Drought
by KellyA
[You all can thank the corvid virus, I'm going through some of my old stories and revising them and I'm also working on a new one. Lots of time now.]
[I have used some reference to a story by Joyce(SasseyJ), "It really was a good
idea," with her permission. Again, I have to thank my wonderful beta NotTasha for
all her help.]
Part 1
Vin Tanner drew the knife across the stick, adding another notch to the already wounded piece of wood. Sixty-five days of oppressive heat-and no rain-that's what the notches on the stick represented. Sixty-five simple cuts denoting weeks of harsh existence and survival. The longhaired tracker watched from his place under the eave in front of the jail, as yet, another wagon, laden with household furniture, slowly made its way out of the drought-stricken town. More and more people were leaving every day now. Their faces vacant, from despair and
sadness, as they passed by. Vin knew they didn't have any choice; many of the wells had dried up, and the river was barely more than a trickle. Any other town and he would have been long gone too, but this town had earned a measure of his loyalty, and in truth, he didn't want to leave.
Vin leaned forward setting the chair down on all fours, watching as Chris Larabee made his way across the street toward the saloon. Vin had relinquished his buckskin jacket in favor of cooler attire, noticing that even the somber gunslinger had given in to the high temperatures, opting for a light-colored shirt, instead of his usual dark outfit. Vin reckoned, seeing the stern lines on Chris's face as he passed, that someone had increased the gunslinger's temper a degree or two.
Over the past few weeks, Larabee's temper had risen proportionately with the rising mercury, to the point that even Vin knew enough to keep his distance for fear of tempting his wrath. Josiah and Buck had already had the unenviable privilege of being seared by Larabee's fiery disposition.
The heat was also unraveling the friendship that the seven gunslingers shared, breaking under the strain of being unable to do anything to save the town, and the people they had sworn to protect and come to care about. Mother Nature was proving a formidable foe.
Vin stood and removed his hat, pushing his long hair back behind his ears. He tugged the sweat-covered slouch hat back on his head, pulling it down to shade his eyes from the mid-morning sun, as he stepped off the boardwalk and headed toward the saloon. The easy-going tracker figured he'd better go after Chris and maybe try and mitigate his temper somewhat, or at least save the poor bastard who was about to become the recipient to it.
Chris Larabee's anger was being stoked by the incessant heatwave, watching a life he'd come to love slip through his fingers, and one fancy-dressing, indolent gambler. He couldn't do anything about the first two problems, but he sure as hell could vent his wrath and hopelessness on the third.
Larabee paused in the entranceway of the saloon, holding the batwing doors apart. He allowed his eyes to adjust to the gloom that stretched throughout the whole room. The bar was stifling, offering little relief from the outside heat, except for a soothing darkness. Chris's fierce gaze traveled over the bar, seeing Inez slouched in a nearby chair, fanning herself; his gaze then moved across the room to settle on the only other person enduring the suffocating heat.
Ezra Standish sat alone at his usual table playing a game of solitaire and nursing a warm beer. Water was at a premium and being rationed. You never knew how much you took for granted until it's suddenly gone or scarce. Ezra never thought much about water. Oh, he understood the necessity of the clear, liquid, especially in such an inhospitable and desolate territory. However, he rarely worried about its availability. Now, he'd give his gold tooth for a tall glass of cold water, and wondered how a tasteless, odorless and colorless liquid could taste so good when one was deprived of it.
The summer heatwave had also won out over the suave gambler's passion for finery and decorum. Ezra wore only dark pinstriped pants and a light cotton shirt that was unbuttoned at the collar. Standish didn't look up when he heard Chris enter the saloon. He didn't have to see the severe leader to know he was angry, as that had become Chris's customary demeanor and seemed to announce his presence even before he entered a room. Ezra, inwardly smiled, the heatwave actually rivaled his own ability to enrage the quick-tempered lawman.
When Larabee couldn't control something, he tended to allow his anger to control him. It had its benefits, especially when under attack by ruthless gangs of outlaws, who would think twice before tangling with the enraged gunslinger. However, there were no outlaws, nothing tangible for Chris to direct his anger upon, well, almost nothing.
"Standish!" Chris growled and walked over to the table to stand menacingly over the placid gambler.
Ezra raised green eyes from his solitaire game and allowed a faint smirk to crease his heat-flushed face. His Irish heritage and complexion did not take kindly to the harsh rays of the western sun.
"Damnit, why aren't you out on patrol?"
Ezra turned his attention back to his game, placing a four of hearts on a five of spades. He took a deep breath and exhaled. "Because Mr. Larabee, it is too hot, and any miscreant who would have the effrontery to do anything in this god-forsaken furnace would have to be mad." Ezra focused at his cards hearing Chris's exasperated breaths in the still air of the barroom.
"I want your lazy, good-fer-nothin' ass out on patrol in five minutes," Chris stated in a low and dangerous tone. He couldn't get over how composed Ezra appeared, hell the man wasn't even sweating.
Standish stopped in mid-play and laid the cards he held down on the table. He was tired of being maligned by this man. Ezra pushed away from the table and slowly stood. The heat was withering even his patience. He cast a sideways glance to see Vin and Buck enter the saloon and stand off to the side.
'Thanks a lot,' Ezra inwardly chided, noticing that the two men were not going to interfere, at least not yet. When he was bleeding on the floor then maybe they'd carry him up to Nathan's. Inez decided it was too hot to be caught in the middle of the two gunslingers posturing and moved into the back room. She only stayed in business due to the lawmen and knew once they left the saloon would become another casualty of the drought.
"I refuse to put myself out in that inferno to protect what is nothing more than a ghost town with a few steadfast or foolish inhabitants."
"You refusin' an order?" Chris growled.
Ezra's eyes narrowed, and he thought over the question for just a second before cheerfully replying. "Yes, I am."
Chris lashed out, striking the smart-ass cardsharp across the jaw and sending him to the floor. Ezra pushed up on one elbow and wiped the blood from the corner of his mouth all good humor erased. A wave of regret sparked in Chris's heart but was quickly smothered by annoyance as he stared down at Cardsharp's smug façade. Standish's haughty demeanor belied the ferocity of his gaze as he slowly gained his feet. Chris then grabbed him by his fancy ruffled shirt and pulled him close.
"You are sworn to protect this town," Chris reminded, his voice tightening with seriousness.
"This town is no more than kindling and will be returning to the dust from which it sprouted," Ezra drawled, his voice carrying a strong note of disgust. "There's nothing left to protect. It is over!" The words hurt Ezra as much as they were meant to hurt Chris and the others.
Larabee shoved Ezra away as if his proximity sickened him. The gambler staggered backward, his hand hovering near his gun, not sure how far Larabee would take the assault. Buck and Vin came to attention, seeing the restrained threat. Chris chose to ignore it.
"You still have a job to do," Chris declared, some of his anger diminishing as the words that Ezra spoke resounded in his head. Were they protecting a ghost town?
"No, I don't." Exasperation diminishing his boundless verbal abilities. Ezra scooped up his hat as he strode out the doors not even glancing at Vin or Buck.
Chris' fists clenched as he spared a glance at the cards scattered on the table and then headed toward the doors prepared to go after Ezra, not sure if he wanted to apologize or kill him. He stopped when Buck stepped into his path.
"Let'im go, pard. He might be right," Buck sadly said, prepared for any backlash. Instead, he watched as Chris' rage melted away. None of them wanted to admit that what the urbane cardsharp said could possibly be true. That their lives here might have finally come to an end.
TBC