Disclaimer: The 'Magnificent Seven' and other characters from the series are the property of MGM, Trilogy and the Mirisch Company. I just borrowed them, played with them for a while, and then very regretfully gave them back! The original characters found in this piece are mine and should not be used without permission. Sadly, no money will be made from this work of fan fiction.
Genre: Old West — H/C, angst, drama
Main characters: Vin, Chris, Ezra.
Rating: PG13, mainly for language, plus some violence.
Thank you to my husband, Mike, for his patience and understanding whilst I sat for hours at the PC writing this, my first ever work of fan fiction. Thanks also to Heather and Sue for their constant encouragement.
As with each of my stories, the themes, convoluted ideas, original characters and writing are, in their entirety, all of my own work.
The original version of this story was posted to Lady Angel's Library website in March 2003.
This version has been revised, expanded and completely re-edited — May 2004.
Feedback and comments can be sent to susieburton999@yahoo.co.uk
The jailhouse door suddenly flew open to admit a lad of about fourteen years of age. Chris Larabee had instinctively drawn his gun at the boy's dramatic appearance, but he quickly re-holstered it on seeing the frightened look on the youngster's face.
"Mr. Larabee, there's bin a shooting down by the Telegraph office!" he blurted out breathlessly. "M'pa an' ma are down there now, with 'em!"
"Easy son, you done real well, but I need you to fetch Mr. Jackson from the clinic. Tell 'im what you just told me. Can you do that, son?"
Chris rammed on his hat as he spoke to the youth, nodding tersely to Josiah as the other dragged two rifles from the rack and handed one to the gunslinger.
The two men hurried down the main street, constantly checking for any additional dangers, but they reached the dark alley without incident. Several townspeople had gathered around an area at the end of the alley, and a middle-aged woman with a lantern was kneeling beside a dark, unmoving form. Chris squatted down next to her, keeping his rifle close by his side, but his heart jumped as he immediately recognised the buckskin jacket and the slouch hat.
"Vin!"
The shock that the gunslinger felt was apparent by his anguished exclamation, as he glanced briefly at the ex-preacher.
Vin Tanner lay sprawled on his back, and even with the meagre light from the lamp, Chris could see his friend's face was covered in blood. The tracker's long hair was matted and black on the left side where dried blood had now congealed and Chris felt his stomach churn in fear when he saw that his friend was also bleeding profusely from a wound to the body.
Putting a hand to the front of the unconscious man's blood-soaked shirt, the gunslinger held his breath as he felt for a heartbeat. "He's alive, thank God! Where the hell's Nathan?"
Josiah was kneeling beside another still form, and as he looked up he saw the tall healer, striding down the alley. "He's on his way. Chris, this girl's dead." As he quietly spoke he crossed himself piously, and then removing his jacket, he tenderly covered the body of the girl.
Nathan arrived with the young lad in tow, pushing his way through the increasing crowd of onlookers, with little respect for those standing in his way. Putting his medical kit down and moving the lantern into a better position, he started to examine the injured tracker.
Chris stood up to allow him room to work, and then looked around the dimly lit area. A small group of people had gathered a short distance away, and the gunslinger made his way over to them. "Who found them?" he asked.
An older man, wearing a brown suit took a step closer to the gunslinger. "I did. Me'n th' family were going to get our buckboard, when I needed to ... ehem... you know... call of nature," he said with an embarrassed shrug. "It was real dark down here, an' I nearly tripped over the body. I straight off saw it was the young tracker, an' that he'd bin hurt real bad. The wife 'n' me tried to do what we could fer yer friend, while I sent th' boy along to git you."
"Did you see anyone afore that, in the street or down the alley?" Chris quietly enquired.
The man shook his head vigorously. "Nope. Most of the people had already started leaving town after the fireworks finished, so there wuz a fair amount of folk milling 'round. But we didn't see or hear anythin' that might'a looked suspicious."
Chris nodded his thanks, and then turned his attention back to the healer.
"Nathan?" Chris crouched down, and saw the grim look on the other man's face.
"I can't do much more fer 'im here, Chris. JD's jes' gone for a blanket, so when he gits back, Josiah can carry him up to m'clinic. He's lost a fair amount of blood from the bullet in his side, an' his temple caught one too. 'Til I look at him proper though, I can't really say much more."
As Nathan finished speaking, JD arrived at a run. With Josiah's help the healer wrapped the unconscious man in the blanket.
Chris gently touched the youngest peacekeeper's arm. "JD, I need you to stay here. Don't let any one touch anything. And it'd be best if you cleared these folks away."
The dark-haired sheriff had started at Chris' light touch, as his attention had been firmly fixed on watching the healer work on the tracker's still form. "Leave it to me, Chris. Do you think Vin's gonna be okay?" The peacekeeper's voice cracked with emotion as he looked at the older man.
"I don't know, kid." Chris replied softly. "Nathan's the best, so we've just gotta wait. I'll send news as soon as I know, and I'll get someone to relieve you as well. Just watch your back now, y'hear?"
Josiah now cradled the blanket wrapped form of the unconscious tracker in his arms with as much ease as he would a baby. After another quick check to satisfy himself that Vin was ready to be moved, Nathan then gestured with a brief nod to the ex-preacher. Chris Larabee walked silently behind his colleagues, carrying the two rifles as the trio made their way up the alley.
With a gentleness belying his size, Josiah laid the still form of the Texan on the bed that Nathan had quickly arranged on entering the warm and well-lit clinic. Looking at Chris in silent understanding, the ex-preacher picked up another blanket from the supply dresser and left the clinic to collect his second burden.
As Josiah went through the door, Buck suddenly appeared. Worry was clearly etched on his face and, puffing hard after his fast run to the clinic, he came to stand beside Chris. Glancing at the bed where the healer was working on their friend, the ladies' man put a sympathetic hand on the gunslinger's shoulder. "I just heard. How is he, Chris? Has Nathan said anything yet? How many times was he hit?" The quiet concern was very evident in Buck's rather breathless questions.
Rubbing his forehead wearily, Chris shook his head. "It doesn't look good, Buck. He's been hit in the side, and he's gotta a bullet graze with powder burns close to his eye. He must've been laying there for some time, though, 'cos Nathan reckons he's lost a lotta blood."
"What do you need me to be doing, pard?" Buck asked softly, indicating the street.
Taking a deep breath, Chris turned and went to look out of the window. He needed to collect his thoughts and plan out a course of action, but the sight of his stricken friend, unconscious and covered in blood, wasn't helping him to think straight.
Pushing his worry and anger aside, the gunslinger gazed down at the nearly empty street as he spoke to his oldest friend. "I need you to secure the site where this all went down. JD's down there already, and Josiah should be back here soon with the girl's body. Rope everything off, 'cos we need daylight to search for any evidence. Put that kid Baylis in charge of watching the area tonight. You'd better let Ezra know what's happened too. And also Judge Travis — but that's all. Buck, I want this kept real quiet for now. Then the rest of you will have to keep the town buttoned down and peaceable for the remainder of the night."
Buck nodded in agreement. "Don't worry, apart from the saloons, the town is starting to quieten down and most of the families have already left. We know where to find you if need be. Just let us know how he's doin', won'tcha? Or it's likely that JD an' Ezra'll be camped outside Nathan's door, waitin' on news."
Chris nodded at the other's worried entreaty, and gripped his oldest friend's hand in silent gratitude. As Buck left the clinic, the gunslinger turned his attention once again to the healer and his unconscious patient.
Nathan had been busy while Chris had talked with Buck. He'd half listened to their conversation while cutting off Vin's bloody and torn clothing, although he'd taken care to put the tracker's buckskin jacket on a chair. The hole in the leather could be patched, for he knew that Vin had a strange attachment to the jacket and frequently endured teasing on the subject from both Buck and Ezra. Despite the gravity of the current situation, Nathan couldn't help but smile to himself, about the ex-bounty hunter's idiosyncrasy regarding the care-worn coat.
"How is he, Nathan?" Chris had pulled a chair up to the other side of the bed, and he sat watching anxiously as the healer worked on his friend's motionless form.
Nathan had poured carbolic into a basin of warm water and was bathing the wound in the tracker's side. A small amount of blood was still seeping from the bullet hole, and the water that the healer was using was now red with the tracker's blood.
"This one ain't too bad. I'm nearly ready to stitch it, but I need to git 'im turned on his side to plug the exit wound. Thank God the bullet was a small calibre, and it went straight through. Then once he's sewn up, I can take a look at that head graze." The healer wiped his hands on a clean cloth, but there was a catch in his voice that worried Chris.
"You're not sure about the head injury are you?" It was as much a statement as a question from the older man.
"Nope. I know from experience they can be tricky. 'Fraid even the most experienced surgeons can't do much fer things that happen up here." The healer touched his own head as he continued talking. "An' I ain't a real doctor. All I know is that we'll have to wait and see. The longer he's unconscious, waal... I dunno, it's likely jes' gonna be a waiting game. Vin's fit and strong, so let's pray that that's enough."
Nathan didn't voice his other concerns to Chris. He'd seen how close to Vin's eyes the bullet had passed, and the healer was seriously worried that there could be some damage there too. Pushing aside that disconcerting thought for the moment, the former slave continued tending to his patient's visible injuries.
As the healer rose to get fresh water, Josiah quietly returned. Cradled in his arms was the blanket wrapped form of the murdered dancer, and at Nathan's gesture he reverently laid her out on a cot on the far side of the room.
Dropping to his knees, the ex-preacher bowed his head. "Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil. Rest in Peace with Our Lord, sweet sister. Justice will prevail, and you shall be avenged. Amen."
Chris glanced briefly across the room, and then turned back to study the unconscious man before him. There was an openly tender look on the gunslinger's features as he leaned closer to gently brush back an errant lock of Vin's hair. The tracker's face was deathly white, except where the bullet had hit. A bloody, gaping gash, more than an inch long, was on the edge of his temple close to his left eye, and the skin was discoloured from the smoke discharge. The left side of his face was now badly swollen, and bruises had already started to appear.
Concern for his friend was threatening to overwhelm Chris, but he knew he had to keep a clear head. He had no doubts that the other peacekeepers would be able to keep order in the town, but he needed to hunt down the person responsible for the death of the girl and the attack on Vin. He just hoped and prayed that the younger man woke up soon. The tracker's testimony would be crucial. Glancing once more at the dead girl, Chris swore to himself that he wouldn't rest until he had hunted down the killer and justice was served.
"Are you okay, Chris?" Nathan asked quietly, although he had a fair idea what was going through the other man's mind.
The return of the healer to the other chair startled Chris out of his reverie. With a heavy sigh, the gunslinger nodded briefly, not quite trusting himself to speak.
"Right, we need to git him over. Josiah, can ya roll his legs and hips that way, an' Chris, you support his head and neck, so's I can take a better looksee."
Slowly and gently the three men rolled the injured man onto his right side. Nathan peeled off the blood-soaked bandage, and carefully probed the ragged hole. The tracker was deeply unconscious and didn't even react to the healer's touch.
Putting a clean pad on the wound, Nathan turned to Josiah. "Can ya keep the pressure on here, while I have a listen?"
Nathan had reached across for his stethoscope and, placing the round metal plate halfway down Vin's back, the healer frowned in concentration as he listened to the Texan's shallow breathing. There was an uncomfortable silence as he moved the device to various other parts of the bare back and monitored the tracker's heartbeat. Finally satisfied, Nathan hung the instrument around his neck, and then gently took hold of Vin's left wrist to re-check his patient's pulse rate.
"What d'ya think, Nathan?"
Chris had been holding his breath with anxiety during the healer's examination but, as he asked his question, he knew that the other man would give him an honest answer.
Nathan released Vin's wrist, and then reached across for his surgical kit. "It feels like the bullet went through without causing any internal damage. His heart rate's nice an' steady, if a little weak, but he's breathing fine so I don't reckon the bullet touched his lung — thank the Lord! There's no fever, so that's gotta be a good sign. Just support him like that while I stitch this, an' then I'll clean up his face."
The healer quickly set to work with his needle, finishing by putting fresh surgical gauze on the raw wound. With some help from the other two men, he then bandaged the tracker's torso.
As they carefully rolled the unconscious man onto his back once again, Chris looked at Josiah. "Josiah, I'd appreciate it if you could go an' let Madame Kristina know what has happened to ..." he stopped, unable to recall the name of the dead girl.
"Anya Koklova," supplied Nathan, not looking up from the task of wiping neat carbolic over the scorch marks on Vin's face.
Chris nodded gratefully. "Thanks. But, Josiah, I don't want the lady, or any of her party coming up here until Nathan's had a chance to take a proper look at her. I think that until we know for sure what happened, we have to be careful what we say to her folks'."
"I will talk to the lady. Don't worry, Chris, I will offer comfort and prayers for the poor child's soul."
Josiah had seen the dishevelled state of the girl's clothing, and was well aware of what the gunslinger suspected about the attack. The ex-preacher knew that he would be needed to give comfort and support to many in the coming days. Without further comment he quickly left the clinic.
Nathan looked across at Chris. The other man's face was lined with worry, and his back was rigid with tension. "Why don't ya make some coffee, Chris?" the healer suggested in a sympathetic tone. "I could sure use one right now. I think we're all in for a long night, one way or the other."
Chris rose and busied himself by the small stove that Nathan always kept lit. His head was pounding, and he rubbed above his eyes to try and ease the throbbing pressure. It was the not knowing when Vin would come round that worried him the most — and he angrily pushed away the inner voice that whispered, 'if he ever comes round'. He knew that the skilled healer was more than able to nurse the tracker through the bullet wound, but the head injury was an entirely different matter. No! The gunslinger couldn't dwell on that thought, and there was no doubt in his mind that Nathan would go to Hell and back to ensure that Vin recovered. They all held debts of gratitude to the talented healer. Injuries happened at frequent times when they were working, and Chris constantly thanked whatever fates had intervened that day he and Vin had saved the former slave from a lynch mob.
Nathan had cleaned the tracker's face and sutured the bullet graze with a row of neat stitches before re-applying a cold compress to the swollen area. Bringing the lamp closer, the healer peeled back first the left, and then the right eyelid, before laying a cool hand on Vin's forehead. With a small grunt of satisfaction, he once again picked up one slack wrist, feeling the slow beat at his fingertips. Taking the compress away, he then started to wind bandages around the tracker's head, covering the man's closed eyes completely.
Handing a cup of steaming coffee to Nathan, Chris sat down once again. Taking a sip of the strong brew, the gunslinger nodded at the unconscious man. "I'll watch him for a while. If he wakes up I need to speak to him, and you need to rest. There could be more business for you tomorrow when the town starts filling up again."
"I ain't gonna argue wit' that, Chris. 'Sides, there ain't much more I can do fer 'im now. Rest is the best medicine that I know," the healer stated, as he pulled a blanket closer around the unconscious man.
Puffing out an exasperated sigh, Nathan followed the gunslinger's perturbed gaze to the body of the murdered dancer. "Let me finish my coffee, Chris, and then I'll take another look at the girl," the healer murmured as he sunk back into his chair.
Chris could tell from the other man's tone that he was not relishing that chore at all. However, there was no choice in the matter, as the investigating peacekeeper needed as much information that the healer could provide.
The moon was much higher in the sky, as Ezra quietly entered the darkened clinic.
Chris, upon hearing the first light tread on the outer staircase and then the door creak open, had drawn his revolver and swiftly moved to hug the wall, where he was completely hidden in shadow.
"Mr. Larabee, it's me, Ezra."
At the gambler's soft call and entry, Chris relaxed and, turning back to the far table, he increased the light from the lamp.
Ezra crossed to the bed where the still, quiet form of the injured tracker lay. Chris holstered his gun, and then sat down in Nathan's seat.
The gambler took the chair recently vacated by the gunslinger as Chris gazed at him expectantly. "I was... unable to sleep, and seeing how Mr. Dunne and Mr. Wilmington have been nagging at me incessantly, I thought that the best course of action was to ascertain the condition of Mr. Tanner," the man murmured, as he stared at the unconscious tracker.
Ezra's usually well-schooled face showed concern, and Chris wasn't fooled by the other man's rather bland explanation. "He's not woken up yet, Ezra. Nathan thinks the wound in his side will heal fine, but he's prob'ly got a concussion and he's lost a lotta blood. We'll just have to wait." The gunslinger looked tired, and the shadows caused by the small light from the lamp beside him made his face look even more haggard.
"And what can you tell us about that poor, sweet girl?" Ezra asked quietly.
Chris looked grim as he spoke. "Her neck was broken and she was raped. She must've put up a helluva fight though, 'cos Nathan say's her nails were all torn and there was bruising around her legs and ankles."
"Good Lord! What a terrible waste of a young life. And she a visitor to this violent country of ours too." Ezra shook his head sorrowfully. "Where is our sagacious healer?" the gambler wanted to know.
The older man vaguely waved towards the small room at the back of the clinic. "Getting some rest. He said he'd relieve me at three or thereabouts. Who's doing the rounds? Is everything quiet?"
"Why yes, the town's a positive graveyard." Ezra felt like kicking himself, as his offhand remark had caused Chris to blanch slightly. "Josiah and JD are asleep," he continued hastily, "and I have the dubious company of Mr. Wilmington. However, we expect to be relieved soon by Deputy Taylor, who I must say has shown remarkable wit and skill in dealing with the drunken, loutish behaviour shown by some of the ranch hands."
"Are there many in the cells?"
"There are a few inebriated troublemakers sleeping it off. Plus that idiot of a boy who was caught trying to kiss the girl this morning."
Chris rubbed his chin thoughtfully. The boy that Ezra referred to was Doug Grantley, the wrangler from Stuart James' ranch. Following his drunken outburst at the opening night dance performance, Vin had jailed the man for the second time that day.
"You'd better hang onto that kid for now, Ezra. When word of this gets out tomorrow, there may be some hot-headed fools about who'll go looking for revenge before knowing the facts. Last thing we need is a lynching — especially as the kid's innocent of this crime."
As the gunslinger finished speaking, Nathan appeared from the back room. Yawning widely as he arched his back in a languid stretch, the healer then ambled over to pour some coffee.
"Waal," drawled Ezra. "I had best return to see what mischief Mr. Wilmington has managed to wreak in my absence. Gentlemen, I trust I shall see you both in the morning, hopefully fully refreshed." With a nod at both men, and a last lingering look at the unconscious tracker, Ezra turned on his heels and departed into the night.
Nathan could see Chris was exhausted as the healer took a seat next to the bed, but he knew it was pointless trying to get the older man to rest until he'd been updated on the tracker's present condition.
Picking up his stethoscope once more, Nathan pulled the cover back and placed the instrument on the unconscious man's chest, listening intently to the slow, even breathing and steady heartbeat. Hanging the instrument round his neck, the healer put his hand on Vin's wrist, feeling his pulse. Finally, he reached across to the nightstand for his notebook and quickly scribbled in the page with a pencil.
Chris had looked at this book while keeping his solitary vigil, but couldn't make any sense of the numbers that Nathan had recorded earlier.
As the healer laid a hand on the tracker's forehead, he glanced across at Chris with a hopeful look. "I don't s'pose he's moved any while I was asleep, huh?"
"Not even a twitch of a finger! Hell, Nathan, I'd welcome a groan of pain from him 'bout now, but the stubborn cuss ain't even giving us that satisfaction!" Chris exclaimed.
There was a short silence as the healer pulled the blanket back into place.
"Well, he's no worse or better then before. Ya look 'bout all in, though." Nathan touched the older man's arm briefly. "Go an' get some sleep — no, not here — at the' boarding house. Ya look dead on yer feet, an' we may need our wits 'bout us in the mornin'."
"Yeah, you're right, Nathan. I feel like I could sleep for a week."
The black dressed man slowly stood up and, as if sensing the other's hesitation, Nathan pointed to the door. "Go," he ordered. "I promise I'll fetch ya if he wakes up."
Chris knew the other would keep his word so, with nothing more to say, he left the clinic and headed towards the boarding house.
The sun had only been up for an hour or so but, as JD and Josiah made their way back to the boarding house, a few townsfolk had already congregated in small groups to talk about the murder of the previous evening. The two peacekeepers had paid little attention to the gossiping residents, as they completed their first checks around town, and then relieved Buck and Ezra at the jail.
Deputy Baylis was now catching up on his lost sleep while the town's blacksmith, Tiny, was keeping curious onlookers away from the scene of the attack. At the jailhouse, and under the watchful eye of the blacksmith's wife, the cells' were being cleaned by their overnight occupants'. Dora had promised the hung-over men that they could have coffee and breakfast once she was satisfied the place was spotless, and her statement was firmly backed up by the double barrelled shotgun that she so ably wielded.
As JD and Josiah were about to go in for their food, Mary Travis crossed the street from her newspaper office.
"Excuse me, gentlemen. I was looking for Chris." The blonde woman had a worried look on her face.
JD held open the door for her, and Josiah gestured inside. "He's here having breakfast, ma'am, which is where we're headed."
Chris was sitting at a table, and it was evident by his still full plate that he had no appetite for food. A pot of coffee sat in the middle, and on seeing his friends and Mary approaching, he signalled to the waitress for more cups.
"Ma'am." Chris rose briefly from his chair, as the others sat at the table.
It was not often that Mary was at a loss for words, but as she looked at the fatigued face of the gunslinger, she was unsure what to say. To hide her confusion, she picked up the pot and began pouring coffee for them all.
"The town's real quiet for now, Chris," JD informed his friend. "An' Ezra's worked out a new duty rota, except for you of course. So we should be ready to handle anything while you and Nathan are..." his voice trailed off, not knowing how to go on.
JD had seen the haunted look on their leader's face much earlier, when he'd gone for a shave and bath in the bathhouse. The sheriff had spotted Chris, eyes closed, leaning back in the tub of hot water and totally unaware of the youngest peacekeeper's presence and, showing remarkable maturity, JD had crept out of the building leaving the gunslinger to his own thoughts.
"Have you seen Nathan yet, Chris?" Josiah asked.
"Nope."
The gunslinger's reply was short and terse and Chris heard Mary's small gasp, but still he ignored her. Pushing his plate away, he swallowed his remaining coffee, before rising to leave.
The waitress had bought plates of steaming food for the other men, and Mary stood as the gunslinger got up. "Chris, can we walk for a moment? I need to talk to you." Mary could tell that the man was in no mood for a confrontation, but she wasn't about to give up.
"Make it quick, Mary, I've gotta a lot to do this morning," he drawled quietly.
Taking their leave of the other peacekeepers, the pair walked along the main street in the direction of the jail.
"I'm really sorry about what happened to Vin," Mary began hesitantly. "You were right about the risks, and now I feel like this is my fault."
"Well it ain't. You're not the one who pulled the trigger, are you?"
Mary knew Chris wasn't going to make this easy for her. She knew the depth of feeling the man had for Vin Tanner, and any harm that befell the tracker was bound to have an impact on him. Sighing inwardly, she tried again.
"I still feel responsible for what's happened, Chris. A young woman has lost her life, and Vin is lying in the clinic unconscious and badly injured. After all, this wretched carnival was my idea!" The woman had to walk quicker than her norm to keep up with the gunslinger, and her voice quivered slightly as she spoke.
"Waal, it's no good beating yourself up over it, Mary. What's done is done now, so there's no point in you feeling guilty too." The gunslinger stopped suddenly, and for a moment his expression softened as he turned to face her. "Mary, look I'm sorry, but I gotta go now. But later on I may need you with me when I talk to the rest of the ballet group."
"So you think the girl was the intended target and Vin just got in the way, not the other way round?" Mary asked.
"Mebbe. We won't know much more 'til Vin comes round. I'm kinda hoping that he'll be able to help." Chris looked up as he saw Judge Orin Travis, Mary's father-in-law approaching.
"Mornin', Judge," Chris greeted the older man, shaking the offered hand. "I'm real pleased to see you. I wanted to look at the murder scene, and I'd appreciate it if you could join me."
"Of course, Chris. How is Mr. Tanner this morning?" Travis enquired.
"I ain't bin up to the clinic yet, but if there was any change in his condition, I know Nathan would've found me. I wanted to see things here first, and then of course there are folks' that I need to speak to."
Chris paused briefly, and then went on in a quieter tone. "Nathan examined the girl late last night — she was raped and her neck was broken."
Mary gasped in shock, her hand flying to her mouth as tears welled up in her eyes.
Patting her arm, the judge fixed his gaze on the distressed woman. "Psshhht now, my dear. This needs to be kept quiet for the time being. Why don't you go back and see if Evie has fixed that grandson of mine's breakfast yet?" He kissed her lightly on the cheek, in an almost dismissive gesture.
"Let's walk, Judge." Chris wanted to get this necessary chore out of the way, before the crime area was degraded any further.
They reached the roped off area, and nodded greeting to Tiny, who had been sitting with his back against the wall, whittling on a piece of wood. The burly blacksmith climbed to his feet, brushing dust from his pants.
"Howdy Mr. Larabee, Judge. I ain't had anyone snoopin' 'round here this mornin', so's it should all be as it was last night."
This statement was probably the most words Tiny had said for a month, but he was a staunch supporter of the town's seven peacekeepers, and also had a great deal of respect for the tough, but fair Judge Travis.
"Thanks, Tiny. Just hold on here for a spell, this won't take us long." As Chris spoke he crouched down and started looking around him at the ground.
There wasn't much to see. The earth was rock hard from lack of rain and, apart from a few dust swirls and the dry, brownish black patch, where Vin had bled, there was nothing around apart from the abandoned Derringer. The weapon, which was used in the attack, lay nearly twelve feet from the dried blood. Nothing had been inadvertently dropped in the scuffle, so Chris realised with a sinking feeling that the only chance of getting to the truth now rested with the still unconscious tracker.
Picking up the discarded gun and tucking it into his jacket pocket, the gunslinger got to his feet. After asking Tiny to take down the rope, a slightly deflated Chris Larabee and Judge Travis returned to the main street.
On reaching the jailhouse, the two men saw a fair sized crowd had gathered noisily on the street outside the office. Striding quickly up to stand in front of the door, Chris coldly eyed the throng of men.
"What can I do for you folks?" the gunslinger growled in a cold, hard voice.
There was more talking and waving of fists, and then a middle-aged man at the back of the crowd craned his head up and shouted angrily at the peacekeeper. "We want to know what you're doin' about 'rresting that stinking killer!"
Nods and a general ragged cry of "YEAH!" from the other men, made Chris narrow his eyes dangerously.
"When we have any news about the attacks, then you'll all know!" snapped the gunslinger heatedly.
More talking ensued, and then another younger man dressed in cowhand clothes called out. "We know what you're up to, Larabee! You' all have the bastard right there in the clinic. Tanner should be rotting in a cell, not hiding out at th' doc's place!"
There was a general muttering of agreement from the other men, and someone else yelled from within the throng. "Yeah, we should hang the bastard right now!" the unknown agitator bellowed.
With an angry cry, Chris stepped to the edge of the sidewalk and came face to face with the crowd.
"If any man thinks Vin Tanner is guilty of this killing then he'd best come and say it to my face, instead of hiding in a crowd of rabble. But if he comes, then he'd better be bringing a gun."
The menace in the gunslinger's quietly spoken reply, and the way his right hand hovered close to his gun butt, was enough to make the men back away.
Raising his arms in a conciliatory manner, Judge Travis hurriedly intervened. "I have just come from the crime scene, and I can tell you without any doubt that Mr. Tanner did not kill the girl. Someone attempted to lay the blame on Vin, not very successfully I might add, but I can assure you that he is also a victim of this horrific attack. Unfortunately, as Mr. Tanner is still unconscious, we don't have much to go on right now. But I promise you we will do all we can to bring this murderer to justice."
At his words the crowd quietened, talking softly amongst themselves. The man at the back, who seemed to be the spokesperson for the group, nodded to the Judge. "We're grateful fer that, Judge. Mr. Larabee, we jes' wanted you to know that we're concerned for the safety of our womenfolk. We're sorry fer sounding off like that, but we needed to know that you wuz doin' summat to find the killer. I reckon you 'n' the Judge'll play fair with us."
The crowd started to disperse, and Chris finally relaxed a little. JD and Josiah, having finished their breakfast, had been witness to the confrontation with the angry mob, and had casually placed themselves at the rear of the throng to give Chris additional backup if necessary. Now they followed, as the gunslinger and judge entered the jailhouse.
On entering the building, the four looked around the clean office, which was all the handiwork of the current occupants of the cells. Dora was just finishing a cup of coffee and a shotgun lay on the desk in front of her. "I heard them a fussin' an' hollerin' out there Mr. Larabee, but figured you'd want me to stick here to watch this worthless bunch," she drawled, gesturing to the cells. "An' seein' how ya had yer friends' t'back ya up, I thought it best to stay outta the way."
Chris smiled at the woman. "You did the right thing, Miz Dora. Why don't you take a breather for a spell? Me 'n' the fellas' are gonna be around for now and the Judge is gonna hold a court session soon, so we can get some of these cowpokes out of here."
The woman nodded and, quickly stowing the shotgun in the rack on the wall, she adjusted her jacket and left the jailhouse.
Chris rubbed his jaw thoughtfully. "Well, I need to speak to Madame Kristina now. It ain't gonna be easy, but I can't put it off any longer, 'cos that lady may be able to provide me with some answers. I swear that I won't rest until I get to the bottom of this whole stinking business. JD, I'll try and get back later to help out, but if any one needs me, I'll be down at the hotel."
JD nodded; he could see that Chris was not relishing this next interview, but the youngster had never seen such a look of quiet determination on the older man's face. Putting the attack on Vin Tanner aside, the peacekeeper knew that the violation and murder of the girl had sickened the gunslinger, and he'd subsequently blamed himself for the incident happening in a town he was protecting. The raw anger the older man felt against the unknown assailant was obvious to all his friends. Add to this Vin's continued unconscious state, made JD fervently hope that Chris continued to keep his unpredictable temper under control.
Having collected Mary Travis from her newspaper office, Chris and the woman now climbed the main staircase in Virginia's Hotel. The corridor was dimly lit as they approached the set of rooms where the ballet troupe were quartered, and as Mary tapped lightly on the door she glanced apprehensively at the grim features of Chris Larabee.
The black dressed gunslinger had hardly said a word to her on the way to the hotel, and whilst she knew that he had much to think about, she sensed that he was uncomfortable in her presence. They had not really been communicating on a personal level ever since the town's festivities had been in the planning stage, and with the horror of the recent events Mary had been unable to penetrate the barrier that Chris Larabee had erected around himself. She felt angry that the gunslinger would not even allow her to comfort him, and she could only think that he still blamed her in some way for the attack on the tracker.
There was no one that Mary felt she could talk to about her fears, so she in turn had decided that her best course of action was to distance herself from Chris for the immediate future. She knew from bitter experience that if the hostility between them escalated, then she and Chris would never be able to return to the friendship they had previously enjoyed. The thought of this occurring frightened her to the very core of her being and it was with some trepidation that she had agreed to his request to be present now.
A dark-haired man opened the hotel suite's door and, on recognising Mary Travis, he immediately ushered the two visitors inside. The richly decorated room was large, and furnished with three sofas, several chairs and a small side table. A door to the side led to a large bedchamber, and it was from this room that Madame Kristina now walked, followed closely by the three remaining female dancers. The girls crossed to sit on the largest of the sofas as Mary held out a hand to the older woman.
"Madame Kristina, I'm so sorry for your loss. If there is anything I can do to help at this sad time, please don't hesitate to ask me." The blonde woman held the other's hand momentarily, in a warm sympathetic grasp.
The older woman's face bore the traces of grief, and it was evident from her swollen eyes that she had not slept very well the previous night.
"Thank you for your kindness, Mrs. Travis, but I can see that you are not here just to offer your condolences on our loss. What can I do for you?" Despite her sadness, the woman's question was shrewd and businesslike.
Chris politely removed his hat. "Ma'am. I'm Chris Larabee, one of the peacekeepers in this town, and I'd like to ask you some questions regarding Miss Koklova's movements last night."
Madame Kristina gave a regal nod of agreement. "Of course. Would you like to sit down Mr. Larabee, Mrs. Travis?" The woman indicated two of the high-backed chairs.
"Thank you. It would be best if all members of your party were present, ma'am. Are the other dancers and your helpers around?" The gunslinger toyed with his hat as he looked around the room.
"Yes. I will summon them."
The woman crossed to the man who had been gazing out of the window during this exchange and, as Madame Kristina spoke to him in Russian, he gave her a short bow and left the room.
"Gregor will fetch Piotr Alekseyev our other male dancer, and also Mr. Ward and Mr. Simmonds, who are our escorts' for this tour. These ladies are Natalya Lobach, Irina Ryksal and Larisa Romankov who also dance. All of my people can understand and speak English perfectly, so hopefully this will not take too long, da? I would ask you not to upset my people too much, Mr. Larabee. This Company has danced together for many years, and we are all... how do you say... ah, devastated at the death of our sweet little bird, Anya. It will be with great sorrow that we dance tonight, but dance we shall, to honour the memory of our beloved babushka." The older woman's eyes filled with tears, as she turned away from the gunslinger.
"It's not my intention to upset any one, ma'am. I'll be as tactful as possible, but I can't find her killer if I don't know all the facts." Chris' tone was gentle, but insistent.
With a wordless nod, Madame Kristina looked up as Gregor Bubka re-entered the room closely followed by three other men. The two dancers sat down on an empty sofa, whilst the Americans lounged against the wall. No one spoke as Chris surveyed the ballet troupe.
"Thanks for agreeing to speak to me. Some of the things I'll be asking may be painful, but I'm sorry, I've gotta do my job. And I'm sure that you want to bring your friend's killer to justice as swiftly as possible. Anything you can tell me, no matter how small, could be of importance, so I'd appreciate it if you folk's could be frank and honest with your answers." Chris was somewhat relieved to see nods and shy smiles of acceptance from the three girls.
"What happened after the show last night, Madame Kristina?" he asked the older woman.
"We finished at the theatre, and then the girls went to bathe. Mr. Phillip's at the bathhouse has kindly allowed us to use his facilities in the evening, as the stage make-up is quite pungent and difficult to remove. We have a key and the girls' bathe first followed by the men. Irina, did anything out of the ordinary happen whilst you were bathing last night?" Madame Kristina asked, as she turned to the smaller of the girls sitting on the sofa.
"No, Madame. Anya..." Irina paused, bowing her head briefly. With a brave tilt of her head she continued. "Anya seemed very quiet, but she had told me earlier she felt a little unwell, a headache, I believe. I asked her if she was going to attend the barn dance, but she said no. She said that she would have a walk to clear her head, and that she intended to retire to bed early. She told us not to wait for her later to eat, as she was not very hungry."
"Can any one tell me the last time they saw Miss Koklova," Chris asked, gazing around at the assembled people.
"I saw her talking to Gregor as I came out of the bathhouse. The barn dance had already started and we had decided to attend." Alekseyev gave a little smile and shrug, as he spoke. "Although we practice and dance our ballet continually, it is refreshing to take part in something informal. It stops us from getting stale."
"Do you mind telling me what you were talking to Miss Kokolova about, Bubka?" Chris looked the tall dancer up and down.
The man waved his hand vaguely. "It was about the performance that evening. I dance a duet with Anya, and I wanted to apologise to her. My dancing was not so good last night, and I felt that I had let her down. We grew up together, and are both from the same area in our homeland, so I have.... I had a great affection and respect for her. She... was beautiful and... she deserved better." The man rose and went to look out of the window, as he fought to compose himself.
Chris frowned. "So, several of you saw her around the time of the barn dance, but she never intended to eat with you. Then later, when the fireworks went off you assumed she'd gone to her bed. Were you all together for the meal?"
There were several nods, and murmurs of agreement, but Bubka turned back to face the gunslinger. "Yes. I was later than the others' arriving at the barn dance, as speaking to Anya delayed me for my bath. After we had spoken I assumed she was retiring to her room, as she walked in the direction of the hotel."
"Gentlemen, can you tell me where you were last evening?" Chris looked at the two Americans.
The older of the two men nodded. "We went for some chow real early; the show was still goin' on. Madame Kristina didn't need us fer anything, so me'n Walt spent the rest o' the evening in th' saloon, playing poker an' havin' a beer. We got inter a game wit' that fancy gambler, y'know, the one with th' flashy red jacket." The younger man nodded earnestly, confirming his companion's story.
"What time did you leave?" the gunslinger wanted to know.
The man rubbed his chin. "Waal, it must'a bin gone midnight, 'cos that purty little lady at the bar was real impatient to close up. So we left an' went back to the boarding house together. Weren't 'til mornin' that we heard that the gal had bin killed."
Chris nodded thoughtfully. "Thanks, gents. I think that's all I need to know fer now, but I may want to speak to some of you folks again. Madame Kristina, can I have a private word please?"
The woman inclined her head and, speaking a few words in Russian to her dancers, she settled in her chair to wait for the group to leave.
As the door closed behind the departing people, Chris glanced at Mary Travis, who had remained silent during the interview.
"Mary, how did you hear about Madame Kristina's dance troupe?" Chris enquired of the newspaperwoman.
"Well, there was an article that I read in one of the Washington newspapers that the Company were presenting a special show for the President, at the White House. A friend of mine in New York, which is where Madame Kristina is based, had written several pieces about them in the New York press, and when he heard about the town celebrations, he put us in contact with one another. It was a great honour when Madame agreed to perform here." Mary nodded to the other woman, who smiled in confirmation.
Chris pursed his lips, as he considered his next question. "Madame Kristina, did you arrive here straight from New York?"
"No, Mr. Larabee. We are touring at the moment, as we all felt that a break from New York was needed. In the past two months we have performed in cities and towns across the country. Our venues have included Boston, Charleston, Nashville, Ft. Jefferson and Kansas City, as well as numerous small towns. We have mainly travelled by train, where possible, but the last leg of our tour is in towns such as this one, so we have been using the carriage and wagons for our journey."
"Have you had problems in any of the places you stopped, ma'am?" Chris pressed on with his questioning.
"No. The tour has been very successful, and people have been very kind and enthusiastic about our show. Although..." The woman's voice trailed off as she pursed her lips, cocking her head slightly as she recalled an incident.
"Yes?" the gunslinger gently prompted.
"We were at a small town not far from here, Ridge City I believe it was named. We only had one performance there, but we had several items stolen from a wagon and from the stage area. I reported the theft of course, but the local law officer never did apprehend the thief."
"Can you tell me what was taken, ma'am?" Chris sat up slightly straighter in his chair.
"Very small items — a pair of men's dance shoes, a small quantity of stage make-up, ah... let me think... ah yes... a sheet of the music score that was stored with my piano. These things were quite inconsequential and not very valuable, so it was assumed that the culprits were youths from the town playing a trick on us. We have had articles go missing on various other occasions," — the woman shrugged delicately — "it is not an unusual occurrence. Many people get curious at the props and equipment we dancers use and they cannot resist taking a memento."
Chris frowned as he thought about this new information. The triviality of the theft was strange, as there must have been more valuable things in plain sight that would attract a potential thief.
"Reckon you could be right, ma'am. It doesn't make sense for someone to take risks to steal property that ain't worth much. I would appreciate it if you could check Anya's room, 'cos' it'd be helpful to know if any of her things have gone missing while you've bin in town."
"Certainly, Mr. Larabee. I need to make arrangements this morning for our little bird's funeral, so I will have to go through her personal belongings. I will inform you if there are any missing items. It will be a very difficult day for us all, but we will have a chance to say farewell to our dear friend this afternoon," Madame Kristina murmured sadly.
"I'd like to thank you for your time, ma'am. I know it can't have bin easy for you and your folks, but I had to know certain things before I can even start to track down the culprit." The gunslinger adjusted his hat, as he prepared to leave.
"I hope that we have helped in some way. May I ask how Mr. Tanner is progressing? Mr. Sanchez told me he had been shot, but did not give any indication of how severely the young man was injured."
"Vin was shot twice, and at the moment he's still unconscious. Hopefully, when he wakes up he may be able to provide some answers," Chris answered grimly.
"Then I wish him a full and speedy recovery, Mr. Larabee. I would be grateful if you would convey that to him." Madame Kristina rose and, crossing to open the door, she gave the two Americans a small nod of dismissal.
"Thank you, ma'am. I'll be sure to do that."
Without further comment, the gunslinger and younger woman silently walked out into the hotel corridor. Neither spoke as they left the hotel and walked along the main street towards the jailhouse.
"What do you think, Chris?" Mary asked as they reached the jailhouse door.
The black dressed man paused, his hand hovering on the door handle. "Well, it looks like all the men have reasonable alibis, but of course they may just be covering for each other. Their grief seems genuine, but I don't know these folks at all, and it's worse them being from another country so it's hard to say. I think I'll pay my respects at the funeral this afternoon. You never know, summat may happen there that could provide some answers."
At the gunslinger's cryptic remark, Mary frowned. "Do you think the killer would be that obvious, Chris?"
"Nope. But right now I'm plumb out of ideas! We'll have to wait and see."
"I'm attending Anya's funeral along with the rest of the committee, so I'll probably see you later, Chris."
With a small smile the woman turned and headed across to her newspaper office.
Chris went into the jailhouse, nodding in greeting to JD who was busy writing in the arrest logbook. With the exception of the wrangler Doug Grantley, who was stretched out asleep on one of the bunks, the cells' were now empty.
"How're things, JD?" Chris propped himself on the corner of the desk, and pulled the now updated book towards him.
"It's quiet at the moment, Chris. There's a helluva lot of folks down at the carnival though. The roping and shooting qualifying heats are starting soon. Buck and Taylor are gonna cover for me later, 'cos I've entered the riding contest. You have to qualify today, and then the final will be on the last day of the carnival."
JD rubbed his chin, and gave a snort as he continued talking. "Casey went down there, and she reckons she's gonna enter too. Don't know if they'll let a gal ride, but I'll bet she sneaks in somehow. I told her that I'd not go easy on account of her, but she wouldn't listen, no siree! She just got all lippy with me and then stalked off. Gals'! I just don't understand 'em!" the Bostonian shook his head in total bewilderment.
Chris chuckled as he listened to the dark-haired youngster, glad to have something more light-hearted to think about. The morning had been very difficult for him and, fuelled by his lack of sleep the previous night, he could feel another tension headache building behind his eyes.
Closing the jail logbook, the gunslinger stood up. "Will you be okay for a spell, JD? I need to get some food in me before I go to the girl's funeral this afternoon, and then I need to check back with Nathan at some point too."
JD nodded vigorously. "Yeah, I'll be fine. The others are around and everything seems to be okay. Ezra's new duty rota is working out a real treat!"
"I'll speak to you later then, kid. Tell the others that when I know how Vin's doin', you'll all know too. Josiah's not straying too far from the clinic, so that'll help."
Chris left the jailhouse, heading in the direction of the restaurant. He hoped that he would manage to eat his meal alone and without any interruptions. There was much to think about from the information he had gathered this morning, and with the constant worry of his injured friend he knew that he would be best left to his own thoughts.
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