Once again, thank you to the person who dubbed Ezra's horse Chaucer.
"Well, as far as I'm concerned, Ezra, you can go to hell," Chris Larabee seethed as he pushed the gambler's hands away. He was none too gentle about it, either, as the force of the shove sent the smaller man tumbling from his crouch and landing hard on the hard, dry and mostly frozen ground. Chris heard a grunt as the man landed, and frowned when it was followed by what sounded like a hiss of pain. Before he had a chance to ask about either sound, his companion spoke.
"You would not be the first of mah acquaintance to wish such an end upon mah very soul," Ezra Standish retorted as he brushed the newly acquired dust from his sleeves. It was, however, the first time someone he'd considered a friend had hoped for him to scorch in the fires of Hades. As fortune would have it, he didn't have time to ponder why he had earned the slight. He needed to get that bullet hole cleaned out – both where it entered and where it exited – and properly bandaged, even if it meant sustaining more bruises to make it happen.
"You hurt?" Chris asked.
Ezra looked at his 'friend' disdainfully. He wanted to answer thusly: 'You just told me Ah could go to hell. Pray forgive me if Ah find your query disingenuous.' But aggravating the man further wouldn't do either one of them any good; in fact, it would likely have gotten him a punch this time and another encounter with the hard desert floor . It certainly wouldn't get them moving again in an expeditious manner toward Four Corners. Answering that way would just have kept them in the argument longer. They were a full six hours out still from their dusty frontier village, and despite the fact that Chris insisted he could make the ride, he wouldn't be able to without his injury being tended.
"Ah will survive. You, however, cannot re-mount your horse without allowin' me to finish what Ah started. May Ah do that without sustainin' further injury?" he asked, looking the blond square in the eyes.
Chris stared back, but he also blinked first. He smirked and asked, "Where're ya hurt?"
Ezra kept up the staring match with the leader of the Magnificent Seven. But again, his wiser angel came to the fore, recognizing that delaying this way was also not wise. He hoped that the steady glare conveyed to the former gunslinger that he would fight back if he was forced to. Injuries to either one of them would not be factored in to his actions the next time Chris placed hands on his person in a threatening manner.
"As you can see, mah ability to doctor your wound is not hampered, so Ah am clearly not hurt enough to warrant your concern. Now, allow me another quarter of an hour and we can be back on the trail."
Chris looked the con man over. He knew the man was hiding something, but that poker face had been set for some time now. And the gunman was too sore to keep fighting; getting back on their horses was, as Ezra was determinedly pointing out, the main goal. Neither one of them were willing to spend the night on this cold ground. Even if the six hours grew to eight, it would get them home by midnight. It was worth whatever aches and pains were endured for the chance to bed down in a real bed. And it would be his bed; damned if he'd let their healer talk him in to staying in the clinic. Of course, that meant allowing his annoying fellow lawman this day to do what he'd set out to do almost a half an hour ago.
Chris knew that he'd been particularly contrary. They'd had to ride a ways, a cold, rough ride, but they'd finally caught up to the two men who tried to take both he and Ezra down on their ride back from Mesa Verde. The would-be robbers had refused to go down without a fight, a fight that, in the end, cost them their lives. Ezra had removed the bodies from the backs of their horses to give the animals a rest while the lawmen rested and patched themselves up. What was supposed to be a thirty minute rest was now approaching an hour, and rest was the last thing either of them would agree they had achieved in that time. Chris could tell, looking at his tired traveling partner, that Ezra felt the same way.
"Go ahead." And Ezra did, efficiently, gently and, most disconcertingly for the gunslinger, without uttering another word, at least not until he put the final knot in the bandage.
"Tout finis," he said as he gathered up the supplies and placed everything back in their saddlebags. Chris smirked at the sophisticated southerner's use of the foreign phrase, and then eyed Ezra carefully once more. His movements were slow and deliberate, though he was clearly trying to hide that fact. And he was sweating, which was definitely not right, as it was a cold winter's day, a day where the high would meet the mid-thirties, at best.
"Thanks, Ezra."
"Not at all, Chris." The con man seemed to struggle to stand, finally pushing himself up with one hand. It was a warning sign, as Ezra was known for his nimble and sure footing, able to move from a standing position to laying flat on the ground – and its opposite – in no time at all and with all of his considerable firepower at the ready. The gasp of pain he'd been unable to hide had sealed the deal, convincing Chris there was something wrong with the card sharp. There didn't appear to be any blood, no obvious signs of a head injury, his shoulder, for a change, wasn't affected.
"You may not think it's a big deal, but I do appreciate it, even if I did act like an idiot for ten minutes." Ezra glanced at Chris, an eyebrow raised, and couldn't help a snort followed by a grin. "Okay, fifteen minutes."
"Mistah Larabee, Ah do believe your internal clock needs windin'."
"Ha-ha."
"Yes, Ah am a regular Champagne Charlie. Now, allow me to help you up." Ezra offered his right hand.
Chris ignored both the comment about Champagne Charlie, whoever the hell that was, and the hand offered in assistance. "No, you're hurt and you haven't told me where. I can get up on my own."
"Suit yourself. You may as well remain where you are while I get those two miscreants back in their saddles, so to speak, and get Pony and Chaucer ready."
"You sure? I can help."
"Your assistance has already set us behind by thirty minutes," Ezra said wryly. "I'll have the horses ready to go tout de suite." Chris shook his head as he watched his friend walk away, favoring one side and clearly hurting.
"They're late." Vin Tanner squinted down the sunlit avenue, his square jaw set grimly, his eyes focused far in the distance as he hoped to catch the first glimpse of his wayward friends.
"Now, Vin. You know that anything can happen when Chris and Ezra travel together. Alone," Buck Wilmington replied as he flirted shamelessly with every woman who passed in front of them as they stood outside the saloon. "Howdy Miss Violette," he said to the buxom brunette who Vin never saw as he continued to stare out in the direction from which his friends should have appeared over an hour ago.
"Buck," she smiled back sweetly.
"Yeah," the tracker said thoughtfully, answering Buck's earlier comment about Chris and Ezra being alone, together. "You think it's right to let 'em go off alone?"
"You're askin' if it's safe for Ezra," Buck clarified.
"Yep."
The tall gunman nodded his head, understanding Vin's worry. "Might be better to get Chris to switch off."
"He's made Ezra go with him these last three times."
"Well maybe that just means they've worked out their differences."
"You think that's so?"
"No. It's been three years and they still go at it occasionally. But I know Chris. He won't hurt 'im. He's come to care about that man just like the rest of us. Ezra may not see it. Hell, Chris probably don't, either. But it's true."
"I'm gonna take a ride out," Vin said as he stepped down from the boardwalk and headed to the livery.
"Hell," Buck countered as he saw Miss Margaret step out of Potter's store. This night could easily have been a twofer for the ladies man. Damn Chris Larabee all to hell. "I'll come with ya," he called to the determined tracker. "Let me tell Josiah, Nathan and the kid."
"Meet ya at the livery."
"That was more like twenty minutes, Ezra." The gambler groaned.
"Yes. Mah apologies. One of our two traveling companions seems to have gained weight in death." Ezra walked like an eighty-year-old cowboy. "But the deed is indeed done. Let us be on our way."
Chris looked up to the sky. The day had started bright and sunny but as though echoing the turn of events that caused them injury and to be escorting two dead men six hours from home, the sky had turned dark, a bleak reminder that their desert climate, though often unremittingly brutal in the summer, could be just as fickle in the winter.
"We're gonna get rained on," Chris predicted as Ezra walked up to him. The renowned gunman would have accepted the silent offer of assistance to his horse except for the fact that he was sure his added weight would do the con man no good with whatever it was that was wrong with him. Chris chose to save the assistance for when he needed to actually get up on the horse. He stood and started to walk toward where he saw their mounts ground tied; it was slow going for both men.
"So it appears. We might even be gifted with some snow. Mother Earth, and these reprobates, all seem to have it in for us this day," Ezra replied with a tight smile. "Stay right there," he said as he continued on toward Pony. "We'll use these unexpectedly well-positioned boulders to help you up."
Chris looked at the pile of rocks. Though some of them were clearly natural to the landscape, it appeared that Ezra – or Ezra and his horse – had hauled a few more over to make a staircase.
"God damn it, Ezra!" Chris yelled.
The southerner cocked his head. "Do you feel fit to get astride Pony on your own?"
"You know I can't. But you're hurt, too. And I know Chaucer may have pulled them rocks over, but you put 'em in place. You hurt your back more doin' that? Not like you don't deserve to."
"It is not mah back that is injured, per se," Ezra answered, looking away from Chris' eyes at not giving him the full story. Was withholding information the same as prevaricating? By what he did say he had plainly, and finally, conceded that there was an injury. "Could we please wait to discuss this further once we are back on the trail?"
Chris glared at his frustrating friend and got up on his horse, with the help of his saddle, those rocks and a gentle assist from Ezra on his injured side. Chris was sure he heard a soft groan from Ezra under the not-at-all quiet one of his own. Chris breathed in and out in an effort to manage the pain; the bullet wound at his hip was going to cause him a world of hurt on this ride. By the time he raised his head, after successfully fending off a bout of dizziness, Ezra was on his horse, and frighteningly pale.
"You all right?" the blond asked.
Ezra nodded his head and steered his horse onto the well-worn path back to Four Corners, the other two horses with the dead bodies ponied behind him. Chris let him go, but it had been the card sharp's idea to discuss where he was hurt while they rode and they were damn well going to do it. He encouraged Pony to follow Chaucer and soon the two peacekeepers were on the trail riding side-by-side.
"So?" Chris asked.
Ezra turned to look at the leader of the group of men hired to protect their small town and its outskirts. He had that practiced, inscrutable look in place, what Chris and others referred to as his 'poker face'. That wasn't exactly true. He had an altogether different look when playing poker. In one way they were similar, in that they were a practiced affect for when he needed to hide something from others. But whereas his poker face was an outward projection of something he wanted others to see, a distraction for his own keen observation skills, the face he projected in this situation was more personal, an effort to protect himself, to keep from getting hurt by the general evils and unkindess of this world. Or inadvertent slights of another sort. It was a look that came from deep inside, a look that he had perfected after one too many abuses in his youth, a hard lesson learned. The sweat from earlier had now returned, along with a faint flush. He shook his head, a clear indication that he would tell the story, for the simple fact that he didn't have the energy or desire to con his friend. And he was feeling decidedly unwell so the truth, in the end, was simply more prudent.
"As we threw ourselves to the ground to avoid more bullets, Ah … landed poorly."
"So you did hurt your back."
"No. It was just sore, until the large one came over and kicked me."
Chris had been fighting his own battle, one with remaining conscious, as Ezra physically defended himself against the two men. When the blond had finally managed to sit up, he saw Ezra shoot the big man with his Derringer, a direct hit, right in the heart. The man was just inches away from the gambler at that time. They were facing each other, so Ezra had obviously scrambled from the kick to get back into a position to defend himself. The larger of the two men fell back after taking the small caliber bullet and dropped dead, away from the southerner … to expose his partner standing behind him, his gun aimed at Ezra's head. Chris pulled his weapon and fired, just as Ezra did the same with the one remaining bullet in the smallest piece of weaponry he carried. It seemed that damned little gun had saved each one of the Seven at one time or another. Knowing the man well after working, riding and drinking with him closely for so long, Chris recognized long ago that Ezra had likely used it in self defense many times in his life before meeting up with their other law enforcement brethren in Four Corners three years ago.
"If it's not your back … ." Chris stopped talking and looked more closely at his companion. He was in obvious pain but doing everything in his power to ignore that fact. And the longer Chris watched, the sooner he realized what was wrong.
"Got ya in the kidney," he stated.
"Indeed. More than once. So, we must venture on and make as much progress as we can as, Ah fear, Ah will require more frequent stops soon enough."
"Ezra, we should stop right now. You know what Nathan … "
"Ah am aware of the protocol for treatment of renal injuries. And Ah will be more than willin' to rest abed for however long Mistah Jackson deems Ah must. But for now, we are continuin' on to home."
"I don't think … "
"Chris, Ah know that you are not suggestin' that we stop out heah," he started as he waved one arm, dramatically demonstrating the harsh landscape all about them. He pulled it in quickly when it aggravated the area where he'd been kicked. "Ah will suffer the consequences of this decision. The subject is closed. We are continuin' our journey home."
Home.
And that was the end of that argument. Chris didn't have the ammunition to fight a sentiment that he agreed with one hundred percent. So onward they rode, each man remaining silently stoic about the pain of their injuries. Chris had taken to not dismounting as Ezra's need to stop increased. It was clear to Chris that his friend was worried about his injury, and the pain of re-mounting each time was taking its toll on Ezra, who the leader of the seven knew would refuse to expose him to any of the gory details, gentleman that he was, though Chris knew for himself that the con man was likely seeing blood in his urine, and having a hellish time each time he went.
"Ezra," Chris said.
"Let's go," Ezra replied, using the back of his gloved hand to wipe the sweat from his forehead, an action he had also taken just prior to moving to the more private area to relieve himself. Chris shook his head and steered Pony to follow Chaucer home.
"I see 'em," Vin said as he pulled his spyglass down. He handed it to Buck. The tall gunman looked through the device for himself. He fought the sun as it headed lower in the horizon, but saw the same thing the former bounty hunter saw.
"Shit," he said as he handed the nautical viewer back.
"They're both hurt."
"Yeah. Let's get goin' and see what happened." They were far enough away, and the way was rough in places … and Chris and Ezra were moving slow enough that it took them another twenty or so minutes to reach the injured men. They had been riding for just under two hours when Vin spotted Chaucer and Pony and their hunched over riders, who seemed to be allowing their mounts to guide them home, with two extra horses following behind with obvious cargo. Ezra was the first to notice they had company.
"Good lord in heaven, thank you," he said.
"Well, thanks, Ezra, but it's just me and Vin," Buck wise-cracked.
"Ah am even willin' … to accept your bad jokes … if you are willin' … to intercede on mah behalf … with Mistah Larabee," the gambler pleaded. He was in obvious pain, his halting narrative evidence of the effort he was exerting to bear whatever ailed him.
"Shut up, Ezra," Chris said as he finally raised his chin from his chest.
"He is … all yours, gentlemen," the con man said as he swiped the perspiration from his forehead with his hand. "Ah shall see you in town," he added as he got Chaucer moving again.
"Hold on, hoss," Buck said as he took hold of Chaucer's bridle. The feisty and fiercely protective animal tossed his head and stepped away, gently but firmly.
"Steady, mon petit chou," the southerner said as he patted Chaucer's neck. To Buck he said, "He won't allow … you to do that again. That's just a … friendly warnin', Buck."
"That horse is a menace," Buck growled.
"No he ain't," Vin and Chris both said, defending the beautiful chestnut gelding. Ezra looked first to Chris with a decided incredulous expression, and then to Vin, thankfully, before turning back to Buck, his eyebrow raised.
"Fine. You win," Buck conceded, "but you still gotta get down from your horse so we can check the two of you over."
"Ezra, let's get down and rest," Chris suggested. That he suggested rather than ordered put both Buck and Vin on alert. "Besides, I know you gotta … "
"Mistah Larabee, Ah do not … believe our compatriots are … interested in the unpleasant details."
"Can't help ya if we don't know what's wrong, Ezra," Vin said reasonably.
"There is little to be done, in any event."
Both Buck and Vin turned to Chris with alarm. He shook his head and put his hand up to ease their worry. "Just help him down and let him go about his business. Buck, give me a hand, will ya?" Chris asked his oldest friend.
"You bet, old dog." The tall, dark and handsome gunman helped the tall, lean blond off his horse. "Gunshot wound?" Buck asked. Chris nodded a 'yes' as he grit his teeth through the effort of getting off of Pony and onto a blanket on the ground. He leaned up against a large rock as Buck continued, "Ezra didn't shoot you, did 'e?" Chris squinted and frowned at his friend, but when he truly looked at Buck's face, he saw the mischievous glimmer in those blue eyes, but also the satisfied smirk at his mouth. Chris shook his head and offered a slight grin in return.
"I'm sure he's been tempted to put a third bullet hole in me. I ain't been decent company today."
"Good lord, am Ah hallucinatin'?" Ezra mocked. He was standing next to Chaucer and holding on to his saddle as he silently attempted to talk himself into walking away from the immediate area to relieve himself. It now hurt like the dickens to walk or to pee, and what did come out had a heavy tint of red to it. Single-minded determination to get home had been all that kept him in the saddle this long.
"Shut up, Ezra," Chris said, not really upset now that help was at hand.
"Do not allow Chris' earlier conversation to fool you, gentlemen. The majority of the words spoken to me today have included those three words, in some configuration or othah."
"Ezra, I swear … "
"Ah stand corrected. It has, indeed, been five words."
"You jest gonna stand there, Ezra?" Vin asked.
The southerner sighed. "No." He started to walk around Chaucer, his hand on the horse's rump to help keep him steady, but the pain was working overtime in an effort to prevent him from getting far on his own. As he released his hold and took his first step away, the tracker remained at his side and caught him easily as he headed to the ground on about step six.
"Take it slow, pard," Vin suggested softly as he held his friend up.
"Ah do not believe that would be prudent," the gambler countered as he moved as quickly as he could to a more private spot. He leaned heavily into Vin as a particularly sharp pain hit. He grasped the Texan's forearm and moaned, "Lord."
"Almost there." Once they reached the tall, dry brush, Ezra looked around, trying to find something strong enough to bear his weight, but saw nothing that would work. He was sure he'd be on the ground now if it weren't for Vin's steady support. He looked around once more and then put his chin to his chest in resignation and embarrassment as he realized what he would have to ask of his friend.
"Ezra, jest lean against me and go before you fall over."
"Vin, Ah apologize … "
"Don't wanna hear it. Ya need help, and I'm helpin'."
Ezra kept eye contact with the tracker and then nodded in acceptance, turned and unbuttoned his pants. He said softly, "Ah cannot help but be mortified at havin' you witness somethin' … " Ezra winced and closed his eyes, grinding his teeth at the pain as Vin held him firm, " … so personal, so intimate." He breathed in and out through his mouth in an attempt to absorb the sharp spikes emanating from the area of his lower back.
"The sooner ya start the sooner you'll finish."
"Ah am tryin'," Ezra said plaintively, embarrassed at having to admit that. Vin could tell each time the man tried as Ezra's body trembled, as he panted from the effort and the pain. Finally, he heard wetness hit the grass, saw the dormant, wheat-colored grass washed slightly reddish-orange with Ezra's blood-tinted urine. The card sharp waivered slightly as he put himself back together. The lean Texan kept a silent hold the whole time, and all of the slow way back to their friends. They both sat down next to a resting Chris Larabee.
Chris saw how ill the gambler looked. He turned to Vin, who made it clear from a simple tilt of his head, followed by a slight shake of it, that all was not well with their resident professional gambler. Buck saw the silent conversation and frowned, worried for their friend, knowing that the ride ahead would only add to Ezra's discomfort, and potentially injure him further. But he also knew they had no choice but to get moving soon. They could and did take a little longer to allow Ezra a few more minutes rest.
"Hey, ace, you're gettin' as good as Nathan in the patchin' up department. I checked Chris' wound and it looks real good," Buck said.
Ezra took his handkerchief and wiped the sweat from his face. "Ah did what Ah could." He laid his head against the boulder they were all sitting near. There was no shade from the setting sun, but their hats and their clothing for this typically cold winter weather seemed to keep everyone comfortable but the gamester, whose perspiration his ready handkerchief seemed unable to keep up with.
"Ezra, I appreciate what you did," Chris said. Ezra grunted, which at first annoyed the former gunslinger. He knew Ezra didn't take well to hearing this kind of thing. For a man who prided himself in his gentlemanly airs, he was really not very good at accepting a heartfelt compliment. But then the con man moaned and suddenly went very pale. "Ez," Chris said urgently as the man arched his back and then toppled over against him. Chris groaned at the sudden weight. "Vin!" he called. Vin and Buck quickly pulled the one ailing lawman off of the other and laid him down on the ground.
"Ezra," Chris called worriedly.
"Sweet J … Jesus," Ezra said in reply. "It f … feels like a blade is pu … punchin' a hole in ma … mah b … back."
"Maybe we should … " Chris began, but Vin put a quick end to any speculation that they remain where they were.
"Rain's comin'. Can't get caught in it. 's too cold," he added. "Jest got lucky the storm slowed, but Ezra ner you can afford gettin' all wet. You know that," the tracker ended as he turned from watching Ezra to making sure his other hurt friend understood his meaning.
Chris looked toward the storm clouds. "Maybe we can keep in front of 'em."
"Mebbe." Vin looked to Ezra but said to Chris and Buck, "Gotta get movin'."
"All right." Buck sat next to Ezra, rubbing his neck, hoping to sooth his friend. "Buck, help Ezra up onto his horse. We're movin' out," Chris said, not happy but resigned to doing what had to be done. Vin helped Chris up and got him on his horse. He waited atop Pony as Vin aided Buck in getting the gambler on Chaucer. Chris frowned as he watched. This was exactly what Nathan would say not to do with this kind of injury. Rest was what he needed, not the jostling he would get from a two hour ride on a horse, even his horse.
Vin and Buck mounted their horses, Buck sticking to Ezra like glue.
"Let's go," Vin said. Chris waited for Buck and Ezra. The two took the lead as Vin and Chris followed on their journey home. Dusk took hold quickly, the near full moon peeking through the clouds. That light – as long as it lasted - and the familiar road would be what got them home this night.
The ride was slow going. When they'd started heading home, they thought there was a chance they could make it in two hours. But Lady Luck was in a bad mood this day, and was unkind to the four lawmen, even her favorite son. Especially her favorite son. The storm clouds had obliterated the moonlight, and even though they knew their way, obstacles unseen in the disorienting effects of a near pitch black night assured their slow march home.
Ezra had needed to stop twice in the last hour to try to relieve himself. The pressure had seemed intense, but both times he'd managed only a blood-tinged trickle. And he'd been holding himself just above his hip on his side, as much as he could while Chaucer gave him as smooth of a ride as he could. Except for these stops, they'd been in the saddle now for a total of nearly an hour and fifteen minutes when the first fat raindrops fell.
"Shit," Buck said, mimicking what he'd said earlier when they had stumbled upon their friends. But this time, Vin said something at the same time that seemed altogether wrong, considering their current predicament.
"Hallelujah!" the Texan whooped. Chris looked up; he'd sunk lower in the saddle the longer they road.
"What?" he asked, squinting in the dark.
"What'd I tell ya, Josiah?" Nathan Jackson said as he looked from Chris to Ezra from his seat on the wagon.
"Indeed, brother, you would have won that bet," Josiah Sanchez replied with a heavy slap to the healer's knee as he brought the team of horses to a stop.
"What bet?" Ezra asked as he raised his head and took a seemingly drunken look about trying to comprehend a poker game on horseback.
"Figures he'd perk up at somethin' like that," Buck said as he smiled affectionately at his injured, sick friend.
"Let me have a look at 'em," Nathan said. "It's just the two of 'em, right?" he asked, looking with an accusatory eye at Vin.
"Yep," Buck said. "Ol' Chris got shot, but the bullet went on through and Ezra cleaned and dressed it good."
"Don't worry 'bout me," Chris said. "Ezra's got a problem with his kidneys." Nathan jumped from the wagon and walked to Ezra and Chaucer.
"Let's getcha down," he said firmly but with deep concern.
"Ah think we … should continue on," Ezra said as he moved the reins to encourage Chaucer around Nathan.
"Hold on, now," the healer started.
"We ain't doin' this again, Ez," Buck added.
"We got a wagon, Ezra," Nathan continued. "You ain't ridin' no more tonight. You neither, Chris, now get on down."
Buck and Nathan worked to get Ezra down to the ground as Vin and Josiah did the same for Chris. The wagon had two lighted lanterns hanging from either side, which was why the two extra lawmen were seen so readily by Vin as Buck had been more preoccupied with the weather and making sure Ezra didn't fall from his saddle.
"Kinda risky comin' out lookin' for us," Chris said. "You couldn't even know if Vin and Buck found us."
"Had to take the chance," Josiah said, his concern emanating from his deep voice and the warmth of his eyes, a look that was so different from the manic appearance that could overcome him in his anger or when he'd finished off a couple of bottles of rotgut. It was the Lenten season, though, and Josiah had foresworn liquor, a decision for which all of his peacekeeping friends, none of whom participated in the Christian observance, had reason to thank Josiah's god. The former preacher took this time of year seriously; it would, indeed, have been out of character for these two men not to have ventured out in the dark of night to help find their friends.
"It'll be darker still once we get goin' again," Vin noted. He looked up and saw the thickening clouds. The rain had remained at a minimum since the first hints of it a few minutes earlier.
"J.D. came out with us, 'bout halfway, and was setting small campfires along the way back. If the rain holds off," he added as he raised his he eyes to the sky … and to a familiar presence to the former preacher, "we should be able to easily find our way back."
"That was a good idea, Josiah," Buck said as he sat beside Nathan, waiting to help with Ezra if needed.
"That young man can be pretty industrious when he puts his mind to it," Josiah answered.
Nathan spent about fifteen minutes tending his two patients while Vin got a fire going and Josiah mixed together the makings of the healer's familiar soothing tea. After the tea had steeped and Chris and Ezra grumbled their way through a mug each, the healthy members of the group helped the ailing ones into the wagon. Nathan had it well-cushioned with straw and blankets; the clean straw thanks to Tiny at the livery, the pleasant scent of the blankets likely from ones donated by Mary Travis and Gloria Potter.
The remainder of the trip went uneventfully. Chris stayed awake for a while, giving Josiah and Nathan the complete story of how he and Ezra had ended up hurt. Ezra had fallen asleep the moment his head hit the pillow, the tea, the smells of the sweet straw and hint of lavender in the blankets – and his struggles over the last hours – had just about done him in.
About an hour and a half later, the wagon arrived back in town with the two injured men sound asleep, the others sharing relieved smiles that the day had ended as well as it had. They were damp, but not soaked, the rains having passed through and continued on much faster than they could have hoped.
"Hey, kid, those fires worked great!" Buck called as he quickly dismounted and then slapped J.D. Dunne on the back with brotherly affection. J.D. smiled at the compliment, but the smile didn't make it to his eyes, which showed great worry for the two friends still prone in the back of the wagon.
"They gonna be okay, Nate?" he asked as he helped get Chris, the first of two drowsy men out of the wagon and readied to head up the steps to the healer's clinic.
"Not goin' to th' clinic," Chris said firmly though tiredly. "Neither's Ezra," he added on behalf of the con man, who slept on, currently oblivious of their arrival or his impending removal from the wagon. They were soon to hear from him, though; there was no way he'd sleep through the pain of being moved.
Nathan looked at Chris and said, "You're wrong 'bout that, on both counts."
"Now, Nathan, what exactly are you gonna do for both of 'em up there that can't be done for 'em in their own rooms?" Buck asked. Chris smiled at his friend for taking up his side in this argument. The blond gunslinger just wasn't up for it.
Nathan looked from one friend to the next; all six of them seemed set on how they felt about Chris' directive. Well, make that five, but the healer knew the gambler well enough to know where he stood on the question, even as he slept on and said nothing. And the facts were that neither man was seriously injured enough to require his constant care. Chris' wounds would heal fine, Ezra had made sure of that with his swift and excellent attention. Their leader would be walking around tomorrow. Hell, he'd been walking pretty well tonight. So long as the wounds were kept clean and the bandage changed, he would be fine.
Ezra was a different story. Make no doubt about it, he would be wanting to get out of bed tomorrow, but he sure wouldn't be feeling like doing it. But there wasn't much to be done for Ezra other than keeping him down and keeping him quiet. He would need to be checked on regularly, he'd need help doing for himself for a while, but the irascible southerner had built up a devoted circle of friends here in his 'hometown'. No, even the need for extra attention was no reason to keep him from his featherbed. Indeed, that damned bed was the reason to lose this argument even before it got started.
"Fine," Nathan conceded, "but he's … "
"We know," Inez Recillos offered. She had been standing and listening for most of the time, having walked up once her lookout notified her that the lawmen had returned. "If you get him to his room, I will handle the first shift with him, once you get him settled, Nathan."
"I'll come and relieve you at about two a.m.," Vin said. He tipped his hat to the pretty Mexican and headed to his own wagon for a few hours rest.
Mary Travis heard the exchange as she joined the group. "Inez, Nathan and I can work up a schedule. Can I count on all of you to take a shift?" All of the remaining seven agreed, even Chris. "We can get Gloria, and probably Nettie and Casey and Abby Merton, too, so that we can get the shifts down to no more than one three hour shift a day each, until Ezra is well enough to manage longer on his own." Nathan looked at Mary quizzically. "My husband had a serious kidney injury. I know how important it is for the patient to remain quiet, and you all know how Ezra can be. He'll need constant watching for the first few days."
"Missus Travis is right. Thank you, ma'am, for helpin' to keep Ezra honest."
"That's askin' an awful lot o' Mary, Nathan," Buck said. They all laughed, but Mary was quick to set them straight.
"He's honest about everything important, and you gentlemen know that."
"I guess we do at that, ma'am," Josiah said.
Nathan looked to Buck, J.D. and Josiah. "Let's get Chris settled. I think Ezra will sleep until we wake him."
"We'll watch him until you return," Mary said for herself and Inez.
"Swellin's gone down. Just bruisin' now."
"Mmm."
Nathan frowned at the response. "You feelin' all right?" he asked as he put his hand up toward Ezra's forehead. The con man stopped the action.
"I'm fine."
"Well, ya ain't fine yet, but you will be. You been doin' good, resting up, askin' for help."
"Will wonders nevah cease?"
Nathan stared at his friend, and kept staring, staying quiet until Ezra was forced to turn to him. "You gonna tell me what's wrong?"
"Nothin' is wrong."
"Ezra, I have known you now for three years and right now you're actin' as disagreeable as Chris. And if there is something I have learned about you it's that you, more than anyone else I know, are an agreeable, social and generally happy man, but nobody would ever know it from the way you are actin' today. Now, I know you ain't been feeling too good, you certainly have reason to … "
"Mistah Jackson," Ezra interrupted, or at least tried to.
" … be feelin' out of sorts, but, well, I don't know, I just got the feelin' there's somethin' else … "
"Nathan!"
The healer blinked at the louder-than-necessary yelling of his name. "Yeah?"
"Ah am tryin' to tell you what is wrong."
"Oh. Sorry."
"Nathan, what do you think Chris thinks of me?"
"What do you mean?"
Ezra rolled his eyes. "Never mind."
"No, no. I know you two have been at each other some lately," Nathan offered.
"No. Ah do not believe that we have ever not been 'at each othah'."
"That ain't true."
"Ah think you are wrong." More softly, Ezra added, "You must be."
Nathan wasn't sure what was going on, not exactly, but one of the things that he and his fellow lawmen had learned about Ezra Standish was that he was far more sensitive than he ever let on. And the healer suspected that Ezra's mood had something to do with something Chris had said to the gambler out on the trail when they'd been struggling to get home. That Chris had made a concerted effort to schedule his shift minding Ezra for when the southerner was sure to be sleeping had worried all of the rest of the seven. Whatever Chris had said or done, it had hit Ezra hard. And the proof of that was that he had ventured, reluctantly, to mention it to the healer.
"What happened between you two?"
"Ah don't know. Not really."
"How about you just tell me what he said that's got ya down?"
"Nathan, Ah wouldn't say that Ah … "
"What happened?"
Ezra shrugged and looked out his window. The sun shone brilliantly, a lovely, early winter morning. He looked back and said, "Ah only wanted to help, you know. He was bleedin' like a stuck pig. Out in the middle of nowhere.
"I know. So does he."
Ezra snorted a bitter laugh as he looked at Nathan, and then looked down and shook his head. He played with a loose thread on the handsome quilt. Nathan grabbed his hand and stilled the worrisome action.
"You're gonna ruin it." Ezra removed his hands from the quilt and folded them on his lap. "Now, what did he say?"
"Ah … Ah am sure that Ah have overreacted." Nathan kept drilling him with those warm, caring eyes. And it did the trick, for as contrary as Ezra could be, and he could be when he put his mind to it, it was impossible to ignore Nathan's obvious concern for his physical as well as emotional well-being. And despite how he was feeling, he was still a gentleman of the South, and it would be rude to be anything but honest in light of such kindness.
"He told me Ah could go to hell."
Nathan stared at Ezra, and then he bit his tongue in an effort to stop the chuckle that wanted so desperately to reveal itself. He managed to control it fairly well, but a light laugh made its way out anyway, and he said, "Hell, Ezra. That can't be the first time he's said that to you."
"Well, thank you kindly for your support, Mistah Jackson." Ezra snuggled down, gingerly, to a more prone position, his bruises still paining him. Nathan jumped up to help; he still didn't want Ezra doing any more than necessary for at least another couple of days.
"Ezra, you know Chris can be meaner than a grizzly when he's hurt."
"That may be so, but Ah saw it in his eyes. He was … it was … " Ezra stopped and settled back into his pillow and closed his eyes.
"I really think you just misread it."
The gambler opened his eyes. They were hopeful, but only just barely. "Well, maybe when Chris deigns to stop in to see me we can discuss it." And at that, Ezra turned his head from Nathan and closed his eyes once more.
"I'm a jackass."
"Yeah."
"Agreed."
"'s not news."
"Damn straight."
Chris looked at J.D. "What, ain't you got anything to say?"
"I agree with 'em all," he said, as though his silence had already verbalized it.
"What were you thinkin'?" Buck asked.
"I wasn't. I was hurtin', and he wasn't helpin'."
"Seems to me he helped just fine," Nathan said knowingly.
Chris took the shot glass and downed its contents in one gulp. He stood and said, "See ya at dinner."
"Don't get 'im all riled up, pard," Vin said.
"He still ain't ready for a fight," the healer added.
"I ain't itchin' for one."
"That don't mean Ezra can't talk ya into one," Josiah warned.
Chris looked from one friend to the next around the table. "Hell," he said as he headed up to Ezra's room. It was long past time that he right this wrong. As he got to the gambler's door he knocked lightly and called, "Ez, you awake?" He heard no response so bravely opened the door and headed in. He found the man sleeping, so he grasped the nearby chair and moved it closer to the bed.
And he waited.
Nearly an hour later Ezra moved, turning from his back to his side. He hissed and aborted that move. The pain woke him up. He groaned and then sighed and then looked to his left to find Chris Larabee watching him.
"He lives," Ezra mumbled.
"Could say the same for you."
"And you've used your keen skills as a prophesier to know that?" Ezra queried snidely. He tried to sit up, but his back was having none of that. He squeezed his eyes shut at the unpleasant jab at his lower back. It still felt like a jagged rock was pressing on that spot. Constantly. He opened his eyes when he sensed a presence closer than he was comfortable with.
"I'm gonna pull ya up."
"Don't. You'll break Nathan's fine embroidery."
"I'm fine, according to Nathan, thanks to you. Just relax," he added and then Ezra felt Chris' hand gently guiding his upper back from the pillow, and then the gunslinger leaned across, clasped him under each arm pit and then smoothly moved him into a reclining position on the pillow.
"You are quite adept at that. Is it possible that you missed your calling, Nurse Larabee?"
"You think you're real funny." Chris said as he sat back down. Ezra looked away, suddenly mesmerized by whatever he really couldn't see out his window.
"Even if Ah did, I doubt that you find me so."
Chris shook his head and ran his hand through his hair in frustration. "Ezra, I don't know what the hell happened, but you have to know that I didn't mean what I said."
The con man looked from the window to his companion. "Do Ah?"
"Well, yeah."
"Why?"
"Whaddya mean, why?"
"We have been … friends," he started, saying the word with a clear questioning tone, "for some time now. Ah admit to having been told to 'go to hell' many times in mah life. I had never heard it, though, evah, from someone I car … someone whose opinion mattered to me, someone Ah considered a friend. Ah wondered … have been wonderin' if … if Ah had misconstrued our relationship somehow." Ezra blinked, demanding the tears remain at bay, and grinned that grin that he always brought out when he wanted to hide his hurt. It was a look that Chris was more than familiar with, a look that the leader of the seven had been responsible for putting there on more than one occasion. Ezra looked down to the quilt, forced himself to leave the dangling thread alone, and then looked up and asked, "Have Ah?" Because if he had, then he would be packing his bags as soon as he could get his aching body up from his fine featherbed.
"Jesus Christ, Ezra. Of course we're friends. You may be the biggest pain in the ass I know, but you are my friend. Damn it." He looked carefully into Ezra's eyes. "You do know that, I know you do."
"Chris … "
"No. No. Look, it was just … I was bein' … hell, I was bein' an ass. I hurt, I was angry, your proddin' made it feel worse." Ezra opened his mouth but Chris wouldn't let him speak. "I know that wasn't your fault." The blond forced his hand through his too-long locks once more. "I am a shit, Ezra. I can be, and I don't even need liquor to make me a shit." Now it was Chris' turn to look away.
"Ah … well … "
"You don't have to say anything."
"So you don't wish to hear the truth?" Ezra asked.
Chris looked up. He saw the devilish look in Ezra's eyes and knew the right answer. "I think I know the truth. Hearin' you say it don't make it any more or less true."
Ezra nodded. "You know, Chris, you weren't foolin' anybody. Everyone knew you were avoidin' bein' here when Ah was awake."
"I guess that makes me a shit and a chickenshit."
"The latter would be a hypothesis that does not hold true most of the time."
Chris laughed lightly. "And the former?"
"It is not in mah nature to bear false witness." Chris laughed louder, loud enough to be heard downstairs during the quiet lull before the saloon started filling up for the evening.
"You really are a comedian, Ezra."
"Ah will take that as a compliment," the card sharp said as he grabbed his deck of cards from the side table.
"That's how it was intended." Chris nodded to the cards. "You up for a game?"
"Ah thought you would nevah ask," Ezra said as he shuffled the cards with a genuine smile.
The End.
Author's note: Champagne Charlie was the nickname of English music hall performer George Leybourne (1842-1884). Ezra Standish likely became familiar with the songwriter and comedian while on a visit to New Orleans, where one of Leybourne's songs had become and still remains a standard during Mardi Gras, "If Ever I Cease To Love". Ezra also likely would have found some common ground with the likes of Leybourne, who developed the lion comique style of entertainment, which espoused the virtues of 'idleness, womanizing and drinking'. We only saw Ezra himself espousing two of the three on a fairly regular basis during the series run, though I find it hard to imagine that a man like Ezra Standish denied himself the company of a lovely lady … or man, for very long!