TITLE: Fevers
AUTHOR: Sue B.
EMAIL: DelanySis1@aol.com
DISCLAIMER: The original characters from The Magnificent Seven are owned by MGM, Trilogy, and CBS. I am making no money from their use. Honest to Ezra!
RATINGS: PG for language, violence.
WARNINGS: None, really.
NOTES/COMMENTS: This story started out as one scene I wrote last year. I tried to make it into a full blown story, then set it aside when it wasn't working, and finally came back to it in December when, voila! It actually started to make sense. BIG thanks to Carla, Carolyn and Kathy for being my betas-you guys are aces! :)
The name of Ezra's horse Chaucer originated with Kristen. Thanks, Kristen!
As always, comments and feedback are greatly appreciated!!!
Enjoy!
Sue :)
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FEVERS
The main street of Four Corners bustled beneath the warm morning sun as the residents of the small frontier town prepared for another hot summer day. The stores and businesses swung open their doors as wagons and carriages rattled up and down the dusty thoroughfare. Passengers were gathering at the stagecoach stop, saying farewell to loved ones or impatiently checking their watches.
Not far down the street, the door to the Hotel opened smoothly and two finely-dressed figures stepped through to the porch, a handsomely clad young man escorting a beautiful older woman on his arm.
"Well, Mother, I must congratulate you on another brief but highly lucrative visit," the young man drawled in a slightly sarcastic Southern tone. "Once more you have given the good residents reason to remember your stop here in our forgotten little backwater."
The woman smiled as she adjusted her expensive feather-trimmed bonnet. "I must admit, Ezra darlin', that you have the most interestin' marks passin' through this town of yours. You must take better advantage of it before the opportunity escapes you."
Her son chuckled. "I am afraid the good Judge Travis would not look kindly on me fleecing the town I'm supposed to be protecting."
Maude's eyes flashed as she leaned in closer and spoke in a low voice. "Do the job properly, and no one will ever know. Besides-"
"Leavin' so soon?"
The pair stopped as a handsome, roughly dressed older man stepped before them, an amiable smile showing beneath his salt-and-pepper mustache. Maude shot him a flirtatious smile and raised her hand, which he took without hesitation.
"Yes, Josiah, sadly I must be off to Phoenix to comfort a dear, recently widowed relative. But I know I leave my son in the best of all possible hands."
"Not as good as the hands that raised 'im," Josiah replied warmly, planting a gentle kiss on the back of her gloved hand. "Sure hope y'come back soon."
"That will depend on how short some of the memories are around here," Ezra said casually, trying not to watch the flirtation between his fellow lawkeeper and his mother. He noticed a parcel in the preacher's hand. "Have you brought a token of esteem as well?"
Josiah lifted the parcel, glanced at it as if he'd forgotten it was there, and handed it to Ezra. "Oh-Chris wants you to take these to David's Ford when you're done here. It's the money from their bank that we found on that bank robber we got last week."
A distant rattling from up the street announced the approach of the stage.
Maude let out a genteel gasp. "Oh my, there's the stage already. Goodbye, Josiah, I hope to see you again soon," she said smoothly, as she and Ezra hurried away. Josiah smiled, touched the brim of his wide hat, and watched as they trotted to the station before turning his steps towards his church up the street.
"I see they have you delivering mail now," Maude observed as they neared the small building.
Ezra sighed, knowing what was coming; they'd had this talk before. "Merely one of the more boring aspects of my duties here, I assure you."
"A man of your abilities acting as a delivery boy," Maude huffed as they arrived at the stop. "You're wasting your talents here. You could be making your fortune instead of playing poker with drunken cowboys for nickels."
The stage lumbered up to the stop, the gear squealing as the driver slowed the conveyance to a halt. Activity burst out all at once as passengers jumped off, luggage was unloaded, and the preparations made for the next leg of the journey.
"I assure you, Mother, I am making full use of the skills life and you have taught me," Ezra insisted in a tired voice.
Maude fixed him with a sharp glance. "Yes, but for whose benefit? Theirs?" She shot a quick look around at the swirling crowd. "I taught you those skills to better your own position, not everyone else's. Who knows how much longer you're going to have to stay here doing charity work for a dollar a day?" She bent towards him and said in a sharp whisper, "You should get rich now while the pickings are ripe."
The noise of the crowd increased as new bags were loaded on and the passengers began boarding the stage, shouting farewells and grunting as they tried to arrange themselves comfortably.
"Trust me, Mother, the situation is under control," Ezra assured her as he gave her a hasty kiss. "Now you run along to Phoenix and give my best to your dear bereaved Aunt Louisa."
"All right," Maude sighed as she returned the kiss and gathered up her silk skirt to board the stage. "I certainly hope she's as rich as her letter made her out to be, or else my attending her husband's funeral will be a horrible waste of time."
"Are we set to go down there?" the driver hollered, after Maude had climbed in. Ezra glanced up and him and gave a small shrug.
"Wait! Please wait!"
Both men turned in the direction of the youthful feminine cry. Two young women were hurrying towards the coach, one a tall, red-haired girl in a well-tailored traveling dress clutching a small satchel. The other girl was shorter and wore a rough shirt and dirty jeans, her long brown hair tied loosely into an untidy ponytail.
"Lord'a mercy, I almost missed it!" the red-haired girl gasped as she handed the satchel to up. Then she turned and gave a quick hug to her friend. "Goodbye, Casey, I'm so glad I got to visit you! It was fun!"
"Bye Tilda!" Casey said as they parted. "make sure you ask your parents if you can come for the Fourth!"
"I will!" was the reply as Tilda scurried aboard. "An' if any of the things I told you work on JD, I want you t'write an' let me know!"
"I promise!" Casey said as she waved. "Have a good trip back to Red Rock!"
"Okay, folks, step away, we're ready to go!" the driver yelled.
Ezra, Casey and the rest of the well-wishers stepped back and watched as she climbed aboard the swaying vehicle and situated herself with as much delicacy as possible among its passengers. The driver and coachman climbed back into the driver's seat, and when the time came a loud whip crack and a coarse shout set the horses in motion. Ezra stood and waved with the rest of them as the coach bumped and rattled back down the street.
After a moment he glanced at Casey, who was still bouncing a bit as she waved goodbye with great energy. Finally she stopped, and seemed to notice Ezra for the first time.
"Mornin', Ezra," she gasped with a smile.
"Good day, Miss Wells," Ezra replied, touching the brim of his hat. "It's a pleasure to see you had a nice visit with your friend."
"Oh, yeah," the girl said breathlessly, "we talked about, uh, all kinds of things. Well-uh-gotta go do my chores. Bye!" With that she put on the wide-brimmed hat she was carrying and ran back up the street, fairly exploding with excitement.
Ezra smiled as he watched her run, wishing it were possible to be so young and carefree again. Then his mind turned back to his mother's words, and as the crowd dispersed Ezra glanced at the package in his hand and headed towards the livery, his mind deep in thought.
The huge dark-haired man grunted as he surveyed what lay before him for a few moments, then spit in the hot desert sand with disgust.
What a damn waste of time!
He hefted his long rifle onto the shoulder of his dirty, frayed blue Army jacket as he slowly walked around the delivery wagon, watching as his skinny, scruffy-haired partner rifled the boxes stored on the top of the conveyance. On the ground nearby stood the driver, who despite the defiant glint in his eye could not conceal his trembling, any more than he could hide the bleeding bullet wound in his arm. The man eyed him with amusement; how he loved it when they looked afraid, and he knew his large size and the impressive scar running down the right side of his face only added to their fear.
"You gonna tell us where the gold is, mister?" the man snarled, pushing the barrel of his rifle into the man's ribs. "Or do you wanna join your friend back there, bleedin' his guts out?"
The driver sighed. "Ain't no gold, I told ya! I only got mail today."
The robber paused, then drove his fist into the driver's gut in frustration. As his victim collapsed onto the ground unheeded, his assailant looked up at his partner.
"Anythin' yet, Coyote?"
His partner grunted as he paused in his ransacking. "Nope, just a heap o' letters an' this box." He held up a large parcel.
"Dammit! Well, toss it down."
"Here ya go, Pete."
Coyote casually tossed down the dark parcel as the driver looked on in choked fear.
"Be careful with that!" he gasped, still on the ground clutching his stomach. Pete noticed his concern and palmed the box with a smile.
"Yeah?" he chuckled, slowly advancing on his supine prey. "An' why should I do that, you lyin' little shit? What's in here, money?"
The driver shook his head violently.
"Bet that's what it is, Pete!" Coyote yelled, still sitting on his haunches atop the wagon, his short brown hair blowing in the hot wind.
Pete propped his rifle up against one arm as his meaty hands tore carelessly into the paper wrapping of the package. "That's what I'm thinkin' too, Coyote," he growled. "An' if we're right, mister, then you're gonna find out what it's like to get yer head blown off."
He succeeded in unwrapping the parcel; inside the paper was a wooden box with a hinged lid. It had no lock, which caused Pete to scowl in anticipated disappointment; he yanked open the lid and frowned. Inside were several dozen tightly sealed bottles of a yellowish liquid.
"What the hell is this?" he snarled, shaking the box at the driver; its contents responded with a faint clinking.
"It's medicine!" the driver replied, almost angrily. "There's a fever in Red Rock, it's a special delivery."
"God-" Pete began to swear, and Coyote ducked; Pete sure could cuss up a mean streak when he was riled, and he was riled now. But to his partner's amazement, the huge man quickly calmed down, looking at the contents again with a smile.
"They need this purty bad, huh?" he mused, his filthy fingers dancing lightly over the clinking containers.
The driver nodded. "Yeah, telegram said folks were dyin'."
"Huh." Pete lifted one bottle out of the box, examining it as the sunshine set its contents sparkling. "Well, Coyote, I reckon we found gold after all."
Coyote sat back on his haunches and scratched his mustache. "What you thinkin' on, Pete?"
Before replying, Pete casually drew his gun and without the slightest hesitation shot the driver dead. The man fell back into the dirt as the loud report echoed off of the desert walls, but neither of the living men gave him any attention.
"Well," Pete replied, holstering his weapon, "way I figure it, if they're that desperate for this stuff, then I bet they'd pay just about anything for it." He smiled as he slid the bottle back into the box and closed the lid. "Wouldn't they?"
Vin sat idly on the corner of the jailhouse desk, munching on an apple and leafing through the new pile of wanted posters which was quickly growing smaller as the other occupant of the jail, a young dark-haired man with bright hazel eyes and fast hands, snatched them up and tacked them to the cork board on the wall.
"Recognize any of these guys, Vin?" the young man asked as he fastened yet another desperado's picture to the wall.
The tracker grunted, pushing his long golden-blonde hair out of his eyes as he studied the drawings. "Yeah, JD," he said casually, licking his lips to clear them of the sticky-sweet apple juice. "Too many for my likin'. Shame they're still out there hurtin' folks."
"Least it means we'll never be out of a job," JD replied as he plucked another paper from the stack and looked it over. "Peter Lawson, wanted for robbery of Wells Fargo wagon on June 3rd, 7th,14th."
"Hmm," Vin muttered, swallowing. "I went after a Pete Lawson once, nasty cuss, big long scar runin' down his face." he stood and walked over to the board, looking on as JD tacked up the poster. "Yup, that's him. When I knew 'im he was robbin' banks, guess he got bored."
A tall, darkly clad figure strode in through the open door, a thin blonde man with piercing green eyes. He took off his black wide-brimmed hat and wiped his forehead.
"Whew, I thought it'd be cooler in here," he breathed.
"Why should the crooks have it easier'n us?" Vin smiled, tossing his apple core away.
"Hey, Chris," JD smiled as he picked up the last poster. "I'm almost done, then the jail's all yours."
"Suits me," Chris sighed, sitting down at the desk and tossing his hat aside. "Gonna be another scorcher today, might as well be where nothin's happenin'."
"That why you sent Ezra to David's Ford with that money 'stead of goin' yourself?" Vin asked with a smile, standing up.
Chris shook his head as he gazed out of the window. "Nah, just figured he'd want to get out of town after havin' t'look after his ma. Seems she always has him whirlin' like a top when ever she's around."
"That's mighty thoughtful of ya, Chris," JD remarked as he cleared away the tacks.
Chris shrugged as he leaned back in the chair. "Just don't want him bein' all wound up when we might need him to watch our backs. Men get easily worked up in this kind of weather, an' we gotta be ready for anything."
There were more footsteps thumping on the wooden boardwalk, and a handsome young black man entered the jail shaking his head, a disgusted look on his gentle face.
"Tell you what, I better sit down or I'm gonna take a swing at somebody," he said angrily, swiping his hat of of his head in frustration.
Vin looked at him in surprise. "Don't usually see you riled, Nathan. Everything all right?"
"All right?" Nathan fumed, pacing with tense energy. "Everything won't be all right 'til we find some way t'get these damn snake-oil salesmen outta town."
Chris scowled. "Anybody in particular?"
Nathan huffed and looked out of the door, gesturing with his hat towards an unseen figure in the street. "Y'can start with him."
The men turned towards the window, Chris and Vin rising and going to the door to peer outside. Across the street in front of Mrs. Potter's store stood a small, stocky man in a slightly ill-fitting tweed suit, addressing a very small crowd of interested passers-by. His face was fleshy and smooth except for a thin goatee, and his dark eyes moved with ferret-like swiftness as he addressed his audience.
Next to him was an open case on a stand, its wares displayed in all their tawdry glory. Cheap necklaces, trinkets and watches sparkled in the bright sun, but most of the room seemed to be taken up by dark bottles of some unidentifiable substance. Across the back of the case, written in beautifully ornate letters, were the words SYLVESTER GREENE'S MIRACLE ELIXIR. In smaller but no less fancy letters beneath it was the legend CURES COUGHS, DYSPEPSIA, HEADACHE, FEMALE COMPLAINTS. ONLY $2 a BOTTLE. ACCEPT NO SUBSTITUTES! It was obvious from the steady stream of banter and his enthusiastic gestures towards his merchandise that the man was quite experienced at his business.
Vin snorted. "Seen enough hucksters like that out here."
"Afraid of a little competition?" Chris smiled as he walked slowly back into the jail.
"Competition hell!" Nathan almost yelled, his dark eyes snapping. "Them men are dangerous, sellin' folks fake medicine instead of lettin' 'em go to a real doctor."
JD shook his head as he watched the salesman sell a woman a necklace and a bottle of the elixir. "Well, he sure seems to know what he's doin'."
"Fraid he does, JD," Chris pointed out, settling back into the chair. "But there ain't nothin' we can do unless he breaks the law."
Nathan sighed, eying the huckster in a furiously suspicious manner. "Or kills somebody."
"If he does we'll let ya have first crack at 'im," Vin said, patting Nathan on the shoulder as he walked towards the door. "Now let's go help Josiah with that wall at the church before he comes lookin' for us."
Nathan nodded, putting his hat back on and following Vin out the door, his eyes still glaring at the salesman. Chris watched them go silently, his eyes serious as they strayed to the window, staring at the growing crowd in the streets.
"You think that guy might cause trouble, Chris?" JD asked, noticing Chris's pensive expression.
Chris barely moved as he shook his head. "Got no way of knowin', JD. Trouble's kinda like a summer storm-sometimes you don't know it's comin' til it breaks right over your head."
The cool late afternoon wind wafted across the dusty mountain road, stirring the leaves of the trees which sparsely lined the way. The air was filled with the music of their soft rustling, mixed with the gentle clopping of hooves as a lone rider slowly made his way along the trail.
Ezra sighed and squinted at the unforgiving sun. The trip to David's Ford had been uneventful, and he was hoping to get back to Four Corners by nightfall, but a rockslide had forced him to detour from his expected route, and this one was taking him longer to travel. Perhaps he could stop somewhere up ahead for the night.
With a smooth motion he fished his silver hip flask from his belt and downed a swallow, trying to ease the dryness of his throat and fight off his disagreeable mood. He attempted to pretend that it was the heat, and the dust, that soured his disposition, because it was easier than admitting the truth-or, more accurately, trying to figure out what the truth was in the first place.
As Ezra rode along and mused on the situation, he wondered if he had told his mother the truth earlier, about his talents being needed in his present line of work. His skills at deceit were not called for nearly as often as Nathan's healing prowess or Josiah's calming faith. Vin's tracking abilities were used almost constantly, and Chris's leadership capabilities had saved them all more than once. JD's youthful courage had led him to actions of fortuitous valor, while Buck's gunfighting skills had covered everyone's back on numerous occasions.
And Ezra? The gambler rubbed his neck and squinted at the sun. Well, he'd been asked a few times to use his subtle tactics when cruder ones had failed. But now that he thought about it, those times were far less frequent than he'd first recalled. In fact, he seemed to spend most of his times at Four Corners playing poker in the saloon and getting shot at. He could play poker anywhere, and did not much care for being a target.
Ezra sighed as he checked his pocket watch and mused on the sunlight filtering through the early summer leaves. He shouldn't complain, it wasn't a bad life, the other men were more than agreeable company and he had even found himself thinking of the place as home, or what he assumed a home was like, as he had never really had one. He realized that this made him nervous, this strange feeling of settling in somewhere. Maybe that was it, if he believed he was of no real use to the group, it would give him a reason to move on, as he was used to doing.
Or an excuse.
Not, he thought with a smile as he ducked a low-hanging tree branch, that he really had a choice. Judge Travis, and particularly Chris Larabee, had made it clear that Ezra had been hired to do a job, and he was expected to stay and do it. Ezra had never been in this position before, and found himself aching to leave yet hesitant to do so. It was most perplexing.
But Maude was right-if that job was to shoot a gun at the bad guys, anyone could do it. His spot could easily be filled with another hired gun-a convincing sob story to Travis and Larabee was all that was needed to release him from his duties-and he would be free to resume his pursuit of wealth. Of course, that would make everything right and comfortable again.
Wouldn't it?
He shifted in the saddle and gazed ahead; at least another six hours to Four Corners. Hopefully he was coming up to a town where he could stop for the night, his bad mood was really cramping his desire to travel.
The road widened, and Ezra could see small cabins ahead of him, with more dense settlement further on. He perked up and urged Chaucer along, images of a nice quiet saloon and some poker flitting through his weary brain. A small town, like Four Corners, by the looks of it, but it was a rare thing for a town of any size in these parts to not have at least one saloon or cantina.
As Ezra rode on he looked for anyone who might tell him what town he was in; but oddly enough, there seemed to be noone around. He passed several small houses, a farm or two, and noticed odd signs of recent evacuation; here a plow lay overturned in the dusty field, its horse long gone; there a line of laundry flapped in the warm breeze, a basket of clean clothes scattered on the ground nearby. Ezra fidgeted and fingered his Remington; something was wrong.
As he neared the town he saw someone up ahead of him on the road, a female figure leading a limping, pale horse. A young child no older than five sat unsteadily perched on the animal, while another, slightly older boy walked beside the woman. Eager for answers, and concerned, Ezra spurred his mount on, determined to find out what was going on.
At the sound of the approaching hoofbeats, the woman turned her head, and Ezra could see she was almost frantic with worry. As he reined in she stopped as well, and took the hand of the boy on the horse.
"Madam," Ezra nodded, touching his hat brim and surveying the situation. "Are you in-"
"Please, sir," the woman said, cutting him off as she caught at Chaucer's bridle, "my son must get to the convent at once, and our horse has gone lame. All I have is yours if you will take him, it's just up the road."
"Now, now," he soothed, seeing that the woman was distraught; he looked around for signs of a trap or ambush but saw nothing. "I'll be happy to help, Mrs.-"
"Julia Ward," was the anxious reply.
Ezra nodded. "Now, Mrs. Ward, what's the matter with your boy?"
She choked back a sob as she reached up and gently removed the boy from the back of the pale horse. Ezra studied him closely; he was pale and sweaty, and barely conscious, his arms and legs limp as a doll's.
"I don't know, sir," was the anguished reply as she gently handed him to Ezra. As soon as he touched the boy's skin, Ezra felt how fiercely hot the boy was. He looked at the mother in surprise.
"He's burning up," he murmured, cradling the child in his arms. "He needs a doctor."
"The doctor is at the convent," was the half-sobbed reply. Ezra thought for a moment, then gathered up the reins.
"Then , madame, your son shall soon be there as well. What is his name?"
"James. Please hurry, we'll be right behind you."
Ezra nodded, and spurred his horse forward, holding the boy in front of him as he rode. As they sped along he could feel the boy's fever burning through his clothes. Ezra swallowed a lump in his throat; surely this child didn't deserve to die so young.
A low, wide white building surrounded by a gated wall loomed up on his right; the convent, he assumed, and he veered Chaucer through the opem gate and over to the hitching post in a swirl of dust. Swiftly dismounting, he lifted the boy in his arms, ran inside-and stopped.
He was in a large, dark room, lit by several windows and the fitful glare of numerous oil lamps. As his eyes adjusted to the gloom, he could see people rushing to and fro, women mostly in white habits-the nuns of the place, though he couldn't discern the order. Then he noticed the cots-what looked like three dozen, filling almost every inch of space in the room. Most of them were occupied with people in varying stages of consciousness, some perfectly motionless, others tossing in restless sleep. A few nuns were engaged in sponging sufferers with cold water. Ezra stared, realizing how much it reminded him of the hospitals during the War, a scene he had never wanted to revisit.
"Sir?"
Ezra turned to see a nun looking at him, her face shiny with sweat, her habit stained with water. She wore no head covering; her dark hair was pulled back loosely, with many strands escaping to hang in damp strands around her narrow face. She looked slightly older than Ezra, her serious face lined with the marks of a difficult life.
Still slightly stunned, Ezra handed her the small boy. She accepted the child with a look of sorrow and quickly moved to place him gently on the nearest cot.
"What's happening here?" he finally gasped, following her.
"We aren't quite sure," was the sad reply as she took off the boy's shirt. "It started a few days ago, and now it seems the entire town is ill." She sighed and drew a weary hand across her forehead, looking up at Ezra with pained eyes. "Is this your son, sir?"
Ezra started. "Oh-no, I'm just, er, helping out. His mother will be here shortly. But he must see the doctor immediately."
She pursed her lips and rose slowly, as if every bone ached. "I'm afraid we've lost our doctor. He fainted two hours ago."
"My God," Ezra gasped; he'd seen fevers strike in the South with alarming swiftness, and knew what they could do. He thought for a moment. "Is your telegraph office nearby? I have an associate who will be of great assistance to you."
She eyed his brightly colored clothing and raised an eyebrow in surprise. Ezra recognized the look and smiled tightly.
"He's a healer, not a gambler, I assure you."
She sighed deeply as she reached into a basin of cold water and wrung out a rag. "Healer or gambler, any service he might render would be more than welcome. But our telegraph operator died yesterday."
"While I am sorry to hear that," Ezra said quickly," it poses no obstacle to me, I am familiar with the equipment."
She smiled in relief. "Oh, thank the Lord. Your friend would be a blessing, we need all the help we can get until the medicine gets here. We're expecting a delivery-"
A loud crash interrupted her, and they both looked over to see a large patient thrashing in his bed, delirious. He easily overpowered the nuns who tried to hold him.
Without a pause, Ezra stripped off his jacket and leapt to the bed, struggling to grab the man and prevent him from hurting himself or those around him. To his surprise, the nun was soon on the man's other side, grasping one of the sufferer's wrists in an iron grip. Ezra found himself impressed at her obvious strength; the sleeve of her habit had slipped down, and he could see how muscular her arm was. The skin was tan and tough-looking, with a few nasty-looking scars. She had obviously not been a nun all of her life.
"My thanks for your assistance," Ezra grunted as he tried to push the man back down on the cot.
The sister snorted and forced the man's arm down to his side. "While most of my strength comes form the Lord, I find having some of my own comes in handy as well. It's about the only good thing my former life left to me."
The patient renewed his thrashing, almost dashing the nun and Ezra to the floor in his exertions.
"I'm afraid the telegram must wait for now," Ezra panted as he firmly grasped the man's other wrist, "but once we have things in hand here, you must show me where the office is. My friend can be here by midnight, and I am confident he can keep your people alive until the medicine arrives."
As they wrestled the delirious man into submission, Ezra looked up to see a few more people stagger through the doors, followed by the distraught mother and her son, who went straight for her ill child, kneeling by his bedside. Ezra watched her keenly, his heart aching at the mother's grief.
"I only pray," he whispered, "that we are in time."
"Can't we stop now, Pete? I'm powerful bushed."
Coyote's plaintive wail hung in the hot afternoon air as he and Pete Lawson trudged their weary horses through the dry brush of the foothills. The sun was going down now, but the heat was still fierce.
"Oh, shut up," Pete mumbled as he mopped his brow with a dirt-smudged bandanna. "We're almost there."
Silence fell again, marked only by the gentle clinking of the glass bottles in the box strapped to Pete's saddle.
"What you gonna do with that box, Pete?" Coyote asked after he got tired of the quiet.
"You'll know soon enough," was the angry reply, and the rest of the ride took place without another word being spoken.
Finally Pete stopped and said, "Okay, this is it."
Coyote looked around; they were in a wide, grassy area in the foothills, desolate of any signs of habitation except for a run-down cabin half-hidden in the tall grass and tangled trees.
"We're gonna hole up here for a while," Pete growled as he urged his foaming mount on. The dry grass crackled beneath the horses' hooves as the picked their way to the cabin. "Red Rock's about two miles that way. This'll be perfect."
"Perfect for what?" Coyote asked in a puzzled voice as he eyed the scraggly surroundings with doubt.
Pete smiled. "Deliverance, my friend. Sweet deliverance."
The telegraph office was growing dark by the time Ezra found it, and it took him more than a few minutes to find and light the lamp. As its feeble light flared to life, he took a deep breath and straightened, stretching his sore muscles. It had been a long day, and showed no signs of ending soon.
It had been a grueling several hours since he'd arrived at Red Rock; he'd spent the time calming delirious patients, carrying water, and helping the few ambulatory men clear heavy furniture out of the building so more room could be made for the stricken. Now he was weary, disheartened by the size of the situation-it seemed as if most of the town was ill-and impatient to summon help as quickly as possible.
Worry ate at his mind as he mopped his wet brow. The boy James was very ill, and if he didn't get this equipment working soon he likely would not survive. But if anyone could help them, Nathan could, at least until the medicine arrived.
As his eyes searched keenly for the switch to power the generator, his mind played back the events he had recently witnessed. He had rarely felt so helpless as he did in the face of all that suffering, especially the children; he had done what he could, of course, but it felt like barely enough. In his melancholy state he could not help but wish that Chris, or Josiah, or Buck had come with him. They had skills which would have come in handy much better than his; knowing how to con and swindle did little good in such a crisis.
Ezra shook his head quickly, as if trying to shake such thoughts away. He was having an unusually hard time concentrating, and going off on self-critical tangents wasn't going to solve anything. A sharp headache throbbed dully behind his eyes, but he ignored it, blaming it on his bad mood. Those sick people, including young James, were depending on him.
At least I can get this running for them, he thought as he sat down and continued to search for the switch. It was getting hard to see, but after some time his persistence was rewarded as he found the switch and turned it on. The equipment hummed to life, and he smiled, relieved and thankful that he had learned his way around a telegraph office. The knowledge had been quite useful in more than a few cons.
He looked around for the headset, finally locating it on a peg above the table. Taking a deep breath, he stood and reached for it.
A violent wave of dizziness crashed over him; he was dimly aware of his fingers brushing the rough surface of the table as he tried to grab it for support. Then the scene before him tilted and he felt himself falling, slamming onto the wooden floor with painful force. He lay there gasping and bewildered for a moment, waiting for the lightheadedness to subside. It didn't, and Ezra closed his eyes against the unnerving sensation with a moan.
Good Lord, he thought as he broke out into a sweat; it felt as if the room was spinning furiously around him. With extreme effort he lifted one trembling arm and closed the fingers around the edge of the table; maybe he could hoist himself up. He tried several times to lever himself into the chair, but all the strength seemed to have left his body. Every attempt only brought on new waves of dizziness, accompanied now by racking chills.
His stomach churned angrily, then stabbed him with excruciating pain. With a cry he toppled back to the floor, doubling up in anguish. He tried to think, but failed miserably; his mind was clouded and confused, and it seemed impossible to form any coherent thoughts. He felt as if he were being pulled out of himself, everything becoming distant except for the pain, and he lay motionless on the floor.
After what seemed like several hours, he heard running footsteps striking the wooden boardwalk, and a feminine voice shouting out orders. What those orders were, he could not begin to decipher; everything was spinning much too fast, and he was too frightened and disoriented to make out the words.
A cool hand was pressed against his sweat-soaked face; then there were more hands, roughly lifting him up and carrying him quickly, his entire body aching at every jarring step. The world continued to spin, its gyration sweeping away all reason, until with a painful rush it pulled him down into a black, bottomless void.
THE NEXT DAY
Chris Larabee strode out of the jail, squinting into the late morning sun and trying to squelch the feeling that something was wrong.
"You're lookin' a might cross there, pard," drawled a smiling, lazy voice nearby. "Best set a spell an' cool off."
The black-garbed gunslinger looked over to see Buck Wilmington lounging on a chair by the door, his legs stretched before him in an attitude of relaxation. The expression on Buck's face was one of cautious appraisal, the lips beneath his black mustache curled in a half-smile which threatened to grow wider if given the proper nudge.
"Just wonderin' what the hell happened to Ezra," Chris muttered. "David's Ford ain't that far, he should've been back last night." Chris walked to where Buck sat and leaned against the wall, supporting himself on one hand while placing the other on his hip. He surveyed the street and continued to frown.
Buck sighed and swept the area with his blue eyes. "Yeah, keepin' them tumbleweeds in line's just plumb wore me out," he observed dryly as the wind puffed some dust down the street. "Now look, I reckon ol' Ezra's just run into a card game or somethin', or maybe a spot of bad road. If there was trouble he'd have sent a wire. He's just gettin' his breath back after spendin' time with that ma of his. He'll be along."
Chris nodded and stared out into the street, thinking. After several silent minutes, Buck sat up with a loud THUNK as the chair he'd been leaning in made hard contact with the wooden porch floor.
"No offense, Chris, but I can see that hangin' around you this morning's gonna be about as excitin' as a snail race." Buck stood and straightened his tan coat. "I'm gonna head on over to the saloon an' see if Molly..."
His voice trailed off, and he looked at Chris with a puzzled expression as the noise of an approaching vehicle reached their ears. Chris's face bore the same confused look; there was a dark gleam of alarm in his green eyes. He heard it, too.
"Is that the mail?" Buck asked, although they both knew the answer; they could hear the thunder of the horses' hooves and the rattling of the stagecoach gear as it drew close to rounding the corner.
Chris didn't answer, turning instead to watch the conveyance's approach. He said nothing, because he knew that Buck was thinking the same thing: the mail had already come that morning, and there were no more delivery wagons due until tomorrow. This was an unexpected arrival, and that usually meant trouble.
Both men heard the hoofbeats of a single horse mixed in with the more cacophonic thudding of the wagon team; after a moment Vin whipped around the corner ahead of the vehicle. He pulled up in front of Buck and Chris, his handsome boyish face wrenched in worry.
"Hey, Vin," Buck said, coming forward as a shot-up wagon lurched into view and bounced to a stop behind the rider. "What's goin' on?"
"We got trouble, boys," Vin replied, trying to steady his horse as it danced nervously. He nodded behind him. "Found this empty mail wagon out on patrol."
Buck peered inside; there were two large, loosely wrapped shapes lying on the seats. He looked up at Vin, who knew the question forming on Buck's lips.
"That's the driver an' his partner. Reckon the robbers shot em an' took the horses; once I informed the line, they wanted to rig er up and ride er to the closest town. Mr. Hethrow here's with the company." Vin jerked his head back to indicate the somber-faced older man who sat in the driver's seat; he acknowledged Vin's attention with a scant nod but said nothing.
Chris frowned as he looked up at Vin. "Was it a robbery?"
The younger man nodded grimly, his blue eyes cloudy with anger. "Reckon so, but they stole more'n money."
The driver pulled out a piece of paper and handed it to Chris. "That's the cargo list," he explained. "We went through the mail, an' the only thing that's missin' is a shipment of fever medicine for the town of Red Rock."
"Why would them robbers want medicine? They can't use it," Buck wondered, peering at the list.
Vin shrugged. "Maybe they were gonna sell it, or try an' get the folks it was goin' to t'buy it back. Either way, it looks like those people at Red Rock could use some help."
Chris stood thinking for a moment, then straightened and looked at the other men. "I'll go telegraph Red Rock, see if the law there knows about this, an' if they need our help."
Vin nodded. "Mr. Hethrow an' I'll see to this wagon. I'll meet you all in the saloon."
"Sounds good," Buck agreed, and they parted, Chris striding towards the telegraph office as Vin and the wagon trotted down the street towards the livery.
Buck frowned as he stood at the bar and peered through the smoky interior of the saloon. In this crowd, he couldn't tell if Molly, the black-haired working girl, was here or not, and he felt sure it would be a while before Chris would be back. He sure didn't want to be bored while waiting...
Someone slapped him heaviily on the back, and he turned. To his surprise, Chris stood behind him, along with a worried-looking Vin.
Buck studied them and sighed. "Things aren't good at Red Rock, huh?"
His old friend eyed him keenly, his nerves clearly on edge. "Don't know if it's good or not-the telegraph office couldn't raise them at all."
Buck leaned back against the bar and wiped his forehead with the back of his sleeve. "Maybe they're just havin' trouble with their equipment."
"Maybe," Chris muttered, "but I'd feel better if I knew for sure. Whoever took that medicine might still have it, an' their law might need some help bringin' 'em in." He looked at Buck. "Buck, you an' JD better stay here, keep an eye on things. JD's so young, he might be likely to catch whatever these folks've got, an' if things get rough he might need your help."
"I'll go get Josiah an' Nathan," Vin volunteered. "Sounds like these folks'll need some doctorin' an' prayin'." He nodded to the two men and walked out into the dusty sunlight.
"Hell of a time for Ezra to go missin'," Chris muttered as he and Buck walked through the saloon and out into the street. "If he shows up, send him on over, it sounds like we might need all the guns we can get."
Buck nodded, his expression still dark. "Sure will, Chris. Wonder who this sonuvabitch is-stealin' medicine an' lettin' folks die that never done him no harm."
"It's a new one on me too, Buck," Chris admitted after a pause, his voice oddly choked. "The damned thing about it is, it doesn't surprise me."
With that, Chris stepped off the sidewalk and strode with determination towards the livery.
Pete grinned smugly as he sat outside of the small, dilapidated shack he used for his hideout. If all went as he planned, he would be bidding this Godforsaken dump goodbye forever in a matter of hours.
Not that it was a bad hideout, he mused as he studied his surroundings; its location in the scrubby, overgrown foothills, surrounded by patches of thorns and brush, made it difficult to find and get to. It even had a small mountain spring close by for water. But a man like him, who had served in the army and fought for his country, deserved so much better. Why let the measly fact that he'd murdered a few of his fellow soldiers and no-good Indians stand in the way of his just reward?
A crashing in the brush alerted him, and he sat up, his gun in hand as his beady eyes searched the brush. Coyote appeared, bobbing across the field of thorns and weeds towards the cabin.
"Someone's comin'!" Coyote cried.
Pete's grip on his gun tightened. "Is it the law?"
"No," was the shouted reply, "it's a woman!"
Pete smirked and lowered his gun. Now things would really get fun.
"She's ridin' a mule," Coyote panted as he arrived at the cabin, sweat glistening on his brow. "She's all in white, looks like a nun or somethin'."
"Huh-must be from Red Rock," Pete surmised. "That means they got my message-good."
"Well, I nailed it to their church door just like you said," Coyote said testily, wiping his brow on his sleeve.
A white figure appeared in the clearing, picking its way carefully. Pete stared at it.
"Get the box," he said quickly, nudging his partner sharply. "You know what I said-if there's even a hint of Army or law, the whole thing gets smashed on the ground."
"You got it, Pete," Coyote said, ducking inside.
He waited for her to get close. Pretty, he mused, even though she was dirty and her nun's habit was stained with sweat and dirt. He stood, the gun in plain sight in his hand, until she was within twenty feet of the cabin.
"Close enough!" he barked, pointing his gun at her.
She reined in, straightening in the saddle as she pulled a piece of paper from her skirt and held it out to him. "Are you the one who left this note on the church door in Red Rock?" she asked in a clear, firm voice.
She's trying not to look scared, he noted with amusement. "Yeah. You from Red Rock?"
"Yes," she nodded. "I'm Sister Margaret."
"Huh," Pete grunted, unimpressed. "How the hell did you find me?"
"I thought you might be using this cabin. I'm-familiar with this area," she said with slight hesitation as she began to dismount.
"Hold it!" Pete shouted, bringing the gun up. "Anything you got to say, you can say on the mule. I don't want no tricks, or my partner there will drop the whole box."
Coyote lifted the box a bit, to make sure she saw it in his hands. "That's right, Pete!"
She hesitated, then sat back up, her black eyes angry. "I assure you, I am not one for 'tricks'. I have only come to beg for the medicine to help our suffering people."
Pete studied her. "You know what the terms are-$3000 in gold an' a signed pardon from the Army."
Margaret produced a small bag and held it out to him. "I've brought you all of the money we have. It's not as much as you wanted, but-"
Pete walked up to her, watching her carefully as he snatched the bag from her hand. After peering at its contents, he looked up at her, his eyes burning with anger.
"Then it ain't gonna be enough, is it?" he snarled, shoving the bag into his pocket anyway. "Now you ride back to town an' get what I asked for, or you'll have to answer to that God of yours for every one of your folks that dies."
Her expression hardened as she glared at him. "The sin will be on your head, not mine. And I fear God will judge you heavily for it."
Pete laughed. "Hey, it ain't my fault! You know what to do to get what they need. If you don't do it an' they die, that's your doin', not mine. An' don't you go gettin' no law involved, or you don't get one drop." He looked up at the sun. "An' you best hurry, missy, before there ain't noone left to save."
She gazed at him in righteous anger, began to say something, then thought better of it. There was an expression on her face briefly, one of absolute and barely controlled rage; it was swiftly hidden, but her eyes still burned. Turning the mule quickly, she trotted through the field and back towards the town.
"Ha!" Pete snorted, pulling out the bag and gazing at its contents again. "Damn bunch of cheats, can't be more'n fifty dollars in here."
Coyote poked his head out of the cabin. "She was the meanest-lookin' nun I ever seen. What if she gets the law, Pete?"
"Then she'll get to watch her whole town die," Pete said with a smile as he sat back down to watch the afternoon.
JD sat outside the jail, wiping his forehead on his sleeve and wondering if he'd ever get used to the heat around here. He loved being out West, but the weather certainly wasn't anything like Boston...
He pursed his lips with boredom as his gaze idly wandered over the scene in the street. Chris and the others had left hours ago, and now it was up to him and Buck to keep things orderly. Caution tempered his mood; on days like these, anything could start a brawl, and he knew his boredom could instantly be relieved in the most unpleasant way.
Across the street, JD could see Sylvester Green was likewise suffering from the lull. The fast-talking huckster had no one to talk to, and JD felt slightly amused at the man's obvious restlessness. Guess he don't feel right unless he's yakkin' a mile a minute, the young man thought with a smile.
He glanced over at the hotel, frowning. It sure seemed busy; a lot of people were standing on its porch and going in and out of its doors. While he was watching, one of the owners came out and hung a sign on the front door. JD couldn't read it from so far away, but judging from the disappointed moans it brought forth, and the large number of people now drifting away from the building, he assumed it said something on the order of 'no vacancy'. This astonished him; he had never seen the hotel full before.
"Hey, kid, what's the big attraction?"
JD looked behind him to see Buck strolling down the boardwalk towards him. He pointed at the hotel in answer. "Look, the hotel's turnin' folks away. Is there a meetin' or somethin' in town?"
Buck eyed the crowd, his blue eyes slightly confused. "None that I know of. That is a passel of folks, ain't it? Never saw the likes of that in this li'l ol' town."
Some of the crowd was flowing down past the jail, muttering among themselves. A middle-aged couple in clean but well-worn clothing passed by; the woman glanced at Buck, then stopped.
"Excuse me, sir," she said in a friendly voice, her full, amiable face wearing an expression of anxiousness, "but is there another hotel in this town?"
Buck straightened and pointed up the street. "There's a few little ones up yonder, an' a coupla boardin' houses, ma'am."
The man, an older, bearded type, sighed. "They're probably full too, Emmie. Let's just go on to Eagle Bend."
Emmie seemed hesitant. "But I heard it was there, too."
Buck frowned. "What was there, ma'am?"
She gave him a sharp look, a tiny flicker of fear in her green eyes. "The fever. It's spreading all over the territory, from what I understand."
"We just came from Red Rock," the man explained, his tone serious. "Lucky to get out alive, from what I hear tell. Folks was droppin' like flies when we left."
JD and Buck looked at each other, then back at the couple. Buck gestured towards the crowd now swelling through the streets.
"Are all these folks from Red Rock?"
The couple glanced at the people streaming by. Emmie nodded. "Yes, most of 'em. We all left town quick as we could, before we caught it."
"An' came here," JD deduced, eying the multitude with apprehension.
"Yup," the man replied, scratching his thin red beard. "Now we're tryin' t'find some nearby town t'stay in til its safe t'go home again."
Buck drew a deep breath. "Well, just try your luck down the street, mister. You folks need any help, just give ol' Buck a holler an' I'll do what i can for ya."
She nodded and muttered "Thank you" before they hurried away. The crowd was thinning now, but JD could see more people stopping at the hotel. The owner now seemed to be engaged in a heated discussion with a burly-looking gentleman on a horse who was carrying a heavy-looking carpetbag.
"Just what we need, with the others gone," Buck said in a low, worried voice as he rubbed his chin. "JD, you keep an eye on things, I'm gonna go telegraph around an' find out if this fever is spreadin' like they said. If the other towns are safe after all we can send some of these poor folks over there."
"Right," JD said, still watching the hotel owner's fight with concern.
Buck whapped his shoulder, then hurried off towards the telegraph office. With slow deliberation JD sat back down, his hands straying unconsciously to his gunbelt. The combination of the heat and the crowds made trouble more likely than ever, especially if their visitors were in a bad temper-and since most of them would be scared and homesick, they would probably not be happy.
A jubilant voice caught JD's ear. Startled, he glanced across the street to where the salesman was now speaking quickly with a group of newcomers, exchanging rapid banter with them and gesticulating at his wares with great skill. He seemed successful, as all of the travelers bought bottles of his elixir. Mr. Green looked very pleased; more people soon showed up, and he was shortly surrounded by a large and attentive crowd. From what JD could hear, he was now ignoring his other merchandise and talking solely about the elixir.
Well, I guess he's happy, JD thought glumly, and sat back to continue his watch.
The streets of Red Rock were deserted as Chris and his men rode into town. Chris's green eyes studied the empty shops and ghostly sidewalks, finding only vacant windows and doors staring blindly back at him. Somewhere a dog barked, and they could hear the shutters of a home banging rhythmically in the wind. But other than a rattlesnake winding its slow way across the road, there were no visible signs of life.
Behind him rode Josiah, Nathan and Vin, each man's face expressing the same sadness as they contemplated the desolate scene before them.
"Maybe we're too late," Vin muttered.
"This town's got a convent at the other end," Josiah offered. "Maybe that's where they are."
"Good a place as any to look," Chris muttered, and they moved up the street.
They passed through the main part of town. A few people hurried along the sidewalks, regarding Chris and his men with suspicion. Most of the stores here were closed, the livery almost empty. The party clopped past a small gray clapboard church, its door shut tight.
Josiah shook his head sadly. "Looks like even God's deserted this afflicted town," he mumbled.
A low, flat-roofed white building encircled by a white stone wall came into view at the end of the street, and before they got too close the men could see many people-obviously most of the town's inhabitant's-lying or sitting outside the building's doors, being tended to by several sisters of the order whose once-white habits were now gray with water and dirt. As they rode through the open gate, a few of the sisters looked up, their weary faces frozen in expressions of alarm. One of them leapt to her feet and dashed inside.
"I think the welcomin' committee's on its way," Vin said softly as they reined in outside of the convent's yard. Chris pursed his lips and said nothing.
After a few moments the sister returned, accompanied by another nun. This one appeared older and even more weary; her wimple was off, revealing thick gray-streaked brown hair tied back at the base of her neck, much of which was now coming loose. Her wide face was set in a hard, angry expression as she studied the small group of horsemen.
"What do you want?" she snapped.
There was a pause. Then Josiah leaned forward. "It's all right, Sister. We're here to help."
She hesitated, unsure, her hands clasping and unclasping nervously into fists. "He didn't send you?"
"I don't know who 'he' is," Chris said in a calm, deadly voice, "but if he's the ones causin' the trouble here, I'll be happy t'make his acquaintance."
"I'm not sure who it is exactly myself," the Sister said grimly as she fished a piece of paper out of her pocket and handed it to Chris. "But this was found nailed to our church door this morning."
Chris frowned and read the note aloud, his voice growing tighter with anger at each passing word.
"'To the citizens of Red Rock. I will return your medicine in exchange for $3000 in gold and a blank signed pardon from the US Army. Don't try nothing funny or the entire batch gets dumped. Deposit the money and the pardon by Indian Head Rock. The sooner you act the fewer of you will die.'" He crumpled the note in his fist and sighed, looking away. "Just when you think the scum out here can't get any worse..."
"I went to see him today and gave him all the money we had, but it isn't enough," the Sister said sadly. "And the pardon-"
Chris shook his head. "We'll figure some other way t'get your medicine, Sister. We ain't gonna let this person go free t'keep hurtin' innocent people."
"Got any idea at all who this guy is?" Vin asked.
"I heard his partner call him Pete," she replied. "I'm afraid that's all I know about him. He was a large man, with a scar here," She indicated her right cheek.
Vin shifted in his saddle and glanced at Chris. "Sounds like Pete Lawson t'me."
Her black eyes scanned the rough-looking men. "You've really come to help?"
"If we can," Chris said with an assuring nod. "I'm Chris Larabee, me an' the boys here look after things in Four Corners for Orin Travis, the circuit court judge for this territory. Vin here found your mail wagon this morning missin' the medicine."
"I'd like t'look over your folks," Nathan piped up. "I know a few things about healin', might be able t'lend you a hand."
"You're certainly welcome to try," the nun said in a tired, grateful tone. "There's no one here who can operate our telegraph and we have had no way to reach anyone. A few riders have gone out for help, but we've received none so far."
"Where's your law?" Vin inquired, looking around.
The nun sighed. "Sheriff Walters was killed last week in a bank robbery, and his replacement isn't due until next week. We had some volunteers keeping the peace, but they've all fled or gotten ill. Now we have no one." She studied them for a moment with a small smile. "So-I suppose I must regard your appearance as a miracle."
"Never been called one of those before," Vin grinned a she slid off of Sire and tipped his hat to the Sister. "We'll do what we can t' help, Sister."
"I'm Sister Margaret," was the reply. "You must forgive my rudeness earlier. Things have been-well-"
Josiah nodded, his blue eyes dark. "We understand, Sister. Evil has a way of makin' even the holiest person somewhat testy."
She sighed in agreement and motioned them inside.
The interior of the convent was dim and hot, and as their eyes of the men adjusted to the light in the large room they could see rows of cots, all full, and people sitting on the floor against the walls in various attitudes of suffering. Here and there sheets had been hung across the ceiling to afford a little privacy. The air hung heavy with the sounds of delirium and anguish as several sisters went to and fro among their charges, doing whatever lay in their power to offer comfort. At one door in the back of the room, two men were busy carrying out the shrouded bodies of those who had lost their struggle to survive.
Nathan gazed around the room, his lips pursed in frustration. "I got some herbs that'll help, but-not nearly enough for this many. But I'll do what I can."
Josiah was taking off his coat. "I'll be glad to help too, Sister. Got a few prayers that might help those needin' God's word."
"An' I think we can take care of whoever's troublin' you," Chris said, his voice icy with anger as he glanced at Vin.
The nun gave them a weary smile. "Thank you all for your help. We put the doctor's things over in those boxes-you are welcome to use anything that might help." She pointed to some crates in a darkened corner, and Josiah and Nathan nodded their thanks and moved off to see what they could find.
"You say you went to see this Pete feller?" Vin asked softly, fixing her with a sharp gaze. He was studying her very closely, although she didn't see it. But Chris did.
She nodded. "He's holed up out by Indian Head Rock, at an abandoned cabin. And he's not in a very cooperative mood."
"You did a good job in findin' 'im," Chris said with an impressed bow of his head.
She shrugged, an uneasy light in her eyes. "It's-I've heard outlaws like to use that place to hide. It's very secluded and you can see anyone coming from a mile away. Which is why we have to be careful-if he thinks we've got the law coming down on him, he'll destroy the medicine and by the time we get more most of the town will be dead."
"He's got t'know he'll be taken down if he tries anything," Vin noted, leaning back against the wall as he thought out the situation.
"He doesn't care," was Sister Margaret's bitter reply. "He just wants that pardon, and he's willing to bet we'll trade the lives of our town for it. And I have no idea what he even needs the pardon for."
Vin's eyes took on a hard edge. "If it's Pete Lawson," he said with grim softness, "it's somethin' these walls shouldn't hear, Sister."
Josiah squinted up at the dim light as he and Nathan searched the boxes for useful implements. "Maybe we oughta take these outside, Nate. I can't see a blamed thing."
Nathan nodded. "Yeah, let's get 'em out to the doorway. The doctor's stuff ain't on top, it must be at the bottom. Figures."
They rose and scooted the heavy crates outside, into the convent's courtyard. Aside from a few sufferers who lay in the shade of the building, the area was deserted.
Josiah pulled out some clothing and set it aside. "Looks like it's mostly clothes in here."
"Must be from the sick folks," Nathan muttered as he rummaged through his box. "Don't go catchin' nothin'. I ain't strong enough to lift you onto a cot."
"I'll be all right," Josiah assured him as he dug deeper, "my father used to take us into sick wards all the time to pray over the sick, an' I never got so much as...a...Nate? Look at this."
His voice trailed off, then he began to pull something out of the box as Nathan looked over at him, puzzled. After a few tugs Josiah withdrew a finely tailored red jacket with black edging on the cuffs and lapels.
"Huh," Nathan grunted in curious surprise, "that looks just like Ezra's."
Josiah said nothing, as he was digging deeper into the box. After a moment he pulled out a few more objects, a black flat-crowned Stetson Renegade hat and a beautiful silver hip flask.
Nathan sat up straighter now, the other box forgotten. "That looks like Ezra's stuff too," he said, his voice now edged with concern. "is there anything-"
His words were cut off as Josiah took one more object out of the box: the tangled gear for a sleeve-gun apparatus, complete with the small Derringer still loaded into the spring. The two men exchanged worried glances, then leapt to their feet and hurried back inside, Josiah still carrying the red jacket.
Sister Margaret was still talking to Chris and Vin when Josiah approached her, Nathan on his heels.
"Excuse me, Sister," Josiah breathed, holding up the coat, "but-can you tell me where you got this jacket? It was in one of the boxes you gave us."
Chris scowled. "Looks like Ezra's."
The nun was thinking. "It came from a gentleman who stopped by here yesterday-he was bringing in a sick boy, then stayed to help us with the sick. He was trying to use the telegraph equipment last night when he was stricken as well, that must be why his coat was in the box with the belongings of the other invalids."
All four men instantly came to attention. Josiah stepped forward, his eyes scanning the dim room. "He's here?"
"Yes," she said in a bewildered tone. "You know him? He never had the chance to give me his name."
Vin, Nathan and Josiah stepped quickly into the room, moving from cot to cot, searching the faces of those who lay motionless upon them. Chris paused before joining them, finally fixing the nun with an expression which bode very ill for Pete Lawson.
"He's one of my men," he said in a quiet voice, then went past her into the convent.
Their search went quietly, as they tried to disturb the other sufferers as little as possible. There seemed to be so many beds to walk past, so many supine forms to study. The magnitude of the epidemic struck them as they tried to find Ezra; the ill lay not only on the cots, but on the floor and along the walls as well, wherever there was open space. They were stretched out on chairs and pews, on blankets on the ground, and on borrowed lounges and beds in the yard. Here and there was an empty place, the rumpled bedclothes left behind hinting at the failed battle which took place there.
Josiah reached the far corner, which was separated from the rest of the room by a sheet nailed to the rafters. He was beginning to feel undeniably anxious as he pulled back the makeshift curtain; the longer they were unsuccessful, the less likely it was that they would find Ezra alive.
Behind the curtain lay one empty cot, bearing signs of having been recently vacated, and another placed up against the wall. On this one lay an unmoving figure whose sweat-soaked skin almost matched the white sheet in paleness, except for the feverish crimson on his cheeks and the dark circles beneath his closed eyes. His damp shirt was unbuttoned to his chest and his sleeves rolled up to the elbow: his hands appeared to be loosely grasping at the thin sheet which covered the rest of his body. Even from where he stood, Josiah could hear the man's slow, labored breathing as the sheet slowly rose and fell in rhythm. By all appearances, this cot would soon be vacant as well.
Josiah sighed as a heavy sadness settled over him.
It was Ezra.
The sun was going down over Four Corners, its red-orange rays slicing across the saloon floor in dusty columns of light. JD drank his lukewarm beer and sighed with relief; maybe now things would cool down and there wouldn't be so much reason to worry.
The saloon was only half-full, but that likely wouldn't last, he mused. Once the streets cooled, men would be finding their way here to get a drink and work off some of their boredom. Maybe it was time to start worrying again...
The bat-wing doors boomed open, and JD saw Buck stride in, mopping his brow with his bandanna.
"Whew! Still hotter'n' a furnace out there," he breathed, plopping himself down at JD's table. "Looks like the coast is clear, none of the other towns got a lick of this fever."
"Hmm," JD nodded, noticing Sylvester Green had just wandered in with his case, followed by a few interested-looking clients. "Heard anything from Red Rock?"
Buck shook his head with a scowl. "Nope, couldn't get through to them. Maybe their telegraph's busted."
"Hm-sure hope everything's all right," JD muttered, his hazel eyes worried.
His friend sat back. "Well, if Chris needs our help he'll find a way t'let us know. Meanwhile, we got our job t'do here."
JD nodded, still watching Green. Buck turned to look as well; the man had set up his display-now consisting entirely of the elixir-and had launched into a fast and furious pitch.
"Gentlemen," he was saying, "I know many are you are from that unfortunate town of Red Rock. I need not relate to you the blight currently being suffered there. I share your pain at seeing your kin and neighbors struck low, and at having to flee the homes you love so well. So you must regard my advice as that which is given from the heart, fellow man to fellow man. Will you heed my warning before you fall victim the same tragedy as that of your fellow residents?"
The words were spoken with forceful sincerity and grand gestures indicating the fullness of Green's sympathy. he continued, his eyes darkening, the tone changing to one of dire urgency. "I tell you, my friends, modern medicine is working its miracles as we speak. Soon such horrors as this fever will be as much a thing of the past as the dodo. And I am pleased and humbled to be able to offer you one of the first medicines able to eradicate this pestilence-" he gracefully palmed a bottle of his elixir, holding it up- "Green's Elixir, guaranteed to ward off all forms of fever. Won't you protect your loved ones and yourself from this scourge? Is $5 too much to pay for the peace of mind this miracle of progress can bring you?"
"Five dollars?" JD exclaimed with a surprised chuckle. "Last time he was sellin' it for two. An' his sign didn't say nothin' about fevers before."
"Don't seem to bother his customers none," Buck observed, as Green was inundated with customers thrusting money into his hands. He sighed and sat up. "I'm gonna go rustle up some grub over at the hotel before that fella makes me lose my appetite."
"Sounds good to me," JD agreed, and together they stood and headed out into the dying sunlight.
Buck scratched his chin as they walked out of the door. "Maybe after dinner we can see about gettin' a card game goin' at-oh, hello there, Miss Wells, sorry for almost runnin' into ya."
They had made their way out onto the sidewalk, and Buck was tipping his hat to a young girl who had been standing just outside the doors. Her long brown hair was pulled back into a braid, making her appear even smaller and more vulnerable.
"Hi, Buck," she breathed, apparently slightly thrown as she stepped back form the doors. "Hey, JD."
"Evenin', Casey," the young man smiled. "You all right? You look sorta peaked."
Buck slapped JD on the shoulder. "Y'can join me at the hotel, JD," he said casting a concerned glance at Casey's worried countenance. JD nodded at him, and Buck gave Casey a parting smile and ambled towards the hotel.
JD and Casey moved away from the saloon doors, JD studying Casey with mild alarm. "What's wrong? Mrs. Wells don't have this fever, does she?"
Casey shook her head, wiping the palm of her free hand on the rough jeans she was wearing. "No, but-have you seen Tilda?"
"Tilda?" JD knew Casey had a friend by that name, a tall thin red-haired girl whom JD had met a few times. "That friend of yours? Nope. Is she missin'?"
Casey let out a gasp, glancing down the street. "Well-I heard we got a lot of folks in from Red Rock today. I thought maybe she was with 'em. She lives there, JD, an' I'm so worried about her."
"Oh," JD nodded, understanding. A hopeful smile tightened his lips as he tried to calm her. "Don't worry, we'll look around. Did you check the hotels an' the boardin' houses?"
Casey nodded, trying not to appear too nervous. "Nobody's seen her or her family. I keep thinkin' they might be in Red Rock still, an' sick."
JD smiled. "Aw, she probably just went somewhere else. There's lots of towns around here."
Casey sighed and nodded. "I know, but-I keep thinkin' I should go to Red Rock an' try to help her. She's been sick a lot since she was little, an' this fever's real bad from what I hear."
"Now don't you go ridin' off there," JD said anxiously, gripping her hands. "If you caught this fever I'd-uh," he stammered, "I mean, if you got sick, who'd I have to beat me at racin'?"
She smiled a little, pleased at his obvious concern for her. Then her expression fell. "Thanks, JD, but-Tilda an' I been best friends since I came out here. I don't want to lose her too."
"You won't," JD promised, although he felt wrong for doing so since he had no way of knowing if that promise could be kept. "Now you get back to your aunt's house an' don't worry. Tell her I'll be over tomorrow if I get any news."
Casey sighed. "Oh, all right." She moved away, her gaze traveling back into the saloon. "Who's that feller with the fancy suitcase?"
"Oh," JD waved him off, "just some travelin' salesman. Full of hot air if you ask me. say," he looked back at her, "Um, Buck an' I are gettin' a bite down at the hotel. You're welcome t'join us if you ain't eaten yet."
She paused, then shook her head, her pretty features twisted into a frown. "Sorry, JD, I don't think I could sit still that long. You go on, I'm just gonna ride back to th' house."
"Oh. Uh, okay," JD muttered, a little disappointed. "be careful ridin' back. Guess I'll see you around."
"Sure," she breathed, her expression still very uncertain.
He hesitated. "Sure you're all right?"
"Oh-yeah, I'm fine."
"Okay." He gave her a small wave, then headed off to the hotel, keeping his eyes on her for a few steps before turning around. He didn't see her take a few steps towards the saloon, her eyes peering inside to where Green was still delivering his sales pitch, while one small hand pulled a crumpled five-dollar bill from her jeans pocket.
Vin leaned against the wall of the convent courtyard, his blue eyes deep in meditation. Night had fallen, the blue-purple desert sky now blinking to life with brilliant stars. The air was cooler now, Vin noted, and he hoped it would bring some comfort to the suffering people who surrounded him, both lying in the yard before him and inside the convent.
Grim scenes replayed themselves in his mind as his gaze wandered over the restless figures being tended to in the yard before him. His mother had died of a fever, not this type but close enough. He'd seen her anguish, knew what it was like to stand helplessly by and witness the torments a fever could bring. He had witnessed the endless thirst, the burning skin almost too hot to touch, the anguished convulsions as the body turned against the soul within it. And overlaying the sorrow was the wrenching guilt over his inability to help. He could do nothing.
This time, that was not the case.
A shadow stepped into the light streaming from the convent doorway. Vin turned slightly to see Chris's black-clad form silhouetted in the orange glow.
"How's Ezra?" the tracker asked softly, bracing himself for the possible answer.
"Still unconscious," Chris replied in a grim voice, stepping into the courtyard. "Nathan says he doesn't have much time."
A burning sensation twinged in Vin's gut. He and Ezra had often had their differences, but he knew that if the gambler didn't survive this, he'd miss him, and he could tell by the tense expression on Chris's face that he felt the same way. It was hard enough to know some worthless piece of scum was letting innocent people die, but to think that among the victims might be one of their own made the idea impossible to bear.
Vin shook his head, his blue eyes as hard as ice. "I'm about ready t'go get Lawson myself."
The other man ducked his head, his expression lost in the shadows. "We gotta be careful with this guy or he'll dump the medicine. What do y'know about him?"
Vin sighed and pulled himself up a bit, his eyes locking on the starry sky. "I was workin' near an Army outpost in Texas when I first heard of 'im. Way it was told to me, he got riled at his commander for not lettin' 'im torture some Apache prisoners they had, so when they was transportin' them to another base he up an' killed the commander. An' the Apaches, too, when he was done with 'em."
Chris's mouth twitched in anger.
Vin drew another breath. "I never met Lawson, but they hired me to find the transport wagon when it didn't show up at the fort. Finally did, an..." His quiet voice trailed off, and he dropped his gaze to the ground before lifting his haunted eyes to meet Chris's. "I seen a lot of cruelties in my life, Chris, but the way them bodies looked turned my stomach. Army issued a warrant for 'im, but they never caught 'im."
Chris's eyes were fierce in the dim light of the doorway. "Now we know where he is, but if he knows we're comin' for 'im it could mean the lives of these people, an' Ezra's too." He shook his head as he turned his gaze out to the courtyard. "Damn, Vin. There are times I really hate this job."
His companion's head bobbed gently as he softly whispered, "Yeah, I know."
Chris looked back inside the convent. "Think Sister Margaret would tell us where Lawson's holed up at?"
The tracker shook his head. "Don't need to. I know where it is."
A flash of surprise lit Chris's eyes as he glanced at Vin. "You do?"
Vin shrugged, keeping his gaze on the courtyard. "Used the place myself a few times t'hole up in. It's a purty popular place among them who are on the run." He threw a puzzled look over his shoulder into the building. "Danged if I know how she found it."
Chris sighed. "Divine guidance maybe?"
"Or the unholy kind," was Vin's reply. "I swear I seen her somewhere, an' it wasn't at a convent. I almost think-it was on a wanted poster."
His friend's face was grim as he stood and stared into the dusk. "Might have some dark spots in her past. Reckon that's between her an' God."
Vin's head barely moved as he nodded his agreement. Finally he turned to Chris with a small, anticipatory smile. "So, we gonna pay Lawson a visit?"
A grim smile played across Chris's features, his eyes glinting in the golden lamplight. "Even a man who's out of his mind can change it. We just have to make 'im want to."