Title: Lady Marshal, part 3 of 4
Author: Tipper
Disclaimer: see part one.
Lady Marshal, part three
Chapter Four: The Aftermath
It hadn't taken the Ancient and his men long to round up he bulk of the cattle they'd lost, although a few mavericks were still wandering about by themselves. Soon, they were moving back the way the came, although in a more westerly direction. If anything went wrong, Moore had a pre-planned rendezvous point for them to meet. As the Ancient looked back at the two deathly quiet prisoners, and at the equally quiet Emily, he figured this classified as something going very wrong. With any luck, Moore would soon learn of the disaster and meet up with them.
They left the dead man where he had fallen, expecting that the predators in the area would soon take care of the body. They didn't see the chestnut horse that appeared from out of the woods after they left, the quarter horse quickly taking up a protective stance over his rider.
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The town was quiet when Vin and JD rode in that evening. They'd dropped the cattle off at the James ranch on the way in, and, surprisingly enough, Stuart James had not only thanked them heartily, but had offered to let them borrow some men to help guard the prisoners. The two lawmen thanked him but said no, though they also asked if any of the other Seven had been by. James had said that he himself had only returned an hour earlier, so didn't know for sure, but he'd keep an eye out.
Now, as they entered the town, they realized it was much too quiet for the others to have beaten them here. The knots in Vin's stomach continued to twist as they put Cash and his men in jail, and he immediately went outside to watch for Chris and the rest. JD sat behind his desk and pulled out a deck of cards that Ezra had given him to play with. The gambler had told him they were marked, but so far JD hadn't been able to figure out how. Sighing, he started to play solitaire.
Mary and Inez came by almost immediately to ask questions, although Inez had also had the forethought to bring them some food. Just as Vin was starting to tell the story, he heard the approach of more riders. Looking up, he saw Chris, Josiah and the Marshal coming in hard…and alone.
"What happened?" Vin called, stepping away from Mary and Inez. Chris pulled Solon up hard in front of the jail and looked at the tracker with cold eyes.
"They got away," he stated quietly. "How'd you fare?"
"We got Cash and his boys. Dropped off the twenty head they had at the James ranch."
Chris nodded, and dismounted. Josiah and the Marshal had already gotten down and were tying up their horses. The evening light played tricks on their faces, deepening the shadows and making them look pale and ghostlike. Vin shook for the third time that day, and wrapped his arms tightly about his body.
"Buck and the others back yet?" Josiah asked, looking for the familiar horses near the saloon.
"No, though we only just got here ourselves," JD answered from the door to the jail. "They should be back soon."
Vin shut his eyes and turned away, no longer trusting himself to hide his worry from the others. Chris and Josiah saw the move, and the preacher looked unconsciously towards the sky. It was pinking against the darkening atmosphere, the red sun bruising the clouds that drifted across the manse. Then the shriek of a crow broke the quiet, and Josiah's eyes widened. He looked over at the man in black, who was watching him with equal intensity.
Chris threw up a hand, "No. Not one word, Josiah. Not one word."
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The man woke with a start, his first thoughts being that he couldn't see. It only took a few minutes for him to realize that it was because it was dark out and he was looking at the ground through a whole mess of dark hair. Brushing it back, his hand accidentally brushed the wound in the back of his head and he cried out in pain.
A chestnut colored stallion was there instantly, snuffling around the man's head, trying to rouse him. The man brushed him away, not understanding the intent. Slowly, with one hand holding onto his neck, the man got to his knees. The pain radiating down his neck from his skull was so intense, it nearly drowned out everything else and threatened to send him back to oblivion. Gamely, he fought against the urge and looked around. A black hat lay nearby and he unthinkingly placed it on his head, though he did avoid the gash he knew existed just below its brim.
He was lying at the edge of a small wood and he could hear a small river rushing nearby. Before him was an empty clearing, though the trampled grass and black fire pit suggested that it had become empty only today…or maybe tonight. He squinted around at the black and blue landscape, and at the moon and stars above. It was a full moon, thankfully, and his eyes adjusted quickly.
The stallion came up next to the man again and lowered his head. The man looked up at the horse in puzzlement for a moment, until he realized that the horse was offering to act as something for him to lean on.
"Thank you," he whispered, putting his hand on the horses golden hide. With a lot of grunting, somehow the man got to his feet. He vision swam vividly, and if the horse hadn't been there, the man was certain he would have fallen over again. Somehow, the horse got up right close to him, catching him as he listed to the side.
"Thank you again," he smiled, patting him. "You're a good horse." He stumbled a bit until he was standing up straight, grimacing as he felt something against his ribs. With care, he extracted the book out of his waistcoat and tried to read the title in the moonlight.
"Othello," he muttered, staring at the odd name, "by William Shakespeare." He looked over at the horse, which was obviously keeping close tabs on him. He held the book up and smiled thinly. "I suppose I should know who this is, huh, horse. Of course, I probably also know who you are…or…who I am." He frowned, and his knees threatened to buckle again. Instantly, the horse was there, acting as a brace. The man leaned against him, tucking the book back inside his vest, and took in the horse's heady smell. It seemed to clear his head a little. Gingerly, he reached up to grab the saddlehorn.
"Well, perhaps you can help me get to someone who can tell me," he told the horse, pulling himself up onto its back. With a gentle nudge of the knees, the man sent the horse into a steady walk. Pretty soon, it was all the man could do to stay conscious as the dark scenery blurred past. Chaucer slowed down instinctively, shifting his direction slightly every time he felt his rider list sideways in the saddle, then resuming the course home.
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"What ho, the camp!" Robin shouted as he approached the rendezvous point. Seeing the cheerful fire had immediately brightened the rustler's mood. So, he mused, the Marshal had not been wholly accurate in her assumption that his other men would be caught. The Ancient stood up, and the guards on the outskirts lowered their weapons.
"Are you alright, masser?" The Ancient called back. The term brought Nathan's head up with a jerk, his eyes bright despite the fact that he'd been worriedly watching over Buck the whole evening.
"Fine, Burnsy. Is Emily alright?"
"As well as can be, masser, but…well…we ran into some trouble." The Ancient pointed to the two lawmen. Buck was curled up on his side, not bothering to look at Moore as he entered the camp. He'd not spoken since he saw Ezra on the ground, despite Nathan's attempts to draw him out. It was clear the ladies man was blaming himself for not realizing that the girl had been more than she seemed. She was a killer.
"What happened," Moore asked, dismounting and allowing someone else to take his horse for him. The Ancient sighed and proceeded to tell of the ambush and how it ended. Robin stared at him dumbfounded, his face stretched with worry for the first time that day.
"She killed someone?" he whispered.
"Yes, and she hasn't spoken since." The ex-slave turned away, his cheeks a dark red beneath the sun-roughened skin. "I'm sorry. I know you entrusted me with her protection."
"Oh God. I suppose she had to learn sometime, but I was hoping…damn. Where is she?"
"In the tent over yonder." He pointed towards a small lean-to tent near the edge of the clearing they were in. As if aware that she was being spoken of, Emily herself stepped out of the shelter and looked at her husband. Her blond hair cascaded down her back in loose curls, her face pallid in the moonlight. She hugged her arms close to her body, and, even from here, Robin could see that she was shaking in the cold night air.
Moore looked back at his friend and patted him on the arm. "I know it wasn't your fault, Burnsy. I'll take care of her." He sighed and looked over at the group of men he'd come in with. "We ran into the same trouble, ambushed by the Lady Marshal on our way to Red Springs. Post a guard tonight, and keep your eye out for Cash. I'm guessing he might have had trouble too."
"What about them?" The Ancient looked over at the prisoners.
Moore sighed and shook his head. "I don't know. I'll be more clear-headed in the morning. We'll deal with them then."
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Wednesday morning…false dawn blankets the landscape…the temperature has changed abruptly, hinting at the coming winter with a nasty cold spell…
"Damn, damn, damn!" Garrett fumed, pacing the small jail furiously. How could she have been such a fool, letting Moore get the upper hand like that? She had known about Moore's derringer, that damn gambler of Larabee's had told her, but had she absorbed that information? Hell no. No, she let her emotions cloud her judgement and it all went to hell.
Worse still, the others hadn't returned. How could she have trusted them with something as important to her as Emily? She looked over at where the young sheriff was still playing solitaire. Dark rings were visible under his brown eyes after a sleepless night, and she knew that her own eyes mirrored them. Shooting him a disgusted look, she stormed outside to look out at the landscape.
Chris looked up from where he sat in front of the jail wrapped in a rough blanket. "Marshal," he welcomed coldly. She glared at him, as if that one word were all that she needed to rip his throat out. Chris didn't even flinch…he had bigger things to worry about now than her glare.
"Is that damn tracker of yours awake yet? Or the preacher?" she barked, setting her hat on her head.
"I'm right here, ma'am," Vin stated, coming around the corner. "And Josiah is in the church, doing his thing."
"No, I'm here," Josiah rumbled as he walked up. As with all the rest, he had rings under his eyes.
"Finally," she spat, stepping out into the street, her back to them. "Do you think we can leave now? Or do you still think those three idiots will show up?"
"What is your problem!" Vin suddenly stormed. "You think that you're the only one in pain? Three of our boys are out there, somewhere, maybe dead, and all you can think about is your precious Emily!"
"Dead?" Garrett whipped her head around to face the tracker. "They're not dead. I know exactly where they are. They're in some saloon somewhere laughing at me, at you! They probably killed Emily and the Ancient and took the cattle for themselves. I know what men like those drifters of yours are like. All they care about is money, and selling off that cattle would get them a lot of it."
"What the hell!" Vin shouted. "What gives you the right to…" he stopped as someone laid a restraining hand on his arm. Chris had stood and was now favoring him with a 'what's-the-point?' look, but Vin shook him off. The tracker glared at the Marshal.
"Buck and Nathan would never even consider what you're proposing, Garrett. And Ez may love money but he knows where the line is – he'd never cross it for a few measly bucks. Hell, any of 'em would die first before ever hurting a girl. Are you so blind that you can't see that?"
Garret snorted. "On the contrary, Tanner. I can obviously see more clearly than you ever will. I knew I should never have trusted you, any of you, especially not that lascivious ladies man or that slum-dwelling gambler whom you," she pointed at Chris, "YOU, sent after that innocent girl. God knows what that moustached rake of yours is up to…." She shuddered at the thought.
"Buck would never hurt Emily," JD pronounced from the open door to the jail. He stood there, hands clenched into fists. "And Ezra and Nathan wouldn't neither." The statement was delivered so quietly, and with such resounding conviction that Garrett actually hesitated before responding. She stared at him for a moment with narrowed eyes, perhaps seeing something in him she didn't notice before. Finally, she inclined her head once.
"No," she admitted slowly, watching him, "no, maybe not they would not hurt her…. But that doesn't mean they wouldn't leave her."
"Marshal," Chris intoned dangerously, "I think it best that you stop now. Believe me when I tell you that I know Buck Wilmington better than I know myself – he would never leave anyone behind." Garrett shot an incredulous look in his direction, clearly not as willing to accept his opinion as readily as that of the kid's.
"Really," she replied. "Well then, maybe you should be out sending out telegrams to other sheriffs looking for that gambler of yours. I certainly wouldn't put it past his kind to have shot both your men and my Emily in the back if the money was right. Gamblers like Standish are bottom feeders, Larabee, I'm surprised you haven't figured that out yet."
The hand that grabbed her jacket from behind caused Garrett to jump, and she had to fight not to react violently as Josiah twisted her around to look at him. He literally loomed over her, and she found herself shaking slightly at the malevolence in his face.
"Let go of me," Garrett demanded, trying to regain her dignity.
"Josiah," Chris warned, stepping towards the preacher.
The preacher's hand shook where he gripped her jacket, all his fear and frustration demanding release. The tentative control he held on his temper wavered, and for a moment Garrett saw something in his eyes that none of the others had ever seen. She saw the man Josiah had once been – and it terrified her. He started to lift her off her feet, ignoring her gasps for breaths.
"JOSIAH!" Chris yelled. Like a bolt of lightening, the preacher woke. He let go of the Marshal and backed off, never taking his eyes off of her. Finally, he took in a shaky breath, then quickly moved passed JD to hide inside the jail.
Her lips still trembling slightly, the Marshal smoothed down her jacket and shook herself. Looking up, she saw Chris watching her coolly. Vin was turned away, his arms crossed, and JD was looking at his feet.
"I'm sorry," she said quietly, her hazel eyes hard. Inwardly, she was surprised to note that she actually was sorry, to a degree. She knew she had simply been taking out her fear and worry for Emily out on them, and that they probably didn't deserve it.
"You trust them, your men," she asked the man in black. He nodded once.
"Yes."
"Tell me, Mr. Larabee, if…if you had a daughter taken from you, and you had to trust complete strangers to get her back, ones who, upon first glance, seem more like criminals than anything else…" She paused, shaking her head slowly and sighed. "What I mean to say is, you can trust your men, Larabee, because you know them. I do not have that luxury. I only know that Emily does not belong out there, and if I have to go through you or any of your men to make sure she is safe, then I will." She looked down at the ground when he didn't reply, and licked her lips. "But if anything I have said is untrue, or unwarranted in this case, then I am sorry."
Chris just stared back, not acknowledging the barbed apology. "Marshal, this is my town. Your power to order us around is over. From now on, it is purely on my sufferance that you are even here. You say one more thing against my men, and I will personally see to it that you leave Four Corners never to return."
Garrett tensed her jaw and looked away down the street in the direction of where they had lost Moore. She had crossed her arms and was leaning heavily on her left hip, as if ignoring the men in behind of her. Still, she listened as Chris turned to the tracker, his voice dropping to a calmer tone.
"Vin, if we go back to the site where the Moore group split up initially, you think you can track our boys?" Vin simply favored Chris with a sarcastic look, and the man in black nodded. "Good, go get the horses." Then he turned to go inside and talk to Josiah, stopping only to pat JD on the arm where he still stood in the doorway, the boy's eyes downcast. Vin started walking in the direction of the livery, away from the Marshal.
Garrett straightened as she saw the red coat on the lone figure coming into town, his black riverboat hat low on his head. He was slumped slightly in the saddle, but not enough that it appeared he was hurt. Without waiting for the others, she started to stride swiftly across to where Chaucer was pulling to stop in front of the saloon. JD saw the Marshal move off out of the corner of his eye, and bellowed for the others when he saw what she was aiming for. As a group they jogged to catch up with her.
The gambler stumbled slightly as he dismounted, forcing himself to keep a hand on Chaucer's hide to keep himself steady. He looked up in time to see Garrett grab him forcefully by the lapels and drag him to her.
"Where is she, you loathsome no-good son of a bitch! Where'd you leave her? If she is hurt, so help me God!" Every word was punctuated with venom, and she shook Ezra as if he were a ragdoll.
"Let him GO, Marshal!" Chris ordered, coming up behind her.
"Not until he tells me where she is!" she yelled back, shaking the gambler some more. Ezra just tried to stop from passing out again, his vision starting to swim again with the rough treatment. "Where'd you dump Emily, you self-serving bastard!"
"Damn it, Garrett," Chris shouted, pulling on her arm. With a final shake, the Marshal yelled in frustration and threw Ezra down onto the boardwalk in front of the saloon. He fell on his back, his hat rolling off to land somewhere near the doors. Inez chose that moment to push one of them open. Gingerly, she picked up the hat and brought it close to her chest, but she didn't step closer to the altercation.
Chris pulled Garrett away, forcing her to step behind him. JD stood off to one side, his hands resting unconsciously on his pistols as he watched. Vin squatted down on the right side of Ezra, watching as the gambler levered himself up onto his right elbow from off the boardwalk. Josiah moved to stand on Ezra's left side, and watched Chris with Garrett. For his part, the gambler never took his clear green eyes off of the Marshal, focusing on her like a guiding light.
"What happened, Ezra," Chris urged, one hand gripping Garrett's arm as his eyes searched the gambler's for answers. Ezra's eyes swiveled to meet the man in black, and he smiled oddly.
"I, uh…" He blinked a few times, and looked over at Chaucer. The horse watched him balefully, and snorted. Ezra gestured to him with his left hand, "I'm not sure. After I woke up, he…the horse there…he brought me here…." The explanation was soft, almost unintelligible, and Vin frowned. Josiah's brow knit in confusion at the words, and knelt down on Ezra's left side in order to get a better look at the younger man.
"No, Ezra, where is the girl? And where are Buck and Nathan?" Chris rephrased, his mind not registering the odd statement.
"Did you just call him 'the horse?'" Vin interrupted softly before Ezra could answer Chris, indicating with his head towards the tried looking chestnut stallion. "Do you mean Chaucer?"
Chris blinked, and looked at Vin, suddenly realizing what Ezra had said. Ezra turned to look bemusedly up at the tracker, seeing the concern and kindness there. Without thinking, he leant his head against Vin's crouched knee and closed his eyes.
"Is that his name? S'good horse," he mumbled. "Never let me fall…."
"Chris," Josiah whispered, reaching forward to touch the back of Ezra's neck. The gambler didn't even flinch. When the preacher showed his fingers to his leader, they were covered with blood. "He's got a nasty gash on the back of his head," he stated unnecessarily.
"Hell," Chris hissed, gritting his teeth.
Garrett sighed and took a step back, shaking her arm out of Chris's now loose grip. JD's hands fell to his sides, his mouth agape in wordless concern.
"Son, do you know where you are?" Josiah asked, placing a hand on Ezra's shoulder.
The con man turned his head to peer up at Josiah, his eyes curious. "Son?"
"Ezra," Vin tried, "do you know who we are?" He placed his hand under Ezra's jaw to force the gambler to look back over at him.
Ezra grinned as he took in Vin's serious expression, and started to chuckle nervously. "No, sir, but then again, that's okay," he laughed a little harder, "…'cause I don't know who I am either." For some reason, Ezra found this statement hilarious. He started to laugh uncontrollably, and closed his eyes again. Josiah gritted his teeth. Vin looked up at Chris, the fear in the tracker's eyes complementing the consternation in Larabee's. Garrett threw up her arms in frustration and turned away.
"Ezra," Chris said, trying to get the gambler's attention. When it didn't work, Josiah tapped Ezra's shoulder. Green eyes opened again, liquid from laughter, and looked up at the preacher. He hiccupped a few times, then managed to still his giggling.
"Ask him if he remembers where he woke up, and if there was anyone else there," Chris said to Josiah.
"Do you?" The preacher asked, watching Ezra carefully.
The gambler's eyes narrowed slightly as he stared at Josiah, then he grinned again. "Just me, the horse, and Shakespeare, all alone in the dark!" he replied jovially, patting his chest, and started laughing again. Chris raised an eyebrow, but otherwise didn't respond.
"C'mon son, let's get you up to bed," Josiah whispered, placing a hand under Ezra's left arm. With Vin's help, they got Ezra back to his feet, the gambler using Josiah for support, his laughter fading with the exertion. By the time he was standing upright, Ezra was deathly quiet, his breathing ragged, and the paleness of his features stuck out grimly against the dusty red coat. He had both arms around the preacher's neck, his eyes intent on ensuring that his legs didn't buckle. He failed. In one swift move, Josiah used his free arm to hook under Ezra's collapsing knees, and picked him up.
"Thanks, Da," Ezra whispered, before the blackness encroaching on his vision overtook him completely. Josiah's eyes widened as he looked at Vin, who was making sure that the preacher had a good hold on the man in his arms. Vin shrugged.
"You called him son a couple of times," the tracker suggested. "Since he don't seem to know who we are…. I guess he just assumed."
Inez pulled open the doors to the saloon and waited for Josiah to walk through. Josiah swallowed, and, shifting his burden to a more comfortable position, proceeded to take Ezra up to his room. Inez followed quietly on his heels.
Chris watched them leave, then turned back to Vin. "We can follow Ezra's tracks back to the site he was hurt. With luck, we'll find a trail that will lead us to the others from there."
Vin nodded, and looked at the saloon. "He needs to have that head seen to first, Chris."
"I know, but who…."
Vin tilted his head. "I can do it. Lord knows I've sewed up myself enough times to have gotten used to it. It won't be as pretty as when Nathan does it, but, then again, the scar'll be hidden beneath all that thick hair of his." He smiled slightly.
"You sure?"
"Now wait a minute, here," Garrett interrupted. "We'll need Tanner's help to track."
"Chris is a fine tracker, Marshal, as I'm sure you are. Besides, I'll catch up as soon as I'm done," Vin interjected. Garrett opened her mouth to argue.
"Go on, Vin," Chris ordered, before she could speak. "Me and the Marshal will set out now. Soon as you're done, you come out after us."
"Wait, leave the preacher and the boy too? Oh come on!" the Marshal demanded angrily. "You expect us to take on thirteen men with hostages with just the three of us?"
"You know full well JD and Josiah need to stay here and wait for the army to pick up Cash, Marshal. We can't risk the town being unguarded should Moore figure out where his men are before we find him. As soon as the army comes, they will come out to help us."
Garrett looked ready to disagree, when a pinpoint of reason pierced her single-minded brain. She shut her mouth and turned away. Chris turned to his best friend and nodded.
"Go Vin."
Tanner took off for the clinic at a run, intending to get the supplies he needed. The Marshal grimaced as she saw him leave, then went straight to the livery for her horse. JD and Chris followed more slowly, JD watching her unhappily.
"I don't like her much anymore, Chris," he muttered.
"That's alright, JD. I don't think she much likes herself either."
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Josiah took the proffered wet cloth from Inez and started to clean the blood and grime from Ezra's neck. They had turned the young man on his side, his back to the window for the best light. The head wound was perhaps an inch in diameter, and had resumed bleeding with Josiah's ministrations. With tremendous care, the preacher did what he could to clean it out without hurting Ezra too much.
The gambler hadn't stirred since losing consciousness in the preacher's arms.
Inez stroked Ezra's forehead with her finger, and watched Josiah work. She had never seen such pain on the older man's face before. He looked a little lost.
"Will he be alright, Senor Sanchez?" she asked quietly.
Josiah frowned and shook his head. "I think if we can find someone to stitch this up, he should be fine."
"And his memory?"
Josiah swallowed, and the knot in his chest tightened. Ezra calling him "Da" had been a shock to him. But, at the same time, it had ignited something in him he thought long dead. The pure joy he'd felt, even if only for a second, had flared so hot in his soul he could still feel it. Now reality reminded him that it had been an aberration, brought on by the younger man's pain.
"I don't know, Inez," he sighed. Just then, Vin opened the door, carrying Nathan's doctor bag. He moved to replace Josiah, and inspected the wound.
"Nice job, pard," Vin said. "I'm going to use some of Nathan's herbs to disinfect it as best I can, then I'm going to stitch it. Could you stay and hold him down in case he starts to wake?"
Josiah nodded, mutely accepting the idea that Vin could do exactly what he said he could do. Inez, however, was slightly less trusting.
"Can you do that? I thought only Nathan…."
"I can do it, Inez. And iffin I don't, well, it won't matter anyhows. The wound has to be closed."
Inez watched him start to dig through Nathan's things for the herbs, and swallowed nervously. "Oh….well, ca…can I get you anything?"
"Hot water? And some more cloths like the one Josiah is using?"
She nodded, and almost ran from the room. Josiah looked out of the window in time to see Chris and the Marshal ride off.
"We catching up with them later?" he asked.
"I am. Soon as we're done with Ez, here. You and JD are staying here to guard the prisoners and watch for any rescue attempts." Vin glanced up as he spoke, and noticed that Josiah wasn't really listening to him. Instead, the preacher had his eyes shut tightly, and was wiping a hand across them tiredly.
Vin knew Josiah was capable of more love than the rest of them combined, and likely also more rage, but it was the first time he'd ever seen it focused so squarely on just one person. Vin was not oblivious to the sudden wanting that had lit in Josiah's frightened eyes at hearing Ezra call him "da." He just hoped the preacher didn't take it too literally. Seeing the large man standing there, barely suppressing his feelings, however, worried the tracker somewhat.
Reminding himself of his purpose, Vin turned his attention away and went through the black bag. It only took him a few seconds to find the herbs he needed and lie them out on the nightstand.
By the time Inez had returned, Josiah was back to his old self, sitting on Ezra's opposite side and watching as Vin did his best to finish the cleaning job the preacher had started, while binding the gambler's hair back with some cloths to better expose the gash.
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"Wake up!"
The boot to Buck's side was vicious, and the one that followed it no less so. He jolted awake instantly, though his confused mind had still to figure out what was happening. Purely out of instinct, the ladies man leapt to his feet, a growl in his throat, fully intending on giving his offender a piece of his own medicine. That's when he noticed that his legs were shackled together, as were his hands. Completely unbalanced from the fetters, he quickly fell back to the ground in a heap.
He found himself looking up into Nathan's bloodshot eyes, the healer giving him a small smile. That's when Buck remembered where they were…and what had happened to Ezra. In the background laughter echoed, mocking Buck's predicament.
Still angry, Buck rolled over and tried to get himself into a sitting position so as to face the man who kicked him.
"What the hell was that for!" he growled, finding himself faced with a small party of about five men.
A younger man, close to thirty in years, bent over him, his chapped lips curled into a snarl. Frizzy hair topped his lanky frame, jutting out at all angles like an old toothbrush. Buck retreated under the force of his breath.
"Only what you deserve, lawman, for thinking you could take the us. Now, where's Cash?"
"Cash?" Buck sneered. "I got five bucks in my pocket, you frizzy-haired runt, if you're weasel enough to try and take it from me." He stopped as the frizzy haired man slapped him hard across the face, driving him backwards a bit under the blow.
"Michael Cash, you lily-livered piece of horse manure. Tell me where he is or I'll beat it out of you."
"Ooh," Buck rolled forward again, his cheek reddened from the blow. His eyes sparkled with malice as he replied, "that's a new one. Bet it took you a few minutes to come up with that threat, huh, runt." This earned him another smack, giving him a matching bruise on his other cheek. He rolled forward again on his knees, and regarded frizzy hair coldly.
The outlaw took the look as a challenge and dragged Buck to his feet by his jacket lapels. "I ain't going to ask you again, old man." It didn't seem to bother frizzy hair in the least that Buck had at least three inches in height on him. Buck simply smiled.
"Old man? Nathan, did he just call me old man?"
"Yep," the healer replied, settling back against the tree. He was actually feeling an odd sense of relief as he watched Buck spar with this peon of Moore's. It signaled that Buck had gotten his spirit back, something he'd lacked all the day and night before. Nathan smiled as he looked at the frizzy haired man, "probably shouldn't have done that."
Frizzy looked at Nathan, and in that same instant Buck brought his bound arms up to knock away the man's grip, sending the man back a step. As Frizzy tried to regain his balance, Buck drew his hands back and proceeded to deliver a two fisted blow to the side of the man's head. Frizzy went flying. The other four outlaws were there instantly, pushing and pulling Buck to the ground. Nathan jumped on them, shoving them off. Somebody else grabbed Nathan from behind, dragging him off. An all out brawl ensued, as blows rained down on both shackled captives.
BANG!
The gunshot echoed through the clearing, startling all the men in the melee. They all looked up to see Moore holding his gun up in the air, the Ancient to his right and Emily on his left.
"BACK OFF," Moore barked, "NOW!" The reaction was instantaneous. The outlaws almost ran to get out of their leader's way, and frizzy hair bowed his head.
"Manny, what the hell do you think you are doing?"
Frizzy hair licked his lips, and seemed to bow his head even further. "Cash didn't come back last night, Robin. I was just trying to get these guys to tell me where he is."
"Funny sort of interrogation, Manny. Looked more like you were beating on two defenseless men who are bound hand and foot." The disdain in Moore's Texan accent was thick, and Manny actually blushed. As Nathan wiped some of the blood from his face, he couldn't help but wonder at the power the young blond man seemed to wield over his men. Just a few words had them all cowering.
"Go water the horses, Manny. I'll speak with you later." Moore looked at others, "the rest of you are all going to be pulling double shifts this week, understand?"
Mumbled assents could be heard among the six men who'd gotten involved in the fight, and a few stilted apologies could be heard. Moore looked to the ex-slave, "Burnsy, work it out will you?"
The Ancient nodded curtly, and snapped his fingers. The six men followed him dejectedly. Moore then turned his attention to his prisoners. Emily stood just behind him, looking as if she hoped she would disappear behind his lean six-foot frame.
As Nathan sized him up, he understood why Emily had so easily fallen in love with this man. Besides being extremely handsome and dressed in the sort of finery that Ezra would have salivated over, he had an air about him that legends were made of. He stood rim rod straight, feet firmly planted in the ground, and his face exuded a confidence that Nathan knew he would never have. It was something that was bred into a man.
He looked like a hero.
Buck, on the other hand, barely glanced at the leader of his captors. His eyes never strayed from the blond creature behind him – the murderer of one of his best friends. Aware of his scrutiny, Emily drew herself even more behind her husband.
As soon as he was sure that the rest of his men were back to doing their various duties, Moore stepped forward and crouched down in front of Buck and Nathan. The two lawmen had managed to pull themselves back into sitting positions, despite the fact that they both sported a few bruises and aches from the recent brawl.
Moore sighed. "So, gentlemen, what are we going to do with you?"
"You could always turn yourselves into us," Buck replied, smiling. "We have a nice cell all ready for you to sleep in."
Moore chuckled, and shook his head. "I'm afraid that was not what I had in mind for my immediate future, boys. However," he turned open blue eyes to meet Buck's dark blue ones, "I must admit I would like to know where that cell is."
"In a jail, of course," Buck answered. Moore pursed his lips, and tilted his head.
"Mmmm," he turned his eyes to Nathan. The healer met his scrutiny impassively. "Perhaps your boy here might be more inclined to tell me," he said, obviously still directing his words to Buck.
Buck couldn't help but snort at the idea, and soon he was laughing at the idea of Nathan being his "boy." Nathan, for his part, never even cracked a smile. Moore turned a slightly puzzled gaze back at Buck, then opened his eyes wide as if understanding had just hit him.
"Oh, he's not yours!" He looked back at Nathan and smiled. "I'm sorry for the assumption, boy. I sometimes forget that not all black men are as loyal as my Ancient." He grinned.
"Loyal? I think you mean addled in the brain, boy," Nathan replied coldly, emphasizing the last word. Moore's smile faltered slightly, before he nodded.
"As you wish." He stood and backed up a step. "Well, gentlemen, it appears we are at an impasse. Now, I don't want to have to kill you, or let my men have another go at you, but I will if you don't tell me what I need to know. You see, Mr. Cash is a very important person to me, as are the men riding with him, and I would very much like to see him returned. Is there anything I can do to convince you to tell me where he is? Perhaps money? Or cattle? gold?"
"There is one thing," Buck said. Nathan arched his eyebrow at the ladies man, surprised.
"Buck," he hissed, not sure what his friend was planning.
"Anything you want," Moore grinned, moving forward again.
Buck's eyes took on the hardness of steel as he caught Moore's stare, and a strange, almost wistful smile touched his lips. "You can bring Ezra back."
A small cry erupted from Emily, and she brought a hand up to her mouth. Moore turned to her, his cool façade breaking a little. When he tuned back to Buck, his face was decidedly darker.
"I'm sorry about your friend. But remember it was you who attacked us. From what I've heard, it was simply self-defense," he stated.
"Self-defense?" Buck laughed sarcastically, and Nathan shut his eyes. Just as quickly as he had started laughing, Buck stopped, his voice dropping to an icy level. "I hate to break it to you, Moore, but that wife of yours is as wretched and scum encrusted as you are. She murdered our friend, hit him from behind with a killing blow, never even giving him a chance. And if I know Ezra," Buck fixed his gaze on Emily, who kept her face turned away, "he told her we wouldn't kill any of your men, or her. I guarantee that he never even once threatened her life." Emily's flinch at the statement was all Buck needed to confirm his words, and he turned back to Moore.
"She did what she had to, to save her men and me, lawman," Moore spat, his handsome visage twisted into a snarl. "Do not hope to twist her honorable act into something else."
Buck raised an eyebrow at that. "An honorable murderer? Well, that really is one I haven't heard before. No, I'm sorry, Moore. She's a heartless, cold-blooded killer." He turned his cold gaze once more to the girl, who still refused to look at him. "And she's gonna hang."
Moore's reaction was swift, and cruel. He threw himself at Buck, knocking him back against the tree behind him and delivering three hard hits to the man's face. Buck just took it, and when Moore finally stopped, Buck still managed to fix him with an intimidating glare despite the blood on his chin and the already swelling bruises forming on his cheeks.
Moore backed off, licking the blood of his knuckles. "You're a fool, lawman." His light blue eyes swiveled to look at Nathan who regarded him impassively. "What about you, boy, you got anything to say?"
Nathan just raised his eyebrows, and an amused look crossed his features. He tilted his head as if seeing something new about Moore for the first time. "Just one. That mole on your neck…I suggest you have it lanced. Looks diseased to me." He grinned, his white teeth shining, "But then I guess it just matches your soul."
Buck chuckled coldly, and Nathan continued to smile.
Moore's jaw tensed, and he spun on his heel. "Burnsy!" he yelled.
The Ancient ran up from where he had been conversing with some of the men. "Yes sir?"
Moore looked back at the prisoners, his face a picture of distaste. "Take the black man over to the river and teach him some manners. Maybe by the time you're finished with him, the lawman here will more inclined to answer my questions."
The Ancient nodded coldly as he looked at Nathan. "Yes, sir." He reached down to grab Nathan, but Buck shoved him away with his shoulder. All this did was earn the ladies man a kick to the chest from Moore that sent him sprawling. He watched helplessly as the Ancient unlocked the chains at the healer's ankles and dragged Nathan away, the healer shaking his head at Buck not to worry.
But Buck did worry.
If they killed Nathan then he would have failed once again to protect his family.
He didn't know if he could handle failing twice.
___________________________________
It took Vin close to an hour to put what amounted to twenty stitches in Ezra's head. He knew that it probably would have taken Nathan a third of that time, but the tracker wanted to ensure that he did it right. Luckily, Ezra hadn't stirred the whole time, except to mumble something incoherent under his breath about the moon. He leaned back with a sigh after tying off the thread, and allowed his body to shake off some of the stored up adrenaline.
Josiah had been there the whole time, occasionally mopping Vin's brow but mostly just keeping an eye on Ezra. He'd unconsciously brushed some of the curls off the younger man's forehead a few times, stopping when he caught Vin glancing at him with those damned, overly observant gray eyes.
"You done?" the preacher asked, a little self-consciously.
Vin nodded, and Josiah stood up and leaned over to look at the boy's handiwork. He whistled appreciatively.
"Well done, brother! I don't think I've ever seen such tiny stitches before. I think you even did a better job than Nathan. The scar'll be invisible."
Vin allowed himself a brief smile, and actually blushed a little. "Well, considering that's the first time I ever stitched anyone up other than myself, I thank you kindly Josiah."
The preacher, however, looked a mite disconcerted. "Did you say, the first time?"
This time Vin's response was to furrow his brow, "Hell now, Josiah. You just got through telling me what a good job I done. What's it matter that it be the first time?"
Shaking his head, Josiah waved a hand to conciliate his friend. "Sorry Vin. Wasn't thinking." Vin snorted and stood to stretch his tense muscles. With a casual eye, he watched as Josiah slowly sat himself back down on his chair and returned to watching Ezra sleep. An almost beatific smile crossed his face, and Vin frowned.
"Josiah…."
"Hmmm?"
"Ezra…calling you Da…don't mean you are."
Josiah's deep blue eyes looked up, startled. "What?"
"I'm saying, don't start thinking that you can be something you ain't. Its not right."
Anger crept into the older man's face, his eyes narrowing menacingly. "I am not a fool, Vin."
"I ain't saying you are. Just…wanted to make sure you knew what you were doing." The tracker looked down at his hands, absently noting the dried blood on his fingertips. He dipped them in the basin of water by the bed, then grabbed a clean towel.
Josiah continued to simmer, watching silently as Vin washed his hands. When the tracker once more turned to look at him, Josiah stood in order to face him. Under the steel gaze, Vin was tempted to back up a step, but the small confines of the room prevented him.
"I know well who I am and who Ezra Standish is, young man. Do not think that, merely because you know a little about my past, you can pass judgement on me. You have no idea what I am thinking."
Vin blinked. "Josiah, I didn't…."
"Chris will be wondering where you are, Vin. I suggest you go after him." The finality of the statement shut the tracker up. With a curt nod, Vin gathered his things together and handed Josiah the cloths for dressing Ezra's wound. Josiah took them silently, no longer able to look at the tracker. Thus it was that Vin left without a backward glance.
_________________________________
The Ancient kept a rifle pointed at Nathan's back the whole way down to the river, constantly prodding and pushing the healer until they reached the water's edge. With a final shove, he propelled Nathan into a tree, knocking the breath out of the younger man. Turning, the healer shot an angry gaze to his captor.
"Why are you doing this!" he demanded.
"Turn around," the Ancient growled back.
"No, you tell me why you're doing this! You're a free man! Why do you continue to act as slave to that southern leech?"
The Ancient didn't answer the question, just favored Nathan with a dark look. He put down the rifle by his side in order to pull the belt from about his waist, watching the healer out of the corner of his eye to make sure he wouldn't attack. Nathan watched wordlessly, knowing exactly what was intended. He looked at the old black man in front of him with horror in his eyes.
"You can't be serious. Damn it, man, you don't have to do this! You can leave him."
"I said," Burns growled quietly, wrapping the belt around his fist, "turn around."
"No. Not until you explain to me why."
The Ancient paused, his dark eyes flashing in the late morning sunlight. Tension wracked his frame. "If you don't turn around, I will whip your front as easily as I would your back, and believe me when I tell you that it hurts a hell of a lot more."
Nathan swallowed, and stood straighter. "You called him master when he arrived. Does he still believe he has some right to you? You can leave, you know, be whom you want to be."
"And who is that!" the old man hissed suddenly. "Another penniless, spat upon old nigger who is of no use to anyone except as a door mat? What would I do, boy? Huh? You tell me?"
"You could do what I did. Move out here, set up your own place. Lots of people have done it, and you wouldn't even have to pay for the cost of getting here. Just up and leave. I know lots of places that would hire an experienced farmhand, no matter what the color of his skin."
The Ancient shook his head, his face twisted into a sneer, and continued to wind and unwind the leather around his wrist. "I am what I am, boy, I can't change that."
"A slave? No one is a slave, Burns. No one should be, and no one can be."
"I am more than a slave."
"Oh? Do tell," the healer replied sarcastically.
"I am father to that young man back there. His only family. Do you think I could leave that?"
This time it was Nathan who was dumbfounded. The Ancient stood a little straighter as he said this, and he loosed the belt so that it hung limply from his hand.
The healer's dark brown eyes narrowed, and he shook his head, his hands clenched into fists where they were shackled. "Family. You're not his family, Burns. Emily is his family. You are, at best, the family dog."
Whatever he said struck a chord because the next thing Nathan knew Burns was screaming and striking out with the lash. The healer had just enough time to throw his arms up to cover his face before he felt the leather bite into his arm, drawing blood on the first strike.
"That straw-haired harlot is not his family!" The black man cried as he drew back for another lash. "Don't ever say that again!"
Nathan's eyes widened, and suddenly something Ezra once told him popped into his head – about why the gambler refused to lose his temper. It meant he lost control, and without his control he couldn't be sure to maintain the upper hand when he had it. Without really thinking, Nathan grasped this idea and words flew out of his lips.
"She's his wife, old man. She shares his skin and is the same age. Can you compete with that?"
This time the lash struck even more forcefully, cutting into Nathan's arm just below the shoulder as the healer attempted to twist himself out of the way.
"I brought that boy up, scab! Seen him through his whole life. He's all but my flesh and blood. He's known that girl barely six months." He punctuated the last statement with another lash, cutting Nathan again on the forearm, and driving the healer to his knees.
"He doesn't love you, Ancient! He uses you, can't you see that?"
LASH!
Nathan inhaled sharply as the pain hit him. "Emily is his world now. And you are nothing but a lackey! Just as you always were."
LASH!
"Damn it, man! You're a damned slave! And while you're with him, you always will be! And now you belong to her as well!"
This stopped the old man, his face tortured with veins and blood rush, "I…will…NEVER…belong to that woman!" He raised the lash high over his head, gripping it in both hands and pulling it so tightly, Nathan was amazed it didn't break.
It also gave him the opening he needed.
With a roar, the healer threw himself forward into the Ancient, knocking the old man off his feet and driving him into a tree on the other side of the small clearing. As the slave tried to regain his bearings, Nathan quickly rolled away and picked up the rifle, aiming it straight for the Ancient's heart.
"Now you turn around!" he spat. Burns watched him for a second, his dark eyes surprised. Then, as if in a daze, he did as he was told…just as he'd always done. Cursing the revolting situation he was placed in, Nathan did the kindest thing he could think of. He knocked the man out with the rifle butt.
______________________________________
His face tight with strain and the pain from his lashes, Nathan slowly made his way back to the camp, trying to make as little noise as possible. First thing he did was crawl into the hastily formed remuda and cut the straps on the rustler's horse's saddles, praying the whole time to providence to keep him from being observed. He hesitated before cutting Buck's Gray's saddle and that of his own mount, Gideon, trying to figure out if he could get the horses away without anyone noticing. After a moment's thought, he put the knife away and gently maneuvered both horses so that they would be near the back of the pack, near the woods. Maybe…just maybe.
Carefully, Nathan made his way to the bushes behind Buck, and glanced around at the men guarding the camp. Buck had his head resting on his knees, clearly oblivious to the world around him. The guards were not paying him much attention.
Picking up a loose rock, Nathan chucked the small projectile at Buck's back. The ladies man looked up abruptly, his eyes scanning the camp. Seeing nothing amiss, he risked turning his head around.
"Buck," Nathan hissed quietly. Buck's eyes widened slightly, and a tiny smile lit his features. His lips soundlessly formed the word "how?" but Nathan waved him off. Instead, the healer held up the shackle key he'd taken from the Ancient, and indicated that he was going to toss it over. Buck nodded, and blue eyes watched carefully as the tiny black object was thrown in his direction. As soon as it landed, Buck scrambled over to hide it in his fingers.
Nathan knelt back into the bushes as the frizzy haired Manny and another of Moore's lackey's wandered past, both favoring Buck with black looks. The ladies man kept his head down to appear humbled. The frizzy haired man snorted.
As soon as he was sure that no one was watching, Buck carefully unlocked the shackles on his wrists and legs and set them to one side. Then, he counted slowly to three before quickly darting to hide in the bushes with Nathan. The healer grinned, knowing that they had perhaps only a few seconds before someone noticed Buck was missing.
Wordlessly, he handed Buck the rifle, ignoring the ladies man's worried glance at the lash marks on his arms, and lit off through the woods towards where the horses were kept. They had just rounded the trees next to the remuda when the call went up, and the camp instantly bolted into action.
Both men made a run for it, each leaping up onto their saddles even as the bullets started to fly. Miraculously, nothing hit either of the moving targets and both horses leapt out of the corral and away.
Back in the camp, Moore watched them leave, Emily holding tightly onto his arm. Slowly, the blond man curved his lips into a smile.
______________________________
After a few miles, Nathan looked across at Buck, his red rimmed eyes wondering why they weren't heading for home. Sensing the scrutiny, Buck glanced back, his lips set in a thin line.
"Too easy," the ladies man yelled. Nathan opened his mouth to argue, then shut it again quickly. It had been easy. They had been let go. The Ancient was supposed to let Nathan get the upper hand. Swearing, the healer hoped that the slave had one hell of a headache when he awoke.
But then again, those emotions on the old man's face had seemed so real…. He shook his head. Damn.
"Can't lead them back to Four Corners," Buck yelled again, his eyes forward. "Figure we'll lead 'em to Ez instead. Maybe we'll get lucky and meet some of our own boys on the way. They gotta be looking for us by now." Beside him, Nathan just nodded, though he knew that the ladies man wasn't watching him anymore.
Not far behind, the two rustler's tailing the lawmen were keeping easy pace with them.
___________________________________
Vin leapt off the horse and inspected the area that had been Emily and the Ancient's camp yesterday, pointedly ignoring the ugly patch of black-red ground where Ezra had obviously been hit. Ha had caught up with the Marshal and Chris only a few miles back, the two having managed to almost reach this spot on their own. With his help, though, things progressed much more quickly. Both the Marshal and Chris were more than willing to give him back control of the hunt.
Chris leaned forward lazily on his saddle horn, noting the bits of blown up wagon and smiling slightly. Great minds, he thought wryly, then his expression fell as he silently prayed that Buck was still alive. After a moment, he looked over at the Marshal, curious as to what might be going through that one-track mind of hers. Like Vin, she had dismounted, but her interest went directly to the blood on the ground.
For some reason, Garrett felt determined to understand what had happened. Kneeling down, she wondering how, since Standish had obviously been standing among the trees away from the camp, someone had managed to sneak up on him. For all his faults, she knew from experience that the gambler was a proficient sneak himself, thus it seemed unlikely that he would not have heard someone come up behind him.
She wondered if he wasn't faking all of this somehow. To cover himself for having deserted his friends as she suspected.
Kneeling down, she put a finger in the dried "blood," and smelled it. Immediately her face twisted into a grimace, recognizing all too well the sickening smell. Okay, so that was real. Still, could be a dead animal's….
She noticed the signs of horse activity all around the area. The gambler's horse, probably. Surely the horse didn't hang around its master the whole time he was down, if down he was. Horses are not dogs; they do not hold loyalty like that unless trained to, like cavalry horses. Still, there was a lot of prints, all in this one area, as well as plenty of…she wrinkled her nose slightly, thinking to move off that subject.
Sighing, she looked a bit farther into the trees and noticed the discarded log. More blood. Damn.
Suddenly, her eyes caught something white, and her eyes widened slightly. Leaning forward, she picked up the bunched up cloth from where it had been tossed. ES was clearly monogrammed on the silk handkerchief. Worse, lying next to it was a pair of discarded shackles – one of the pairs she had lent the peacekeepers.
He had known someone was behind him, she realized with a shock. Someone he had captured, shackled and gagged. Why then did he then ignore the person, allowing them to hit him over the head when his back was turned? Why capture someone to begin with? Unless…unless it was someone the lawmen had wanted to separate from the main fight… Someone they had been instructed to keep safe.
Someone Standish had not seen as a threat.
Garrett shut her eyes.
Oh, Emily.
"Got 'em!" Vin called, pointing in a westerly direction from where he stood atop a far rise. Chris sat up in the saddle and looked over at the Marshal, to tell her to get a move on. He stopped when he saw her face.
She approached slowly and mounted, her face dark, her hazel eyes a million miles away. When she finally spared the black-clad gunslinger a glance, she looked lost.
"I was wrong," she whispered. "I've been so intent on…." She paused, and shut her eyes. Chris just looked down at the ground. When she looked up again, her eyes seemed softer.
"I'm truly sorry," she finished.
"Thank you," Chris replied, equally as softly and a little wonderingly. What had changed her mind?
_______________________________
Josiah was staring despondently out of the window in Ezra's room, watching the swift moving dark shadows created by the clouds drift across the street below. He could feel the heat of the sun through the window, warming up the atmosphere. Perhaps the cold spell was over already. Hearing a noise from the bed, he glanced over and nearly jumped when he realized Ezra was staring at him.
"Lord, Ezra, how long have you been awake?" The preacher asked quickly, moving across to pour some water into a glass for the gambler. When Ezra didn't answer, Josiah tried to smile and pretend he didn't notice the snub.
"I'm glad you're awake, son, it means I don't have to force water down your throat anymore. I kept thinking you would choke. Plus, JD will be happy you're awake. He keeps sending Mary over to ask about you, and I think she's getting a bit tired of it." Sitting on the edge of the bed, Josiah held up the glass. "You want me to hold it while you drink?"
The gambler's expression didn't change, he just followed Josiah with his green eyes, never blinking, as if he were scrutinizing him. Josiah held his smile, and nodded.
"Well, okay then," he pressed the glass to Ezra's lips and placed his other hand gingerly on the con man's back to lift him up enough to allow him to drink. Still staring up at Josiah, the younger man did as he was bid and took a few sips. Josiah pulled the glass away after a moment and pursed his lips.
"Good. That better?"
Ezra blinked.
Josiah chuckled weakly and placed the glass to one side. "Huh, well, I guess you don't feel like talking. That's certainly unusual for you, but not, um…uh," he gripped his fists where they lay on the bedside table after putting the glass down, his mind fumbling for the right word. "Damn," he muttered, shutting his eyes. Why am I talking to him like a child?
"Inconceivable," a hoarse voice from the bed suggested.
"Yes! Not inconceivable," Josiah agreed, then he smiled brightly and looked back at Ezra. "Hah! So you can speak. Good. And you're even using those ten-dollar words Buck and JD hate." In response, Ezra just looked away, his gaze now appearing to examine the room. The preacher's smile faded as he watched the gambler raise a slightly unsteady hand to his head to touch the bandage there, the younger man shutting his eyes tightly as he realized the source of his headache.
"What happened?" Ezra asked, blinking.
"You got clubbed from behind, son," Josiah explained darkly. "It may have muddled your brain a bit."
"Ah."
Reaching up a little higher than the bandage, Ezra grabbed a lock of his hair where it was sticking up and pulled it forward. He squinted slightly to see it, then let it go. "Brown hair," he noted solemnly, to which the preacher raised an eyebrow. Ezra looked at him, then up at the graying hair on his head.
"You're hair isn't brown," he told the preacher, his eyes narrowing slightly. "Was it ever?"
Josiah frowned, confused. "At one time, yes. Though much lighter than yours."
"Am I your son?"
The abrupt question made the older man react sharply, and he got up off the bed to hide his discomfort. "Uh, no, no. You, er, you made a mistaken assumption when you arrived home this morning." He paused, rubbing his forehead briskly with his fingers, and sighed heavily. "I'm sorry about that." Looking back at Ezra, he saw that the young man was back to examining him, but without the same dark air of concentration.
"I take it this means you still don't recall anything," the preacher noted sadly.
"No…sorry," Ezra made a face, his expression clearly showing his annoyance at that fact. "Just now, when I awoke, part of me knew you weren't my father…but for a while there…It just seemed…." He shrugged, the word 'natural' sticking to his tongue for some reason. Meanwhile, his still somewhat glassy green eyes swept the room again, as if he were looking for something particular.
"Are you a preacher?" he asked. "Is that why you called me son?"
"Preacher? No, though I was once."
"Doctor, then?"
"No," Josiah smiled, "That's, uh, that's Nathan's profession," he paused, his smile fading as he realized that Ezra was trying to understand what it was the older man was doing here if he wasn't his father, preacher or doctor.
"I'm just someone who cares about you, Ezra. A friend."
Ezra looked back at him, his pale lips pressed together tightly. Josiah could almost feel the younger man's brain working desperately to remember something, and knew how angry it must be making him not to be succeeding. Finally, Ezra nodded.
"Where am I, exactly?"
Josiah sat back down in the chair by the window and leaned forward to press his hands together over his knees. "Exactly? You are in your room above a saloon, in the frontier town of Four Corners, just inside the border of the Territory of New Mexico. This is your home."
"My home. Do I have family here?"
Josiah thought for a minute before replying then, with a sad smile, shook his head. "No. Your mother, Maude Standish, lives elsewhere."
Something sparked in Ezra's eyes, and Josiah could see the boy trying to hold on to it. "My mother…Maude…" he frowned. "Are you sure that is her name?"
Josiah couldn't resist a slight chuckle as he rocked in the chair. "No. But I do know that your name is Ezra. I once heard you tell a visitor to this town that Ezra was your given name."
The gambler grimaced at this odd statement, causing him to wince as the expression pulled on the bandage. He raised his hand to his head again, the movement more deliberate this time. "Hell and Damnation," he muttered, the pounding in his head seeming to grow in intensity with each moment.
"You want some more water?" Josiah asked quickly, reaching for the water on the bedside table, offering the only thing he could think of to distract the younger man.
"No," Ezra spat fiercely, unable to hide the annoyance at his predicament from his voice. Then he sighed. "No, thank you."
Josiah nodded and put down the glass he'd picked up, then let his hand drift slowly off the bedside table. His fingers felt the soft leather cover of the Shakespeare play they'd found on the younger man and absently wondered why they'd left it there. Ezra watched him for a moment, then pursed his lips.
"The doctor, this Nathan, is he here?"
Josiah grimaced, his chest tightening slightly at the worry he felt for the healer. "No, he's… the captive of some cattle rustlers we were hunting. Chris, Vin and Marshal Garrett have gone to find him and Buck."
The names spilled over Ezra's head like a waterfall, and he absorbed what he could, which wasn't much. He knew this man was trying to help, but the frustration at knowing that those people should mean something to him was only making his headache worse. So he focused on the one aspect of the older man's sentence he could understand – something about "rustlers we were hunting."
"Who is the 'we' in your sentence?" he asked.
"You, me, and the five others: JD, Vin, Chris, Buck and Nathan. We're the law in this town."
Ezra's eyes widened, and a short laugh escaped his lips. "Wait…you saying I'm a lawman?"
"Yep."
Ezra's eyes stared up at the ceiling, and both his hands bunched at the blanket on the bed. He laughed again, then shut his eyes.
"You son of a bitch," he whispered.
"What?" Josiah frowned, his eyes noticing the boy's fidgeting hands. He stood up to better see the younger man's face. Ezra regarded him through slitted eyes.
"Tell you something, former preacher, I may be a little 'muddled' in the mind right now, but there are certain things I am sure of. One of which is, I am no lawman. Whatever it is you want from me, lying is not going to get me to tell you."
"Ezra, I haven't…"
"Could you please leave now?"
"Ez…"
"Go AWAY!"
Josiah recoiled slightly, knowing that the boy was just lashing out in his frustration, but still unable to hide the hurt. On his feet hovering over the bed, he now felt extremely uncomfortable.
"Well, then, perhaps I should let you rest a bit," he suggested, backing away.
Ezra shut his eyes, and, after a moment, nodded. "I think that would be best."
The older man repressed a shudder, and turned his eyes once more to look out at the sunny world outside the window. It seemed to mock him. Slowly, he reached across to the dresser and picked up his hat, placing it on his head so that it would hide his eyes from passers-by.
"Wait," Ezra called, causing Josiah to stop. With tired eyes, the preacher looked back at his charge, and tried not to read too much into the plaintive look he saw on the boy's face. Ezra was acting as changeable as a cat.
The gambler struggled up onto his arms. "What is your name?"
The preacher smiled slightly, "Josiah…Josiah Sanchez."
"Is that the truth?"
Josiah's jaw tensed, "Yes."
Ezra nodded once, then turned his eyes towards the window. "I see. Thank you…Mr. Sanchez. For taking care of me. Your kindness has been appreciated."
Josiah opened his mouth, suddenly wanting to argue, but he wasn't sure about what. Instead, he simply turned away and walked out the door.
_____________________________
"Riders coming in," Vin noted, peering across the foothills to the two figures heading towards them rapidly. Motioning the others to move a bit so as to cover him, he pulled out his spyglass and trained it on them. Instantly, his face lit up in a smile. He looked over at Chris, whose dark mood had lifted slightly at the nod from the tracker.
"Its Buck and Nathan."
Spurring their horses forward with a loud "hee-yah!" the three riders sped down the hill to meet their friends, and a clear whoop for joy could be heard from Buck as he recognized them. They met somewhere in the middle of the shallow valley, the excited horses jumping around a bit after their riders pulled them sharply to a halt.
"Well met, Buck! You boys alright?" Chris asked, his smile bright.
"Better for seeing you, cowboy!" Buck gaily replied.
"What happened to you, Nathan?" Vin asked, noting the shallow bleeding cuts on the healer's arms. Nathan just shook his head in response. He didn't want to talk about it. Grimacing, Vin nodded and looked back at Chris. In the background, the Marshal was taking in the two lawmen's battered appearances with an unhappy expression.
"Anyone after you?" Chris demanded, looking up in that direction. Buck nodded.
"Yeah, but not to capture us. That bastard Moore wants his Italian Hammer back."
"Cash," Chris stated. "Of course. That why you're not headed in the direction of home?"
Buck looked over at Nathan, who looked down at the ground.
"We were going to go and fetch Ezra first," the healer explained.
"Ezra?"
"He's dead, Chris. That blond bitch Emily killed him," Buck hissed, his eyes staring daggers at the Marshal. She looked away, unable to look at any of them.
Chris looked back at the Marshal, curious as to why she hadn't disagreed, or at least said something about the 'bitch' remark. Seeing her look away, he understood. She already knew. She must have somehow figured out that it was Emily that had knocked Ezra down at the campsite.
Nathan frowned, and looked at Vin. "Didn't you see him? I mean, that is how you came to be heading in this direction, isn't it? Tracking us from where they took us?" Oh Lord, the healer prayed, don't let something have taken his body somewhere.
"Ezra's not dead," Vin said, shaking his head slightly, bringing Buck's attention to him as well as Nathan's.
"What?" both asked simultaneously.
"He rode in the morning. He's really out of it, but…well, I stitched up his head for him, and I think he'll be okay. At least physically. But you better look at him yourself, Nathan." Vin frowned, not sure what the healer's reaction would be to the idea that he had stitched Ezra's head.
"He's alive?" Nathan reiterated, his mind not totally grasping what Vin had just said.
"Yes. He is. Now I suggest we get the hell out of here." Chris said curtly. He wheeled Solon around and smiled back at his friends. "Let's get you boys home."
"Wait, what about our tail?" Buck asked.
Chris just smiled evilly. "I think its about time Robin Moore was treated to a real Four Corners welcome."
Concluded in Part Four