Short Straw

By: Heather F

Librarian Note:

We have tried to reach Heather F, but have not gotten any replies. This story has been rescued. Since Lady Angel's Library (now M7FC) was already hosting some of Heather's other stories, we assumed implied permission to host this one as well. If you know how to reach the author, please ask her to contact us.

Disclaimers: Not mine…no money (ohh the shame)

Ratings: ?able language.

Warnings: In General the English language itself and all its rules…(its my first and only language….you'll see why in a minute)

Acknowledgements: Response to Feb. Challenge. Any Au have the guys separated by a body of water and refuse to cross to the other side for whatever reason…etc.

2/5/02

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"Shit here they come now," Vin Tanner pulled down his spy glass while pushing the ends together. He kept his rifle close to his elbow and ignored the winter bite in the air.

"They're cutting it close," Chris Larabee lay on his belly keeping flat to the hard packed ground. His breath crystallized on the early morning air. He did not bother swinging his gaze to the sharpshooter that lay just few feet to his right.

The pale morning sun offered little promise of warmth. The lack of clouds herald another bitterly cold day. A brisk wind cut across the land bending dry golden prairie grass in a brittle but lazy manner. Today was a day to be spent splitting wood with the promise of a warm fire and hot toddy for a reward.

It was not a day to be watching men run through the winter skeleton forest just miles from Four Corners.

Tethered horses rustled and pawed the ground. The dry winter grass offered little nutrition and no moisture. Their long winter coats protected them from the bitter chill but not the long waiting.

Larabee turned his head and spied Josiah Sanchez crouched behind a gathering of giant granite boulders. The stones were sprinkled with grains of color. The big man made a point not to touch the stones themselves. They pulled warmth from the body even through clothing. Beside Josiah hunched Nathan Jackson. The healer seemed impervious to the cold, or perhaps he had experienced enough discomforts and hardships in his life that a little chill did not register.

Whatever the reason, Nathan Jackson kept a steady eye on the river a few yards below and waited.

Beside Vin, tucking his gloved hands under the crease of his knees, knelt JD. Dunne kept his chin tucked within his raised coat collar and peered over the rim of his jacket. His nose had turned pink matching the crest of his cheeks. He kept his hat down low and swung his gaze from the tree line to the river.

Any minute Ezra and Buck should be coming from the trees with the McPherson gang hot on their heels.

The seven had drawn straws. Ezra and Buck had come up short, much to their chagrin but much to the relief of everyone else.

The plan had been simple. Buck and Ezra only had to find the train robbers, 'garner' their attention, as Ezra had put it, and simply lead them on a chase….or better yet, a 'merry chase' as Standish had sarcastically added. A Sunday jaunt through the country side at an absurd hour of the day and hope no one blew their heads off.

Chris chuckled at the memory. Standish did not seem pleased with the plan. Too bad.

Tanner's amused voice pulled Larabee back to the present, "They should be coming over the bank any second…" The rustle of men picking up their weapons and shifting position sounded over the immediate area.

The wind bent and curled hat brims and lifted hair not kept tucked under hats. It found its way between coat buttons and through tears in clothing. No one took any notice now. They focused on the far bank of the river.

Sure enough two forms leaped and bailed over the cut bank. With arms wind milling and legs pumping, the two lawmen ran over the vertical bank slipping and sliding heading for the water.

The river ran only waist deep, perhaps chest level at its deepest point. The snow melt had yet to hit the area with full spring force. That would be in another month or less. The water ran and rolled with a stark, brisk, clarity. Rounded river rock lay easily visible under the three to four foot depths. Small wisps of plant life bent and flowed with the pull of the current. River trout found eddies and deep hollows to float and feed.

Shadows from the over hanging trees kept the sun from warming the fledgling river to any great degree. Chris had drunk from the river only an hour earlier and the sharp bite of the water stung his teeth and clenched his head in vice like grip. Damn it was cold.

Thank God he had pulled a long straw, or the plan might have been modified.

Chris watched as Buck rushed the stream first. The Ladies man splashed full bore into the river throwing heavy sprays of water into the air. The front of his shirt rapidly became soaked as the water quickly climbed past his knees to his waist. In fact, as he waded swinging his shoulders forward and backward, pumping his arms, trying to keep his momentum going forward, the level of the river surged up around his mid section.

Chris furrowed his brow…Water was deeper than it looked.

Larabee watched as Wilmington trudged onward for the far bank…toward safety.

"Think we might have a slight problem," Tanner's slow drawl sparked with quiet humor.

Chris watched Buck for a few more seconds. The big Midwesterner now pushed the water back with his hands, swimming while still maintaining his feet. The water crested up to his chest.

Larabee pulled his attention to the far bank and noticed Standish.

Ezra had bounded down the bank collecting his stride and bolted for the river's edge right beside Buck. The Southerner had reached the water's edged and had stepped in and immediately had stepped back out.

"Oh, that dog won't hunt…." Now he danced and side stepped at the shoreline advancing and retreating from moving current.

Even from his perch, Larabee could read the "No way in Hell" expression.

"Come on you dumb ass cross the river…." Chris whispered harshly to himself hoping that Standish heard him. "Cross the damn river or I'll shoot you myself…of all the dumb stupid stunts that man pulls…."

Vin chuckled as he picked up his spy glass and focused through the trees on the other side of the river, "Better get ready…..they're coming."

"It seems our brother doesn't want to cross the waters," Sanchez deep voice pointed out the obvious.

"Maybe he really can't swim," JD piped up as he pulled his colt from its holster.

Silence settled on the five men. Earlier in the predawn darkness Standish had tried every trick in the book to wiggle out of his predicament, everything from, 'it was against his religious beliefs to track miscreants in the early mornings… to the small detail that he could not swim….' No one believed him, no one really listened, even when he had been ponied across the river on the back of Tanner's horse. Not that Standish didn't try to sway his brothers in arms, he gave a gallant, valiant effort. If anything, his running dialogue of complaints and excuses proved to the rest he had the wind for a long chase. It seemed the lack of horses for this little ambush would not hinder the verbosity of their resident gambler. The man could talk a blue streak.

It was with relieved indifference that the five had ferried the other two across the river to the far side, in the dark pre-morning, to set their plan in motion. Better them than us, seemed to be the motto.

Maybe he really couldn't swim…..Larabee closed his eyes…How could this happen? Why did these things happen?

"Shit"…watching from the cover of the small land over hang, Chris clenched his jaw as the gambler pranced back and forth at the water's edge. Larabee wanted nothing more than to shout out and order him across the stream.

"Kind of hard to believe that boy don't swim," Nathan quirked his mouth as he watched Standish step toward the waters edge as if he were going to enter the river only to back away again….like a new horse that refused to step over an uneven patch of ground.

"I ain't ever seen ‘im go swimmin' before," Tanner pointed out in a lazy amused tone.

"Me neither," JD added with cautious horror. Dang, what if Ezra was actually telling them the truth?

"Shit," Chris whispered again. For once the man might have told an honest bare fact and no one believed him….Why now? Why start revealing straight truths now? "Ezra git your ass in the water!"

"Why don't you come down here and make me!" Standish shot back without looking up. He seemed intent on staring at the wet sand at his feet. It would be a cold day in Hell before he did something so desperate as to plunge through those waters.

"Get ready boys," Vin pushed his spy glass closed and picked up his rifle. He did not bother hiding his smirk. If anything, Chris and Ezra were a humorous pair to have around.

The sounds of galloping hooves could be heard echoing through the trees.

Buck reached the other side and scrambled up the far bank. His frozen legs moved stiffly. The cold denim clung to his body chaffing the skin raw. His toes curled and the muscles of his legs cramped. Gawd damn that was cold.

The big man reached the top of the bank and turned to gauge how Standish was faring. Buck noticed him still on the other side. What the hell was he doing? Wilmington furrowed his brow at the strange stutter step as Standish pranced forward and backward twisting his head over his shoulder as he heard the harried approach of running horses.

"Ezra git your ass over here!" Buck hollered out. Damn the water was cold but it was survivable.

Ezra's head snapped up and found Wilmington on the far bank of the river. The big man's shirt was soaked to the shoulders. Good Lord…now what?

Ezra stepped toward the river and strode into the clear water. The freezing temperatures seized his foot. He back peddled shaking his head. Think man…think….

"Ezra git your hide in that river or I'll shoot your lazy ass where you stand," Larabee's dark order had Standish skewering his face mimicking Larabee's foolish ultimatum. He refused to raise his head and search the high ground for the idiot that got him into this mess.

Ezra surveyed the immediate area left and right in a panicked frenzy hoping a bridge would suddenly materialize. Perhaps a large sand bar, a string of large stepping stones…..Hell while he was at it…perhaps a saloon with a crackling wood stove, expensive brandy and high stakes games….

"Maybe he weren't kidding about not bein' able to swim," Nathan whispered to himself. No way a man would risk getting shot if he could just wade or swim a few strokes across a river.

Josiah held his tongue and shrugged. Hard to believe but possible.

JD bit his lip and pushed his fluttering bangs out of his way. He stretched out and propped himself up on his elbows. Chris sure looked pissed.

The McPherson gang would be spilling over the edge any moment.

The sounds of branches breaking and men shouting orders burst into the area.

"Damnit Ezra move!" Chris's face turned dark with anger and frustration.

Larabee fired his gun. Standish jumped back from the shallow edge of the river that suddenly exploded with the impact of a bullet. A spray of water stung the gambler's clothing. Oh Mr. Larabee has decided to go his typical diplomatic route….

Ezra threw a withering glare at the shooter.

Chris ground his teeth and fired again. The ground to the gambler's right suddenly erupted throwing sand and small rocks into the air.

Ezra curled away from the impact and side stepped to the left.

At the sounds of the bullets, McPherson's men broke from the woods firing guns of their own.

Standish ducked throwing his arms over his head and bolted down stream running for his life, keeping away from the river's edge.

The train robbers never noticed the fleeing man in the plum colored coat sprinting madly down stream. Instead, they focused on the army of men that fired on them from the opposite bank.

"The boy sure can run though, can't he?" Josiah remarked as he fired a shot at a dark haired outlaw on a bay horse. The man tumbled from the side of his horse into the river.

"Yeah he can," Nathan responded as he took down a fair haired man on a Palomino. Both men watched the retreating back of the gambler as he disappeared down stream, occasionally waving his arms to keep himself from stepping into the water.

Standish skipped jumped and dodged any obstacle that barred his way.

"Think Chris is gonna be worked up over this?" Nathan casually put down his empty rifle and picked up his revolver.

"Think he already is," Josiah jerked his head in the direction of their blond leader.

Larabee calmly and effortlessly took shot after shot. Men fell to his unhurried and unerring aim. He practically seethed focused anger. After a few seconds of fierce gunplay, the three remaining men on the other side of the bank threw up their hands in surrender. Bodies littered the area and horses fled.

The thick smell of gun powder coated the air. Steam and smoke wisped from over heated barrels and chapped fingers reholstered spent weapons.

"Buck you alright?" Chris called from his perched having been unable to see his old time friend since he reached the far bank.

"In one piece pard'," Wilmington had shucked off his boots and peeled out of his slowly freezing clothes. The warmth of his new union suit and pants brought a relieved smile to his face, "you see where that Jackrabbit of ours headed?"

"Nope but I'm gonna find ‘im," Larabee slammed his gun home and pushed himself to his feet. "Vin, JD, git down there and git those idiots tied up…" Chris headed down the narrow steep trail that would take him to their horses. He passed Nathan and Josiah, "Nathan, Josiah, cover them."

Sanchez followed Larabee to the horses and left Nathan and Buck to cover JD and Vin.

"I think it best if I went with you brother Chris," Sanchez laughed not bothering to hide his mirth, " our gambler might need some protection."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The two men rode fast and furious for only a few moments before they found the gambler gun drawn heading back up river toward their original positions.

"I'll kill ‘im," Chris muttered under his breath.

"Now brother he might have a very good reason for doing what he did…." Josiah tried to school in an understanding manner.

Chris nailed him with a withering look that only made the preacher smile even broader.

"Ahh Mr. Larabee…Mr. Sanchez," Ezra stopped walking and reholstered his Remington when he spotted his fellow lawmen on the far bank, " I take it everything went as planned?"

"Ezra, you git your ass on this side of the river now," Chris leaned forward in his saddle causing the leather to creak.

Standish backed up at the tone of voice and put more distance between himself and the nature of the demand.

"Come on Brother," Josiah coached in a gentler tone, the amusement not well disguised.

Standish smiled dropping his gaze to his boots and licked his lips nervously, "perhaps one of you gentlemen would care to ride over and give me a ride across, now that there is time?" His green eyes lifted briefly in a flash of unfounded hope.

"Ezra the plan was for you to cross the river," Larabee ground out between clenched teeth.

Standish backed another step from the river as if the mere gaze of Larabee would pull him into it.

Josiah wondered if Chris noticed that Ezra distanced himself with each angered word directed at him.

"Ezra you git your ass…."

Standish again retreated shaking his head like a petulant child. He would not go near the river.

"Brother this is not going to get us anywhere," Sanchez rested his wrists over his saddle horn observing the body language of the man on the far side of the river.

"He had a job to do Josiah," Chris answered his disgust easily discernable.

"I know and he fulfilled it, Chris," Josiah pointed out quietly, "he just changed the route slightly is all."

"He could've gotten himself killed," Larabee returned hotly, the anger masking his fear.

"Probably….he probably knows that too," Josiah pointed out, "got to be a powerful fear that makes a man risk getting shot rather than wet."

Larabee paused and swung his head around to stare at the preacher. Josiah merely raised his eyebrows in question.

Chris faced the man on the far side of the river, "Ezra? Can you swim?"

Standish, in response, merely shuffled further from the water tripping slightly when his heels hit the banks steep slope.

Josiah sighed and legged his horse toward the water. The horse simply slipped into the icy depths and waded across. The water reached it's chest then slowly climbed to the point of it's shoulder, soaking Josiah's lower legs, then his knees and finally his upper leg before the water started to receded as he passed the mid way point.

On the far side, he simply extended his hand and swung the gambler up behind himself on the back of the saddle.

As the horse walked back across the water, Sanchez felt the gambler's grip slowly and uncomfortably tighten as the level once again crept up the sides of the horse. Standish even inched his legs up pulling his feet from the icy grip of the clear mountain run off, trying desperately to keep from having the water touch him at all.

Josiah silently wondered why none of them had ever noticed the apprehension before.

Once safely on the other side Ezra slid from the back of the horse and thanked Josiah profusely. The cocky smile was plastered on dimpled cheeks and the self confident swagger settled back into Standish's step.

Chris shook his head in tired irritation and led them back to the others.

Who ever heard of a Southerner that couldn't swim?

Two Months later…..(April)

Maude Standish sat at a saloon table regaling the others with stories of her son's exploits and misadventures. Though most of the truths lay hidden in the trundle of lies and falsehoods and though the grain of truth that might have acted as a nexus for her stories lay within the web of deceit, she had the other men laughing until tears sprung to their eyes.

Chris held himself apart from the table and the raucous laughter. Perhaps he did it out of respect for the gambler who wavered between embarrassment and disbelief that his mother would tell such stories and that his friends would listen to them. Well, actually no, Ezra could very well believe that his comrades in arms would gladly indulged his mother and listen to her wildly misconstrued stories. In fact, there was nothing about the situation he found so unbelievable except for the tales themselves.

With perhaps a sense of protection, or maybe just an act of friendship, Chris Larabee sat at the gambler's table and played a quiet game of seven card stud as the other table erupted with more laugher and whistles. Larabee slugged back another whiskey pretending not to notice the slight reddening of the gambler's cheeks. Nothing like family to humiliate you in public.

Then another story started. The sweet honey tones of a feminine voice floated across the near empty bar, "Did I ever tell you gentlemen about the time my darlin' boy ran a con on his cousins at their barbaric little swimming hole…pretended he couldn't swim…" Maude Standish leaned in closer to the table in a conspiratorial manner and whispered, with no intentions of keeping a secret, "oh the boy can swim, like a fish mind you, but just doesn't like cold water…not one little bit…would rather face a mob of righteous Puritans that get his feet wet if the water's not rising with heat….."

Across the room, Ezra paused in taking a sip from his whiskey glass. His gaze locked momentarily with Larabee's slightly questioning expression.

Chris recognized the truth of the statement just a flash before Ezra sprang to his feet like a bee stung colt.

"Oh Lord…" Ezra flew from the table with his coat tails flapping in the wind. "Why you Son of a Bit…" Larabee raced hot on his heels reaching for the elusive gambler.

Maude battered her long lashes at the other men who had suddenly gone silent, "Was it something I said?"

The end.