DISCLAIMER: The characters of the MAGNIFICENT SEVEN belong to MGM, Trilogy, CBS, and TNN. No profit is made from this fan fic in any way, shape, or form except fun. However, I do not want my original characters borrowed or used without my knowledge or consent. If you are unsure if a character is canon or an original, please click here on original characters for an extensive list of my characters and when they were first introduced in my fan fiction.
RATING: PG 13
SPOILERS: One Day Out West, Ghosts of the Confederacy, my own Are We There, Yet?
NOTES: Many thanks to my beta readers Judy, Lyn, Linda B, and Paula. These ladies are wonderful in giving me their time and expertise.
The blood flow was slowing down, wasn't it?
'Please, God, anyone, let it be stopping.'
Was it enough? His silent prayers asked for a miracle, no begged for one, but he was not sure if anyone was listening. He pressed the blood soaked cloth against the wound harder drawing a gasp from the unconscious man. Blood was drying on his shirtfront where his wounded friend's head had leaned against him as he had half carried half dragged the man into the first floor room of the boarding house. Taking the water and the kindling, he'd locked the strangers out. He had done everything he could from cautiously digging out the bullet to cleansing it with whiskey to stitching the ugly gash on the unconscious man's forehead. The blood from the head wound had been frightening enough, but Nathan had often said how badly head wounds bled. Maybe that was why his friend just lay there still unconscious hours after being shot. Had he stayed unconscious this long after he had a bullet graze his forehead? He couldn't remember. God, he was so tired he couldn't see straight much less think straight, but he was his friend's only hope in this God forsaken town. Maybe that was why God was turning a deaf ear to his pleas right now.
His arms and neck ached excruciatingly as he all but knelt on the bed applying pressure to the wound in the shoulder that would not stop bleeding despite his best efforts. He had been convinced that as soon as he had removed the bullet the bleeding would stop, but that hadn't happened. The floor was littered with bandages now drying with his friend's blood turning from dark red to brown. His friend was still bleeding too much and with no doctor in town and his other friend locked in a cell, he had no other choice than to do what he could. He didn't want to inflict any more pain upon the man lying pale on the bed below him, but he had no choice.
Blood soaked hands reached to pull the knife from the fire. His fingers actually shook contemplating what he was about to do. Holding the lamp in one hand, he pulled the small table closer and adjusted the light so he could see the wound itself better. Taking the white-hot blade by its hilt in one hand, he used the other to hold down his friend's shoulder. Half-sitting, half-lying across his friend's chest holding him down, he took a deep breath and pressed the burning blade into the wounded man's flesh. The heat from the blade sizzled in the blood, the stench of burning flesh permeated the air, and his unconscious friend nearly bucked him off the bed onto the floor. Thanking God his friend had remained unconscious and the cauterizing of the wound had stopped the bleeding, he placed a whiskey soaked pad over the wound and tied the bandage in place. Finally, he collapsed on the floor by the bed too exhausted to wash the blood from his hands.
He might have dozed for a few precious minutes maybe longer, he had no way of knowing. The man on the bed slept; a fever induced, concussed sleep that kept him from reacting to anything. A sound outside the locked door jerked his closed eyes open. He actually winced as he saw the dried blood on his hand that reached for the nearest weapon. What now? What else could possibly go wrong in this hellhole of a town?
"Vin? Open up! It's me, Buck!" Vin Tanner was not a man to wear his emotions his sleeve for the world to see, but he nearly wept with joy to hear that Bucklin was here to help him. But wait, how did Buck get out of jail? The sheriff had thrown him in without a backward glance when that damned saloon girl had declared that Buck had been the one to trigger the ambush that had left Chris Larabee with a bullet in his shoulder and a graze over his eye. Since Chris had sent Buck over to the saloon to get them a table and order some food and whiskey while he and Vin had turned the prisoner over to the sheriff, no one had actually seen the scoundrel with them. So, they had no idea that when Buck yelled that he had been warning his friends of the men waiting on Chris.
Vin was too busy taking care of Chris, and Buck had yelled to Vin not to worry about him. That reminded Vin he needed to have a nice long chat with Bucklin. The man had been a friend with Chris while Vin was still running around in a Comanche camp learning what it meant to be a man. Besides taking care of Chris had been his priority, and Buck had known that. But, did Buck really think that Vin would just forget his other friend because Chris needed him more? He had been scared shitless that Chris would bleed to death on him all the while worrying what had happened to Buck. Was the ladies' man all right? Could he leave Chris alone long enough to get Buck out of jail to help him with Chris? What would he have done if Chris died under his care while Buck was locked away? How would he have faced Chris's oldest friend with that on his conscience?
"C'mon Vin open the door. I got the sheriff to wire the judge, and he vouched for me. I got some medical supplies, food, and some of our gear. Open the door." Buck couldn't understand why Vin wouldn't come to the door. The owner of the boarding house, a pinched faced woman with vinegar for blood had grudgingly pointed out the room Vin had carried Chris into. All the while she did nothing but complain about her good sheets being torn into bandages, and how she would never get the blood out of the rug on the floor. One exasperated look from Buck had silenced her, but her tirade began anew as the sheriff came in carrying all their late doctor had in way of medical supplies along with several bottles of whiskey and a basket of food from the saloon. It was the least he could do.
The door opened to allow Vin to look out. Realizing Vin was protecting Chris because he was too bad off to do it himself, Buck took the basket of goods from the sheriff and motioned the sheriff and woman off to the side where Vin could see them. If Vin was that worried about Chris that he trusted no one, then Buck needed to get in there and help. He stepped back as Vin's boot kicked the door open enough for him to see everything. He had his mare's leg in his hands, and Chris's blood still all over him. Mrs. Gates screamed at the ghastly sight Vin presented, but Buck spoke quietly to his friend. The eyes looking at him were bloodshot with a slight touch of desperation to them.
"It's all right, pard. I'm here to help ya with Chris. I bet he's given you a hard time. He hates being laid up almost as much as you do." Vin stood there tense from a combination of worry and fatigue, but Buck's presence and reassuring words reached deep into his fatigued mind to ease the worry and doubt. The mare's leg dropped to his side, and he literally dragged Buck by the arm into the room. Buck who had only the worry to deal with while he had spent that last few hours in jail took charge. He pushed Vin into the chair and poured him a generous dose of whiskey while he quietly took stock of Chris. His oldest friend lay on the bed pale as the moon but breathing deeply. He didn't seem to be in distress, but as he took in the neat stitches along the pale forehead, he noticed that there was a lot of blood on the sheets and the bandages on the floor. Chris had lost a lot of blood, and the same worry that plagued Vin became very clear to Buck.
Buck turned to Vin and sounded more upbeat than he felt. "You need to drink this and clean up, pard. Why don't you take Mrs. Gates up on her sign out front that offers a bed and a bath for four bits."
Tired eyes bore into his, "I couldn't get him to stop bleedin', Buck. I had to cauterize it."
Buck dropped down in front of his younger friend. "You got him took care of an' that's all that matters. Nathan'll be jealous of them stitches. Who taught you to sew so purty, boy?"
Vin rallied a bit at Buck's teasing and looked over at his friend. He was tired, bone tired. He started to get up and check Chris to see if the fever had become worse when he stumbled. Buck grabbed his arm and then the reason for Vin's behavior became clear to Buck. Tanner had a long graze from a bullet along his rib cage on the left side. The blood had dried the material of his shirt to the wound, and in his worry and need to help their unconscious friend, Vin never noticed his own wound as it sapped him of his strength. It hadn't even hurt until Vin followed Buck's worried gaze down to see the torn flesh. Suddenly, it hurt like hell and the room spun around him.
"Damn, Vin. You're worse than JD when it comes to lookin' out for yourself. You're gonna clean up, let me try my hand at stitchin', then you're gonna go to bed an' get some rest. I'll look after Chris." Too tired to argue and hurting now enough to know he wouldn't be any good to Chris if he let his wound fester, Vin nodded his head in compliance. His easy capitulation worried Buck more than anything. Shaking his head, Buck rolled up his sleeves and went to work. First he checked Chris's wound. The bleeding had stopped and the burned flesh, although red and swollen from the abuse, didn't appear to be infected. Vin had done a good job. Buck recovered the wound with another whiskey soaked pad and redid the bandage. Then he turned to his other patient. Buck sighed as he thought back earlier to when he had thought things were going so well for the seven, but life was a fickle mistress. Only yesterday they had been whole and healthy and safe at home in Four Corners. Now they were in a town where the citizens locked you in jail first and asked questions later.
They were strangers in a strange town, or so Vin had thought. Buck had said he had never been to Ivyville. Vin had heard it mentioned and come close to it before, but Chris had been closed mouth about it since the judge had asked them to escort Polecat Adams to the jail there. Undoubtedly, someone in Ivyville knew Chris Larabee and wanted him dead while others wanted him alive. Buck wondered as he helped Vin pull the dried fabric from his wound just what connection Chris had to the people in Ivyville that had saloon girls and sheriffs trying to lock up men who would ambush the man in black. Once the standing tub was brought in and the hot water poured in it, Buck shooed the others out and pulled the screen around it for his younger friend. He heard Vin hiss in pain as the hot water hit the jagged tear in his skin. He dropped in the chair and laid out some things on the table he would need to stitch the tear in Vin's side. Remembering what Nathan did before he stitched anyone up, Buck dropped needle and thread, spool and all, into the pan of water boiling on the potbellied stove that lent its light to the dim room. Then, he wondered how they had ended in this mess.
Polecat Adams was wanted for holding up the stage and robbing the bank at Ivyville. Two people had been shot and killed. He had tried the same in Four Corners but had been stopped when he walked up to the teller and pulled a gun on Orville Thomas the bank manager. Ezra Standish and Vin Tanner had been chatting with Mr. Thomas about how they could return the stock in Terrell Enterprises to John and Alexandra Terrell without insulting them. Polecat, immune to such niceties as waiting his turn, had walked in, shoved Ezra's chair aside knocking the immaculate gambler into Vin Tanner's chair who in turn ended up on the dusty floor with two chairs and Ezra Standish on top of him. Polecat, oblivious to the anger he had just unleashed, shoved a gun at Orville's temple and demanded all the money from the safe. Tanner took in the situation and his position facing the assailant. Ezra was still trying to disengage himself from Tanner in a dignified manner when Ezra felt Vin pull his gun from his holster and level it at Polecat just as if Vin had been toting that particular weapon on his hip all of his life. One shot and Polecat was screaming in rage and clutching his buttocks. The outlaw had dropped the gun he was holding on Orville to the ground in order to clutch his bloody and painful butt.
Ezra Standish, finally released from his undignified position, had summarily collapsed on the floor laughing. He watched Tanner disengage himself from the chairs left on top of him, climb slowly to his feet as if he had all the time in the world, and then slam the outraged and obscenity shouting outlaw up against the wall. Ezra's gun tossed back to him and his own mare's leg in his hand pressed up against Polecat's ear, Vin's suggestion that Polecat quit his cussing since there were ladies present had an immediate affect. Silence reined supreme as Chris Larabee burst into the bank weapon drawn followed by the rest of the Four Corners peacekeepers. Buck Wilmington lent a hand to his comrade in arms more because curiosity was getting the better of him than because Ezra needed help off of the dusty floor.
"What's so damned funny?" Several gasps by the ladies present forced Buck to turn and tip his hat to them. "Sorry, ladies. Men wavin' guns around nearly shootin' lovely ladies like you just gets my dander up somethin' fierce." The women tittered in response to his blatant flirtation, and JD rolled his eyes at how easily Buck turned their outrage from him. One day, JD was going to get his own brand of animal magnetism, and then Buck had better watch out.
Although it wasn't necessary, seven men escorted Polecat to the jail. Nathan went because he had a bullet to extract from Polecat's butt. Vin went because he had put the bullet there and felt a need to apologize to Nathan for forcing him to touch much less look at Polecat's less than pleasant fat ass. Polecat had not earned the name Polecat because of the shock of white hair running through his black hair but because he shunned bathing like most men welcomed breathing. Ezra went because the women who had witnessed Tanner's amazing courage at saving them all from certain death at the hands of the outlaw were also wondering why on earth he was still chuckling. There was nothing funny about poor Mr. Thomas having a gun pressed to his forehead, and that outlaw's vile language and threats were ever so frightening. Feeling somewhat disgruntled that he was being held in a derogatory light for his laughter more than Polecat was for his stench, Ezra decided retreat was the best course of action.
Larabee, Dunne, Sanchez, and Wilmington had all come along not because they felt Polecat presented that much of a danger but because they knew Ezra's laughter promised a great story. Nathan had, in that short space of time from bank to jail cell, more than enough of Polecat's vicious threats on what he would do to Vin Tanner once he got a gun in his hands and that 'no darky doctor was gonna touch his ass'. Nathan vented his disgust by shoving the man face down on the cot and pulled out a knife to cut the material away. He set it on the small table next to the cot. Polecat thought this might just work to his advantage until he felt a cold blade next to his ear.
"You even think you're gonna give Nathan any grief, an I'll not only slice your ear off an' feed it to ya, I'll gut you from your head to your feet," Vin growled the threat in Polecat's ear.
From that point on, Polecat didn't even make a noise as Nathan quickly and efficiently dug out the bullet and placed a bandage on it. JD tossed Polecat the extra pair of pants they had found in his saddlebags and placed the Ivyville bank bags stuffed with money on the table in the sheriff's office. Just to shut him up, Nathan dosed Polecat with a large amount of laudanum and then washed his hands with the soap and water that Vin had presented him with. Nathan knew why Vin was being so solicitous.
"Is there a reason you shot him in the ass and not somewhere's else?" Nathan's good-natured attitude assured Vin he was forgiven for his choice of where to wound Polecat and render him harmless, but Nathan wasn't in all that a forgiving mood. "Well, why'd ya shoot that man in the ass?"
"It was Ezra's fault. He was all over me, an' that was the only spot I could reach without hittin' anybody else."
Vin's accusation had five men turning as one to regard Ezra with extreme curiosity. Buck was grinning ear to ear. This was going to be good as he noticed the vein in Larabee's forehead begin to throb. The reason for Larabee's no nonsense mood was the entrance of the one man all seven respected without question.
"I see you boys have been saving the town again." Judge Travis's dry remark set Ezra off again, and Chris shot a glare in the direction of his gambling friend. One day they were going to land themselves in real trouble that not even the judge could get them out of.
"I assure you all that Mr. Tanner and I were merely conducting legitimate business. This cretin burst unannounced into Mr. Thomas's office, shoved me into Mr. Tanner, thus toppling the two of us to the floor in a rather undignified heap, and shoved a rather large looking weapon into Mr. Thomas's startled visage."
"Polecat chunked Ezra's chair on top a me an' stuck his six shooter right in Orville's face." Vin explained just in case anyone had trouble following Ezra's rather convoluted speech patterns.
The judge nodded having heard the same account from Orville and the ladies present in the bank at the time. "I understand that was when Mr. Tanner saved the day." The judge's mouth upturned into a wry grin that made the vein in Larabee's head stop throbbing. He had been just a tad afraid that Orville had told Vin there was no way to return the Terrell stock certificates bestowed upon the seven, and his friend had taken exception to that news. His wry grin at Vin's accusatory glare had Buck grinning in delight. The ladies man had already decided that was what Chris's first impression had been when they had heard the shot coming from the bank.
Tanner had been livid when Orville had gathered the men right after the Terrell's departure at Christmas and finally told them that the Terrell's had signed over several stock certificates to the men as their thanks for all the seven had done for their family. That along with the tidy sum of money deposited into accounts opened for them by the Terrells had virtually made the men quite independent of any peace keeping employment that earned them a mere dollar a day. Vin had not been quite sure what the stock certificates and their value meant until Ezra Standish's mouth had dropped open and his eyes literally turned into dollar signs. That had clued Vin in very quickly, and the others had moved swiftly to contain the temper that rarely showed but this time threatened to incinerate the bank so hot was the sharp shooter's anger at what he believed was his aunt's interference in his life.
Only Standish had been openly pleased about the largesse bestowed upon them. He was at least until Vin Tanner had told Ezra that it was his aunt and uncle's way of trying to push the seven into a safer way of life which excluded the gambler's penchant for alienating well-heeled men who could shoot but not play poker. When presented with his friend's anger and the fact that the Terrells just might be trying to turn him into a respectable man, even Ezra Standish maintained he, too, could make his own way in the world without the Terrell money. That was the reason for their trip to the bank to inform Orville that he had to return the stock certificates and options.
Ezra frowned at Vin clearly wanting to be the orator of this particular tale. Vin shook his head but remained silent as Ezra continued. "As I was saying, while I tried my utmost to extricate myself from the very undignified position of my face in close proximity to Mr. Tanner's chest in order to render assistance to poor Mr. Thomas, I witnessed the most astounding sight. Our Mr. Tanner, although pinned to a rather dusty floor, managed to relieve me of my weapon and render the would be thief incapable of carrying out his nefarious deed. It was a most entertaining as well as difficult piece of sharp shooting that I have yet to witness in my lifetime."
JD looked over at Vin and seeing his friend was not taking umbrage, JD really liked that word, decided that Ezra must have complimented Vin. Or, just maybe Vin didn't have a clue as to what Ezra had just said any more than JD did. A smirk from his tracker friend told JD it was indeed a compliment. JD looked at Ezra's smiling countenance and decided Vin was right. Ezra did not smile in genuine glee like that unless he had just won an obscene amount of money, bested his mother at some con, or had been genuinely amused by something his friends had said or done. Vin was right again. Sometimes you could tell just what a person was thinking by the look or lack of one on the person's face. It helped that the others had started chuckling at the end of the recitation. That was the last time Buck and his friends had all been gathered together before Vin and Chris had joined him to escort Polecat to Ivyville.
Beads of sweat had broken out on Buck's forehead as he stitched the jagged wound closed. The stitching was not as neat as the ones Vin had sewn closing the gash along Chris's forehead, but Buck wasn't going for neat. He just wanted to be done with it. How Vin had had the stomach to stitch Chris up and remove the bullet on his own without help astounded him. Just this little bit of blood was threatening to empty the contents of Buck's stomach onto the floor. He looked up at Vin. His friend's eyes were closed, and his jaw clamped shut. The only reason Buck knew that his stitching was causing pain was the rigid posture of the man in the chair before him. Normally, Vin slouched in a chair. The droplets of water from his wet hair obscured the sweat on his brow and jaw line. Finally, Buck tied off the last stitch and dropped the threaded needle into the basin on the night table Buck had pulled close to hold the medical supplies.
Vin's eyes popped open as Buck pressed a carbolic soaked gauze onto the wound before bandaging it. He wanted to tell Vin to eat one of the sandwiches Mrs. Gates had grudgingly fixed, but once Buck had helped Vin pull on his shirt, the tracker had sagged with exhaustion. Buck pushed Vin over to the empty cot and helped him down. Then, he tossed a light blanket over Vin and pulled the chair over to sit by the bed of the man who had yet to move or attempt to open his eyes. Buck replaced the wet cloth on Chris's forehead avoiding the bandaged area. He had a feeling it was going to be a long night.
Chris's fever climbed steadily through the night. Never fully regaining consciousness, Chris was still restless, the pain and the fever causing him to thrash back and forth for hours. Vin slept oblivious to the work Buck put in trying to get the fever down with cold compresses and cups of water. He managed to get at least half of the water down Chris, but most of it was on Mrs. Gates' new white sheets. It had not stained the cotton fabric, but the woman had already warned Buck that they would be charged extra for the blood on the sheets. He could only imagine her reaction when he asked for more fresh sheets for the bed in the morning.
'That's just one more thing the old biddy can bark at,' thought Buck.
Finally, after one ugly night of fighting the wounded man trying to keep him still and in bed, Buck collapsed in the chair next to the bed. He just needed to sit still for a moment or two while Chris was lying there quiet and still. The fever had abated somewhat, so Buck opted to rest for a few minutes instead of waking Vin to keep vigil. He was still a bit worried but knew that Nathan and the boys were on their way and would get there within the next few days. The clock said half past four and seemed to mock him as he let his eyes close for just a minute. Just a minute and he would have his second wind. Three hard days on the trail and a night of fighting an unconscious man took their toll, and within seconds of closing his eyes, Buck was fast asleep. Thirty minutes later, around five, with dawn just beginning to send rays of light through the curtains, Vin awoke.
Seeing Chris tossing and turning, he sat up on the cot. The muscles in his side pulled against the stitching Buck had been so proud of. It still hurt like hell, but Vin could tell Buck had spent the whole night fighting Chris. It was his turn now to watch over their friend, and he rose slowly to his feet. He shivered in the cold morning air. His shirt offered little protection against the cold since his undershirt was piled in the corner with the bloody sheets. He walked over to the potbelly stove in his socks, the rug providing little protection from the cold that had seeped into the drafty room. Chris had settled down some, so Vin paused to stoke the fire. He thought the old biddy must have given them the worst room in the whole place despite her assurances that it was the best she could offer.
Placing two more chunks of wood in the potbelly stove, he waited until a nice blaze was going. He leaned closer until he could feel the heat begin to chase the chilly night air from the room. The pan of water he put on top began to sizzle. Hearing Chris moan and start to move again, Vin walked quickly and silently over to his wounded friend carrying a cup of the hot water. Vin poured the hot water into the pan of water that Buck had been using to cool Chris's fever. Satisfied he had taken the chill from the water; he dipped the cloth into the now tepid water. Wringing it out Vin turned to place the compress on Chris's forehead.
Thinking his friend was still unconscious; he was unprepared for the hand that snaked out from under the covers and the fingers surrounding his neck cutting into his windpipe. Growling in anger Chris mumbled the name Fowler. Vin tried to pry Chris's fingers from his neck when the unconscious man brought his other arm up oblivious to the wound in his shoulder. Chris just dug his fingers in deeper. Unable to breathe or call for help, Vin tried slamming his hands down on Chris's arms hoping the pain from jostling his shoulder would make him lose his grip. It didn't work and, as Vin began to desperately try to get Buck's attention, he saw two green eyes so full of hate that he would have stepped back to escape the glare, but stepping back was impossible.
"I'll kill you with my bare hands before I'll let you hurt them!" Vin knew it was Fowler that Chris thought he was strangling and that his friend was lost in the depths of a fever induced nightmare, but that was not going to help Vin prevent Chris from killing him.
Dropping to his knees Vin grabbed at the metal pan on the side table. The racket of the metal and tin cup against the wooden floor was enough to wake Buck, and it took only an instant for the big man to realize what was going on. It took only seconds for Buck to finally pry Chris's fingers from around Vin's neck, but the smaller man was wheezing and gasping trying to gulp in enough air to satisfy his oxygen deprived lungs.
"Let me go, Buck. I gotta kill Fowler 'fore he sets fire to the house! I have to kill him first!" Buck gave up trying to talk sense into Chris and get him to rouse from the hallucination that made him think Vin of all people was Cletus Fowler. Grabbing his friend in a bear hug, he held Chris trapping him until the struggling man slumped from exhaustion. Once he settled Chris back against the pillows Buck turned to his other friend on the floor. Vin was leaning against the side of the bed breathing deeply trying to regain his composure. Red marks were appearing on his neck showing how deep the grip Chris had managed to get around the tracker's neck.
"You all right?" Buck's voice held just a trace of the tension he was feeling. He saw the slight nod of the head that indicated Vin was lucid. Then he saw the lingering shock in the two blue eyes that looked up at him. He also saw the worry. It wouldn't do Vin any good to yell and carry on. Forcing himself to calm down after nearly witnessing one friend kill another, Buck continued. "Ya coulda hit him, knocked his hands away."
"Weren't his fault." The voice was barely a breathless growl, more of a raspy whisper. His throat must have hurt him to even talk. "He thought I was Fowler?" Vin couldn't keep the question from his statement. It was almost as if he needed Buck's assurance that Chris really had mistaken him for Fowler.
"That he did. Got a hell of a grip for a man in his condition." Buck couldn't hold back the relieved grin when he saw one side of Vin's mouth turn up. That unholy sense of humor was their saving grace.
"Good thing he was so weak what with you sleepin' like a dead man in the chair," Vin coughed and tried to clear his throat. "I was just about to overpower him when you came over an' played hero."
"Don't I know it. You nearly had him right where he wanted ya, Vin." They both laughed, and Vin ended up coughing again the relief that they had made it through that particular hurdle paramount in their minds. That coughing fit was enough for Buck. He reached down and, grabbing Vin by his right arm, practically lifted the wiry man off of the floor. "C'mon, Vin. Let's get you back to bed and put some cold compresses on that throat. Now, don't even try to talk. All that does it put more strain on your throat and make you cough an' hurt more. Let ole Buck take care a things for a spell. OK?"
Vin had been about to tell Buck to go to hell for pulling him up like that with those stitches in his side, but the man was trying to take care of Chris besides him, so Vin let it slide. He knew Buck was wondering if what had happened could have been prevented had he not fallen asleep, and Vin decided it was not worth adding to any guilt Buck might feel no matter how undeserved it was. Better to remain quiet, since it hurt him to talk any way. So Vin let Buck give him the cold compress for his throat, and he watched from the cot as Buck approached Chris more cautiously than he would have earlier.
Larabee was lying there still and quiet once more sweat beading on his forehead. Buck was hoping that the confrontation had been instigated by the peaking fever. Maybe it had finally peaked and this was the sweat signaling that the fever was breaking at last. Now, if this remained the case, the only thing they needed to prove everything was going to be all right was for Chris to wake up lucid.
Buck noticed Vin had trouble swallowing the coffee Mrs. Gates had brought with the clean sheets and towels. Her attitude had improved somewhat when she realized that neither of the men was going to ask her to take over nursing duties for their friend. Her optimism, however, left much to be desired.
"Got breakfast cooking. I'll send it in here for two bits." Vin raised an eyebrow but said nothing. Buck turned his back on the woman disgusted at the way she tried to get money out of them every time she offered them something extra. Despite the pain it caused, Vin answered noticing that the normally glib Wilmington was ready to throttle the woman.
"I'll come get it," he rasped out.
Looking at the bandage she could see beneath his shirt and the awful bruising around his throat, the old woman relented. "Oh fergit it. I'll send Peggy with it. Woman would drive a saint to drink with her yammerin', but she can cook. Only reason no one's shot her, yet."
Vin traded looks with Buck who by this time was ready to shoot the old woman. "Thanks, ma'am," he rasped out, and then he turned the full force of his smile upon her. The older woman's mouth dropped open, and she forgot what she was going to say. Vin held the door open for her, and she left without another word. He was grinning when he turned, knowing Buck would be hard pressed not to laugh in the woman's presence. He was right. The ladies' man was laughing silently, his eyes creased almost shut in his efforts.
"Damn, Vin. You got to stop doin' that to them old ladies. One day one of 'em is gonna walk right into a runaway stage or somethin'."
"She shut up didn't she?"
"Yeah, boy, that how you shut up the younger ones?" Buck waggled his eyebrows.
Vin just shot Buck a wicked look and rapsed out, "Depends on how old they are an' if it's a workin' girl like Polly or a lady like Mary."
That had Buck collapsing in the chair gasping for air. For one short moment Buck forgot how tired and worried he was. The moment ended abruptly when the man on the bed moaned again, louder than he had before. A hand reached up grasping his injured shoulder, and a foot appeared to kick the covers off. Chris Larabee was finally conscious and lucid. Buck leaned forward, and Vin stood behind Buck's chair as Chris was finally able to focus on the two men. He just looked at the two men, his silence typical.
"Hey cowboy, feelin' better?" That quiet question from Vin garnered a gleam in Chris's eyes.
Looking over at Buck, Chris countered with his own question. "He just call me a cowboy, Buck?"
The other two laughed; relieved since it appeared Chris was back with them, albeit a little worse for wear.
"Yep, pard. He called you a cowboy. When you're up on your feet again, you can discuss it with him." Buck seemed so relieved to see Chris awake and responding that Chris relaxed. His head and shoulder were pounding, and he could not recall how he had ended up here much less with Buck. However, his dry throat hungered for water just as his stomach rebelled against the idea. He stopped worrying how he had gotten here and tried to concentrate on keeping the water Buck was practically forcing down his throat in his rebellious stomach.
"Buck, don't force him to drink too much. It'll just end right back up all over you." Chris was grateful for the caution because Buck would have had the water all over in just a few more seconds. "We'll get him some willow bark tea for the pain an' peppermint or ginger for the nausea if they got any in this two bit town."
He was awfully scruffy looking for a doctor, and his throat looked like someone had taken exception to that attitude of his. That, however would be a moot point if the man could keep his head from pounding and his stomach from making ominous overtures.
Deciding that talking might keep his mind off of the nearly overwhelming nausea, Chris asked Buck the question that had plagued him since he had opened his eyes and felt the familiar pain in his shoulder. "Who shot me an' did I kill him?"
"Was hopin' you could tell us that." It was the other man again. He seemed awfully free and easy with Chris's business. The dizziness was getting worse, making Chris's patience short.
"How the hell would I know, an' just who the hell are you?" Both men tensed as they exchanged looks. "Well?" Larabee was not a man who put up with much from people who annoyed him, and that young man was making the vein his head throb with his lazy attitude and easy familiarity.
"Now hold on, Chris. You know Vin." Chris glared at Buck stopping him mid explanation as the big man tried to make Chris more comfortable. Chris kept a wary eye on the younger man he could not place. Vin, was that what Buck had called him? Well, Vin looked a bit familiar, but Chris couldn't think why. He'd never met this Vin. He had had enough of Buck's help for now.
"Buck, it's been a while, an' I admit I been keepin' to myself for the last year or so, but I ain't gone crazy, yet. Now, you an' your friend wanna tell me what the hell happened? He looks like he got hit by the same train that rolled over me." Always one to react with his heart instead of his head, Chris's easy dismissal of Vin had Buck fuming.
"You're what happened to him you ungrateful son of a. . ." Buck stopped abruptly when he felt a hand on his shoulder. Looking up at Vin he read the warning clearly. Vin rarely touched anyone, so putting his hand on Buck's shoulder garnered an instant response.
Vin rapsed out an answer, "Some men who're real fond of ya set up a greetin' for ya in the saloon. Me an' Buck got ya out of there but not before ya took a bullet in the shoulder an' one across your forehead. You been out for the last eighteen hours."
"What's he mean I'm what happened to ya?" The fact Vin wasn't intimidated by the Larabee glare made Chris regard him with more curiosity than anger. The anger returned in full force as Tanner decided to test what he suspected by answering Larabee's question with a wry grin. Sure enough, that wry grin easily set Larabee off. His scowl that followed confirmed to Vin that Chris Larabee had no clue who Vin Tanner was. That knowledge sent Vin's usual patience right out of his head as he realized the friendship he had come to count on so much was no longer there. He reacted in the same way he had prevented Buck from reacting. An unfamiliar anger seized him, and the curious look mingled with impatient exasperation Larabee was giving him did nothing to lighten his mood.
"You tried to kill me last night. Buck pulled ya off." With that, Vin turned his back on Larabee and walked over to the cot. He slipped on his boots, his mare's leg, and his coat. As he turned the handle of the door he rasped out ignoring the man frowning at him. "I'll go fetch breakfast an' see about that tea." With that, he was out the door.
Buck nodded his head and turned back to Chris. He sat back with a frown on his face. Chris could be one ornery friend, but if he did not claim you as a friend, he paid little heed to your opinions. That, plus the fact Chris was treating Vin like a stranger, had to bother Vin. Chris trusted him and listened to Vin's opinions. To suddenly be disavowed by a close friend had to bother the usually easy-going tracker. The simple fact that Vin told him that the marks and bruises on his throat were caused by Chris told Buck just how suddenly out of place Vin felt. Witnessing Chris's and Vin's reactions to one another had made him realize that Chris Larabee had lost more than just blood eighteen hours before. He had lost some of his memory, but how could he remember Buck and not Vin? He remembered back to when Vin had been shot and grazed on the temple just like Chris had been. What had Nathan said about partial memory loss caused by a severe blow to the head? Could this be what had happened to Chris? Buck wanted to go and check on Vin because he knew how fiercely loyal their tracker was to his friends, but he didn't want to leave Chris like this. Vin would be back, so Buck sat back and tried to deal with Chris. What else had he forgotten?
"Your fever was real high last night. Appears to be gone now. How's your head?"
"It hurts, an' that friend of yours ain't makin' it feel any better. He always talk in a whisper like that?"
"No, normally he don't talk at all. You just inspire 'im I guess."
Chris let that dig go as the pain in his head and shoulder took predominance over his curiosity over one of Buck's friends. He leaned back against the pillow as his stomach also made its unfriendly presence known. Despite his curiosity over what happened and why Buck was there, Chris did not feel like talking much and just the thought of food made his stomach lurch. He thought if he just closed his eyes and stayed still, maybe just maybe his stomach would calm down and his head would stop hurting.
Buck sat back unusually silent. Suddenly, he leaned forward. "How long's it been since we last seen each other, pard?"
"Year, give or take a day. Ain't laid eyes on you since Ft. Laramie when you stuck your nose in my business once too often. Why?"
"Nothin', nothin' at all. You just rest now, okay? I'll watch your back for now."
"Like old times, ain't it, Buck?"
"Yeah, Chris. It sure is." Buck could do nothing for a while as his brain tried to digest what he had just heard. The last two and a half years were as if they had never been. Chris had that look in his eyes just like he had before their work in Four Corners had given Chris people he could let into his life again. He was afraid to ask if he remembered Mary and Billy and any other of their absent friends.
The apprehension he was feeling must have been the same as Vin was feeling. Buck sagged in the chair. Maybe if Nathan were here? Then again, what could he do? Deciding he didn't want to go back to how things were right after Sarah and Adam had been murdered, Buck worried about what he should and should not tell Chris. Should he tell him all about what had occurred since they met up again in Four Corners? Should he tell him about Ella Gaines? He would wait until Vin came back and they would talk. Vin had more common sense and knowledge of how to deal with folks than most people learned in a lifetime. It was one reason Chris trusted Vin's judgment so often. That was it. Buck would wait for Vin, and together they would come up with a plan to help their friend. Buck had a feeling what had started as an ambush in the saloon was far from over.
Vin followed his nose to the kitchen. He wanted coffee, no he wanted whiskey in the worst way, but coffee would do. This was one of the few times in his life that he was at a loss as what to do next, and drinking would not help him. Accepting a cup of strong brew from the buxom woman who motioned him to a chair in the corner where he could watch the entire room, Vin paused to ponder all that had happened. The realization that Chris had no idea who he was had floored him badly. It was gratifying in a childish way, but still gratifying that Buck had been so staunch in his defense of him when Chris had demanded answers. In the space of nearly a day he had lost his best friend. Theirs had been an immediate kinship, a trust between the two of them from that first moment their eyes had met across the street that fateful day they had teamed without words to save Nathan from the lynch mob. Vin had been running for three years always looking over his shoulder never fully trusting anyone as he had run from an unfair bounty. Even now, pardoned, he still occasionally caught himself looking down side streets, looking for hidden places from which the bullet might come to render him the dead part of the bounty.
He had almost become a shadow living on the outside always looking in when he had made the decision that fateful day not to let an innocent man hang. Always living on the fringe of society never truly belonging anywhere since his ma had died, Vin had walked right into a situation that should have landed him in a coffin but instead put him on the road to finding his niche among six men. He belonged with them, was one of them, and eventually he found that their friendships made him a better man. Certain he wouldn't last the day much less the week, he had looked across the dusty street and recognized a man much like himself. Strangers in every way yet so alike, Vin Tanner had known he could trust Chris Larabee to watch his back. Maybe it was the fact they were the only two men who would help Nathan, or maybe it was because they both felt they each had nothing to lose that made them help. No matter the reason, they had seen an injustice about to occur and neither one could watch it happen. Still they had both opted to walk down that path together, and it was their uncanny rapport that had them knowing instinctively how the other would react under fire.
Vin had come to depend on their unique rapport that made talking unnecessary at times, but still made him know he was an integral member of this group just like he had come to depend on Buck's love of life. He was amazed at Buck's ability to accept his friends as they were, warts and all, and enjoy being their friend. He depended on JD's inexperience to make him appreciate the little things he took for granted like knowing what the weather would do just by looking at the clouds. It was second nature to him but utterly new to JD who was eager to learn everything and anything Vin was willing to teach. He depended on Nathan to cure his physical complaints like he depended on Josiah to offer spiritual guidance when he had a moral dilemma. Josiah's steadfast belief that each man must find his own way while guiding them with questions that more often than not made the person look at his own demons and overcome them. He depended on Ezra's ability to use his God-given and maternally nurtured talents to fleece men who fed off the misery of the weak and innocent instead of becoming one of those men.
With Chris's memories gone, Vin seriously wondered if he stood in danger of losing all that he had gained. What held these seven very different men together and made them form such a cohesive unit that time and time again beat the odds? They were all capable men, but they were formidable as a group. Vin had grown accustomed to working with these disparate men, trusted them without thinking in any kind of battle. There were times he felt that he knew them like he knew the back of his hand, and then one of them would pop up with something or let a piece of his past drop onto the table for all the world to see. Instead of being shocked or outraged the other six always seemed to accept the bombshell as just another piece of the puzzle that made the man. Even when one of their pasts came back to threaten the group, the man in question always had six men standing at his back ready to take on his problem as their own. They had all been there for Vin when Eli Jo sent the fake Marshall into kill him, Chris especially. But so, too, had Ezra and Buck. Trying to win a war with his mother over his new business, Ezra had left it behind to ride out to help Vin. Even Buck had been fighting his own war against a girl who was just using him to get the man she loved to marry her. Buck, too, had set aside his own feelings to help Vin.
Vin continued to ignore the looks he got from the other people as he stared at the cup of coffee in his hands pondering how his world had come crashing down around his ears. Had he but known it, he was acting very much like Chris Larabee at this particular moment. He would have laughed at the irony, but instead he sat silently brooding. Brooding fit him well at this moment as his very appearance shouted, "Stay away!" No one made any attempt to even speak to him much less try to satisfy curiosity. They all just stayed as far from him as possible so heavy was the tension surrounding him. Only Peggy was willing to slice through the tension to set a plate of steak and eggs in front of him. He looked up at her to see the curiosity.
"You eat that while I take this food to your friends. Don't want my efforts on the floor, an' you just don't look up to carryin' this here tray, boy."
Vin burst out with a snort of laughter that hurt his throat but shook him out of his morose mood. "Who you callin' boy?" Peggy's saucy grin got an answering one as she hefted the tray to her shoulder and walked around the corner to the only room on the first floor besides Mrs. Gates' in the back of the boarding house. Suddenly thinking back to his last thoughts, Vin decided that even if Chris had lost his memory, Vin still had five other friends who would be just as shocked by Chris's predicament. Each man would have his own doubts, but when it came right down to it, Chris Larabee was still Chris Larabee. If they had been friends before, why couldn't they be friends again? Besides, one sarcastic comment from Ezra or one puzzling riddle from Josiah, and Chris would be happy to claim Vin for a friend again if only to have a partner when it came to deciphering what the hell Ezra and Josiah were saying. He would act normally around Chris and answer his questions until the others came. Then, if Nathan couldn't cure Larabee and the others couldn't shock him into remembering, Vin would just hit the stubborn son of a bitch over the head with his mare's leg. He'd heard once that another blow to the head could make a body's memory return just as it had caused the memory to disappear. Satisfied he had worked out a plan, Vin dug into the food in front of him. Peggy sure could cook. He ate his fill and decided to go back and share what he had figured out with Buck. All they had to do was keep Larabee in bed and quiet until Nathan arrived to work his medical magic. How hard could that be?
Finding an apothecary with willow bark tea, laudanum, and peppermint was easy. Learning from the sheriff that the men who had ambushed and shot him and Chris were still at large was easier. Keeping Larabee in bed and quiet was not easy. It was hard work. Sleeping with an angry rattler trapped in your bedroll was easier. Chris Larabee was the orneriest cuss that Vin Tanner had ever had the pleasure of being forgotten by. When he finally got back with more bandages and the other things he had collected, Larabee was trying to get out of the bed and Buck was trying to keep him in it.
"I ain't lyin' in bed while there's men out there who want to kill me! The bastards want me, well they're damn well gonna get me!" Buck appeared to be spinning in front of Chris making his stomach lurch.
"You ain't goin' nowhere! You didn't see all the blood that spilled outa you while Vin was stitchin' you up! Damn son of bitchin', stubborn fool!"
"You boys appear to be havin' a nice time." The raspy drawl and the grin on his face had two glares thrown his way. Tanners were made of sterner stuff. Hell, his Comanche mother could burn the leaves off trees so hot and powerful were her glares. If these two fools only knew he had withstood those glares with a grin on his face, too, they would never try their sorry-assed glares on him again. The Larabee glare was a sunburn compared to some he'd gotten from Little White Bird. He stoked the fire and made some willow bark tea while Buck tried to get the dizzy man back into bed. Despite his stomach wanting to expel the breakfast he had insisted on eating, Larabee wanted up. He was not going to lie down and wait for someone to kill him.
"Give me my gun and my pants, Buck. You an' some no account smart ass boy ain't keepin' me locked up like some virgin at a whore house."
"Now, Chris," Buck looked over at Vin his exasperation clear on his face. "You gonna help me out here, Vin?"
"Hell, let the fool up, Bucklin. When he's face down on the floor cause his legs won't hold him up, he'll stop his bitchin'."
Buck could have throttled both Chris and Vin right then and there. As soon as he got Chris to lie back down he was going to do just that. What in the hell was Vin thinking coming in here talking like that to Chris, especially since Chris didn't remember Vin was his friend? Fools, he was riding with two fools to watch his back. Just as Buck started to use his size and strength to force Chris back onto the bed, he felt the fight go out of Larabee. He looked up and saw Chris grinning at Vin.
"What makes you think I'm gonna end up face first on the floor? Hand me my gun." Chris's swift change in subjects got a choked laugh out of Buck.
Vin snorted in derision. "And get shot? Listen old timer, just cause I'm hangin' round you an' Bucklin, don't mean I lost all my sense. Just means I like to live dangerous." He walked over and poured himself a cup of the tea, mixed some peppermint in it to mask the laudanum he had poured in it while Buck and Chris were arguing, and sat down next to the bed propping his booted feet on the end of Chris's bed. He offered the cup to Larabee. "Drink it. Help settle your stomach and with the pain."
"Be my guest. Get comfortable." Chris couldn't decide if the younger man was just plain crazy or if he had brass balls. The grin that lit up Tanner's face had Chris collapsing back on the bed grinning in return. Damned if that scruffy boy didn't remind him of himself ten years ago. "What's this?"
"Willow bark tea for pain with peppermint to ease the nausea. Tastes like ditch water, but it gets the job done." The look on Chris's face after he sipped it got a sympathetic nod from Tanner. Buck turned away before his smiling face riled Chris up again.
Seeing that Vin had found a way to not only come to terms with Larabee's amnesia, but to deal with the injured man, Buck gave a sigh of relief and fell face first on the cot Vin had slept on during the night. The big man's legs from his knees down hung off the cot. Buck didn't care. Without words, he indicated it was his turn to sleep. Chris started to question Tanner about the men who had ambushed him, but the younger man had his head leaning back with his eyes closed. Larabee saw the bruises where Buck had told him he had tried to choke the life from the man who had dug the bullet out and stitched him up. Why would he have tried to kill a man for helping him? Had he become that different from the man who had married Sarah? He had lived so long hating everyone including himself, had he truly become a man who would kill a man for trying to help him? He looked over to find the younger man looking at him.
"You were fightin' a fever. Weren't your fault." There was nothing beyond his patient explanation. No smugness, no condemnation, no demand for an apology. Just the truth. Chris liked that. He felt comfortable with this man even though he couldn't place him. There was something so familiar about him. Then Tanner grinned at him as if he knew once again what Larabee was thinking. It was a cocky grin that traveled from his mouth to his eyes. Taking the empty cup Larabee held out to him and placing it on the floor, he stretched gingerly. "Course, you ever try it again, an' I'll slice ya from your neck to your balls." Larabee grinned again and nodded at Tanner. No apology was verbalized, but Tanner had accepted it from Larabee in good humor.
Vin stood up and pulled the curtains closed to shut out the sun. Throwing a blanket over Buck and dragging the chair over to the cot, he propped up Buck's feet on the seat of the chair so they no longer dangled off the cot.
"Don't know about you, but I don't want to hear him bitchin' later on 'bout his knees hurtin'."
Chris held his shoulder while he chuckled. "I'd feel a lot better with my gun. . ." He was interrupted as Vin picked up Chris's gun belt. He took the gun from the holster and checked to see if it was loaded and the handle was clean. He presented it to Chris with a grin on his face.
"You stay put an' let Bucklin get some sleep. I'll go see what I can find out."
Without knowing why, Chris called out as Tanner went to the door. "Watch your back."
"Always do, pard, always do." Flicking a two-fingered salute to Larabee, Tanner shut the door. He started to lock it from the outside. He and Buck had already decided to keep the door locked and a key with them at all times. Pausing, he opened the door and quickly spoke to Larabee watching the vein start throbbing in the older man's forehead. "Behave, an I might give ya your pants this afternoon after you clean up. You look like shit, cowboy." Shutting the door before Chris could pull his gun from under his pillow where he had stuffed it, Tanner locked the door and went looking for Peggy. Vin had never met a woman, yet, who liked to talk who didn't also like to listen just as much. Maybe she recognized Chris from back when he had come through here years ago, or maybe she heard folks talking about the shooting. Either way he was determined to find out who was the cause of his friend's amnesia. The laudanum should have Larabee out by now, so Vin knew he had at least two to three hours in which to check things out. He grinned evilly thinking how Larabee was going to react when he found out he had been drugged.
"I'm gonna shoot that cocky sonovabitch."
"No you ain't, Chris. Admit it. Reminds you of you ten years back."
"Go ta hell, Buck."
"You first, stud, you first." Buck turned on his back and stretched out his legs on the chair. Vin had the right idea. It wouldn't do to go behind Chris's back. Being honest with Larabee would keep him somewhat mollified while Vin's usual barbs would keep Chris off balance enough to actually keep the man in bed healing until Nathan got there and declared Chris was fit to get up. Day after tomorrow the boys would be here. By then maybe Vin or Buck would have answers as to who was trying to kill Chris. They just had to be careful, for those men were still out there.
Buck's eyes closed as exhaustion made sleep the most pleasant experience of his life. Chris Larabee actually felt incredibly sleepy after drinking the willow bark tea laced with peppermint. The damned stuff actually settled his stomach and helped ease the pain. He was so sleepy that it didn't hit him until just as he succumbed to the need to close his eyes and drift off. That crazy, blue-eyed, cocky bastard had drugged him with laudanum. Sneaky, he was downright sneaky. Larabee actually smiled as his eyes lost the battle to stay awake. He was going to have to shoot him, but that Tanner was a man Chris wouldn't mind calling friend.
Three hours later Buck was startled awake by the rapid burst of gunfire. Larabee struggled out of his drug induced sleep. Grasping his gun from under the pillow and pulling it out with unsteady hands he watched as Buck peered from the window.
"What happened?"
"I don't know, but two of those shots came from Vin's mare's leg."
"Damn! I counted five shots."
"Six at least, Chris."
"Go check on him. I'll be fine."
"No, Vin's all right. He's real good at watchin' his back." Buck said that more to reassure himself than Chris. Vin was good, but was he good enough to take on several men in his condition? Torn because he wanted to go to the aid of one friend while one lay wounded and nearly helpless, Buck swore in several languages. Chris was impressed, but he too was worried for that cocky kid who had promised to find the men who had shot him. Just as he was about to tell Buck to go outside and check, there was the sound of footsteps outside the door that just as suddenly veered off to the right. He willingly let Buck help him to the floor while the bigger man pulled the bed over on its side to make it into a shield for the wounded man. Footsteps were heard again and the sound of scuffling between two men echoed right outside of the door. A gun went off and a woman screamed. Then, there was a knocking at the door.
"Name yourself!" Buck was in no mood to play games. It had better be Vin, but where was his key? Leveling his gun at the door, Buck was ready for anything. There was another knock and then the sound of a key in the lock. If some son of a bitch had shot Vin and taken the key from him thinking Buck and Chris would be easy targets, he was going to die knowing just how stupid that thought had been. The knob turned slowly and just as slowly the door began to open. Both Chris and Buck aimed their weapons right at the middle of the door figuring the man entering was of medium height. They would gut shoot the man if it was anyone but Vin.
Continued in Part Two
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