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
Chris Larabee had eaten his lunchtime meal without incident, after which he'd strolled down to the saloon for a beer before attending the dancer's funeral. He'd sat with Buck and Judge Travis for a short time, and told them what he'd managed to find out about Anya Koklova. The two men had listened intently, asking questions as the gunslinger relayed all the information he'd gathered, but even after this discussion he still didn't have any new ideas or theories about the attack.
Finally he left and made his way down to the area of land to the side of town that served as a cemetery for the inhabitants. A small crowd had gathered by the time Chris arrived, and he saw Josiah, head bent down as he read the lesson from the Bible. Close to the open grave stood Madame Kristina and her dancers, and a little behind them Ward and Simmonds watched, hats respectfully held in their hands. Chris also saw Mary and Judge Travis and, looking around the crowd, the gunslinger noted several of the town's business owners with their wives. Keeping well out of the way the black dressed man waited, as Josiah closed his Bible with a solemn 'Amen'.
Piotr Alekseyev suddenly knelt down to do something at ground level. Chris tried to peer through the crowd, but failed to see precisely what the man was doing. Alekseyev rose and started passing tiny glasses around to the troupe. As they held their glasses aloft, Madame Kristina begun talking rapidly in Russian and, swiftly downing their drinks in one single movement, the ensemble cried out 'Na Zdorovia', before flinging the empty glasses into the open grave. Chris had never seen anything like this before, and he momentarily looked at his boots, as he felt a wave of sympathy wash over him at such an overt display of emotion.
The townsfolk started to drift away, while the dance troupe still stood silent, heads bowed in front of Anya Koklova's grave. At last the Russians began to move, and with the exception of Gregor Bubka they started to walk back towards the town. As Ward passed Chris Larabee, the gunslinger touched the older man's arm.
"Can I have word?"
Ward nodded, and as Chris indicated that they should walk the gunslinger stopped, his attention suddenly taken by Bubka, who still stood motionless by the graveside. The Russian held a single white lily in his hand, and unaware that he was being observed, he kissed the flower almost passionately before stooping down to place it reverently on Anya's casket. Chris turned away, dropping his head down slightly as the man started to walk after his fellow countrymen. The gunslinger held back as the dancer passed by him, and then once the Russian was well out of earshot, he spoke to the other man waiting patiently by his side.
"Sorry about that. I just wanted to ask a couple of questions, but I didn't want to intrude on Madame Kristina's group for the moment." Chris and the older man were beginning to make their way slowly back to town as they talked.
"Y'can ask me whatever ya want, Mr. Larabee," Ward replied.
"How long have you worked for the ballet troupe? Did you come from New York with them?" Chris quietly asked.
"Yep. Madame hired me in New York about four months ago, which is when she started planning this tour. I hired Simmonds, who I'd worked with before at Wells Fargo, an' he joined us jes' before we went to Boston."
"Did the group have any troubles while travelling, by train or out on the trail?"
"Nope. The route was already planned out, an' we didn't have any fuss at all. We've had real friendly co-operation from all the places we've bin, an' the dance folk have enjoyed themselves too. I must admit though, I was a mite worried at first, 'cos these folks sure had a run o' bad luck before this trip. Not that I'm superstitious mind."
"What do you mean?" Chris enquired, his brow creasing into a frown.
"Waal, 'bout six, seven months ago, jes' after they danced fer the President hisself, there was a bad fire at their dance studio. Two o' th' dancers died in th' fire, one of 'em was the li'l gal who danced solo fer the President, an' t'other was th' boyfriend of Anya Koklova."
"Was it deliberate?"
"It was investigated by the poleece, but t'was ruled an accident. No one was ever charged with arson or murder. I heard that the dancers were real upset, especially Anya, 'cos the gal that died was her cousin. So she lost two who wuz special to her." The man shook his head sadly.
The two had now reached the edge of town, and Chris was beginning to think he'd bitten off more than he could chew. He needed time to think and digest all that he'd learnt today — but first he needed a drink.
"Thanks for your help, Ward."
The black clad man then headed for the saloon, hoping he would have some privacy for a while.
The town was busy as Chris Larabee headed along the main street in the direction of the clinic. As he walked, he turned the day's events over in his mind once more, knowing that whilst he had something to concentrate on, it also meant he could push aside his worry for the seriously injured tracker.
After the disappointment of finding nothing useful at the crime scene and learning very little from Madame Kristina and her party, the gunslinger felt like a prairie dog chasing endlessly around after its tail. It seemed like he was getting nowhere. Chris' gut instinct was telling him that Anya Koklova had been the intended victim, but he'd discovered nothing about her short life that may have contributed to her death in the town.
The information he'd gathered didn't seem to tie in with the attack, although he'd gained a reasonable insight into what had been happening to the dance group prior to and during their tour. Chris had hoped that by observing the entourage at the girl's funeral he might gather additional information to help his inquiry. This had proven to be found less, and he was still no further forward. He'd also spoken to the four men involved with the ballet company tour, but they had all been able to give witnessed accounts of their exact movements during the previous evening.
The most recent piece of information the investigating peacekeeper had been given was when Madame Kristina confirmed that none of Anya's personal belongings appeared to be missing from her room. It was extremely frustrating, but the gunslinger admitted that he'd hit a solid wall and needed to work on other theories in order to solve the mystery.
Chris had already dismissed the idea that the assailant had been a bounty hunter on the trail of the Texan. So this really only left him with one possibility. The attack must have been a random, sexual assault, by an unknown person, and completely separate from the dance company and the tracker. This thought actually perturbed him the most, as the unknown attacker could still be in town and could strike again. Another problem was the chance that the perpetrator could attempt to silence the one person who might be able to identify him. The ongoing danger to Vin Tanner was very real, but Chris felt confident that he and the remaining peacekeepers' could thwart any further attempt on their incapacitated friend's life.
The gunslinger now climbed the stairs to Nathan's clinic, and quietly opened the door. The healer was standing in front of the high standing bench that he used as a treatment table, and perched on top was a red-haired, freckled face boy of about seven or eight. Nathan was busy wrapping the child's right knee with a bandage, and the youngster was staring in absorbed fascination at the healer's ministrations.
"There ya go, Sean. Now ya'll keep that as clean as you can y'hear, an' it'll soon be as good as new." The healer smiled at the boy as he tied the long, split ends of the bandage into a neat bow.
"Thank you, Mr. Jackson," Sean responded politely, as he patted his bandaged knee.
"Now then, son," Nathan said, lifting the child down. "You git along, and enjoy yo'self. And jes' try an' be more careful, 'cos I don't want to see ya in here ag'in. Understand?"
Sean nodded gravely, and then with a toothy grin at Chris, he bolted out of the door.
Nathan cleared his medical kit away and, after washing and drying his hands, he then turned his attention to the other man.
"That Armstrong boy is always getting hisself into trouble. I don't think there's a single part of him that's escaped cuts and bruises," the healer chuckled.
With a quick glance around, Chris frowned in puzzlement. "Where's Vin? Nathan...Is he...?"
The healer quickly held up his hand and beckoned the other to follow. "In here. Josiah an' I moved him to the corner. With folk's coming and goin' in here, I thought it best to give the boy some privacy."
In the far corner of the room two large folding screens had been set up to form a temporary wall, and the two entered what was now a very private enclosed area. Vin Tanner lay in a wider bed, a small table at the side, with two chairs next to that. The comfortable and well-padded rocking chair that the healer periodically used, sat in one of the corners.
Chris smiled thinly as he saw the erotic, Venetian style paintings on the wooden framed canvas screens. They depicted a feast and orgy scenario, with scantily clad women and men being served exotic food by naked cherubs.
"I like the décor, Nathan."
The healer grinned. "Yeah, Buck was quite taken wit' 'em too! Ezra found them in the saloon stores an' brought them up here. Thank the Lord they're plain on the other side, or some of the ladies that have to come up here might get an attack of the vapours!"
As Nathan spoke, he pulled up a chair, and positioned it close to the bedside. The bandages covering the unconscious man's eyes had been removed and replaced with a damp cloth.
"Ezra's bin keeping me supplied with small amounts of ice and these cold compresses have reduced the swelling quite a bit," Nathan remarked, not looking up from the chore of re-applying a fresh cloth.
"How's he doing, Nathan?" asked the gunslinger, as he perched on the other side of the bed.
"There's not really bin much change, but I reckon if he is gonna wake it'll probably be in the next few hours. When I saw similar injuries in the war, generally those that regained their senses did so 'bout twenty hours after being knocked out."
"But don't get yer hopes up too much, Chris," he hastily added, on seeing the hopeful expression on the other's face. "There's a long way to go yet. All I'm saying is the next few hours could be critical."
The older man nodded silently. "I'm not going anywhere, Nathan. Why don't you take a breather while I keep watch?"
The healer had finished his ministrations, and was now checking the tracker's condition. Picking up his notebook and scribbling in several numbers, he nodded in agreement. "Reckon yer right. I could do with some fresh air an' some food. Might even go an' have a looksee at what's happening down at the carnival."
Chris settled himself comfortably in the rocker, while Nathan shrugged his jacket on.
"I'll not be too long Chris," the healer promised, as he adjusted his hat.
The gunslinger waved in dismissal, although he kept his gaze fixed on the pallid faced tracker as the dark-skinned peacekeeper left the clinic.
When Nathan eventually climbed the steps to his clinic, he had to admit that he felt refreshed after taking a few hours respite from nursing Vin Tanner. He'd been longer than he intended, as he'd first shared a meal and a beer with Buck and JD, and then had watched the first part of the ballet. Madame Kristina and her troupe had been determined to carry on with the scheduled shows, insisting that they would dance their best as a testimony to their murdered colleague. They had somehow found a way to mask their sorrow, to dance a performance worthy of any international stage. The healer had been impressed by the show and the courage exhibited by the performers, and had completely lost track of time. As he entered the clinic, he saw Josiah busily making coffee.
"Your timing's good, Nathan. Would you like a coffee?" the ex-preacher asked.
Nathan hung his jacket and hat on the rack, and then started to wash his hands. "Sure would," he replied, as he shook water off of his fingers.
Josiah took three cups of coffee through to the partitioned area and placed them on a high shelf.
Chris looked up as Nathan entered the area. "Josiah asked Inez to bring some food across later. Have you eaten, Nathan?" the gunslinger wanted to know.
The healer nodded as he sat next to the bed. "Yeah, I've not long had summat. Any change?" he queried, as he picked up the tracker's slack wrist.
"Nope. How're things out there?"
"Fairly lively. The restaurant's full to overflowing, an' Ezra must be raking in the money, judgin' by the number o' folks sat at the tables! There's still quite a lotta family's walking around. Reckon there're waitin' fer the barn dance t'get goin'. A few troublemakers are hanging about the streets though. JD and Taylor broke up a brawl earlier — those damn hotheads from the Lazy K ag'in! They'll sober up by th' time Miz Dora has 'em swilling out the jail in the mornin'. JD's gonna get the Judge to fine 'em real heavy, so that should help."
The conversation petered out and the room was quiet as the men sipped their coffee. The healer continued systematically checking Vin over, but suddenly frowned and leaned closer, as the tracker's body twitched several times.
"Vin? Can ya hear me?" the healer asked, laying a gentle hand on the man's forehead.
"Urghh." A low moan escaped the tracker's lips, and his head moved slowly from side to side as he struggled to come round.
"Vin? It's Nathan. Take it easy now. Ya'll bin hurt, but yer safe in my clinic." As he spoke in a quietly soothing voice, the healer removed the compress from the eyes of the awakening man.
"N... n... athan?" Vin's voice was weak and croaky and a grimace of pain flitted across his features, as he sucked in a shuddering breath.
"Yeah. Take it real slow, boy. Ya'll bin shot, an' ya've bin out of it fer a spell." The healer picked up a damp cloth and carefully wiped the younger man's face and mouth.
At the healer's touch, the tracker's eyes fluttered open. Raising a trembling hand, Vin gingerly felt the area around his eyes, his entire body stiffening as realisation suddenly dawned on him.
"Nathan... c... ain't see! 'S'all dark! Aw, hell! What's wrong?"
There was no mistaking the stark terror in the injured man's voice, and his breathing was becoming more rapid as his agitation increased.
"Calm down, Vin. You've got a nasty gash on yer head and yer eyes are badly swollen." The healer grasped the man's hand, hoping his touch would give the tracker some reassurance.
"NO! Go away! This ain't right, Nathan! I can't see nuthin'!" Wrenching his hand away, Vin started to wave his arms in a frenzied manner, whilst frantically struggling to sit up.
"Vin, hold still. Lay down, or you'll bust open the stitches in yer side!"
As he spoke, the healer caught hold of the tracker's arms, attempting to calm him down. This caused the now panic-stricken man to struggle even more, and he thrashed out with his legs, arching his back as he attempted to escape.
"Easy, Vin. Just keep still like Nathan says. C'mon pard, rest easy." Chris held the tracker by his shoulders, trying to persuade his friend to relax as the younger man somehow succeeded in pushing himself up into a semi-sitting position.
"Chris! I gotta get outta here! Dammit, lemme go!" Vin gasped, as he fought to get free from the gunslinger. With a violent twist of his body he managed to slide a bare leg over the edge of the bed as he increased his efforts to get away.
Grasping the tracker's ankle, Nathan deftly eased his patient back into position, tucking the covers tightly under the mattress as he endeavoured to stop the agitated man leaping out of bed.
"Noo! Get off me! It's... dark! Chris, I can't... breathe! Lemme out!" Vin was panting heavily, as if he was suffocating. It was clear from his desperate cries that the man was petrified, his panic increasing further as his two friends tried to calm him down.
"You ain't in a fit state to go anywhere, son, so try and relax. Just lay down, y'hear?" Chris insisted gently, gripping his friend even tighter as he looked worriedly at Nathan.
With a shuddering moan, Vin stopped struggling and suddenly collapsed against the gunslinger. The younger man's body shook with silent sobs as grief and self-pity pummelled him in crashing waves, and he angrily swiped at the tears that threatened to spill from his sightless eyes.
Chris, rather awkwardly at first, held his grief-wracked friend close to his chest, stroking his hair and continually murmuring to him.
"I can't s... see... anything, Chris. I'm b... b... blind. Ya should've left me... t'die," Vin choked out at length.
There was nothing Chris could say to this statement. Glancing up and seeing the bleak expressions on his other friends' features, the gunslinger felt the tightness in his own throat as he offered what little comfort he could to the injured man.
Nathan clucked his tongue in annoyance as he noticed bright blood spots appearing on the bandages around the tracker's stomach. Without saying a word, he went out to his large dresser, and started mixing powders and herbs in a cup. Returning once more to the bed with the cup and his medical kit, the healer sat patiently waiting for the distressed tracker to regain his composure.
After a few minutes Chris felt Vin's body relax in his arms and he eased the other man's head against his shoulder, although he still supported the other's tensely, rigid back. Chris' eyes locked briefly with Nathan's, as the healer wordlessly passed him the cup. "Vin, Nathan wants you to drink summat."
The older man pressed the cup to the tracker's tightened lips. "No, c'mon, try a little. You'll feel much better in a while," he gently coaxed.
Vin took a small, hesitant sip, spluttering a little as he tried to turn his head away from the pungent draught.
But Chris wasn't having any of that. "Oh no, you don't! Have some more," he ordered firmly.
"That's more like it," the gunslinger murmured approvingly, as the tracker gulped down the remainder of the medicine.
Handing the empty cup to the concerned-looking Josiah, Chris continued holding onto the slightly calmer Texan.
"My side... hurts... real... bad," Vin croaked. The younger man's face was screwed up in agony, and his eyes were firmly closed as he tried to cope with the intense pain.
"Try and let it flow over you, pard. Nate's skunks piss tea should kick in real soon," Chris soothed, glancing at the healer who was busy lining up medical equipment on the bedside table.
Vin's initial shock at discovering he was blind, had now been over-ridden by the amount of pain radiating from his head and torso and the tracker clung tightly to the gunslinger's shirt as he tried to control the agonising spasms ripping through him. "Oh L...Lord! Chris, I don't... feel so good," the Texan gasped, sucking air in noisily with fast, ragged gulps.
"I know, pard, but Nathan'll soon fix ya up."
"Let's try an' get him settled Chris, so I can have a better look," said the healer softly, as he straightened the bedding.
"Vin, I'm gonna lay you back. Okay?" Chris moved the unresisting tracker gently away from him, and with Nathan's help got the man lying back against the pillows.
The wounded man's face was even paler than it had been before, the dark bruises around his eyes contrasting starkly with his skin. As Chris released his hold on his friend, Vin's unseeing eyes flew open, fear clearly etched on his features.
"Chris!"
The hoarse cry cut into every fibre of the older man's being. "I'm right here, pard. I've got your back an' I ain't gonna leave you." Chris gripped the frightened man's hand, looking worriedly at Nathan.
"Josiah, could you fetch a basin of warm water." Nathan had started to cut off the blood soaked bandages to inspect the further damage caused by his patient's frantic struggles. "Dammit t'hell," he hissed, as he peeled the soiled material away from the jagged, bloodied tear.
At the healer's words Vin's eyes flew open again and, with a low groan, he feebly tried to bat Nathan away with his one free hand.
"Easy, Vin. Steady now. Just take a few deep breaths and try and ride out the pain." Chris caught the wayward hand, squeezing the tracker's cold fingers in reassurance. "What's wrong, Nathan?" he asked, looking at the grim-faced healer with concern.
"This is bad, Chris — much worse than I thought. Those stitches have got to come out an' be done again. That herbal draught I gave him won't dull the pain enough, an' he's too panicky right now to let me touch him."
Nathan stared ahead for a moment chewing his lip, obviously searching for a solution to this medical problem. Decision made, he got to his feet and hurried out once more to his dresser, returning quickly with a dry cloth and a small bottle filled with a glutinous, yellow liquid. Nathan prised off the cork stopper and, folding the piece of cloth several times into a square pad, he carefully poured some of the liquid onto the material, holding up the bottle as he gauged the amount required
"Lift him up a bit, Chris. You'll need to support him. An' try and hold him still this time," the healer ordered briskly. "This won't be easy, an' I only want one shot at it!"
Vin was quite drowsy, but he still protested weakly as Chris gently lifted him off of the pillows and braced him against his shoulder. "Nnooo...don't! M'head hurts' like hell... Nathan! Chris! Lemme... go! Noo!" he gasped, trying to break free once again.
With a significant glance at the older man, Nathan held the back of the squirming Texan's neck. With one quick movement of his other hand, the healer then completely covered Vin's mouth and nose with the drug-drenched material.
At this sudden, unexpected assault, the tracker became even more panic-stricken, arching his back and kicking out as the covers became entangled around his legs. With a strangled cry, he frantically fought to get free from Nathan's grasp and it took all of Chris' strength to hold the frightened man as he continued to fight. Despite his increasing hysteria, the tracker's struggles were in vain and Nathan still managed to hold the cloth firmly in place.
The gunslinger grunted painfully as Vin's bunched fist suddenly lashed out and connected with his face. Increasing his grip on his friend, Chris hastily caught the flailing arms, pulling them closer into the younger man's chest and immobilising them completely.
Vin was incensed by this manoeuvre, and his muffled squeals now sounded as angry as they did scared. He battled against this affront on his personal freedom but, even though the narcotic was starting to strip him of his willpower, he recognised the determination in Chris' strong embrace. The drug was beginning to take effect and, as the seconds ticked by, the injured man's cries gradually diminished. With this eerie quietness, Vin could now hear the comforting beat of his friend's heart and feel the other man's warm breath stroking his face, and that perhaps more than the drug, was having a soporific effect on him.
The pain had reduced greatly and lethargy was washing over Vin at an alarming speed. He didn't think he could fight any longer and, as he desperately tried to ward off the threatening blackness, he frowned in confusion when he attempted to move his legs — and failed miserably. Lord, he was tired! But as he waded through what felt like thick molasses, he blinked rapidly in an effort to stay awake and keep control of his faculties.
Nathan adjusted his position slightly and began to talk in a quietly, soothing voice. "It's alright, Vin. Jes' let the drug do its work an' when ya wake up, ya'll feel much better. Chris is here, an' I don't reckon he's gonna be movin' too far. That's it. Ya can jes' let go an' sleep now."
The tracker swallowed several times and his head rolled sideways as he tried to respond to Nathan's voice, which seemed to be coming from miles away. He felt light-headed and, as the acrid smell of the drug tickled his throat, Vin coughed a few times, not realising that he was inhaling more of the narcotic vapours as he sucked in air. This final concentrated dose had the desired effect, and the tracker felt his rubbery limbs melt, as the darkness whispered in his mind.
Chris increased his hold as he felt his friend's body go totally limp. Vin's eyelids fluttered closed, and his head lolled against the older man's shoulder, whilst his arms hung loosely at his side. The room was hushed now, and the gunslinger gathered the motionless Texan into his arms, supporting his friend fully as the powerful drug finished its work.
Vin's breathing had become more even and shallow as he slipped deeper into unconsciousness and, putting a hand to the pulse point in the tracker's neck, Nathan gave a satisfied grunt as he felt the slow, steady beat under his fingertips. Removing the cloth from his patient's face, the healer then tossed it into an empty basin before reaching across for a wet cloth.
"It ain't good fer the drug to be on his skin fer too long," Nathan murmured by way of explanation to the stunned-looking gunslinger, as he quickly cleaned the area around Vin's mouth and nose.
Chris shifted his position on the bed, the dead weight of the limp tracker cradled tenderly against him. With an astonished look at the burden in his arms, the gunslinger carefully supported his friend's head as he laid the unconscious man back down on the bed.
"Jeez, Nathan! What the hell is that stuff?" Chris rubbed his stinging cheek as he looked in utter disbelief at the healer.
Nathan had placed his stethoscope on the tracker's bare chest, and was too intent on listening to Vin's respiration's to answer his friend. Satisfied at last, he put the instrument down on the bed, and ran his hand over his cropped hair. "Lord, I don't want t'do that ag'in anytime soon!" he exclaimed.
Picking up a towel the healer wiped his own sweaty face. "He's right out now. The drugs called chloroform, Chris. I've bin using it fer some time, especially when I need to do some real fancy doctorin'. Laudanum's difficult to use, and can be dangerous if overdosed. Vin's too weak to be given it, an' 'sides, it makes him pretty sick to the stomach, which causes a completely different set of problems. I didn't want to take any risks, sooo..." he stopped, and then puffed out his cheeks before slowly exhaling. "I didn't really have a choice. I'm jes' hoping and praying the drug won't have too much of an adverse effect on him."
Picking up his medical kit, Nathan began working on the torn and bloodied wound. "Hmm, this is a real mess. Josiah, could you bring a couple of extra lamps in here?" the healer requested, without looking up.
As Josiah quickly returned and put the two lamps on the table, they heard the outer door quietly open. Gun now in his hand, the ex-preacher hurriedly went to see who had entered the clinic.
Chris heard the big man talking quietly to Ezra and, with a brief glance at Nathan, he then rose and went out to the main room.
"I thought you gentlemen might have an appetite now for some refreshments."
As he spoke, the gambler waved to a large tray on one of the benches. It was laden with sandwiches, small meat pies, fried potatoes, plates, glasses and a large pitcher of foaming beer.
Nodding in mute gratitude, Chris crossed to the tray and poured four glasses of beer. Picking up one of the glasses he drained it in one, wiping his mouth with his hand. "Shit! I needed that! Thanks, Ezra."
"Mr. Sanchez has been explaining what has occurred with our ailing colleague. Is there anything I can do?"
"Not really, Ezra. I think Vin'll just sleep once Nathan's finished his doctoring. But at least he's come to his senses, so I may get some information outta him later. For now, we've just gotta wait."
"Chris, Josiah," Nathan called from the corner.
Hurriedly setting down their empty glasses, the two strode back to the enclosed area where the healer was once more drying his hands. "I've done the front, but I need yer help to turn him, so's I can see to his back."
Nathan pulled out the two pillows that had been supporting the sleeping man's head. "Chris, you take his shoulders, Josiah get his legs. I need to wedge these pillows under 'im so he's supported on his side. When he wakes up, it's likely he'll be sick, an' I don't want to risk 'im choking."
Ezra had entered behind Chris and Josiah, and now stood watching in silent concern as the three gently rolled the tracker into position. Leaving Nathan alone to work, the three men went and sat in the main clinic room, waiting for the healer to join them before they ate.
It was some time before Nathan walked from behind the screens. He'd tidied up after completing the suturing, and then checked his patient's pulse and respiration again before pulling a heavier quilt over the sleeping man. Finally, with the exception of one small lamp, he had doused the lights, leaving the area quite dark.
As the healer finished washing and drying his hands and face, Chris wordlessly passed him a glass of beer. Nodding appreciatively, the former slave took a long pull on the cold beer.
"Let's eat, brothers, before this food gets too cold." Josiah started piling food on a plate, and then poured another beer.
All four were soon eating at the small table, each lost in their own thoughts. Pushing away his now empty plate, Josiah rose and walked to Nathan's small stove to set coffee to brew.
"Did you make any progress with your enquiries today, Mr. Larabee?" Ezra asked.
Tossing his napkin onto his untouched plate of food, Chris shook his head with a sigh. "Not really. The men in the dance group that are top of my list of suspects all have reasonably firm alibis for the evening."
"Mebbe if you go over what you do know, it might make some more sense," Nathan pointed out.
"Yeah, three more heads on this is probably a good idea. By the way, Nathan, how long will he sleep? The sooner I can talk to him about the attack, the happier I'll feel," Chris asked as he leaned back in his chair.
"'Bout four or five hours I'd say. But I'm not sure you're gonna get much outta him tonight," warned the healer. "It's probably best to wait 'til morning an' hope that he's calmer."
"Do you think his eyesight will return?" Ezra asked quietly.
Chris shifted slightly in his chair. He was glad that Ezra had made this enquiry, as it was something he had been reluctant to press Nathan on, knowing he wasn't ready to accept a bad prognosis on his friend's vision. With a wrenching feeling in his gut the gunslinger waited now for the healer's response.
Nathan chewed on his lip, as he carefully chose his next words. "Waal, I don't really want to be accused of hedging my bet's — an' I ain't no expert either — but I can tell you that both his eyes are reacting to light, so I don't think they're damaged beyond hope. There's an awful lotta swelling though, an' that ain't helpin'. The problem is, he might've convinced hisself that he won't ever see again. The mind can play nasty tricks on the body, so I reckon all we can do fer now is wait — and pray that he makes a full recovery."
"Amen to that, Nathan. Healing is a spiritual thing as well, and our young friend has to mend his soul as well as his wounded body. We must put our trust in the Lord." Josiah spoke quietly, giving Chris Larabee a sympathetic look.
They carried on talking for some time, and Chris relayed what little information he had gathered about the attack, after which the four men discussed various theories and possibilities. However, without any hard information from Vin, it was difficult to reach any real conclusions. After finishing their coffee, the peacekeepers collectively agreed that for security and personal reasons Vin's blindness should not be made public knowledge.
Ezra and Josiah left the clinic shortly after reaching that decision. The two men promised to update Buck, JD, and Judge Travis on the recent events, before returning to their respective evening duties.
The room was strangely quiet; all that could be heard was the distant musical jangle of the carousel ride. With a heavy sigh, Nathan picked up a pack of cards and started dealing two hands of gin rummy at the cleared table. Chris had stepped out to the balcony to smoke and, as he re-joined his friend inside, he gave the former slave a crooked smile. Both men knew that it was going to be another long night.
Nathan rose from the table and stretched his back, before going to light more lamps and pull the window shutters down. Chris had just left for a walk and a breath of air, but the healer knew that the gunslinger would not go far. The pair had passed the time by playing cards and checkers, but apart from the occasional interruption from the other peacekeepers and a brief visit by Judge Travis, the clinic had been extremely quiet.
Nathan walked to the screened off corner, and after re-lighting the lamps, he sat on the chair next to the bed. The sleeping tracker was still lying in exactly the same position, and appeared to be resting comfortably. Pulling back the quilt, Nathan put his stethoscope first on the naked back, and then a few moments later on the virtually hidden chest. Chris quietly returned to sit opposite the healer, patiently waiting for Nathan to update him on the younger man's condition.
"I don't think the chloroform's done him any harm, 'cos his life signs are reasonably strong — which is pretty damn good considering how long he lay bleeding in the dirt! His heart rate's picked up some, so I reckon he should be wakin' soon," Nathan said confidently, as he hung the instrument around his neck. He'd already prepared the equipment that he needed for when Vin came round, and now all he could do was sit and wait.
The first indication of returning consciousness came as the tracker shifted his legs, his injudicious movement causing him to let out a small groan, which then turned into a wheezing cough.
"Vin?" Nathan frowned, leaning closer and taking hold of the awakening man's hand. "It's okay, Vin. I'm right here. Take it real slow an' steady, 'til you're properly awake," the healer instructed in a reassuring voice.
The tracker's eyelids fluttered briefly and he sucked in air greedily, swallowing several times in an effort to quell his rebellious stomach. With a low moan he tried to shift round in the bed, but was stopped by the pillows supporting him underneath. There wasn't much colour in his face anyway but, as he moved, his skin had taken on a grey-green tinge and it was obvious that he was suffering from the after-effects of the drug.
"Mmmm... feel... sick... N... athan?"
The tracker's weak voice wavered, and the healer could see from the expression on the younger man's face that he was about to throw up. He was just in time, hastily putting a basin in place as his patient vomited.
"Urghh! Nathan?" Vin was desperately trying to lift his head, his unseeing blue eyes wide now.
"Rest easy, Vin. Let me clean ya off first, an' then Chris'll help to git ya sat up."
"Chris... here?" The tracker coughed again, as the question came out.
"Sure am, pard. Try and relax 'til we get you sorted. Don't want y'busting them stitches again, an' ruining Nathan's handiwork."
Between them they got the tracker rolled over, and as Nathan deftly put the pillows back in place, the two men gently eased Vin into a slightly higher position. Dipping a cloth into a basin of water, the healer carefully sponged the man's face and neck.
"Chris, can ya get a couple of extra pillows. I need to get some fluids in him, an' it's easier if he's sitting higher." Nathan poured water into a cup in readiness.
They now had the passive tracker propped up in the bed and, as the former slave held the cup to the younger man's lips, he spoke encouragingly to him. "C'mon, Vin, have some water."
"Urghh... no.... Feel... sick again, Nathan." Vin grimaced as he swallowed some water, pulling his head away from the proffered cup.
"Chris, try an' get him to have a few more sips. I can get him something for the sickness." The healer passed the cup over and went out to his dresser.
"Try again, Vin. You need to drink," Chris coaxed softly. The gunslinger was now perched on the side of the bed and had looped a strong arm around his friend's shoulders, as he tried to persuade the younger man to take some fluids. Chris could feel Vin trembling and he shifted closer to give the man additional support, both physical and emotional.
The Texan momentarily touched the cup, making brief contact with the older man's hand. "I'm blind, Chris. What's th'point? Jes' leave me alone." The bitter resignation in the tracker's voice revealed the frustration he felt, and Vin pointedly turned his head away from the gunslinger.
"I can't do that, pard. There's an awful lotta swelling to your face, but Nathan reckons the blindness may not be permanent, so we'll just have to wait until you recover your strength." Chris could feel the tension in his friend, and placed the cup back on the table with an exasperated sigh.
Nathan had heard this exchange as he returned with another cup and sat down on the side of the bed. Glancing at the perturbed-looking gunslinger, the healer placed a gentle hand on Vin's arm, leaning closer to the troubled man. "Vin, ya've bin badly hurt, an' unconscious for more'n a day. So fer now, I jes' want ya to concentrate on getting well. The bullet went clean through yer side an' yer weak from blood loss. I know ya must be feeling real angry an' upset, but ya need to give yer body time to heal. Now c'mon, this will stop ya feeling so sick."
As he spoke Nathan slipped his hand around the back of the tracker's neck, lifting the cup to the other's lips. "Jes' sip it slowly." The healer's commanding voice was persuasive.
Vin could smell the mint and, although his stomach gave a nauseous lurch, he obediently sipped the draught. The herbal medicine was warm and powdery, slightly sweet with a mild mint taste. Taking a few more swallows, his stomach began to feel more settled and he opened eyes that had been squeezed tightly shut.
"That's it. Drink it all now, y'hear?" Nathan could feel the tracker relaxing as the muscle spasms ceased. Handing the empty cup to Chris, the dark-skinned peacekeeper eased his patient back against the pillows, holding onto a slack wrist to re-check his friend's condition.
The room was quiet and, as the healer silently counted Vin's pulse rate, his compassionate gaze continually assessed his patient's physical state.
"I'll leave him fer a short while, and then if his stomach's settled enough, I think I'll see if he can handle some broth." Nathan released the dozing man's wrist, and readjusted the cover. "I know it's late, Chris, but could you see if you could scare up something from Inez or Mrs. Jones at the restaurant?"
The gunslinger silently nodded and, tearing his reluctant gaze away from his injured friend, he rose from the bedside and turned to leave the area.
Alarmed by the unexpected movement, Vin suddenly jumped, his blue eyes wide as he tried to push himself off of the pillows. "What's happening? Chris! Nathan!" The tracker's expression was anxious, his hands fearfully clutching at the quilt, and he started to violently cough once more.
The healer gently pushed the younger man back, picking up a damp cloth and wiping his patient's face and mouth as he tried to settle his labouring patient. "Jes' stay quiet, Vin, and try an' take a few shallow breaths. It's the chloroform that's making ya cough a mite, but that should wear off soon. Nuthin's wrong. Chris' jes' gotta go somewhere, but he'll be back shortly. I'm still here, so why don't ya try an' sleep fer a while, huh?" As the healer quietly spoke to the tracker, he waved the older man away.
It had taken Chris a while to get a pan of soup organised and, whilst waiting for Inez to prepare a suitable broth, he spoken to Ezra and Buck. He bought the pair up to date on Vin's condition as they sat at a quiet table drinking their beer.
"Can he recall anything about the attack, Mr. Larabee?" Ezra asked softly.
"I haven't really asked him yet, Ezra. He's barely conscious, an' I ain't about to rile Nathan by rushing things, " Chris replied grimly. The other two men nodded in understanding.
Chris pushed his empty glass away, as Inez appeared with a covered tray of food. After thanking the beautiful Mexican girl, he hurriedly left the saloon. As he strode along the boardwalk in the direction of the clinic he was completely unaware that his movements were being closely observed by a dark, shadowy figure standing at the window of one of the upper rooms of Virginia's Hotel.
Balancing the tray carefully, Chris entered the clinic. Setting his burden on the high bench that Nathan used as an examination table, the black dressed man crossed to the partitioned area.
Nathan was holding a cup to the tracker's lips, and glanced up as Chris entered. "Vin, do you think you could manage some broth?" the healer asked his patient, as he put the cup on the small table.
"Ain't hungry," the man mumbled, almost petulantly.
"Vin, I went an' fetched this soup special. Now you know how uppity Inez gets if you don't clear your plate, so mebbe you ought to just try some," Chris insisted quietly.
Disappearing briefly, the gunslinger returned with a bowl, spoon and napkins. "Nathan, why don't you take a breather, while I take care of this for Vin?"
The healer nodded wordlessly, and then quietly left the clinic.
"I ain't no babe that needs feedin'," Vin growled angrily, as he heard the metal spoon clink in the bowl.
"Know that pard, but I doubt you've got the strength to lift the spoon right now, so quit griping and let a friend help you," Chris said a little impatiently.
The gunslinger had cajoled Vin into taking half a bowl of the soup by the time Nathan returned, and Chris was just finished wiping the tracker's mouth as the healer sat down by the bed once more. Vin's face had regained some of its natural colour, and he now lay back against the pillows. His eyes were closed, and he seemed unaware of the healer's presence.
Nathan gently lifted the cover, checking the bandages around the tracker's stomach. Finally satisfied that his patient was resting, he then doused the lamps and gestured for Chris to leave the area.
As they went into the main part of the clinic, Nathan pointed to one of the beds. "Why don't you get some sleep, Chris? I'm gonna doze in my rocker, so's I can keep a close eye on him. Don't make sense fer both of us to miss out on sleep," he said to the older man.
"Reckon that's a sensible idea. Hell, Nathan, I don't want t'go through another day like this 'n' in a hurry!" Chris rubbed his face wearily as he glanced at the healer.
Nathan knew that the gunslinger was exhausted by the emotional turmoil caused by the events of the last twenty-four hours. The worry and concern for the tracker, coupled with his fruitless investigations of the day had taken a heavy toll on Chris Larabee. This, plus a lack of proper sleep and decent food, had almost prematurely aged the gunslinger.
Choosing a bed where he could easily see the clinic door, Chris prepared to sleep as Nathan gathered up a pillow and blanket to use for himself.
The clinic was quiet now as the healer doused the lamps, and then went through to make himself as comfortable as possible in his rocking chair.
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