Disclaimer: All the characters from the "Magnificent Seven" T.V. series are property of Trilogy Entertainment, The Mirisch Group, MGM Worldwide.
The stage was moving slowly across the rugged and muddy track that passed for the main line of travel in this part of the territory. The coach, an old Concord, weathered from the harsh winds that blew in from the Navajo Desert further to the west, swayed clumsily as it continued forward, its wheels jumping and leaving the ground whenever a particularly large stone or dip appeared in the makeshift road. Its inhabitants within were trying to be patient with the unruly form of transportation, accustomed to much smoother and expedient ways of travel other than being trapped inside this old coach, broiling under the summer heat.
The woman at the window, tried not to look as if this whole affair was annoying her but she could not help the wince that crossed her lips every time they hit a bump and jostled the hat perched on her head a little off centre. Being a lady of good breeding, she adjusted it once more and tried to continue her poised visage because it was in her best interest to do so. Her companions did not speak but their eyes watched the surrounding area carefully. The land surrounding the track was wet with yesterday's rain but the effect of the season was not lost upon it.
The grass that covered much of the plain had turned brown from the heat and though trees were sparse in this terrain, what shade they offered was minor because the leaves had died off and were presently gathered in piles around the its trunk. The land here was not quite flat but what hills there were, were slight and did not offer an approaching rider much latitude for concealment. As the stage moved through this section of this journey, there was nothing to worry about. It had left Eagle Bend some hours ago and was still some hours away from Four Corners for they had yet to breach the buffer of desert that surrounded the small town.
The four passengers inside the coach were an eclectic group of individuals. The woman, set apart for the obvious, did not seem the kind to be found in such unrefined surroundings. Her emerald eyes looked apprehensive as she gazed outside the window of the sunburnt country through which they were travelling. After a moment, she turned her attention inwards, allowing herself a brief glimpse of her companions in the carriage with her before deciding to peer out the window once more.
The man who sat across her seemed like one of those gentlemen that could be spied walking along tree lined boulevards in New Orleans or perhaps even Charleston. He was dressed like one who was not accustomed to a hard days work and more at home with luxury in his burgundy-coloured coat and finely tailored clothes. He sat nonchalantly against the worn leather seats that made up most of the coach's interior, playing card tricks in his deft, unworked hands. Occasionally, he would steal a glance at the lovely young woman across him and though his eyes might suggest familiarity, their manner towards each other was very much one of indifference.
The passenger in the corner who hid behind his dark hat and seemed for all intensive purpose oblivious to the happenings within the carriage was fast a sleep, his mouth agape slightly in a lazy snore that no one was paying much attention to. With all the rattling taking place in the rickety old Concord, it was something of an achievement that he had managed to fall asleep at all but then no one was about to comment on it either. He rested comfortably, the Mexican poncho he was wearing acting as a blanket even though the heat beneath it must have been insufferable for those who happened to glance in his direction.
The forth occupant who was a preacher by all accounts, kept his gaze in the book before him. It was old and weathered like the man itself, with lines in the leather binding that corresponded equally to the lines in the man's face. He was older than most of his companions but was by no means frail for his bulk were considerable. He did not look up as he continued to thumb through the yellowed pages of the book in his large hands and gave those watching the image of a bear sleeping.
The last passenger was well dressed but the clothes did not match the man for his nails were filled with dirt and his dark hair was cropped short but unevenly. His face had an edge of sharpness to it as he watched the others with unmasked interest, in particular the young woman whose beauty made her a more interesting prospect for observation. She did not meet his eyes mostly because it was not proper for her lady of good standing to be making eye contact with a male who had not been introduced to her.
The southern fancy man looked out the window and saw their journey had taken them beyond the reach of the spring growth wilting by the summer into dry, lifeless terrain of large boulders, broken remnants of mountains that had been worn away by erosion during the ages. They littered the landscape like soldiers standing guard, flanking the track that meandered through it once the living was left behind him. The sun stood high in the afternoon sky, creating waves of heat that simmered the baking rock and caused rattlesnakes and scorpions in the vicinity to go for cover in cracks and similarly shaded places.
Unlike their previous environment where concealment was difficult, in this world there was nothing but hiding places. Whether it be underground caves, created by water seepage or to any place where two boulders had fallen together and obstructed clear line of sight, it was undeniable in every aspects as the travelers continued deeper through the meander path that lay between the rocks. Eventually, they would escape this rocky landscape into open desert, dry and unyielding, the edge of which lay Four Corners itself.
Perhaps it was the sharp edge of the terrain and all the promises of death it could deliver upon a novice travelling through this country that created the line of the tension that linked the travelers together in an atmosphere of unease, all except the one who was asleep. Not even this rather bumpier than usual segment of the journey could wake him. The one with the cropped hair had taken to biting his lip and scowled a little when he noted the southerner watching him closely. For an instant, he had almost notice a slight spark of understanding in the other man that served only to anger him but for the moment, he remained silent.
The woman kept craning her neck past the window, trying to see something outside beyond the line of rocks that flanked the track they were currently travelling. When she could see nothing, she pulled back into the carriage, allowing a little snort of annoyance to escape her lips as she eased back into her seat, unhappy that her view had suddenly evaporated from sight. She did not look at anyone else and instead began twirling with a loose lock of auburn hair in her gloved fingers. He thought it looked like fire in her hands.
Suddenly, the rhythmic pounding of horse hooves against the gravel surface began to change. The steady pounding had become erratic and uneven, almost as if the horses were no longer running in tandem and were out of step with each other. It took the travelers a little longer to realise that it was not the horses at fault for their rhythm was as constant as the northern star, as fanciful bard had once described the trait. It was another set of horses, following their own rhythm separate from the ones who were presently taking the carriage to their destination.
The woman poked her head through the window once again, inspired by the new set of hoof beats to investigate. She retreated a moment later and exclaimed with fear in her eyes.
"There are men following us." She announced.
The southern followed suit and regarded the rest of the travelers. "The lady appears to be correct. We do appear to be pursued by a number of riders."
"Could be trouble," the preacher answered. His voice was a low rumble, like the subtle movements of the earth telling you that it was a living thing.
"I think we ought to stay put." The man with the cropped hair retorted, meeting all their gazes except the one who was asleep. "No telling that they mean us any harm."
"Perhaps you are right Sir," the southerner remarked.
However, the nature of their situation was soon clearly established when the stagecoach driver, who refused to slow down despite the unexpected arrival of the other riders, urged the horses as his disposal to continue at their relentless pace and engendered an angry response. There was no mistaking the intentions of those in pursuits when the bullets overtook the coach with chemical propellants behind them. The woman let out a soft cry and fell back into her seat heavily when she felt the sharp whisk of air that rushed past her when the bullet fired found no target to stop it and continued onwards until it exhausted itself.
Others however, did find connection with something of substance and there was no clairvoyance required distinguishing the sound of shells impacting on the wooden surface of the old Concord. The passenger in the corner began to stir at the sound that was roaring through the air, not to mention the fearful squeals of the woman with each eruption of fresh sound, indicating the rising pitch of their predicament. The southerner made some effort to calm her but like all women in such circumstances, she would not be stilled until the danger had passed.
"The driver can't outrun them." The preacher suddenly said. "Those men are going to catch up to us."
"I for one," the southerner smiled, flashing a gold tooth in the process, "will not sit here and be slaughtered."
The man with the cropped hair paid especially close attention. Unfortunately, he was not the only one.
"What do you propose?" The preacher inquired, his voice had dropped an octave as if discussing something more than just allowing themselves to being robbed.
"Well, it is safe to assume that when our illustrious guide through this journey will eventually be overcome by those who would stop us from reaching our destination. I propose, we defend ourselves." The southerner with teh slick voice extended his hand and suddenly, a derringer appeared out of his sleeve and fitted easily into his palm. The weapon had but two bullets in its chamber but at close range, they were as effective as any gun aimed at a man.
"There's only two bullets in that chamber," the woman exclaimed. "There's at least four of them out there."
"There's more of us, then there is of them." The preacher countered. "There's four men in here, the stagecoach driver and his second. With the edge that little gun is gonna give us, I don't see any reason why we can't take them."
The lady still looked apprehensive but her nerves were further buffered by the southerner's confidence once again. "Trust me my dear lady, this will go smoothly."
"I am not certain I share your confidence," she said meeting his gaze directly and revealed by the glint in her emerald coloured eyes that she was no fool.
"Neither do I." The man with the cropped hair answered. "Even with that little pea shooter there," he gestured with some measure of open derision at the weapon being sported by the southerner. "Those men have guns with more than two bullets. Any of you carrying a six shooter?" He asked staring at all of them.
The woman shook her head immediately, as if terrified by the suggestion but managed to speak with a typical dignity. "I am a lady Sir, I have no reason to carry firearms of any description."
"What about you preacher?" He turned his eye on the preacher and demanded with as much derision. "You carrying?"
"No," the man of the cloth answered with a slight nod as if he were reluctant to answer the question. "I ain't carrying."
"Well we all know you just got that little thing," he moved back to the southerner, satisfied that the preacher could not hinder his argument. "And what him?" He punctuated his question by nudging the sleeping member of their group.
The passenger in the dark hat moved enough to indicate he was listening and cast a gaze at the man who jostled him out of his sleep. "What do you want?"
"Ain't you heard the ruckus outside?" He demanded.
"No." The sleeper began to sit up in the seat. "What ruckus?"
The question seemed rather absurd considering that they were being jostled to death inside the confines of the carriage as it struggled to evade capture by the hijackers in pursuit. Not to mention the sound of gunfire erupting all around their ears as they attempted to shoot down the driver who was hell bent on keeping one step ahead, even though everyone including himself knew that it was impossible. The man with the cropped hair could not fathom the question and looked at the passenger in the poncho with nothing less than amusement.
"Mister, you must be deafer than a post! Can't you see that we're about to be held up?" He exclaimed loudly.
The man with the piercing blue green eyes blinked once and then answered smoothly. "Ain't no reason to wake a man."
"We had good reason," the woman spoke up. "This gentlemen was inquiring whether or not you possessed any sort of firearm?"
"No, I ain't carrying." His voice was just quiet enough to indicate that he was rather regretful of this point.
The instigator of this entire discussion turned back to the southerner, triumphant that he had proved his point that armed resistance was a futile and ultimately dangerous course of action. "We best stay put and not give them any trouble," he reiterated. "I want to walk away from this with my life."
No one could argue with that statement, least of all the southerner who after a moment's consideration, chose the wisest course of action, that is to sheathe the weapon back in its hiding place within the sleeve of his shirt. The man with the cropped hair watched him closely, waiting until he had nestled back into his seat although the tension had not eased. The driver of the stagecoach was still forcing the carriage onwards over the rocky and meandering terrain, causing its occupants to sway left and right with every dangerous curve. Fear began to fill the tiny cabin as thickly as the tension before it.
The driver was making a valiant effort to stay ahead and his second was trying to keep the hijackers away by firing at them himself. However, his was one gun to four and the odds counted on his being unable to maintain his defense for very long. The faces of those within began to renew with the desire to protect themselves once the stage was inevitably halted and the advocate for non-action began to realise that the subject was once again rearing its ugly head.
"I guess it's a shame that none of you folks aren't armed." The man spoke after a moment and noticed that all eyes were on him. He wondered why and guessed that it was because he had established himself as their spokesperson and they looked to him for guidance. It was a satisfying feeling.
"I reckon." The passenger with the icy coloured eyes remarked in agreement. There was almost a hint of passion as the man waited for him to speak. He did not understand it but continued nonetheless anyway.
It was time to make the play.
"It's a shame." He sighed as his hand slipped surreptitiously into the folds of this coat and without much surprise to anyone in retrospect, pulled out a gun. "Cause I am."
"Really?" The southerner looked at him with almost a hint of smugness on his face. "And pray tell, what do you intend to do with that?" He stared at the barrel of the formidable Smith Wesson with something of a challenge.
"I intend to see to it that none of you do anything stupid." The man returned smoothly with just as much triumph as the southerner had displayed to him a moment ago. "Now we are going to sit quietly and let things run it course. We all know that once those bullets run out, those hijackers are gonna be caught up with this stage."
"I take it they're friends of yours?" The preacher asked with a little sneer.
"Associates more like." He retorted. "We don't get too friendly doing what we do."
"I see," the woman answered. "So what is your role here? You just happened to take the same coach that is about to be robbed?" Her eyes blazed with anger and betrayal. He supposed they all felt that way.
"I'm afraid its nothing that serendipitous, my dear." The southerner answered before the traitor amongst them could. He gave the man nothing less than a glare of disgust but still managed to remain his charming best for the lady. "I believe our travelling companion here is part of the group that is undertaking this criminal activity of hijacking our mode of transport. He buys passage for the purpose of ensuring that his cohorts do not have the added complication of having passengers that may be armed and in a position to offer resistance when the crime is being undertaken. As a matter of fact, he sits and watches, even instigating as he did earlier to see which of us was armed and which of us was not to ensure the success of the venture." Turning to the covert agent among them, the southerner asked coolly. "Is that about correct Sir?"
"Couldn't have said it better myself." He smiled briefly before his face darkened into a menacing scowl before he barked sharply. "Now hand over the gun or I'll put a bullet into ya." He ordered.
"No need to become hostile," the man in the burgundy coat remarked before he reached into his sleeve and began its extraction from his person. "I am aware of the consequences well enough."
"You know," the preacher started to speak and he did it so rarely that the man who was holding a gun did not move to stop him. "This reminds me of a story I once heard."
"Story huh?" The other laughed despite the chaos taking place outside the shuddering carriage. "I like stories preacher man, tell me."
The preacher rubbed his chin and smiled ever so lightly and it felt like a wisp in the air that motioned the change in the wind. "Well its seems there were these bunch of towns in Missouri, then Minnesota and Arkansas that kept having this strange bunch of robberies. No one knew that they were not unique in their troubles, that they were being plagued by the same stage coach robberies across three different states. The passengers were killed and so there were no witnesses but some of the victims had been men who could protect themselves quite well but they didn't draw their guns even when they had them. The stagecoach was all shot to hell but there were no signs of return fire. No one could understand it and so nobody could solve the thing."
"Now we come to the Territory and the crimes start up all over again. People around here have had stage killings before but the pattern was recognised by someone who use to do some travelling up Arkansas way, seems he was something of a tracker for the law up there. People put their heads together and try to think of how a US marshal on his way to Lightning Ridge to stand at his daughter's wedding could be gotten the drop on like that and then like a bolt of lighting, it came to them. A plant."
The hold on the gun swayed a little as understanding began to shine upon its owner.
"It was easy really," the preacher continued, not looking at the man with the cropped hair as he continued to speak. "The law of the only town that had to be on the list next got together with the ones that had been and put their heads together to find a common link." Only then did the preacher raise his eyes and stared directly at him. "That link is you."
"Really?" The man started to pull the trigger on the hammer of his gun when suddenly; he heard another gun cock before he managed the feat on his own. The sound was not loud but despite the noises outside, he heard it and froze.
"Really." Chris Larabee said icily as he kept the barrel of his pearl handled peacemaker less than an inch away from the man's kidneys.
Josiah Sanchez leaned forward and pulled the gun gently out of the man's hands, taking advantage of the astonishment to retrieve the weapon. "I take it you did not enjoy my story."
"Oh I think he will have plenty of time to reflect upon this." Ezra Standish grinned as he retrieved his derringer and replaced it in its proper place once more. Glancing at Julia Pemberton, Ezra grinned. "My dear, you were masterful. This could not have worked without you."
"It still hasn't." Chris reminded them sharply; feeling that all this congratulations was just a little bit premature. The gunslinger lifted his leg up from the floorboards and kicked the seat in front of him sharply twice, sending a loud thud moving through the wood and giving the others the signal to begin.
"Let's finish this."
JD Dunne heard the signal they had been waiting for from behind the cover of luggage stacked high upon the top of the carriage in order that was placed there to protect him from incidental fire. He had ridden shotgun next to Vin who was doing an admirable job of staying ahead of the enemy at least until the hidden member of the gang made himself known to the others. Chris had wanted the entire gang rounded up after their murder spree the past few weeks. Although they had worked intermittently throughout the local region, the gang was not indiscriminate about who they killed. As was proved when the gunned down Marshall Jamieson who had been travelling with his wife to Eagle Bend for their daughter's wedding when the stage was held up.
Jamieson was a good man, JD thought to himself. He had been more than fair when he had come to Four Corners to take Vin Tanner to Tascosa to make him face the charge of murder. Jamieson had promised the rest of the seven that Vin would survive to have his day in court and he had delivered on that promise. He had also played a part in securing Vin's freedom when he aided Alexandra Styles in forcing the real killer of Jesse Kincaid to surface. His death had hit the seven hard as it did when a good man was killed so needlessly. The murder of himself, his wife and the other two passengers had sparked an outcry and the public demand that something be done was great.
If it were not for Vin having done some tracking for the lawmen in Arkansas prior to his bounty hunting days, they would not have guessed that these robbers were anything but new to their craft. Killing like this indicated inexperience. Men who were so insecure about their safety, not to mention their inability to keep themselves masked behaved in this way and in so doing, had earned an infamy that remained in the tracker's memory until the present day. When Vin had seen the killings, he recognised immediately the pattern he had seen in Arkansas and immediately brought it to the attention of the seven.
Not content to simply follow the stage until the gang made another try, Chris assigned Mary the task of gathering information in the other states, using the resources at her disposal not to mention the considerable contacts she had made since becoming a newspaper woman. It was soon obvious that the one thing that all the robberies had in common was the missing passenger list from the driver and
Chris guessed that if this was so, then there must have been a reason for it. Chris' intellect soon led him to the conclusion that the only way Jamieson would have been captured unawares in order to be shot down in cold blood was to have been gotten the drop open well before the hijackers ever reached the stage. Thus, this entire ruse had been orchestrated in order to draw out the man who might escape unpunished if they went about things in the usual way.
With Julia Pemberton's help, mostly in order to cast the illusion the travelers on the passengers were indeed passengers and not lawmen hiding just as covertly as the man they were attempting to catch was doing, they had set out from Eagle Bend to Four Corners. At this time, Nathan and Buck were keeping out of sight, allowing the prey to make their way confidently towards the trap that had been set.
JD knew that Chris had selected to him to ride shotgun with Vin because of his age. If it had been anyone else but Chris, it would have irked him but JD had become enough of a man since arriving in Four Corners to know that Chris had not selected him because he was any more capable of incapable of protecting himself. He knew that his selection was based on his youth giving the illusion to those attempting to hijack the stage that he was just a kid over his head and would thus not suspect that he was a member of the Magnificent Seven that protected the town of Four Corners. For its part, the tactic had worked brilliantly, for not even the outlaw inside the carriage had suspected any differently until now.
"The signal!" JD alerted Vin who was at the reins. The tracker had been too busy navigating the team of horses pulling the carriage through the dangerous terrain ahead to listen for Chris' signal. JD, who had the opportunity to play stagecoach driver at differing points of his young life, was more than capable of taking over him.
As bullets whizzed over his head and past him, JD kept low as he proceeded to emerge from the safety of the luggage he had positioned himself behind to keep from being hit, to the front of the stage where Vin presently was. The uneven terrain beneath the old Concord kept JD's stomach in a state of butterfly flux each time they hit a bump or a ran into a dip for the movements of the vehicle was sharp enough to throw a man if he was not careful. As he crawled forward, he saw Chris and Josiah peer out of the windows with their own weapons now that they had their men and began firing at those attempting to ambush the coach.
JD was not foolish enough to pause and look, remembering success depended on his reaching Vin and their making the changeover. As a sniper, there was none better than the tracker and while he had carried out his part of the plan by keeping the enemy at bay until Chris' ruse reached full flower, JD now had to allow Vin to fulfil his part in it by taking the reins. It was difficult to see what was ahead when he was required to crouch low and so he did not see the rather sizeable ditch that the carriage was tumbling toward in order to prepare for it.
"JD!" Vin was suddenly shouting over the sound of pounding hoofbeats against the gravel floor and through the roar of gunfire and the air that was rushing past them. "Hang on!"
The warning came to late and the carriage dipped precariously in the sharp incline, JD lost his footing and suddenly there was air beneath him as he proceeded to fall off the stage. There was a moment of clarity as he tumbled over the edge when he sighted the railing that seemed to gleam in his consciousness. Ignoring everything else but that length of metal, the youth extended his arm and clenched his fist around the smooth surface. Fingers clung on for dear life and while the rest of his body continued its descent for a few seconds more.
When he came to a stop, his arm was almost yanked out of its socket by the sudden halt. Josiah was almost out of the carriage, reaching for him to help but the big man did not have the means to reach him. All the preacher could do was continue firing at the enemy who no doubt saw JD's disadvantage and attempted to rid themselves of him.
"JD, hang on!" He heard Josiah shouting.
JD did not remark that he was not about to do anything else as he saw the ground drag beneath his feet so swiftly that he was certain that falling the rest of the way would be a bad mistake. Instead, he forced himself to reach for the railing with his other hand. The weight of air, velocity and gravity pulled at him but JD fought it and found his hand joining its mate as he grabbed onto the railing with every ounce of strength he could muster. Once he was certain that he is grip was firm, which was no easy thing considering the shudder the Concord made as it rumbled forward, he pushed the soles of his feet against the side of the coach and began an uneasy walk that pushed him upwards.
Meanwhile, Chris and Josiah were continuing to fire into the men who did not show any signs of giving up the chase despite the complications that had arisen. Buck and Nathan would soon be giving them something else to worry about when they joined the battle. JD kept his mind focussed on reaching the top of the carriage because all other thoughts would just end him in a world of trouble. A bullet shattered wood next to his extended arm and he resisted the urge to pull back, continuing his laborious ascent despite the splinter that nicked his cheek. The trickle of blood that had oozed from the broken skin left a red streak on his face as the wind swept it away.
Finally, JD was able to pull his arm over the railing and by the same token, the rest of him as well. He landed on the top of the carriage, not far from when he had began and continued the same journey once more, hoping this time, it would be free of incident, at least until he changed places with Vin.
Buck Wilmington had made his arrival into the battle just in time to see JD dangling perilously over the side of the Concord as it navigated some treacherous terrain. With high walls of rocks flanking the stage on either side and nothing but shale and gravel on the ground, a fall at that speed could have the youth sustaining near fatal injuries, if he did not get shot first. The one time lawman saw his young charge in his present circumstances and felt his heart leap into his throat from fear. Digging his heels into the sides of his horse, Beavis, Buck found himself closing the gap between himself and the hijackers and wondered if it was them he was really trying to reach and not JD.
Although he had been told on numerous occasions by just about everybody, that JD was a man in his own right now, a far cry from the brash young man that had stepped off the stage the day the seven had come together, Buck could not accept it. A part of him knew he never would. Perhaps they had kept JD around because all of them had seen something in the boy that heralded back to the day when the world was a fresh and exciting place and trouble was met with a sense of adventure not foreboding and jaded cynicism. For Buck it was more than that, even though he now had a wife and child of his own. If there was any single one person that could have contributed to the possibility that he could be a father, it was JD.
It was no exaggeration that Buck sometimes considered JD the child that could have been his if he had gotten started on raising a family early in life. The boy had spent his entire life dreaming of places to escape to become something more than he was, with only the love of his mother to guide his life. The relationship that had been struck between himself and Buck was evidence enough of the need they had filled in each other, a father figure for JD and for Buck, someone to care about whom was not carrying world of hurt inside him, he could not heal.
"JD's in trouble!" Buck exclaimed as he saw JD struggling to climb back on the carriage.
"We got to get those men off his back!" Nathan glanced briefly at the young man before turning his attention to the riders he had to stop. The healer unsheathed his gun and gave Buck all the prompting he needed to do the same thing. He fired one shot into the air to give those ahead an idea of the trouble that was coming at them for it was not right to shoot a man in the back without giving him some idea that they were there.
They turned around at the sound and immediately opened fire, being bombarded by shooters from in front and behind. Buck ducked as he felt something rushing towards him and knew that it could kill him if it did not. He kept his head low, making it harder for the enemy to distinguish between him and his mount. Buck made his shots count, aiming carefully as he fired because he was in the position of advantage and one of them tumbling from their horses into the dirt when his bullet met its mark.
There were still three ahead but Buck felt a slight measure of relief when he saw the kid climbing back to the top of his own accord, requiring assistance from no one as he did so. The remaining three ahead were being kept away from the coach by the wall of bullets being sent in their direction from Chris and Josiah who were half hanging out of the windows to ensure that JD did not get hit by enemy fire. He saw JD climb back to relative safety as much as could be had in a situation like this before the young man started to make the exchange with Vin. Once that was done, this fight would reach its climax.
The fire of flesh breaking suddenly tore through his arm when he realised that he had been hit. It came so suddenly that Buck did not have time to prepare for the pain that sliced through his biceps and kept going. His injured hand instinctively released his veins and for a moment, Buck was so overcome, he had nearly fallen off his horse until he heard Nathan's frantic cry in his ears, jarring him back to his senses.
"Buck!"
Buck's eyes flew open and he regained his grasp of the reins even though his arms stung painfully. Through the blur of stinging pain, he saw JD and Vin changing seats and was glad that the kid had made it there without incident, even if he had not. He managed to stay on and glanced at the limb that had taken the hit and noticed the blood oozing out of the newly made bullet hold.
"I'm okay," Buck replied with a wince. "Looks worse than it really is." He assured the healer.
Nathan did not at all look ready to accept him on just his word but the moment did not allow for a more detailed examination. "That'll teach you to keep your eye on JD instead of watching your own behind." Nathan remarked, his smile belying the worry Buck could see on his face.
"I'll be fine," Buck retorted digging his heels into Beavis to urge the horse to close the distance between themselves and the outlaws, eager to finish this once and for all. His arm throbbed but Buck ignored it, genuine when he claimed that it looked worse than it was. In his time, he had received far worse injuries. He kept his injured hand on the reins while his other hand squeezed off another round from his gun. The bullet did not hit his target but forced the riders ahead to pay caution to their presence by looking over their shoulder.
Buck wondered if they knew that the seven were slowly converging upon them and that very soon, they would be the ones being ambushed, not the stagecoach.
"You okay?" Vin managed that short inquiry when JD finally reached him.
"Yeah," JD nodded, swallowing thickly as the image of the ground sweeping beneath his feet while he had been hanging off the side of the stage flashed before his eyes. Considering that they were still on the stagecoach, he brushed the thought away and considered himself grateful that he had been spared tragedy for the moment. "Scared the hell out of me but I'm okay."
"Wouldn't be dangerous otherwise." The tracker grinned as JD slipped into the seat he had occupied only a short time ago. "You right to take the reins?" He asked once again as he slipped behind JD and produced the Winchester that had been shuddering inside it holster, almost in anticipation at being used.
"I got it," JD said confidently as he took the straps of leather in his hand and kept his eyes fixed on the road ahead. They were fast escaping the cover of the boulders and narrow tracks that was making their journey through this area so hazardous. As he looked ahead, he could see the land tapering out into flat plain and once they were clear of this place, the outlaws would have no chance of reaching them to hijack the stage. However, JD also knew that this was also the most dangerous part of this whole episode, when the men chasing them realised that they were the ones in the trap and with the seven surrounding them, there would soon be no escape.
JD did not have to look over his shoulder to see what was happening. He could just picture it in his head. Although Vin Tanner was only a few years older than him, life had seen to it that the youth and the tracker was so diametrically different it was hard to imagine that they could have something like that in common. Even now, he could tell that Vin was settling into place behind the mound of luggage, savoring the feel of the Winchester in his hands as he prepared to load it, familiar with every inch of polished wood under his fingertips. JD could hear the subtle sound of metal against metal as the bullet slid into the chamber of the sawn off rifle.
Vin Tanner had the ability to focus like no one else, not even the other members of the Magnificent Seven. When he raised the sight to his eye and prepared to take his shot, the world seemed to contract into the crosshairs before him. With a soft inhale, for hunting buffalo had taught him to breathe shallow in order to maintain his hiding place, he would squeeze the trigger gently even though hell was breaking loose around him. The sound exploded out of his gun and he did not flinch or react to whether or not he had wounded his target. There was plenty of time for that later. The immediate moment was designated for the next shot.
The man staggered off his horse as the bullet caught him in the throat. Releasing the reins immediately, his hands flew to his neck, slick with blood. It ran rivers of red down his chest and forced the horse he was riding on to pull up in fear at the scent of blood. The others with him who had been debating the notion of whether or not to abandon this particular robbery and leave while they still could watch their comrades impending demise with shock. They looked anxiously forward and saw their companion's killer preparing to take another shot.
One of them opened their mouth to speak but a bullet, not from a Winchester, caught him in the arm and his gun left his fingers just as abruptly, tumbling into the dirt and out of reach before he could even open his mouth to cry out. He looked ahead and knew the shooter had been the man with the dark hat staring at him and preparing to shoot again. Panicking, he started to pull away from his companion, preparing to run but there was nowhere to go. He was unarmed and the flanking walls of stone on either side ensured that he could not disappear and leave his friends to the wrath of those who were determined to end their rein of terror.
Another powerful explosion of sound was heard and this time there was no more reason for debate because the force of the bullet that tore his chest apart halted his rumination immediately. Blood sprayed from a ruined chest and he slid off his horse and fell to the ground landing so hard that a small cloud of dust celebrated the impact in a burst of flight. The last man saw his friend die and realised at that moment that he was alone and that the bullets that flew out of the guns in front and behind him would not be meant for anyone but him because there was no one else around. The revelation was a profound one and before the man could think to do anything else, he immediately dropped the weapon in his grip and quickly held his hands above his head so that everyone could see.
"Stop!" He shouted, determined to be heard over the sound of hoofbeats and the dwindling sound of gunfire that was converging upon him.
"Vin!" Chris Larabee shouted as he saw the man throw down and offer a gesture of surrender. Chris guessed that a surrender was in the cards after the man had seen three of his companions' die right before his eyes. "Hold your fire!"
The tracker nestled comfortably where he was above the carriage was doing just that but the gun was still aimed at the centre of the man's forehead and though Vin's finger remained poised over the trigger of his Winchester, he made not attempt to fire. Vin who was not foolish enough to let his guard down no matter how compliant an enemy might be, kept his cobalt colored eyes fixed on the crosshairs of the weapon.
No reason to take chances in case he changed his mind.
The coach rolled into Four Corners shortly after the last outlaw had thrown down his gun. As expected, once he was alone, the courage that had allowed him to slaughter so many innocents in the past deserted him and did not resurface even when he was reunited with the silent member of their gang. When the stage was sighted, with horses trailing behind it, in particular those that belonged to the lawmen of Four Corners, the townsfolk naturally reared their head in interest. The community had been aware that Chris Larabee had set his mind to getting the men responsible for the deaths outside town and had enough faith in the brooding gunslinger by now to be certain that when Chris decided to end it, it usually go that way.
Fast.
Some emerged from inside their shops to watch the procession of riders as the stage broke town limits and began its entrance into the community of Four Corners. Other spectators peered through open windows and watched as the stage rumbled through town towards the jailhouse instead of the hotel as was customary. No one was surprised to see Mary Larabee slip out of her office at the Clarion News to take a moment to welcome her husband back to town with her presence on the boardwalk.
The same went for Casey Wells who stopped sweeping the front walk of Gloria Potter's front walk to give JD a little wave as he rode past on the coach. Even though the mood was not to be made light of, the young man smiled at her and tipped his hat at his fiancée and she beamed delightfully back at him. Doctor Alexandra Styles Tanner who was on her way back to her clinic, worn leather bad in her hand, paused long enough to ensure that her husband was well and rewarded his return with a smile. It was laced with promise for a more affectionate welcome when they were in the privacy of their home.
Inez Rosillos Wilmington stepped past the batwing doors of the Standish Tavern and frowned when she saw Buck clutching his arm and Nathan wrapping something around it as they continued through the street. He seemed well enough but injury on the love of her life would make any woman anxious. However, she curbed her desire to rush out and see if he was all right, since he evidently was and would be embarrassed by the display anyway.
The stage came to a halt in front of the jailhouse and Ezra stepped out first, helping Julia Pemberton out of the old Concord. The southerner was certain that his lady was done with excitement for the day even though he was inordinately proud that she had helped them in such a dangerous assignment. However, Julia was an actress, almost as good as he and Ezra had known when the plan had been conceived that if anyone could convince their quarry that they were passengers on a train and now lawmen, it was his Julia.
"You were amazing my love." He commented as he planted a small kiss on her gloved hand.
"Thank you Ezra," she beamed radiantly, glad to be home but unable to deny that the excitement was not entirely unappreciated. A good dose of danger made one appreciate the quieter moments in life, she decided. "I'm glad I was able to help."
"We couldn't have done it without your help." Chris offered as he emerged after her and Julia found herself blushing because praise did not come often from someone like Chris Larabee and was to be savored when received.
Suddenly, a new face hurried to the front of the onlookers who had come to watch the arrest of the remaining members of the gang that would soon shortly be remanded to the confines of their local jail. Diana Belladonna looked impeccable as always but her arrival brought and immediate frown to Julia Pemberton's face and every member of the seven, save Ezra of course started to snigger under their breath at the scene to follow.
"Ezra," Diana said breathlessly. "You are alright."
Ezra cleared his throat, feeling uncomfortable at speaking to Diana when Julia was so close and wondered why he should feel this way. He gave his friends a dark look, aware of what salacious thoughts were running through their filthy little minds and prayed that Julia did not think the same thing as well. "I survived our little melee with my skin intact. That is always a bonus."
"I was so worried." Diana continued, unaware that with each word spoken she was further condemning Ezra in the eyes of his fiancée' and friends. "I heard about those awful men and what they did and I hated the idea of you being in peril."
"Don't worry," Julia spoke up before Ezra could. "I kept an eye on him and usually when he's surrounded by six others, the chances of him being in any real peril as you put it, is remote." Julia's eyes narrowed and took on a decidedly feline calculation.
JD watched the entire exchange with amusement and exchanged a knowing glance with Vin Tanner, when they saw the gambler starting to break into a sweat. Ezra could not have found himself in a more explosive situation if he drank a gallon of glycerin and went tap dancing in a mind field. Fortunately, Chris Larabee had decided to take pity on the southerner and intervened on his behalf before Ezra found himself caught in the untenable position between Diana Belladonna who had undoubtedly set her cap for him and Julia Pemberton who already possessed title deeds to his person.
"Ezra," Chris spoke up in the usual authoritative tone, which meant that it was time for the crowd to disperse because they had work to do. "You want to talk Julia home and get yourself back here? I want you and JD to take first watch on the prisoners. There's a lot of angry folks who've lost loved ones thanks to those cowards," he glanced at the prisoners still on horseback and guarded closely by Josiah and Nathan. "If they find out we got these boys in custody, they might get it into their heads to spare a judge the trouble of a trial and go for a lynching."
"I will do so immediately," Ezra remarked and gave the gunslinger a look of gratitude at allowing him a graceful exit from his present situation. "Miss Belladonna," he said politely and tipped his hat in her direction before he ushered Julia away.
"You know something," Vin said with a slow drawl as he watched Ezra flee.
"What?" JD chuckled, wondering how it was that Ezra was always getting into trouble by becoming the man between two women.
"I don't think I ever seen him this scared."
Neil Blackwood had watched the procession enter town but his interest was for an entirely different reason. He had arrived that morning from Sweet Water, having foregone the laborious trip by stage to take advantage of the railroad that ran through these parts. He could have taken the stage from Sweet Water to Four Corners but found no patience for that, choosing instead to make the journey on horseback and seen some of the country in the local area. He found the Territory an untapped resource and made a note to look into some investment properties in the area before he returned to Chicago.
He found Four Corners to be no different than any other small town he had visited in the past. Geography made only superficial changes but essentially they were no different any other scattered across the country. It was quaint he supposed but he was accustomed to the city and though he knew he was capable of surviving anywhere, he preferred the urban world instead of the rural existence celebrated so prolifically in this community. His origins had been in a place not unlike Four Corners and considering the reason for his being here, Blackwood wondered if fate did not have something to do with the setting.
Upon arriving in Four Corners, Blackwood had been disappointed to learn that the reason for his visit was presently out of town even though the detective who had led him here claimed that the town was the boy's permanent address. Apparently, the young man was something of a lawman in these parts and upon learning that, Blackwood was certain that God was having a great deal of amusement at his expense. Unofficially, he was the sheriff of Four Corners but the information Blackwood had received indicated that the title belonged more appropriately to a gunslinger named Chris Larabee who was the undisputed leader of the seven men that guarded the town.
Blackwood did not understand the circumstances that had allowed the boy the right to wear the tin star on his chest but he took the role seriously and was known to walk through town, patrolling the town limits like any good constable. He man had come here almost three years ago and if the judgement of the detective who had found him was to be any indicator of the facts, it was shortly after his mother's death. Blackwood could not imagine why he would pick this place but assumed it had something to do with childish dreams of the West that children seemed to have, in particular a fatherless boy with no one in the world but his ma.
"That must be him." His bodyguard, enforcer and business associate pointed out the young man who had walking alongside his companion in the buckskin coat. Blackwood could not deny that it was good to be able to take Zimmer into his confidence about this matter. He had told none of his people the reason for his journey to the West but Zimmer who had been with him since the earliest days when they met as street thugs rolling over drunks in the back alleys, was one of the few people he trusted his life with.
Blackwood nodded slowly as he observed JD Dunne. "Yeah," he answered after a moment, unaware that he had been holding his breath until he spoke. "He looks like her."
It was true, there was no denying it. He saw her face, her lips and the coloring of her hair but the eyes, he swallowed thickly, the eyes were all his. If there had been any doubt of their relationship, there could be none when Blackwood stared into those eyes and found himself trapped in a state of awe and fascination. He had never once looked into the mirror and saw those eyes staring back at him with such light.
There was no denying the boy was happy, it radiated from him like the sun. There was contentment and everything that Blackwood had always wanted as a youth and was denied. There had been no nurturing mother to guide him as she had guided JD Dunne. The boy grown up with love and the camaraderie Blackwood recognized in the eyes of the men around him also told the gangster that he was protected and cared.
Is that how sentiment kept a man from being one thing instead of another?
"He looks like you too." Zimmer commented as they watched from the balcony of the suite that Blackwood was occupying at the local hotel. To anyone else in the town, they looked like any one of the sightseers who were interested in seeing the outlaws being brought to town.
"I guess," Blackwood remarked, able to see traces of himself in the boy, faint, smoky impressions that fixed in the mind but could not be defined clearly. "I've looked for him so long but seeing him in the flesh, kind of takes your breath away."
Zimmer tried to be sympathetic but he could not fully appreciate his employer and friend's mind set in all this. A long lost son was nothing to be taken lightly and man as neglectful of that aspect of his life as Blackwood had been, would have an even more difficult time accepting it. It did not help that the boy was of a woman Blackwood barely remembered or that he was nothing like his father. There was an irony in the fact that a gangster and underworld figure as notorious as Blackwood could sire a boy who wanted nothing but to sheriff of this one horse town.
"Why don't you go talk to him?" Zimmer urged. "He's right down there."
"Not yet, soon though." Blackwood retorted, aware that it would take seeing the boy a few more times before he could accustomed himself to the truth that he had known only as a possibility until this moment. Until now, there had been the comforting notion that he might have made a mistake about the entire thing but now that he was here in Four Corners, now that he had seen for himself, there was no denying the truth. No matter how outrageous or difficult it may be to acknowledge.
JD Dunne was his son.