The Heat Of The Day
Originally published in Of Dreams & Schemes 15 in 2000
J. D. Dunne sat in front of the jail in Four Corners, reading a book and trying to ignore the heat. He would never let on to his friends, but the weather in this part of the country could just about melt a fellow from the Northeast, like himself – and it wasn't quite noon yet. He had unbuttoned his vest and rolled up his shirtsleeves, and a tin cup of tepid water sat on the plank floor by his chair, but there wasn't a breeze to be had anywhere in New Mexico Territory today. He had given some serious thought earlier to sneaking off to do some swimming, but with three of his friends away, he knew he needed to stay in town, just in case. And besides, he was the sheriff.
Deep down, he knew that he held the title in name only. He couldn't have survived the first month, let alone the three that had passed, without the six men who had helped him, taught him, become his family in spite of themselves. Four Corners had seven sheriffs, and needed every one of them. Even today, three of the seven – Chris, Vin, and Josiah – had ridden out to a farm west of town, to check on rumors of cattle being stolen.
So J. D. took his turn on watch at the jail, with his badge pinned to his shirt under his vest, and a book for company. Buck, who was supposed to meet J. D. for lunch before too long, was undoubtedly flirting with some lady at the hotel who had come in on yesterday's stage. Nathan was putting away medical supplies which had arrived on the same stage; and Ezra – well, Ezra was probably still asleep, having relieved some unsuspecting travelers of their excess funds at the poker table the night before. J. D. had started watching real close, but so far had not been able to tell if Ezra was cheating, or just that good at cards. He suspected it was a little of both.
Running a hand through his hair, J. D. sighed and went back to his book. He usually read dime novels, although he tried not to get caught at it by the others. By now he knew that the novels weren't the real story of the West; he read them now … tell the truth, he didn't really know why he still read them. He supposed they reminded him of his childhood back East, when he thought the stories were the truth.
But today he was working on a book Mrs. Travers had loaned him. It was a lot thicker than the dime novels, and had some words in it he hadn't heard before, but he liked the story so far. Of course, he wasn't sure if he should let his friends catch him with this one either – they found enough to tease him about, as it was.
He was just starting the third chapter when he heard a commotion around the side of the building. He tried ignoring it; but when he realized he'd just read the same sentence four times, he knew he was going to have to find out what was going on. Some of the local kids, with no small amount of encouragement from Buck, had made a game out of stealing the sheriff's hat, which was currently on his desk with his jacket. He'd just surprise them and scare them off, and then get back to the book.
Rising – and grumbling about having to move at all in this heat – he set his book on the chair and edged over to the end of the porch to peer around the corner. He fully expected to see several children, and possibly Buck, lurking in the alley, trying to find a way past him into the jail. He was somewhat taken aback to find a strange man standing at the back corner of the building, half-turned away from the main street.
Curious, but not alarmed, J. D. started down the alley. "Hey, mister," he called, "What're you do–"
The man turned toward him then, revealing a stick of dynamite in his hand with the fuse already lit. J. D. took two steps backward, turned, and ran as the man flung the explosive at him and ducked around the corner of the building.
XXXX
The explosion accomplished several things. It sent most of the residents of Four Corners into hiding, as they were no strangers to violence; it blew out several windows in the jail and the surrounding buildings; it knocked the young sheriff, dazed, to the dusty street. And it brought three more of the town's protectors running from various directions, weapons drawn.
Buck Wilmington joined Nathan Jackson behind a buckboard, down the now-deserted street from the jail. They watched as four men gathered around a dust-covered heap by the horse trough.
"What's goin' on?" Buck hissed to his companion.
"Don't know," Nathan replied grimly, "but they got J. D."
They watched in growing alarm as one of the men at the jail rolled the heap over with the toe of his boot, leaned down, and removed something from it – J. D.'s badge. The man pinned it to his own lapel, and turned so his friends could admire his new possession. As they pulled the young man roughly to his feet, laughing, Buck let out a snarl and started forward.
Nathan caught at his arm, and a hand descended on his shoulder from behind. Turning, Buck found Ezra Standish behind them, shrugging hurriedly into his jacket, apparently unwilling to go about underdressed even in this heat.
"Patience, my friend," the gambler admonished, joining them. "We would do Mr. Dunne a great disservice if we got ourselves killed while attempting to effect his rescue."
Nathan nodded, pointing down the street. "Look at his feet, Buck."
Buck looked. The newcomers were half-dragging J. D. into the jail – but only half. The boy's legs moved unsteadily, as if he were attempting to walk, but not quite able to coordinate the effort.
"Looks like they only stunned him," Nathan concluded. "If we do this right, we can get him out and take care of these fellas without doing anymore damage."
Buck nodded, thinking more clearly now. The sight of his young friend – who had gotten much deeper into Buck's heart than he cared to admit – lying motionless in the street had momentarily propelled him beyond reason. Now the wheels were turning, and a plan was beginning to form.
"All right," he said after a moment. "We're gonna need some help. Ezra, can you get to the livery?"
"I shall certainly endeavor to do so."
"Good. Find Chris and the others, and tell 'em what's goin' on. Get 'em back here on the double."
"What're we gonna do?" Nathan asked.
"We're gonna get on over to the jail and try to find out what these sorry characters are after. It can't be J. D.," he added.
The three exchanged glances and nods of agreement; then Ezra headed past his companions toward the stable, slapping each man's shoulder encouragingly as he went. Buck and Nathan gave him time to get started out of town, then separated, circling to come at the jail from different directions.
As he eased up the side alley from behind the jail, Buck could see that the sturdy little building had weathered the blast rather well, although the building on the other side of the alley was somewhat more damaged, and the wooden boardwalk out front had a decent-sized hole in it. His hand tightened around the grip of his Colt for an instant, at the thought of J. D. being caught in the blast. Returning his attention to the task at hand with an effort, he slipped up to the side door, which was usually barred from the inside. It had been breached in several places by flying debris, and he could clearly hear angry voices inside.
"What were you doin' with dynamite?" one demanded. "You were supposed to draw the kid out, not blow him up!"
"That was how I was gonna draw him out, only he snuck up on me," another replied. "And it got the rest of the town out of the way, didn't it?"
"What about the other six?"
"Rode out this morning, from what I heard." This was a new voice. "Won't be back 'til late."
Don't count on it, Buck thought.
"Well, that's somethin', anyway," the first voice said. "We'll just wait for the stage and take the gold into 'custody.'" There was the sound of movement inside, the creak of someone settling into J. D.'s chair, and the first voice went on, "With the kid's badge, they'll just hand it over to us."
Buck nodded slowly in understanding, wondering where Nathan was. He thought about peering in through the door a little, to see if he could spot J. D. inside the jail, but decided against it. Wouldn't do to get caught now. At least these guys were ticked with each other and not taking it out on the kid. And they weren't too clear on their facts, either. Best find Nathan and regroup. Maybe they could get the others and be on the stage when it came in ….
He turned to go, and was taken completely by surprise by a rifle butt to his midsection. He fell to his knees, gasping for air, as his attacker – there had been four bad guys, hadn't there? – called for his companions, and hit Buck again, this time with a fist to the face.
Then the man who had struck him was laying on the ground beside him, and Nathan was trying to pull Buck to his feet. Buck could hear running footsteps on the planks of the jail porch.
"C'mon, we gotta get out of here," Nathan breathed – but when he looked up, it was to find three gun barrels pointed directly at him.
"Too late," Buck wheezed, wiping blood from his nose.
XXXX
On the desert plain several miles from town, Ezra Standish reined in his mount to rest while he considered his options. He knew that the others were out here somewhere – had they been going to check on the MacKenzies or the Carpenters? He honestly had not paid much attention when the plans were being made the night before; once it had been established that he was not going along, the conversation had not held as much interest for him. The Carpenter place was closer. But the MacKenzies raised more cattle – and cattle had been the problem, if he remembered correctly.
He'd try the Carpenter home first. If Chris and the others weren't there, he'd swing over to the MacKenzies'. If he went to the farther location first, and was wrong, he'd have lost valuable time. Of course, if they weren't either place … well, no sense looking for trouble, he thought as he clicked his tongue at his horse, starting forward again. Difficulty seemed to find this group easily enough without any help at all from certain well-dressed gamblers.
XXXX
Nathan and Buck were relieved of their weapons, taken into the jail and shoved into the right-hand cell, which already contained the dust-covered, unmoving form of Four Corners' young sheriff, sprawled on one of the two bunks which took up the side walls of the overheated room. Ignoring the clang of the door shutting behind them and their captors retreating to the porch, they crouched beside their friend, who was blinking fuzzily at the ceiling.
"J. D., you all right?" Nathan said softly, pushing damp hair out of the boy's face to check for injuries. His cheek was scraped and starting to bruise, but he appeared unhurt, otherwise.
J. D. carefully turned his head toward Nathan, and his brow wrinkled in surprise.
"Nathan?" J. D. knew he could be honest with Nathan without looking weak or foolish, but out of habit he chose to balance candor with forced bravado. "Soon as the room stops spinning, I'll be okay."
"You seein' all right?" Nathan was feeling around his scalp for any lumps that might indicate a blow to the head.
"Am now. Couldn't at first."
"You nauseous?"
"What?"
"Your stomach kinda queasy?" Nathan amended, now peering into the boy's eyes.
"No. Don't think I broke anything either."
Buck shifted to sit on the edge of the cot by J. D.'s knee, bracing his sore side with one hand, and J. D. noticed him for the first time, frowning as he took in his friend's bruised and bloody face.
"God, Buck, you look like hell," he croaked.
Buck grinned, and Nathan chuckled in spite of himself. "You ain't all that pretty yourself, but you'll live," the healer told J. D. "Now, how 'bout you, Buck?"
"Me?" the older man said in surprise. "I been hurt worse'n this fallin' outta bed."
"Well, let me have a look at those ribs, anyway," Nathan replied. When Buck looked as though he might protest further, he added reasonably, "First of all, we need to be as ready as we can be, when the others get back. Second, I don't think you want me to tell J. D. here how you let yourself get snuck up on."
J. D. smiled slightly at that, and Buck sighed heavily as he began pulling his shirttail out of his waistband. "How hard'd you hit that fella, anyway, Nathan?" he asked as he finished and Nathan moved closer.
"Just hard enough to move him out of the way," Nathan returned easily, beginning to examine his second patient. "He'd already called his friends; I just wanted to get us out of there. They got there too fast, though."
While Nathan worked, Buck watched J. D.'s hand drift haltingly up under his vest, feeling for the badge that was no longer there. He didn't totally understand the look of self-reproach that stole across the boy's face; he suspected J. D. was berating himself for being taken by surprise, but he couldn't see any reason for him to feel that way. Buck laid a hand on the younger man's knee, and J. D. looked up at him. Buck didn't say anything, just held eye contact; and after a moment, the boy drew a steadying breath and nodded slightly, closing his eyes. He'd be all right.
Nathan pulled Buck's shirt back down. "Just bruised; you were lucky. That guy could've broke your ribs." He glanced at the door, then asked softly, "Did you find anything out?"
Buck nodded, and filled Nathan in on what he had overheard. As he finished, he glanced at J. D. and was concerned to find the younger man's eyes still closed, apparently in sleep.
"Hey, ain't we supposed to keep him awake or somethin'?" he asked in alarm.
Nathan considered, then glanced at the clock out in the office area of the little jail. "We'll wake him in an hour," he decided. At Buck's look of surprise, he added, "I don't think he's got a concussion; he's more likely just shook up from the blast – got the wind knocked out of him, is all. We just won't let him get into a deep sleep, and he should be all right. He needs the rest."
Buck nodded reluctantly, shifting to sit with his back against the brick wall at the foot of J. D.'s cot. He trusted Nathan's medical opinion, but he'd more or less taken it on himself to look out for the kid; he'd just stay right here close, where he had a good view.
"When's the stage due?" Nathan asked as he settled wearily to a seat on the other cot.
Now Buck checked the clock. "Two and a half hours."
XXXX
Josiah Sanchez was sitting on the front porch of the MacKenzie house with Mrs. MacKenzie herself, enjoying a refreshing glass of spring water before starting back to town. Chris and Vin were over by the corral, admiring Mr. MacKenzie's new gelding and talking about horses. As it turned out, there apparently had been no cattle rustlers at all. Earlier in the day, one of MacKenzie's ranch hands had caught a pack of wild dogs in the act of running down a slower member of the herd, and had in fact killed two of the predators and wounded at least two more. So what had begun as a tracking expedition had become a ride into the countryside and a friendly visit.
A cloud of dust in the distance caught Josiah's attention, and he watched, mildly interested, as it came steadily closer. Whoever they were, they were riding awfully fast, considering the heat. Part of the reason Josiah and the others hadn't left for town yet was to give their horses time to rest. With a start, he recognized the rider and stood, apologizing to his hostess as he stepped off the porch.
"Chris, Vin," he called as he crossed the yard to the corral. "Ezra's comin', and fast."
The three men by the corral looked in the direction he pointed, and stepped out to meet the newcomer as he reached them. Ezra slid tiredly out of the saddle, perspiration running down his face and soaking through his jacket, and gratefully accepted the glass of water Mrs. MacKenzie offered him.
"Bless you, good woman," Ezra sighed, after several healthy swallows. "You are a Godsend."
"Ezra, what's goin' on?" Vin asked.
"A band of rogues arrived in town this morning," Ezra explained, catching his breath. "Their intentions were not yet clear, when I took my leave to acquire your assistance, but they had already attempted to blast young Mr. Dunne into oblivion."
His three friends exchanged looks of confusion. "How do you mean, 'blast'?" Chris asked for all of them.
"With dynamite," the gambler replied. At the collective looks of alarm on the others' faces, he added, "The lad appeared relatively unhurt, at least from a distance. Mr. Wilmington and Mr. Jackson were going to attempt to overhear the miscreants' plans while I retrieved you from the wilds." Looking up at his horse, he rubbed the sweaty face with something very close to affection. "I fear, however, that my equine companion will be unable to dash off to the rescue in the immediate future."
"You can borrow one of ours," Mr. MacKenzie offered, having understood enough of the gambler's flowery language to keep up with the conversation. "We'll walk yours out, give 'im a good rubdown, and get 'im back to you later on."
"That would be most gracious of you, sir," Ezra said, handing the water glass back to Mrs. MacKenzie.
"All right," Chris decided with a nod, "let's get ready to go, then."
XXXX
In the jail, they measured the passage of time by the ticking of the clock. Nathan assured Buck that the ease with which J.D. woke was a good sign, and Buck gradually relaxed his vigil, dozing slightly in the sweltering heat himself. All three men were drenched with sweat; there was no way for a breeze to reach them in the little room. Buck's face hurt, he couldn't breathe deeply, and his left eye was swelling shut, but the brick wall behind him was relatively cool. He was glad they had decided to add more bunks to the jail – the cells were too big for just one cot each, especially when they had to round up a group of rowdy cowhands, like that bunch last week. Or maybe it was two weeks ago …
He was awakened by the sound of the cell door opening, and reached automatically for a sidearm that was no longer there. Looking around quickly, he saw that J. D. was still asleep, and Nathan was standing somewhat defensively between the two cots, watching as one of their captors slid a bucket of water with a ladle into the cell while two others covered them with rifles from outside. Neither Buck nor Nathan made a move to escape, and their jailers withdrew.
Nathan stepped forward to pick up the bucket, somewhat baffled by the act of charity. "What do you suppose that's about?" he asked Buck as the outer door closed.
"Great," Buck muttered. "Now they decide to make nice."
"Well, we can sure use the water," Nathan allowed, sitting down on his cot with the bucket between his feet and offering Buck a dipperful.
Buck shook his head. "Naw, I'm fine. J. D. first."
He laid a hand on J. D.'s leg and shook gently as Nathan came closer with the dipper, and J. D. stirred, blinking his eyes open and looking around for his friends.
"Water?" Nathan offered.
"Yeah," J. D. replied gratefully, trying to sit up. With a little help from the others, he made it, and took the dipper in both hands, as Nathan retreated to the other cot.
"Drink it slow, now," Buck warned.
After only a few swallows, J. D. lowered the dipper and sighed in relief, handing it to Buck as he looked around again, more alert than he had been before.
"Feeling better?" Nathan asked.
J. D. nodded, wincing only slightly at the motion. "Yeah. My head hurts some, but it's a lot better than it was." He scooted back on the cot to rest his back against the bars behind him, glancing carefully over his shoulder as he did. "They still outside?"
"Too hot in here for 'em," Buck replied, passing the dipper to Nathan, and leaning back again.
"Too hot in here for me," J. D. observed under his breath. He rubbed absently at the back of his neck. There wasn't an inch of him that didn't ache, and he knew it'd be worse in the morning. But if he could just lose the headache, he might be of some use when their rescuers arrived. At the very least, he wanted to not be a hindrance.
"Here, try this," Nathan volunteered, and J. D. looked up to see him pour some water from the dipper onto a kerchief he had pulled from a pocket. Leaning across the cell, the healer placed the wet rag on the back of J. D.'s neck. "That oughta help some."
"Thanks." J. D reached to hold the rag in place. It was better – cool, even if it couldn't be cold, on a day like this. Eyes closed, he tipped his head back against the bars, letting out a huge sigh and feeling tiny, welcome rivulets of water run under his shirt collar and down his back. When he opened his eyes, looking up at the high window over Buck's head, he froze in surprise.
"Buck," he whispered, kicking the older man gently with the toe of his boot. When Buck glanced up from contemplating the floor, J. D. gestured at the window with his chin. "It's Vin."
Buck was instantly on his feet, scrambling awkwardly to stand on the cot as Nathan came to his side, watching the outer door, and J. D. strained to see around them.
"It's about damned time!" Buck hissed, and Vin Tanner grinned at him.
"You boys all right?" the tracker asked, then frowned. "Buck, you –"
"—Look like hell; yeah, I know," Buck interrupted. "Ain't important. Look, there's four of 'em, they're after the gold on the stage, one of 'em's pretendin' to be the sheriff, and J. D.'s hurt –"
"J. D.'s in better shape than you are, Buck Wilmington!" came an indignant, if hushed, voice from behind him.
Vin glanced over his shoulder into the alley, then back at Buck. "I haven't got a lot of time. You know who they are?"
"They ain't the talkative type," Buck explained, shaking his head. "Only know as much as we do from eavesdroppin' before they knew we was there."
Vin nodded. "Here." He handed a pair of Colts through the bars of the window, followed by a third and a single box of ammunition. "Sorry I didn't have time to get more."
"We'll make due," Nathan replied, taking two of the guns from Buck, handing one to J. D. and keeping one for himself. "What's the plan?"
"Don't know; haven't heard one yet. Now we know what they're after, we'll come up with somethin'."
"Can't tell you how encouraging that is," Buck said sarcastically, but there was a confident note in his voice that had all but evaporated in the heat of the afternoon.
J. D. was checking the cylinder on his revolver, confirming that it was loaded. "Be careful," he called softly to Vin.
"Count on it, kid." Vin gave them another grin, then disappeared from view.
The three in the cell resumed their previous posts, intent on making it look as if their situation had not suddenly taken a positive turn. J. D. shifted so that he no longer had his back to the outer door, they concealed their weapons, passed the water one more time, and waited.
Buck fidgeted; he didn't like sitting around when his friends were heading into a fight. He would have paced, but moving around would have either brought the revolver out into the open or moved him too far away from it. The prospect of coming action had him keyed up, and his injuries were relegated to a far corner of his mind, easily ignored. He figured when they heard gunfire, he'd shoot the lock on the cell door and get them out, and they could back up the others.
J. D. tried to concentrate on listening to the sounds outside the blast-damaged front windows, while ignoring his headache and pretending there wasn't a gun hidden behind the small of his back. He'd found, since coming to the West, that while he was usually too busy staying alive during a gun battle to be scared, the last few minutes leading up to one were intensely apprehensive ones for him. He'd almost rather be ambushed, he'd decided, than sit and wait for the shooting to start. Not, he thought as he massaged the back of his own neck again, that ambushes were any fun, either.
Nathan looked over his two patients, considered what else he could do for them, and decided they were as ready for what was coming as he could make them. Buck was breathing and moving better, although Nathan wondered if he could see at all out of that eye. J. D. seemed nearly recovered, clear-eyed and clear-headed now that he'd had a chance to rest. Nathan tried to relax, knowing they'd have to move quickly when the time came.
XXXX
It was less than twenty minutes later that they heard a familiar voice out in the street: Chris Larabee. They couldn't hear what he said, but his voice carried a note of challenge, and his words were followed by the scrambling sound of men on the jail porch seeking cover, and then gunfire.
Buck rose and pointed his revolver at the cell door; but before he could fire, the outer door burst open and two of the outlaws struggled inside. Buck retargeted as his companions brought their weapons out of hiding to cover the newcomers as well, Nathan standing beside Buck, and J. D. on his knees on the cot, bracing with one hand against the bars. The outlaws froze in shock at this unexpected turn of events, and the shooting in the street suddenly stopped.
"Afternoon, gents. Let us out, and I might not kill you just for bein' so ugly," Buck demanded with a not-so-friendly grin, hoping the abrupt silence outside was a good sign.
As if in answer, Chris and Vin charged into the jail at that moment, guns drawn, only to stop abruptly at the realization that rescue was no longer needed. With a small smile of relief, Chris picked up the keys from the desk and unlocked the cell, crunching across broken glass on the floor, while Vin covered the new prisoners and Ezra and Josiah dragged the other two outlaws in from the street. One of the strangers was holding a cloth to his head, and they both looked embarrassed.
"Can't we leave you fellas alone for a minute?" Chris asked as Buck passed him and Nathan helped J. D. unsteadily off the cot. Chris and Ezra deposited several captured weapons – and two more sticks of dynamite – on the desk.
Vin, herding the four prisoners into the cells, two per unit, snorted in mock disgust. "Yeah, Buck. We're gettin' kinda used to you and J. D. finding trouble – but did you have to go and drag Nathan along this time?"
Buck was about to retaliate, but stopped as Josiah produced a small shiny object from a pocket and offered it to J. D., who had been eyeing the explosives on the desk with a newly acquired respect.
"Think this belongs to you, son," the big preacher said quietly. J. D. drew himself up and accepted the metal star, returning it to its concealment under his vest, as Buck had taught him, and nodding his thanks.
"Well," Ezra began, turning for the door, "I believe I could do with some liquid refreshment."
"And food," J. D. seconded. He suddenly realized that none of them had had a chance for lunch, what with being captured, and rescued, and doing the rescuing …
"I'll have to get my kit to patch that one fella up," Nathan put in, gesturing at the cells as they all stepped out of the jail into the stifling heat, "but he'll keep a little bit."
The people of Four Corners were emerging from their homes at the sight of their seven protectors on the porch of the jail. Two men, braver now that the invaders were behind bars, arrived to volunteer to watch the prisoners. As the seven turned down the street, Vin paused, kneeling to retrieve something from the ground beside the chair J. D. had occupied earlier.
"Hey, J. D.," he called, holding out a book, "This yours?"
Appalled, J. D. reached for it, but Buck intercepted it and turned it so he could read the spine as they began to head for the saloon.
"My, my, what have we here?" he crowed. "Great Expectations, by Mr. Charles Dickens."
"Give it back, Buck," the younger man demanded. He began to look to the others for help, but one glance told him it was useless – after the tension of the afternoon, they were enjoying this.
Buck was flipping through the pages. "I don't know, J. D.; there's some awful big words in here, and an awful lot of 'em, too. Sure you can handle this?"
C'mon, Buck," J. D. protested. His head hurt, he was sore all over, he was hungry, and he wasn't in much of a mood to be teased. He made a grab for the book, but Buck yanked it out of reach. "Hey, be careful, it's borrowed!"
Suspecting he knew who the book was borrowed from, Chris intervened. "That'll do, Buck. Give the kid his book."
"Yeah," J.D. put in, finally snatching the book from Buck's grasp. "It's not like you could read it, anyway."
"What?!" Buck shoved the younger man through the swinging doors of the saloon and followed him in. "I'll have you know, I was readin' books bigger'n that before – well, before you was bigger'n that!"
Shaking their heads in amusement, the others entered the saloon as well, and life returned to normal in Four Corners – for a while, anyway.