Stranger and Sojourner
It was a long trip back from the Seminole encampment; a trip that gave Nathan much too long to think. Most of his thoughts centered on his resident antagonist, Ezra Standish. The gambler's actions over the passed month had confused Nathan more than ever over what motivated the man. Not four weeks previously Ezra had risked his life to enter the nearby railroad camp to find evidence on the corrupt rail boss. To top off this unexpected move, Nathan had discovered the gambler had given Ling Po, the Chinese girl he had bought, enough money to return to her family in San Francisco. At the time, it seemed to Nathan the man had reached some kind of turning point, a fork in his road where money no longer took prescient over everything else.
But in a year of riding together, Ezra was constantly contradicting himself. Two weeks after sending Ling home, he had wiped out Jason McDungan at the poker table, taking all his savings just before planting time. The southerner had defended this action with his usual shrug and the statement that the farmer knew who and what he was playing. Nathan didn't understand his attitude, though he had seen Josiah nodding his agreement. The next thing Nathan knew was that some anonymous person had donated a wagonload of supplies to his trip to the reservation.
The wagon topped a hill and a strange sight met Nathan's gaze. A lone man in a slightly dirty white robe and holding a tall walking stick was moving at a steady pace down the road. Along with the stick the man was only carrying a single very small carpetbag. The mules pulled up even with the man, giving Nathan a closer look. The man was middle forties perhaps, with long, slightly blonde hair and a full but neatly trimmed beard. Dark brown eyes smiled at him as Nathan reined in the sturdy animals.
"Good day," the stranger said politely.
Nathan returned the smile. "Mighty hot day for walking. Got room up here if you want a ride."
"That would be very nice, brother, thank you." With a quick jump the man joined him on the seat of the wagon.
Clucking to the team Nathan moved out. Reaching under his seat, Nathan offered the man the canteen. "Thank you again," the man said as he took the water. "I was beginning to get a little thirsty."
"You ain't walking round out here without water?" Nathan seemed amazed.
"The Lord will provide," the man said firmly.
For a minute Nathan thought of lecturing the man on the difference between faith and common sense. With a quick shake of his head, he shut his mouth. It was not his place to correct everyone. He flinched at the thought that he didn't seem to feel that way about Ezra.
He must have frowned because the man next to him asked, "Is there something troubling you, brother?"
"Name's Nathan Jackson," he said quietly. "No, I'm fine."
The man extended his hand. "Paul."
Nathan took the well-callused hand. They settled back and rode on in silence.
It was only as they got closer to town, going pass the out buildings, that Paul asked, "Do you know if there is a church in this town?"
"Yeah, but we got a preacher," Nathan said a little defensively.
"I'm not looking for a job," Paul explained. "I just like to preach the gospel of Jesus. Sometimes the people welcome me and sometimes they don't. I've found it best to check in with the local preacher so that no toes get stepped on."
Not sure why he was feeling so out of sorts, Nathan said, "Sorry, just that Josiah, the preacher, is an old friend."
"I'm sure we'll get along just fine," Paul said firmly.
The positive manner put Nathan at ease and he found himself looking forward to getting back, to seeing Josiah's response to the odd looking stranger. As soon as they entered town the stares started, gaining participates as they made their way toward the church. From the corner of his eye he saw Ezra step out of the jail. The southerner, like everyone else regarded them with a puzzled look but unlike the other town folk, Ezra tipped his hat and offered a small smile. Nathan wasn't sure it if were for his unconventional passenger or his own return. He gave a quick nod of his head.
A few minutes later they came to a stop in front of the church. Josiah stepped out, wiping his hand on a cloth. The big preacher had paint stains on the front of his shirt and was sweating in the summer heat. He smiled at Nathan and his passenger. When they climbed off the wagon, he extended his hand to the newcomer.
"Josiah," Nathan said. "This is Paul and he's looking for a place to preach."
"Josiah Sanchez. A new voice in the wilderness is always welcome."
The breaded man took the strong hand. "Thank you, Josiah. As I told Nathan, sometimes the local preachers are not so willing to share their pulpit."
Nathan handed the small, very light bag down. "Josiah, why is Ezra on duty?"
"Judge sent a telegram saying that the Wilson gang was spotted leaving Eagle Bend headed in this direction. Chris and the others are out after them."
"How long they been gone?"
"Not long enough to get worried," Josiah said levelly.
"I've got to get the team settled," Nathan said. "Think you two will be okay without me?"
Josiah waved him off. "We can manage. Oh, how was Rain?"
Nathan couldn't help but smile. "Great. They had a good harvest and all the kids are doing fine."
"Good news is always welcome," Josiah said. Taking the small grip from Paul he started into the church. "See you at supper."
Nathan had to smile. While he loved Josiah like a brother, he had never really appreciated his style of preaching. It was too calm, too philosophic. He had grown up with the energetic, hard-hitting preaching style of the slave churches. While Paul came no where near that level of enthusiasm, his style was more straightforward. While Josiah preached from the head, Paul preached from the heart.
The stranger was also preaching to a full house, Nathan noted. In a town like Four Corners the unusual was bound to bring people in. The dark healer wondered if that were the reason Paul dressed like he did, as an attraction to the crowds. He missed the first few lines of "Simple Things" during his musings. The congregation finished the Shaker hymn and started to quietly file out. From the corner of his eye Nathan caught sight of a familiar figure in a dark green jacket standing in the corner.
Despite his best effort, Nathan was immediately suspicious. Ezra never came to church. Yet, he here he was, watching the wandering preacher with a cunning look in his jade eyes. Most of the folks were smiling as they moved into the beautiful summer day, a few mentioning that, like Josiah, Paul had not passed a collection plate. As they moved outside, many people dropped silver into the poor box near the door. A few more walked forward and offered Paul money. Nathan's attention bounced between the conman and the preacher. Paul refused the money, pointing toward the poor box but took a basket of food that was offered. Ezra watched all this with an intensity that worried Nathan. Just before the last of the townspeople left, Ezra slipped quietly out.
Nathan started to follow, only to hear Paul call him. He turned to find Paul and Josiah moving toward him. Josiah had an arm around the other man and was smiling. "A wonderful sermon," Josiah was saying.
Paul only laughed. "An easy one to start with," he admitted. "Everyone is familiar with the lost sheep parable, and since it is usually so fitting in this part of the country, it gives people a comfortable feeling." He gave them an almost apologetic smile. "I'm not much on fire and brimstone. I always preferred the gentle shepherd approach."
"And would the gentle shepherd be willing to share lunch with two fire and brimstone types?" Josiah asked.
"Fire and brimstone does have its place, Josiah," Paul said.
"No word?" Nathan asked as he and Josiah came into the jail.
The answer was a quick snap of Ezra's wrist and the sudden appearance of a telegram in his hand. "You could have just said," Nathan complained.
Ezra glanced away from his game of solitaire and smiled. "Where would be the style in that?"
Josiah chuckled while Nathan read the message. "They left Eagle Bend two days ago, on their way north."
"The missive arrived only a few minutes ago," Ezra said thoughtfully. "I would suggest we give them another two days and if no further information follows pursue them."
Nathan stared at the gambler for a minute, openly shocked that he would even suggest going after the others on what would be a hard, long ride. Ezra returned his stare with a bland look and began to gather his cards. A twinge of guilt touched Nathan but a stubbornness that rivaled Ezra's made him stay silent. The smaller man rose and started out.
"If you gentlemen require anything from me, I shall be at the tables tonight," he said as he opened the door.
"Not coming to the revival meeting?" Nathan asked.
It was the first time he had mentioned the services even though Ezra's attendance for the passed three nights had been driving him crazy with questions. Ezra looked back at him and smiled, gold tooth catching the sunlight.
"No, Mr. Jackson, I have neglected my finances long enough."
"Too bad," Josiah said quietly. "Brother Paul has decided to move on tomorrow."
Nathan had started to turn toward Josiah at the statement but at the last minute watched a strange look come over Ezra's face. By the time he turned full to the gambler, the man was gone. Frowning, Nathan leaned over and watched the conman through the window. To his surprise, Ezra was headed for the church.
"See you later, Josiah," Nathan said quickly.
As soon as he was out the door, Nathan took a sharp cut down the alley that ran between the jail and the boarding house, sprinting down the outside street and coming around the corner of the hardware store, nearest the church. Just as he stopped, he could see Ezra check the street before heading into the partially finished church. He waited another few minutes then casually walked across the street and into the building.
There was no one in the chapel so Nathan headed toward the rectory. The door was closed but inside he could hear the soft whisper of things being moved. He shoved open the door.
Ezra's derringer was pointed directly at him before the door was fully open. Startled, deadly green eyes met his before the gun dropped to Ezra's side. The two men stood there staring at each other for a moment; Nathan in the realization of how close he had come to getting shot. After a minute his gaze switched to the bed. Paul's small case was open with the clothes laying in neat stacks around it. A shirt still dangled in Ezra's left hand.
"What the hell are you doing?" Nathan snapped.
The gambler was completely speechless, too startled to speak. He stared blankly at Nathan, then glanced guiltily to the floor. Nathan stepped forward and snatched the shirt out of his hand, tossing it angrily to the bed.
"This is not what it appears, Mister. Jackson," Ezra started.
"What it appears," Nathan sneered, "is that you are .…"
"What it appears is that Ezra is doing his job," Paul's deep baritone told them.
Both men started at the appearance of Paul and Josiah in the doorway. Josiah frowned, not knowing exactly what was going on. Paul, it seemed to Nathan, looked resigned. He watched as the gambler and the wandering preacher nodded to each other.
"Ezra."
"Paul. It has been a long while."
"You two know each other?" Nathan frowned.
Paul gave Ezra a friendly smile. "From a long time ago. You're looking very well, Ezra."
With a wry smile, Ezra said, "Anything would have been an improvement over the last time."
Nathan's impatience made him interrupt the small talk. "Why is Ezra going through your clothes?"
"Because I use to be in the same business as Ezra," Paul said with a sad smile.
That turned the room a little colder. Ezra gave a small shrug to the preacher, as if apologizing for getting him caught. Nathan cursed under his breath. A conman. They had been taken in by a conman. That made him frown. Had they been taken in? As far as he could tell Paul had not gained anything by his time in town.
"Use to be?" Josiah asked.
"Yes," Paul returned. "Now, I'm just a traveling preacher."
"Save your words, Paul," Ezra said quietly. "While I trust Mr. Sanchez to, by his nature, believe you, Mr. Jackson is of the opinion that cats cannot change their strips."
The words were unemotional, spoken in a lazy southern drawl, lacking Ezra's usual sarcasm, as if he were only speaking the obvious truth. The words stung, mostly because that wasn't at all what he thought, but Nathan also realized it was what he believed of Ezra.
Defensively, he pointed toward the clothes. "That still don't explain what you're doing searching…"
"I have observed Paul closely over the past three days, but could see no sign of wrongdoing." With a slight smile, Ezra continued, "However, given our relationship in the past, I felt it better to be absolutely sure that some of the townsfolk savings had not made their way into his possession."
"I expected you sooner," Paul admitted.
"If your conversion were a real one, I did not wish to bring you undue attention by voicing my doubts," Ezra said smoothly.
"And is it real, Ezra?" Paul asked.
Nathan was surprised to see how much Ezra's opinion seemed to matter to the wandering pilgrim. Ezra's green eyes narrowed until only Paul claimed his attention. After a minute an almost wistful look touched the handsome gambler's face.
"Yes, I believe it is."
Josiah slapped a large hand on Paul's back. "I never doubted it. No man can preach the gospel like you do and not believe it."
Almost as one, Nathan felt the others look at him. He glanced from Josiah to Paul, remembering the words he'd heard spoken with such passion from the pulpit. "I don't know. Maybe."
There was a soft shuffle from behind him and he looked over in time to see Ezra glance down. When the man looked up, he was wearing a grin that showed his gold tooth, but didn't reach his eyes.
"My pardons, Paul, it appears I am the only cat with unchangeable strips. Excuse me, gentlemen."
With that he was gone, sliding out and leaving Nathan to remember the carefully concealed hurt behind the bland words. Behind him he heard both the bigger men sigh, signaling that he was not the only one to see it. He turned around, trying to think of a way to explain his feelings about Ezra. Nothing seemed to make sense as it ran through his mind. Josiah threw a long arm around his shoulder, sensing his confusion.
"Come on, Nathan, let's go hear about Brother Paul's redemption."
As they sat down to dinner, Nathan glanced out the window, watching Ezra walk into the telegraph office. Nathan knew he had been checking for messages almost since the day the others had left. Why was he so worried? Wasn't Ezra only here because his only other option was prison? More conflicting thoughts to add to the myriad he was already fighting with.
"Ezra's one of the things that brought me into the light," Paul said quietly.
Both Nathan and Josiah looked over at him. He smiled sadly, saying, "Seven years ago I was running bogus mining claims along the Mississippi. I met Ezra in St Louise. He was gambling then but I knew of his and his mother's reputation along the river. We became… acquaintances."
Nathan didn't miss the use of the term.
"Ya'll ran cons together?" Josiah asked.
"No, we were still planning our first when the one I was in the midst of was discovered. The short of it was that I was about to be found out, so I turned the trail to Ezra and let him take the consequences." The soothing voice softened and Paul had to swallow twice. "I was there when the four men I had conned caught him."
"What did they do?" Nathan asked, afraid to know.
"They beat him," Paul said quietly. "I had planted the money on him, so they got it back. Then they dropped him on his horse and rode him out of town."
As he spoke, Ezra came out of the telegraph office empty handed, moved to his place in front of the jail, stretched out his legs and began to shuffle his cards. Nathan watched, trying to imagine what betrayal like that would feel like. He was thankful he couldn't.
"As I was riding away, all I could see was Ezra's face as he realized what I had done. He wasn't surprised or even disappointed, there was only a sort of weary acceptance, the sort of look that said it had all happened to him before."
"Just as I'm sure Ezra can't tell you why he stays here," Paul continued. "I can't tell you why I suddenly found myself riding after him. I found him a few miles out of town. He'd finally fallen off his horse. I took him to a convent hospital just outside of town."
"Is that where the Lord called you?" Josiah asked.
Paul smiled. "No, but it's where He started nagging me."
"I can understand that," Josiah laughed.
"A few more things happened between there and here. I decided to try the old preaching scam, figuring it to be less harmful than some. One day I found myself standing in front of a crowd of miners, only all I could see were the men I'd cheated – and Ezra. Next thing I know I'm crying like a baby, asking forgiveness. This little boy wandered out of the congregation and patted me on the hand; "God'll forgive you, Mr. Preacher."
"Out of the mouth of babes," Josiah said sagely.
"And here I am," Paul said, spreading his arms.
"Your faith is more solid than mine, brother," Josiah said a little wistfully. "I wish I could say I had an epiphany such as yours."
Paul turned his attention to the man sitting in front of the jail. "Ezra's a man ready for an epiphany as well. And it would seem he is close to finding it."
Nathan sighed. "I can understand a man being called, and it being enough to change him, but Ezra ain't had that happen."
"Ezra has changed," Paul said.
"How?" Josiah asked.
"Before, he would have never stayed in a town like this." Paul turned his gaze to Nathan. "And he wouldn't have cared about your opinion of him."
Nathan flinched at that, remembering the night he had found Ling Po in Ezra's room, the disappointment in Ezra's expression. The man had demanded an apology, one that Nathan still hadn't given. "I don't understand him. Why does he jump from caring to acting like…"
"It's always harder to change when people think you can't," Paul observed.
Once more Nathan thought of the past year, and sighed. "I just can't get past some of the things he's done."
"You have with me," Paul observed.
Shaking his head, Nathan admitted, "Maybe it's cause I ain't actually seen you do nothing."
"Or that you don't have a Rebel accent," Josiah volunteered.
Nathan's head snapped up, eyes narrowing. "It ain't that," he said coldly.
"A erate thought." Josiah raised his hands in surrender.
Paul shook his head. "It sounds, Brother Nathan, as if nothing short of a miracle is going to change your mind about Ezra."
"If that is the case," Josiah said, slapping Nathan on the back, "then we are long overdue for a miracle."
Feeling ashamed of his doubts about Ezra, Nathan managed to smile at the other two. "Yeah, well, it'll take that or him going more'n a week without skinning some poor bastard at cards."
"Those poor bastards know who they're up against," Josiah reminded him, once more taking the gambler's defense.
They fell into silence as they finished eating.
"Another fine meal, friends," Paul commented as he stood.
Nathan tossed down two bits and followed the other two out. The day was a little cooler as dusk approached bringing a breeze in from the west.
Looking toward the jail, Paul said, "I have never asked for Ezra's forgiveness. I think now might be a good time."
Knowing that he also owed Ezra an apology, Nathan nevertheless headed for the hardware store. "I'm gonna get those nails and meet you later," he called over his shoulder to Josiah. The man waved his acknowledgement.
As Nathan started across he noticed two riders coming slowly down the street. He was only a few feet from the sidewalk when the sound of breaking glass erupted from behind him and the horses were suddenly bearing down on him. His gun came out as he spun to face the riders. Gunfire filled the afternoon.
"Nathan!"
Someone hit him hard enough to send him spinning toward the plank boards of the walk. Over the barrage of gunfire he heard the quiet sound of pain. He let the momentum carry him into the relative safety of the nearest doorway. One of the horsemen was drawing down on him. Nathan ducked back, shooting up. The second rider baled off, rolling into the safety of the jail door. The rider struck by Nathan's bullet was thrown hard off his horse to land in the street next to –
"Ezra.…" Nathan whispered. He started to move toward the downed man only to be driven back by a bullet from the same sniper who had shot Ezra. Still behind the narrow doorway, Nathan turned his attention to the southerner.
Ezra was lying on his side, one arm flung above his head, the other twisted under him. There was blood running fast down his face, already soaking the gently blowing dust. The pooling blood caused a sense of relief to the healer. He had learned early what to look for in a battlefield full of dead, dying and some that could be saved. Dead men didn't bleed against the pull of gravity. The gambler was alive, but there was a frightening stillness to him. The gunfire died, nothing on the street moving except the frills on Ezra's white shirt.
Holding his position was tough but Nathan knew Josiah would be on his way, knew he was probably coming up the back alley. There were at least three of the men, though Nathan suspected there were more, probably in the bank. They were in a standoff now, each side waiting for the other to move. Nathan prayed that they didn't have hostages in the bank. It was just after closing even through it wasn't dark yet.
His suspicions were confirmed when a voice called from the bank. "You, on the street. Stand up and throw your gun out or…."
A bullet sent a spray of dirt over Ezra's head, blending nastily with the blood that now covered his face and neck.
"I'm counting ten!" The robber threatened.
Nathan leaned his head against the wood doorframe, then raised it to search desperately around for Josiah. There was no sign of the other man. He couldn't let the men rob the bank, neither could he let them kill Ezra. Just as he moved to throw out his gun, Paul stepped out of the alley nearest him and walked toward Ezra.
"Paul!" Nathan yelled. "Get out of there!"
The other man ignored him, striding steadily on to kneel by the gambler, white robe bringing a swirl of dust behind him. Nathan brought his gun up, ready to start firing, to offer cover. But nothing happened; not a single shot sounded. Nathan watched in stunned silence as Paul rolled the small gambler over and lifted him easily. In the same errie silence the preacher carried his burden to the opposite alley, safe from the gunfire from either direction. Paul sat down, resting Ezra against his chest. Even from the distance Nathan could see the sorrow that entered the man's warm eyes.
"Please, God," Nathan whispered. "Please, make it a graze. I can't do nothing for…"
His voice died as a shot splintered the wood near his head. Another shot sounded close by the first one, only it was followed by a strangled scream. Nathan looked toward the bank roof and was greeted by the wonderful sight of Josiah waving at him. Smiling ferally, Nathan started to move, keeping low behind the items out in front of the dry goods store, then using the water tough. The men in the bank could wait. Once they took out the one near the jail the others were effectively trapped. Nathan cast one more quick glance to the two motionless men in the alley then all his attention went to the job. They had to get those men before he would be able to care for his wounded companion.
Josiah had disappeared from the roof and Nathan knew with complete certainty that he was headed for the alley nearest the jail. While Josiah was not the shot Vin was, he would have the robber from the side. As if he was watching thoughts become reality, Nathan saw the robber whirl toward a sound. The outlaw came up just enough that Nathan's shot took him through the back. Three down, Nathan counted grimly.
"In the bank!" Josiah shouted, his deep voice carrying through the quiet street. "Your men are down out here. Come out with your hands up and we'll get them some doctoring, those that ain't beyond it."
There was deadly silence. Nathan kept his gun up but once more looked toward Paul and Ezra. The wandering preacher had a piece of cloth pressed to Ezra's head, his other hand under the gambler's cheek, holding him in place. Even through the gathering darkness Nathan could see Paul's lips moving, knew immediately he was praying. Anger overrode the worry in Nathan's chest. Ezra was not going to die! He had an apology to make and fate was not going to cheat him out of it!
He popped up over the wood barrier, fired a shot that shattered the bank's window. "Get your goddamn asses out here before I decide to just shoot up the place!"
Almost immediately the door opened; four pistols and two rifles sailing out to land in the dirt. Two men came slowly out, glaring at Nathan. Josiah sprinted forward, pushed the men into the street and toward the jail. Nathan started toward him but was waved away.
"See to Ezra," Josiah shouted, worry and anger evident in his voice.
Nathan didn't need to be urged, especially with a few of the braver townsfolk approaching with guns out. Turning, he sprinted toward the alley. Nathan's heart sank as he knelt down in front of the two men. Ezra was laying in a limp sprawl across Paul's large chest. Paul's head was down, resting against Ezra's, tears trailing down into the gambler's blood soaked hair.
"Paul?" Nathan choked.
"He's alive," Paul said shakily. "But.…"
Nathan held his breath as the bloody cloth was eased aside. At the edge of the dark brown hair was a ragged hole barely visible through the seeping blood. A hole. Not a graze, not a gash, a small, deadly hole. Nathan tried to breath, fought to keep it from coming out a sob.
"We need him upstairs," he said calmly. "Try'n keep his head still."
Very carefully they shifted Ezra, making sure his head rested against Paul's shoulder then walked slowly to the clinic. Blood still poured from the wound. The gambler was limp and frighteningly quiet, only the slow rise and fall of his chest assuring the two men that he was still alive. They eased him down on the bed. Nathan reached for Ezra's narrow wrist, surprised to find the pulse fast but steady. He then grabbed a handful of bandages and pressed them to the wound.
"What can I do?" Paul asked.
"Need boiled water and get me a razor."
Behind him he heard the longhaired preacher move off. Nathan stood and reached for the scissors to cut away Ezra's dark hair. Kneeling next to Ezra's head, he took a deep breath and forced himself to examine the wound. The bleeding was almost stopped. With a couple of fingers just behind Ezra's ear, he tilted the gambler's head toward the meager lamplight. A slight lump moved under his fingers. Nathan flinched, knowing it was probably bone. He pressed the cloth back down.
Nathan leaned away, afraid to look further. Ezra was laying here because of him, because the contrary gambler had taken the bullet for him. How could he even begin to figure the man out when he constantly changed Nathan's opinion with his actions? A new flicker of guilt joined the storm already raging in his chest. Maybe he needed to quit trying to judge his friend and just accept him, good and bad.
He put his hand on Ezra's chest, felt the gentle, even breaths. Now, beyond the fear there was a touch of confusion. Ezra's pulse and breathing were steady. As he moved back to the wound there was a stampede of footsteps up the stairs and the jumble of voices distracted him for a second. He heard Chris' voice firing questions then Josiah answering.
With soft touches he felt around the swelling entrance wound in the front, at the hairline. Moving the lamp closer, he saw the rise of swollen flesh that led along Ezra's skull to the spot behind his ear. With a single finger Nathan followed along the ridge, feeling only swelling, no breaks, no pieces of bone, nothing leaking from the wounds but blood. Nathan took another breath, afraid to believe what his touches were telling him. He pressed harder, still feeling intact bone and the shifting hard lump. He repeated the moves, then again, and again. Grabbing his scalpel and praying he was right, he cut over the hard area. The bullet fell into his hand.
Pressing a cloth over the incision, he sank back to the floor. "Dear sweet Jesus, thank you," he breathed.
The door behind him opened and Paul stepped in using several cloths to carry a large steaming pot. Nathan looked up at him, still stunned by what he had discovered. Paul looked down, taking the surprised expression on his face to mean the worst. Behind him Nathan could see Josiah and the others crowded around the door.
"Nathan," Josiah questioned, "is he…?"
"It didn't go in," Nathan said. He looked up at them and smiled, the relief leaving him lightheaded. "It didn't go in!"
"Nathan?" Chris' stern voice brought his attention back down.
He looked back at the still gambler. The reality was that Ezra had taken a hard shot to the head. Nathan fought down the hope and joy that had engulfed him when he realized that the bullet had not pierced skull and brain. Struggling back to his patient's side, he motioned Chris and Josiah forward. Paul had settled the pot on the sideboard, was reaching for a stack of clean clothes, dipping the end of one in the water before bringing it over to Nathan.
Once more, with featherlight touches Nathan traced from the entrance wound back to the small neat cut. "Bullet curved right along his skull, just other the skin," he explained.
"Damn," Chris muttered in awe. The black clad gunslinger looked down at Nathan. "Will he be all right?"
Honesty made Nathan say, "It was a bad hit." He knew he should have continued, should have told Chris Ezra might never wake, might not be right if he did, might be blind, might – but he didn't. Nathan looked down at the pale gambler "I think he'll be okay, know more when he wakes up."
From the door, he heard a collective sigh. Chris put a hand on his shoulder. "Soon as we get some food, we'll take turns sitting with him."
Nathan looked up. "Ya'll look bushed, take your time. I'm gonna put a few stitches in here, leave 'em a little open so they drain,"
The five other men, moved away with tired footsteps, leaving Nathan and Paul alone with the wounded man. Nathan picked up the scissors and started trimming away the dark hair. "Paul, can you bring that water over?"
The night stretched out around the small clinic. The others had argued over staying or taking turns, but Nathan had convinced them that they would be more help later in the day, when Ezra was awake. Even as he said it, he prayed he was right, that Ezra would be awake, that he would come out of the darkness whole.
Nathan laughed at that thought, running his hand down Ezra's cool arm to check his pulse. "That'd sure surprise you, wouldn't it, Ezra? Me worried about you getting back to normal?"
Red streaks of dawn were just showing through the window when the door opened. Nathan started, hand going for the gun that he had taken off. He blinked, eyes focusing on Paul. The big man held out his hands.
"Sorry, Brother Nathan," he whispered. "I was restless and thought I might check on our friend."
Rubbing his face, Nathan said, "Damn, must have dozed off."
A barely audible moan brought both men to the patient's side. Nathan knelt by the bed, moving the lamp closer. Ezra's hand twitched as he tried to raise it.
Holding it down, Nathan said quietly, "Ezra, you there?"
Long minutes went by before the green eyes opened, staring up at him. It seemed like another eternity before recognition touched Ezra's expression. "Nathan?"
A wide smile lit Nathan's face. A large hand touched his shoulder and he looked up at Paul, giving him a quick nod. Pointing toward the water bucket, he silently asked for water. As Paul reached for the tin cup, Nathan returned his attention to the wounded man. Ezra was still trying to bring his hand up, still blinking to clear his vision. When Paul handed him the water, Nathan slipped his hand behind the gambler's head.
"Water, Ezra," Nathan said. "Sip slow."
"Just water?" Ezra questioned suspiciously.
Nathan laughed, overjoyed to hear the man arguing with him. "Just water."
Taking it slowly Ezra finished the cup - and immediately turned pale. Nathan reacted, grabbing a pail kept nearby for just such emergencies. With a moan Ezra vomited the water he'd just been given. Nathan held his shoulder, frowning in sympathy. When there was nothing left, Ezra gave another small moan, letting his head fall forward to the edge of the bed. Moving carefully so as to not rock the bed, Nathan lay a damp clothe over Ezra's neck, handed the man another one. Rolling his head slowly sideways, Ezra smiled his thanks as he wiped his mouth.
Nathan tilted Ezra's head up slightly so he could check the swelling that stretched from near Ezra's eye to the back of his neck. His left eye was swollen shut. Ezra's right eye closed and he endured the examine without complaint. Nathan moved his head back to the center of the pillow.
"It looks pretty good, Ezra," Nathan said cheerfully.
"It being what, Mr. Jackson?" Ezra asked, wincing with each word.
"You got shot yesterday," Nathan explained. It wasn't surprising that Ezra didn't remember the shooting.
Ezra's forehead wrinkled, both in pain and an attempt to remember the day. "I remember glass breaking, a shot from the… bank?"
"You didn't lose much then," Nathan assured him. "Just getting yourself shot saving my sorry hide."
A slight smile touched Ezra's mouth. "Rest assured, Mr. Jackson, it was not my intent to get injured keeping your hide in acceptable shape. It was only the turn of the card."
Not arguing, Nathan slipped a hand under the man's arm and eased him back into the pillows. The simple move caused Ezra to snap his eye shut and pant slightly against being sick again. After giving the gambler a minute to recover, Nathan checked his eye, asked him to move his legs and hands, listened to his breathing. With each successful pass, his smile grew a little wider, and Ezra's frown a little deeper.
When he was finally finished, he pulled the cover up to Ezra's shoulders. Blinking, Ezra observed, "I take it, that it was a nearer thing than either of us would care to see repeated."
Meeting the sleepy expression, Nathan answered seriously, "Nearer than any I've seen." Standing, he lay a hand on Ezra's arm. "Thank you, Ezra."
"You're welcome, Mr. Jackson," Ezra whispered, voice fading. The handsome features smoothed out as Ezra relaxed into sleep.
Nathan patted his shoulder then stood and stretched. Paul was standing quietly behind him, watching Ezra. "May I sit with him? You could probably use a break."
Sensing that Paul wanted to talk to Ezra alone, Nathan nodded. "Yeah. I need to let the others know he's awake, seems okay. Cain't tell much with just a few words but –"
"But he will be alright," Paul agreed with Nathan's unspoken assessment. When Nathan looked strangely at him, he smiled. "It would be a poor miracle indeed if he weren't okay after all this."
Nathan gave a short snort of disbelief and agreement. "Reckon it ain't my place to question miracles."
Starting toward the door, Paul's voice called him back when he asked, "Is this the miracle Josiah was speaking of earlier?"
The conversation from the restaurant came back to Nathan and he stared thoughtfully at the sleeping gambler but didn't answer directly. "When he wakes up again, give him as much water as you can. I'll be back in a couple of hours, bring ya'll both some food. We'll wake him then, make sure he's okay."
Nathan was sitting in front of the saloon with a beer in his hand when Josiah joined him, yanking up another chair and kicking his feet up to the cross rail. It was approaching dark and Nathan knew it was time for him to be getting back upstairs.
"You're looking very thoughtful there, Nathan," Josiah observed.
"Just thinking about miracles," Nathan admitted.
"That's a fairly large topic," Josiah said levelly, knowing what Nathan was thinking on.
Ignoring the statement, Nathan cut right to the problem. "He saved my life, Josiah, even after all the grief I done give him."
"Maybe he saved your life for the same reason you give him grief," Josiah said after a minute of silence. "'Cause you're friends."
That answer brought his head around. "What?"
"You care about him," Josiah said firmly. "You want him to live up to your morals, which makes you try to change him. Ezra is more forgiving than you, Nathan. He's willing to 'judge not least ye be judged.'"
Nathan said defensively. "I just don't like him cheating people…"
"I ain't saying Ezra's a saint," Josiah said as he stood. "But sometimes change is hard to see if you're too close."
Nathan watched him go, then leaned back, once more studying the darkness. After a minute he went into the saloon to retrieve a cup of coffee for Ezra, hoping it would ease the headache he knew the gambler would be nursing.
Paul stood as Nathan came into the room, closing the Bible he'd had in his hands. Nathan gave him a look of disbelief which caused him to laugh. The laugh caused Ezra, who was propped up on several pillows, to blink up at them, obviously having trouble focusing on the dark healer.
"No, I am not working on saving Ezra's sinful soul, Nathan," Paul explained. "We were actually just recounting some of the better verses to use in revivals, whether real or not."
Shaking his head at the two, Nathan ventured carefully, "Ezra, how are you feeling?"
"While I confess the room still insist on executing the oddest sideways tilts, not unlike a waltz move, I am feeling decidedly better."
"How long you been awake?" Nathan asked, coming over and sitting on the bedside.
"Perhaps an hour," Ezra said, yawning.
"Long enough for me to be heading to bed," Paul suddenly volunteered. He stepped forward and laid a hand on Ezra's upper arm. "Sleep well, Ezra. I'll say a prayer for you tonight."
His voice was lighter now. It was obvious to Nathan that the two men had spent much of the night talking. It was also evident that Paul was now leaving to give Nathan his chance to come to terms with the contrary conman.
"Any help would be more than welcome, Paul," Ezra said. Nathan tilted his head at the soft words. There was no sarcasm in them, no mockery, just an honest yearning for something that Nathan could only guess at; friendship, peace, whatever it was, Nathan found himself hoping that Ezra would get it.
With a final goodnight, Paul disappeared into the star-filled evening, leaving Nathan sitting next to his patient. A sudden unease filled the small clinic and Nathan cursed himself for feeling so awkward. To escape the silence, he asked, "You want some broth, Ezra? Inez…"
"No, thank you. My stomach and I have yet to reach a pact regarding consuming anything." His hand moved toward his temple.
Nathan snagged his hand, ignoring the glare. "Don't touch that."
Despite the glare, Ezra looked seriously at Nathan. "I seem to be slightly incapacitated concerning the vision in my left eye."
There was the slightest quiver to his voice that softened Nathan's heart. "It's just swelling from the wound."
More silence then Nathan somehow found the words he needed to break the stalemate. "I need to apologize to you, Ezra."
The hazy green eyes stared at him for a moment. Realization dawned on Ezra but to Nathan's dismay, anger took the place of confusion. "Well, Mr. Jackson, it's good to know that the only thing one has to do to gain an apology from you is nearly die in your stead."
The words were sharp, the tone as cutting as a sword. Nathan took them quietly, knowing he deserved them. "It ain't like that, Ezra. I've been knowing for weeks that I should have said something. I was wrong to suspect you of taking advantage of Lo Ping. You're a cheat and a gambler, Ezra, but you are a gentleman."
To Nathan's amazement, Ezra snapped his gaze away, staring down at the soft quilt that covered him. The gambler took a deep shaky breath. "My apologizes also, Nathan. I did not mean to imply that my actions were to gain your indebtedness."
The smooth southern voice grew a little softer. "During all my travels and trials, I have never had anyone apologize for misunderstanding me, or for causing me a wrong, now I'm faced with two in the same evening." He looked up and smiled at Nathan, though there was the slightest hint of tears in the sparkling eye. "It's a little overwhelming."
Seeing that Ezra was fighting to hide his reaction, Nathan patted his leg. "Well, in my case, it was due 'fore now." He stuck his hand out and Ezra moved carefully to take.
Lightening his voice, Nathan clucked softly, "Damn, Ezra, you ain't at your handsomest right now. Especially with the new hair cut."
Whatever traces of sleep Ezra had been showing fled at that statement. "Haircut?" His voice went up just a little.
Nathan could tell me was upset by the one word question. Raising his hands in surrender, he said, "Now, Ezra, it'll grow back."
"Grow back!" Ezra tried to sit back up but the nausea pushed him back down. "I need a mirror." Despite his outrage his voice was fading into sleep again.
"What you need," Nathan said quietly, "is to rest."
"Honestly, Mr. Jackson, while I appreciate your…. medical skills… I fail to…"
"Paul, take care now," Nathan said as he offered his hand to the wandering preacher. The day was already getting warm despite it not being much past nine. "Don't go walking about with a canteen. It's hot as hell out there…"
Paul laughed, turning to Ezra. "He is one to go on, isn't he?"
"Yes," Ezra agreed. "I have often wondered that Mr. Jackson isn't a preacher."
"Shut up, Ezra," Nathan said. "And go sit down 'fore you fall down."
Ezra gave him a smile that was marred by the swollen eye as well as the bandage visible just under the slightly askew black hat. He shook hands with Paul then headed for the saloon. Josiah watched him go.
"Ya'll must have had quite a talk," Josiah observed. "Ezra was actually up before noon to see you off."
"Ezra is a forgiving person. I think he understands temptation better than anyone, since he fights it so often." Turning his gaze to Nathan, he said, "But don't expect that cat to chance overnight. He will be back winning very soon."
Nathan smiled. "I'll be looking for it."
They shared a laugh at that then with a slight salute with his staff the preacher set off toward the edge of town. He waved at the stage as it thundered pass him. Josiah and Nathan watched the unusual figure disappear into the distance. Turning together they went into the saloon, both opting for a real breakfast rather than the liquid kind at that hour. Ezra nodded at them from his usual table.
"I'm surprised Ezra let you put that bandage on him," Josiah observed.
"It was his idea." Nathan grinned. "Said he'd rather have it than the "sheep shearing" that I had left him with."
Two gentlemen walked in then, both carrying bags, one dressed eastern style, the other like a well to do rancher. The rancher addressed Josiah, ignoring Nathan.
"Excuse me, sir, is there a place to find some amusement at this hour of the morning?" he asked. "Until the noon stage."
"Poker table's open," Josiah volunteered.
"Thank you."
"Gambler's good," Nathan warned calmly.
The other man looked at him with a question.
"But," Nathan added, "he ain't at his best, what with just being shot and all."
The stranger offered him a tilt of the hat and they started for Ezra's table.
When they were out of hearing, Josiah chuckled. "Nathan, were you leading those gentlemen on?"
"Well," Nathan said with a smile of his own, "someone had to warn them. He is good."
"And?" Josiah insisted.
"I figured he's gonna play that bandage for all it was worth, so's I might as well help him along."
Josiah laughed. "Guess miracles come all sizes." He stood, leaning down to say softly, "And understanding is the greatest miracle of all."
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