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 saloon was crowded and noisy, as the ranch hands gathered to celebrate the final hours of the carnival. It was approaching eight-thirty and it had been forty minutes since the tracker had rejoined his friends in the then almost empty saloon. But now he, Chris, and Mary were eating their evening meal as previously arranged.
While the three had walked down the boardwalk on their way to the restaurant, all the peacekeepers had kept a constant surveillance, as Chris was convinced if an attack came it would probably occur out in the open street. However, on reaching the eatery without incident, and not needing them until after they had finished their meal, the gunslinger had told Buck, JD and Ezra to take a short breather. With both Nathan and Josiah still keeping watch in the street, the three men had wandered back to the busy saloon.
Sitting at a small table by the door, Buck and JD were taking the opportunity to grab a quick beer, knowing that as the evening progressed they would have no chance for a drink, especially with the additional duty of protecting Vin Tanner.
Lounging arrogantly against the bar Luke Patterson, a cowhand from Bryce Kehoe's Lazy K ranch, had the undivided attention of his friends and co-workers. The celebrating men had gathered around him to talk about the competitions that had taken place that afternoon. Looking across to where the two peacekeepers sat, Patterson suddenly smirked.
"Waal, it ain't right that a gal should be allowed to keep the prize fer th' hoss race. Toby should'a bin made the winner, but that fool o' a judge is soft in the head fer lettin' her keep the title. Course, she ain't a real gal. Hell, she ain't one thing or t'other — I reckon she must be a dyke!"
At Patterson's loud comments, his friends burst out laughing, slapping the bar in delight at their leader's joke as they continued drinking.
Sitting at one of the back tables was a second large group of cowhands, but these men came from the James ranch. Hearing their rivals' scornful comments, one of the men, Chet Meakings, swaggered over to the bar close to Patterson. "S'not offen I agrees wit' you boys, but we lost out too, 'cos of her. That skinny brat reckons she's better'n' us. So I reckon someone oughta give her some lessons on how t'behave like a proper gal!"
"That's it! I ain't gonna stand for any more, Buck. Those bastards' ain't got no right to talk about Casey like that!" JD had slammed his beer down on the table and started to get to his feet.
"Sit down, kid. There're just trying to get you riled up. We ain't got the time for this right now. You don't want to get Chris angry with you by losing your temper and starting a brawl, now do you?" Buck pulled the younger peacekeeper back into his chair.
"If he carries on like that, Buck, he's gonna be spitting teeth out after I smash his mouth!" JD was furious as he shook off the other's hand, but he sat back down, glowering at the group by the bar.
"Course, she's real cosy wit' that dark-haired runt who plays at bein' a lawman." Patterson gazed mockingly at JD, as the other ranch hands carried on laughing and hooting raucously.
"Yeah. Ain't it 'bout time a real man showed that gal how to be proper friendly? P'rhaps we oughta draw lots t'see who gets her first." Meakings face had a lecherous grin on it and he ran his hands over his own chest, in an obviously salacious gesture.
"Mebbe, but the Lazy K gets first pickings. That stupid boy in his stupid hat should watch t'see how a full-grown man acts. Could be he'll learn summat from his betters!" Patterson taunted, as he nudged the sniggering ranch hand next to him.
The sound of a chair being scraped back drew the attention of all the men as Buck got to his feet and casually strolled over to the bar, placing his empty glass down on the counter. Glancing across to where Ezra sat playing poker with several older men at a corner table, Buck leant with his back against the bar, as if idly surveying the noisy room. Patterson was no more than two feet from the tall peacekeeper.
"I like that hat." Buck grinned disarmingly at the man beside him.
Patterson turned to face the ladies' man, spreading his hands in a conciliatory manner. "Hell mister, we was only funnin'. The boy jes' can't take a joke!"
"Well, I ain't laughing! Like a bit of fun, do you? P'rhaps you can take this bit o' fun, huh?"
As Buck said the last two words his left hand grasped the other man's arm and, spinning the surprised ranch hand around, the tall peacekeeper landed a hard punch to the other's jaw. As Patterson staggered back, the whole room erupted into pandemonium as the two rival groups started to fight each other.
Leaping out of his seat, JD lowered his head slightly and charged into Meakings, knocking the man completely off his feet and the two fell to the floor, rolling around as each tried to land blows on the other.
Chairs and tables were either being thrown or used as weapons as the carnage continued. An empty beer glass whizzed past Ezra's ear, smashing on the wall behind him in a shower of splinters. Wiping the blood away from several small cuts to his face, the gambler looked at his fellow poker players, who had ducked behind the table when the brawl had begun.
"Now, that was most ill-mannered! Gentlemen, if you would excuse me for a moment, while I establish which one of these half-witted miscreants is responsible for throwing that projectile." The gambler pulled his jacket sleeves up a little as he headed towards the scuffling men.
Seeing three ranch hands pulling and grappling with JD, Ezra grabbed hold of the largest man and aimed a swift, powerful blow to his face. Staggering backwards the stunned man flew towards the window, the glass panes smashing as he went through back first, to end up in an untidy pile on the boardwalk.
In the main street outside, Nathan looked up startled, as he saw the burly ranch hand fall through the window. Starting to jog towards the saloon, he called across to Josiah on the opposite side of the street.
"Josiah! You stay put. Looks like there's trouble in the saloon!"
Reaching the front of the noisy saloon, Nathan briefly glanced through the door, hastily ducking as a bottle whistled over his head. Grabbing the belt of the injured ranch hand, the healer dragged the dazed man away from the front of the building. In the dim light, Nathan could see blood pouring from the young ranch hand's face and, tugging the man's bandana from his neck, the healer pressed it against the long jagged tear along his mouth and cheek. Tears of pain filled the cowboy's eyes.
"That damned fancy talking gambler did this!"
The already bloodied cloth muffled the ranch hands voice as Nathan helped him to stand. Keeping a steadying hand on the blood-spattered man, the healer started to head towards the clinic.
Chris, Vin, and Mary had finished their meal, and had just come out of the restaurant. They were walking in the direction of Mary's accommodation to escort her home, but on hearing the commotion coming from the saloon, the gunslinger had quickened his pace. It was paramount in Chris' mind to get the injured tracker and the woman off the street and out of harms way.
As the three were about to cross the main street, a group of ranch hands galloped past, heading straight for the saloon. Tossing their horses reins over the hitching rail, the four riders threw themselves through the batwing doors as they went to assist their friends inside. Peering along the boardwalk, Chris spotted Nathan supporting the injured ranch hand, and the three paused outside the hotel as the pair approached.
"Nathan. How bad is it in there?" Chris asked worriedly, glancing at the stricken cowboy.
"Bad enough. Buck, JD, and Ezra are in there, but there's an awful lot o' ranch hands fighting. The James spread and Lazy K mostly. I gotta get this fella sewn up. Ezra an' that damn ring o' his. That sharp stone cuts flesh to ribbons!" Nathan growled. "I'd best hurry back, too. The way those men are goin' at one another, I'm gonna be busy with my needle tonight! Josiah's jes' over there. Will ya be alright fer a while, Chris?"
Chris nodded quickly. "Yeah, you go. We'll be just fine."
The healer hurried off with his patient as Josiah dashed across to his three friends. "What do you want me to do, Chris?" the big man asked, wincing in sympathy as he saw a ranch hand back pedal out of the batwing doors to collapse untidily on the street.
"Hang on, Josiah. Vin, Mary. I need to help the others try an' stop this fight, before anyone gets hurt bad. Wait in the hotel foyer 'til this all quietens down." Without giving the pair a chance to object, Chris propelled his companions through the front door of Virginia's Hotel, relieved to find that the entrance hall was relatively empty and quiet.
Settling Vin on one of the comfortable-looking sofa, Chris put his hand on the tracker's shoulder. "Vin, stay put. I can't let the fellas' handle this 'n' alone, so I'm relying on you to make sure nuthin' happens to Mary. Will you be alright for a while, pard?" the gunslinger asked softly.
Vin could hear the indecision in the other man's voice. "Yeah, we'll be fine. Get goin', Chris. Mary an' me'll have some coffee. Jes' throw a few punches fer me, will ya?" the younger man grinned, but his tone was adamant.
"Mary, keep a lookout. I'll be back as soon as I can."
Chris strode out of the hotel, and he and Josiah headed for the rowdy saloon.
Vin sat quietly on the sofa, leaning his head back as he thought about Nathan's words. 'Ezra an' that damn ring o' his.' The ring! Thinking back again to the familiar smell of the stage make-up, he suddenly remembered where he'd previously smelt the strong odour. The killer had reeked of the stuff! Turning the memory of the attack over in his mind he now recalled the bright glitter of something on his assailant's hand as he'd fired at the tracker. A ring with a shiny stone!
"I saw a ring! Stage make-up too! Chris is right. It's gotta be Bubka," Vin breathed quietly.
Mary frowned in confusion. "What ring? Gregor doesn't wear a ring, nor do the other men in the dance troupe. Vin, I don't understand. What do you mean?" Concern filled Mary's soft question as she put a hand on the Texan's arm.
"Mary, I need to search Bubka's room. He's still at the show. I remember the killer was wearing a ring — a diamond ring I think. If I can find it, then we'll have the proof we need. Don't ya see?" Vin climbed to his feet, shaking off the woman's hand.
"Vin, you should stay here! When Chris returns he can search the room." Mary sounded frightened, but she was determined to try and make the tracker change his mind.
"It might be too late by then, Mary. If you won't help me, then I reckon I'll hav'ta find my own way up. Course, I might fall down the stairs or summat." With a wry smile, Vin started to walk slowly ahead, knowing from memory that the central staircase was not too far away.
"Ooohh! Vin Tanner! You are the most mule-headed man I have ever met, possibly even more than Chris Larabee is! I know I'm going to get into trouble for letting you do this, but do you care? No!" Mary stamped her foot angrily but, pulling the tracker's hand through her arm, she then led him up the stairs.
Reaching the long corridor, Mary led Vin to Gregor Bubka's room and, with a hasty look around, she turned the handle and the two entered the dimly lit bedroom.
"Where's the closet, Mary?" Vin asked quietly, hands reaching out in front of him as he tried to feel his way around the unfamiliar room.
"This is a bad idea, Vin. What if we're discovered? This is wrong!" Mary was scared, but she didn't want to leave the tracker alone.
"The dance ain't finished yet, an' then they all go an' bathe. I won't get a better chance to prove that he murdered that gal. You've gotta help me, Mary. Ow! That hurt!" Vin bumped into the end of the bed as he continued walking.
Taking the tracker's arm, Mary led him to the closet, opening the doors to display the hanging rails and two large drawers at the bottom. Pulling the larger of the drawers' open, Mary started to carefully rummage through it.
"There's only clothing here, Vin. Let's go — now!" Mary sounded desperate, as she swiftly closed the drawer. Grabbing hold of the tracker's sleeve, she tried to pull him away and out of the room, but Vin shook the hand off as he groped around the base of the closet.
"He's prob'ly gotta a special bag or box he keeps private stuff in. Can you see anything lying around, Mary?"
"No! Vin, he wouldn't keep valuable items on display. We should leave this to Chris. Vin, please come back downstairs!" Mary was almost in tears, as she pleaded with the man to leave.
"It's gotta be here, an' I ain't goin' 'til I find it, Mary! You go an' keep a lookout, but I'm staying," Vin replied stubbornly. He'd discovered the drawers, and was now feeling through the contents, leaving the previously neat rows of undergarments in complete disarray.
Torn by fear and indecision, Mary quickly crossed to look out of the window. The street below was fairly quiet, which probably meant that the show was still taking place. "Vin, I'm going to get Chris. I won't be long."
Vin carried on sifting through the closet, and didn't even bother to answer as the woman hastily left the room. Mary raced down the staircase at almost breakneck speed. She felt guilty about leaving the man, but she could see that there was no hope of her persuading the tracker to leave the room. Reaching the street, she briskly walked in the direction of the rowdy saloon.
As she got to the corner of the plot of buildings which included the saloon, she paused to catch her breath, unaware that two drunken ranch hands had followed her along the boardwalk as they made there way to join the brawl that was currently raging inside.
"Well, well! It looks like we found us a real purty li'l' gal. How about givin' us a kiss, darlin'?" The bigger of the two men grasped Mary's wrist, pulling her closer to him.
Surprised by the sudden assault, the newspaperwoman staggered against the man, leaning into his chest as he held her in a rough embrace. The younger ranch hand thrust his face close to Mary's and, licking his lips lasciviously, he attempted to kiss the squirming woman.
Turning her head away from the whiskey fumes Mary struggled to get free. "Let me go!" she gasped angrily.
"Not 'til ya give me a kiss, sweet thing!"
The man's slobbering mouth pressed against the woman's lips and Mary felt a roaring in her ears as sheer terror engulfed her. Letting out a strangled cry, the woman tried to kick her captors, but her long skirt impeded her.
With a grunt, the brawny man pushed her hard into the wall, knocking the breath out of her and effectively trapping her like a butterfly in a net. "I think she likes us, Brad. Bet she'll give us more'n' a kiss if we ask real nice! She smells like a real high-class lady, an' I jes' bet her skins soft an' silky 'n' all. Hey darlin', how's about we go someplace real quiet an' cosy, huh?"
Feeling the man's fumbling hands on her breasts', Mary closed her eyes and screamed in total panic.
"CHRIS!"
Inside the saloon, Chris Larabee had dragged a thickset ranch hand off of Ezra and, releasing the staggering man, he lashed out with his fist delivering a hard blow to the other's nose. Blood sprayed everywhere and, before the dazed thug could retaliate, the gunslinger followed up his first punch with a swift second, slamming the heavily built man against the bar. Shaking out his hand and flexing his fingers, Chris surveyed the scene of utter devastation in the room. Broken chairs and tables littered the bare floorboards, and several men sat or were sprawled out on the floor. But the gunslinger could see that his fellow peacekeepers were still on their feet, if somewhat bruised and bloodied after the fray.
Wincing as he rubbed at his jaw, Chris whirled around as he heard his name being called from outside. The faint, distant voice had a note of hysteria to it and, with an astonished jolt, the gunslinger realised that it was Mary Travis. Running through the saloon entrance, Chris immediately saw the two men grappling with the blonde woman. His right hand flashed down to his gun butt and, pointing the weapon at the two drunks, he barked out an angry warning.
"Let her go! NOW!"
Through the drunken fog, the two men realised their danger and, hastily releasing the terrified woman, they put their hands into the air.
"We didn't mean her no harm, honest Mr. Larabee," the younger of the two blurted out, his hands shaking as he saw how close he was to being shot by the menacing-looking gunman.
As the two men loosened their grip on Mary, she sunk to the floor, sobbing in relief at her narrow escape.
Glancing worriedly at the distressed woman, Chris strode over to the men and wordlessly pulled out the pistol of the larger man, tossing it into the nearly full horse trough nearby. Neither man moved as he repeated the procedure with the younger ranch hand. Still levelling his gun on the two men, Chris crouched down at Mary's side, putting a comforting arm around the distraught woman.
"It's alright, Mary. You're safe now. Are you hurt?" He could feel her trembling, and it took all of his willpower to hold his temper in check, as he glared coldly at the two ranch hands.
Taking a shuddering breath, Mary clutched hold of the gunslinger's shirt. "Chris...! Thank God! No, I'm... not hurt. Vin..." She shook her head, unable to speak as tears of reaction coursed down her cheeks.
Chris took hold of her hand, gently squeezing it in reassurance. "Easy, Mary. Take it slowly. What's happened to Vin?"
The gunslinger's gentle question was filled with anxiety, and taking another steadying breath Mary tried once more to get her warning out. "Vin's gone... to search... Bubka's room. He remembers the killer wearing a ring and could smell stage make-up on him, too. I couldn't stop him, Chris! I didn't know what else to do." Mary's voice quivered as she wiped the tears from her face.
"It's not your fault, Mary. I should'a known he wouldn't stay put. The dance is still going on. I can still hear the piano, so hopefully we're not too late," Chris said grimly, as he helped the woman to her feet.
Facing the two men again, Chris gestured to them with his gun. "I think you pair of fools owe the lady an apology. And then I want you t'git down to the jail and hand yourselves over to Miz Dora. Tell her what you did — but don't mess with me, boys, 'cos I ain't in the mood, y'hear? I know who you are, and if you don't do as I say, then the next time we meet, I'll shoot first and ask questions later. Understand?" The gunslinger's deceptively mild tone was at odds with the dark fury etched on his face.
Nodding vigorously, the two mumbled an apology to Mary. With a last sheepish look at the gunslinger, they headed down the street in the direction of the jailhouse.
"C'mon, Mary. Let's go."
Chris gently supported the still trembling woman as they made their way to the hotel. Entering the empty hall area, the gunslinger was relieved to find the reception desk manned by the duty manager. Suddenly a gun bellowed out from somewhere above them and, drawing out his pistol, the black dressed peacekeeper sped up the stairs two at a time.
Gregor Bubka had finished his early bath and now he made his way along the hotel corridor to his room. He would have an hour or so of privacy, and was contemplating having a rest before he met his colleagues for dinner later. It had been a stressful four days, and he felt emotionally wrung out and grief-stricken at Anya's violent death. As he approached his room he noticed that the door was ajar and, quietly pushing it open, he saw Vin Tanner rummaging through his personal belongings.
"What are you doing?"
The tracker whirled around at the sound of the Russian's voice, hand instinctively pulling out his gun. "Bubka?"
It was hard to pinpoint the precise location of the man, so Vin waited for the other to speak again, hoping that the dancer didn't already have a weapon trained on him.
Silently placing his leather carry bag on the floor but without taking his eyes from the armed Texan, Bubka stealthily walked towards the tracker. Comprehension flooded through the dancer as he intently studied the injured man. With a rapid flick of his arm, the Russian swiped forcefully down on Vin's wrist with a cutting motion, knocking the gun out of the other's hand. Kicking the gun under the bed, Bubka finally spoke.
"You are blind! I saw you playing poker with your friends, so obviously this is part of a plan, da? I will ask you again. What are you searching for, Mr. Tanner?"
"Now that'd be tellin'. Jes' get it over with, Bubka. I'm blind and unarmed, but I can tell ya that my friends won't rest until yer brought to justice," Vin growled. He was seething inwardly at being caught so easily, but knew he was powerless to stop the other man.
"I cannot imagine what you could possibly hope to find in my personal belongings, Mr. Tanner. Perhaps you could share your suspicions with me, yes?" The dancer moved across the room with almost cat-like grace, as he continued to observe the tracker.
Rubbing at his painful wrist, Vin shrugged. "I want t'know where ya hid the ring. I remember seein' it when ya shot me."
"Well, this is simply wonderful, Gregor. I came here seeking you, and you have generously given me the additional prize of that interfering American peasant!"
"Mikhael!" Bubka reeled back in shock, bewildered by the dramatic appearance of his former dance colleague.
Mikhael Sedykh was presumed to have perished in the studio fire many months previous, but Bubka could hardly comprehend how a ghost from the past could confront him in this town, miles from New York.
"It c... cannot be! You are d... d... dead! We... buried your body! I do not understand. How is this...p...p... possible?" Bubka stammered. He stared fearfully at the pistol that Sedykh held in readiness, astounded that a man he'd always thought to be a friend could threaten him.
"Ah, but you see, Gregor, I am still here. I admit that I was burnt when I set fire to the studio, and I have lost the vision in one eye, but I am still very much alive. My sweet Anya was shocked also when she first saw me, but the make-up hides the scars on my face quite well. Keep very still, American. I have a gun and I will not hesitate in killing you both if you provoke me." This last part was spoken in English, as Vin had started to slowly move closer to the door.
"Who are ya? An' what do ya want?" Vin demanded heatedly. He'd heard the shocked tone of Gregor Bubka and, even though the two men had conversed in a language he couldn't understand, he sensed that he was in deadly danger.
Sedykh laughed, but there was no humour in the sound. "Ah, how I love you foolish Americans! You are so directly spoken — and so inquisitive. Brave almost to the point of stupidity. Well, Mr. American, I see that my previous attempt to silence you failed, but it is sweet irony that you are more afflicted than I. There is an old proverb, which seems to suit this occasion perfectly. Now how does it go, ah, yes I recall now. 'In the kingdom of the blind, the one-eyed man is King'. Well peasant, I am that King, and you are to be my safe passage out of this pitiful little town."
"You killed Anya! Why? How could she have been a threat to you, Mikhael?" Bubka spoke in his own language once again, trying to make sense of what had happened.
"How extraordinarily naïve of you, Gregor! Anya was mine! I owned her," Sedykh gloated cruelly. "We could have been famous, but she did not have the same aspirations as I. When that second rate Olga Petrov was chosen to dance for the President that night I vowed that no inferior dancer would usurp my beautiful little bird, so I decided to seek retribution. I have followed you since you left Kansas, and when I first saw Anya in Ridge City I made the mistake of telling her of my vengeful act. I begged her to listen to me, even pleaded with her for us to go away together, but she was angry and upset that I had started the fire that killed her cousin, and she threw our betrothal ring in my face."
Sedykh laughed harshly before continuing. "Then when I saw her again in this loathsome little backwater do you know what the ungrateful bitch said, Gregor? She taunted me, saying that she had never loved me, and that I was a madman. I knew it was over between us when she told me of her diary. The bitch had written about me, and threatened to go to the authorities with proof that I was a murderer. That was when I knew what I must do." There was a deranged look on the Russian's face as he spat out his final words.
"Why, Mikhael? You had everything, and yet you kill three people without a thought. Why?" Bubka's voice shook, as he stared in revulsion at his former colleague.
"I had planned to take Anya back to Europe afterwards but, my injuries from the fire did not allow me to carry out my arrangements. Which is why I had to wait. It would have been easy to cross the Canadian border, and leave this pathetic backward country. Anya should have obeyed me; she would still be alive if she had listened to me. I knew that I had to take her that night. It was my right as her betrothed and also as a fellow Cossack. I think she quite enjoyed it, Gregor, but still she mocked me. I could not stand any more of her lies, so I just kept squeezing her neck until she was silent. She sealed her own fate."
Sedykh gave a cruel smile. "Now, Gregor. Where is the diary? I know you yearned for her love, and would be foolish enough to do anything Anya asked of you, so where have you hidden it?"
Bubka's eyes flew momentarily to the leather bag that he had put down on finding Vin Tanner in his room.
"If I tell you, you will kill both Mr. Tanner and me."
"Not necessarily, Gregor. I can still escape and, with your blind friend as my hostage, it will be a simple ride to Mexico."
As he spoke Sedykh sidled across to the bag, and keeping his pistol firmly fixed on the other dancer he expertly opened the bag and extracted a small, leather bound book. Glancing briefly at the first page, he snapped the book shut and tucked it into his jacket pocket. "Aha! That was too easy. You have become far too soft, my friend."
Vin had remained passively still during the exchange between the two dancers but, hearing Sedykh move, he took a deep breath and flung himself bodily towards where he thought the man stood.
Reacting with almost superhuman speed Sedykh nimbly side-stepped, but still kept his weapon trained on Bubka. Watching as the tracker landed in a painful heap on the floor the Russian laughed mirthlessly. "Gregor, get him up. I think I need to prepare this foolish peasant for our journey. Tie his hands behind him, and use his neck cloth as a gag. I will not tolerate any more interruptions."
Bubka caught the length of rope thrown at him and, crouching down beside Vin, he gently helped the dazed tracker to stand. "I am sorry, but I have to tie your hands. He will kill you if you defy him. He is mad!"
"I am losing patience, Gregor." Sedykh waved his pistol in a threatening manner.
Vin grunted painfully as Bubka pulled his arms behind his back and began tying his wrists. He was furious that his ill-timed attempt to stop the Russian had failed but, as the other proceeded to knot the bandana around his mouth, the tracker realised that he was no longer in any position to stop the killer. He could only hope that Chris reached the room before the man escaped. Vin was certain that his friends would try to hunt down the Russian. But it was a large country to track one man and, from the resigned voice of Gregor Bubka, it was clear that the dancer knew he was soon to be permanently silenced, effectively giving the other peacekeepers no clues as to where Sedykh might have fled.
Roughly dragging the now tightly bound tracker to his side, Sedykh smiled slyly. "Well, I must bid you a fond farewell, Gregor."
The gun barked, and Bubka looked down at his bleeding chest with a stunned expression on his face. Within seconds the mortally wounded man had crumpled to the floor.
Glancing briefly at the blood rapidly forming on the front of the fallen man's shirt, Sedykh savagely hauled the Texan from the room and along the corridor towards the rear exit leading to the escape staircase. Opening the door, the Russian pulled the struggling Vin Tanner closer to his chest, locking a strong arm around the tracker's throat, but keeping his pistol in his other hand in case of any pursuers. The killer had previously made good his escape route and his saddled horse was not far from the rear of the hotel.
As Sedykh fleetingly paused on the outer wooden platform, Vin back-kicked ferociously, his desperation lending him the strength to try and get free. The tracker was certain that the sound of the shot would have alerted someone, and knew his only chance of rescue was by trying to delay the killer as much as possible before the Russian could leave town.
Reaching the top of the staircase, Chris Larabee sprinted along the corridor in the direction of Gregor Bubka's room, his gun ready as he searched for the source of the gunshot he'd heard just a minute before. Seeing a half open door near the end of the long hallway, the gunslinger swiftly approached it, flattening himself against the corridor wall as he poked his head round to glance into the room.
The blood-covered form of Bubka lay sprawled on the carpet and, throwing the door wide open, Chris carefully entered. Surveying the room quickly, the gunslinger saw that apart from the badly injured dancer, no one else was present. Grabbing a towel from the washstand, Chris knelt beside the semi-conscious man, pressing the cloth against the gaping wound in the man's chest. Hearing footsteps behind him he twisted around, gun in hand, only to lower it once again on seeing Mary Travis enter the room.
"Oh my God! Chris, where's Vin?" The woman gasped in horror, as she also knelt by the stricken dancer.
"Hold this here, Mary." The gunslinger indicated the towel and, relinquishing his hold to the woman, he reached under the bed for the weapon he'd just spotted.
Holding up Vin Tanner's cut-down Winchester, Chris quickly turned it over in his hand, sniffing the end of the barrel. The gun had not been fired recently and, frowning in confusion, he put the weapon down beside him before turning his attention back to Bubka.
"Bubka? Can you hear me? It's Chris Larabee. Who did this to you? And where's Vin Tanner?" The gunslinger gently shook the fatally injured man.
The Russian was struggling to breathe, and it was obvious from the amount of blood now staining the towel, that the dancer did not have long to live. With a low groan he opened his pain-filled eyes and, feebly groping with his hand, he grabbed hold of Chris' sleeve. The man muttered weakly and the peacekeeper leant closer to catch the faint words.
"In English! Bubka, I can't understand you!" Chris gripped the dying man's hand tightly, willing him to speak again.
"M... ikhael! Thought...was... d... dead! Mikhael killed... Anya here! H... he is madman! Took Tanner h... hostage!" It took all his remaining strength to blurt out his warning, and then with a loud gurgling gasp, the dancer lapsed into unconsciousness.
"Mary, stay with him. There's nothing can be done for him, even if Nathan was here. I've gotta find Vin! Keep this close. If anyone comes in here that y'don't know, then use it. Y'hear me, Mary?" Chris asked grimly, as he slid the tracker's gun closer to the white-faced woman.
Licking her lips nervously as she stared at the gun, Mary nodded. "Go and find him, Chris. I'll stay here... with Gregor."
Chris hurried from the room and, seeing the rear exit to the outside staircase, he loped along the corridor, gun held ready. The door was closed, but with an almighty kick the gunslinger sprang the barrier open. It was quite dark and the peacekeeper exited onto the upper platform, hugging the outer wall as he peered through the gloom. Seeing movement below him, the gunslinger caught sight of two figures halfway down the wooden stairs.
Sedykh had managed to wrestle the frantically struggling Vin Tanner as far as the central platform that split the staircase in two at a right angle. Hearing the forceful opening of the door, he leant against the platform rail keeping the tracker in front of him.
"Vin!"
Chris called to his friend, ducking warily as the killer fired a shot at him. The gunslinger squinted down at the shadowy figures, just making out the vague outline of his captured friend. With a silent curse, he realised that it was virtually impossible to get a clear shot at the assailant.
At the sound of Chris' voice, Vin became even more frenzied in his efforts to break free, even though the gag and the chokehold the Russian had on him was making it harder for him to breathe. Leaning forward slightly, the Texan tried to hook the killer's feet out from under him. The powerful Sedykh didn't even flinch and merely tightened his stranglehold on his squirming hostage. Sighting carefully along the long barrel of his pistol, the Russian fired another shot up towards the crouching form of Chris Larabee.
Chris felt a white-hot burning sensation in his right shoulder as the bullet ripped through him, and the shocking impact from such close range sent him tumbling against the hotel wall with an agonised cry. The gunslinger watched helplessly as his gun fell from his numb hand to scuttle along the platform edge before plummeting to the ground below.
Clutching his left hand to the bleeding wound, Chris dragged himself back towards the open doorway, although each tiny movement sent waves of excruciating pain through his entire upper body. Shaking his head to flick sweat from his eyes, the wounded gunslinger tried to see where his attacker was and, ducking once more as the gun barked for a third time, he lost his balance, jarring his back against the door frame. A renewed surge of pain tore through his injured shoulder and, with a low, hissing groan, he crumpled in an untidy heap onto the wooden platform.
Having seen his adversary's gun fall to the ground and witnessing the collapse of the gunslinger, the Russian turned his full attention to the captive Vin Tanner. Loosening his chokehold slightly on the labouring tracker, Sedykh attempted to negotiate the final flight of stairs. Thrusting the pistol sharply into Vin's side the killer bent his head closer to the squirming tracker.
"If you do not stop struggling, I will kill you also. There is no-one left to help you now," Sedykh hissed maliciously.
With a muffled cry of rage, Vin flew into an uncontrollable frenzy at the other's words, expending all his remaining strength as he tried to escape the Russian's firm grip. He'd heard Chris' sharp cry of pain followed by deathly silence, and an overwhelming feeling of grief flooded through him as all coherent thought drained away. Kicking back savagely at his captor, the tracker frantically fought to break free to try to find his friend, unaware that he was dangerously close to the first downward step of the final flight of stairs. With a monumental jerk, Vin threw his head back catching Sedykh square on the chin.
The man howled in pain and viciously thrust the Texan away from him. For a split second the staggering tracker hovered on the edge of the staircase, but his tightly bound hands offered him no chance to regain his balance. With a stifled yell, he fell into a brief black nothingness, before toppling down the stairs. As Vin crashed onto the hard ground with a bone-jarring thud, his last conscious thoughts were of profound grief for the death of Chris Larabee, and bitter failure for being unable to stop the killer.
Leaning over the platform rail Sedykh peered down at the immobile Texan and, with a dismissive glance up at the unmoving form of Chris Larabee, he continued his descent. With a brief check around the quiet rear alley, the Russian levelled his pistol on the unconscious Vin Tanner, grinning evilly as he began to squeeze the trigger.
Mary Travis gazed down at the bloodied body of Gregor Bubka, dragging her hand across her teary eyes as she murmured a brief prayer for the dead dancer. It had been several minutes since Chris had disappeared but, on hearing the loud bellow of a gun, she scrambled to her feet to look out of the window. Seeing nothing unusual in the main street, she crossed the room to peek around the doorframe. With a sigh of relief at finding an empty corridor she went over to the bed and, yanking the bedspread off, she draped the cover wholly over the body of the Russian.
Crouching down again she touched Vin's cut down Winchester and, with a resigned sigh, Mary picked the weapon up, cradling it in her arms as she walked from the room. As she began walking down the staircase a second gunshot rang out, causing her to quicken her pace. Something awful was happening and she had to give warning to the other peacekeepers.
Reaching the main street, the blonde woman glanced around apprehensively, before heading in the direction of the saloon. A third shot suddenly barked out, and realising that the sound had come from the rear of the hotel, she shifted the Winchester into a ready shooting position, whilst hurrying down the dark side alley. The area behind the hotel was dimly lit, and on reaching the rear of the building Mary could just make out the crumpled form of Vin Tanner lying several feet from the bottom of the staircase. With a frightened gasp, she also observed a tall man standing over the peacekeeper. But what sent fear coursing through her, was the sight of the man's pistol aimed directly at the unconscious Texan's head.
Without any thought for her own safety Mary screamed, bringing the Winchester up and instinctively squeezing the trigger. The gun in her hand roared, kicking back and causing her to stagger a little. Her actions horrified her, but still she held the weapon at arm length as a strong feeling of revulsion threatened to engulf her.
Sedykh reeled from the impact of the heavy calibre bullet as it caught him in the side of his chest, and his own pistol fell from his hand with a clatter. Dropping to his knees, the killer stared in astonishment at the stock-still figure of Mary and, mumbling several words in Russian, he toppled backwards, dead unseeing eyes wide as he sprawled on his back in the dirt.
The loud report of the rifle roused Chris Larabee from his stupor and he started to crawl along the top platform, hauling himself up with his left hand to cling to the stair rail. Leaning heavily against the side railing, he slowly began to move down the stairs, even though each step caused his shoulder to pulsate with fiery pain. Paying no attention to the body of the Russian, Chris stumbled to the side of the motionless tracker, ignoring the fresh wave of agony that lanced through his shoulder as he dropped to his knees. With a strangled cry, the gunslinger put a bloodied hand on his friend's chest, desperately feeling for any sign of life.
Shock and blood loss was now taking a heavy toll on Chris, and his frantic attempts to find a heartbeat increased his feeling of utter helplessness. The wounded peacekeeper suddenly looked up and, through a blurry, hot haze of pain, he saw Mary Travis. Vin's gun was still grasped in her outstretched hands, but she didn't seem to be aware of the black dressed man.
"Mary!"
The woman did not react to Chris' anguished cry, continuing to point the still loaded weapon at the dead man. Gritting his teeth against the increasing nausea, the gunslinger knew he had to make the woman snap out of her daze.
"Mary! Look at me! MARY!"
After issuing this final loud command, Chris could feel his strength ebbing away and to his relief he saw the woman start, glancing in his direction although she didn't seem to recognise him. "Mary! Get... Nathan! Help... Vin...!"
As his pain-filled words came out he heard a loud roaring in his ears and, with a low moan, Chris collapsed in an untidy heap over Vin's motionless body.
Sucking in a shuddering breath, Mary dropped the gun as if it were burning her hands and, with a terrified look at the still forms of the two injured peacekeepers, she turned and ran.
In the distance, the faint sound of organ music could suddenly be heard as the carousel ride started up once again.
Nathan poured water into a cup as he noticed the hand movement from the man lying in the bed before him. Chris Larabee slowly opened his eyes and shifted in the bed, wincing and hissing in a shaky breath as the tiny motion caused his bandaged shoulder to burn and throb.
"Let that be a lesson to ya, Chris. I've only jes' finished cleanin' an' stitching yer shoulder — an' I don't aim t'do it ag'in, y'hear?" Nathan picked up a cloth, wiping the gunslinger's sweaty face, but his quietly spoken reprimand revealed the anxiety he felt.
"Vin?" Chris croaked fearfully, closing his eyes when another ripple of pain shot through his upper body as he attempted to lift his head.
"He's alive, Chris. He's gotta a broken shoulder an' a coupla busted ribs, but he ain't got no head injury, thank God! He ain't come round yet, but I'm hoping its jes' sheer exhaustion. It's a bit after two in the morning, an' everything's quietened down in town now, so don't start fretting 'bout things, huh? Here, ya need to drink summat." As he spoke the healer slid his hand behind his friend's neck, supporting the other's head as he raised the cup to the gunslinger's lips.
Panting from the effort, Chris sank back gratefully. His face was almost as white as the pillow covering he lay on and he swallowed quickly as a feeling of nausea made his stomach churn. He felt hot and light-headed, but he wasn't about to give in to the weakness of his body until he had answers to some of the questions reeling in his mind.
"Mary! She saved Vin's... life, Nathan. Who was... that fella? Is Bubka dead?"
Gently sponging Chris' face again, Nathan nodded at his friend. "Yeah, he's dead, but Mary's fine. I had t'give her a sleeping draught to calm her down, but she's over in the other bed where I can keep a close eye on her too. She should be all right come morning. Buck an' JD got the saloon quietened down eventually, an' the jail's full, but Tiny's got things under control there. Madame Kristina identified the killer's body. He was Mikhael Sedykh, an' it seems he was crazed, obsessed with Anya. But Josiah's gonna sort that all out tomorrow. Now quit worrying, an' try t'rest."
The healer wrung out the cloth again, briefly feeling the older man's face and neck, before continuing with his narrative. "Chris, the bullet went clean through yer shoulder, but you've lost a lotta blood an' y'need to sleep. I'll be here, so y'can jes' settle down, y'hear? I reckon someone must have summat against me, 'cos it's jes' my luck t'get the two most stubborn, mule-headed fellas as patients at the same time!"
Nathan gave his friend a rueful smile. His light-hearted comment disguised the worry he felt about Chris' increasing fever and generally weak state; the healer knew he had yet another busy night ahead of him.
"Nathan, are you sure Vin's gonna be alright? I gotta know!" Chris was exhausted, but it would be impossible to rest properly until he had more details on the condition of the tracker.
"I hope so. I won't be able t'say much more until the morning. It all depends on how long he remains unconscious, but he didn't take any new hurt to his head, so I'm praying that he'll wake up soon."
The healer had sounded reasonably optimistic, so somewhat reassured by this assertion, Chris closed his eyes with a deep sigh as he finally drifted off.
Gazing thoughtfully at the sleeping man, Nathan leant back in his chair, briefly closing his eyes. It had been an extremely fraught and busy evening for the healer, starting when Mary had stumbled into the riotous saloon to blurt out her harrowing message. When Nathan had reached the rear of the hotel, cold fear had gripped him as he had examined his two unconscious friends. Chris' bullet wound had bled profusely and, initially, the healer had thought that both men had been shot. However, that assumption had soon been dismissed as he and Ezra had lifted the gunslinger away from Vin's inert form. It had then fallen to Ezra to try and staunch the gunslinger's wound, as Nathan had given his full attention to the stricken tracker.
Vin had been barely breathing when the healer had got to him, hampered by the tightly bound gag and further aggravated by his broken ribs sustained in the fall. It wasn't until Nathan had listened with his stethoscope for several anxious moments that he'd detected a faint heartbeat.
On checking the unconscious tracker more thoroughly once back in the clinic, it was clear that the other was badly injured. Although the healer had set his broken shoulder and bound his ribs, there was little he could do for the countless bruises that covered the man's rake thin body. It was nothing short of a miracle that he'd not received any further injury to his head or neck but, what had concerned Nathan more, was Vin's almost tenuous hold on life. The healer had tried to hide his mounting worry from the wounded Chris Larabee, knowing that the gunslinger would refuse to rest if he suspected that the Texan's life was hanging in the balance.
Leaning forward again, Nathan gently wiped Chris' sweaty face, but he fervently prayed that he hadn't just given false hope to the older man. Glancing across to the soundly sleeping Mary Travis, Nathan rose and crossed to the screened off corner.
The area was dimly lit, and the bandage swathed form of Vin Tanner had not moved since the healer had looked in on him an hour ago. Rubbing his face wearily, Nathan sat at the bedside, briefly laying a cool hand on the other man's forehead, relieved to find that there was no sign of any fever. The healer carried on with his checks, sighing heavily as he found no improvement in the tracker's general condition. Finishing his examination, Nathan picked up his rocking chair and carried it out to the side of Chris' bed.
The healer could see that out of the two injured men, it would be the gunslinger who would require the most intensive nursing during the night, particularly if the older man's temperature didn't decrease in the next few hours. For the moment though, Chris slept quite peacefully so, making himself as comfortable as possible in his chair, Nathan prepared to get some rest himself.
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