts on Chris' black," JD said, handing Vin the reins to a roan colored mare.
Nodding in agreement, Josiah stepped gingerly to the street. "Ezra and I'll stick close to the jail. Buck and JD can keep an eye on the Travises."
Casting his eyes to towards the hotel, Nathan nodded. "See if any of ‘em know that Rowe fella in the telegram."
John Terrell tipped his hat at the night desk clerk as he walked through the lobby and climbed the steps toward his room. Gaining the top, he paused to look at his watch. It was almost 8:00 p.m. Slipping his watch back into his pocket, he patted his coat as if looking for his key. While doing so, he threw several furtive glances down the short hallway ahead of him that led to the Travis' rooms. Smiling slightly at the sight of the peacekeeper at the window oblivious to his presence, Terrell turned to his right and began sauntering towards his room. Unlocking it, he began to whistle jauntily as he moved around the sleeping chamber, gathering his belongings.
He picked up a book off the marred dresser top and fluttered through the pages until he found a folded piece of paper between the pages. Opening it, he quickly ran his eyes over the carefully written words before crumbling it in his hand. Shoving the book into the satchel, he tied it shut.
Terrell silently exited his room and moved towards the rear of the building. Slipping through the door leading to the back stairs, the blonde hair man quickly made his way to the shadowy alley below. Securing the satchel to one of the two horses waiting in the darkness, Terrell paused only long enough to make sure no one was watching before taking a bundle from the second horse.
Sneaking back into the building, the outlaw slipped into the empty kitchen. Holding his hand above the large cooking stove, he smiled as he felt the low heat radiating from it. Dropping the bundle, he bent and began to pull the damp grass and hay from it. Piling the flammable material on top of the cast iron stove, he gathered up the empty bag and took it with him up the back stairs to his room. Closing the door and tossing the bag into a corner, Terrell sat down on the side of the bed to wait.
"Which way?" Nathan asked, watching Vin stand beside his horse as he stared into the darkness.
"With them blasted clouds covering the moon, I can't see nothin'," the long haired man answered, frustration evident in his voice.
"You've followed men before with less than them signs we been seein'. No reason this can't be one of them times," Jackson calmly replied. "What's your gut tellin' ya?"
Staring up at the healer, Vin soaked up the quiet strength and confidence being offered to him. Finally drawing a deep breath, he pulled himself back onto his mount and nodded his head toward his right. "That way."
"Then let's get goin'."
Buck Wilmington let the curtain fall back into place and resumed pacing the hallway. He had lost count of the number of times he had looked into the street below for some sign of Chris returning with Vin and Nathan. Although he had tried to make light of the situation to JD when Chris' horse had come back riderless, Buck was concerned. He had made a mistake once before and not gone after Chris when the gunslinger had failed to return on time. Then, it had cost Chris over two weeks in hell, locked in a prison. He just hoped this time the cost wouldn't be even higher.
Flopping down in the chair and rubbing his tingling nose, the large man tried to calm himself down. 'Hell, Chris has probably walked half way back by now just so he can shoot that pig-headed, good-fer-nothin' horse of his.' Chuckling at the thought, he leaned the chair back on two legs to wait.
Evie Travis glanced at Orrin on the other side of the room at the desk as he gave a tired sigh. He had been hunched over for the past several hours working on his closing arguments. Watching him as he rubbed his neck and look again at his watch, Evie stood and moved over to him.
"Here, let me do that," she said, pushing his hands out of the way and beginning to massage his tense shoulders. Looking over his shoulder at the scribbled writing, she saw he was exactly where he had been when she had brought tea to him several hours before. "At this rate, you're never going to be ready for tomorrow."
"Hmrph," was his only reply. After a few minutes of silence, he nodded that she could stop rubbing his shoulders. Once she did, he turned slightly and looked up the woman that made him complete.
Seeing the lines of fatigue and worry in her husband's face, she laid a hand back on his shoulder. "Do you think Chris is all right?"
Before Orrin could answer, he felt Evie's hand tense.
"Do you smell smoke?" Evie asked, instinctively looking around the room for anything that might be on fire.
Following his wife's example, Orrin began to look around. He was the first to detect the tendrils of smoke wafting up through the floor boards. "There," he said pointing to haze that seemed to be building in the room. "Someone must have left something on the stove in the kitchen," he said, beginning to gather his wife and moving her to the door. "Come on. It's getting pretty bad in here," he said as he heard her begin to cough.
As he neared the doorway, Orrin heard Wilmington's voice call out his name before a pounding began on the door. "JUDGE, MRS TRAVIS... FIRE." Almost immediately, the pounding stopped only to begin again, this time muffled as Buck pounded on Mary's door. "MARY WAKE UP! FIRE!"
Opening the door, Orrin could see that the smoke was just as bad in the hallway. Almost immediately, Mary came from her room with Wilmington behind her carrying Billy in his arms.
"Judge, you take Billy here and I'll start wakin' them other folks," Buck said hurriedly, shoving the confused and sleepy youngster into the older man's arms. Heading down the hall, he paused only long enough to point at them. "You folks, go now. Find JD or Ezra and stick with 'em!" Almost before the last word was out of his mouth, he was off pounding on doors and yelling for the occupants behind them to get up.
Taking Evie's arm, Mary began to lead her to the stairs to follow the rapidly disappearing form of Orrin and Billy out in the smoke filled darkened hallway. Almost immediately, both women were stopped by strong hands on their arms. Before either could protest, they heard a hissed "This way!" Pressure on their arms urged them to do as the voice insisted. Walking a short ways, they began down the stairs. Bursting through the door at the bottom, the women drew deep ragged breaths between coughs. Wiping tears from their eyes, it took them a few minutes to realize they were in the alley behind the hotel. Turning to head to the street, the women were halted by the sound of a gun being cocked.
"On the horse, both of you," John Terrell said from the boardwalk, pulling a hand-kerchief from his face. Seeing the women hesitate, he stepped into the street. "I only need one of you," he said, leaving the unspoken threat hanging in the air like the smoke they had just escaped from.
Slowly the fog began to lift from Chris Larabee's brain. With a great effort, he forced his head backwards and his eyes to open. As awareness came back, so did the pain and discomfort. He wasn't sure what was worse: the agonizing tingling of numbness in his hands and arms, or the dull burning and soreness of his chest and back. At this particular moment in time, it was a toss up. The only thing he knew for sure was that he had to find some way to get the hell out of there. With that thought, he forced his mind to ignore his bodily discomfort and to focus on the scene around him.
It was dark now. At first he did not see anyone around but he could tell by the fire burning steadily that someone was at hand to tend it. After a few minutes of adjusting to the darkness and sounds, he was finally able to distinguish the sounds of approaching footsteps. A few minutes later, the man called Charlie appeared from the night carrying more wood for the fire.
Watching the unknown man, Chris tried to judge how much time had passed since he had blacked out. By the remains of the rabbit that the outlaw had eaten for dinner, it had been at least several hours. That didn't bode well as it meant that Terrell could be returning at any moment. And Chris wasn't sure he was ready for that just yet.
Moving his head again in an attempt to attract attention to himself, Chris licked cracked lips and managed to croak out the word "water" when the young man noticed his movements.
Standing up, Charlie McKeely took a few steps closer to his prisoner. Staring at the man dangling before him, McKeely ran appraising eyes over him. The blood that had flowed so freely down his body earlier now appeared as dried brown rivulets. "What'd you say?" he asked.
Again, Chris barely managed to get his mouth to form the word. "W'ter."
Turning and stomping back to the camp, the young outlaw grabbed the canteen and returned to the prisoner. Pulling the cork from it, he took a long swallow allowing the liquid to dribble down the sides of his mouth. When he could no longer swallow it, he pulled the container away from himself and allowed the remaining fluid to spill onto the ground. When the canteen was empty, he smiled evilly at Chris. "Seems we just ran out," he sneered, before breaking into laughter.
A voice responding "But we ain't" brought all laughter to a halt. As he started to pull his gun, McKeely thought twice about it after hearing the sound of a shell being chambered. Stopping all movement, he dropped the canteen and kept his hand away held in mid-air, away from his gun. "Don't want no trouble here," he called back to the men behind him.
Taking a few quick steps forward, Vin Tanner yanked Charlie's gun from the holster before he shoved the outlaw away from Chris Larabee. "Mister, you got more trouble than you know what to do with," the former bounty hunter hissed, after chancing a look at his friend hanging limply between the trees.
Darting his eyes between the outlaw and his friends, Vin could tell that Chris was going to be dead weight on Nathan when he was released from the ropes. Without hesitation he motion McKeely to turn around as if to head to the fire. When the outlaw complied, Tanner slammed the stock of the mare's leg into the back of his neck. Before McKeely had hit the ground, Vin holstered his gun and was on his way to help with Chris.
Easing the injured man's arms over their shoulders, Nathan and Vin carried him to the fire. They were appalled by the numerous injuries as well as concerned by the trembling they felt radiating through Chris' body.
Pausing, Nathan braced himself. "I got him now," he said. "You git a blanket and spread it by that fire."
When Vin had the makeshift bed ready, Nathan took one step forward and lowered Chris into Vin's waiting hands. Together, they eased their injured friend onto his side.
"Take it easy. We got ya," Nathan soothed, gingerly laying Chris' arm on the blanket and getting up to grab his medical bag. Before he moved, however, he looked at Vin to make sure he was able to keep Chris from rolling forward or backward.
The continued trembling in Chris' body scared the tracker. Leaning forward, he swallowed hard at the pain in Larabee's eyes and the paleness of his skin. "Should of come lookin' for ya sooner, Vin said softly, concern, fear, and regret reflected in his voice. "
Squeezing the hand that held his, the movement of Chris' head as he shook it was nearly imperceivable. "Terrell after Evie," Chris whispered "Will kill her. Go."
"Boys are keeping an eye out for Terrell," Vin assured him as Nathan came back.
Kneeling again by Chris' thighs to brace the gunslinger, Nathan ran featherlight fingertips over his body to assess the damage. Encountering a grainy feeling mixed with the blood on Chris' chest, Nathan frowned. Gathering as much as he could, he rubbed his finger tips together to try to identify the substance before raising his hand to his nose. Flinching at the acrid smell radiating from it, Nathan pinned Vin with his eyes. "Water, as much as you can carry," he snapped urgently, dumping the contents of his medical bag onto the ground.
As he poured water from his canteen into a cup and a basin, Nathan began to speak softly. "Cuts, welts, burns, scrapes.... That bastard did a number on ya didn't he, Chris?" Setting the basin at the edge of the fire to warm, Nathan dumped a packet of herbs into the cup. Stirring it a few minutes, he gingerly slipped his arm under Chris' head to raise it. "This'll help with the pain," he soothed as he held the water to Chris' lips. "You'll feel better when we get that sulpha off ya," the healer added, laying the gunslinger's head back down. "I'll give ya some more water in a little bit after yer body has taken them herbs in." Noticing the grimace on Chris face, Nathan paused. "That hurt ya?"
Easing his features, Chris rasped, "Skunk water."
Smiling, Nathan picked up a cloth and dunked it in the warm water. "With y'all gettin' hurt like ya do, can't go no where without it," he teased. Sobering, Nathan held the wet cloth above Chris and said, "This is gonna hurt," before allowing the water to trickle across his chest, beginning the long process of cleaning the wounds.
Standing just inside the tree line 200 yards away, Terrell let out a frustrated hiss as he watched the two men ease Chris Larabee to the ground by the fire. Pulling Mary closer to him, Terrell jabbed the gun in his hand into Evie's side. "One sound and I'll kill all of you," he hissed to both women. "Back to the horses. Move it."
Herding the women back to the mounts, he gathered both reins and pulled himself onto his horse before he pointed his gun at Mary and nodding for Evie to mount. When the older woman was horseback, he trained his gun onto her and motioned for Mary to do likeways. He barely waited for Mary to gain her seat before he spurred his horse, leaving the women little choice but to follow in his wake.
As he joined the men beginning to gather in the jail, Buck Wilmington could kick himself for his susceptibility. If he hadn't let the women out of his sight, none of this would have been necessary. Forcing the thoughts back, he looked hopefully to the men watching his approach. "Nothing. Terrell's room's been cleaned out and he didn't pay his bill," he said somberly, swallowing at the hardening of the Judge's face. "Only thing I found was this," Buck added holding out a crumpled piece of paper.
Accepting it, Orrin smoothed out the sheet and scanned the words.
My Dearest Mary,
It really was for the best. I could no longer let him come between us. Now, perhaps, I can....
Tell you all, to stand for one brief space
Unfettered, soul to soul, as face to face,
To crown you Queen, my Queen, til life shall end,
My lover and likewise by truest friend,
Would you love me, dearest, as fondly in return,
Could you but learn?
— The Forgotten One
"Then that settles it. Terrell or whoever else is behind all of this has them," Travis retorted, crumbling the sheet in his fist. "Any of you gentlemen have any idea which way Jackson and Tanner went?"
"Towards Black Ridge," JD answered. "Said they'd be back if they didn't find Chris so we could all start looking at first light."
Nodding, Travis pursed his lips. "Makes sense. A lot of places to hide up there." Looking towards Nicholas Cody, Orrin continued. "You best get yourself set for a delay, because there is no way in hell I'm doing anything tomorrow but find my wife and daughter-in-law." Moving over to the gunrack on the other side of the room, he picked up a double-ought shotgun and began shoving shells for it in his coat. When he couldn't fit anymore in his pockets, he pinned the peacekeepers with a look. "You boys ready?"
"Orrin, let me go with you," Robert Weatherly called, standing at the doorway of his cell but making no effort to open the unlocked door. "She wouldn't be in this mess if it wasn't for me," he added in desperation.
Picking up the keys to the cell on his way by the desk, Orrin stopped in front of the cell and locked it. "You don't know that and besides, if whoever is behind this wants to get both of you out of the way, then it'll just play into his hands if you go with us." With that, Travis walked out the door.
Jostling on the back of the horse behind Evie in the darkness holding on as best as she could with her hands being bound in front of her, Mary tried to banish the image of Chris being lowered to the ground. That act in of itself told her he was hurt. How bad she didn't know, but the dark streaks reflecting on his body in the firelight told her that it was more than one wound. Each time the image of his battered body entered her thoughts, it brought a renewed sense of panic and desolation to her soul. "He can't die," she whispered fervently.
"Sure he can," John Terrell cruelly, as her words were carried to him on the still night air.
"Why are you doing this?" Mary ventured. "What did we ever do to you to justify all this?"
"You'll see soon enough," Terrell snapped, drawing their horse closer. Softening his voice and reaching out to caress Mary's cheek, he continued, "This will all be over and you and I will spend the rest of our lives together." Anger flashed over his face when she flinched away from his touch. Snatching a hold of her chin, he yanked her face towards him. "Don't ever do that," he snarled, softening his gaze at the fear that flashed across her face. "Don't ever do that again," he reiterated, running his fingers down her face again.
After tying off the last bandage on Chris, Nathan plunged his hands into the tepid water left in the small basin and scrubbed them. He wanted to make sure he didn't have any residual sulfur on his hands before he put away the few clean bandages he had left. Shaking his hands to remove the excess water, he rubbed them on a towel before picking up the basin and flinging the water into the darkness behind him.
Placing one hand on Chris' forehead, he felt the heat of a slight fever burning in the blonde hair man. However, it wasn't too high, and it was not disturbing the blonde's sleep. So for now, the healer decided he wouldn't worry about it.
"He doin' okay?" Vin asked, appearing suddenly.
"Sleepin'," Nathan murmured, putting his supplies in his bag. "Got a fever, but that don't surprise me none." Stopping his activity, he looked at Vin. "You suppose the boys got Terrell by now?"
Shrugging, Vin's eyes instinctively began searching the moonlit landscape. "He ain't come back here yet, so maybe." Flickering his gaze back to the healer, he added. "Be light in a few hours. He gonna be able to ride?"
"Doubt it; least ways, not by his self."
Nodding slowly, Vin again focused his attention on the surrounding area. "We'll take turns ridin' with him then. Don't want to spend anymore time away from town than we have to. Chris was awfully sure Terrell was going after Mrs. Travis."
At the sight of the three horses approaching in the early morning light, the five travelers pulled up even though they could only make out the vague shape of the nearing riders. It took them a few minutes to realize that one was Vin. That was enough to goad the men into spurring their mounts to meet them.
"Chris!" Buck called out, when he realized that his oldest friend was slumped in front of Nathan, swathed in bandages. "What the hell happened to him?" he demanded, his horse dancing underneath him, sensing the high emotions of its rider.
"Terrell tortured him," Nathan said, shifting his heavy burden slightly to ease the weight on one arm.
Leaning over to look at Chris' face, Buck glanced up at Nathan, fear and uncertainty on his face. "He's gonna be alright, ain't he?"
"Should be," Nathan soothed. "Gave him a strong dose of laudanum before we left," he added, explaining the black clad man's lack of response.
"Who's the prisoner?" Travis asked, nodding to the man with his hands tied in front of him and riding the horse behind Tanner. Looking more closely at him, the Judge could tell the man had sustained a blow to the head by the unfocused eyes.
"Not sure," Tanner said, making no excuse for his lack of curiosity. "Had Chris trussed up and was tauntin' him when we found him."
Josiah spurred his horse and intercepted Buck as he swung his mount toward the prisoner. "Easy, Buck," the preacher said, grabbing the bridle on Wilmington's horse. "Vin didn't say he caused Chris' injuries."
"You there," Travis called back to the prisoner. "What's your name?"
After several minutes trying to focus his eyes on the speaker, the prisoner finally mumbled "Charlie McKeely."
Glancing around at the others to see if the name meant anything but seeing blank faces, Orrin asked, "Do you know John Terrell?"
Squinting in Orrin's direction, Charlie answered, "Cole. His name's Cole." Finally giving up and dropping his chin back onto this chest, he muttered, "He's my kin by marriage."
A muttered explicative erupted from the Judge at the name.
"Cole?" JD asked excitedly. "Ain't he the fella who got the cattle deal for the army? The one in the telegram?"
Grunting, Orrin turned back to McKeely. Not seeing any response, he reached over and shook the man by the arm. "Well, is he the same one?" the older man demanded.
Nodding, McKeely raised his head back up, a slow grin on his face. "Yep, and soon as he finishes takin' care of that lady, we're gonna have the biggest ranch in the whole southwest."
Yanking on the rope to remind the smart mouth youth that he was a prisoner, Vin turned back to the others. "Chris said Terrell, or Cole, or whoever he is, is after your Missus, Judge."
Swallowing hard, Orrin looked over at the tracker, the strain of the past several hours clearly on his face. "He's not only after her, he's got her... and Mary."
Alarmed, Vin and Nathan looked towards their friends for confirmation.
"Set a fire in the hotel. Took 'em when we were trying to get everyone out," Buck explained sadly. "There were so many people running around, none of us could make out what tracks were theirs. Was hopin' you could," he said, looking pleadingly at Vin.
Nodding, Vin spurred his horse into a gallop, sending all of them back towards Four Corners.
It took Vin several minutes of staring at the collage of indentations in the ground behind the hotel to locate and memorize the correct prints. Reading them, he pursed his lips. Two women, one taller than the other, being shoved off the boardwalk; a man shadowing them. A few uneven steps, and then one of the women fell. Turning slightly, Vin reached out and picked up a small portion of the dark stain on the ground. Holding the dirt to his nose, he could detect the acrid smell of blood.
If Vin had to hazard a guess, Terrell had hit one of them — probably Evie, from the marks on the ground. Mary had helped her up, before both had mounted a single horse. Then two horses, one carrying more weight than the other, moved from where they had been tied and waiting.
As he absentmindedly rubbed his fingers together to brush off the dirt, the hatred that had been building against Terrell crystallized into ice deep within him. Rising, Vin walked to the end of the alleyway, his eyes never leaving the trail. Continuing down the street, he periodically stopped to sort out the numerous hoof prints to make sure he still had them. At the edge of town, he stopped and piled three rocks on top of each other as a marker.
Standing back up, Vin looked across the open plain and rested his hand on his mare's leg for a few minutes before turning around and heading back to get a fresh horse and the others.
"No," Nathan Jackson said, exasperation clearly evident in his voice. Pushing down a little harder to keep the struggling man in his bed without hurting him, he continued. "You ain't strong enough."
"Damn it, Jackson. Let me up," Chris snarled, pushing with the little strength he had. "That bastard will hurt both of them... maybe kill them."
"And you ain't gonna help 'em any by falling off your horse," Nathan countered. Feeling Chris' energy failing him, Jackson said the one thing that he hoped would make the stubborn fool see his point of view. "Or by slowin' us down."
Standing upright, Jackson looked down sympathetically at his now exhausted patient. The bright sheen of perspiration covering Chris' pale skin and the pinched expression told the healer Chris' struggles had awakened the pain of his injuries. Moving across the room, Nathan poured some hot water into a cup and then mixed in a few herbs.
"Drink this. It'll take the edge off of that pain so you can get some sleep," Nathan said, leaning over to help Chris raise his head.
"No laudanum," Chris said, catching the hand coming towards his face.
"It ain't that. It's just some tea," Nathan responded.
Laying back down, Chris raised a shaky hand to wipe away the liquid that had trickled down the side his face. Satisfied that he had won, Nathan started to leave when Chris grabbed his arm.
"If Mary's...." Chris paused, swallowing hard, "hurt," he finally managed, not able to express his biggest fear, "you promise me that bastard dies," he whispered harshly.
Staring first at the iron hand clenched around his wrist and then up to the eyes staring at him, Nathan was struck by the vulnerability and desperation reflected in the green orbs. Pausing only a second, he nodded his silent agreement.
If Mary was dead, then John Terrell would not see another day on this earth.
John Terrell squeezed the arms of the two women to halt the trio's progress as they approached the backside of the hotel. Pulling both women behind a stack of crates, he stuck his head out to make sure they had not been seen. When he was satisfied, he released Evie's arm. "You do exactly what I told you to and Mary will be fine," Terrell said, tightening his grip on Mary while glaring at Evie. "Anything happens that I don't like and your grandson will be without a momma." To emphasis his point, Terrell pulled a large knife and laid it against Mary's throat.
Swallowing her fear, Evie looked at Mary encouragingly. Seeing a similar look in Mary's eyes, Evie nodded slowly to Terrell, letting him know she understood his meaning. Taking a few steps backward, she finally tore her eyes from the younger woman and spun around, moving quickly up the stairs to the back door.
Stifling the coughing that threatened to erupt from the remnants of soot and smoke hanging in the air, Evie crept up the back stairs. She could hear voices from the front of the hotel and did not wish to be seen. Terrell had made it quite clear that she was to speak to no one. If anyone saw her and sounded an alarm, Mary would pay the price.
Slipping through the upstairs door, the older woman moved down the hallway to her room. Opening the unlocked door, she darted inside and pulled Orrin's travel satchel from under the bed. She went through it quickly, hoping to find any sort of legal document that would suffice. Spotting a folded form, she quickly laid it aside and moved to the dresser. Picking up her purse, she took out the derringer. Pausing to stare at the small gun laying in her hand, Evie bit her lip nervously. It was a risk to take it.
Pushing her hesitancy aside, she lifted her skirt and loosened her boot. She slipped the gun into the top of her footwear and tied the laces securely, wrapping them around her ankle to help keep the firearm in place. Finishing her task, she grabbed the legal form off the bed and moved back to the door.
Hurrying down the back stairs, she eased outside, closing the door quietly as she left. Evie then turned back towards the alleyway, looking anxiously for Mary. She was halted by the appearance of Terrell from an alcove a short distance away. He was still holding Mary as he had been when Evie left. Holding up the paper, Evie called out to him. "I have what you want. Now, let her go."
"No, Evie," Mary called before she was pulled even tighter against Terrell. There was no way she was going to let Evie sacrifice herself so that Mary could be set free.
With a ferall smile, Terrell pinned Evie with dark, hard eyes. "Either you come over here and be good or...," he trailed off, rubbing his face along Mary's as he continued to press the knife to her throat.
Biting her lip, Evie paused only a moment before she lowered the paper and meekly moved closer. As she neared the crates, Terrell suddenly shoved Mary toward her, sending both women off balance. Laughing, he shoved the knife back into the sheath on his waistband and grabbed both of their arms as they regained their feet. "Now, come on. We need to pick up some fresh mounts as we've got a long ride ahead of us."
Shifting restlessly in the bed, Chris again cursed the injures that were stealing his strength and keeping him from finding a comfortable position. 'Rest,' he mentally snorted, remembering Nathan's parting word to him several hours earlier. How was he suppose to rest when Mary and Evie Travis were missing? He should be out looking for them.
Rolling to his side and swinging his legs over the side of the bed, he managed to sit up. Slowly he rose and stood weaving as his body protested the movement. As soon as the black spots began to subside from his vision, Chris took several tentative steps toward the chair that held his clothes.
Finally making it to his destination, he leaned heavily on the back of the chair with one hand and used the other to wipe the beads of sweat from his brow. Trying to block the pain from his mind, he slowly pulled on the garments, biting the inside of his cheek to keep from screaming at the feel of the material pressing on the bandages over the raw burns and scrapes.
Drawing several ragged breaths, Chris again wiped the sweat from his brow to keep it from running into his eyes and the cuts on his face. Pushing himself up, he grabbed his gun belt and strapped it on. Finally ready, he staggered toward the door and leaned on it for a few minutes, drawing several deep breaths to regain his strength. All he had to do was make it down the stairs, saddle his horse, and get on it. 'Done it a hundred times, in worse shape than this,' Chris thought, chiding himself for the trembling in his legs and the weakness that threatened to send him to the floor.
Lurching backward, he pulled the door open and made it to the stairs, hands gripping the railing to stop himself from pitching head first down them. Forcing one foot off the landing, he winced in agony as the movement of stepping down forced over-stressed muscles to move in a new manner and caused the material to change its path across the bandages. Halting, he sucked in a deep breath to fight off the black spots that again danced on the edges of his vision.
Waiting for his sight to clear, he brought his other leg down to the first step. Gritting his teeth, he moved his right leg to the second step. Again the pain flared in his body. He forced it to the back of his mind and focused on making his limbs traverse the steps down from the clinic.
Slamming his hand against the bars in frustration, Robert Weatherly glared at the man opposite from him. "Damn it, let me out of here!" he yelled. "That is my sister out there!"
Peering coolly at the prisoner, Judge Nicholas Cody sighed. He had simply stopped by to bring Weatherly and the other prisoner something to eat and this was thanks — an endless rant of demands and profanities. "You are still accused of murder," he said, holding up his hands to halt the interruption that he knew would be coming. "While it may be true that Cole is behind all of this, it doesn't mean I can just let you go without knowing for sure," he added, trying to soften the hard reality of his previous statement.
"Look, I'll come back, finish the trial... hell, I'll even plead guilty to something I didn't do... if it means you'll let me outta of her so I can find my sister," John pleaded in desperation. "You don't understand," he added, his voice dropping to a mere whisper. "If Terrell is really Cole, he will hurt her in more ways than you can imagine."
Tearing his eyes from Weatherly's imploring eyes to glance at the sleeping form of Cole's half-brother, Cody was tempted to open the door. He had seen what they had done to Larabee. That memory combined with the desperation in Weatherly's tone had struck a cord in him. Still, he was an officer of the court.
Stepping back, Cody whispered "I'm sorry" before fleeing the jail, the sound of Weatherly's voice yelling his name, ringing in his ears. Moving out of sight of the prisoners, Cody leaned against the wall and tried to convince himself he had done the right thing. If Travis had wanted Weatherly out there to help, he would have let him out himself.
Swallowing hard, he fought back the desire to go back into the jail and release Robert. He knew how helpless Weatherly must be feeling. he had felt that way once in his life — in an alley in New Orleans.
The incident had occurred several nights after he had seen Maude and Ezra Standish. Maude's presence back in his life, no matter how fleeting, had stirred long forgotten desires of money and the need to feel the adrenaline rush of the game. The pull had gotten too much for him and he had headed out to find a game.
But he had known he had to be careful. He was, afterall, now a respectable barrister whose name had been tossed around for a judgeship. He could hardly be found willfully cavorting with thieves, murderers, and tricksters. He had to be discreet and find a game where no one knew who Nicholas Cody was.
He thought he had found it in a dark and rough tavern by the pier. Cody entered and was reading the place, seeing who had the most money. After spotting three likely targets, he had headed over to them when he heard a voice calling out sarcastically, "Well, well, the great Cody has come to mix with the poor folks." Making sure he had everyone's attention, the man continued. "Come to get some other poor Captain fired from his job?"
Freezing, Cody tried desperately to place the voice. He knew that he should recognize it. When the owner of the voice appeared in front of him, he swallowed hard. Damn, he did. "I'm sure you have me confused with someone else," he said, attempting to step around the rough sea captain. The captain had been suspected of several thefts of cargo as well as murder. Cody had been asked by the shipping company to look into it.
"Oh, no, I 'member the man who cost me my boat," the captain sneered loudly.
Cody glanced uneasily at the other occupants of the room. They were rough men whose very existance was determined by their ability to successfully go out on a boat. Straightening his shoulders, he knew he'd have no chance if they believed he was the sole cause. Laughing mirthlessly, he took a gamble. "I can't help it that you're a lousy card player," he bellowed back, trying to divert blame and attention away from himself.
Around him a roar a laughter broke the tension. By the calls of "ya got that right," and the men moving in to slap his back, Nicholas knew he had guessed correctly. Taking advantage of the confusion, he put several men between him and the sea captain. "Drinks are on me," Cody yelled, knowing that such a call would further the mingling of bodies and add to the confusion. When it did, he slipped through the crowd and made for the door.
Several blocks away from the tavern, Cody finally slowed his steps. Blowing out a loud breath, he shook his head and laughed at how close he had come to being found out. Maybe he should give up this life once and for all.
Consumed by the euphoria of his escape, Cody didn't hear the men approaching until it was too late. One moment he was walking down an alley on his way home, and the next he was surrounded by the sea captain and three burly brutes he vaguely recognized as being part of the captain's former crew.
"Where ya think ya goin'?" the captain growled, bouncing a chair leg in the palm of his hand. "That was pretty slick back there. Only thing is that we ain't as dumb as ya think and we told ya long ago, we'd get ya fer costin' us our ship." With that, the men had pounced on him.
Cody didn't know how long they had been beating him when the arrival of another interrupted them. Struggling to stay conscious, Cody forced his eyes to focus on the new arrival. He knew the younger man standing there so calmly.
How exactly, Standish had gotten him away from the rouges, he wasn't sure. He only knew that he owed him his life. Cody's first real memory was several days later. He had awakened in a small apartment, his wounds tended. He could tell by the muted sunlight entering the room, it was late afternoon. Struggling to raise his head, he scanned the room for some sign of where he was. Unsure, he was trying to sit up to see out the window when the door opened and Standish entered.
"You're awake," Ezra said, pulling up a chair to sit beside the bed. "I take it you're feeling better?"
"How long?" Cody asked, the words garbled by the swelling in his face and lips.
"Two days," Ezra offered. "The doctor assured me it would be three at least." Ticking, he shook his head. "I'll have to remember to stop by his office and collect my winnings," he murmured.
"Where?"
"Oh, just a little place I know about. You are perfectly safe," Ezra replied.
"Who?" Cody managed next.
"Who knows who you really are or who knows you are here?" Ezra asked innocently. "You see, after our little encounter the other night, I was curious. So I asked around, and it seems the only Nicholas Cody that anyone knew about was the highest paid, most successful attorney in town." He moved over to look out the window. "Now, you must imagine my surprise. One of the most respected men in town, originally a consort to my mother."
"Does she...,"
"Does she know? No," Ezra answered, shaking his head. "Will she? Well, to be honest, I was tempted. But, then I decided, that if I did not inform her of your current profession, you would owe me. And that, my friend, may be far more important one day. And now, with me saving your life...." Ezra let his comments trail off.
Swallowing hard, Cody knew he had no choice. He did owe the young man. It was just a matter of when he collected. And at what price?
When he had arrived in Four Corners, he thought that day had arrived. So, far, Standish had made no reference to the debt. Blowing out a loud breath, Cody shook off the memories and stood up, tugging on his coat to straighten his clothes. Glancing up the street toward the hotel, he never saw the black clad man stagger into the livery and lurch inside.
As he kicked at the ashes of the cold fire, Josiah Sanchez winced as the movement irritated the six-day old gunshot wound in his leg. "Been out for quite a while," he said, glancing around the deserted campsite. Vin had picked up the trail leading from town and they had followed it to the outskirts of the campfire where Vin and Nathan had found Chris and then for several miles beyond it until they had come to a small sheltered area where Terrell and his captives had stopped for awhile. Standing upright, Josiah looked toward the men moving on the outskirts of the camp. "Find anything?"
The various head shakes told the preacher the others had come up with nothing. A muffled curse from Vin kneeling on the far edge of camp drew everyone's attention.
Looking at the tracks by his knee and following the most likely trail the mounts had taken with his eyes, Vin realized that he had been leading all of them on a wild goose chase. Hearing footsteps behind him, the tracker stood up and abruptly moved past the others saying, "They're heading back to town."
Chris pulled himself upright at the sight of Terrell pushing the women through the door ahead of him. His hand paused in mid-air above his Colt when he heard the sound of a gun being cocked.
"Do it and I'll kill her," Terrell threatened, placing the gun inches from Evie's head after shoving Mary to the floor. Seeing Chris pull his hand back, Terrell allowed an evil smile to cross his face. "Good boy," he said cheekily. "Now, put it on the floor, nice and easy." Laying his gun against Evie's face as a reminder of what would happen if Larabee didn't do what he was told, Terrell's eyes smiled at Larabee in anticipation.
The thud of the Colt hitting the floor rang loudly in the livery and caused Evie and Mary to jump. Smirking, Terrell motioned with his head for the black clad man to move away from it. Mirroring Chris' steps, the outlaw soon had the pearl handled gun stuffed in his waistband. It was only then that he released Evie and gave her a shove towards Mary.
Turning hate filled eyes back to Chris, Terrell noticed the unsteadiness of the gunslinger. As much as he liked the sight of him weak and struggling, he knew Larabee was too dangerous to make any mistakes. And leaving him on his feet where he could move freely would be a mistake. "Seeing as you're about to fall down anyway, why don't you just save us both some time and hit the floor," he remarked callously, gesturing with his gun to emphasis his point.
As he slide down a support pole, Chris' eyes flickered between Terrell and the women huddled together on the opposite side of the room. Both seemed to be relatively unharmed at this point, although the bound hands, stray strands of hair, and dirt on their faces and clothes showed that they had not been treated gently.
Focusing his attention back on Terrell, Chris felt a cold bead of sweat creep down his back. He wasn't in any shape for a physical confrontation and the odds of him being able to move fast enough to get his gun before a bullet entered him weren't good either. He was just too stiff and sore. This was definitely not the type of showdown he wanted. Still, it was happening and he had to find some way to get Mary and Evie out of the livery and away from Terrell.
"Should've known you were the kind to hide behind those ladies," Chris said, trying to still the trembling in his body.
Seeing through the obvious bait, Terrell laughed wickedly. "Nice try Larabee. Only trouble is, only one of them is a lady." Turning he moved back toward the woman, staring hard at Evie. "The other... well, the other is a conniving, selfish, bitch who abandoned her child."
Startled at the hate filled glare being directed at her, Evie glanced at Mary to see if she knew what the man was talking about. Seeing only confusion, Evie looked back at the man looming over her. "I don't know what you mean," she said hesitantly. "My son was killed...."
"I'm your son," Terrell roared, spit flying from his mouth with each word as his face turning red with fury. Reining hin his emotions, he turned and took a few shaky steps and drew some ragged breaths. A few seconds passed before he turned back toward Evie. Seeing a mixture of confusion, shock and horror reflected on her face, he burst out in a mirthless laugh. "I'm your first son, Terrell Michael Cole."
"No," Evie finally choked out, her mind refusing to believe what was being said. "Terrell died in the flood...."
Snorting, Terrell sneered, "Is that what your dear father told you? Well, I've got news for you," he continued, his voice hardening. "Your father paid off my father so he would take me and disappear."
"No," Evie whispered defiantly, tears glistening in her eyes.
"No, huh? Then why were there no bodies? Why did your father make a big production of the funeral when he wouldn't even give me or my father the time of day before? How do you explain him showing up at the house that night? Why did he suddenly have to take another job to pay his mortgage?" Terrell hissed, the fury in him rising to the surface again. Grabbing Evie by the front of her gown, he raised her off the floor and shoved his face into hers. "How do you explain any of that?"
Shaking her head slowly, shock was fast gripping Evie's mind. Staring at the man before her, she saw with voracious clarity the features of her first husband while her mind still tried to deny the truth of his words. If what he was saying was true, then it made her entire life a lie. She hadn't been made a widow that night. Her father had stripped her child away from her.
"Let her go!" Mary screamed clawing at the hand that was tightening its grip on the dress and cutting off Evie's air. "Let her go!"
"TERRELL!" Chris roared as he lunged to his feet, refusing to watch Evie be slowly strangled.
Hearing the threat behind him, Terrell threw Evie down and spun to met the danger. Before he could raise the gun to fire, Larabee slammed into him sending them both into the side of the nearby stall.
Trying to help the woman slumped against her, Mary's eyes darted to the struggle a few feet away. She knew Chris was in no shape to be fighting. Before she could extract herself from under Evie to find some way to help, the roar of the gunshot filled the air. Riveting her eyes on the two men in a heap, Mary held her breath. When Terrell began to move and she saw the blood spreading on Chris' shirt, a whimper escaped her.
Pushing Evie aside, Mary scrambled across the short span before Terrell could stop her. Pulling Chris to her, she pressed her hands to the wound to try to staunch the crimson flow. Movement caused her to tear her eyes off of Chris' pain filled face. As she looked into the hate filled eyes of the man looming over them, Mary felt a renewed surge of anger course through her. Defiantly, she straightened her shoulders. "What do you want?" Mary asked Terrell, her voice choked by a mixture of disgust and fear.
"What is rightfully mine," Terrell hissed, his hand flexing around the butt of the gun.
"The only thing rightfully your's is a bullet between the eyes," Chris spat out, straining to free himself from Mary's grip. He'd be damned if he'd just lay there and be shot like a dog.
Renewed fury flashed across Terrell's face. Stiffening his arm, he drew a careful bead on Chris. Allowing a grin of triumph to appear, he slowly began to pull the trigger. "And this is yours."
Stiffening in preparation for the bullet that was about to end his life, Chris felt regret course through his body. After he was dead, there would be no one to protect Evie or Mary from this madman's wrath. And even if by some miracle the others returned before Terrell hurt them too badly, he grieved for the sorrow and guilt that he knew they would feel. In their minds, his death would be their fault.
In reality, Chris knew his death was an inevitable result of the choice he had made. He knew when he got out of Nathan's bed that he was no shape to take on Terrell. Still, there had been no other choice.
Hopefully the Judge and the others could convince Mary and Evie of this.
Feeling Mary's arms tighten on him again, Chris strained to make sure he covered as much as of her as possible. If he was to die, he wanted to make sure his last act meant something.
The sound of the gunshot reverberated through the stables.
Leaning lower in the saddle, Vin silently urged his horse to dig a little deeper into his reserves and go faster. He knew that the pony had been literally flying across the ground, eating up the distance between the camp and town with each stride. Yet, the final two miles seemed to be taking forever.
Risking a glance over his shoulder, Vin assured himself that the others were still behind him. Noticing that Orrin had pulled slightly ahead of JD, Vin had to admire the Judge's horsemanship. The older man was pressed low to his horse, his hands and feet expertly extracting every ounce of speed from the mount.
Reaching the edge of Four Corners, Vin began to pull back on his reins to slow Peso to a fast gallop as they passed through the deserted streets. Stopping in front of the jail, the tracker threw himself off of his horse and disappeared into the dust cloud announcing the arrival of the others. He had just stepped onto the boardwalk when Judge Cody came out of the building, a pistol in his hand.
"There was a shot a few minutes ago from the livery," Cody snapped.
As the peacekeepers ran towards the end of town, the sound of another shot reached them. Instinctively spreading out, they surrounded the barn to enter it from every side. Pausing only long enough to cock his mare's leg and to make sure that Judge Travis was ready to follow him in, Vin hit the doors. Spinning off to one side, he peered desperately into the dim interior, cursing the slowness of his eyes in adjusting to the sudden darkness.
Just as Vin was beginning to make out shapes, the sound of soft crying reached his ears. As he took a few steps forward, the shapes in the darkness became human forms and finally into people. Lowering his gun, he rushed to drop at Chris' side. Making sure the gunman was still alive, Vin nodded once to Mary to make sure she was unharmed. Getting a shaky smile and nod, Vin turned to check on Evelyn Travis, only to stare in shock at the sight of her cradling John Terrell in her arms.
"Momma," Terrell whispered, one hand reaching up slightly towards Evie's face. "Don't... forget... me," he gasped out before his head slumped to one side and his hand dropped back to his side.
"I never did," Evie choked, pulling the dead man to her breast and rocking as tears coursed down her face. She had lost her son again.
But this time, it had been by her own hand.
"You ain't gonna bring charges against Mrs. Travis, are ya, Judge?" JD asked pensively, looking around the crowded jail in the early morning light. Buck, Vin, Josiah, and Ezra shifted uneasily while Orrin and Robert tensed, all waiting for the answer.
Scanning the room ready to erupt if they didn't like what they heard, Nicholas Cody was glad this was one time when he could give the response that everyone wanted. "No, Mr. Dunne, I am not. I believe Mrs. Travis has already suffered more than any person should. I will not add to that suffering by trying to punish her for saving two people's lives."
Relief flowed through the room. Waiting for everyone to settle back down, Buck pinned Robert with his eyes. "What about what Terrell said, 'bout Mrs. Travis' pa takin' him away from her? Any truth in it?" For Evie's sake, the ladies' man hoped that it had been just the demented ravings of a madman.
Blowing out a loud breath, Robert looked at Orrin. Getting a nod of reassurance, he let his shoulders drop. As much as it pained Weatherly to admit, he knew in his heart that it was true. "It's possible," he said softly. Shifting uneasily, he looked past the mustached man and stared unseeingly out the window. "Pa was a hard man and he hated Carl Rowe. That hatred grew even more when I told him about Rowe beating Evie. I think he would have done anything to get rid of him. I think he saw his chance that night and took it."
"Why didn't Rowe double cross him? I mean it would of been easy for him to come back and tell Mrs. Travis the truth," JD offered.
"Evie was sent back east right after it happened and my bet is that Rowe couldn't find her," Orrin answered.
Nodding, Robert agreed. "Carl was a low-down coward, but he wasn't a fool. He probably thought that if he showed up without Evie, Pa would have shot him." Glancing at the men around him, Robert added, "He was probably right."
"So what happened to Rowe?" Nathan asked.
"Terrell told us that his father and stepmother died when he was nine," Orrin shared, remembering the conversation from their dinner with him.
Nodding, Josiah confirmed the story. "Talked to McKeely a couple of times before he left this morning. Seems Cole made the boys watch as he killed his wife. They hung him for it. Terrell was pretty much on his own from then on, but the damage had already been done. He was a tortured soul who took great pleasure in torturing others."
"It has been said that there is no grief like the grief which does not speak," Ezra murmured softly, quoting Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.
Nodding slowly in agreement with Ezra's words, Josiah looked at Cody and Travis. "Don't know if there's anyone left who would want to know, but Charlie also confessed that Terrell killed the one family that had taken him in. Killed the old guy and made it seem like a bull had stomped him and then burned down the house, killin' the missus and daughter. That's how he got his first ranch."
Breaking the silence that had descended in the room, Judge Cody picked up his hat from the desk and set it on his head. "Well, gentlemen, I believe it is about time for the stage to be leaving." Shaking hands with Orrin, Cody nodded to the others as he moved towards the door. Pausing at the doorway, he glanced sideways at Ezra.
Catching Standish's eye, Cody nodded once to the gambler. He was still indebted to him. They both knew it. But somehow, for some reason Cody couldn't explain to himself, that didn't seem like such a bad thing any more. "Give Maude my regards the next time you see her."
"That would not be wise, sir. Given your present position, she would see you as someone who would be most advantageous to renew acquaintances with," Ezra remarked dryly, having no illusions of Maude's priorities.
Pursing his lips, Cody nodded slowly. "Perhaps it would be best if she did not know of our recent meeting."
"Ma'am," Chris murmured, struggling to rise from the chair outside the clinic door. Although he had healed quite a bit in the three days since he had been brought back to town, he was still too sore to move freely. On top of the scabbed wounds, healing scrapes, and skin irritated by the sulfur, the stitches Nathan put in his shoulder to close up the bullet wound pulled every time he shifted.
"No, no, you stay put," Evelyn Travis chided as she climbed the last step to the landing. "Unless I miss my guess, you shouldn't even be sitting up." Chuckling softly at the way Chris guiltily dropped his gaze, Evie knew she was correct. Easing herself onto a bench near him, Evie patted his arm. "If Mr. Jackson catches you, I'll take the blame."
"If Nathan catches us, I think both of us will be in trouble," Chris retorted, knowing full well that Evelyn had virtually collapsed from the emotional toll of killing her son and had been ordered to bed until Nathan deemed her fit to be up and around. Looking at her, he could read the grief in her face and swore the streaks of gray in her hair were more pronounced.
"Ah, but he released me today," Evie replied, a forced levity in her voice. "He had no choice. Orrin and I are leaving on the afternoon stage." Watching the people moving on the street below, she added softly, "It's time for me to go back east."
Remembering that she had gotten over Terrell's death once before by going east, Chris hoped she could do so again. "What about Robert? Is he heading out too?"
"Yes, he's anxious to go home. He's been away from the ranch for a long time, and with everything falling to his grandson, he thinks it's best," Evie replied. Looking back at Chris, she laid her hand on his. "I wanted to thank you for all you did for Robert. I don't know how I can ever repay you."
"I think you already did, ma'am," Chris said softly. If Mrs. Travis had not had the foresight to stash the derringer in her boot, Chris had no doubt he would be dead now.
"Maybe one day I'll see that," Evelyn said, sorrow flashing across her face. Rising to move back to the stairs, she paused when her gaze fell on her grandson as he bounced along side his mother as they crossed the street in the middle of town. "I have two sons buried here now. I'm counting on you to make sure the same does not happen to my grandson." After glancing over her shoulder once to nod her farewell, she took her leave.
Chris watched as Billy raced to meet Evie as she made her way down the street. He would do all that he could to ensure the young boy's safety in the future and that of his mother, also.
Evelyn Travis had no cause for worry.
The End
January, 2002
Ta -Da...Hope you enjoyed it!
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