This here is an amateur publication by amateur writers written for and published solely for the enjoyment of fans of the television series THE MAGNIFICENT SEVEN (now gone to its undeserved reward), and is not intended to infringe on the copyright of CBS nor anyone else. The story is copyright 1999 by Jesse Syring and Jennye Jackman. The fanzine it came from is called Four Corners a one-shot Magnificent Seven fanzine, published by Jim & Melody Rondeau, 1853 Fallbrook Ave., San Jose CA 95130-1727. The publishers do need material for their on-going western fanzine, BUFFALO WINGS; please send all submissions to them.
IT WAS A GOOD RIDE
THE RETURN OF E. J. THOMPSON
by Jennye Jackman & Jessie Syring
PROLOGUE
Larabee reined in his black horse in at the Tascosa cemetery. He dismounted, leaving the horse ground tied, and walked through the rusted iron gate. It didn't take long to find the fresh grave and the carefully carved wooden board they had erected. He took off his hat and ran his fingers through his sandy brown hair. He heard a horse behind him, but didn't look around even as he heard boots crunching in the gravel. His lips compressed into a thin line as he read...
HERE LIES VIN TANNER
HUNG FOR MURDER
MAY GOD REST HIS SOUL
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PART ONE
Just two weeks earlier:
Whistling softly, Ezra Standish stepped out of the early afternoon sun into the darker interior of Murphy's saloon. He stepped up to the elegantly carved bar and slapped a hand on its scarred surface.
"A glass of your best, barkeep," he said cheerfully.
"What's the occasion?" called Vin Tanner from somewhere to his left. "You just find out a rich aunt died?" Ezra smirked at the former bounty hunter. "Very funny." He accepted a shot glass from the tall, sallow-faced bartender and walked up the steps to the table where Tanner and Chris Larabee, the seven's unofficial leader, sat. "In case you gentlemen haven't realized, it is Saturday."
Tanner and Larabee exchanged glances, then the black-dressed gunslinger asked, "Is that supposed to be something special?"
Ezra flipped the tails of his red jacket out of the way before he sat down, then meticulously adjusted his sleeves and the frilly white shirt underneath. "Surely you are aware that there are a sizable number of Texas cowboys in town, freshly paid this afternoon after delivering a herd to the James Ranch. Also, the surrounding ranches tend to pay their hands on Saturdays." The gambler smiled contentedly. "Gentlemen, there are sheep in need of shearing."
Larabee lost his smile. "Things are going to be dangerous enough around here without any of your games, " he warned.
Ezra held up an empty hand. "Nothing unlawful, I assure you. Just honest poker."
"That's a funny word; coming from you," drawled Tanner, as he brushed the edges of his thickening moustache aside.
The Southerner glowered at him, then met Larabee's piercing gaze. "Gentlemen, you have my word on it. Nothing even questionably dishonest."
"All right," said Larabee. "But if you've lied to me, I'll lock you up for a month and take away your cards." His half-smile and wink were not comforting. "For your own good."
"I'll remember that."
Ezra's words were lost on Larabee's back as he rose and walked out of the saloon. Tanner couldn't hide a grin at the "loathsome curmudgeon" Ezra mumbled into his shot glass.
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Finally alone again, Buck Wilmington, lady's man extra-ordinaire, settled back into the steaming tub and closed his eyes, enjoying the heat of the water and imagining the grime of the week floating away. After a few moments, he fumbled in the water for the bar of soap and began working it into a lather on his chest hair. The curtain behind him moved and someone entered the bathing room.
Buck took a deep breath. "I told you. I've paid for two tubs of hot water and I'm not done yet," he said in a more than slightly annoyed tone. He glanced back over his right shoulder and froze, staring into the barrel of a revolver. He raised his gaze to the face of the man holding it. The man's dark eyes glinted evilly under his heavy brow as he smiled. "Good afternoon, Mr. Wilmington."
"Well, look what the cat dragged in. I heard someone put you out of our misery down in Purgatorio. Shame it wasn't true," Buck snarled as he tumed slightly, his expression dark.
"The feeling's mutual," the well-dressed stranger replied. "Get up, nice and easy. We're going for a little ride."
Buck rose from the tub, dripping water and soap bubbles. "You going to at least give me something to wear?" he called back over his shoulder. The stranger tossed him a towel. "Oh, that's good," he said. "I ride out of here in nothing but a towel, someone's gonna notice. I think that'd ruin whatever plans you have."
"And then," the man said smoothly as one eyebrow raised, "it might work out just right."
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As JD. walked out of the barber shop, he self-consciously ran a hand over his clean-shaven cheeks and breathed in the pungent aroma of the bay rum shaving lotion. He tipped his hat at two young ladies passing by. The giggle the younger one hid behind her white-gloved hand made him smile. The young sheriff stepped down onto the street to catch up to them, but an odd noise from behind the buildings caught his attention.
He caught a glimpse of a light gray horse he recognized as Buck's. Then he saw a man dressed in red being forced down into the bed of a buckboard. JD. quickly realized it was Buck, wearing only his long underwear and a gag. He slid his right-hand revolver out of its holster and moved carefully between the buildings.
Buck caught sight of him and renewed his struggles. Two men jumped on him, the larger of the two brought his fist down twice, and the struggle was over. JD. stopped, unsure what to do next, and an ominous click in his ear settled that argument. "If you make a sound, your friend will die most unpleasantly," a smooth, deep voice said softly. He glanced over his shoulder at the well-dressed man holding a gun on him. JD. let his own revolver hang from his trigger finger as he raised his hands. The gunman relieved him of his weapons, then gestured for him to join Buck.
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Nathan Jackson strode along the boardwalk headed to Mrs. Potter's store. Buck and JD. had promised to help him set up a glassed in cabinet that had arrived for storing his growing horde of medical supplies and instruments. The gift was from a rancher whose life he had saved, sent in care of the general store. The black healer was sure he and JD. could manage it, but Buck had offered to help. If he wasn't busy.
Smiling, Nathan walked into the saloon, pausing inside the batwing doors to look around. He saw Vin Tanner leaning on the bar, cradling a shot of whiskey in his hands, and joined him.
"Have you seen Buck and JD.?"
The hunter shrugged, making his leather frontier jacket creak softly. "Not since lunch. I'm sure they'll show soon enough." He reached out and poured Nathan a drink.
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Buck and JD. blinked into the sudden light as the door to the adobe hut opened. Four of their captors came in, two carrying plates of beans and canteens of water, the others with weapons.
The leader came in as the men with the food removed their gags. "Hope you're not too uncomfortable, but this is the best we can do for the moment"
"Take off these handcuffs and I'll show you just how good it feels," offered Buck.
The man smiled and shook his head. "I don't think so, Mr. Wilmington. My last encounter with your group proved I can't trust you. I want to make sure you and Mr. Dunne stay put." He removed a gold watch from the pocket of his vest, flipped it open, and glanced at the numbers. "In the mean time, I have an appointment in Four Corners. My men will see to your needs."
He slipped his watch back into its pocket and turned to leave. Buck swallowed a mouthful of pasty, overcooked beans and asked caustically, "They gonna take care of all our needs?" He shrugged, shaking the chains that bound his hands behind him.
The bounty hunter stopped in the doorway and half-turned, one eyebrow raised in amusement he smiled. "If that's how you want it." After a moment of cold silence he said to the man standing by the door, "Make the necessary adjustments, but do not take any chances."
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"-full house, gentlemen," Ezra declared, laying down his cards for the others to see. "Deuces over kings." The one cowboy who had stayed in for the hand swore and threw his cards down into the middle of the table. "Three nines don't look so pretty now," he grumbled.
"Luck of the draw, my friend," drawled Ezra, raking in the pot. "Another hand?"
"Not for me," said another cowboy, rising and collecting the few coins still in front of him. "You nearly cleaned me out."
Leaning comfortably against the bar, Tanner watched the cowboy leave. He hadn't been able to hear the words over the drunken celebration and poor piano music, but the man didn't seem angry. In fact, he looked old enough to have experienced the dangers of the trail towns many times before. Still, Tanner watched him exit the saloon out of the corner of his eye.
Larabee and Nathan strode into the saloon, weaving their way past several drunken Texas cowboys and brightly clad saloon girls. A few mutters followed their path, but they ignored it. The black man ordered a shot of whisky while Larabee joined Tanner at the far end of the bar.
Tanner nodded, acknowledging Chris' arrival, but his eyes never settled in one place long. Larabee knew it was the only outward sign of unease Tanner displayed. Though Tanner was less than two feet away, Larabee nearly had to shout to make himself heard. "You look as nervous as a cat in a room full of rattlesnakes, my friend." Tanner fixed Larabee with a dark glare but didn't answer. Larabee took a sip from his whiskey then asked, "How're things here?"
Tanner shrugged, accepting a refill from the bartender. "Couple of fights. Nothin' major yet."
"Let's hope it stays that way." Larabee turned, resting his elbows on the bar as he leaned back to study the crowd. "Jail's just about full now with all the post drive celebrations."
Tanner nodded and sipped his whiskey. Larabee turned back to the shot the bartender offered him. Neither noticed a long-haired cowboy barely out of his teens get up and swagger drunkenly to the bar. He stopped near Nathan, who was talking to one of the saloon girls.
"Hey!" The cowboy grabbed Nathan's left arm and tried to pull him around. "Who let you in here? You ain't got no right bein' in here with good folks like us!" The loud, slurred words carried, and silence fell in the saloon. People shuffled nervously and cleared space around the two men while the bartender hastily began removing the glasses. Words like those too often led to gunplay.
Nathan didn't move. "Didn't we just fight a war so I could drink where I wanted?" he asked calmly.
"Depends which side you was on."
An approving sound rippled through the bar. Tanner tossed the remainder of his whiskey down and asked, "Ain't this just about where we came in?"
Larabee moved slightly away from the bar to watch the action, moving his black duster back from the ivory handled revolver he wore. Setting down his shot glass, Tanner hooked his thumbs in his belt near the sawed-off rifle he preferred to a pistol. Ezra threw in his hand and pushed his chair back.
Nathan slowly turned around, hands spread well away from his sides. "I don't want no trouble," he said, his voice calm and even. Nathan could see the fear and confusion in the boy's bloodshot eyes. He'd expected the black man to take the first swing, now he was committed to an action the alcohol and his so-called friends had gotten him into. He couldn't back down and couldn't continue.
Suddenly the cowboy sent a fist flying toward Nathan's face, but it never landed. A large hand moving with the speed of a striking snake, caught the cowboy's arm and spun him around. The cowboy found himself staring up into a homely, coldly impassive face.
"God tells us to love thy neighbor," Josiah Sanchez said in a low, hard voice, not releasing his grip. "Brother, I'd advise you to find a quiet place to contemplate His laws."
His tone was more a command than a suggestion, enforced by the increasing pressure of his steel-like grip. Wincing in pain, the cowboy managed to squeak out words of agreement. The former preacher released his arm, and the boy fled into the night. The large man then stepped to the bar near Nathan.
"Whiskey," he told the bartender, "and another for my friends."
His broad gesture took in Nathan first, then the others. As the bartender poured more drinks, the activities began returning to normal.
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Nathan put away the last of his beer as Ezra finished up with his last lingering opponent. The drunken cowboy stood unsteadily and picked up his badly beaten hat. He stood beside the table for a long moment, then picked up the cold stub of his cigar. He turned and headed slowly for the door. The man walked toward a table but didn't adjust in time and bumped into it. The glasses on the table rattled noisily together and he put his fingers to his lips and said, "Shh." The man straightened his vest and hat, then being extra careful not to stagger into any of the remaining tables that blocked his way, he left the saloon.
"Guess that does it for the evening, gents, "the barkeep said as he approached the table to clear away the glassware. Ezra nodded and gathered up his winnings.
"Yup," Nathan agreed as he stretched and rose from his chair. He had spent the previous hours observing the card players that had come and gone from Ezra's table. He was quite sure there would be a large number of sore heads returning in the morning when the whisky wore off and they realized just how much they had lost. "I'll see you tomorrow, Ezra."
"Good evening, Mr. Jackson."
Nathan walked out onto the porch of the saloon and breathed in the crisp autumn air. There were few people on the street at this late hour. He strode down the walk and stepped onto the street. There was a groan in the alley. The healer entered the dark alleyway, intent on giving aid and was brought up short as the cold barrel of a gun poked him in the ribs. He froze.
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Ezra sorted and counted his cards, examining each of them for unusual wear. "Hillbillies," he growled under his breath as he confirmed a suspicion he had by discovering faint comer nicks on all of the aces. Ezra gathered up the cards, stalked over to the saloon's pot bellied stove, opened it, and chucked the cards inside. He walked over to the bar and ordered a snifter of brandy. He held the bowl of the snifter in the palm of his hand, swirling the dark amber liquid gently as it was warmed by the temperature of his hand. He sipped and savored the drink as long as he dared under the tired gaze of the barkeep. "Good evening," Ezra said finally and took up his hat.
Ezra exited out the back of the saloon into the narrow alleyway. His ears adjusted to the darkness long before his eyes. Hearing a muffled impact, followed by a grunt of pain, he hesitated in the darkened doorway waiting for his eyes to adjust.
"The darky's had enough," a whispered voice said.
Hearing the distinct sound of a solid impact and fall of a body to the ground, Ezra carefully ventured into the alleyway. He could see a bulky figure leaning over a fallen figure. He drew his gun, stepped forward and jammed it firmly into the cowboy's ribs. At this distance he recognized Nathan leaning against the wall. The second body lying in the dirt was still. "Mr. Jackson," Ezra said, "are you in need of further assistance?"
As Nathan began to rise, the cowboy flew into action. One hand swept back knocking Ezra's gun into the darkness, the other a fist landing squarely with great force on his vulnerable ribs. Ezra was left gasping on the ground.
Nathan heard the distinct sound of a knife coming out of its scabbard. He rose up in a crouch trying to judge where the attack would be coming from. A moment later Nathan realized the second man had unexpectedly rejoined the fight. He felt the bite of the blade between his arm and ribs as he sprang sideways, knocking the knife wielder against the neighboring wall. There was a muffled gasp as they hit hard, and Nathan's adversary slid limply down the wall.
Ezra looked up to see a silhouette rising up over him. For a split second he thought it was Nathan, then he felt a thick-fingered hand grab a fistful of his shirt and pull him roughly to his feet. He felt and heard the fabric of his favorite shirt give under the stress. Ezra pushed back against the tom fabric and twitched the derringer into his hand. Placing it firmly under the man's chin, he pulled back the hammer. "Let be, sir," he said, his voice cold.
He felt the man freeze, than slowly release his hold, obviously realizing death was watching him. "Retreat into the shadows lest I am forced to bring this discussion to a permanent end," Ezra said, slowly guiding the man's chin around toward the alley's entrance with the pressure of the derringer. "And take your lackey with you."
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"Now, Ezra, you quit fussing. Those bandages have to be tight," Nathan said as he firmly pulled another strip of white cloth around the gambler's ribs.
"I can hardly breathe as it is and now you want to make it harder," the Southerner protested.
Nathan smiled widely, then asked softly, "Remember your shoulder? Trust me." A dubious Ezra quit protesting while Nathan finished his bandaging. "Now see, that's better, isn' it?"
Ezra took a tentative deep breath and was pleasantly surprised. "Thank you, Mr. Jackson, now could you hand me my shirt and jacket?"
Nathan picked up the shirt and held it out. Ezra's face fell when he saw the rent and bloodstained cloth. "Oh bother," he said under his breath.
"Don't fret. I was planning on having it fixed for you, being as you came to my rescue and all."
Ezra examined the shirt. He sighed heavily and said finally, "Don' bother, Mr. Jackson. It's time this old soldier was retired. It served me well."
Nathan went to his trunk and removed a white cotton shirt. "Wear this. It's not as soft as what you're used to, but it is serviceable."
He gladly accepted the shirt and Nathan's aid putting it on. He bent forward to examine his dirt encrusted pants and came up short as his bindings constricted. He groaned and said, "I have had the sudden sense of deja-vu."
"Pardon?" Nathan questioned as he turned toward the door, having heard the latch click.
"These bandages suddenly remind me of a corset," Ezra said. Then he too saw the door opening.
A pair of gentlemen bearing drawn revolvers stepped quietly into the room. "And may I say that particular shade of purple suited you very well. It set off the color of your eyes," the larger of the two said with a toothy smile.
Ezra paled as he recognized one of their adversaries. He was about to make a move for his weapon when he saw what was holding Nathan immobile. The second man was twirling a certain bowler hat on one finger.
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Josiah stood by the open church door, greeting each of his small flock as they departed. His heart was light from the joy that filled the patched up building. Someday, he thought, there would be an organ played along with the singing. He stepped back inside and was stacking the hymnals when he saw a familiar red jacket with black trim. It belonged to Ezra, but he knew Ezra hadn't been within the walls of this building in a very long time, and definitely not for church services.
He picked up the battered and dirty jacket and carried it to the back where his room was. As he passed the confessional, Josiah heard the ominous click of a gun being cocked. He turned to face the closed curtain of the booth. "Friend, there's no need ..." Josiah started.
Before he could finish, he heard a vaguely familiar male voice from behind the door, "I confess, priest, that if you do not come with me quietly, the man whose jacket you carry will be dead before you or I leave this room." The curtain of the confessional was pushed aside and a well-dressed cowboy stepped out, his well cared for Army revolver held steady.
"Thompson? EJ. Thompson?" Josiah questioned as he slowly raised his hands into the air.
"Oh, bravo."
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Larabee strode toward the restaurant as Tanner emerged, pulling the door shut behind him. They met at the hitching rail. "No one's seen Buck since yesterday," said Tanner, leaning on the rail.
Larabee frowned. "What about Nathan?"
Tanner was silent for a long moment. "He's gone, too. Last anyone saw him was last night, with Ezra." Larabee looked at him. "JD.'s not at the jail. What the hell is going on here?" he demanded. "Go wake up Ezra and find out what he knows while I check the livery."
Tanner watched as the black-dressed man headed across the street at an angle toward the livery stable. He was still wondering if splitting up was such a good idea when Larabee disappeared into the barn. Tanner shrugged off his feelings of unease and started toward the hotel.
Larabee moved into the shade of the barn and along the aisle. His black gelding stuck its head over the stall door, snorting softly. Of the other horses he should know on sight, only Tanner's bald-faced brown was present. He heard a board creak overhead, and loose hay fell from the loft above him. He looked up, his hand going to the butt of his gun as he moved toward the ladder.
A twig snapped. Something heavy smashed into the back of his head and everything went black.
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Tanner was becoming more apprehensive since Chris's disappearance from the stable. The strange thing was that nothing was out of place. Larabee's black was still in its stall and all his tack still hung where he'd seen it last. Ezra, who never got up before noon, wasn't in his room. Nathan, Buck, and JD. were also missing. Tanner strode down to the saloon and looked inside. There were a few people he recognized but none of his friends were there; He crossed the street to the mission where Josiah could always be found when he wasn't with the others.
The mission's front door was wide open. Tanner stepped up on the veranda and looked inside. The building was quiet. Too quiet, he realized as he walked through the door and between the rows of pews. "Josiah?" Only the echo of his voice answered. He went to the back of the building where Josiah had his spartan quarters. The room was empty.
The fine hairs on the back of Tanners' neck rose as if he was being watched. He hastily retreated from the mission and out into the crowded street. Four Corners was proceeding with its day, and it appeared to Tanner that no one else realized something was amiss. He entered the hotel and climbed the stairs to his room. He stopped in the hallway when he saw his door partly open.
He stood beside the door, barely breathing as he listened. Tanner drew his gun and pushed the door open. The door creaked as it swung but there were no other sounds in the room. He stepped inside and scanned the room. Nothing was out of place except for the black bowler hat in the center of his bed. Tanner quickly checked the closet and outside the window before he closed the door and returned to the bed. Inside the hat was a collection of small items he immediately recognized. He sat heavily on the bed. It was a message he was sure, but from whom?
Tanner carefully lifted each item in turn from the hat. First was Buck's watch, then one of Nathan's doctoring tools, followed by Ezra's favorite deck of cards, the one only he played with, Josiah's necklace of charms and finally one of Larabee's spurs. He placed the spur on the bed next to the other items as he noted a piece of paper, tucked neatly under the band of JD.'s hat.
His heart thumped hard against his ribs as he slowly unfolded the paper, fearing and knowing what he would find. The note was written in a clean hand. The words were distinct and to the point.
Mr. Tanner,
Run and they die.
EJ. Thompson.
Tanner crumpled the note and angrily hurled it aside. His anger was split evenly between his having lingered in Four Corners long enough to make friends targets to be used against him and that he hadn't taken the time to deal with Mister Elijah James Thompson properly the last time they had met.
He had begun counting on the others to be around when he needed them. Now he felt very alone and guilty. He hadn't really considered the possibility that his friends would be used as tools to help bring him down. Tanner stood quickly as a white envelope was slipped under the door. He threw open the door, but the hallway was empty. He closed the door and picked up the envelope. The tracker broke the seal on the envelope and roughly pulled out the contents.
His light blue eyes glittered coldly as he read the note inside.
Mr. Tanner,
You are cordially invited to attend a gathering in honor of this momentous occasion. You will ride east, alone and without armaments to White Horse Bluff. You will arrive tomorrow at precisely noon. If you fail to comply, their deaths will be cheerfully added to your bounty.
EJ. Thompson
Tanner reread the note several times. It was going to be a long hard ride, he thought before he gathered up JD.'s hat and carefully placed the items taken from his friends inside. Finally he picked up his rifle and saddle bags, then went directly to the jail. Once there he placed the hat on the desk and rifle in the gun rack. Vin pulled the chair up to the desk and removed a piece of paper. He looked at the blank sheet for a long time as he carefully considered his words, then he picked up a pencil and began writing.
Missus Travis,
I've gone after the others, who have been taken hostage to insure my cooperation. Inform the judge. But, please, for their sakes don't let him do anything rash. The man who has taken the others is a killer and he will kill all of our friends if things don't go his way.
Respectfully,
VT
After carefully folding the note, Tanner placed it in the hat beneath Larabee's spur. He stood and removed his gunbelt, placing it and the Winchester in the top drawer next to JD.'s badge. Tanner picked up the star and held it for a long moment. He ran his thumb over the lettering, then returned it to the drawer.
Tanner rode up the slope to the top of the bluff. He was met by a stiff prairie breeze and a sight that was as painful as a gunshot. There were five heavily armed men near the center of the bluff, spread well apart. Kneeling beside the man in the middle was JD., arms tied behind his back and blindfolded. The former bounty hunter urged Peso forward at a slow walk and came to a stop about ten paces from the edgy group of men. He dropped the reins and spread his arms to the side slowly. A gust of wind swept his leather jacket back, revealing he wasn't wearing his gun.
"Are you okay, JD.?" he asked.
JD. turned his head in Vin's direction and nodded. "I'm okay."
"Where are the others?" Vin demanded of EJ., his eyes challenging.
"They're in safe keeping," EJ. replied smugly.
"You have me. Let them go."
"Can't do that, Mr. Tanner. You see, they're just too dangerous to let run around free, for the moment. My men have orders to release them after you have been safely taken care of in Tascosa. Now, if you don't mind, please step down from the horse." Tanner started to put his hands on the saddle horn to dismount when EJ. pulled the hammer back on his Army Colt, saying, "For the boy's sake, don't try something heroic."
Tanner spread his hands again, leaned back to lift his leg over the horse's head and slipped down to the ground. Two of EJ.'s men came forward and quickly restrained him while a third searched for hidden weapons. Finally they handcuffed his hands together in front of him presumably so he could still ride unassisted. "At least let the boy go," Tanner said as he moved a few steps closer with EJ.'s men having a firm grip on each of his elbows.
EJ. hoisted JD. roughly to his feet by his shirt collar and said, "If he's old enough to choose his friends -- no matter how poor the choice might be -- he's old enough to face the consequences of that choice." EJ. placed the barrel of the cocked revolver to JD.'s head.
In that horrible instant, Tanner was sure EJ. was quite capable of killing all his friends without provocation and for no particular reason other than he wanted to. That realization raised goose flesh on his arms and sent a chill down his spine. "You gave your word you'd let them go, if I cooperated," he said as calmly as he could, but there was still a faint quiver in his voice.
EJ. smiled as he contemplated Tanner's words, "I do believe I did say something to that effect. However, I stated it would be after this was over."
That smile made Tanner uneasy. He had to be careful or he'd end up watching JD. and the others die at this man's hands before the day was out. "A last request then," Tanner said, trying to keep his hate and anger bottled up.
"I hear a tone in your voice I don't particularly like," EJ. said, pressing the barrel a little harder. JD. Grimaced and bit his lip but remained silent.
There was a long pause before the silence was broken. "Mr. Thompson, please, let the boy go."
EJ. studied Tanner with cold dark eyes. He waited, watching to see what Tanner was going to do. The bounty hunter could see the inner struggle in Tanner's eyes as he came to some distasteful decision. Tanner looked down at the ground, his shoulders lowered. "Sir... please... let JD. go."
JD. flinched at the anguished tones in Tanner's voice. He had never thought to hear Vin Tanner, one of the strongest men he'd known, accept defeat without a fight.
EJ. smiled a cold and self-satisfied smile as he picked up on the very softly spoken "sir". He remembered vividly the first time he had tried to take Tanner in. The former bounty hunter had a rebellious tone in his voice as he asked, "You got a name, because I ain't gonna call you sir." Now that rebellion had been completely washed away. EJ. gloried in Tanner's misery as Vin waited, uncertain of what was to come.
Finally EJ. eased the Colt's hammer back, then flipped the bandana off JD.'s eyes with the gun's sight. He holstered the weapon with practiced ease. JD. blinked in the bright afternoon light. "Turn him loose," EJ. ordered the man to his right as he shoved JD. in that direction. The man, Danny -- an EJ. Thompson wannabe -- produced a key and turned it in the handcuff's lock. A moment later the cuffs slipped free.
JD. looked at Vin, his eyes asking what he should try as he rubbed circulation back into the skin around his wrists. The former bounty hunter shook his head slightly saying, "JD., take Peso and get out of here. Go back to Four Corners."
"But, Vin, you're innocent! You can't just let him do this to you," JD. protested, taking a step forward.
EJ. smirked.
"You only have his word on that, kid," EJ.'s hired gun-hand Danny hissed in his ear.
Tanner glowered briefly at Danny, then returned his attention to JD. "I have no choice. Tell Chris and the others..." he paused, "that it was a good ride. Now, my young friend, ride out of here."
"But --"
"JD.!" Tanner said, sharply cutting him off. "Just go please. Now."
The boy looked at EJ. and the other gunmen, then back to Vin. The former bounty hunter nodded in the direction of his horse. The younger man started to reach out to shake Vin's hand, then thought better of it and walked a few steps more. JD. stopped, straightened his shoulders and turned to face his friend.
EJ. studied the young man as his men came to attention, their hands hovering near their weapons. He could see the boy's determination. JD. took a step towards Tanner. EJ. held up a hand to hold his men in check. JD. walked up to his friend and shook his hand. There was moisture forming in his eyes, but the tears never fell. He returned to the horse. Taking up its reins, he pulled himself up into the saddle and turned to look down on Vin. Their eyes met again and they both understood what the other couldn't say aloud.
As JD. turned and began to ride off, Vin yelled, putting as much meaning into the words as he could, "Grow old for me, JD., you hear?" JD. turned back in his saddle and acknowledged Vin with a nod as the horse ambled slowly west toward the edge of the bluff.
Tanner watched JD. ride away, inwardly relieved he had been released. The young sheriff turned and briefly looked over his shoulder, flattened himself on Peso's back, then picked up their pace to a flat out gallop.
Tanner knew instantly something was wrong. Out of the corner of his eye he saw EJ. 's henchman Danny chambering his rifle, getting ready to shoot. Even though Tanner knew he couldn't get to the rifle in time, he tried.
Stomping hard on one guard's foot with the heel of his boot and putting his elbow in the face of the other, Tanner lunged just as the gun went off. As the gun recoiled, the man sensed movement to his left. He stepped back out of the way of Tanner's lunge, bringing the rifle butt down hard on Tanner's back. A moment later Tanner found himself being crushed to the ground under the weight of three of EJ. 's men. He fought hard but was unable to win free.
"Damn you, Clyde, I told you to watch him close," EJ. snarled. "Go get the horses."
Clyde spat blood and nodded, wiping blood off the lower half of his face as he ran.
"Boss, shouldn't we go after the kid?" Ike asked from where he knelt with one knee in the middle of Tanner's back.
"No need," Danny said confidently as he ejected the spent shell from the chamber of the Sharps rifle. "It was a good shot. He won't go far." Tanner ceased his struggles as Danny's words struck home. He closed his eyes and, although not a religious man, prayed Danny was wrong.
EJ. glowered at Danny, his hand on the grip of his gun, half a step from shooting the man where he stood. After a moment he regained control and said, "See to Tanner. Then we'll go check on the boy." He turned to the rest of his men. "Be ready to pull out as soon as we return."
Clyde returned a few minutes later with six horses. He handed out reins as he passed each man. EJ. looked at Clyde. The bleeding from his nose had stopped but there were definite signs of bruising beginning under each of Clyde's eyes. He'd be wearing a racoon's mask before the day was out.
Mounting up, EJ. and Danny rode out to the edge of the bluff. Looking down, they saw where Tanner's horse had fallen after it dropped over the edge of the bluff. It was hobbling in the valley bottom and riderless. One of EJ.'s men pointed. "There he is." JD. lay in an unmoving heap against a rock. "Should we check on him?"
Thompson turned his horse away from the edge. "No. If he hasn't bled off by now, he'll be dead from the heat soon enough." They returned to where the others stood guard over Tanner.
From where he was seated on the ground, Tanner looked up at Danny from under his brows. He studied every detail of the gunman's face and committed them to memory, his blue eyes icy with hate. For a brief moment Danny wondered if shooting the kid had been a miscalculation. He shrugged it off. There couldn't be any loose ends. "Blindfold him," Danny ordered.