"Mr. Dunne, I must insist that you refrain from carrying out the implied purpose of your general deameanor!"exclaimed Ezra Standish. The gentleman gambler stood stock still on the dusty wooden walkway after coming face-to-face with a gun, a .36 caliber Colt Navy 1851 single action pistol to be precise, pointed directly at him.
The young sheriff of Four Corners, JD Dunne, frowned in consternation, "Huh?"
Following the path of Ezra's green eyes down to his hand, understanding dawned on the young man. "Oh, I'm real sorry, Ezra!" he said as he quickly holstered the six-shooter.
"Much better, Mr. Dunne. And might I inquire as to the nature of your well-being on this fine morning?" Ezra asked him as the two men began to walk towards the livery.
JD was becoming more familiar to the older man's peculiar taste in words. He discovered that he was one of the few in town that had little trouble following Ezra's particular mode of speech. Part of this was due to the fact that he was the one person who spent the most time with Ezra. The other six men could never seem to warm to the southerner. For some reason, JD saw something in the ex-conman that the others couldn't. The more time he spent with the gambler, the easier it was for him to understand the twenty-five cent words that continually popped out of Ezra's mouth. At first, JD was a bit offended by the "dumbing down" of his speech that Ezra had tended to use around the undereducated youth. But, as the months passed, Ezra found the young man to have a quick mind and set himself to the personal task of furthering his education in the only way he knew how. And besides, at least Ezra talked on subjects non-relating to women, as some unmentioned friend of his did nearly continually.
"Ez, I'm real sorry about that. I was just trying to finish getting the thing loaded and then you . ."
"I am well aware of that fact, Mr. Dunne," Ezra said with a smile. "I see no need for your continued apologies."
The two men continued making their way towards the livery where they were to meet up with the remaining members of their team. JD was excitedly rambling about their upcoming ride, not noticing Ezra's lack of participation in the conversation. 'Hopefully,' thought Ezra, 'Mr. Larabee will take into account the fact that Mr. Dunne was as late as I in arriving.' The thought of having to listen to Chris's tiresome comments about his disapproval of his sleeping habits began to wear on a man. And perhaps, he could dispense with the asinine comments ("Such an ungodly hour to be awake!") that he was given to dispensing whenever an occasion such as this occured.
Vin's familiar drawl greeted the two as they arrived, "Mornin' JD, Ez."
Ezra simply smiled at his compatriots, flashing a peek of his gold tooth in the early morning sun. There was nothing that any of these men could do that would affect him in any manner. In an effort to forestall any discussion on the timeliness of his arrival he asked, "Well, gentlemen, shall we be off?" The red clad man settled himself in his fine tooled leather saddle, spurring his horse into a slow walk "The latest ruffian, a cattle rustler, if I am to understand Mr. Larabee correctly, awaits us."
Larabee, clad in his traditional black garments, nodded briefly to the two late comers before turning his own horse towards the east end of town. The others followed suit, quickly outpacing and overtaking Ezra. The six men paired off in their usual groups ahead of the gambler. Vin and Chris were at the head of the pack with Josiah and Nathan, already absorbed in another of their deep discussions came second, and followed closely by a laughing Buck and JD. Ezra, at the rear of the group, found himself alone once again. 'Ever the outcast.,' he thought wryly. 'Even here among the outcasts themselves.' He sighed resignedly, nudging Chaucer into a canter.
As the morning sun rose to its usual place in the sky, the heat and dust began to settle over the riders. Ezra wiped his face with one of his many handkerchiefs, grimacing at the dirt that was left on the fine material. It was bad enough that he had to be up at the the crack of dawn, but the fact that he had to be chasing down some nefarious villain made it all the worse. 'I can just see Mother now,' he thought with a grin. She would be aghast at the sight of her son, Ezra P. Standish traipsing out into the desert in search of some cattle thief.
A few hours into the excursion, he found himself absently shuffling the worn deck of cards in his left hand, directing his horse from time to time with his right. Without warning, he felt a splash drop down on his hand. He threw an irritated glance upwards and saw the signs of an impending rainstorm. If it weren't so cliche, he would have laughed. But as it was, Ezra quietly replaced the cards in his vest pocket and tugged his jacket lapels closer together as he continued on behind his six associates.
Hunching further over his saddlehorn in an effort to evade some of the moisture that had begun to shower upon the group, Ezra's thoughts returned to the six men he found himself riding with. Despite the many times he had stood shoulder to shoulder with them, fighting against great odds, they didn't completely trust him. He knew that Chris really believed that he was only there for the "easy money" their positions provided.
"Yeah, easy money," Ezra grinned to himself at that thought. Easy, if you didn't count all the times that he'd been nearly killed and the growing number of new scars that now graced his once blemish-free body.
Lost in his stray thoughts, Ezra did not notice how far behind he had been lagging as the early morning sun burned closer to midday. Because of this, he was the first to notice when the shots began to ring out across the valley.
"Aww, hell!" Ezra mumbled as he felt a bullet graze his right shoulder. He leapt off Chaucer and slapped the stead in an effort to force him to find cover. He gave the other six one final glance, before he ducked behind an outcropping of rock and pulled his guns. From his vantage point, Ezra could see nothing but he could hear the shouts of his friends and the gunshots that were raining down upon them. Every time he attempted to take a shot, bullets would ricochet off the boulder he was hiding behind, forcing him to retreat. He was unable to do anything useful to assist his friends. He quickly reviewed the situation and found that either he could stay where he was and hope that his friends were able to subdue the attackers or he could run for it. Not liking his limited options, he settled on remaining where he was for the time being. If he tried to get closer to his friends without any cover, it would be suicide. Ezra was, above all things, a man who only bet on a sure thing. Besides he wasn't stupid.
As he once more made an attempt to gauge the battle situation, he heard the distinct click behind him. A sound that sounded suspiciously like that of a gun being cocked. The harsh prodding of cool metal against the nape of his sweaty neck confirmed his suspicion.
"Drop 'em, or I blow your head off," a raspy voice demanded from behind him. Without hesitation, Ezra complied, laying his Remington on the ground.
"Now, turn around."
Ezra complied with the second order, hoping that when he did he might be able to signal one of the others. He found himself standing in front of someone he had never laid eyes on before. And, because the guns were still assaulting the others, no one realized that he was in trouble.
"Say goodnight, Mr. Standish." the gunman spat as he brought his gun down on the smaller man's forehead.
Just before he blacked out, Ezra had one thought run through his mind. "He knows my name!"