Disclaimer: The 'Magnificent Seven' characters are the property of MGM, Trilogy, and the Mirisch Company. I just borrowed them, played with them for a while, and then regretfully gave them back! The original characters are mine, and are not to be used without permission. No money will be made from this work of fan fiction.
Genre: Old West. General/Action.
Main characters: Vin, Nathan, and OFC.
Rating: NC17 — mainly for language, racial connotations and graphic sexual description. Sensitive readers may find some of the content disturbing or offensive.
Author's Note: Heartfelt thanks to my husband, Mike, for his patience and understanding, while I spent hours at the PC working on this, my second work of fan fiction. A big, big thank you to Jill for stepping in at the last minute, and doing such a wonderful job of beta'ing this for me. Jill, sorry about all of my grammatical gaffs — you're a Star! Thanks also to Heather and Sue for allowing me to make reference to their story, Faith of the Heart, which can be found on Heroes Are Us website.
Nice comments to susieburton999@yahoo.co.uk — I really would appreciate feedback!
March 2003.
It was late afternoon in the town of Driscol's Point, and there were a few people going about their everyday business, as the four strangers rode slowly down the main street. The travel stained men came to a halt outside the Sheriff's Office, but it was the two handcuffed riders whose mounts had been on lead reins that now attracted the attention of several men and women, and within a few minutes a small crowd had gathered on the sidewalk to stare curiously at the newcomers. The concerned muttering of the townsfolk elicited little response from the tall moustached rider, and with a quick glance at the younger man in the buckskin jacket, he handed the lead strap to his friend before dismounting.
The two prisoners were all that was left of the Brandon gang, who had robbed the bank in Driscol's Point the previous week, killing several innocent townsfolk and a deputy in the attack, before making a getaway with the money. The gang of five had arrived in Four Corners, and having recognised them from a description that had been sent via the telegraph by Sheriff Payne, Chris Larabee and the other peacekeepers had apprehended the killers. Three of the gang had died in the resulting shootout, but the two survivors had now been escorted back to Driscol's Point to stand trial for their crimes.
The door to the jailhouse opened, and a grey haired man of about fifty came out of the office, his shrewd gaze taking in the four men in front of him. "Howdy. I'm Thomas Payne, an' I reckon ya'll must be the deputies from Four Corners, huh?"
With a quick nod, the tall peacekeeper proceeded to haul his sullen looking prisoner from his horse before frogmarching him towards the jailhouse. "Yeah. Chris Larabee sends his regards, and says he's sorry he couldn't make it hisself." Buck Wilmington pushed the truculent man through the open doorway, before turning back for the second detainee next to his friend.
It had been a long ride from Four Corners, and as Vin Tanner jumped down from his leg weary horse he slapped the dust from his buckskin jacket. "Buck, d'ya wanta get these fellas handed over proper t'Sheriff Payne, while I see to the hosses?" The younger man held the reins of all four animals, but his blue eyes were suddenly focussed on a passing covered wagon, which was accompanied by a rider on a wiry Indian pony. It wasn't the burly, vicious looking man driving the rig that held the tracker's attention, but the blanket wrapped figure of a scared looking Indian girl sitting next to the driver that the young Texan stared at.
Buck had seen the distracted look on his friend's face, and as he pulled the second prisoner down from his horse the ladies' man nudged the tracker's arm. "Vin? Hey there, pard, you okay?"
Tearing his gaze from the young girls face, Vin shot his friend an apologetic grin. "Yeah. I'll meet ya down at the saloon, huh? Reckon it's pretty late in the day to head back home, so looks like we're here fer the night."
The tall peacekeeper grinned, as he nodded. "Yep. Don't reckon the others'll mind us taking a bit of time off. Make a change to see some new folks, an' at least we'll have a nice peaceful night where we ain't gotta listen t'Chris bellyaching about how Nathan's still fussin' around him!"
"Yeah, yer right there, Buck. I know how Chris feels, but he's jes' gotta accept that he's still getting' over that illness. The stubborn cuss ain't got the sense t'know when he's licked, which' why I told Josiah t'lock 'im in that cell 'til we'd got away." Vin chuckled delightedly at the stunt he'd pulled on the gunslinger just before leaving town.
Chris was still recuperating from a mystery illness that had struck him down when he'd got back from the town of Diablo Falls. For nearly two weeks, Nathan had relentlessly battled to treat the unknown malady, and the remaining peacekeepers had had to face up to the very real possibility that their leader would die from the debilitating sickness. However, fortune must have favoured the brave during those terrible days, as the fates had mercifully intervened and the man eventually recovered.
It was nearly three weeks since Chris' fever had finally abated, and although the gunslinger was now back on his feet, he had no stamina, a fact that had been patently highlighted by the gunfight with the Brandon gang. Following a tense shootout with the five killers in Four Corners, Chris had chased the leader of the robbers down an alley and killed him, and had then unceremoniously collapsed from exhaustion in the street. A furious Nathan had been adamant that the still recuperating gunslinger was not going to be the one to escort the remaining gang members back to Driscol's Point, and all of the six peacekeepers had agreed that Chris would be a liability on such an arduous trip. Vin and Buck had volunteered to return the prisoners, and had managed to get away from town without running into Chris Larabee; a feat that had astonished the ladies' man.
Buck laughed at his young friend's revelation. "Whoee! He's sure gonna be riled with you when we get back! I'd keep outta his way for a few days if I were you, pard. Let me get this fella safely locked up, and I'll see you down at the saloon." The tall peacekeeper shoved the handcuffed man in front of him, as he followed Sheriff Payne into the office.
Getting astride his black gelding once more, Vin peered down the main street, and on spotting the hanging sign above the town's livery stable he nudged his mount forward, leading the three horses behind him.
It was still quite early in the morning as Vin and Buck left the boarding house. They had just finished breakfast but were keen to make a start for home, knowing that they had at least a two-day journey ahead of them. Vin had picked up some fresh supplies from the general store before making his way over to meet Buck at the restaurant, and the two peacekeepers were now on their way to the livery stable.
After saddling up and getting their belongings stowed safely in saddlebags, the two men led their horses out of the building's side entrance. Vin was preparing to mount when a sudden movement to his right accompanied by an angry sounding snarl, caught his attention, and with an indignant cry the tracker flung his horses reins to the startled Buck before throwing himself bodily to the source of the scuffle. The wagon that Vin had seen the previous day was standing to the side of the stable, but it was the actions of the burly, unkempt man brandishing a wooden club close to the rig that caused the tracker's outrage.
The young Indian girl was cowering dazedly against the back wagon wheel, her arm defensively shielding her head as she waited for another blow from the heavy club to land. That strike never materialised as Vin careered into the girl's assailant, catching the man by surprise, and the two fell down on the hard ground, rolling over a few times as they began to fight.
"Hold it right there!" Buck had reacted quickly to his friend's unexpected offensive, and on seeing a younger man appear from the back of the wagon, he drew his pistol and unerringly pointed it at the newcomer.
The man hastily raised his arms in the air, and as the tall peacekeeper indicated with his left hand, he carefully jumped clear of the wagon, watching Buck the whole time.
"You just stand facing the wall, an' don't give me an excuse t'put a bullet in you, y'hear?" the ladies' man growled. With a hasty glance at the two still grappling with one another on the ground, Buck strode to the youngster, pulling out the man's weapon and casting the gun some distance away.
Satisfied that the man posed no further threat, the tall peacekeeper holstered his pistol, and then went to the side of the terrified girl.
Crouching down slowly, Buck gazed sympathetically at the young girl. "Hey there, darlin'. S'okay now. Are you hurt?" he asked gently.
Cradling her left hand to her chest, the girl looked up at her rescuer, face impassive and unsure whether to trust the new arrival. With a small shake of her head she got to her feet, watching silently as Vin continued to struggle with his adversary.
The older man was much heavier than the slim tracker, but Vin was more agile and his hard fists had hit their mark on many occasions, a fact evidenced by the blood pouring from the other's nose and mouth. Clambering to his feet, the young Texan pulled his right arm back and, with precision timing, aimed a monumental blow at the older man's jaw, the impetus of the punch making the tracker stagger a little. The larger man dropped as if he had been pole-axed, sprawling dazedly on his back in the dirt.
Vin was panting from his exertions, and a line of blood was trickling down the side of his face from a cut over his eye, but apart from a few bruises, it appeared as if this was his only injury. Wiping the sweat from his brow, the tracker crossed to where the burly man lay. "Ain't no one got the right t'take a club to a defenceless gal," he growled menacingly at the man.
As the man sat up he spat out a broken tooth and, dragging his sleeve across his swollen mouth he gave the tracker a look of pure hatred. "Y'bastard! Look what y'done t'me. That piece o' Injun trash is mine, an' I can do what I please t'her!"
On hearing this statement, Vin moved closer to the man, his hand hovering close to the hilt of his weighty belt knife.
"Vin! Let it be!" Buck's normally quiet voice barked out an order, and for a moment the tall peacekeeper thought his friend would pull the blade and sink it into the burly man before him.
With an angry curse, the tracker backed away from his aggressor, although his eyes never left the man's face. "Buck, lets get outta here. We're takin' the gal with us, an' this scum can go gripe t'the sheriff if he's gotta problem." Vin crossed to where the girl stood and put a gentle hand on her shoulder. "Have ya got anythin' that's yers in th'wagon?" he asked softly, indicating the rig, and hoping that she understood him. The young woman shook her head, but still refrained from speaking, her face a set mask as she stared ahead.
On seeing Buck move his grey around a little in order to cover the two men, the tracker led the girl to where his black gelding was patiently standing and, cupping his hands together, he boosted her up in front of the saddle. Vin climbed up behind the girl and, without looking back at the two men, kicked his horse into a trot, heading along the alley to the main street.
Buck walked his grey to the side of the wagon, his flinty gaze disdainfully flicking over both men. The tall peacekeeper smiled, although there was no sign of humour in his blue eyes. "If I was you, I'd not try t'follow us. Don't reckon I could hold him back again, 'specially when he's riled up like that, an' the open trails a real lonely place for a man t'die." The softly drawled warning was blunt, and both men had no doubt that the two departing riders were more than able to carry out the implied threat. Nudging his grey forward at a faster pace, Buck followed after his friend.
Watching the departing rider for a moment, the youngster then offered his hand to the man still sitting on the ground. As the burly man climbed to his feet, his eyes narrowed dangerously as he glared down the alley.
"Frank, mebbe it's fer the best that she's gone. Hell, you've had yer fun wit' her, an' she'd only slow us down if we needed t'light out real quick after our next job." The younger man went to pick up his discarded pistol as he spoke to his companion.
"No one musses wit' Frank Rolfe an' lives t'tell the tale. I've got unfinished business wit' that half-breed whore, an' no do gooder beef-head's gonna take what's mine. C'mon, let's see if we can find out who they were, an' where they's headed. That fuckin' Injun lover's gonna be sorry he ever set eyes on that worthless piece of Cherokee shit!" Rolfe's mouth had begun to swell where the tracker's fists had landed, but there was no mistaking the fury in his slightly muffled comment.
With a loud sigh the younger man laced the heavy tarpaulin flap at the rear of the wagon, while Rolfe emptied a canteen of water over his head.
"Right, Mattie-boy. Let's find out what we can about those bastards. Did ya hear 'em say any names?" Rolfe looked at his partner, as he wiped his bloodied face with a filthy rag.
Matthew Holland gave the older man a resigned look, and knew there was no point in trying to stop the other from pursuing the two men and the Indian girl. "Yeah. They were called Vin an' Buck, so if we ask at the saloon I guess we can find someone who knows where they're headed."
"I aim to, boy. I got me a little present fer that long-haired bastard, an' I want t'watch his face as I spill his guts in front of that damned Injun bitch!" Rolfe pulled out a long double-edged knife from its sheath at his belt, and slowly ran his finger along the gleaming blade in anticipation as he thought of his revenge against the unsuspecting Vin Tanner.
The two horses were cantering along at a mile-eating lope, as the two peacekeepers wanted to put as much distance between themselves and the two men involved in the fight. Buck Wilmington had for the third time in the two hours that they had been riding, circled around to the rear to check that they were not being followed, and as he returned to the side of Vin Tanner he motioned to his friend to stop.
"I don't reckon we've got anyone on our tail, Vin. I think we should stop fer a spell, an' see to the gal. Hosses could do with a breather too." Buck continued scanning the horizon behind him, as he made his suggestion.
Vin pointed to a small rocky outcrop, backed by several trees that looked to be a mile or so away. "Yeah. Lets rest up over there, Buck. Mebbe there's a watering hole there too." The tracker urged his horse on again, after he too was satisfied that they were not being observed.
A large spreading tree dominated the rocky area, and the two men guided their mounts to the shadiest spot under the dense canopy. The girl slid easily to the ground as Vin came to a halt, although she still held her arm carefully while cagily surveying the area.
Dismounting from the lathered gelding the tracker grabbed his canteen from the saddle, and after taking a long swig he then passed it to the girl.
A flicker of surprise crossed the girl's pretty features, but she took the proffered flask and drank thirstily.
"Figure ya can understand us. What's yer name?" Vin asked, as he took back the canteen and pushed the stopper on.
The girl remained passively quiet, her brown eyes fixed on a point straight ahead of her.
Buck had walked the horses to cool them, and after allowing the black and grey to drink at the small water hole he had tied the reins to a sturdy-looking bush. The tall peacekeeper had heard the tracker's question while he had worked, and now wandered over with a puzzled look at his friend as he hunkered down in front of the other two. "Can't help you, darlin', if you ain't gonna talk t'us. We ain't gonna hurt ya but I can see your arm ain't looking too good. Why don'tcha let me take a looksee at it, huh?" Buck's voice was softly persuasive, and he indicated with his head to the tracker at the saddlebags slung across the grey.
Getting to his feet, Vin went to get the small medical kit that Nathan insisted the men carry and, starting to unroll the cloth pouch as he returned, extracted a roll of white bandages.
Buck had eased the girl's jacket off and was examining her left wrist, which was quite swollen and bruised. "It could be broken, but it's so badly swelled I ain't really sure." As he made this pronouncement, Buck held out his hand for the bandages.
Vin gazed thoughtfully at the young woman, as the ladies' man expertly bound her injured hand, a thin smile on his face as the girl stoically withstood Buck's gentle, but nonetheless painful ministrations. With a shake of his head, the young Texan crossed to the waterhole and, pushing his hat back, knelt down to splash water over his blood-encrusted face before refilling the canteen. He looked up as Buck came down beside him to wash his own hands and face.
"What're we gonna do with her, Vin? I don't reckon she'll be able t'stay in town; folks wouldn't be too happy t'have an Indian squaw living with 'em, and things could get nasty for her." Buck gave his friend a sidelong glance, unsure what the younger man's reaction would be.
"S'pose ya reckon we should'a jes' left her back there t'get beaten t'death, huh? Iffen she were white, ya'll wouldn't be sayin' that, would ya, Buck?" There was a hard brittle edge to Vin's voice, and the tall peacekeeper knew he would have to be careful what he said to his friend.
Vin Tanner had spent many of his formative years living with both the Comanche and Kiowa peoples and, although he never really talked about those times, all his friends were aware of the respect and trust the tracker had for the native Indians. It was assumed that the Texan's tracking abilities had been learned from various Indian warriors, and the fact that the man was fluent in several Indian dialects also confirmed that Vin must have become completely integrated into the tribes that he had resided with. This experience had given the tracker the unquestioning ability to accept anyone from a different race or culture, and the young man judged all people on their deeds and actions, never on the colour of their skin.
With an audible sigh, Buck shook his head. "Hell, you know I ain't worried whether she's white, brown, green, blue or purple! All I'm saying is that mebbe she wouldn't be able t'stay in town, not just 'cos of the townsfolk but 'cos she probably couldn't cope with the restrictions and confinement of a white community."
Vin nodded, exhaling slowly as he felt the tension ooze out of him. He knew that he always went on the defensive whenever the subject of the peoples from the Indian nations came up, but was fully cognizant of the other peacekeepers' open views on the matter, and was sure that he would have his friends' support on this current problem once back in Four Corners.
"Yeah, sorry Buck. Know yer right. Mebbe Josiah or Nathan'd have an idea what t'do. Course, the gal's gotta have her own say — an' if we can jes' get her to talk it'd be a start!" The tracker rammed his hat back on as he spoke, but the frustration in his reply was clear to his friend.
Walking over to his black gelding, Vin stowed the full canteen back on his saddle strap and, after retightening the girth, led his horse over to where the girl still sat.
With a wry grin, he cocked his head at the girl. "Feel a mite strange, not knowing yer name, gal. I'm Vin Tanner, an' this' Buck Wilmington. We's peacekeepers from the town o' Four Corners which's where we're headed, an' we've gotta real good friend there who does doctorin', so's he can fix up that hand fer ya. We'll worry 'bout where ya can go, once yer fit t'travel, okay?"
The girl had managed to get her jacket back on and Buck had placed the injured hand in a sling, but she had still not uttered a sound. With a rueful sigh, the tracker got the girl mounted, springing up lightly behind her as the two horses started once again. The journey home would be somewhat slower than anticipated, as Vin's horse would need to take a steadier pace and require more frequent rests to make up for the additional burden it carried. As they got back on the trail, Buck took another wide sweep behind them, but was relieved to find that there was no-one following. So the two men decided to slacken their speed as they continued onward.
JD was lounging on a chair outside the jailhouse whittling on a piece of wood, and although it appeared as if he was paying little attention to the fairly busy street, he was watchful for the return of Vin Tanner and Buck Wilmington.
The two men had been expected back in town two days ago, but it was reaching late afternoon now and there was still no sign of the pair. There could be any number of reasons for the delay, and as the five remaining peacekeepers' had gathered in the saloon at lunchtime, several possibilities had been discussed to justify the pairs' non-arrival, although Chris had already begun to blame himself if it transpired that some harm had befallen his two friends. The gunslinger had decided to send a telegraph to Sheriff Payne, checking to make sure Vin and Buck had actually reached Driscol's Point with the prisoners, but it was unlikely that a reply would come through until the next day.
The youngest peacekeeper hastily flung the piece of wood away as he peered along the main street at the two familiar horses that had just walked into view. Jumping to his feet, JD wrenched the jailhouse door open and stuck his head around the frame.
"Chris! Nathan! They're back!" The youngster went to lean on the front rail as he waited for his friends to approach.
Chris and Nathan strode out to join the younger man, and as the riders got closer, the gunslinger frowned in puzzlement as he spotted the Indian girl riding in front of Vin Tanner.
Nathan pursed his lips in consternation. "Looks like they've had a few problems. That gal's hurt, an' it seems as though someone's had a go at Vin too," he said softly in Chris' ear.
Chris nodded briefly. It appeared that his two friends had a lot of explaining to do, but the black dressed man was heartily pleased to see that the pair was safe, even if the trip had not gone quite how they expected.
Buck slid off his horse, a wide grin on his face as he saw his waiting friends, and holding out his hand to Chris he clasped the gunslinger's arm warmly. "This's real nice! I didn't expect no welcoming committee. Hope you ain't gonna run up t'hug an' kiss me, kid, 'cos I'm in sore need of a cold beer, and then a shave and bath!" The tall peacekeeper winked conspiratorially at Nathan, as he teased JD.
"Nah. Reckon you'd give a she-skunk a close contest in the aroma stakes, Buck. I could smell you comin', afore I even saw you!" JD scoffed scornfully. Buck was like the older brother he had never had, and the youngster was glad that this man he cared so much for had returned safely to the town.
"Nathan, this gal's hurt her arm. D'ya want me t'take her up to yer clinic?" It was obvious that the tracker wasn't in the mood to waste time on social courtesies, and seemed keen to get the girl away from the curious eyes of the few townsfolk that had gathered on the sidewalk.
The tall healer nodded briskly. "Yeah, I'm jes' on my way." Nathan disappeared back into the jailhouse, returning a few seconds later with his hat, which he pulled on as he walked in the direction of the clinic.
Looking at the departing back of the tracker, Chris tapped Buck's arm. "Let's walk, pard. You look in need of a drink, and you can tell me what happened on the way to the saloon."
The tall peacekeeper grunted in agreement. "JD, could you take this tired ole hoss of mine to the stable, and get her settled down?" Buck handed the reins to the youngster.
"Sure thing, Buck. I'll pick up Vin's black on the way too, and then see you in the saloon shortly, huh?" JD hurriedly led the grey away, eager to get the chore done so he could spend some time with his friend. Chris and Buck began talking earnestly, as they headed for the saloon.
Chris Larabee sighed heavily as he climbed the steps to Nathan's clinic. Following his twenty minute conversation with Buck at the saloon he was now fully appraised of what had occurred at Driscol's Point, and while he could understand what had driven the young Texan to take such drastic action against the two men, he was also fully aware of what the reaction of the townsfolk would be on seeing an Indian woman being given refuge by the peacekeepers.
In fact, as the black dressed man had left the saloon alone, Bert Conklin, who lived on the outskirts of town, had advanced on Chris loudly voicing his concerns, almost as if expecting a rampaging war party of Indian braves to appear on the horizon at any second. Chris had been scathingly dismissive of the man's agitated ranting, but could tell that it wouldn't be long before he would have to face the collective anger of some of the more xenophobic members of the community.
As the clinic door opened to admit Chris, Nathan glanced up momentarily at the gunslinger, and the older man could see that the healer was barely keeping his emotions in check as he carefully re-bandaged the girl's wrist.
Vin Tanner was nonchalantly lounging against the far wall, hat pushed back, sipping a cup of coffee, although his blue eyes missed nothing as he watched the healer work.
Having helped himself to a coffee, the gunslinger then ambled over to stand next to the young tracker. "Vin. Good to see you back, pard. Buck filled me in on what happened with the girl." There was no trace of condemnation in Chris' softly spoken comment, yet the Texan shot his friend an angry look.
"Dammit, Chris! Don't tell me ya think I should'a left her there to die!" Vin snorted furiously.
"Hold on a minute, Vin, and just calm down! Did I say that? No. It's a problem for us all now, but we can deal with it. Let Nathan fix her up; she can rest here until she's fit again, and then we can decide what's the best thing to do for her." There was no arguing with the gunslinger when he used that tone, and the tracker visibly relaxed, as he thought about his friends words.
"Hmm. Reckon yer right, Chris. I jes' wish she would talk t'me! I've tried speaking t'her in all the Indian tongues I know, but she ain't said nuthin', 'though I'm sure she understands us." Vin rubbed at his face wearily.
Chris could see his friend was tired, and his features still bore the bruises from the fight he'd had three days ago, but the older man knew it was pointless trying to get the tracker to rest until he had made some progress with the girl.
The clinic door opened once again, and Josiah entered carrying a large covered tray, which he then placed on the small table close to where Nathan sat. The ex-preacher pulled the cloth away to reveal a large bowl of beef and vegetable hot-pot, some crusty bread thickly spread with butter, two apples and a glass of milk. The young woman turned her head, her nose twitching as she caught a whiff of the tantalising food aroma drifting towards her, and Josiah smiled kindly as he offered her the full glass. With a furtive look at all four men, the girl snatched the glass of milk, drinking deeply until very little remained.
Nathan gave Josiah a satisfied look, and keeping his movements deliberately slow, the healer climbed to his feet, crossing the room to join Chris and Vin.
"Waal, at least she's eating summat, even if she ain't inclined to talk," whispered Nathan to the men beside him.
Chris watched as the girl began eating the meal that Josiah had presented to her, surprised that she was using the cutlery and not her hands to consume the food.
"Vin..." Nathan began, as he also noticed how the girl was eating.
"Yeah. See it, Nathan. I don't reckon she's a full-blooded Indian, y'know. Her hair ain't that dark and her face it's ...waal..." The tracker broke off, struggling to find the correct terminology.
Nathan nodded vigorously, as he realised what the younger man suspected. "Her features are too fine an' dainty, an' she's taller than any Indian gal I've ever seen. I'd say there's some Mexican blood in her, so mebbe her mama was from across the border. I know some tribes used to raid in the south, an' I heard tales that they'd carry away young women to be held as slaves or be married off to the worthy braves."
"That was a favourite trick o' the Comanche's. I knew quite a few warriors whose mamas were Mexican señoritas, but they'd bin accepted inter the tribe an' they had the same rights an' privileges as a full-blooded Comanche woman." Vin's blue eyes stared blankly ahead, as if remembering a long buried memory.
"Then she's part Comanche and part Mexican?" Chris frowned in confusion, as he looked first at the healer and then back at the pre-occupied tracker.
"Dunno, 'bout that, Chris, but I aim t'find out what she was doing with those stinkin' hombres wit' th' wagon," replied Vin fervently.
"I'll leave it to you gents then, huh?" Chris felt slightly superfluous to the current situation, and knew that for now the girl had more need of the joint expertise of Vin, Nathan and Josiah - which left him free to handle any problems that may arise because of her presence in town.
"Thanks, Chris!" Nathan's quiet comment dripped with sarcasm, as he rubbed his jaw thoughtfully.
"Hell, don't thank me, Nathan! As Ezra would say, I weren't the one t'give you this convoluted conundrum! Best get summat sorted soon though, 'cos I've already had that old windbag Conklin stickin' his dime's worth into my face, and I don't reckon it'll be long afore others start griping as well." Chris gave his friends a wry grin, but they knew that the gunslinger would not be intimidated by anything the townsfolk said, and was more than able to deal with any possible hostility directed at the unfortunate young woman.
The girl had stopped eating and looked up as Chris quietly left the clinic, but realising that nothing had occurred to threaten her, she quickly went back to her meal.
"Apart from her arm, is she gonna be alright, Nathan?" Vin smiled, as he watched the young woman bite a huge chunk off the crisp red apple that Josiah had placed in her hand.
"Yeah. Her wrist's broken, and there are quite a few old bruises on her arms and legs, but I can't check her proper 'til she trusts us a mite more. If I try an' have a real good look, she'll probably go crazy. The poor thing's scared an' confused, but I'll keep her up here fer now an' hope that she starts t'open up a bit. Mebbe when she's rested some, she'll talk to us. Looks like she's not the only one who needs to rest up either." Nathan replied, his intense gaze now assessing the tracker's physical appearance, noting the deep cut over Vin's eye, the dark bruises on his face, and the younger man's tired countenance.
"I'm fine, Nathan, so save yer fussin' fer her. I've jes' gotta find out where she came from, and then mebbe we can get her back to her own folks." Vin walked over to the bed where the girl sat cross-legged, and pulling up a chair beside her he reached across to the food tray, helping himself to the second apple.
With a nod at the tracker, Josiah got up from his own seat and ambled over to the stove to pour coffee, before crossing to stand next to Nathan.
Vin absently turned the shiny red fruit over and over in his hand, regarding the girl thoughtfully as if unsure what to say. Coming to a decision, he began speaking in Spanish. "What's yer name, señorita? Where d'ya come from?" He glanced over to where his two friends silently stood, and then tentatively put a hand on the girl's arm. "Yer safe here, gal. No one will hurt ya now an' we only want to help."
The girl had finished eating, and her eyes darted around the clinic until coming to a rest on the concerned face of the tracker. "I am Maniwi," she replied in the same language, "but my mother always called me Querida. Thank you, Vin Tanner, for helping me to escape." The girl's eyes held a trace of sadness as she gazed at the tracker, and her hand lifted to the Texan's face, a light finger tracing the scab forming line where he had been cut in the brawl with Rolfe.
With a smile at his success, Vin gently caught the girl's hand and nodded happily. "Reckon we'll call ya Querida then. How long had ya bin wit' them two?" he asked carefully, not wanting to upset her.
"A little longer than one passing of a full moon. We have travelled a great distance, and crossed many rivers. This is the first time I have been in a white man's hacienda." Querida peered through the window inquisitively, her head cocked to one side as she listened to the everyday sounds of the town outside.
The tracker looked at the apple he still held in his hand before dropping it back on the tray, and then glanced over to his two friends once more. Vin knew that Josiah was reasonably fluent in Spanish although Nathan had never learned the language, and the ex-preacher had been translating for the healer. At least now they could communicate with the girl so, looking back at her, Vin began his gentle questioning again.
"How did ya come t'be wit' 'em? Ain't ya got no family, gal?"
"My mother was the favourite wife of Shomay, a brave Cherokee warrior. They are all dead now from an evil sickness. Many in my tribe died, including my man. I was cast out with nothing by the wives below me, and left to die in a desert. The men found me. I was hungry and they gave me food, and I had nowhere else to go." The statements sounded matter of fact, almost as if the woman was relating a tale about another person.
Vin nodded knowingly as he listened to the young woman's story. This was an all too common problem for widows in many Indian tribes, even when they were living on a reservation or under the so-called protection of the army. It was yet another brutal practice that made many civilised folk fear and detest the Indian nations, and few white people ever tried to understand the seemingly barbaric customs that the tribes still adhered to.
Getting to his feet, the tracker sidled over to where his two friends lounged, and keeping his eyes fixed on the passive girl he gave a low sigh, frustration clearly evident in his voice. "Waal, beats me as t'what we do wit' her. She can't stay here y'know; she'd not cope, an' I don't reckon we'd be able t'track down her tribe, even if they'd have her back. I don't reckon she's much more than ...fourteen or fifteen?" He shot a fleeting, questioning look at Josiah, who nodded in agreement. Vin frowned as he continued, "so she's too old fer someone to want t'take her in, but too young t'be left on her own."
Nathan bit his bottom lip, as he pondered the girl's plight. Looking quickly at both men standing either side of him, he suddenly smiled. "The Seminole village! I know Tastanagi wouldn't turn her away, although she may have'ta take some possessions wit' her, a hoss or a coupla goats mebbe."
"Yep. I think you may have provided the answer to this girl's problems, Brother Nathan. I'm sure something could be arranged so that she didn't have to join that community empty handed." Josiah grinned hugely as he pounded the tall healer on the back.
Nathan nodded, his face thoughtful as he turned the idea over in his mind. "Yeah. Ain't sure where we're gonna find the dollars t'get her some supplies, but it'll need t'be done, 'cos from what Rain's told me those folk exist from day t'day, an' an extra mouth to feed'll make it hard on 'em all."
Vin leaned closer to the healer and gave the tall man a wry smile. "P'raps we can get Ezra t'do some givin' again. He seems to hit it off with all the waifs an' strays that arrive in the area," the tracker drawled cryptically, ignoring the puzzled look on his two friends' faces.
Nathan snorted loudly. "I never had Ezra marked down as the charitable kind, Vin, but I'd sure like t'be around when ya do the askin'. It's bin some time since I saw our garrulous gambler stuck fer words, an' I reckon that might just do it!"
"We'll see, Nate. I reckon I can handle Ezra — all ya need t'do is play on his Southron, gentlemanly ways. 'Sides, he honestly believes he owes me fer helping t'clear his name." Vin's white teeth gleamed in contrast to his deeply tanned face as he grinned widely. During the time when Chris had been taken ill, Ezra had been accused and jailed on suspicion of murder, and his subsequent exoneration had been achieved by the almost exclusive efforts of Vin Tanner. It wasn't what the tracker physically did to find the real killer, but more the unswerving belief he had held of the gambler's innocence, and it was this that had given Ezra such a strong feeling of indebtedness to his friend.
Josiah finished his coffee, staring into the empty cup momentarily as he thoughtfully considered the problem. "Well, there's still a few dollars in the church poor box, and seeing as how no-one in these parts seems to be going without, then I think we could use some of the funds to purchase a few bags of supplies. A sack of flour and one of corn would be a start, and if we put word around of what is needed then maybe the girl will have a tidy amount of provisions to take with her." The big ex-preacher smiled with satisfaction, although he was aware that certain members of the town's community would not be generous to an Indian woman.
"When will she be up to travelling, Nathan?" Now that a solution had been found for the young woman's dilemma, the tracker was impatient to get the girl settled in her new home.
"Waal, she ain't that badly hurt, just exhausted and a bit malnourished. I think she'll be up to it in a coupla days. If we do manage to get enough supplies then we'll probably need to take a wagon, which'll be a mite slow moving. It may be best if she had more than one of us as an escort, too." Nathan looked concerned, as he eyed the younger man next to him.
Vin nodded grimly, aware of the meaning behind the healer's comment. "I don't reckon those two bastards will try and track her down, Nate. Buck and me were real careful, and I'm sure no one followed us back here. I can't see 'em wasting time coming after her, and even if they did find out who we were and where we headed, waal, that type's too yella to come bustin' in t'town and risk tanglin' with us seven."
"Mebbe. Waal, I could use a break from here, and I'm sure the folks at the village would welcome any help I could give with any illness or injuries, so I reckon I'm a willing volunteer to take her out there." Nathan's face took on a faraway look, and his mouth formed a faint smile.
The tall healer's comment was not lost on either of his two friends. During Chris Larabee's illness, Nathan had been at a loss to find a cure for the sick gunslinger, and had even begun to lose faith in his abilities as a healer as his friend's condition deteriorated. It was only after the arrival of Rain from the Seminole village that Nathan had been provided with a possible treatment for the mystery sickness, although it was the heroic efforts of Vin Tanner that had procured a now much treasured syringe to inject medicine into the ailing man. Rain had been a tower of strength for the healer in those dark days, and as a result their relationship had blossomed. The girl had stayed in town for several weeks, and it was clear to the other six peacekeepers how much the couple meant to each other, although none of the men would have dreamed of prying into the pair's liaison.
Josiah shot the tracker a droll look, his large teeth gleaming as he grinned widely. "I believe Brother Nathan may have an ulterior motive for a trip to the village. What do you think, Vin?"
The younger man's blue eyes twinkled mischievously, and he glanced sideways at the still distracted healer. "Yeah, Josiah. Wouldn't be s'prised if he was to turn up at the village an' start bartering a bride price wit' ole Tastanagi, 'cos he's sure got a love struck look on his face right now."
"Huh?" Nathan started out of his reverie at the tracker's quiet remark.
Josiah chuckled, and putting a large hand on Nathan's forehead, he winked at the amused looking tracker. "Yep, he's definitely feverish. Sweaty and panting hard, and I bet if our esteemed healer felt his own pulse then it would most likely be racing as fast as a steam train. I doubt if he'll find a cure in those bottles and potions for the malady that hits a man when Cupid's been at work!"
"Cut it out you two! Ain't ya got anything better to do wit' yer time, aside from annoying me?" Nathan growled, as he batted Josiah's hand away.
Looking across at the lightly dozing girl, a shadow of a smile crossed Vin's face. "I'll speak to Chris, Nate, but I think it'd be best if the two of us took her out to Rain's folks. I'm sure Tiny or Chas can loan us a wagon for the trip, so let's hope we can fill it with a fair amount of food and supplies."
Josiah gave the girl a benevolent look, but he felt slightly awed by the compassion and resolve shown by the younger man at his side.
"Well, it looks as if we've got quite a few things to arrange, Brothers. At least she can be assured of a safe future now, and hopefully she can start to rebuild a life for herself." Josiah inched closer to the tracker and, placing a fatherly hand on Vin's shoulder, he gestured solemnly to the girl. "Son, you make me feel proud to be able to call you a friend. There are not many men who would do what you did, risking yourself to place another, less fortunate under your powerful Aegis. Your spirit is pure and true, my friend, and I give a warrior's salutation to your integrity and honour."
Vin shuffled his feet, looking down at his boots in embarrassment at the ex-preacher's passionate statement. "Aw, Josiah. I ain't done nuthin' that y'all wouldn't o' done. Reckon I jes' beat ole Buck to the mark when that mean hombre clubbed her. But yer right, I'm powerful eager t'get her livin' with some good folks."
Nathan frowned in confusion, and then smiled gently when he realised the Texan's misinterpretation of the uncommon word. "No not eager, Vin. Josiah said Aegis — it means protection, shield."
With a philosophical shrug, the tracker playfully nudged Nathan's arm. "Must be what Chris was meanin' when he said she was a problem fer all o' us, huh? I'll remember to tell Ezra 'bout that fancy word when I'm workin' on his gentlemanly ways later. Reckon he'll be thinkin' that I done read one o' them cyclypeedier books that Mary keeps in her office!"
The other two peacekeepers chuckled at the idea of the younger man getting one over on the highly educated and well-read gambler.
Nathan winked at Josiah. "Might be summat worth going to the saloon for tonight, Josiah. I'm already interested t'see how Vin's gonna get Ezra to part with his money, so we could be in for an amusing evening. I do so love seeing someone hold that man over a barrel!" The healer and ex-preacher both looked amused, and anticipated a lively evening's entertainment at the gambler's expense — literally!
"Nathan, it might be best if ya make her up a bed on the floor. Doubt if she's ever slept on a proper mattress afore, and all this must be real scary for her," Vin suddenly remarked.
"Yeah, I'll do that. D'ya want t'tell her what's happening, Vin. I think for her own safety she oughta stay up here for the next few days until we're ready to go, which'll give me the chance to check her over in case she has any further injuries." Nathan went over to the stove and poured another cup of coffee, although his main attention was focussed on the weary looking Vin Tanner. The healer watched closely as the younger man crossed over to the girl and started speaking quietly to her in Spanish.
The ex-preacher could sense that Nathan was concerned for the Texan's well being, and ambling over to join his friend, he leaned closer to the tall healer. "Don't worry, I'll make sure that boy gets some hot food in him and rests up for a while. I know he's stubborn and ornery when he wants to be, but I think between Chris and me we can make sure he looks after his own needs," Josiah said in a hushed voice.
"Thanks, Josiah. I can't think how he always seems to get hisself in these awkward situations. Y'know, it's like the two words are meant to go together — Vin, trouble. It's got to the point now where I almost dread him leaving town, 'cos I know damn well summat's gonna happen to him! Between him an' Chris, they certainly make sure I'm kept busy!" Nathan snorted softly.
Josiah chuckled quietly, his big frame shaking with mirth. "Thing is Nathan, that boy's heart is so big, he can't stand by and see an innocent suffer. I meant every word of what I said just now, and there are times when he makes me feel very small and humble. You know, the world would be a finer place if God had seen fit to put more like him on this Earth. I'm sure our Lord keeps a special eye out for him, and I guess he has extra protection from the Great Spirit too. Either that, or he's just plain lucky to have survived thus far!"
"Yeah, ya must be right, 'specially about the dumb luck part! That don't stop me worryin' though. Mebbe, I'm gettin' old, or p'rhaps you crazy bunch of fellas are finally wearin' me down, but I'll be glad to take a break from here an' see Rain again." The healer drained his coffee as he spoke, placing the empty cup on the dresser at the side.
Seeing that the tracker had finished talking to the girl, Josiah ambled over to the young Texan, placing a firm hand on Vin's shoulder. "Why don't we leave her to rest for now, son? You need to fill your own belly, and get some sleep too. Nathan can see that she's comfortable, and I believe we need to procure those supplies."
Scrubbing at his face tiredly, Vin nodded. "Yeah. I do feel a mite peaked, but I think I'll get me a hot bath first. Nate, if ya need me later I'll be in the saloon talkin' t'Ezra."
With a last look at Querida, the two peacekeepers quietly left the clinic.
It was three days following the Indian girl's arrival in town, and Josiah and JD were busily loading supplies onto a wagon that was outside Mrs Potter's store. A reasonable amount had been either donated or purchased for Querida, and a rapidly growing pile of provisions and utensils were now stacked on the sidewalk as the two men worked to stow everything safely.
Nettie Wells had given Vin Tanner a basket with three young laying hens in it, and Mary Travis had donated several old but still serviceable lamps, plus a full barrel of oil. A small box of cooking utensils and a rolled wad of cotton cloth had been collected from various members of the community, and Inez had given the similarly sized girl two warm skirts, together with an unwanted jacket. Even JD had been able to contribute some clothing, and two of his more fancy but rarely worn shirts now resided in the brown paper parcel with all the other garments. The tracker had sifted through his collection of meagre belongings, and had added several blankets to the top of the still increasing stack. However, the most generous gift was that of a heavily pregnant nanny goat that was tethered to one of the sidewalk rails.
A few hours earlier, there had been much whispering and giggling when the immaculately dressed Ezra Standish had strolled down the town's main street leading the noisily bleating animal on a long rope. Buck Wilmington had been the first of the peacekeepers to witness the extraordinary spectacle, and after hurriedly calling into the jailhouse for Chris and JD, the ladies' man had then strode up to the handsome gambler.
"Hey, Ezra, who's your lady friend?" The tall peacekeeper gave his friend a suggestive wink, and a wide grin.
"Mr Wilmington, if you please. This animal is not mine, nor do I have any intention of making friends with the capricious beast." As Ezra spoke, the goat trotted closer behind him, butting against the leg of his pristine pants. With an indignant yelp, he tried to pull the lead out to arm's length, whilst increasing his own pace to get away from the animal's unwanted attention.
Chris and JD had joined the two in the street and were flanking the almost ruffled looking gambler, although they were careful to keep their distance from the irascible goat as they continued down the street.
With a sidelong glance at Ezra, the gunslinger smiled thinly. "Capricious? That's real funny, Ezra, but that ain't no way to speak within a lady's earshot. 'Specially when that lady's a goat!"
Ezra knew this had been a very bad idea as soon as he had led the animal down the town's main thoroughfare, and he could not work out why he had been persuaded by Vin Tanner to personally make the delivery to Querida. Gritting his teeth, the gambler quickened his pace once again; he was anxious to get off the street and away from the ribald comments that he knew would be coming from his friends. "This lady, as you so inaccurately called her, was given to me by a gentleman to cover a shortfall on a gambling debt. Now, Mr Larabee, I have absolutely no requirements for such a beast, which is why I am donating her to that beleaguered young woman that Mr Tanner so gallantly rescued."
Buck put a sympathetic hand on the gambler's shoulder, and his voice had a deadly serious note in it as he spoke. "Waal, I thought mebbe you'd just got desperate, Ezra. Though I guess the height difference could make things a mite difficult," he finished, frowning and thoughtfully rubbing his chin, as if actually considering the possibility.
The ladies' man waggled his eyebrows meaningfully at Chris Larabee, and the two stared at Ezra and the goat, before moving their hands up and down horizontally, as if gauging the distance between man and beast.
Throwing a hand up in outraged dismissal, the gambler stared straight ahead. "Mr Wilmington, if you carry on in this slanderous fashion, then I may have to shoot you."
Undeterred, Buck caught up with the younger man and, walking backwards so he still had both gambler and goat in sight, he continued talking. "By the way Ezra, d'ya know who the kid's father is?"
Ezra came to an abrupt halt and his face run a gamut of emotions, as there was no doubting the tall peacekeeper's implication, plus the double entrende. The shocked look on the gambler's face, made JD grin, which quickly escalated into a full belly laugh when he saw Chris' shoulders shaking with silent laughter.
"No I do not, Mr Wilmington, and I totally resent what you are trying to infer. If you are so interested in this animal, then why don't you take her to where Mr Sanchez is loading the wagon," the gambler snapped angrily.
"Oh, I couldn't do that, Ezra. It wouldn't be right to come 'tween a man an' his lady." Buck cocked his head to one side, his teeth gleaming as he smiled broadly.
"That is it! If you think that I am going to stand here and listen to your inane rambling..."
Whatever the gambler was about to say was precipitously cut off, as the goat standing behind him began to move at speed and, lowering its head, charged full on at the gambler's backside. Giving a startled cry, Ezra jumped, leaping forward slightly, and the movement was accompanied by a loud ripping sound.
The three other peacekeepers backed hastily away, but none of them could speak for laughing as they saw the goat standing placidly eating a large piece of material from Ezra's pants.
"Look what that... that contemptible beast just did to my brand new pants!" The gambler's face was suffused with anger, and he twisted his head around to try and see the extent of the damage.
Discovering that half of the pants' fabric covering his backside had been ripped away, he was even more mortified to feel the ragged, torn flap of his silk shorts also fluttering in the breeze. With an inarticulate screech, Ezra whipped his hat off and attempted to cover his rear, while glaring furiously at his fellow peacekeepers'.
Tears were running down Buck's face, and he had to hold on to JD for support as he howled with laughter at the hapless gambler's expense. "Ezra, you must'a been summat real special to that gal, 'cos she sure wants another bite at you! I ain't never had any of the ladies that I know chase after me for seconds! Not in public, anyhow!"
At Buck's words, Chris and JD momentarily looked at one another before doubling up with renewed laughter. "Buck, you obviously ain't got the same way with women as ole Ezra has," Chris eventually managed to stutter. "Aw, jeez Ezra. The look on your face was worth a whole week of pleasure at the brothel in Purgatory!"
Staring in stunned disbelief at first the goat, and then his three sniggering colleagues, Ezra haughtily pulled himself upright. "Gentlemen — and I use that word in the loosest possible way — if you are quite finished with your vulgar insinuations, then I will now fulfil my obligation to Mr Tanner and Querida. Do not fear, my friends. I will seek and gain retribution for your participation in this sordid incident, and I would exhort you to keep a careful watch on your activities in the forthcoming weeks. You have been warned." With as much dignity as he could muster, whilst still holding his hat in place, the gambler tugged on the rope and hurriedly strode down the street to deliver the still masticating goat.
A few townspeople had stopped on the sidewalk to witness the gambler's misfortune, but no one paid any attention to the young man lounging indolently on a chair outside the bathhouse. Matthew Holland had arrived in town the previous day and had kept a fairly low profile, not even going to a saloon the previous evening. The young man had gathered information from several sources, and knew of the plan to escort the young Indian girl to the Seminole Village. He had also heard Josiah talking to Nathan as he'd passed close to where the wagon was being loaded, and was aware that the tall healer would be accompanying the longhaired tracker for the two-day trip.
Watching as the four peacekeepers drifted off, he got to his feet, slung his saddlebag over his shoulder, and started to walk in the direction of the livery stable. If he left now he would be back at the place just outside of town where his partner was camped, and once the older man had been updated on the situation, the two could formulate their own plan.
The sun was starting to slowly sink in the late afternoon sky, and Vin Tanner knew that there was less than an hour of good light left. Touching his heels to his horse's side, he urged his mount ahead as he began to search for a reasonable place to camp for the night. He, Nathan and Querida had left Four Corners just before noon, but the pace they were forced to take with the laden wagon and the slow moving goat trotting behind it, meant that they were not even halfway to the Seminole Village, and in fact would probably not reach their destination until late the following day.
Cantering back to the wagon, Vin came alongside the rig. "Nate, there's a tolerable place t'stop jes' ahead. Look fer a small clump o' trees and there's a shallow stream, with good grazing close too. It's 'bout a mile down the trail, but I'm jes' gonna do a sweep behind us t'make sure we ain't got any unwanted company."
Nathan frowned in puzzlement. "Vin, we ain't seen hide nor hair of anyone all afternoon. What makes ya think we might'a picked up a tail?"
The tracker gave a shrug. "Dunno, Nate. I've jes' got this real prickly feelin' in m'neck. A bit like an' itch that I cain't scratch. I've bin scoutin' 'round real good, but ain't seen no sign of nuthin'. Better t'be safe than sorry, though. Y'keep on movin', an' I'll catch up wit' ya soon." He gave the two a quick nod and then, whirling his black gelding around, he cantered off to carry out his reconnaissance of their back trail.
Nathan steered the wagon under the spreading limbs of a tree and, with a satisfied check around the area, he pulled the brake on full before jumping down from the rig. Querida slipped lightly down, stretching her back and legs as she surveyed the gentle terrain. The two looked up as they heard the rapid approach of a horse, relaxing again when they saw it was Vin Tanner.
Nathan continued unhitching the chestnut mare from the wagon shafts. "Everythin' okay?" he asked the other man.
The tracker was already seeing to his horse's needs, and he gave his companion a short nod. "Seems t'be. I dunno, Nate, reckon I must be getting' jittery in m'old age."
The tall healer chuckled, as he led the mare over to where his friend stood. Holding out the tether rein, Nathan jutted his chin to the bubbling rivulet. "Waal, old timer, why don't ya shuffle them ancient bones over an' water the hosses, while us young 'uns think about getting some coffee and food going."
Querida had wandered around the immediate vicinity picking up dried twigs and kindling for a fire, and seeing a disease-twisted tree in the distance, she purposefully strode towards it to break off some of the larger dry limbs.
A darting movement to her right caused her to cry out in alarm, and dropping the bundles of wood, she then attempted to escape from the rapidly approaching men.
Frank Rolfe and Matthew Holland had been travelling at a slightly faster pace ahead of the party from Four Corners, and knowing that the three would be journeying over two days to the Seminole Village, the younger man had been watching Vin and Nathan's progress from a discreet distance. It had been pure coincidence that the two had made their own camp not more than four miles from the spot that Vin Tanner had chosen, and after returning for Rolfe, the pair had ridden just over half way and then completed the remaining mile or so on foot. The two had made a silent approach to the edge of their unsuspecting victims' camp, and luck had favoured them even more when they observed the Indian girl straying away from the protection of the two peacekeepers. Sliding his knife from its sheath, Rolfe sprang at the alarmed girl, dragging her viciously to his chest as he held the glinting blade to her throat.
Vin reacted speedily on hearing Querida's anguished gasp, and dropping the two horses' reins he spun around, hand jabbing towards the butt of his cut down Winchester. The healer had been kneeling down at the water's edge, in the process of filling the tin coffee pot with stream water, and consequently his own response to the threat was slightly slower than the tracker's. Holland had a pistol already in his hand, and there was a determined look on his face as he trained the weapon on the two peacekeepers'.
"'Less y'want me to spill this worthless whore's blood, then I reckon you should keep yer hands away from yer weapons," Rolfe growled savagely, as he pricked the knife's sharp point close to the girl's jugular vein.
As one, the two peacekeepers slowly raised their hands, careful not to make any sudden move that might put Querida's life in further jeopardy.
"It's me ya'll be wantin', so why don't ya jes' let her go," Vin spat out angrily.
Rolfe gave a malevolent grin. "Y'right there, y'bastard. I don't take kindly to havin' m'property stolen, an' I reckon you owe me. The last few nights've bin a mite lonely, but I reckon I'll be feelin' her warm softness 'neath me again real soon. Hope ya ain't spoilt her fer me. Although, pretty boy, mebbe ya prefer summat on the other side of the fence. Does that nigger do it fer ya, real sweet like, huh?" The man sneered lasciviously, and there was no mistaking the intent of his words.
Vin's face flushed in outrage, but he refused to be goaded into making a rash move. "Ya'll ain't got the guts to ask me face t'face. Scum like ya allus hides behind a skirt."
The big man's face twisted in rage at the tracker's biting words, and for a second Vin thought he had pushed the other too far.
"Mattie, y'keep yer gun on the whore and the nigger boy. I need to teach that Injun lovin' bastard a real good lesson in manners. You." He gestured to Nathan with his head, although his grip remained firm on the girl. "Git and sit by that tree. Ya try an' interfere, an' my friend'll drill holes in ya, and this piece of trash too. I've always wanted t'see if black folks bleed the same as us decent white men!"
Glancing worriedly at the motionless tracker, Nathan obediently crossed to the spot Rolfe indicated, and spreading his arms out, he stood passively as Holland relieved him of his gun belt, before sinking to the ground when the younger man waved him downwards. He still held the water filled coffee pot, which he now tucked behind him, and giving a small cough he gazed meaningfully into Vin's angrily flashing eyes. An unspoken message coursed between the two peacekeepers, and the healer knew that the younger man was aware that Nathan still had his brace of three knives strapped to his back beneath his jacket. They would have to be patient and hope that the opportunity presented itself to launch an offensive.
On seeing that his companion had the healer well covered, Rolfe's attention turned back to the frightened girl. He could see that the Texan would not risk her life, and he wanted to take pleasure in taunting the tracker before he finally dispatched the interfering man. Shifting his arm slightly, but still keeping the blade pressed to Querida's skin, he brought up his other hand, forcefully ripping open the girl's shirt. Several buttons flew off the garment and, although she gave a small whimper, the terrified girl stared straight ahead as the man cruelly squeezed one of her now exposed breasts.
"I've missed yer tits, gal, but I've got ya back now, so we can carry on with our lovin' nights. I hope ya'll ain't bin havin' fun wit' any o' them boys', 'cos I'll be a mite angry if ya's in the family way. No one but Frank Rolfe's got the right t'fill yer belly." Rolfe laughed, as he gazed mockingly at Vin Tanner. Tilting his head down lower, the man licked Querida's neck, his tongue trailing up to her ear and then down again, before he took a spiteful bite at the fleshy part of her shoulder.
Vin was willing himself to hold his temper as the brutish man continued fondling the girl, although the only indication he gave of his increasing rancour was the spasmodic clutching of his fists and the slight narrowing of his eyes. Keeping his face an impassive mask, he continually assessed the tense situation. It was clear to the Texan that Rolfe meant to kill both himself and Nathan, as the man was not bothered about disclosing his identity, and Vin inwardly cursed himself for not detecting the two either on the return from Driscol's Point or today after leaving Four Corners.
"Y'must be real yella, Rolfe. I'm the man that's got a knife, but yer too cowardly to try an' take it off me. Yer jes' a stinkin' bag of wind, pissin' 'round wit' a defenceless gal, 'cos ya ain't got the balls t'take me on." The scornful challenge in Vin's words made the older man snarl, and he immediately grabbed a handful of Querida's long hair, swinging her around before propelling her over to where Nathan still crouched.
The healer automatically caught the stunned girl, gently pushing her a little behind him as he closely watched the drama that was about to unfold. Holland had also been surprised by his companion's action and he stepped a little closer to where the two were, although his gun was still trained unwaveringly on Nathan.
Rolfe sidled over to a small clearing, his enraged gaze not leaving the tracker's face. With a beckoning gesture to the Texan, the older man dropped into a fighting stance. "C'mon then, pretty boy. Lose the gun, an' then let's see what ya l'arnt from those fuckin' savages. Try an' take me if ya can!"
Stripping off his buckskin jacket, and casually tossing that and his sawn off Winchester to the side, Vin then pulled his knife from its scabbard as he went to face Rolfe.
The two protagonists stared at one another, neither man appearing to want to make the first move as they began to gauge the strength and skill of each other. Warily, and almost in slow motion they began to circle to the left, keeping a respectable distance between them although neither man seemed willing to commence the fight.
Vin could tell by Rolfe's stance that the older man had a reasonable amount of prowess with a blade, but the tracker was convinced that he held the edge when it came to speed and agility. And although the other was heavier and taller, he did not look as physically fit as the Texan. Another facet that may give the peacekeeper an advantage was the blade that Rolfe held. Vin's knife was at least an inch longer, and this could prove to be a decisive factor if the two were evenly matched in expertise. The tracker had honed his knife fighting skills whilst living with both the Comanche and Kiowa peoples, and consequently adhered to the Indian style of holding the handle within a fist, with the blade angled downwards. Apparently, Rolfe must have also learned some tricks from the Indian nations, as he adopted the same attack position as Vin.
Several minutes had passed, and the two now came to a halt, crouching a little, while keeping their body weight perfectly balanced. The first few moves that both men initially executed were testing manoeuvres, as they individually ascertained the other's abilities, and both patiently waited for the other to deliver the first strike. With a rapid flick of his wrist, Vin suddenly broke the impasse, slashing his knife in front of his opponent's torso and then nimbly sidestepping as Rolfe's blade quickly came up to block the move.
The tracker's longer blade now proved to be a strong asset as he gained the upper hand, whipping the weapon in a quick circle around Rolfe's hilt before catapulting the knife straight out of the surprised man's grasp. Finding himself suddenly open to attack, the older man hastily shifted his position, bringing his booted foot up, and delivering a powerful kick to Vin's chest. The Texan staggered back under the brutal blow, gasping for air, but seeing Rolfe retrieve his knife he immediately took up a defensive position, circling around as he sought another chance to break through the older man's guard.
With his left arm extended to aid his equilibrium, Vin ducked to the left as he feinted a cut towards the other's thigh. Giving an angry hiss, Rolfe stepped back, thrusting out his left arm to ward off the younger man's knife hand. Like a flash, the tracker altered his blow's intended direction, seeking to find a new target. The strategy was rewarded as his razor sharp steel bit into flesh, opening a long, narrow gash on the older man's forearm.
Letting out a pain filled howl, Rolfe leapt away from his still attacking opponent. "Y'bastard!" he screamed, instinctively pulling his injured arm into his chest. A fresh surge of energy coursed through the older man, boosted by the anger he felt at being sliced, and pivoting around hastily, he savagely raked his steel across Vin's upper body. Taking an agile leap backwards in an effort to dodge the glinting blade, Vin then quickly followed this with a rolling dive to his right, bounding to his feet again to deliver an upward swing at Rolfe's head.
Nathan sat on the ground closely observing Holland, as the other two men continued the knife fight. The young girl had straightened her clothing after Rolfe's none too gentle attentions, and she sat in a crouching huddle several feet to the healer's left. Giving a sidelong glance, Nathan's hand surreptitiously crept out to where the heavy coffee pot rested, and feeling his exploring fingers on the sturdy handle, he cautiously dragged the vessel to his side. As Rolfe's anguished cry rang out, Holland jerked slightly, his full attention now centred on his injured companion, and the gun dropped a little.
Seeing his opportunity, Nathan surged to his feet, hefting the coffee pot, and his strong bicep muscles rippled as he swung the object at the distracted Holland's head. A loud metallic thud sounded as the pot impacted with the man's skull, and although the reeling Holland managed to squeeze off a shot, the bullet impacted harmlessly in the dirt. The gun slipped from Holland's grasp as the man sprawled to the ground and, dropping his unorthodox weapon, Nathan dived across to retrieve the revolver.
Vin had seen Nathan's move from the corner of his eye, but as the gun bellowed out, Rolfe's concentration wavered and for a split second his guard fell. In that instant, the tracker saw his opening and, hastily shifting the grip of his knife, he pressed home his advantage. The Texan's blade was now almost vertical, and gathering all his power into his knife arm he thrust the glinting edge upwards.
Rolfe's eyes bulged in agony as the steel sunk between his legs, and he was unable to make any defensive movement as Vin closed in to deliver his coup de grace. The heavy knife carried on through the older man's groin, severing the femoral artery in the side of the leg before the steel was finally stopped by the man's pelvic bone. Feeling the obstruction on his blade, Vin gave a final twist, feeling the hot gush of blood on his hand, and with a satisfied grimace he withdrew the knife from the mortally wounded Rolfe.
The older man collapsed to the ground, his life-blood spurting from the horrific wound as his eyes glazed over in death. Taking a few shuddering gulps of air, Vin's knees suddenly buckled under him, and he knelt in the dirt for several minutes as he tried to recover his breath.
Nathan had tied Holland's hands behind him, and the still dazed man was slumped against a tree, staring almost unseeingly at the twitching body of his dead partner. The healer strode over to his younger friend, worried by the other's unexpected collapse.
"Vin, are ya alright?" He crouched down beside the Texan, placing a concerned hand on the man's back.
The adrenaline that had been coursing through Vin's body had rapidly dissolved, and it took a great effort for the exhausted man to nod his head. Wiping his sweaty face with his shirtsleeve, the younger man finally replied to the healer. "M'fine, Nate. Lord, that was a close 'un! He nearly had me a coupla times." As he finished speaking he wiped his blade on the dead man's jacket, before sliding it back into its sheath.
Climbing to his feet the tracker retrieved his gun and jacket, shrugging the coat on and then tying the fastenings. Glancing down at the still motionless Holland, he went over to Querida, holding out his hand. "It's over now, gal. He won't be hurtin' no-one no more," he said softly.
The girl still held her torn shirt around her, but she smiled readily as she took the offered hand. "I am once again in your debt, señor. Thank you."
Nodding at the girl, Vin went over to where the horses had strayed. Fortunately, the gunfire had not spooked the two animals, and they had not wandered too far. Slipping the bridle into place, the tracker got his saddle on his black gelding. "I'll take that 'un and the body back to their camp, Nate." He gestured to Holland, before continuing, "an' I'll do another sweep o' the area, too. I shouldn't be that long."
"We'll be fine here, an' there'll be hot food ready when ya get back. Jes' watch yerself, y'hear?" Nathan had knelt beside Holland as he spoke to Vin, and he now quietly addressed the subdued man. "Y'give him any trouble, an' I'll find ya, an' then practice some real painful doctorin' on ya. I got me a big ole rusty and blunt scalpel that's itching t'feel some flesh, an' if I staked ya out over a anthill too, waal... let's jes' say I'd take great pleasure in hearin' ya scream," the healer warned grimly, as he cut the bindings around the silent man's wrists'.
Without further comment, Nathan and Holland loaded Rolfe's body onto the back of the tracker's horse, while Vin refilled his canteen. Now that the main protagonist was dead, the two peacekeepers felt no apprehension about allowing Holland to leave, as it appeared that the man had no desire to pursue the matter after his companion's demise. It would be difficult to make any firm charges stick against the younger man, as he had not actually injured anyone, and it was unlikely that a judge would impose any more than a hefty fine for his threatening behaviour and disturbance of the peace.
Handing his horse's lead rein to Holland, Vin cradled his sawn off Winchester in his arms; although he felt sure that the other man would not cause any problems, the years spent bringing in dangerous men for bounty had instilled a high sense of vigilance in the tracker and he left nothing to chance. With a weary sigh, Vin gestured to Holland to head out. The sooner he got the man back to his own camp, the quicker he could rest himself.
The night sky was filled with bright stars, and the almost full moon had begun to climb as Nathan fed more small branches onto the campfire. The aroma of fresh coffee filled the air and, lifting the pot from the glowing embers, the healer poured two cups of the scalding brew.
"Here y'go, gal. It's hot an' sweet, though it ain't as strong as that wood varnish that Vin brews an' drinks," Nathan grinned, as he passed a steaming cup to Querida.
After first changing into a new shirt, the girl had also been busy in the hour following the fight. The three hens in their cage in the wagon had been fed and watered, and the goat was tethered on a ground stake close to the edge of the stream, happily grazing on the long grass. Taking the offered cup, Querida scoured the perimeter of the camp, her head cocking to one side as she listened for any sign of activity, human or animal.
"Don't reckon he'll be much longer, 'cos I can't think that those two fellas could have bin that far off." Nathan had settled beside the girl, leaning against a wheel of the wagon as he finished his coffee.
A low whistle drifted through the darkness, and Nathan climbed to his feet as he then heard the tracker's standard approach call to the camp. "Vin comin' in!"
Halting his black gelding close to where the other horse was picketed, the young Texan slid to the ground, and then tied his own mount's reins to the large bush. With a tired grunt, Vin started to loosen the horse's girth, unaware that his friend had quietly moved to his side until the healer tapped his arm.
"Hell, Nathan! Y'nigh on made m'pee m'pants, creepin' up on a fella like that!" Vin gave a wry grin, as he hefted his saddle off, and laid it carefully on its side under the wagon.
"Did ya have any trouble?" Nathan asked, as he passed a fresh cup of coffee to the younger man.
"Nah. That kid had all the stuffin' knocked outta him. That's a mighty fine coffee pot ya wield, Nate! Anyhow, I helped Holland get the body in the back o' their rig, and then told 'im to put some miles 'tween him an' this area. He reckons he's gonna take Rolfe back to the family homestead fer burial, so I don't think we'll see him in these parts anytime soon. I believed him when he told me it was the big fella's idea to come after the gal, and that he tried t'talk his partner out of it." Vin drained his cup as he finished speaking, casually dropping it close to the fire, before crossing to the wagon for his saddlebag, bedroll and blanket.
Nathan nodded slowly, readily accepting his intuitive friend's evaluation of Matthew Holland's future activities. Walking back to the fire, he crouched down to stir the pork and beans simmering in the cooking pot. "This'll be ready soon," he stated absently, replacing the battered lid back on the vessel. The healer's attention was fixed on locating plates and cutlery from the wooden box to one side, and he failed to see the grimace of pain that flashed across Vin's face as the tracker shook out his bedroll.
The girl watched the Texan carefully, as he inhaled sharply, bending over slightly and, instinctively clutching his right hand to his chest. Climbing to her feet, she hurried to the younger man's side, putting a cautious hand on his arm. "Are you hurt, Vin Tanner?" she asked in Spanish.
Hearing the girl speak, Nathan turned around, instantly assessing the situation on seeing the tracker's stance. "Goddammit, Vin! Why the hell didn't ya tell me ya were injured?" he growled angrily.
The healer strode over to his friend, pushing the tracker down onto the bedroll. "Let's get yer jacket off, so I can take a look." Nathan loosened the fastenings, and helped Vin out of his buckskin coat, before easing the injured man back against the wagon.
"I'm fine, Nathan. It's just a scratch. I didn't even realise he'd caught me 'til jes' now."
"Don't move yet. I need one of those lamps to see proper." Nathan climbed into the back of the wagon, rummaging around for several minutes as he located the equipment he needed.
Holding a long taper to the flames of the campfire, the healer then lit an oil lamp, before placing it beside the silent tracker. The girl had sat back down, but her worried gaze remained on the two men.
Rinsing his hands thoroughly in the basin of water he had readied, Nathan plucked the towel from his shoulder and dried himself off, before kneeling next to his friend. Vin hissed through his teeth and squirmed a little as the healer peeled the front of the blood-soaked shirt away from his skin, although this was the only indication of pain that the younger man showed.
"Vin, this ain't no little scratch. He sliced ya up real good, and it's still bleeding. Does it hurt when ya breathe?" Nathan had washed away the dried blood, sluicing a generous amount of carbolic on the long, deep cut as he cleaned the messy wound.
"Ow! No — an' it didn't hurt that much 'til ya started proddin' an' pokin' me," gasped Vin, as he tried to push the dark healer away.
Holding a clean, dry cloth to the gash, Nathan applied pressure to the tracker's ribcage, feeling the bones give a little under his hand. Frowning worriedly, as he listened to the others painful, ragged gulps, the healer extracted his stethoscope from the medical bag at his side. "Hold this cloth here fer a minute, Vin. I think when he kicked ya he might'a cracked a rib or two, so I'm gonna have a listen t'make sure ya ain't damaged a lung."
"Shit, Nate! Jes' let m'be. I'm fine!" The tracker shifted his weight slightly, leaning on his free hand as he started to get to his feet.
With an annoyed grunt, Nathan firmly restrained his reluctant patient. "Let me be the judge o' that, huh? Now stop sassin' me! Jes' keep y'scrawny white ass sat down, and let me check ya out!"
Knowing when to concede defeat, Vin relaxed down again and obediently held the compress against the wound, flinching a little as the cold metal plate of the healer's instrument touched his back.
"Take a few deep breaths, nice and slow, y'hear?" Nathan listened intently, as the younger man complied with his request. Finally satisfied, he carefully stowed the stethoscope back in the bag.
"Well?" Vin pulled the cloth away from the painful knife slash, first examining the bloodied material, and then peering down at the deep cut across his torso. The horizontal wound was almost nine inches long, and tiny beads of blood were still oozing from the middle.
"Reckon you'll live. I won't stitch it, but it'll need to be bandaged, which'll help support those cracked ribs. I'll ride yer horse tomorrow and the gal can drive the wagon, 'cos I don't want ya putting any strain on yer chest. Bad enough that ya took off and then rode fer a whiles, so I ain't gonna take the risk of ya hurtin' yerself even more. That order ain't open to negotiation either, so it's no use ya glaring at me. I've gotten pretty immune to the Larabee look this last year or so, an' there ain't nuthin' that ya can throw at me that'll get me rattled! Nor make me change my mind." Nathan admonished, on seeing the disgruntled expression on the tracker's face.
"Aw dammit, Nathan! I ain't a cripple jes' yet, an' I've ridden my horse with worse injuries than this itty bitty scrape. Don't ya ever get tired of fussin', an' bullyin' folks?"
"Nope. 'Specially those fellas that've got sawdust fer brains, and ain't got the sense that God gave 'em, to admit t'being hurt." Nathan gave his young friend a wide grin as he reached for a roll of clean bandages.
Tucking the torn and stained shirt over the Texan's shoulders, the healer began winding the white cloth around the man's chest, keeping the bandage fairly tight.
Vin winced at the increasing constriction on his chest, and he started to pull at the dressing. "Hell, Nathan, are y'fixin' to squeeze all the air outta me? It's too tight!"
The healer slapped the questing hand away, and continued with his chore. "Lift yer arms up a bit, and quit whining! It's gotta be done like this, Vin, not only to restrict movement of those ribs, but also to stop the bleeding. If ya take it easy, and breathe shallow, then you'll be fine. There, it's done." Nathan readjusted his friend's shirt, ignoring the Texan's baleful look as he methodically packed away his medical supplies.
Vin quickly buttoned his shirt, and then looked up as Querida crouched by his side. Taking the proffered plate of steaming food and refilled coffee cup, the tracker gave the girl a wide smile of thanks. "Gracias, Querida."
A companionable silence fell over the camp as the three sat eating, and the only sound to be heard was the crackling and spitting of the fire, punctuated by the occasional noise of an unseen, nocturnal animal.
"D'ya reckon we should take turns at keepin' watch tonight, Vin?" Nathan scanned the camp perimeter as he spoke.
"Nope. I doubt if anyone else is here'bouts, 'cos I'dve seen 'em when I did a check of the area 'fore getting' in a whiles back. If we keep the lamp and fire well stoked up, an' bring that goat close to th'wagon then we shouldn't have any problems with wolves or coyotes." The younger man watched as the girl gathered up all the dirty utensils, and scrubbed them in a bucket of water, before repacking them in the small wooden box.
Nathan ambled over to the wagon, returning with a bottle. Pulling the stopper out, he held the whiskey bottle in front of his friend. "Here, help yerself. It's medicinal — or so Chris always tells me," the healer stated, giving the Texan a crooked grin.
Pouring a hefty measure into his empty coffee cup, Vin handed the bottle back before taking a gulp of the fiery liquid. "Yeah. I dunno how ya managed t'keep him off th' liquor after he'd bin sick, Nate. Larabee's got a mean temper when he cain't get his own way, but he sure took notice when ya put yer foot down!" All the peacekeepers were aware of how much Chris enjoyed drinking whiskey and tequila, and had been amazed that the gunslinger had obeyed the healer's instructions during the weeks of convalescence following the older man's illness.
"Waal, it did make a change t'have one of ya listen t'me fer once, but I reckon Chris was more worried he might have a relapse. His common sense prevailed this time, thank God!" Nathan took a swallow of his own drink, as he relaxed back against the wagon.
Looking at the Indian girl as she prepared her bedroll, Vin sighed heavily. "I only hope she can find some happiness wit' Rains folk. Y'know Nate, it don't seem right that a young gal should have to endure everything that she has, just 'cos she ain't white," he said softly.
"The world can be a cruel place, Vin. We've all seen things happen that by rights shouldn't've — hell, we've all got our own scars to the injustices of life." Nathan had picked up a twig and was idly tracing patterns in the dirt, as his thoughts drifted back to his younger days as a slave on the plantation. The long buried memory of burning anger and humiliation that he had felt at being stripped naked and whipped by the white man who owned him, for no cause other then the fact he had black skin, now inexplicably bubbled to the surface.
Sometimes the healer wondered if the reason he often vehemently disagreed with Ezra was because he subconsciously attributed the gambler to symbolise the evil and cruelty of the slavery owning Southern states, and unjustly blamed the man for his own personal suffering. Nathan knew that when he had first met the handsome gambler both had been reluctant companions, but on accepting the roles of peacekeepers they had achieved a somewhat uneasy understanding of each other, even a grudging respect, and they contrived to bury the stigma of those terrible days before Abolition.
"I jes' can't understand why some white folks treat the Indians and black folks badly. D'ya reckon it'll always be that way, Nate?" The tracker took another gulp of whiskey, welcoming the warmth of the liquor as it went down.
"I'm real hopeful that one day all people will be treated the same, and not penalised jes' 'cos the colour of their skin ain't white, but I don't reckon it'll be in my lifetime. Things have changed quite a bit for us black folk since the war, although it's still nearly impossible to buy land or businesses, 'specially in the more Southern states. Course, there's good 'n' bad in everyone, no matter what colour yer skin is."
"Hmm. Is that why you ain't hurrying t'settle wit' Rain? Y'know, summat permanent like? No offence intended, Nate, but it's clear as the summer sky that ya have feelings for her." It was obvious to the tall healer that the whiskey the Texan had consumed had relaxed the younger man, and as a result he was talking more than he normally did.
"Yer right, Vin, I do care for her. Mebbe it's wishful thinkin' on my part, but I really would like to qualify as a proper doctor, y'know, learn more about surgery an' treatin' illness. Thing is, I'm not sure I can make any personal commitment until I've achieved my dream — or at least, got started on the trail of some real learning." Nathan shrugged as he gave the younger man a rueful grin.
This desire was something that he had buried deep within his own consciousness, and the healer was surprised by his sudden admission to the young Texan. Vin Tanner had an aura about him, which often made others open up to him; the man was a patient listener, with an uncanny gift for knowing what to say and when, and quite often even the most uncommunicative of people had no hesitation in revealing their most private innermost thoughts to him.
"Least y'got summat t'aim for, Nate. Yer a damn good healer, an' it's a mighty fine thing ya want t'do, so I hope ya can make yer dream happen." Vin nodded and held out his cup, as the healer lifted the bottle with a questioning expression.
Nathan refilled the tracker's cup with the liquor but after splashing just a small amount of whiskey in his own, he then proceeded to top his cup up with water from the canteen. The healer knew Vin's chest injuries were painful, but short of forcing laudanum on the man, this was the best way to ensure that the Texan rested during the night.
Giving his friend a sidelong glance, Nathan continued speaking. "Waal, it's summat I always wanted to do, even when I was a young boy on the plantation in Georgia. I would help my ole Grandma, 'cos what she didn't know about healing herbs and plants, waal, it jes' weren't worth knowing. She weren't my real kin, but she taught me as if I were her own. I remember that awful day my daddy took us away, 'cos my mama, she never even came out t'see the wagon go. But Grandma was there, although she were cryin' summat fierce as she waved goodbye to us all. I was only seven, an' I thought my life was surely gonna end." The healer stared into the darkness beyond as he recalled the intense pain of leaving his mother, and his feelings of anger coupled with blame that he had at the time directed solely at his father.
Vin gulped noisily, as his own childhood memories suddenly resurfaced. "I know what ya mean. I was eight when my Grandpa was killed, and I 'member wishin' that I should'a gone wit' him too. He always told me that my ma was the brightest star in the sky, an' she'd always look out fer me, even in the day or when it was cloudy. Guess I thought he'd gone t'be wit' her, which made me angry that I'd bin left behind."
The passing of many years had not completely eradicated the grief of this tragic event, and Nathan could detect in the voice of the adult Vin Tanner the total desolation he must have experienced as a young child. Nathan knew that his friend had been orphaned at five, but had always assumed that other members of his family had raised the tracker until he was old enough to care for himself. It came as a shock to the healer to discover that the young boy had been doubly bereft in the scant space of three years, and his heart squeezed in sympathy for the cruel depravation his friend had suffered.
"I didn't know about yer Grandpa. D'ya know what happened to him, Vin?" the healer asked softly.
"Nope. I know summat scared me that day, but all I can recall is the wagon comin', an' men loading Grandpa inter it in a box — his coffin I s'pose. Then they sent me to live wit' another family. I hated it there, an' soon's I was old 'nough I took off. I never went back again." The younger man carefully put his cup down and pulled his saddlebag into his lap. After a few seconds of intense searching, he extracted his harmonica. Holding it lovingly in his hands, Vin gave his friend a small smile.
"This was m'Grandpa's. He gave it t'me jes' 'fore he died. See — it's got his name on it."
Nathan accepted the instrument, noticing how scratched and battered the object was. Squinting in the meagre lamplight, he read the name engraved along the edge. George Vincent Tanner — 1836.
Passing it back to the tracker, he frowned in confusion as he did some mental arithmetic. "That couldn'tve bin yer Grandpa's date of birth, Vin, 'cos I reckon he prob'bly would've bin older than that. Does it mean anythin' t'ya?"
Vin shrugged dismissively. "Nope. I ain't never really thought on it, Nate. I treasure this 'cos he gave it t'me. Aside from m'Grandma's old Bible, it's 'bout all I have t'remember him with."
Nathan smiled in understanding. While he knew that his friend was not overly religious, he was aware that Vin had a deeply ingrained respect for the church and God, which obviously stemmed from the early years with his family.
"It's good that ya still have summat from yer kinfolks, Vin. They remind ya of better times, an' nice memories are worth holdin' onto," Nathan murmured.
"Yeah, I reckon. Course, I was only wit' him fer a short spell, but he taught me a whole heap of things. Said he'd learnt everything from Jim Bowie, who was one o' the best, an' he showed me how to ride, track, hunt and fish, an' how t'use a knife an' rifle." There was no mistaking the tone of respect as the tracker spoke, and the healer nodded sagely.
"Yer Grandpa sounds like he was a good man, an' I guess we all have cause t'be grateful that he passed on his talents to his grandson. He must'a loved ya a lot, Vin."
"Yeah, we looked out fer each other. Me an' Grandpa went everywhere together, an' we'd ride inter the hills fer days on end, camp out while he did some prospectin'. He always liked t'go pokin' around caves, and he used t'chuckle an' wink at me, an' say he was lookin' fer a big pot o' gold that the pixies left behind. He was real funny, and he always used t'make me laugh. We were happy, Nate, an' I guess fer awhiles he was jes' like a pa t'me." The tracker smiled at the fond memory, as he turned the harmonica over in his hand. With a small sigh he carefully stowed it back in his bag.
"D'ya remember yer pa, Vin?"
The younger man shook his head. "Nope. I know his name was Will Tanner, but summat must'a happened t'him 'cos Grandpa never really spoke of him. I'd bin told he got inter trouble wit' the law, so I s'pose he must be dead. P'raps that's why he never came a'lookin' fer me after m'folks died." There was a note of finality in the tracker's voice, and Nathan sipped the remainder of his drink in thoughtful silence for a time.
"Must be hard not knowing fer sure. Guess I'm lucky, 'cos at least I now know what became of my family. I often wonder what my life would'a bin like if we'd all stayed together, although I reckon I still would've joined the army when the war broke out. Who knows what direction my life may have taken, but I'm real pleased that I met y'all. I feel like I finally belong somewhere, and that folks need an' 'preciate my help. Meeting Rain has given me hope fer the future too, 'cos whatever happens, I know I want her beside me."
"Hmm. I think ya'd make a real fine couple, Nate." The tracker looked wistfully at the young Indian girl, who was now wrapped up in a blanket close to the fire, and for a second Nathan heard a note of yearning in his friend's voice.
"Y'deserve the chance of happiness, Vin. I'm sure one day you'll find the right woman, who'll want t'be with ya, an' give ya a real lovin' family," the healer said softly.
"Ain't got much t'offer no gal, Nate. I'd jes' be bringin' grief and sadness to any woman, while I've still got a price on m'head. I couldn't risk summat happening to m'family if some gun totin' bounty hunter came a'lookin fer me, especially if he only reads the two words where it says 'Wanted — Dead'. There's many a hunter that only bring in corpses."
Nathan nodded sombrely. He had seen many bounty hunters or lawmen bring in wanted felons, and even the ones that had somehow managed to escape being shot bore mute testimony to the vicious way their captors treated them. The healer had patched up many a man who was subsequently hung for his crimes, and he closed his eyes as he abruptly pictured his young friend in the same dire situation. It was a peril that the tracker had lived with for some time but, in a way the Texan's chances of being apprehended had grown when he had taken up the increasingly high profile job as a peacekeeper in Four Corners. The seven were starting to get a reputation as men not to be crossed, even outside the territory, and it wouldn't take much for a person with a little knowledge to work out that the Vin Tanner who currently sided with the known gunslinger, Chris Larabee, was in fact a wanted man. Eli Joe had correctly worked out this fact, so it was probably only a matter of time before someone else made the connection.
Nathan shivered involuntarily; having a price on your head couldn't be an easy thing to cope with, and the healer was astounded by his young friend's somewhat blatant disregard to the additional danger of capture that he faced on a daily basis. Thinking still about the young man being a target, the healer realised that Vin was only too aware of the continuing risk of recognition, but chose to ride with his friends — and more importantly support Chris Larabee — rather than carry on with the lonely, empty existence he had lived before coming to Four Corners.
"Yeah. I know yer right there," the healer eventually replied. Nathan topped up his friend's cup with whiskey for a third time, before rising to get his own bedroll and blanket. The moon was high in the sky, the cloudless night causing the air to chill rapidly, and Nathan was grateful for the warmth that the fire threw out. Wrapping his thick blanket around his shoulders, he sat back down close to the tracker. Vin was staring into the fire, lost in his own thoughts as he sipped his drink, but there was a look of tired dejection on his face that tore at the healer's soul.
Placing a sympathetic hand on the younger man's shoulder, Nathan gave it a brief squeeze, feeling the tenseness in his friend's body. "I promise ya, Vin, we will help ya clear yer name. Don't ask me how I know, but I'm aware that Chris has pledged to do everything he can t'help, an' that goes fer all of us too. We'll find a way, I'm sure."
Vin gave the older man a grateful look. "Thanks, Nate. Reckon I must be a real lucky man t'have such good friends as you fellas, and it gives me a warm feelin' in m'belly knowing that I ain't on m'own no more."
Nathan smiled, as he nodded slowly. The healer was glad that the Texan had felt relaxed enough to speak so frankly tonight, even if the man's uncharacteristic openness was due to the amount of whiskey that Nathan had plied him with. The younger man found it difficult to trust people, but Nathan hoped that the tracker was able to be as forthright in the future because of their shared memories and candid discussion of this evening. Watching as Vin carefully placed the empty cup down beside him, the older man gave a wide yawn. "Waal, I dunno 'bout you, partner, but I'm ready to inspect the inside of m'eyelids. Think Querida had the right idea, an' we've got a full day's ride ahead of us tomorrow."
"Yeah, we have. I'm feelin' pretty tired, but I think I'll jes' take a quick looksee around afore I rest m'head."
Vin slowly stood up, swaying a little as he felt the effect of the alcohol that he had consumed. Nathan surged to his feet, the blanket falling to the ground as he grabbed his friend's elbow.
"Vin! Sit down afore ya fall down! Ya ain't in a fit state to go scoutin' 'round in the dark, an' I don't want to leave Querida alone if I hav'ta come lookin' fer ya. There ain't another soul out here, so ya jes' sit, lie down and go to sleep! Or mebbe ya want me to force some laudanum down ya? Y'know I can do it too!"
Vin's blue eyes locked briefly with Nathan's dark gaze, but even in the dim light the tracker could see the determination in the older man's face, and he nodded acceptance as he carefully sat back down. "Ya'll musta bin takin' lessons in meanness from Larabee," he growled, not wanting to give in without some kind of protestation.
"Yeah, an' I've learned plenty since I met y'all. Let's see now — I got meanness from Chris, sparkin' offa Buck, sneakiness from Ezra, enlightenment off Josiah and tempestuousness from JD." As Nathan spoke he sat beside the Texan, ticking each of his friends' names off on his fingers.
Vin grinned at the older man. "Sounds like ya got 'em all branded there, Nate. What d'ya get offa me then?"
The healer narrowed his eyes, considering the question thoughtfully. Finally he turned a serious face to the tracker. "It's gotta be stubbornness... and an enormous headache! Now, git... some... rest!"
"I walked inter that 'un, didn't I?" Vin grumbled good-naturedly, but he obediently straightened out his bedroll and lay down, wrapping his blanket tightly around him.
A quiet descended on the camp and, leaning with his back to the wagon wheel, Nathan savoured the peaceful caress of the still night, as his thoughts drifted back to the conversation between himself and Vin.
The young Texan was something of an enigma, a person who had been shaped by sorrow, trauma and adversity in his formative years, and the healer didn't think he would ever truly know this complex man; not in the same way that Chris Larabee seemed to, at least. The bond that existed between the tracker and the gunslinger was unique, and a solid testimony to the pair's shared comradeship and respect, with each complementing the other perfectly on both a personal and professional level. This association did not impinge on the tracker's ability to form additional close-knit friendships, and it pleased Nathan that Vin felt comfortable with the healer's respect and loyalty; this formed the kind of strong relationship that eluded many people during a whole lifetime, and Nathan felt honoured and privileged that he had been given the chance to develop such a deep affinity with his fellow peacekeepers.
Glancing down at the softly snoring tracker, the healer shook his head in wonderment as he prepared his own bedroll. He was very happy with his life at the moment, glad to be with six men who were as close as brothers, and also satisfied that he was able to help other people with his healing hands. Nathan gave a small sigh of contentment as his sleepy thoughts turned once again to the woman he cared so much for. Tomorrow he would see Rain again, and the thought of spending some more time with her gave him a warm feeling of pleasure inside. Perhaps Vin and Josiah were right — maybe at some time in the not too distant future he would go to the Seminole village to ask for the hand in marriage of the girl he loved.
Vin and Nathan reached their destination without any further difficulties, and stayed at the village for several days helping Querida establish herself with her new found friends. Those few days were extremely busy, but nonetheless idyllic for Nathan as he worked, and spent intimate moments, with Rain. When the two peacekeepers came to take their leave, the healer felt the acute wrench of separation, and although this was appeased by the girl's promise that she would soon visit Four Corners, the couple knew they both still had many things to personally achieve before settling into a more serious relationship.
Several weeks following the return of the two peacekeepers, Chris and Buck had needed to make a trip to Ridge City to meet with a Government aide. The two old friends had been away from Four Corners for five days, but as night was drawing in on the sixth day of their absence, the pair trotted through the main street heading towards the livery.
After getting their horses settled, Chris and Buck had gone to Ezra's saloon, not only for a drink, but also hoping to find some of their friends there. As he strolled through the batwing doors, Chris quickly glanced around and, spotting Josiah and Nathan at a corner table, the gunslinger elbowed Buck as the tall peacekeeper came up beside him.
"Go get some beers in, Buck. It must be your turn to pay by now," Chris said, grinning when he caught the indignant look on his oldest friend's face.
Buck made a rude noise, but ambled across to the bar to order a round of drinks. "Now then, Chris, I reckon you've got me confused with Ezra. I ain't never met anyone with such short arms and long pockets as that conniving Southerner, and that's a fact!"
The four peacekeepers were now sitting at the table, talking about what had been happening in the last few days as they relaxed with a beer.
"Where is everyone?" Chris asked of Nathan and Josiah.
"Vin's around somewhere, think he said summat about fixin' Mary's broken window frame at the newspaper office," Nathan supplied, as he took a long swig of his drink.
Josiah scratched his face as he now continued. "JD's gone for supper with Casey, and Ezra wasn't feeling too good, so he's upstairs resting in his bed."
Chris glanced up the stairs, a flicker of concern registering on his face. "He's sick? Have you bin up to see him, Nathan?"
"Yeah. He's fine, Chris. It's only a headache, but he must'a bin feeling real poorly 'cos Vin whupped him at poker earlier this afternoon. That boy won every single hand. Lord, it surely was a sight to behold!" Nathan grinned, his white teeth gleaming as he recalled the increasing disbelief on the wily gambler's face as the young Texan cleaned his opponent out completely.
"Trust us to miss all the fun!" Buck exclaimed.
Chris chuckled heartily. He was weary to the core of his being, and his back ached from the long ride. This trip had been his first long excursion since recovering from the illness, and although in the weeks of recuperation he had mercilessly badgered Nathan over the strict confinements the healer had imposed on him, the gunslinger now realised why the skilful man had been cautious with his friend's slow return to health. Draining his glass, Chris got to his feet. "I dunno 'bout you, Buck, but I'm heading for a bath and shave before I eat, and then I think I have an appointment with my bed at the boarding house."
Buck nodded as he too finished his beer. "Yep. Bath and food sounds like a plan. Bed?" The ladies' man grinned lasciviously, his moustache twitching as he smiled. "Bed's good. I'll have to find me a bed warmer, though - the nights chilly, and I do so like to keep the cold off m'hands!" He wiggled his fingers, and then flexed his hands into a cupped shape as he imagined them amply filled with warm, soft flesh.
"You're incorrigible, Buck!" Chris grinned at the lewd look on his friend's face.
"Wwhoo! You've been spending too much time with Ezra, partner. C'mon, I'm desperate for that bath, 'cos no purty lil gal will come near me while I'm stinkin' bad like this." Buck slapped Chris' arm, and started for the door.
It was completely dark now, and at this time of the evening the bathhouse would be empty, as the most popular time for ablutions was early morning or late afternoon. Opening the door to the establishment, Chris squinted at the dimly lit interior, but quickly entered, closely followed by Buck.
The manager's desk in the corner was almost in darkness, although several lamps were lit on the other side of the room, where three baths of clean cold water sat in readiness for the next customers.
At the desk, hunched over a newspaper, sat an old man of indeterminate age. His clothes were baggy and worn, and he wore a frayed pair of woollen gloves on hands that appeared to be gnarled with either age or arthritis. An old brown hat covered his head, but it was of poor quality, and the wide brim drooped down covering his grey tangled hair, hiding his ears and forehead. A pair of rounded spectacles sat on his nose, although it was doubtful if he could see anything through them, because both lenses were cracked and held what looked like years of accumulated dirt, which hid the man's eyes completely. The parts of the old man's face that were visible were not only pock marked, but also very grubby; in fact, the man looked and smelled as if he needed to avail himself of the very services that he was in the business of rendering.
Glancing over to Buck, Chris warily kept his distance from the malodorous old man, as his gaze swept around the otherwise empty room. "Where's Sam tonight, old timer?" he asked after the usual proprietor.
Without looking up, the man grunted once, and then answered in a high pitched voice. "Sick." He coughed and spluttered as he spat out the one word.
Buck hid a grimace of disgust behind his hand. The old man's accent and general demeanour reminded him of an old prospector that he had met many years ago, who claimed to have been born in the mountains of the mid west, and it appeared that this stranger had as much of an aversion to personal cleanliness as many of the hill men that the tall peacekeeper had known.
"Baths and shaves for two, please." Buck stretched out a hand, and slid a few coins across the desk, holding his nose, as he got a little closer to the unkempt man.
The man showed surprising speed as he scooped up the money and, turning slightly, he pointed to a sign pinned to the wall. "New rules," he cackled to his two customers.
Chris and Buck squinted at the sheet of paper, reading the official looking printed notice. 'In the interests of health, it is decreed that all patrons must use the baskets provided to store their clothes, boots, hats, gun belts and any other personal items, whilst using this establishments facilities. Failure to comply will result in penalties. By order of Four Corners Town Council.'
Chris frowned, and pursed his lips. "I detect Mary's hand in this. Lord, they'll be throwing us in jail for spitting on the street next!"
Giving a resigned shrug, the two picked up a wicker basket each, which were stacked on the floor below the sign. Walking to one of the baths, Chris put a finger in the water. "It's cold! Hey, old-timer, when are y'going to get the hot water. I'm in a hurry for some supper, and I would like to eat it sometime today!" The gunslinger was starting to get annoyed. He would have to speak to Mr Phillips who owned the bathhouse, as the man had obviously hired an incompetent fool for a manager.
The old man indicated the large wood burning boiler kettle in the corner, and the huge wooden pail sited under the drain valve. "It's boilin'. Help yerself gents, 'cos I cain't lift. M'backs real bad," he whined in a querulous voice, before peering back down at his newspaper.
After topping up their cold with the boiling water from the metal cylinder, Chris and Buck stripped off, and finally climbed into their hot, welcoming baths. Chris closed his eyes as he relaxed back in the steaming tub, drawing deeply on his cheroot then letting out a deep sigh that released the inhaled smoke. Buck had started to shave, and paid no attention to the old man at the desk, as he concentrated on removing his chin stubble. Finishing with the blade, the ladies' man replaced the gear back on the shelf just above him and, leaning back in the hot water, he also closed his eyes and started to absently hum a tune to himself.
Adjusting the spectacles slightly, the old man peered over the top of their lenses, as he silently studied the two men soaking in their baths. With a quick agile movement, he stealthily slipped over and grabbed the two baskets containing the peacekeepers clothing. Alerted by the rustle of the wicker material, Chris' eyes flew open in alarm, and letting out an angry growl the gunslinger spat away his cheroot. Scrambling haphazardly out of the tub, he slipped and skidded on the bare floor, yelping as he stubbed his toe painfully on a stool. The 'old' man was ready, and far too quick! Chris' attempt to reach the fleeing man failed miserably, as the thief had a greater head start, and after racing through the door the other whipped off his hat and 'hair', to disclose an acutely familiar face. There was no mistaking the identity of the man, as he paused briefly in the street to gloat at his two unsuspecting victims.
"Ezra! Y'bastard! Get back here with our clothes! Now!" Chris' furious bellow rang out in the main street, but the only response he got from the departing gambler was a wicked laugh and a salute of victory for executing his revenge. Seeing movement across on the opposite sidewalk, Chris suddenly became aware of his nakedness, and with another loud curse he slammed the door shut.
Buck had risen from his bath water, but now sunk back down as he realised they had both been duped.
"Dammit, Buck, this is all your fault! You wound him up about that fucking goat!" Chris exclaimed hotly, as he searched around the building for a towel or anything else that might cover his nudity.
Buck slapped the water in frustration, glaring back at his friend. "Oh that's right, you put all the blame at my door, Chris. It's as much your fault as mine. We all laughed when he lost the ass outta his new pants! He swore he'd get even, and it looks like he's..." He stopped, as another thought suddenly occurred to him. "Hey, d'ya reckon the others were in on it? Nate and Josiah said he was sick in bed, but someone must'a helped him with that disguise today."
The gunslinger's eyes narrowed dangerously, as he deliberated over Buck's comment. If the other peacekeepers were aware of Ezra's plan for vengeance, then the chances were that they would be close by to gleefully witness any surreptitious movement made by the two naked men trapped in the bathhouse. There was only one way to find out.
Gesturing for Buck to join him, Chris slowly opened the outer door an inch or two. Peering through the thin crack, two sets of eyes, hazel ones high, and the other blue pair slightly lower, scanned the quiet, empty street.
Letting out an annoyed huff, Chris decided to try and attract someone's attention. "Hey, is anyone out there? Vin! Nathan! Josiah? VIN!" His calls had started softly, although the volume increased as it became apparent that either his friends were outside, but ignoring the plight of the two naked men, or that they were completely unaware of Ezra's prank and didn't know about the pair's dilemma.
Banging the door closed in frustration, Chris carefully surveyed the room again. Ezra had been very meticulous in his efforts to prepare the building for his trick, and not a single towel, cloth or item of clothing remained in the bathhouse. Buck had plonked himself down despondently on the stool, and Chris then stared at his friend as the man's stomach grumbled noisily, to be followed by a loud, almost musical, blast of gas from his backside.
"Aw jeez, Buck! That's all I need! Trapped in here with you practising t'join the towns brass band, and stinking like a month-long dead rat!"
Buck gave a cautious sniff, and then turned an aggrieved face to the gunslinger. "It don't smell! Anyhow, you're no angel when it comes to that end! Just count yourself lucky that I ain't had any beans, cabbage or chilli. In fact, it's only happening 'cos m'belly is so damned empty!"
Chris shook his head in resignation. When was this day ever going to end? Strolling across to the desk, the gunslinger's eyes fell on the abandoned newspaper, and picking up the large tabloid, Chris grinned across to the ladies' man.
"Waal, looks like folks're right when they say knowledge is a great thing. Thank you, Mary Travis! S'pose we should be grateful that there's been plenty of news lately, 'cos it looks as if there's enough here for both of us." As he spoke, Chris separated the pages, handing half to his friend. "It's this or nothing, Buck."
Buck nodded resignedly, inspecting the large sheets he'd been given. With a bit of luck, they would soon be back in the boarding house and, with the exception of Ezra, no one else need know about their humiliating predicament.
Ezra had not gone far from the bathhouse after springing his careful trap, and he now slipped down a side alley where a basin of hot water, towel, his hat and jacket were awaiting him. Casually dropping the two baskets to the ground, the gambler wrinkled his nose in distaste, shrugging hastily out of the dirty clothing to reveal his normal spotless attire underneath. Splashing water on his face, he then quickly soaped and rinsed off the grime, before pulling his jacket and hat on. With a satisfied sigh, he strode away to initiate phase two of his scheme.
Chris and Buck had managed to fold and twist several sheets of newspaper around their middle, and after a furtive glance around the bathhouse doorframe, they had sneaked out onto the deserted sidewalk, shivering a little as the cold air hit their damp skin. Keeping close together for any small offering of moral support, they hobbled carefully along the rough wooden planks, but on reaching the end of the block they had to tiptoe over the dusty, stony ground. Buck hissed in pain as a sharp stone gauged into the sole of his bare foot, and when he stumbled, his innards did a flip-flop, causing several forceful explosions of gas to blow out once again.
"My, my, gentlemen. It seems that myself and these lovely ladies are not the only citizens out for a revitalising walk on this wondrously fair night." Ezra smiled widely, bestowing a look of pleasure on the two women that he gallantly escorted on each arm.
Mary Travis and Inez Recillos smiled delightedly at the sight of the two suddenly immobile and semi-naked peacekeepers. The two women had readily agreed to help Ezra with constructing his disguise, and the three had spent an hilarious afternoon in the gambler's living quarters getting the 'old man's' costume in place; both had wanted to see the plan come to its grand finale, as they had been witnesses to the antics of Buck and Chris when the gambler had suffered his misfortune with the goat several weeks earlier.
Chris froze at the sight of the gambler and the two intently ogling women, and then looked at Buck in dismayed outrage. The gunslinger was not sure whom he was angrier at; Buck for getting him into this mess, or Ezra for setting up such a diabolical act of vengeance, not only in public, but with the deliberate presence of the two lovely ladies. Trying to gather the mantle of his last shred of dignity, while clutching the flimsy pieces of paper that adorned him, Chris threw an icy glare at the grinning gambler. With a glance at the agitated ladies' man, the gunslinger chose to beat a hasty retreat and, smiling stiffly at the two women, he muttered a tight-lipped greeting and farewell. "Howdy, Mary, Inez. Nice evening for a....stroll. Gotta go. Bye. C'mon, Buck."
As Chris spitefully elbowed his equally flustered companion, Buck staggered a little and let rip with yet another powerful expulsion of gas, causing the gunslinger to drop his head in total embarrassment and shame. The ladies' man looked mortified by his body's appalling loss of control in front of the two beautiful women, and his face was a picture of contrition, as he unsuccessfully tried to make himself look as small as possible.
At the reverberant sound of his friend's indiscretion, Ezra smiled, his gold tooth flashing in the meagre streetlights. "Ladies, I must apologise for the uncouth behaviour of my inimitable colleagues. However," the gambler paused, twisting his head down at an angle as he attempted to decipher the words on the newspaper wrapped around the blushing ladies' man. "I see that Mr Wilmington has procured the precise analogy for his unfortunate internal malaise. The 'Clarion'! Ah yes, I can almost hear the strident sound of a thousand trumpets, sending thrilling exultation to the gathered masses of that fair city of Jericho! Mr Sanchez would be quite overcome with emotion!"
Ezra released Mary and Inez from his arms, and struck a pose reminiscent of stage actors of the day, placing his hand dramatically on his chest before continuing. "But pray forgive me, I digress. It is appropriate and, I must confess, most brilliant of you, Mrs Travis, to furnish my esteemed friend with an enchanting loincloth that is not only practical, but also thought-provoking and pertinent." At this last part he gave a short formal bow of acknowledgement to the smiling blonde woman.
The two naked men had stood transfixed by humiliation during Ezra's dialogue, but it was obvious that if either man had a gun within their grasp at that precise moment, then the smug looking gambler would probably now be leaking blood from at least two bullet holes to his body.
Grinding his teeth audibly, the gunslinger gave Ezra a last cold glare, his flinty eyes conveying the raw anger he felt at being trapped in such a compromising situation. Without any further comment, Chris fled along the main street, desperate for a safe haven. Buck was not far behind, the newspaper rustling in the breeze as he too sought refuge from the three laughing spectators.
Ezra shook his head, a wide grin still firmly fixed on his features. He knew he would have to be vigilant in the following weeks, as he was convinced that some sort of reprisal would be forthcoming against him all too soon, particularly as he had involved Mary and Inez in the act of vengeance. He sighed happily; it had given him an inordinate amount of pleasure that his plan had worked so well, and it had been a freak of nature that Buck Wilmington had added his own personal brand of eloquence to make things even better.
Holding out his arms to the two women, Ezra smiled benignly to the pair. "Ladies, I believe we have a dinner reservation awaiting us. Thank you both for your help, but I think that went exceptionally well. I am not sure which great man said it, but it is very accurate for these circumstances. 'Revenge is a dish best served cold', or in this case, wet and cold!" The three chuckled as they strolled along the main street, before disappearing into the restaurant.
A quiet solitary figure sat hidden in shadows directly opposite the bathhouse and, now that the street was empty, he rose, stretching lazily before ambling away in the direction of the saloon.
Nathan Jackson had witnessed all that had just occurred, but keeping his presence hidden he had sat back to watch Ezra's reprisal against Chris and Buck unfold. The healer had suspected during the afternoon that the gambler was planning some type of strategy, as when he'd gone to check on the allegedly indisposed man, he'd felt certain that the Southerner was perfectly healthy. Which probably meant that Ezra had something up his sleeve — aside from the Ace of Spades of course! With a broad grin the healer shook his head in bemusement at the unqualified success of the gambler's revenge, and the memory of the near naked gunslinger and ladies' man hot footing it down the street made Nathan laugh out loud.
There never seemed to be a dull moment in the town, but the dark skinned man realised that his life would not be as fulfilling if he didn't have the additional comradeship and unwavering support of his six friends. If someone had told him ten or even five years ago that he, a Negro and former slave, would have such a close kinship with a group of white men, then he would no doubt have laughed in their face. He had come a long way since Georgia and Alabama, and not just in terms of distance. As the wheel of destiny continued to turn, the valiant fellowship thrived, and Nathan constantly thanked the powerful circumstance of fate that had brought all seven men together.
Finis
If you enjoyed this short piece, please let me know. Nice comments to susieburton999@yahoo.co.uk — flames will be shared, laughed at, and then deleted!
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