Today
"I'm going to kill 'im."
"Now, Chris. It wasn't just … "
"I'm going to kill all three of 'em."
"That's more like it, old pard."
"At least he's not playin' favorites."
Nathan Jackson, Buck Wilmington and Josiah Sanchez all knew better. Also, not one of these three men had a death wish. Up until today, most people would have assumed the same of Vin Tanner, Ezra Standish and J.D. Dunne. After all, these six men, plus their leader, the notorious former gunslinger Chris Larabee, were the peacekeepers of Four Corners, brave and true men who had proven themselves formidable opponents in battles large and small. Valiant actions taken by each man many times over to save the people of a town they came to call home, those actions proved their worth. Braver and truer men did not exist.
One had to question the wisdom, indeed the sanity of any man who would challenge any one of them, in any way. And certainly it was a death wish you sought if you chose to play a trick of such monumental foolhardiness as the one played on Chris Larabee this day.
So that was how Mary Travis and Gloria Potter were found stepping out of the way of the tall, handsome blond man charging out of the saloon, Pied Piper to the trio of Josiah, Nathan and Buck storming out behind him in hopes of keeping the three younger members of their peacekeeping force alive.
Two Days Ago
"It ain't funny, Ezra," Vin Tanner complained.
"Mistah Larabee seems to think that it was," Ezra said lightheartedly as he watched Chris and Buck laughing at the most recent prank played upon one of the seven men who protected the town. Vin was the second victim of the jokester. Though no one came forward to take credit for the evil doing, Ezra and Vin were fairly certain it was one, two, three or all four of the men at the far table. Nathan and Josiah just that moment rejoined the table of suspects with a pitcher of beer and a bottle of semi-decent whiskey. Ezra deducted that all four were in some way responsible for what happened to J.D.'s hat and, praise the lord, Vin's capote. It was as rare as a hippopotamus sighting in the Sonoran desert to see any one of those four men spring for the good stuff. Ezra Standish could vouch for such a sighting, having eaten a hallucinogenic bulbed wildflower last summer that he'd mistaken for an edible wild onion.
"Now I'm gonna have ta wash the whole thing," the tracker whined.
"God is showin' mercy on us all this day," the gambler said as he raised his shot glass in a toast to one Chris Larabee on achieving the near-impossible. Chris or one of his three companions chortling together at the other table; there was still doubt in his mind about precisely who had been involved in the two pranks aimed at his irate friend sitting beside him and the young man with the bowler hat.
"It'll take a week ta dry out in this weather."
"Our recent weather patterns are nothin' to complain about. We must always be grateful for whatever precipitation Mother Earth graciously rains down upon us." The southerner smiled at his joke. He would have pointed out his fine wordplay to his friend, but based on the scowl on the Texan's face, Ezra listened to his wiser angel and kept the humor to himself. Pity.
"That ain't the point. 'Sides, ain't you worried? Seems ta me he's goin' in the order of our ages. Yer next."
"Firstly, who is this 'he' of whom you speak? You have become convinced that it is a particular one of the four more senior of our illustrious team who is behind this malfeasance?"
Vin turned his glare from the four men at the other table and laid all of the venom he currently felt in his heart on the man who sat across from him.
"That is to say," the card sharp said, reading correctly that re-phrasing that last question might be good for his health, "You know who has been doin' these things?"
"Damn right I do. It's Chris, but the rest of 'em are jest as guilty."
"Their enjoyment at the woes both you and J.D. have suffered make them guilty by association?" It might have been Ezra's imagination but damned if he didn't catch a glimpse of the former bounty hunter tickling the handle of his mare's leg. Ezra said, "If you think the others are guilty simply by remaining silent, am Ah to correctly assume that your … revenge will not be solely against our leader?"
"Reckon only Chris needs ta pay."
"Well, if Ah might request that Ah be left out of whatever evil you intend to perpetrate on Mistah Larabee. Mah life is complicated enough where our notorious friend is concerned."
Vin squinted his eyes at the gambler. "Thanks for the support, Ezra. I figure you'll be crawlin' back once you become his next target."
Yesterday
"Ah refuse to say you were right one more time, Vin. Ah will say this: it is perfectly understandable that someone would deign to harm that excuse of a coat you wear in an effort to clean it and freshen the air we share when you cross our paths. Ah have no doubt, if left to its own devices, that rank piece of hide would walk on its own to the bathhouse and take a longer soak than its owner ever has."
"Ain't had no one complainin' 'bout me and my capote, 'cept you," Vin answered, a smile adorning his handsome face, not even trying to hide his pleasure that the card sharp was now the third victim of a less-than-kind prank.
Ezra smiled wickedly and shook his head. "If you say so, Vin. By the way, when was the last time you spent any time with a lovely lady."
"Shut up, Ezra."
"Ah am not finished. J.D.'s hat has long been a point of discussion. Aside from the fact that the style makes him far too easily a target, the ridiculous head covering," the irritated gambler said as J.D. joined them outside of the jailhouse, "does not even do the important job of a decent hat. Have you noticed how wet J.D.'s face and neck get in even the barest of rain?"
"I like … liked my hat." J.D. defended his choice of hear gear.
"Have you looked in a mirror lately, son? The crow's feet around your eyes are far more obvious now than they were when we first made your acquaintance."
"That's from laughing," the young easterner said.
"You keep telling yourself that, J.D."
"It don't matter what it was he near-ruined," Vin said, bitter.
"Yes it does," Ezra and J.D. replied together. The southerner looked at the young man, perplexed
"J.D., you hadn't even bothered to replace your hat after the last bullet pierced it," Ezra challenged.
"Had to save up for another one, Ez. That hat is expensive to replace."
"That is quite impossible to believe."
"Fellas, it don't matter. We gotta come up with a plan ta get back at 'im."
"Ah believe Ah may have a plan, gentlemen." The three lawmen got down to business, plotting their revenge.
Today
"He's gunnin' for ya," Tiny said as he saw Ezra saddling his horse.
"Aw, hell. Does he have his gun in hand?" the former con man asked as he tightened the cinch.
"Oh, no, Mr. Standish. That was just … "
"Yes, yes. Figure of speech."
"Yes. You should go if you … "
Ezra didn't wait for the liveryman to finish as he mounted his horse in a flash, tipped his hat, and hurried Chaucer out the back. There was no actual egress out the back without a gate being opened, but as everyone who was familiar with the gambler and his prized steed knew, a fence was no defense for such an athletic and finely trained equine.
"Where is he?" Chris growled as he found Chaucer's stall empty.
"Do you mean Mr. Standish? He was just here."
Chris frowned, his forehead wrinkled at the reply from the normally straight-shooter. "Are you covering for him, Tiny?" Chris placed his hand on his gun.
"You know that you don't scare me, dontcha Mr. Larabee?"
Chris sighed. "Tiny, I'm not tryin' to scare you."
"And I've helped carry his bloody body up to the clinic more 'n once."
"I know that. You heard what he did, right?" Chris asked, going for the sympathetic side of the man who took such good care of their horses. And apparently their resident professional poker player.
"Did you see him do it?" Tiny asked.
Chris stared at the stocky man before him. "You're kidding."
"And everyone's heard what happened to the boys' stuff," Tiny explained. "Don't figure it's my place to interfere with revenge."
"Revenge? What …." Chris cut off his thought. His mind roamed back over the last couple of days. They'd been enjoying the reactions to the tricks that had been played on Vin, J.D. and Ezra. Chris found particular enjoyment in watching Vin's horrified reaction to the damage done to his coat. It was the first of several pieces of clothing of the three to become somehow damaged. Chris was certain that it was more the offense of his coat being forced to be cleaned than what was actually done to it that upset the former buffalo hunter the most.
At least Vin's capote was salvageable, as much as that fact displeased some, including Ezra and Mary Travis. Mary, on more than one occasion, mentioned to Chris how the Texan always left a unique aroma behind after a visit to the newspaper office.
J.D.'s hat was flat out ruined. The perpetrator, maybe knowing that the sheriff would need to replace the hat soon, had cut out a section of the curled up and far-too-shallow brim and replaced it with a many inches deep flat black brim. The wearer of said hat would look like nothing if not a duck. It wasn't a good look.
The joke played on Ezra had been the most unkind if for no other reason the extent to which the man loved his wardrobe. He also always kept everything just so, never even allowing a thread to fray very far before having it fixed. Finding every jacket, waistcoat and pair of pants missing their buttons meant a declaration of war on behalf of the man with the collection of fine haberdashery. That his investment in righting this wrong might require the purchase of new buttons, some of which would need to be ordered, changed Ezra's tune right quick about getting back at the man who did this to him, J.D. and Vin.
The more Chris thought about it, the more he was convinced of the culprit, and that person was not himself, or Josiah, Nathan or Buck. No, the clever perpetrator of these shenanigans was none other than the man who protested too much about a coat that he never complained about before, even when it came back with the blood and bodily juices of any number of wild animals.
"Tiny, keep an eye out for him. I ain't goin' after him. I know now who did this and who really needs to fess up."
"I figure I know where he went … " Tiny started.
"Just outside of town. The bluff."
"You want me to have Junior go fetch him?"
"No, thanks, Tiny. I'll have Buck or Josiah go."
"All right. Sure am lookin' forward to things settlin' down. Don't like it when you boys are at each other." The livery owner looked aggravated and worried at the same time.
Chris acknowledged the concern with the tip of his hat. "I'll send Buck over."
"All right."
After Chris stopped in to see Buck, he took a walk around town looking for Vin. It was the tracker's watch and since Peso was in his stall, Chris figured the man was taking a walking tour of the nearer homes just outside of town. The tall blond headed to the saloon for a drink and a meal, taking a nice, leisurely time of it. No one was around and Chris had to admit, with all of the hub bub of Vin playing jokes on his friends – and causing the retaliatory one against Chris – he appreciated not having to spend this hour with his friends. He shook his head; maybe he needed to get out to his cabin for a while.
After finishing his meal, Chris headed to the jail. He walked in and found the man he sought.
"Vin."
"Chris." The former bounty hunter started to rise from the chair, but the leader of The Seven stopped him cold.
"Stay there."
"Yer not here to relieve me?"
"No, I ain't here to relieve you. You'll be workin' the next two shifts in a row if I got anything to say about it. And I do." Vin sat calmly, giving nothing away. "Why'd you do it?"
The tracker grinned, seemingly happy to be found out. "Well, Chris, things were gettin' downright dull around here."
"Is that right?" Chris had to admit a certain admiration for Vin's acting abilities over the course of these few days. Where'd he pick up that ability? Chris knew the answer: from the man who was currently short a few buttons.
"Yep."
"Didn't have anything to do with the fact that you couldn't stand bein' around yourself any longer in that coat?"
"You sound like Ezra."
"And that's another thing. You thought gettin' me riled up at Ezra was the way to play this?"
"Could o' been the other way 'round."
"I was all set to ring his bell," Chris admitted to his prankster friend.
"I wouldn' o' let ya."
"Really? I just missed him at the livery about an hour and a half ago. He tore off on Chaucer, jumped the corral in back to get away." Vin had the decency to look chagrined. "You better hope that horse don't come back lame. Between that and facin' the music for what you did, how you set him up … I sure don't want to be you."
"You sher yer not here to relieve me?" Vin asked as he stood to look out the window.
"Oh, I'll relieve you, Vin, because you've got work to do. First, you can go clean that porridge out of my boots and off of my floor." The tracker looked down at Chris' boots. "My other boots. What the hell, Vin?" The Texan just shrugged. Chris let a slight grin show on his own face, knowing how that porridge had hardened by now. "Then go see Gloria Potter. Have her cancel all those orders for all his damned buttons." Chris made sure Vin was watching his eyes when he added, "Make sure he gets all his buttons back. Then order a new hat for J.D. You cover the deposit. He needed a new hat, that's the only reason I ain't makin' ya pay for the whole thing."
"That it?" the no longer amused tracker asked.
"No. Get over to Abigail Merton's and see what she would charge to get those buttons put right."
"Ain't Ez already done that?" Vin asked.
"Said he was sewing them back on himself." Chris paused dramatically and added, "Reckon he's not now."
"Fine."
"Good. You are officially relieved." Vin rushed from the jail. Movement from one of the cells had Chris palm his Colt quickly.
"You were a little rough on him, weren't you, Mistah Larabee?"
"You think so?"
"Perhaps not." Ezra threw the ratty blanket he'd been hiding under onto the cot. He'd been happy for it as the wood stove was only filled enough to take the chill off and not forcing enough heat to reach into the farthest cell. Ezra felt under the bed and retrieved his hat, immediately setting to work cleaning it. He walked out of the jail cell, an evil smile on his face.
"Were you hiding out with a purpose?"
"I was. You ruined it."
"You still plannin' to retaliate, even though he's gonna take care of fixin' everything?" Chris already knew the answer. He shuddered to think just how long this session of cat and mouse would go on.
"Ah would say that Mistah Tanner is safe this week. And that is all that Ah would say, other than that some of the most successful cons require a man, or woman in Mother's case, to exude patience."
"Vin knows better than to think you'd just let this pass."
Ezra's smile grew wider. "Of course he does."
"You gonna let me in on your plan?" Chris asked, as close to begging as Chris Larabee would ever likely get.
"Once Ah finally devise the perfect retribution? Probably not."
"Can you at least give me warning 'bout when you'll be letting him have it?" Chris really, really wanted to be out at his cabin when Ezra took his revenge.
The former con man wiped the dust from his jacket, adjusted his cuffs so that they showed just right at the jacket sleeve's edge, and then grabbed the door handle. He looked to his friend, telling him in just one look that laughing at his misfortune had not won him any favors from the gentleman from the south.
"Good day, Chris," Ezra said as he waltzed out onto the boardwalk, a smug look on his face.
"Hell," Chris said as he sat at the desk and pondered his life as some-time babysitter to the other members of The Magnificent Seven.
The End.