Luncheon Time, Yesterday
TAKE NOTICE
By Vin Tanner
The spring winds blow
So stiff it's hard to breathe.
The townsfolk hunker down
As nature looks to seethe.
.
He stands there, watching,
Tall, threatening, like this wild air.
He wears black, 'though he
Let's you know with just a stare
.
That he's got you in his sights.
You should know, take heed.
Not like the other one,
Not one to follow his lead.
.
His fancy duds fool many.
His fancy words fool more.
The bad ones easily lulled
'Til they're flat on the floor.
.
These men, not just these two;
I know they've got my back.
On clear days or like this one,
Effective like a wolf pack.
.
Our young pup, so very young.
Many men make the mistake.
They don't notice the steel and
That's the last mistake they make.
.
These 'miscreants' rarely offered
Our healer, kind and caring.
His own sharp knives often end
Men careless, too daring.
.
The preacher is oft' the only one who
Can help these men, wanted, now dead.
If you challenge his friends, his family,
A soft grave is your eternal bed.
.
The ladies' man is our last,
His smile welcome and warm.
But if you threaten him, or his own,
All as one we will swarm.
.
They call us 'Magnificent',
Hyperbole said by a few.
As I learned it from my friend,
Best note what they tell you.
.
For though we're different
In so many ways,
We will strike if needs be
And end your days.
Ezra Standish sighed as he read the poem for a third time. He rubbed his forehead with his right hand as he held in his left the paper that showed lines that could best be described as chicken scratch. His hand trembled, not only from pain and weariness as he looked at the page before him. It had been a hell of a couple of days. He understood the sentiment in the verse, he and his compatriots had proved … had lived its very words the previous hours, but the poetry he was used to from his friend was rarely so dark, hardly ever spoke of threats and of death. The gambler couldn't deny, though, that he felt all of these emotions and more, especially as one of their number fought for his life in the room here above the livery. Vin Tanner fought hard, as they all did, leaving not one of the gang alive who tried to rob the bank and killed a favored citizen of Four Corners. The blood that marred the edge of the paper was proof that they all might not have covered the tracker's back so well as the writer had writ.
"You all right?"
Chris Larabee closed the door behind him as he exited the clinic and found the poker player sitting in one of the chairs outside. The leader of the men now more than three years on from becoming famous as The Magnificent Seven could see that his friend was not all right. None of them would be until they knew their partner in the bed behind the door would recover.
Ezra snorted a harsh laugh. "Ah could not be bettah," he answered, the bitterness sounding strange against the silky southern accent. Beneath the evident exhaustion and anger, indeed despair, it was hard to recognize the normally enigmatic professional poker player in the blood-covered man sitting slumped in the chair, holding his arm in his lap to ease the pain of his once again dislocated shoulder, his green jacket ripped and ruined. It was evident to Chris that the man sitting before him had no concept or care what he looked like, a strange occurrence for sure, as he kept vigil outside, hoping for a result that was not what he convinced himself could be the only end to such loss of blood.
"You should go get some sleep." Chris wasn't one to waste words, but he knew he'd done just that as he made the suggestion to this man.
"How is our compatriot?" Ezra asked, ignoring what was in every way wise counsel.
"Nathan is … optimistic," Chris said as he ran his hand through his too-long blond locks. He sat in the chair opposite Ezra. "He and Josiah and J.D. are cleaning up in there. Vin's asleep."
"Asleep or unconscious?" Ezra asked, an animosity in his tone that sent a chill down Chris' spine. They were all upset at what happened, worried for their friend, frightened like they'd never been before by all of the blood. Ezra and Vin were closest to the violent action, when it happened, Ezra with business inside the bank, Vin with him, though their friends wondered why the tracker would be found inside the busy and crowded building. They were both due for an early supper with their fellows the previous day, early because Ezra and Josiah had returned from a prisoner transport and were both ready for a long night's sleep in a comfortable bed. Chris smiled sadly at how they all enjoyed a laugh at Ezra's expense at such a thought. Too much had gone on this morning to get any information from the former con man about exactly what transpired that caused the siege's end a few hours ago, sixteen hours after the hostage situation started. And now was not the time, still, not the way Ezra was as he sat guard, his body unable to hide his desperate fatigue despite how much he tried. Chris wondered whether his friend would even be able to take a step before crashing straight down to the boards of Nathan's balcony.
"Well, I guess unconscious is the better word."
"So he has not awakened since being taken from the bank?" Ezra asked, his voice hoarse from what Chris could guess included long hours of talking to the three robbers in the hopes of keeping them calm, getting bank customers out and making sure that bullets didn't fly.
The last part seemed to go well … until it didn't.
Just Before Suppertime, Two Days Ago
"You have a plan, gentlemen? Firing your weapons, Ah assure you, has brought the law of this town only steps from these doors," Ezra said.
"You keep saying that, but ain't seen or heard no one." It wasn't like these men would see much. They kept themselves to the side, away from the door, remaining up against the wall that the bank shared with the hotel next door.
"That is because they know that Ah am in here, and these patrons are in here. They are waiting for word from me … "
"Yeah, ya said that b'fore, too. You're a gambler. Y'ain't no sheriff."
They'd been talking for nearly two hours, or at least Ezra had been. Vin, who was only in the bank because he knew Ezra had gotten himself ensconced in conversation, he was sure of it and was forced to enter the building to drag his friend out so they could meet up with their other friends for an early supper. The former bounty hunter interjected infrequently into the conversation between Ezra and the three men who hoped to escape with as much money as they could, including once to explain that the men who watched over the town would be out there, whether you saw them or not. As much as Vin hated being in the bank, the inside small and confining, he was glad that he was here with Ezra to figure this all out.
When Vin walked into the bank a couple of hours earlier, he found Ezra in serious conversation with young Martha Sherman. Martha and her mother were visiting Helen Sherman's brother Marty Ellison, one of the men who helped mind the town when The Seven were short in number. Before the three men forced themselves into the bank and held guns on everyone there, Marty watched as his niece charmed the gambler, and smiled as Ezra gave as good as he got. No one in the bank was smiling now.
The conversations between Ezra and Miscreant No. 1 went back and forth in a similar manner for the first two hours in the bank until a voice familiar to Ezra and Vin was heard through the door.
"This is Chris Larabee. I'm the law here. You men need to come out."
"Chris Larabee?"
"The gunman?" the second robber asked. "The gunfighter?" he added agitatedly as he looked to Ezra for confirmation.
"That is correct. He is the leader of the seven men who protect this town." Ezra smirked, earning scowls from all three men holding them hostage. "And though you recognize the name of a notorious gunslinger, Ah can vouch for the fact that he holds bank robbers in the exact same esteem that he does all of the men that he was forced to dispatch to early graves in his previous, how shall Ah say … vocation."
"Who would hire a gunfighter as the law?" Miscreant No. 3 asked.
"Same one who hired him," Vin replied, cocking his head to Ezra. The two friends made the decision, as the three bank robbers made themselves known shortly after Vin walked in the door, to refrain from acknowledging to these men their relationship as law enforcement partners. Marty observed his two friends barely conceding their familiarity with one another, and leaned down early on to whisper to Martha. The bank teller and the other four people doing their banking were focused on their fear and were not aware of anything beyond remaining quiet and praying to get out of this alive.
"We didn't come here to get caught, Willie," one of the men said.
"Shut up!"
Ezra looked over to Vin, who sat on the floor against the polished wood of the teller's wall. Miscreant No. 1 was the one in charge, the observant, former con man noted, and the leader was less than pleased that his name was called out.
"Ah believe Mistah Larabee is awaiting a response."
"Shut up," was the growled reply from the leader.
"Very well. You will be hearing from the gentleman forthwith. It gains me little to suggest that you do the proper thing and give the man the courtesy of a reply … "
"I said shut up. I've killed before. Ain't no skin off my nose to do it again."
Little Martha Sherman let loose a breathy cry. Her uncle soothed her and told her to remain quiet. The some-time lawman knew, though, that his young niece had grown fond of the fancily dressed man. He hoped Ezra knew what he was doing with this taunting. The husband and father and loving uncle had no desire to have his niece witness her new favorite person's murder.
"You need to come out," Chris called. "You haven't hurt anyone, and you haven't taken any money. You can probably get off with an easy sentence if you give up now."
Ezra and Vin exchanged a glance as the robbers huddled to talk, none of them lowering their guns. It was a dangerous situation, men with guns who were paying little attention to them while they spoke. With so many innocent people in such tight quarters, there was little chance that Ezra or Vin – or Marty – could do anything to change the dynamic to their favor.
"Gentlemen, Ah highly recommend a response to the man. Ah have worked with him for three years. He does not take well to being ignored."
"You," the leader said, pointing to Ezra with his gun, "Get on over to that door and tell 'em that we'll be leaving here with the money."
"Now, good suh, Ah would highly recommend that you re-think your plan."
"Just get up, call out to him, and tell him what I said."
"Very well," Ezra replied as he rose to his feet. He brushed the dust from the seat of his pants and the tails of his jacket, and walked directly to the door. He purposefully refused to look at Vin or Martha or anyone else. In fact, his eyes remained focused on the leader who kept a steady aim with his gun at the card sharp's chest.
"Tell 'im," Miscreant No. 1 said.
Ezra stepped to the door. "Mistah Larabee," he called, "Ah am openin' the door." He paused and then added, "Please do not shoot." Ezra opened the door.
"Ezra," Chris said. "Don't you have patrol at eight o'clock?"
The southerner didn't. In fact, he was not due for patrol for another forty-eight hours as routine patrol was now performed far less frequently than it had been their first two years in Four Corners. The former con man was sharp and knew what Chris was trying.
"Ah do not. As you might recall, you changed the schedule and Ah now will be working the miserable shift beginnin' at seven tomorrow morning, finishing in the blistering three p.m. sun." Ezra trusted that Chris would decipher from his response that there were seven hostages in addition to he and Vin, and three men holding them so.
"Cut the crap and tell him!" the leader of the trio looking to make themselves rich said.
"Mistah Larabee, the leader of this band says that he will be leaving with the money."
"That's not likely," Chris called back. "Is everything all right in there?"
"Ah suspect there are some hungry people in here, Ah know Ah am, but otherwise, everyone is as fine as one can be when a gun is being routinely pointed at one's person."
Another series of clues. One, that the men had their guns out and trained on the hostages and have been doing so the entire time. And two, that food being sent in might give them a chance to jump these men.
"If they think they're leaving with the money, they're going to be disappointed."
Ezra looked to the bags at the robbers' feet. The bank manager quickly followed the instructions of the threatening men and filled the bags in the first moments of the siege.
"Mistah Larabee, these gentlemen have the money. The question is precisely when and how they will make their escape."
"It's not happening," Chris replied. He knew he was speaking loud enough for the people inside to hear. The door closed suddenly. There was complete silence coming from the bank for several minutes, and then Ezra cracked the door open once more.
"Ah have negotiated the release of the two ladies and the lovely Miss Martha."
Chris stared at Ezra, hoping to see something about his stance, his eyes, something that would project what was coming next. But there was nothing, except the slightest tip of his head. It didn't qualify as a nod, and with the door blocking anyone inside from seeing anything, Chris doubted Ezra had tipped his hat to anyone inside the bank. The card sharp wanted Chris to agree to this term, and he was more than happy to get some of the innocent people out of danger.
"All right. Send them out." Ezra started to move, but Chris added, "Letting women and children go is a good first step. The judge will take that into consideration in the attempted robbery charge, if they stop this now."
"Go to hell!" was heard from inside the bank building.
"There is your answer," Ezra said.
"Let's move the women out."
Ezra turned inside and heard Martha say, "I don't want to leave you, Uncle Marty."
"I know, sweetie. But you have to go with Mrs. Maxwell and Mrs. Potter."
Gloria was helped to her feet by bright little 10-year-old Thomas Maxwell's mother. "Give me your hand, Martha. Let us do as your uncle says." Martha turned to give her Uncle Marty a tight hug.
"All right. Go ahead," Marty said, blinking his eyes in an attempt to hold in the tears. He'd not seen his niece since she was a baby. He wanted more time with her, but more than that, he wanted Martha safe with her mother.
"But … "
"Miss Martha," Ezra said. She turned to her new friend. "We will see you when this is all over. But you must go now." Martha didn't take Gloria's hand. Rather, she ran to Ezra and hugged him.
"Please, Mr. Ezra. I want … I want you and my uncle … I want everyone to be all right."
"I know." The gambler hugged her and said, "You must go with Missus Maxwell and Missus Potter." Ezra stepped away, opened the door wider and said to all three, "Walk directly across the avenue and find the first person you see. Walk straight to them." Rebecca Maxwell looked at Ezra, a mixture of fear and relief and hope in her eyes. He gave her a slight smile. Martha was next. Rebecca grabbed her hand and practically manhandled her away from the door. Gloria was last. She reached for Ezra's hand, and grasped it warmly. "It will be fine. Please assure that Martha cannot make her way back here."
"I will. You be careful," she said.
Ezra smiled and let go of her hand. He placed his hand on her back and ushered her out the door. He watched as all three former hostages made their way to Buck Wilmington. He turned to address Chris.
"Now, Mistah Larabee … " but that was all he got out as he was grabbed from behind and thrown hard into the solid wood structure of the tellers boxes. His body headed down, and his shoulder hit hard on the edge of the polished wood. Ezra couldn't stop the pained grunt, and he dropped to the floor, breathing heavily through the pain.
"Hell," Vin said. He could see the awkward position of the arm as it hung, separated once more.
"I didn't tell you to say anything more," the leader of the three men said.
"Ah was … Ah … " Ezra started again, but a sharp pain stopped his verbal acuity, but only momentarily. He breathed through the pain and then said, "Ah was going to suggest some food and drink be sent in."
"Oh." The leader looked to his accomplices. They spoke for a very long time, quietly, too quietly for any of the remaining hostages to hear.
"It's gonna be dark soon. We agreed that we're spending the night, right here. So yeah, food is a good idea. Sandwiches will do. Whiskey. You," Miscreant No. 1, aka Willie, said, pointing to Andrew Cuthbert. Andrew was a drifter who knew something about bank robbery; his family had participated in a number of them, and Andrew ended up killing his cousin William, a ringleader of that gang. He stayed in town, was hired on for assorted odd jobs, and finally found himself a permanent position at the stagecoach office, unloading luggage and freight, cleaning the stage for the next part of the ride, and running errands, including the regular bank deposit.
"Me?" Andrew asked hesitantly.
"Yeah, you. Go to the door, tell Larabee that we need sandwiches and whiskey.
"Yes, sir," Andrew said. He stood, went to the door, opened it short, as Ezra had done initially, and called out, "Mr. Larabee, they want sandwiches and whiskey sent in." He turned to the leader of the men sitting around the bags of money. Quietly, so that only those in the bank could hear, he asked, "Do you want me to tell them about stayin' overnight?" The biggest of the men walked over and slapped Andrew, hard, with the back of his hand.
"No, you dumb kid. Just tell 'em to leave the food outside the door and that you'll be reachin' out for it, so they should put it close." Andrew rubbed his stinging face and turned to the door.
"Um, they said leave the food outside the door, close enough so I can reach it."
"How many?" Chris asked, followed quickly by, "Are you all right?" The young man looked pale and frightened, but before Andrew could reply, he was pulled back and the door was slammed shut.
"Go sit the hell down," Miscreant No. 2 said as he pushed Andrew to the area where the others sat on the floor. He fell, and then crawled his way to Ezra's right side. This was good, as Ezra knew the boy was deaf in his right ear.
"You did good, Andrew." Vin said. "Just do as they say when the food comes."
"Hey! Stop talking."
"Gentlemen, Ah do not understand why you would choose to remain here all night. Your chances of escape are far better in the dark. You could indeed split up and arrange a meeting place. This would increase your chances even further that you would succeed." The bank manager glared as Ezra spoke. There was no love lost between the two men. Ezra had become the go-to person for financial advice in town, a role that should have been played by this man who had finance expertise. As all of the townspeople learned, some the hard way, "expertise" in this particular case was a relative term.
"I want all of ya to shut your mouths until the food comes. In fact, keep your mouths shut or I'll figure a way to make you keep 'em shut."
Around 8 p.m. That Same Night
"See what you can see through the window, J.D."
"Wish it was window washing day," J.D. said. He knew it would be lucky that he would see anything at all, but his position right up at the building was their best bet for learning where everyone was positioned. Chris, Buck, Nathan, Josiah and J.D. had already discussed where they thought the robbers were versus the others, so taking a slow walk across the street and watching inside the large window was the most important part of the food delivery task.
"Go ahead, kid," Buck said. Josiah was positioned on the roof of the hardware store. Nathan was just inside the undertaker's. Robert Merton was waiting at Gloria Potter's store, and Dave Landon, Marty Ellison's frequent partner in watching the town, was waiting on the porch of Pike's grocery, which was positioned directly across the street from the livery.
J.D. walked over and, before he'd gotten to the first step up to the bank's boardwalk, he saw Ezra looking straight at him. And then he heard Ezra immediately begin to talk. The walls were thin, the glass cheap, at the bank. The manager relied exclusively on the bank's vault to protect the money. A lot of good that did when the man was willing to cough up the currency so readily.
"Ah do believe that you would do bettah to make your escape attempt this evenin'. There is no one in here who will stop your escape. You will have to deal with Mistah Larabee and the other men waiting for you out there, but the lack of light works to your favor."
"I thought I told you to shup up."
"Indeed, suh, you did. But Ah am simply attempting to make certain that you are aware that remaining in this bank until the morning is not a tactic that will be to your benefit." Ezra glanced out the window and saw J.D. position the large basket. The sheriff shot his friend a thumb's up and then walked quickly back across the street. J.D. was sure, based on the direction that Ezra was looking when he spoke, that the men were sitting where there was no window. Stupid, but helpful. One of the things The Seven had learned these last years was that the average bank robbers did not have the greatest intellect. As soon as J.D. joined Chris and Buck, Chris asked his question.
"What'd you find out?"
"First, let's go ahead and call out to them that the food is in place."
"All right." Chris did as J.D. suggested. They watched as Andrew Cuthbert reached out the door and pulled the basket into the bank.
"All right. Tell us," Buck said.
"They're stayin' there all night."
"What?" Buck asked, incredulous.
"They're not going to take advantage of the dark?" Chris asked calmly.
"No. Ezra saw me approach, and he got them talking. He was trying to talk them into doing it, trying to escape tonight, but they ain't goin' for it."
"Wonder why?" Buck asked.
"Could be they aren't too sure of getting around in the dark," Chris said, unable to hide his smirk as he looked at his old friend.
"Hey, now. Nobody ever said I was scout material. And we got Vin now, and besides, I know a thing or two about what you ain't so excellent at, either, old pard," Buck said, though the level of serious he was trying to portray was ruined by his own uncontrolled smile.
"You all will have to give the details on that later." J.D.'s comment took the humor right away, and rightfully so. "What are we gonna do?"
"I think we're gonna wait 'em out," Chris said as he looked over to the bank.
A Half an Hour Later
"That's a lot o' whiskey," Miscreant No. 3 said as he took a swig from the first bottle. It had already made its way through the three men once. There seemed no indication that they would be sharing with their hostages.
"They're gonna get drunk," Marty said under his breath. Vin heard and nodded, indicating that they should just stay quiet, except for the tip of his head toward Ezra.
"Ah believe that the food and the liquor were intended for us all," Ezra said.
"Shut up," one of the men said as he pulled out a sandwich.
"Now, gentlemen, it would be inappropriate to deny all of us both food and drink."
"You'll get whatever's left once we're done."
Ezra sighed and leaned his head back against the wall.
"You all right, Mr. Standish?" Andrew Cuthbert asked.
"Ah will survive," the southerner said.
"Yer shoulder?" Vin asked.
"Yes."
"Think they'll drink enough for us to jump 'em?" the former bounty hunter asked. If it had been just Vin and Ezra, and maybe Marty Ellison, they would be sure that an attempt could be made. But the lives of regular citizens were at risk, and they couldn't take the chance of Andrew or the bank manager or another of the citizens of Four Corners being the victim of a bullet from these men, the risk was too high in these tight quarters.
"Perhaps. We will need to remain alert. However, it could be a long night. Perhaps you and Mistah Ellison should get some rest." Ezra could see in Vin's eyes the obvious question … for Vin. "Ah will save you a sandwich, if these men are kind enough to leave us anything." Ezra couldn't help a slight grin at what Vin would find important in the midst of such a serious situation.
"All right." Vin knew what Ezra was doing. If the bank manager, Andrew and the other man with them slept, that could possibly work to lull the robbers to watch less carefully. It was a long shot, but worth the wait. "You gonna stay awake?"
"Ah believe young Mistah Cuthbert and Ah will be fine for a while." Ezra looked at the young drifter turned resident of Four Corners. He knew Andrew wouldn't be able to stick it out, but he really wasn't looking for him to. "Might Ah count on you as mah partner until we determine that these men truly are spending the night?"
"Sh … Sher, Mr. Standish." What little more that they had learned about Andrew Cuthbert could be written on one sheet of paper; only one side would be needed. Aside from the partial deafness and coming from a generally evil bloodline, the boy had a kind nature that was the direct opposite of his family. He had an affinity for horses and for hard work, and he could be counted on to do the job he was given. A tentative man, what he lacked in confidence, he more than made up for in a basic desire to be of help in any way he could.
"Good man."
Ezra looked over to the men gorging on the food and imbibing a serious amount of liquor. Their best bet would be tired, drunk men for them to overwhelm with their superior numbers, six against three. But they would need things to go in a precise manner. Neither Vin nor Ezra would risk the lives of men who were not lawmen, just for the chance to overtake them. They would wait to see what their fellows outside came up with.
The first hour after J.D. delivered the food went slowly as the men ate and drank leisurely. They were well into the second bottle of whiskey. Ezra noted no obvious signs of drunkenness or lethargy in the robbers. He saw the bank manager, Andrew and the man he could not place growing tired, their eyes drooping, the warmth of the room, the stress of their wait and the length of the day combining to tire them out. Ezra could feel it in himself as well. His own day started quite early, with a very long day preceding it.
Another hour and a half went by, and Ezra watched the men the entire time. Andrew slept, as did the bank manager and the older man. The gambler recognized his face but was unable to put a name to it. Vin, who stayed awake longer than he was supposed to told his partner, just before he rested his eyes for a while, that the man was one of Robert Merton's foremen. Marty rested but never really fell asleep. Neither would Vin. All three knew that their chances of making a move this evening were dwindling the longer the men remained sober.
The sun had set as they headed into nighttime. The meager light from three gas lamps and Ezra knew that their window to attempt their own rescue had passed. The former con man tried once more to get the men to pass over the food. He hadn't eaten since a biscuit and cup of coffee around nine in the morning. It was approaching nine at night, and his stomach was none too happy for the lack of anything to fill it.
"Ah see that you gentlemen have finished eating." They had, well over a half an hour before. And they were imbibing in a frustratingly mannerly manner. "Would there be some left that we could all share?"
Miscreant No. 1 looked into the basket. He removed the two remaining full bottles of liquor and kicked the basket over.
"You can have the rest. No funny business."
Ezra got to his knees and reached for the picnic hamper. He pulled it to him, catching himself as he lost his balance when a crunching pain stabbed at his shoulder. He rested his right hand on the floor and breathed carefully before steadying himself to grab the basket again.
"I'll get it, Ezra. You sit." Vin knew better than to threaten the robbers with two of them moving at the same time.
Ezra sat back down and leaned against the wall. "Thank you, Vin." Funny how a simple wrong move could ruin an appetite. "Please share the remains amongst yourselves," he said as he closed his eyes.
Vin looked inside the basket. "There's three sandwiches left. We'll each take half of one and leave you a half a sandwich fer later."
"Very well."
The hostages ate, Ezra rested, and the robbers drank. It was now nearing ten o'clock, and the call from outside surprised no one.
"You should know that forcing this through the night isn't gonna gain you anything. We'll still stop you from heading out in the morning," Chris called from outside.
"You might as well get a good night's sleep," the leader of the trio called back. "We ain't drunk. Knew you tried for that with all this liquor. And we're all stayin' awake, and we can do it, too. These folks in here are all ready for sleep. Looks like even this one claims ta be one of the law in this town ain't gonna be awake much longer."
Chris turned to Buck and Nathan, both of whom remained with Chris to watch the bank. Everyone else was sent to bed for a few hours so that they would be fresh for the likely morning confrontation.
"They talkin' 'bout Ezra or Vin?" Buck asked.
"Reckon it's Ezra," Chris said. The men around him all agreed.
"He wouldn't be tired unless there was somethin' wrong," Nathan said.
"He had a long day yesterday, but I have to agree. Figure he would o' got word to us that somethin' was gonna happen tonight," Buck said. "Good call sending everyone for some shuteye."
Chris called back. "Is everyone all right in there?"
"Everyone's good enough," the leader of the trio called back.
"We'll be watching. Just stay calm in there."
"Night-night," the second of the threesome called back. All three of them laughed.
"First light," Ezra said, loud enough only for Vin to hear.
"Yep."
First Light, Yesterday
Ezra and Vin remained awake the entire night, as had all three of the men holding them and four others hostage. The two lawmen didn't have any weapons, the largest of the robbers having patted everyone down. They found the card sharp's pea shooter, leaving them nothing for an offensive attack. This day would end outside the confines of the bank's four walls, and they would require the rest of the town's peacekeepers to catch these men.
The smooth-talking southerner tried his best, bringing up every conceivable ending to this stand-off that he could think of that would guarantee the robbers were caught. Or died. He finally stopped talking only when the leader of this trio of miscreants cocked his gun and walked to within two feet of the gambler … and aimed the gun right between his eyes. A quiet-but-threatening, "Shut the fuck up," was successful in shutting Ezra up, less than an hour ago.
"You, kid. Come here."
"Why do you need Andrew?" Vin asked.
"Shut up. Kid, get over here," the leader said. Andrew walked over to the three men. "You," he continued, waving his gun to Marty, "You, too."
Ezra struggled to rise to his feet quickly. "Now see here, Ah will take young Andrew's place."
"Take me instead o' Marty. He's got a family," Vin offered as he helped to steady Ezra. The tracker knew that his friend was on his last legs. A long day the previous day and a long day on the trail the day before combined with the shoulder and the struggle to try to talk these men out of what they had planned had obviously drained the professional poker player. Vin hoped that Chris had a plan on the other side of the bank's door.
"No."
"Willie, don't you think … "
"Damn it! That's the second time," the head robber said, seemingly angry beyond what was called for in the situation. But the gun firing and catching the other robber in the heart left them with just two bad guys to worry about. The dead man fell and, as the shot was fired, coming from Willie's left side, Andrew jumped and grabbed for the gun. The two men fought, the young drifter seeming to quickly gain an advantage. He grunted and struggled, but neither man was giving up. Without warning, Willie quickly had the gun pointed at Andrew. Ezra moved slowly toward the two men as Vin moved to get the other robber, who was distracted by the battle beside him.
"Andrew, stop," Ezra called. "We will let them go. You should not jeopardize … "
Two guns went off, which stopped Ezra's entreaty cold. He looked as Andrew Cuthbert fell to the floor, his eyes open wide, displaying the stress, the shock of what he'd been trying to accomplish just as, in death, the light was extinguished in his eyes. Ezra turned to the right and saw Vin Tanner standing up against a teller's window, holding his hand to the gushing blood exiting the tracker's lower stomach.
"Vin," he said as he kneeled to catch his fellow lawman as he slipped down to the floor.
"Come on, let's get out o' here," Willie's partner said as he grabbed one of the money bags and moved to the door.
"They're watching out there!" Willie called, but it was too late. Willie eyed Ezra as he worked to stop the tracker from bleeding to death. Reluctantly, he followed his partner in crime out the door, Marty, the bank manager and the other hostage watching as they exited.
"Nathan!" Ezra yelled as he heard the door open, then more quietly, "Ah need cl … cloth to stop this bleeding." Each man gave what they had, and the bank manager went to the back and brought out a bag of clean rags. They could hear gunfire outside, but what was going on inside was more critical. "Marty, can you go … "
"I've got it, Ezra." Marty Ellison ran to the door, carefully checking outside to be sure of what was happening in the street. He saw the two men and their bags of money in the middle of the road. "Nathan!" he called as he saw the black man checking one of the men in the street. "Vin's been hit! The other one in here is dead. Hurry!" He went back inside and asked, "What do you need, Ezra?"
Ezra, his left arm nearly useless, his right holding the quickly blood-filled cloth to the entry wound, said, "Ah d … don't have enough le … leverage … "
"Here, let me," Marty said as he moved in beside Ezra on the floor. He forced the gambler to the side and used both of his hands to try to stop the bleeding. "Does he have an exit wound?" he asked.
"Ah … Ah don't know. Ah saw the wound at his stomach. Ah thought … "
"It's all right. Nathan'll be … " Footfall behind them harkened the appearance of a number of new arrivals.
"Let me in," the healer insisted. "Is there an exit wound?"
"Haven't had a chance to check yet," Marty said as he looked worriedly to the southerner. Ezra shook his head faintly in acknowledgement of the sometime lawman, not wanting any of Nathan's attention turned away from the desperate situation with Vin.
"What happened?" Chris asked as he looked around the room.
"Chris, I need to get Vin over to the clinic," Nathan said, the urgency of the observation clear.
"Marty?" the tall blond asked.
"Yeah, I'll help." Chris stepped over to his friend. He could only tell that Vin still lived because of Nathan's actions. The Texan looked dead.
"Lift him careful and go steady. Try not to jostle him." Nathan's clinic was just a few doors down. Far too much precious time would be wasted waiting for a wagon that wouldn't do the tracker much good with its own tendency to jostle its occupants. Chris and Marty got into position and looked each other in the eye to make sure each was ready. They gently lifted the injured lawman and walked slowly out the door. They were met on the boardwalk by Josiah.
"It's serious," Nathan said as he rushed ahead of Chris and Marty and their priceless cargo.
"I'll be right there," the preacher said.
"I'm gonna need ya," the former slave called back.
Josiah walked into the bank, only to be met by the bank manager. Other than Ezra, he was the only one who remained in the bank. Robert's man made a quick exit as soon as the shooting stopped. The gambler moved to the door.
"Are you all right, son?" Josiah asked.
Ezra looked up into Josiah's eyes, his own eyes haunted, his expression and demeanor displaying exhaustion and despair. He didn't answer as he walked listlessly by and turned toward the livery, and the clinic above it.
"Ezra!" Josiah called. The card sharp continued to walk away from the bank.
"Atchison, here's the money." He shoved it in the bank manager's chest, who took the bags of the money, sagging but not falling with its weight.
"Mr. Sanchez, aren't you going to stay … "
"Danger's over," the big man said as he strode purposefully out of the building.
Luncheon Time, Yesterday
Chris looked more discerningly at the former con man. Unconscious was what Ezra would be soon, he had no doubt. He knew, too, that he would have little luck encouraging Ezra into the clinic to be looked at by the healer. He need not worry; the minute Nathan took a look at the southerner he would know something was wrong, and then Chris wouldn't have to worry about getting Ezra in to be looked at. These days, with their relationship in better shape than it had ever been since first becoming acquainted over three years ago, he knew that Ezra would follow Nathan's instructions. For now, rather than continuing to stare at the most observant man he knew, outside the man lying on the bed inside, with this man not even acknowledging the scrutiny as he reached a shaky hand to place the blood-smeared paper in his pocket, Chris chose to answer the question.
"No, he hasn't regained consciousness, but like I said, Nathan thinks he's got a good chance to recover fully."
Ezra wiped his only functioning hand across his face and uttered, "No thanks to mah efforts."
Chris looked at his friend. Though he hadn't been able to get the full story from anyone yet, Vin's surgery and all of their worry putting the necessity to gather information at the bottom of the list of priorities, especially in light of the robbers all being dead and the money recovered, Chris learned from Marty that Ezra had indeed done everything he could short of diving at both Andrew and Vin to stop actions from being taken that resulted in two very bad outcomes. Marty assured Chris that Vin's attempt to go after one of the men who was distracted by Andrew and the other fighting for control of the gun seemed one that might work as Ezra tried to get Andrew to halt his rash behavior. Vin's rush at the man was just a split second too late.
"Ezra," Chris started, but he stopped as Nathan opened the door and came to sit on the crate beside them.
"He's doin' as good as I could ever expect. Josiah's gonna stay with him while I go get a bite to eat." Nobody had eaten breakfast and it was now nearing the noontime hour.
J.D. stepped from the clinic with an apparently heavy bucket. "I'll be back," he said as he headed down the outdoor staircase.
"I need … " Nathan paused as he looked closely at Ezra. "What happened to your arm?" Nathan stood, dragged the crate behind him and sat back down. "Let's get this jacket off him," he suggested.
"You could'ask me t'take mah'own jacket off," Ezra slurred. He blinked tiredly, each attempt to open his eyes seeming to take longer and longer.
"You're right," Nathan said, trying to be accommodating to the gambler's condition. He didn't want to get into an argument for this. Ezra had been sitting out here for hours with his shoulder dislocated. Again. It had to hurt like hell, like absolute hell the longer he sat out here holding his hand in his lap. "How about we head inside and take care of this?"
"Ah do not wish to disturb Mistah Tanner," Ezra said, almost a whisper. He had nothing left, long days adding up to knock him down.
"Well, we have to take a look, Ez. You been out here too long." He didn't bother adding, 'You should have said something,' because there was no way he could have left Vin before now, and he'd needed Josiah with him the entire time. And the only person who knew what to do to help Ezra with his shoulder besides himself and Josiah – and Ezra, who was obviously either not with it enough and found himself unable to leave this 'waiting area' outside the clinic – was the man on the bed on the other side of that door.
Ezra looked over at Nathan. "You are certain he will recover?"
"Best I can tell, he should be all right. It'll take some time, but I'm feelin' pretty good about that."
"You are a fine healer and an even finer man. Thank you for helping Vin."
Nathan smiled sadly. "Well, thank you for saying that. Now, how about we take you back to your room and take care of that arm?" The healer caught the former gunslinger's look. Nathan shook his head, barely perceptively, and looked to Ezra for his answer.
"Ah would be amenable to that. Ah would not wish to disturb Vin's rest, and Ah fear the pain that is sure to accompany the cure will elicit a response from me that could possibly wake the dead." Ezra never did that, never allowed the true pain he was feeling to come to the fore when that shoulder was put back in place. They all knew that it hurt like hell when Nathan fixed it, and they knew it ached like hell for a day or so afterwards. Nathan nodded to Ezra's right, indicating that Chris should get in position.
"All right. Let's go." Nathan didn't reach to touch Ezra's left side, yet. He let Chris help on the right to get the poker player on his feet. As soon as Ezra was on his feet, his eyes closed, his chin fell to his chest and he began to fall straight in to the boards in front of him. Chris grabbed on tight, Nathan put his left hand on Ezra's chest, his right gathered up the gambler's left arm. Ezra grunted, but he was unconscious as he did so. They shuffled over to the door, opened it, and made their way inside, not noticing the folded paper that fell just outside the door.
Suppertime, Yesterday
"Found this outside," Buck said in a hushed tone as he looked first to Vin, still so quiet, and then to Ezra, quiet but murmuring occasional unintelligible commentary. Words were discernable – gun, risky, chance, No!, too young, mah fault … Vin – but context was not lost on anyone who overheard the troubled chatter.
Nathan rested in the corner of the room, reversing his original plan to leave his patients once one patient became two. J.D. brought everyone something to eat, which allowed the healer to rest easy knowing that he was only steps away if he was needed.
Chris took the paper, already unfolded, the dried blood smears marring a document that had spent not an inconsequential amount of time folded up and growing crumpled in a pocket. The head of the seven lawmen sat in the chair beside the tracker's bed and read the contents. He looked up to Buck, lowered his hand to his thigh, the paper with Vin's poem held loosely. He sighed, brushed his hair back from his forehead with his other hand, and looked over to the bed and the cot. Vin. He spoke for them all in this verse. They were a good team, their concern for one another part of what made them so successful. Chris turned to look at Ezra. The man had spent some stressful days with little sleep and even less sustenance, at least from what everyone had gathered and observed. Nathan said he had a slight fever but that he couldn't tell why. The healer always worried, with the far too many separations in that shoulder that his friend suffered that there was a higher risk of internal damage with each subsequent re-setting. He hoped that wasn't the cause of the fever, that something hadn't gotten ripped and infected inside, that it was just Ezra's body reacting to too much stress with too little rest over these last few days.
"Boy knows how to write," Buck said.
"Yeah," Chris agreed, "and Ezra read that either just before or just after all this went down."
"You think he thinks he didn't cover Vin's back?"
"I think it's possible that he thinks that. Idiot."
"Don't worry. We'll set him straight when he wakes up."
"He's a damned frustrating … oh, hell … you know, Buck, I never wanted this job. And he made it harder than it had to be, at the beginning. Still does. But I wouldn't change what we have. You remember how it was, in the army, during the war?"
Buck nodded as he leaned on the doorjamb. "We needed to rely on each other. And some of us did."
"It never felt like this."
"War is hell," the former Texas Ranger noted.
"That war was hell, but sitting here, both of 'em out of it, and Vin … "
"Hey, Vin's tough. He'll be fine."
"Yeah. What we saw," Chris said as he held Buck's gaze, "it was awful. Seeing death like that, up close, we're lucky it didn't … "
"Make us go crazy."
"Yeah. I think … I think this is harder. This is worse. I … I never expected to, you know, really feel again, after Sarah and Adam. I made my choice on how I was going to be, how things would be. I can't believe, what's happened, this town … "
"These men. And a woman. And a kid. This town and its people, they've kept us all here for more than three years. Even Ezra. It's something, isn't it?"
"Yeah."
"Look, I came to relieve you. Go get some sleep. Don't plan to come back for a while. We'll come get ya if you're needed."
Chris nodded and said, "I could use some shuteye." He stood and walked to the door. Buck stepped aside to allow his friend to leave. "Thanks, Buck, for listening. Thanks for … being." The kind hearted gunman rubbed Chris' back as the blond headed across the threshold.
"I don't have much choice, old pard." Chris smiled tiredly as he closed the door. He walked slowly toward the boarding house. As he crossed the street toward the alley, he noticed a light still on in the storefront of The Clarion News. He changed direction, without really thinking, and walked to the door of the newspaper office. The door opened before he had a chance to knock.
"Come on in."
"Mary," he said tiredly, but she cut him off.
"Chris, come in." She looked up and down the street, including the boardwalk. Softly, she said so that only Chris could hear, "I'll put some hot water on, and pull the tub out."
Chris looked past her. "Billy … "
"He's with his grandmother."
The weary man walked inside, the beautiful woman locked the door behind them. The light faded as the couple headed to the back of the building.
Breakfast, Today
J.D. ran into the saloon where Chris and Buck were having an early breakfast. Both men were anxious to get over to the healer's clinic, but a walk-by showed the place still dark, save for the very faintest of a glow from an oil lamp. They knew Nathan would turn the lamp up when he was ready for his patients to accept visitors during early morning hours. The two spent an inordinate amount of time over their breakfast ever since.
"Nate wants us over there," J.D. said as he paused to catch his breath from rushing into the room.
"Why? Somethin' wrong?" Buck asked as he wiped his mouth with his napkin and stood up. Both men were more than ready to head over and see how their friends were doing.
"Don't know. Nate called to me from the balcony. I already told Josiah. Come on, let's go."
Chris and Buck followed at a determined pace as J.D. ran across the street and headed over to the clinic. They saw Josiah trudging to the same destination from the church. The three of them arrived not too long after J.D.
"Where's Ezra?" Josiah asked worriedly.
"He woke hours ago, said he'd make a fuss if I didn't let him go," Nathan said. "Fool."
"Should o' let 'im make a fuss, Nate. I ain't gonna break."
"Vin!" J.D and Buck said in unison. Everyone was so focused on the empty cot that they just assumed that their tracker was still not conscious.
"Vin, good to see you awake," Josiah said.
"You did almost break, Vin," Chris said with a smile.
"Would ya go get 'im. I need ta talk to 'im. I know he … " Vin stopped verbalizing his thought.
"Hey, how 'bout we give Chris and Vin a minute. It's all right to leave these two alone, ain't it, Nate?" Buck asked.
"Yeah, but don't move or try to get out of bed," Nathan warned his patient. "And you, I'll be right outside. You get five minutes. Vin needs rest, not worryin' about foolish gamblers."
"Nathan … " Vin started, but Nathan was having none of it.
"Five minutes," he said, giving Vin a serious look, and then doing the same with Chris. Nathan, Buck, J.D. and Josiah left the two men alone.
"Better have your say. I got a 'foolish gambler' to go talk to," Chris said.
"He's got my poem."
"Yeah. I know."
"You read it?"
"I did."
"It's all true, but I think he might o' taken it wrong, after this," Vin said as he indicated his injury with a nod of his head.
"He knows what you meant. He knows he didn't do anything wrong."
"How's he know that, Chris?" Vin looked so unhappy, so worried about what Ezra was thinking, how he might be thinking that he'd not done his duty inside that bank building.
"Because I told him. And you'll tell him, too. But ya look like hell, and you should get some more sleep. He's not going anywhere. I'm sure he's sleeping, probably dead to the world. If he was up as early as Nathan indicated, he'll be sleeping most of the day away.
"We need to talk."
"And once you get more sleep, you two will have your chance. I can see you're tired. Don't force yourself to stay awake. Nate'll be back soon and then I'll go see Ezra."
"Good." Moments later the man in the bed was fast asleep. Nathan returned precisely five minutes after he'd left. He looked to the bed, and then with an angry expression, he looked at Chris.
"What?" the tall blond whispered.
"I wanted to get some tea in 'im," the healer whispered back.
"Oh. I didn't know." Chris looked at Vin, then said, "Doesn't seem like the pain is stopping him from sleeping."
"No." Nathan looked thoughtfully at his patient and then turned to Chris. "You can leave."
"I'm gonna go talk to Ezra."
"Don't wake 'im."
"I won't."
"And I don't want to see you or Ezra until suppertime."
"Fine. But he's all right, right?"
Nathan looked relieved when he said, "I think so."
Chris looked with affection and gratitude to the former slave. How did a dusty town in the middle of nowhere get so lucky? "We know you're why he's still with us." Nathan shrugged his head. "Don't do that." Chris looked into Nathan's eyes. "Thank you."
"He's my friend, too."
Later That Morning
"Wake up, damn it."
The man in the bed groaned, but as he grew more aware of where he was and the deplorable pain in his shoulder, he made it far clearer how he was feeling.
"If you cannot stay in your damned socket, Ah am not certain mah life would be so significantly worse without you." Ezra closed his eyes and breathed in deeply. Chris stepped away as the gambler seemed to have come out of his dream, or nightmare or whatever it was that had him so distraught. And then Ezra swiftly punched his left shoulder once and then twice and then …
"Hey, hey," Chris said as he jumped in and prevented a third hit. "Jesus, Ezra, what are you trying to do?"
"Ah … Ah do not know," the former con man replied. He moaned and said, "Good lord, that hurts."
"No kidding," Chris countered as he held onto Ezra's fist. "Are you done?" The former gunslinger knew that he was as no further pressure or attempt to pull back for another swing was evident.
"Ah am. Ah do not know what Ah was thinking. Ah suppose Ah may have been thinking that if Ah was not so weak that Mistah Tanner might still be with us."
"What?" Chris asked, incredulous.
"If mah shoulder had not been as debilitated as it was, perhaps our compatriot would still be with us," Ezra replied as his voice caught on the last word. "Oh, lord," Ezra sobbed as he turned his head to hide his tears from this man. How could he cry over the loss of Vin Tanner if Chris Larabee could remain so strong?
Chris looked with sympathy at the man in the bed. In his pain and his exhaustion and leaving Vin behind in the clinic looking more dead than alive, he'd worked himself into quite a state. Chris stepped over and sat on the edge of the bed.
"Ezra, Vin is still with us. In fact, we all talked to him for a few minutes this morning. You would have, too, if you hadn't been such a jackass and left."
Ezra sniffed and blinked his eyes. He wiped away his tears, first swiping his fingers over his left eye, then his right. He looked up into Chris' face. It was true, Vin was alive. But how?
"Nathan's good at what he does."
"D … Did Ah ask that out loud?" Ezra asked, his voice still not quite right, though he sounded more like himself than he had just moments before.
"No, I could see it in your face." Ezra looked away, knowing that he was not being the least bit successful in hiding his feelings right now. He didn't have it in him, he was so relieved at the news about Vin. "Ezra, listen to me. I know you have it in your head that what happened was your fault. It wasn't. It was just a bad situation that you handled as best you could. You got Martha and the ladies out, you got the food and liquor in there, which was worth a try. You kept them occupied and calm, even when they threatened you. Yeah, we talked to everyone else, except Vin."
"And Mistah Cuthbert. He can be spoken to no more."
"He was a good kid, and it's a shame what happened, but he did something he wasn't really prepared for. Marty said you tried to get him to stand down."
Ezra sat in bed and shook his head. Chris watched, and then stood and went to the dresser. "This tea is still hot. I've got some herbs here that I'm gonna steep in it, and some honey. You're gonna drink it and get some more sleep. When you wake up, which will be in time for supper, we'll get you and Vin together."
"Ah am satisfied that you have brought this excellent news of our compatriot's health. Ah believe Ah should leave him to heal."
"You two will get five minutes before you have your supper and then go back to bed."
"Mistah Lar'bee, Ah have nevah 'llowed three nights to go by wi'out an ev'nin' o' poker," Ezra said, his eyes growing droopy, his words blending together.
"We'll see."
"Indeed we will," Ezra replied, falling asleep before he'd consumed his tea. Chris left Ezra to his rest, and headed to find J.D. to come up and watch their friend.
Suppertime, That Evening
"Give 'em a few more minutes, Nate."
"Chris, Vin lost a lot of blood. Need him to eat some now, and have some before he's down for the night if he's gonna get his strength back."
"You ain't gonna let him out of there any time soon even if he does get his strength back." The look Nathan returned to the former gunslinger held a lot of emotions, but mostly Chris saw disappointment. The leader of the lawmen of Four Corners felt disappointed in himself as soon as the thought came out of his mouth. "Nate, I didn't mean … "
"If you think I want that ornery tracker in my clinic longer than is needed, then you're dumber than I ever thought."
"I don't … "
"None of you are the best company when you're sick or hurting," Nathan reminded Chris, though he knew he didn't have to; Chris Larabee was a crotchety son-of-a-bitch to take care of. At least Vin was quiet most of the time, and Ezra was too much of a gentleman to make too much of a fuss. "I can tolerate Ezra for the few minutes between when he starts to feel better and then makes his escape. "If I got Buck or J.D. in here, then I have to live with the other one in here, too. Life is close to a living hell until the hurt or sick one gets gone."
"I know we … "
"And Josiah? Yeah, you try takin' care o' that one sometime."
Nathan?"
"Yeah?"
"I'm sorry. You're right, but can we still give them a few more minutes. Ezra's got to eat soon, too, and he is definitely not feeling too good, so it'll take some doing to get him to eat anything."
Nathan conceded with a smile that Chris had done a lot to keep an eye on Ezra, and he appreciated it. "Thanks for doin' that. Wish Inez was here. She'd know what to make him so that he would be sure to eat it."
"She heads down to Las Cruces a lot anymore," Chris said.
"I thought they were going to get back together." Nathan was sorry to see the distance between the gambler and the beautiful Mexican woman who ran the saloon above which Ezra resided.
"They need time."
"Time won't do 'em any good if every time she gets a chance she heads south."
"I know. I think I know someone who can encourage him to eat. Marty Ellison's niece is going to join us for supper. She and her mother are heading home tomorrow."
"That might work," Nathan said distractedly. "What do you suppose is taking so long in there?" the healer asked.
"You're joking, right?" Chris asked. They turned to the door, watching and waiting.
Inside, Vin blinked heavily. "So, we all right?"
"Ah believe that we are."
"Yer sure? Wish ya hadn't read that poem."
"No, Vin. Ah hope you always will allow me the pleasure of reading your poetry. You are accomplished with words and evocative of place and people." Ezra looked away, not wanting to show Vin the disappointment in his face. That Vin might not share his talent, his observations that he seemed effortlessly able to set to verse, would be a truly great loss. The two had gone back and forth quite a bit already in order to get to their current agreement on what had transpired during the bank robbery. Ezra didn't want this to be the way they ended such a positive conversation.
"It set ya off on the wrong thinking, Ez. Never wanted that."
"Ah thought we agreed that Ah reacted poorly to lines from your poem that Ah perceived as worrisome. You explained that occasionally you feel the need to express the more disagreeable moments in life."
"I do. But I don't want to upset you or anyone else when I do that. It's a rough life out here. Makes a difference fer me to be able to express myself about it. Figure it's better than expressin' that frustration in other ways." Vin's large blue eyes looked into Ezra's unusual green ones, hoping for understanding from his friend.
"Indeed it is, mah friend. So please, do not allow mah misinterpretation of your words to stop you from putting together your poems. It is a great honor in mah life that you allow me to occasionally read your work before others have the opportunity."
"All the time," Vin said softly.
"What was that, Vin?"
"Not occasional. Always let you read 'em first."
"Y … You do? But, I thought … Missus Travis … "
"Not since the beginning, with that contest. Stopped writin', for a while." Ezra blinked and turned away again, recognizing his culpability in why Vin might have quit composing his poems. "No!" Ezra looked up to his friend. "Not 'cause o' that. That's in the past, and it never stopped me from thinkin' up poems. It was while I was learnin' from Mary. I never thought I was gettin' it good enough, what she was tryin' ta do."
"You were in fine study when you switched … "
"But I had to work on it, all the time. It was hard, Ezra. And I gave up my poems 'cause I wanted to be ready fer when Mary and I met each week."
Ezra nodded and then smiled warmly at his friend. "You know, hard work was needed for you to have made as much progress as you have. You have much to be thankful for in regard to Missus Travis' efforts."
"I know. But you made it, I don't know, make sense. Does that make sense?"
Ezra laughed. "Ah believe it does. But do not sell Mary's efforts short." The card sharp yawned. "Mah apologies. Ah suppose Ah should go … " Before Ezra could finish, the door opened. Nathan entered, followed by Chris.
"Ya'll forget how to tell time?" Nathan asked. He looked at his two patients, first Vin, then Ezra, and then back to Vin. "You both look tired." He looked to Chris. "Good thing we interrupted them. They would've talk themselves to exhaustion if we let 'em."
"Seems like," Chris said. "How 'bout you and me head over for some supper, Ezra?"
"I'm not very hungry," Ezra said.
"Good. So you're a little hungry. Come on." Chris walked to Ezra's good side and helped him up from his seat.
"Has anyone ever told you that you are a bully, Mistah Larabee?"
"More than once. But you'll like tonight's company, and you'll need to eat or else you'll have her all worried when she gets on the stage tomorrow."
"Miss Martha and her lovely mothah are goin' home tomorrow?"
"Yep. And she wants to see you before she leaves."
Ezra sighed. He wanted to see her, too. "Very well. Let us depart. Rest well, Vin. Enjoy your beef broth," Ezra called.
"Thanks, Ez. You're a real friend," Vin added sarcastically.
"You been giving him lessons in sarcasm?" Chris asked as they walked through the door.
"Funny, Ah was under the impression that he learned that from you," Ezra said as they headed down the staircase from Nathan's clinic.
"You didn't tell him that you were getting Mrs. Potter's beef stew?" Nathan asked Vin. "And no, it will still be without the meat and the vegetables"
"No. Didn't seem right. He really isn't gonna eat much tonight. His arm is hurtin' him a lot."
"Yeah, I know. He'll recover," Nathan said as he headed to the door. "I'll get 'im some tea later."
"That'll make 'im feel better."
"Yeah, that's right amusing coming from the man who is hoping I'll bring him stew and not broth." Vin's eyes grew wide at the threat. "Don't worry. I'll do the right thing."
"Nate … "
"I'm kidding. I can be funny, too." Vin let loose a nervous laugh. "I'll be right back with your supper."
The healing man nestled down into his pillow, being sure not to move his body too much.
"Wake me when yer back." He closed his eyes as he rested comfortably.
Nathan shook his head, amazed at how quickly Vin was recuperating. He left the clinic with a smile on his face. Even if these men didn't always act like they appreciated what he did for them, and even more infrequently verbalized that appreciation, he knew, full well, that they did. Maybe Vin's injury wasn't as bad as it seemed, though the excessive blood loss and harder-than-usual time retrieving the bullet indicated otherwise. Ezra? That was something easier to diagnose: a simple case of hard-headedness.
Maybe it was time to spend some extended stretch with a real doctor to comprehend better these types of injuries. A telegram to Doc Wharton over in Durango was in order. Of course, Nathan would have to insist that Vin and Ezra join him or he'd never be able to convince Chris to give him the time off.
That could be the trip from hell, but what a story he would have to tell. He'd try to keep the rhyming to a minimum in the telling.
The End.