ON YOUR HORSES, BOYS

Part 10

Josiah looked out the jailhouse window and watched as the citizens of Four Corners began sifting through the debris left by the gun battle earlier in the day. It was amazing how resilient these town folk could be and it never ceased to amaze him how ready they were to just move on and get the job done. Good people in a hard land struggling to survive, and doing so with grace and courage.

Then there were folks like John Nichols, who hadn't stopped whining since his arrival. Granted the man had two broken arms, but unlike nearly half his family he was alive. Gratitude was something he appeared to avoid. Regret and sorrow also seemed to elude him. He hadn't mentioned the loss of his brothers once, only his desire to make the peacekeepers pay for what had been done to him. It was the sheer callousness of the man the preacher detested the most. To look at the young man you would assume a quiet goodness, but his boyish looks were misleading. His heart had obviously been blackened at a young age and he was well versed in selfishness and cruelty. He'd been swearing revenge nonstop since he'd been caught and the sound of his voice was grating on Josiah's nerves.

"Son, I promise you, if you don't shut up I'll come in there and start breaking your legs," he said over his shoulder.

John ignored him and continued to fuss until the large man turned away from the window and took a step toward him. He wisely closed his mouth and looked to the floor inside his cell. Josiah sighed in relief and went to his chair behind the desk to have a seat. Just as he leaned back, he heard someone knock on the door. He pulled his gun and rested it across his lap.

"Mr. Sanchez?" a timid male voice called.

"Come in," he answered, "slowly and with your hands where I can see them."

A middle-aged man with spectacles eased around the door and entered the office. Josiah recognized him as the shopkeeper from the General Store.

"It's alright Mr. Hobson, come on in. What brings you here?"

"I was looking for Mr. Larabee."

Josiah holstered his gun. "Mr. Larabee isn't here. Can I help you with something?"

"Will he be back?"

"No time soon, there's something he had to tend to."

"Mr. Standish, you mean," Hobson said, fidgeting where he stood.

Josiah eyed him curiously. "Yes, Mr. Standish, he was hurt by the Nichols family trying…"

"Trying to protect Mr. Larabee and his kin."

"Mr. Hobson?" Josiah rose as the shopkeeper's nervousness got worse. "Are you all right?"

"He's not a bad man, Mr. Standish," he said, but Sanchez wasn't altogether sure he was speaking to him.

"Ezra has his ways, but no he isn't a bad man."

"Folks can surprise you given the chance… he sure surprised me." Again, Josiah got the feeling the man was holding this conversation with himself.

"He surprised you, Mr. Hobson?"

"At the store, those men were there, before they took him and… you know…" the shy voice drifted into silence.

Josiah watched the man absentmindedly fiddle with the buttons on his vest. "Would you like to sit down?"

Distant gray eyes looked up at him. "He tried to help, but he's paid a terrible price."

Sanchez tilted his head and waited for the man to clarify.

Clarification never came. Instead the shopkeeper wandered to within a few feet of the jail cell and asked, "He one of the men responsible?"

John Nichols looked up innocently.

"Yes, he's one of the ones who survived. We think there are three more who escaped."

Hobson's face unexpectedly shown anger and outrage as he stared at the man in front of him. "He doesn't look like much, does he?"

"Evil comes in many forms," Josiah said, still unnerved by the storekeeper's puzzling behavior.

"Yes, yes it does. But then so does good, I suppose." The man was rambling.

"Mr. Hobson, is there something I can do for you?"

The man turned his face away. "No, I was just hoping to find Mr. Larabee. I can assume that since he's taking care of Mr. Standish they're both at the clinic."

"Yes, but unless it's a matter of life or death I wouldn't go over there just yet. He'll be concentrating his efforts on protecting the town and won't be able to turn loose."

"I understand, and the rest of you?"

"You're a curious one, aren't you?

"Forgive me. It's just most everyone in town is inquiring about what happens now."

Josiah returned to his chair. "Well, tell everyone to just keep a lookout for the three brothers who escaped. Oh, and tell 'em not to take any chances if they see the old lady. I'll be wiring Judge Travis about that young'un in there. I understand he and his family fancy themselves above the law, but I have a feelin' the law fancies them otherwise. As soon as the rest of our men finish up at the clinic, we'll be searchin' this town over until we find the rest of the family."

The anger that had been visible in Hobson's face earlier was replaced by a look of intense fear. "You think they're still in town?"

"Wouldn't surprise me none so be careful when you head back to your shop."

Josiah noticed the man's hands were now shaking. "You're sure there's nothing I can do in Chris' absence."

The storekeeper swallowed nervously and took a deep breath. "No, thank you." He glanced at John Nichols again before he made for the door. "Please, tell Mr. Standish I appreciate what he did."

Josiah pulled back bewildered as he watched Hobson clench his fists and scurry out the door.

M7M7M7M7M7M7M7

The comforting blackness Ezra had fallen into was slipping away from him and there seemed little he could do about it. The pain he felt crawling over him was gaining ground and he wanted nothing more than to escape its reach. Hands were touching him, holding him, forcing him to submit to their will. It was happening again. He thought he'd gotten through it, that it was over, but here he was lying on his back, his shoulders pinned to the countertop and his legs held firmly as his ankles were raised to reveal glass embedded feet. What the hell was happening? He'd done what they wanted, walked through broken glass until his feet left bloody footprints on the floor of the hotel kitchen. He remembered the nauseating pain as some of the shards sliced cleanly through his flesh while others dug deep when his own weight drove them to bone. He'd been made to suffer the trek through glass twice, but still it hadn't been enough. Now they held him down to do the unthinkable.

"P-please," he pleaded in abject horror. Heavy hands forced his shoulders down, but he was able to lift his head enough to look down the length of his body. "N-no," he stuttered as a large blade came into view between his feet.

Peter Nichols stood near the end of the counter holding the knife, relishing the look of fear filling the gambler's eyes. "I told you you'd be punished for allowing Connelly to run. You didn't believe me?"

Ezra's eyes grew large as the metal blade angled down to flick at the pieces of glass protruding from his feet. He could feel and hear the metal tap the glass and it sent a hundred lightning strikes throughout his body. His stomach rolled and his breath caught as he desperately tried to wriggle away.

"I always keep my promises, gambler, and I think crippling you would be just punishment for allowing a known murderer to escape. Hank Connelly is evil, as is his protector, this Chris Larabee. I don't understand why you would so willingly suffer for these men or how you justify your own perverse sense of loyalty, but then what could I expect from a sinner such as yourself. The world should be cleansed of such wickedness and my family is the instrument by which it'll happen." He eyed the torn flesh beneath his hands with a look of pure delight.

The Southerner was unnerved by the man's ability to so easily reconcile words of righteousness with actions of evil. "C-Chris Larabee is a man of honor. My loyalty is to him."

Peter ignored him.

Ezra looked past the large goon who held his shoulders and spotted Nathan being detained by an arm around his neck and another laced through his elbows. He'd hoped the healer would have been released by now since he'd obeyed every instruction he'd been given, but it appeared the Nichols didn't feel it necessary to honor their word. He caught Nathan's eyes and held them. There was a strange comfort there, a feeling some part of him was still connected to sanity and compassion. The gentle brown eyes offered strength, so he grabbed hold of it and buried it deep inside.

Then the eyes changed; they widened with fear as Nathan caught movement from Peter Nichols. The man raised the knife he held and slashed it across the sole of Ezra's right foot. "Look at me!" he shouted.

Ezra didn't look at anyone. His eyes shut tightly against the agony as his head slammed the counter and his body arced up. He cried out despite his efforts not to. Oh God, it hurt! He gasped for air, but none came, then he felt another slice with the knife and he choked.

"I said look at me!" Peter screamed angrily.

Ezra made every effort to pull his ankles free but couldn't. He gagged and tried to curl in on himself, but that too was denied him by the hands pinning him to the counter.

"Stop it!" He heard Nathan shout and knew the blade was about to fall a third time. It did, only this time it caught hold of one of the shards already buried in his arch. It snagged the jagged glass and twisted it as is continued its path across his heel.

Ezra screamed again and tried his damnedest to raise his head enough to look at his torturer. Wet green eyes slowly focused on Peter Nichols. "I hope… you burn… in hell."

Nichols smiled.

Nathan struggled.

Ezra collapsed.

Then another voice penetrated the fog around the Southerner's brain, a feminine voice. "My boys do the Lord's work. It'll be you, Larabee and Connelly who'll burn in hell."

Dear God, Mrs. Nichols, had she been present for his torture the whole time? A woman, a mother, witnessing the slow mutilation of another human being; it was inconceivable. They were mad; all of them, completely and utterly insane and it was that realization which nearly stopped his heart. He drew as deep a breath as he could. "N-not Chris." He swallowed. "L-leave him… alone. Let Nathan go."

"You think you're in a position to give orders, do ya?" She hovered beside the counter and turned back to nod at Peter. Another slash of the knife across his foot sent Ezra into spasms of pain.

"Please, ma'am," Nathan cried. "Please stop. Don't do this to him."

She stepped to where Jackson was being held and eyed him curiously. "You are a healer, you helped my son and I'll not forget that."

"Then please, stop this."

"I'll repay your good deed by allowing you to live."

"But…"

"No. This one will pay for his own actions. You, however, will be allowed to return to the others. You will carry a message to Chris Larabee and tell him I expect Hank Connelly to be turned over to me immediately."

"He won't do it, especially if you kill Ezra."

"Oh, trust me, healer, he will do it."

"How can you think he'd give up Hank if you kill his friend?"

She gave him a look that set him back a step. "Don't you be frettin' about the how; just see to it Chris Larabee gets the message."

"Don't cut him again, please."

"Shall I put a bullet in his brain then?"

"No," Nathan said, stunned by her coldness.

"Then you will do as you are told."

There was simply no reasoning with her. "Let me talk to Ezra," he said, careful to keep defiance out of his voice. "Please."

She looked him up and down before she motioned for her son to release him. "You have one minute."

Jackson hurried to where the gambler lay and stared down the animal grasping Standish's shoulders until he was allowed access. "Ezra, can you hear me?"

Weary eyes opened. Ezra jerked away but soon settled when he realized who was there. "Nathan?"

"Yeah, I need you to listen to me, Ezra. I want you to hang in there, all right? I want you to hang on with all you got." Jackson leaned down and lowered his voice before he said, "I'm goin' to get Chris and the others but you gotta be here when I get back, so fight. Can you do that?"

The Southerner shook his head.

"Ezra, I need ya to hang on 'til I get Chris. Tell me you can do it."

Nathan pulled back to look into his friend's watery eyes. Eventually he nodded.

"Good. We'll get you outta this, you hear me?"

"That's enough," Mrs. Nichols barked.

When Nathan hesitated in leaving Ezra, one of the ham-fisted boys pounded him in the back with both hands and sent him to the floor. He was then roughly pulled to his feet and shoved towards the door. He glanced over his shoulder to take a last look at his friend. The sight tore at his soul. He knew full well the butchery would continue with or without his presence so he had to get to Chris. Ezra was staring after him, pleading with his eyes for Nathan to save him, but there was nothing he could do. Then Peter Nichols moved to Ezra's head and leaned over to whisper something near his ear. The gambler's eyes went wild as Peter moved back to his feet and again raised the knife. The last thing Nathan heard as he was pushed outside was Ezra screaming his name.

"Nathan!" Ezra yelled. Why was this happening? Hadn't he already been through this? He had, he knew he had. He'd been hanging somewhere, tied up and placed on display. Every inch of him hurt, every part of him begged for relief. But his feet, they were slicing his feet open again. "Nathan!" he screamed again. "N-no, please don't cut… again. Chris! You were going… to get Chris."

Nathan turned away from the exam table where Chris had just been placed and looked at the bed holding Ezra. Vin and JD were both grabbing on to him as he tried to get away. They had no sooner gotten his feet into the warm water than he again began reliving the nightmare in the hotel. He'd been struggling with the memory before, but now he seemed firmly trapped in its nightmarish horror.

Chris tried to leave the exam table. Buck put a hand to him to make sure he stayed put as Nathan went to the Southerner's side and tried once again to free him from his torture.

"Ezra!" he called. "I'm right here, it's Nathan."

"Nathan d-don't, don't get Chris… they'll kill him."

"No one's killin' Chris. You hear me?"

"They're gonna do it! I can't… stop them." A dark cloud passed over the gambler's face as his mind returned him to the cruelty of his captors. "They're coming… again. This time… they said… they'd do it… this time."

"No, Ezra, no one's comin' for ya."

"Don't, don't!" he pleaded hoarsely as he sucked in large panic stricken breaths. His chest heaved four or five times before he strangled on a cough and fell backwards.

Nathan watched helplessly as Ezra trembled and pressed himself against the pillows. He desperately struggled to breathe but his fatigue seemed just as determined to smother him. Then from nowhere, his battle lessened and an eerie calmness gradually consumed his entire body. "Come on now," the healer said encouragingly. "I need you to stay with me."

"Oh, God, Nathan… they did it… I c-can't… can't feel," he slurred, "they did it."

"What, Ezra? What did they do?"

He didn't answer. Instead his eye drifted shut and his head dropped awkwardly onto the pillow.

"Ezra?" Jackson cried as he scrambled onto the bed and lightly tapped his friend's face. "Ezra, wake up!"

TBC

A/N: Okay, I researched the hound out of the Magnificent 7 canon for the episode VENDETTA and I never could find the name of or the background for the storekeeper Ezra saved from the Nichols. I've given him a name (and probably a wife... /evil grin/ ) for story purposes so I hope no one faults me. I've also chosen the layout of the town mapped out at http://freepages.genealogy. for the story, so everyone can see I'm using Bucklin's General Store instead of Mrs. Potter's. If you'd like the exact map addy, just drop me a line-- it's a terrific piece of work!

Please let me know how this chapter reads! JMck