PART 5
James Rosen paced atop a plateau just south of Four Corners. He was a tall, robust man, barely feeling his fifty-odd years. He still stood straight and strong and only the lines on his face gave any indication of age. His men, or what was left of them, gave him a wide berth as he tried to quench his anger. He gazed towards Four Corners, his eyes glistening with a bitter wrath as his hands rolled into fists at his side. His son had disobeyed him-again. The plan had been to check out the town first. Bryce was supposed to wait until he returned from Purgatory, hopefully with more men. But his son had decided to try and take the bank without him, convincing his men to follow.
James knew his son was just trying to prove himself, but damnit did he have to get most of his gang killed. It wasn't like good outlaws grew on trees. In fact, he couldn't find anyone in Purgatory to join up with him to take the bank in Four Corners, everyone he asked just laughed and walked away.
The seven gunslingers protecting the town was a surprise—just the kind of information that Bryce should have been seeking, the fool! James glared at a gang that had gone from a strong force of twelve down to a dispirited three.
Nick Farley stood off to the side, his hands hitched in his gun belt, trying to remain as inconspicuous as possible. He didn't want to incur the old man's wrath. He was as nasty as his son and Nick knew he was in for a world of hurt. Frank McClure stood nonchalantly a few feet away. Both men were young and ambitious, Frank had been with James Rosen the longest and held a healthy respect for the man, but also knew his time was drawing to an end.
James pinched the bridge of his nose. "Tell me again-what happened?"
Nick swallowed the lump that blocked his ability to speak. James Rosen continued to glare with diminishing patience.
"Umm," Nick began. "Them lawmen were like an army. We didn't have no chance. I seen Bryce go into a building, I think it was a newspaper business. A fancy dressed fella followed after him."
James rubbed his chin, scratching at the graying beard. "What happened next?"
"Bullets were flyin' every wheres, boss! I shot everything I had. The other boys were all layin' dead in the street." Nick's mind raced as he tried to rationalize his own existence. "I got myself hid. I reckoned I best get back here and tell you what happened," Nick tried to sound righteous.
James slowly exhaled and crossed his arms over his chest. Frank elbowed Nick into continuing.
"Boss, we didn't stand a chance but I got one of 'em. He had a bead on me 'a course—but I was faster than he was." Nick's grin grew with pride. "Yes, sir. Shot him right in the heart." Frank almost laughed out loud. He had seen Farley shoot the lawman in the back, oh well..let the man have his glory.
Rosen turned his glare to his third man, Pete Willis, who was about the same age as him and probably wanted in as many places. Unlike James, Willis looked all of his fifty-plus years and then some. Willis just spit a wad of tobacco to the side and shrugged. "Just followin' orders, boss, took off when I see there was no chance of taking the bank."
James glared at what was left of his band. There was certainly a downside to having men who never questioned orders. "Did any of you see my son get shot?"
"No sir, I didn't hear no gunshots in that building either," Nick exclaimed. "I figure Bryce was captured."
James pursed his lips. Would his son ever learn? Bryce was rash and headstrong, wrapped with a mean streak, making him one of the most wanted men in the territory. James had hoped that Bryce wouldn't follow in his footsteps but at the same time, he was proud of his son. He had been the same way some thirty-odd years ago, but he never took the risky chances that his son did.
James bowed and shook his head. If Bryce was still alive, he'd have to find a way to free him, and with seven gunslingers, or maybe just six now, protecting the town he might have to get more men or very creative. James' planning was interrupted as Frank excitedly exclaimed, "Hey! Lookie over here! Somebody is riding fast down there." McClure fell flat on the rock overlooking the long level plain stretched out before him. It was an excellent vantage point and he could see clear back to Four Corners.
"My ain't he a flashy dresser, just like a peacock." McClure chuckled, aiming at the flamboyant target. He felt like a kid shooting a tin duck at the St. Louis fairgrounds. The barrel of his gun tracked the rider's straight path across the desert.
"It's him!" Nick Farley yelled. "That's the lawman that ambushed Bryce! I'd know 'im anywhere!"
James squinted at the distant horse and rider. Well, well inspiration had just dropped into his lap. "Wing 'im, Frank. He might come in handy."
M7M7M7M7
Ezra urged Chaucer faster; feeling the power of the animal under him, hoping the exhilarating speed would chase away the ache in his soul. He knew he could never run far enough to bring himself any peace or find the answers he needed. Four Corners had become the closest thing to a home he'd ever known. He was not ready to give that up but maybe the decision wasn't his to make. He had been chased out of towns before, but never by people he considered friends.
Ezra had been taught to wall his feelings into a neat little pen. Occasionally, one would escape. He would regret that, of course, because when they did, they always got hurt. He would recapture his stray feelings, cage them, and keep a tighter guard. But the corralled emotions were changing: six men were slowly taming those feelings and allowing them to exist in freedom.
Ezra stared off at the straight-lined horizon; it looked like he could ride off the edge. He would stay; he would not be so easily run out of this town. The decision gave him a little peace, that peace was destroyed as McClure's bullet tore through his shoulder, shattering a fragile resolve. Ezra careened backward over his horse's flanks. His hip striking the ground first sending a searing agony through his leg. That pain deadened the torment when his head slammed the ground.
M7M7M7M7M
"Damn it, Frank, I wanted him alive!" Rosen watched as the gambler somersaulted off his horse to land in a tangled heap on the ground the horse circling back and standing over his fallen rider. 'Damn fine horse,' Rosen thought.
"He's alive." Frank sneered, taking affront at Rosen's lack of confidence in his marksmanship. "Unless his neck got broke in that fall."
James glared at the sharpshooter. McClure was the only man that could get away with such disrespect. His expertise with a rifle had earned him that privilege.
"Farley!" Rosen bellowed. "You and McClure go git that sack of shit and bring him to me." He paced petulantly while the two men mounted their horses. "Alive, you idiots! I want him alive!"
Rosen continued to pace upon the dry mesa. His boots crunched the loose rock in the silence that followed his men's departure. In the distance, he could see the colorful red jacket on the crumpled body. If Bryce wasn't dead, maybe this lawman was the key to getting him back without further bloodshed. Not that he shied away from bloodshed. He was just getting too old for all this conflict. The only fight he dreamed of now was in the arms of his feisty senorita, let Bryce run his own gang of marauders. Once this was done, and his son was safe, he was done.
M7M7M7M7
McClure reached the dust-covered heap first and used the toe of his boot to hoist the limp body up and flip it over.
"Careful, McClure!" Farley scolded jumping from his horse. He didn't want to piss off Rosen by bringing back a corpse. McClure sneered at his cohort and knelt next to the gambler. He was out like a light but definitely breathing. Frank took hold of Ezra's jacket lapel and pulled it aside yanking it past his shoulder to expose the bleeding bullet wound.
"See Farley!" McClure chuckled, "I winged him, just like the boss told me to."
Frank continued to pull the jacket and white linen shirt off the unconscious gambler, rolling him over allowing Ezra's face to scrap against the sandy earth. The bullet's exit hole oozed a steady stream of dark blood. The outlaw used his knife to cut strips from the linen shirt and packed the wound. Ezra felt the pressure and grunted. He weakly tried to sit up but Frank effortlessly shoved him back to the ground and finished binding the wound. There wasn't much left of the shirt so McClure pulled the lawman's jacket back into place over the bandages.
"Is that it, then?" Farley asked. "His neck ain't broken?"
"How the hell do I know?" McClure gathered Ezra's arms together and pinned his wrists as Farley tossed him a length of rope to tie them together.
"I ain't no doctor. He's alive for now, so let's git him back to Rosen, quick." The two men lifted Ezra and tossed him across his horse. Chaucer smelled blood and tried to sidestep from the group but Farley grabbed the reins jerking the animal into submission then leaped upon his horse.
"Wait!" McClure called. He stooped, picking up Ezra's low crown hat abandoned in the dust, and swapped it for his old beat-up one. "So, what do you think?" McClure asked.
"Looks real good on ya, Frank," Farley placated. "Real good."
TBC