DISCLAIMER: The characters used are the property of MGM and Trilogy. No financial or creative rights are claimed to the characters from the Magnificent Seven television series.
RATING: PG-13 Language.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: I would like to thank Sarah Bartholomew and Sue Necessary, my intrepid beta-readers for their unerring advice. Some of the events in this story are based on my Great-Grandmother's experiences as a pioneer in Kansas. "Eldorado" is by Edgar Allan Poe.
Vin Tanner was still sleeping when the first fingers of dawn spilled over the horizon. They reached out a tentative warmth that touched his body and drew him from drowsing to full awareness. That warmth of that light caress felt good, after sleeping in the desert chill; but Tanner knew that coolness would soon be vanquished by the relentless heat of midsummer. He turned on his back and pillowed his head on his arms. The dawn wind came up and ruffled the hair on his forehead. Wasn't much comfort in it; felt dry and itchy somehow. Like a storm a'comin'. Vin's blue eyes squinted at the horizon. The sunrise was tinting the sky like blood. What was that sayin' ? Red sky at morning, sailors take warning. Sailors and trackers, and all God's creatures. He sat up, stretching the kinks from his lean frame. Peso, hearing his master stirring, whickered softly. Vin watered him, brewed up some coffee, and then rode back to town with the sun burning higher and hotter in the sky.
Four Corners was shimmering in the early heat of the day, dust catching in the wind and making devils dance in the streets. Not many folks were stirring, but Mrs. Potter at the Mercantile was sweeping her stoop. She paused, shielded her eyes, and then smiled as she recognized him. "Mornin', Vin."
"Miz Potter." He nodded. "Don't seem much use in sweepin', ma'am. That wind'll jist blow th'dust right back where it come from."
"A lady's got to keep up appearances," she chuckled. "Even when it's too hot for Satan himself." She sighed and stretched her back. "It sure would be nice to have some rain," she said wistfully. "My rain barrel is dry as a bone."
"So's most folks," Vin nodded. "Don't stay out in the sun too long, Miz Potter." He bid her good day, and let Peso amble down towards the saloon. It was too early for Ezra to be up, but Inez might be making breakfast, and Vin's stomach was beating on his backbone.
Inside the saloon, old smoke and stale whiskey made the air close, but the dim light gave the illusion that it was cooler than on the street. Vin shrugged off his jacket. He didn't often go without its comforting weight, but it was getting hard to breathe. He laid his hat on the table and combed his fingers through his sweat-damp hair. He should have stayed out of town, but he'd been away from Four Corners for several days, and figured he'd better make an appearance before Judge Travis decided he wasn't earning his keep. He slouched in his chair and closed his eyes. A man shouldn't get tired from riding a few miles, but the heat seemed to have drained all his energy. It was the damnedest weather he'd seen in a long time. After a winter fit to freeze the marrow in his bones, had come this blazing summer, with hardly a spring in between. He'd missed it, seein' the desert bloom before the heat withered the prairie flowers. Seemed like it had lasted only a couple of weeks before the drought set in.
He heard the rustle of Inez' skirts, and the scuff of her sandals on the floor as she came into the main room from the kitchen. "Howdy, Inez," he said softly, and she gasped.
"Senor Vin!"
He opened one eye and grinned at her. "Didn't mean ta scare ya, senorita."
Inez smiled. She was fond of the slender tracker; there was enough of the boy in him to appeal to her warm nature and his shy manner was soothing after a long day of fighting off the attentions of every cowboy in Four Corners — not to mention Buck's flirtations and Ezra's constant interference in her management of the saloon. "You didn't scare me, Vin." She touched his shoulder lightly. "I was just surprised to see you back in town. You must have gotten hungry," she teased. "Consuela made cornbread this morning, and eggs. Perhaps some bacon, hmm?"
"Sounds mighty good, Inez."
"And I have something else for you, too."
"What?" Vin's brow furrowed suspiciously. "S'gonna burn the skin off my tongue?"
Inez laughed. "No! Just wait." She went behind the bar, turning her back so Vin couldn't see what she was doing. "Close your eyes."
"Inez ..." he grumbled. He closed his eyes. Well, he closed one. The other he left open a slit. Shouldn't ask a man with a price on his head to close his eyes. He watched her come towards him. She held a tankard in her hand. Beer? What the hell was so special 'bout beer?
"Take a sip." She folded his fingers around the glass, and cautiously, he drank. His eyes opened wide. Not beer. Sweet, cool cider with a hint of a fizz to it. It hit his tongue and the back of his parched throat with a pleasure so intense it made him feel a bit dizzy. He drained the glass and set it down with a sigh. "Lord, Inez. Where'dya get this?"
"From the man who sells me beer. I thought you might like it."
Vin nodded. "It's real good, Inez. Thank you."
"You want it, you just ask me." She looked up as the doors to the saloon swung open and Chris Larabee's long shadow fell across the doorway. Of the seven peacekeepers, Larabee was the only one who made Inez feel uneasy. Oh, she knew that there was no harm in him, not for her. But he was peligroso, dangerous, in a way that the other six were not. Chris Larabee smiled, but not with his heart.
"Hey, partner. Thought I recognized that damn mule o' yours." Chris slid in a chair beside his friend. "Mornin', Inez."
"Coffee, Senor Larabee?" She slid a plate of food in front of Vin, and set a mug at Chris' hand, anticipating his reply.
"Please."
He turned back to Vin. "What made you come back?"
Vin paused mid-mouthful and shrugged. "Been away long enough. Anything happen?"
"Got hotter." Chris rubbed his forehead tiredly. "Folks're gettin' mighty weary of it. Had a couple of cowboys carve each other up the other night fer no reason. Heat is makin' everyone mean, I reckon. It's rough waking up and seein' no clouds in the sky every mornin.'"
Vin nodded. "Don't look like it'll happen today, neither. Feels funny out there, though. Tight. Might be brewin' somethin' up."
"Brewin' up trouble." Chris' green eyes darkened with concern. "A storm might break things up. Cool things off. "
"Careful what you wish fer, pard." Vin eyed the rest of his eggs and cornbread. He was too hot to eat; most of his appetite seemed to have burned away. He pushed himself back from the table. "Gotta git Peso to the livery b'fore it gets hotter. Ain't no good fer him, neither." He picked up his hat, draped his coat over his shoulder and left Chris to his coffee and his worries.
The glare of the sun off the dusty streets was blinding. Even the shade of his wide-brimmed hat didn't offer much protection. Vin untethered Peso and rubbed a hand down his glossy neck. "C'mon feller. Reckon you could use a bit of shade, hmm? Too hot ta be ornery, ain't it?" Peso snuffled softly at his master's shoulder, and Vin tugged gently at his forelock. Contrary as the animal could be, he'd never let Vin down when he was needed. Which was more'n Vin could say of a lot of people. Not all. Not his fellow peacekeepers, not Mary Travis, or Nettie and Casey. As he walked Peso to the livery, he realized that most of the folks in this small, dusty town had treated him right decent. Four Corners was the closest thing he'd had to a home in a long time.
The stable provided shade, if not complete respite from the heat, and Vin was tempted to lay down in the straw next to Peso and doze for a while. He'd been born in the Texas hill country and raised in the harsh and arid climate of the Southwest, but he couldn't recall ever feeling like all the juice was sucked out of his body. Tired as he was, he figured staying in the stable would only make him hotter and more thirsty. When he stepped outside, the white-hot light seemed to send daggers into his eyes. The wind was scouring, painful on his dry skin, and the thought of being indoors, which he usually scorned, was suddenly appealing. He could go back to the saloon, but turned instead towards the opposite end of the street. He'd been away from his lessons for too long. He was afraid he'd forget what he'd learned from Mary Travis. Didn't do a man much good to learn his letters, if he forgot them from one day to the next. He wasn't ashamed of not knowing how to read, but neither did he want it announced to all of Four Corners that he was illiterate. A day like this, with most folks off the streets, would give him a chance for an uninterrupted hour with Mary, if she could spare him the time.
The blinds were drawn in the storefront that housed the Clarion News, but Vin figured Mary was already at work. Never did see a woman so much set on workin' as Miz Travis. She put him in mind of his ma, a brave soul, trying to make a living out of the hard-scrabble ranch up in the hills. But the toll had been too high, and she had died, leaving him alone. Vin didn't much like thinking on those days, so far away that in his memory they were sun-faded and dim. Living in the present was tough enough.
The door of the newspaper office opened to his touch. Mary was standing over her printing press, tendrils of her blond hair plastered to her forehead, and saying words no lady ought to speak. Vin tried not to smile, but Mary's troubles with her demon machine were well known. She put the wrench to a nut, and yanked it. The wrench slipped, her knuckles scraped across the rough metal.
"Hellfire and damnation!" She sucked on her raw knuckles and kicked at the machine in frustration.
"That bronc buck you off again, Miz Travis?" Vin asked softly from where he stood.
"Vin!" She blushed a fiery red. "I didn't know you were there."
"That was a fine piece of cussin', Mary."
She shook her head ruefully. "I know this machine was made by a man; but I swear the devil had a hand in its design."
"What d'ye need to be done?"
"This — this nut. It gets too tight, and the paper won't feed properly." Mary sighed and handed the wrench to Vin. "I'd be obliged if you would give it a yank for me."
"I ain't much fer mechanical things, ma'am. But I reckon I can do that." He hooked the head of the wrench around the bolt, and freed it with a hard twist.
Mary sighed in relief as she cranked the last sheets of newsprint through the press. "Thank you, Vin." She bundled up her broadsheets and pushed her damp hair from her forehead. "It's hot."
"Yes, ma'am. And gonna git hotter."
Mary untied her printer's apron and raised it over her head. "Why don't you put your coat down, Vin. I'll get some water, and we can start where we left off the other day. That is what you want, isn't it?"
"Yes, ma'am." Beneath his tanned cheeks, Mary saw a blush rise. Lord, but sometimes she forgot how young Vin was. The buckskin jacket he usually wore hid his slight frame, made him look filled out and grown. Then she remembered the rifle he carried, the hawk-like focus of those blue, blue eyes, and the men he had killed. She turned quickly and went into the small room at the back of the newspaper where she kept her supplies. When she came out, her hair was tidy again, and she had two glasses of water with her. Vin was holding one of her sheets, squinting at the words as if studying them up close would somehow make them more comprehensible.
She would never have known Vin couldn't read if he hadn't come to her with a poem in his mind, and a need to set it down on paper. The words came back to her:
I stare across that solitary plain,
Each and every dawn,
Always searching for a hero's heart.
A stranger bleeds,
His hope lies near death,
Clutching a tangled wreath,
To crown a hero's heart.
It had set her aback, to hear those words coming from Vin, reticent to the point of silence, soft-spoken and deadly. And she wondered what he would have been if he had been born in Boston, or New York, or Chicago, instead of out here. She blinked, all those thoughts chasing through her mind in the space of a few seconds. "Well, shall we start?" she asked.
They worked for nearly a full hour, with Vin laboriously sounding out the words on the first page of the newspaper. It was maddening, frustrating, and sometimes just didn't make sense that two words that looked so much alike could sound so different, and mean different things, but when he looked up after puzzling out the entire lead story, that hole in his heart he had asked Mary to fill was smaller. He drew a deep breath and sat back.
"Makes my hair hurt," he shook his head. "Sure wish I wasn't so damn slow."
"But you're not! You should be proud of what you've learned."
"I reckon I ain't never gonna speak like Ezra," his mouth curved in a shy smile. "But least I'll be able ta understand some of them words he tosses around like shiny pebbles."
Mary laughed, that warm silvery sound that could make a man's nerves tingle. "Vin, there's many a man with twenty years of education that couldn't peg Ezra as neatly as you have."
Again, the blush and Vin's lashes veiled his eyes. He stood uneasily, abashed by the compliment. "I done took up 'nough of yer time, Mary. Thanks fer the lesson."
"Vin, wait. I have something for you." She went to her desk and pulled out a leather-bound book and offered it to him.
Vin looked at it like a thirsty man looks at a stream of water. Books were as precious as gold to him. Even Ezra with his fancy talk, and Josiah with his Bible learnin' didn't own books. "I cain't take that, Mary."
"Of course you can! Here —" She extended her hands, and Vin released his hold on his gunbelt and tentatively took the volume from her. The cover was tooled leather, the pages edged with shiny gold. Vin's slim fingers traced the design reverently. He'd never held anything so beautiful in his life. He opened the cover and studied the fly-leaf. He looked up at Mary, his eyes confused. "This belonged to yer husband. It should be Billy's. You don't want to give it to someone like me."
Mary put her hands on her hips. "I want to give it to someone exactly like you! A friend who will cherish it. Billy has other books from his father. You aren't taking anything away from him by accepting it. You would be doing my husband's memory an honor. Please, Vin ..."
How could he refuse the plea in those clear eyes? He opened the book to a page marked with a satin ribbon, and sounded out the title. His mouth turned up in a slight smile. "Eldorado ... the gold one."
"It's poetry, Vin. That one reminded me a bit of the poem you wrote. So you see, who else would I give it to?"
Vin shook his head. "I don't reckon I should be mentioned in th'same breath as this feller. But thank you." He wouldn't look at her for a moment, and when he did, his eyes were bright. "It'll be my book, Mary. But I'd ask you ta keep it fer me. The way I live, well, I wouldn't want it t'get damaged." He held it out to her, and she took it from him gravely.
"I'll do that, Vin. We'll read it together, next time you come."
He nodded, tipped the brim of his hat to her and left, feeling something ... he didn't know what to call it ... perhaps pride, perhaps just satisfaction, but an emotion akin to the first time he had fired a rifle at a target and hit it dead on. Never thought he'd be much good at anythin' requiring more than sharp eyes and a steady hand.
Stepping out on the street was like getting hit in the face with a blast from a bonfire. It hurt to breathe. Vin sucked in the air and felt it parch his throat. He looked up at the sky. No clouds yet, but the sun was overlaid by a slight veil of haze. He looked to the northwest horizon and thought he could discern a slight difference in coloration, a smudge, as if some hand had taken a piece of charcoal and drawn a line between the earth and the sky.
The unnatural tension in the air thrummed along his nerves like the strings of a guitarra. He'd been long enough in the wild to recognize the signs of a storm brewing, and this one had all the earmarks of a killer. Whether or not it would bring beneficial rains, or just wreak havoc was not something he could foresee. He slung his jacket over his shoulder and headed back towards the saloon.
Chris was still there, looking as if he hadn't moved for the last hour but to take another swallow of his coffee. Vin slid into a chair at the table. "It's fixin' ta storm," he sighed.
"Bad?" Chris asked, knowing the answer from Vin's somber expression. He trusted the tracker's instincts more than he trusted his own. "Ain't much we can do about it. Anyone with an ounce of sense can see it comin.'"
Vin's nervous hands drummed lightly on the tabletop. "Cain't prepare folks fer what they cain't see. It ain't the wind n'rain worryin' me. It's the lightnin'. Everythin' so damn dry that one strike and the grass'll go up like tinder. I seen it happen b'fore."
"Might not happen," Chris said.
"Might not." His soft voice held out no hope.
Even as he spoke, a low growl of thunder sounded. It put Chris in mind of the war, the way the cannons rumbled, shaking the earth beneath your feet even though the fight itself was miles away. "Whatever the hell happens, it won't be long now," he gathered his long legs under him and rose from the chair. "Better round up the others in case we're needed."
As they stepped outside, the first tendrils of the storm clouds were streaming towards Four Corners. The sky was inky black to the northwest, the skirts of the clouds green-tinged and angry. Lightning flickered in the bellies of the thunderheads, and the rolling thunder seemed to be rising from the bowels of the earth. But there was no sign of rain.
The old cottonwood tree had stood on the hillside for nearly a hundred years. It was bent and twisted, most of its branches were deadwood, and stood like shattered arms from the trunk. There were still a few branches capable of bearing new leaves, but the heat of the summer had shriveled them to husks. It was a lonely sentinel looking over the plains; buffalo herds, Indians, Spaniards, and Americans from the east had passed beneath its branches. It had seen the town of Four Corners grow from a few tents to a community of souls. But today it would die.
The bolt of lightning struck like the flaming sword of an archangel, cleaving the heart of the cottonwood. It exploded, spreading sparks and bits of wood into the dry grasses at its roots. A devil's wind rose, fanning the sparks and chasing them in a fiery dance across the chaparral. As the grasses ignited and burned, the wind picked up. The reach of the fire expanded with the speed of a locomotive — and the town of Four Corners was square in its path.
Vin, Chris, and JD Dunne were weathering the storm in the shelter of the jail. Buck had holed up with Ezra and Inez at the saloon, and Josiah and Nathan were at the church, readying for any casualties from the storm. They had done what they could to prepare the town, and most of the residents had heeded the warning and battened their residences and businesses down tight. The ranchers and farmers on the outskirts of Four Corners would have to manage on their own. But they were the folks who had the most to lose; livestock, shelter, crops. Wouldn't be easy for them to recover their losses from storm damage.
Vin watched the lightning streak across the sky. The thunder that followed in its wake cracked like the lash of a celestial whip and reverberated into eternity. There had been a brief, hard downpour that did nothing but settle the layer of dirt on the streets of Four Corners, before the full fury of the storm hit. The wind howled around the buildings, ripping wooden shingles off roofs and sending trash skating across the dirt. Vin was grateful that the jail was stone-built. He glanced at Chris, sitting imperturbable at the desk, studying the ash that was accumulating at the end of his cheroot. Only the draw of his lean cheeks revealed the undercurrent of tension in his body. JD had been pacing since they had settled in. His dark hair was considerably mussed from his nervous habit of thrusting his fingers through it. Vin reckoned he knew where JD's mind was: with Nettie and Casey Wells. It warn't like his own thoughts hadn't strayed there, too.
He winced as a searing flash of lightning seemed to strike to the center of his skull. He had hoped that the release of the storm would ease the raw tingling of his nerves, but it had not. All his senses were on alert, and he did not know why.
He turned to Chris and JD. "I don't like this. I'm gonna ride out and take a look, see what's happenin' outside town."
That announcement made Chris move. He set down the cheroot and gave Vin one of his narrow, green-eyed studies that could reduce hardened criminals to jelly. "Like hell you are, Tanner."
Vin returned the gaze calmly. "I'm a grown man. Been out in worse than this. Y'ain't got no call ta tell me what I cain't do."
Chris stared him down for a moment and then his mouth turned up slightly at one corner, an admission that perhaps the tracker was right. "Can't tell you what to do, but I can tell you that it don't strike me as the wisest decision you've ever made, partner."
JD had paused in his pacing the instant Vin had spoken, and as soon as he heard Chris relent, he snatched up his bowler hat. "I'm goin' with you, Vin." He turned to Larabee defiantly. "Don't try to talk me outta this, Chris."
Chris would have argued, but after looking at those two determined faces, he knew he could not stand against them. They were young, but as Vin had said, they were grown men, and he figured Vin had the smarts to look after JD, and having JD along would temper Vin's tendency to take risks with his own life. He nodded. "All right. I won't stop you two. But if you come across something that you can't handle, you high-tail it back to town, y'hear?"
"Sure will, Chris!" JD was settling his hat on his head even as he spoke.
Vin reached out a hand and plucked it off. "Sorry, pard. If'n you want ta keep that there hat, you'd better leave it here. That wind'll carry it half ta Kansas." He gave Chris a ghost of a smile. "See ya." He pulled on his jacket. "C'mon, JD Let's ride."
They were less than a mile out of town when Vin caught the first whiff of smoke on the wind. He reined Peso in sharply. "JD. Hold on, there."
JD hauled in on his mount's reins. The sand and dust driven by the wind felt like needles piercing his skin. He blinked hard and shook his straight, dark bangs out of his eyes. Unaccountably, Vin's slouch hat remained firmly on his head. He cupped his hands around his mouth. "What is it?"
"Take a deep breath. You smell anything?"
JD's eyes widened. "Smoke?"
"Yeah, that's what I was thinkin'. Goddamn!" He spurred forward, heading Peso up the sharp rise in from of them, and then stopped short. JD followed him, and halted, wide-eyed.
The flat expanse of land stretched before them. On the horizon, coming fast, was a wall of flame. It was awesome, frightening; nature rampaging across wide-open land. Overhead, the storm-wrack was torn into black shreds of cloud driven by the wind, but above the fire-line the sky was blood-red. As the fire advanced, it spread tendrils ignited by the sap of exploding pinon trees and sparks that fell to the ground and propagated a hundred new children of their own. Both men were paralyzed by the sight, then Vin wheeled Peso. "C'mon, JD. We gotta warn folks."
JD was transfixed by the sea of fire ahead of him. "Jesus, Vin. I ain't never seen anything like that."
"I have," Vin said grimly. "And we ain't got much time."
"How can we stop it?" JD whispered.
"We cain't. We jist tell folk t'get out of the way and pray the wind dies down." Vin spurred Peso lightly, and they rode off towards the first ranch in the line of fire.
Even as he spoke, the tracker's mind was on the next step to take. He and JD would have to split up. It would be better for JD to ride back to Four Corners and start preparing folks there. Vin thought of the terrain between the fire and the town. With luck, the riverbed would act as a natural firebreak, but with the land as arid as it was, there was no guarantee that the waters would protect the town from the fury of the firestorm. Worse, if the wind kept up, the fire would leap the river like it was no obstacle at all. It made Vin sick to think of the destruction of the town. He thought of Mary's press, and her books, and her hard work; of Ezra's saloon, Josiah's church, Nathan's clinic. And not just of the buildings, but of the hearts of the people who had taken him in; Mrs. Potter at the mercantile, Nettie and Casey Wells, and the solitary, dark-clad gunslinger who was the closest thing to a friend, hell, to a brother, that he had ever had. At least Chris' shack was away from the track of the fire, and he wouldn't lose that, but it wouldn't mean much if the man himself were gone.
They stopped briefly at two ranches to warn the owners. Yet even in that short time, Vin could sense the fire growing stronger and more near. He could taste it now, acrid on his tongue and the back of his throat. The wind had died down in the wake of the storm, but what he felt rising was the hot breath of the fire.
As they approached the Well's homestead, Nettie and Casey were standing on their porch. JD was off his horse, and holding out his arms to Casey in the blink of an eye.
"You alright, Casey? The storm didn't get you?" he asked when she was close to him and he felt he could breathe again.
Casey shook her head. "What's happening, JD? I c'n smell the smoke — what's burning?"
JD didn't know how to answer that without alarming her. He looked to Tanner. Vin slid from Peso's saddle. "Nettie," he touched his hat. "Miss Casey ... the plain's afire. You'd best plan on headin' out."
"Leave?" Casey gasped. "Leave our home? Everything?"
Nettie shook her head. "I ain't leavin', Vin, unless I've got no other choice. You tell me true. Ain't there anything t'be done?"
Vin rubbed his forehead. "Don't see what, Miss Nettie. Cain't count on the wind dyin' or changin' direction."
Nettie looked at him steadily, trying to gauge how serious the situation was. He was a hard man to read, with those wary eyes at odds with his easy way of standing. Couldn't tell how fast his heart was beating beneath that calm exterior; but Nettie figured that he wouldn't mislead her. Better she trust that than ignore his advice. He wouldn't give it lightly, she knew that much. "All right, then. Casey, pack up some clothes."
"But —"
"Don't argue with me, girl." She frowned at her niece until Casey's shoulders drooped and she went obediently inside to follow Nettie's instructions.
Vin nodded. "JD, you an' Casey get back ta town. Be safer there. Tell Chris n' the others t'start makin' plans to get out of Four Corners."
"What about you?"
"I'll stay t'help Nettie with her stock. We'll folla' you later."
JD looked into Vin's blue eyes. "You ain't leavin," he stated, reading the tracker's expression.
Vin shook his head. "Cain't." He knew JD wouldn't argue with him, not when he had Casey's welfare on his mind. "Tell the others we'll be along. Tell Chris not t'worry."
"Sure, Vin," he replied a bit absently. He was watching Casey come towards him, leading her horse. "I'll tell him."
Casey handed her reins to JD, and went to her aunt's side. She looked into Nettie's eyes and hugged her. "Please, come with us, Aunt Nettie," she begged. "I don't want to lose you to this!"
Nettie smoothed her niece's dark braids. "Hush, there. You ain't gonna lose me, child. How could you? I'll have Vin here, and we'll be along shortly. I reckon there's lots of folks in town who are gonna need help, so you go with JD, honey. He'll take good care of you." She fixed JD with a stern look. "You'd better take heed of that, young man."
JD tugged at his forelock of dark hair. "I sure will. C'mon, Casey." He helped Casey mount, even though she gave him a look that stated she was perfectly capable of doing it on her own. They both looked back once as they left the homestead. JD at Vin, standing at Nettie Well's side, and Casey at her aunt, the only family she had left in this world.
"They'll be all right, won't they, JD?" she asked, her voice nearly breaking despite her resolve.
"They'll be fine. Vin's been through this before, he told me so." He cast a look at the threatening sky. The wind was swirling now, hot and cold, depending on which direction it was coming from. It seemed a bad omen to JD. He spurred on his horse, and he and Casey headed quickly as they dared towards Four Corners.
Standing next to Nettie, Vin felt the wind shifting. His throat was aching and raw. He felt a light touch on his skin, and looked at the smudge on the back of his hand. Ash was falling like black snow. "First thing we c'n do is start wetting down the roof of the house," he said. "Keep sparks from catchin'." He heard the restless neighing and stamping of the horses in the barn. "Best let'em out, Nettie. We c'n round'em up later. They'll have a better chance runnin' free than inside that barn."
Nettie thought of her horses, of the mule that dragged her plow, of the saddles and tack and farm equipment that cost more than she made in a year — a good year. To lose all that would be hard, mighty hard. It would be worse to lose the house, she decided. She nodded. "Let's do it then." Setting her face against the fear and worry she felt churning in her stomach, she resolutely went about following Vin's instructions, and tried to keep her eyes from the sky.
Vin could hear the fire now, a whisper of a thousand voices rising and falling with the wind. The clouds overhead were glowing like dying embers. In a flash of memory, he recalled standing on a mountainside watching as the prairie below him burned; an ocean of grass whose waves were crested with fire, consuming all, driving all before it; the buffalo running, the birds rising to the skies, some with feathers blazing, only to plummet to the earth like creatures from the stories Vin had been raised on. The heat so intense that even the snakes sought escape, leaping and twisting in a mad dance, and dying, too. And afterwards, the blackened earth, the stench of death, the charred bones. The prairie had come back more fertile than ever in the spring, but he had never forgotten that awesome sight.
A hot wind blowing across his face broke his momentary reverie. It was not the time to daydream, it was time to fight. He shucked off his buckskin jacket. "C'mon, Nettie. We need t' wet down the roof."
He clambered easily to the flat porch roof, and as Nettie drew buckets of water from the well, he began soaking the dry wooden shingles, hoping that he was not spittin' into hell.
JD and Casey found Four Corners preparing for the worst. The drop in the wind had brought them extra time, and Josiah and Chris had rousted out the citizens, armed them with shovels, pickaxes, and water buckets. A makeshift fire-break had been dug at points where Four Corners was most vulnerable, about a quarter mile from the center of town. And there were plenty of folks dousing their shingles with water. There was no time to do more.
As they dismounted at the jail, JD looked to the west where the sky was lit like sunset, but no sunset had ever seemed so alive. He couldn't see the fire yet, but he could smell the smoke and taste it, and feel it on the wind. He took Casey's elbow and dragged her from where she stood peering into the horizon as if she could see what was happening back at the homestead. Her delicate features were dusted with cinders, and JD took out his pocket handkerchief and gently flicked them from her skin. "They'll be all right, Casey. Vin promised."
Casey bit her lip. "Don't look like promises can save them, JD. Not even prayers. I shouldn't have left her there."
JD figured the best thing for Casey would be to take on something to distract her from her worries. "Let's find Nathan. Bet there's folk who could use some help right about now."
Casey nodded, fought back her tears. She didn't want JD to think she was weak and frail, even though she felt like that inside. Her chin came up stubbornly. "Thank you, JD. You're right. They'll be fine. I know it."
The door opened, and Chris Larabee stepped outside. Judging from the dust on his dark clothes, he'd been digging with the rest of the townsmen. His eyes passed over them, noting their presence, but seeking someone else. "Miss Casey, why don't you head on over to the church, see if Josiah and Nathan c'n use some help. JD, a word with you?" He cocked his head towards the interior of the jail.
The tenor of that quiet voice made Casey shiver. No one argued with Chris Larabee when he had that flat, hard look about his eyes. She was more'n half scared of him despite JD's faith in the man; yet at the same time, she didn't want him to know that; as if he might be hurt by her fear. So she met his eyes and nodded. "I'll do that, Mr. Larabee. 'Bye, JD."
The two men watched her go down the street for a moment before Chris spoke. "Where's Vin and Nettie?" he asked — as if he couldn't guess.
"I tried to make 'em come, Chris. But Nettie wouldn't leave her place, and Vin, well you know how he is about Nettie."
Chris knew. He knew that his solitary friend had formed a bond with the small, indomitable Nettie Wells, and she in turn loved the man like a son. Two of the damnedest stubborn souls he'd ever met! No wonder they'd stuck like glue. "Damnit, JD —" he broke off his admonition. Why was he cussin' out the boy when it was that mulish tracker he wanted to throttle? It wasn't JD's fault that those two had dug in, determined to save Nettie's place. It was his home, whether Vin recognized it or not. He looked at the angry skies. "This ain't good, JD." It was all he said, but it was enough.
JD watched helplessly as Chris headed toward the livery. Half of him wanted to follow the gunslinger back to Nettie's, the other half wanted to stay in town with Casey, to make sure she would be all right. He was pretty sure that if she caught wind of him goin' after Chris, that she would saddle up and ride off after them. She was like that. He gazed down the street, as if a solution would present itself, and Lord, if it didn't. He set off at a run towards the saloon. Buck Wilmington was the only man he knew who could make Chris see reason, hog-tie Vin, and charm Miss Nettie away from danger. Buck would bring 'em back.
They lost the barn despite Vin's heroic efforts to save it. Nettie finally had to restrain him from a last attempt to drag as many of the farm implements to safety as he could. It was too much for one man. He stood beside her, his chest heaving, his lungs burning, his eyes watering from smoke, frustration, and anger at his own weakness. Nettie, fatalistic, had merely watched in silence as it burned. She still had her house. The barn was an acceptable loss.
"It's all right, son," she soothed, patting his shoulders. "You saved more'n I ever dreamed you could."
"Warn't enough, Nettie," he sighed tiredly. "Warn't near enough." He hated to admit defeat, but he took the canteen of water Nettie offered to him and drank it down. He touched Nettie's grey hair, now nearly black with soot. "I'm goin' back on the roof, Nettie. Can you bring up more water?" He hated to ask her, but with the fire so close, and the sparks flyin' in the wind like they were, he couldn't risk leaving the shingles to dry. If it was the last thing he did, he wouldn't let Nettie and Casey lose their house.
Nettie looked at her raw, aching hands. They'd done hard work in their time, but nothing as hard as the service she'd given them tonight. "Vin, son. I c'n only do so much, and I sure don't know how much water is left in that there well."
Vin peered at the old woman. Even beneath the layer of grime and soot, he could see the pallor of exhaustion in the hollows of her face. He'd no right to ask her for more than she had to give. He looked around. Besides the two buckets he'd been using, there were a couple of jugs he had pulled from the barn. He could use those, fill 'em up and carry them to the ladder. It would require more trips up and down that rickety structure, but it was the only hope they had. He nodded. "I'll do it, Nettie. You jist try to beat out any sparks you see landin' near the house." He looked up, scenting the wind; it was lighter, less unpredictable but still blowing from the wrong direction. Lord, he was tired; wrung out and sweated dry. As soon as this fire was finished, he'd drink ten gallons of water and sleep for a week. And then he'd go up to the high country and let the air clear out his lungs.
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