Chapter Two

            J.D. stifled both a yawn and a complaint as he turned up the collar of his jacket in a futile attempt to ward off the chill of the early morning. He was a little more than half awake, and for once entirely out of sorts with the situation. Ezra and Nathan had not returned yesterday afternoon, and Larabee had appointed him and Buck to ride out in the morning to search for the wayward men. He himself had taken morning to mean after breakfast –or at earliest, first light. Buck, on the other hand, had placed an entirely different interpretation upon the appointed time, and rousted him from his bed and a particularly pleasant dream a full two hours before the first hint of light began to touch the sky.

            He might have grumbled more, if it hadn't been for the restless energy that had possessed the larger man ever since they had left town. Buck was on edge –an unusual condition for the normally easy going ladies man—and one that telegraphed itself easily to his young protégé. He could see no reason for it himself.  Likely Ezra and Nathan had just run into some unforeseen delay and would be in later this morning. But if J.D. had learned anything during his brief time in the West, it was that Buck Wilmington's hackles didn't rise without good reason. So he said nothing, merely hunched miserably in his saddle and hoped for the rapid warmth of the morning sun. They were nearly to the stage station when Buck abruptly pulled up his gray.

            "What is it?" J.D. asked quietly.

            The kid was learning, Buck thought. A year ago, he'd have hollered the question loud enough to be heard in the next county.

            "Somethin' ain't right," Buck muttered, leaning over the gray's neck and surveying the dingy cluster of buildings below. Dawn was just sparking over the rocks behind them, touching the gray landscape here and there with brilliant strokes of golden red light.

            "Ezra's horse is there," J.D. said, observing the familiar form of the chestnut gelding that wandered loose in the corral.

            "Yeah, but Nathan's ain't." Buck said. "Neither are the coach horses. The stage left out yesterday afternoon. There should be at least another team there, resting up for the next run."

            He scrutinized the cabin and outbuildings. "No sign of anybody about the place, either. I don't like it."

            "Maybe they ran the horses out to graze," J.D. suggested. "There's a good patch of grass and water down in the draw behind those rocks."

            Buck shook his head. "Nah, Kid, this just don't feel right."

            He nudged the gray into a slightly different position and observed the buildings from the new angle. No smoke curled from the chimney, and judging from the sun's position, it was pushing mighty close to breakfast. His hackles pricked a little more.

            "Hey Kid, you still got that fancy spy glass Vin lent you?"

            J.D. reached into his coat pocket and produced the glass. "What's got you spooked, Buck?" he asked. "You've been on edge ever since we left."

            Buck focused the glass carefully, scanning each small detail of the yard. "I got a bad feeling," he said. "If it was just Ezra, I'd have thought nothin' of it. I'd just have figured he found hisself a card game, or a con, or –hell—maybe even a pretty girl."

            "But Nathan," Buck continued, "now that's a different hoss all together. Dependable as the day is long, Nathan is, and as punctual as a pony at feeding time. It ain't like Nathan to be late, let alone leadin' us on a merry jaunt like this."

            "Maybe something came up." J.D. suggested.

            "Yeah," Buck muttered, "that's what I'm afraid of."

            Finding nothing amiss with the cabin, save the stillness that was not to his liking, he turned the glass to the barn. It was a simple structure with large double doors on each end which led to a central alleyway with stalls on either side. Just then, another gust of wind caught the barn doors, flapping one gently and swinging the other slowly, inexorably outwards to reveal the still figure that swung eerily in the morning breeze.

            "Holy God," Buck breathed. His voice was as dry as the long grass that waved behind the cabin, "its Ezra!"

            He thrust the glass at J.D. and put spurs to the gray, drawing his gun even as he did so. They tore down the slope in a headlong rush, heedless of the rough, uneven ground.

            Buck didn't bother to dismount, but pushed the gray through the doors, eyes casting to the left and right for ambush. J.D. did not follow, but broke off and circled around to the other end, entering the barn from the doors on the opposite side. They met in the middle, the gambler's silent, still form swinging between them.

            They hadn't hung him by the neck, as J.D. had feared, but somehow this was almost worse. He had been bound and hung by the wrists, which were raw and bloody from his struggle. That, however, could not begin to account for the blood. It was everywhere. It spattered Ezra's too still face and ran down the loose tail of the rope. It soaked through the gambler's once pristine white shirt and charcoal trousers, pooling in an ominous dark puddle on the dusty floor of the barn.

            "Is he…" J.D. swallowed, feeling the bile rise to his throat. "Is he dead?"

            Buck nudged the gray closer. The animal snorted and rolled her eyes, disliking the swinging body and the smell of the blood. He spoke softly to the mare, sidling in close enough to feel for a pulse.

            "He's alive," Buck pronounced grimly, "but not by much. Help me get him down."

            J.D. untied the blanket from his bedroll and wrapped Ezra in it as Buck yanked loose the knot on the block and tackle and slowly lowered him to the ground. The gambler's body was a dead weight in J.D.'s arms, and he wondered if Buck might have been mistaken. The soft moan reassured him, however, and he lowered Ezra to the ground, rolling him onto his chest, which seemed to be the least damaged part of his person.

            "What did they do to him?"
            "Horsewhipped," Buck spat, "And not by an amateur either. The man who did this knew how to handle a whip, and he shore didn't learn it drivin' mules."

            A soft thud from the manger behind them was followed by a rustling of straw. J.D. instinctively reached for his gun, shooting a sideways glance towards Buck, who had done the same. The older man gave a subtle nod, and the two of them sidled carefully down the alleyway, their guns trained on the manger before them.

            A cough, another thud, and then a weak but familiar voice emerged from under the straw. "Ezra, you there?"

            Buck swore and holstered his gun. "Nathan!" he exclaimed, relief etched in every line of his body as he scrambled to the manger and began digging through the hay. He was rewarded by an ebony hand that poked up from the sweet-smelling grass.

            "Buck?" Confusion was evident on Nathan's face. "What are you doing here?"

            The healer looked around in bewilderment. "Come to that, what am I doing here?"

            Nathan struggled to get up, then fell back, gasping at the pain that radiated from his arm.

            "You're hurt," Buck observed, helping his friend to his feet.

            Nathan glanced to the bloody bandage that bound his upper arm. "Ezra and I had a bit of a skirmish on our way from Eagle Bend. Couple of fellas took exception to a black man and a white man drinking together and decided to start a little row. It didn't go well for them. I think they must have been still spoilin' for a fight. They followed us and one of them got off a lucky shot."

            "Musta been pretty damned lucky to get the drop on you," Buck observed, "Whoa!" he said quickly, steadying the healer. "You ok?"

            "Just a little woozy is all," Nathan said, regaining his balance. "—Not that I was feeling that good when we stopped here." He shook his head. "Damn! I think Ezra slipped some of that laudanum in my coffee."

            "Buck?" J.D.'s voice called faintly from outside with a note that Buck recognized as bad news. "I think you better come here."

            Both men strode outside to find J.D. standing behind the barn, staring glumly at something in the water tank. Nathan sighed as he looked down at the lifeless form.

            "It's the stationmaster," he said, rubbing the back of his neck. "What the hell happened here?"

            Buck shook his head. "I don't know, but you'd best come take a look at Ezra. Somethin' tells me he just might have saved your life."