Greene's
Knights
Part Three
One Week Later…
"Hey Ez, how's the town?"
The gambler pushed back the brim of his hat and blinked owlishly up at the approaching tracker. He'd been sitting on the bench in front of the jail with his feet propped up, reading the latest novel by Charles Dickens called "Our Mutual Friend." The rings under his eyes had finally faded, the result of his insomnia breaking a few nights ago. For no reason the gambler could fathom, he'd started sleeping again, and it put him in a very good mood. Of course, he hadn't really understood what had caused the insomnia in the first place.
"All is quiet, my venerable friend, and how is the country?"
"Quieter."
Ezra grinned as Vin sat himself next to him and leaned back. Tucking the book away inside his thick waistcoat, he leaned back himself and put his hands behind his head, enjoying the comfortable companionship.
"Stagecoach should be here in a few minutes. Saw it while I was out," Vin said.
"Hmmm, and how does it look?"
"Rich."
Ezra grinned even wider, his eyes sparkling. At that moment, Josiah wandered across from the saloon, still looking tired. Ezra wondered briefly if his insomnia hadn't moved on to infect the usually untroubled preacher. Josiah yawned into his hand and wiped a hand across his face.
"Boys," he said quietly.
"Josiah," Vin replied.
"Mr. Sanchez," Ezra greeted warmly, "I haven't seen you for a few days. Out driving away demons and saving lost souls?"
Josiah offered him a dark look and rolled his eyes, not answering. Instead he turned his head to note the sound of the approaching stagecoach. Ezra bounced up and moved to stand next to him. Vin had not lied. The coach had more than its usual assortment of mail bags and packages, but seemed to be brimming with cases. There was even a horse attached to the side, indicating someone coming to stay.
"More suckers," Josiah smiled.
"Indeed, Mr. Sanchez."
The coach came to an agonized stop, horses pawing at the ground, wheels creaking, leather sighing. The driver jumped down and tipped a hat to the men at the jail before jogging around to open the door. His second, meanwhile, had turned to crawl atop the coach to remove the bags and cases.
The first man out of the coach had Ezra standing up a little straighter in anticipation. He was in his mid-thirties, wearing a crisp black bowler and a dark pin-striped suit. He adjusted the hat on his head and smoothed down an oiled moustache that was curled at the ends. With large, unhappy eyes he looked about the town with a distinctly uncomfortable air.
"Banker?" Josiah suggested. Ezra shook his head.
"Clothes are too rich."
"Businessman," Vin stated in his other ear. Ezra raised an eyebrow as he considered this, then shook his head again.
"Too uncomfortable. Businessmen that wealthy are masters at adjusting to new situations."
"Lawyer?" Josiah tried again.
Ezra tilted his head, then shook it again. "Doesn't look shifty enough."
"Gentleman of leisure?" Josiah frowned, already knowing the answer.
"Are you joking? In that outfit? Please."
"So…"
"Politician," the gambler decided. "There is an air of corruption around him. Looks like civil service."
Josiah looked at Vin, and the tracker shook his head; he didn't agree with Ezra's assessment. He thought the guy looked like a banker or a businessman. The preacher smiled, and mouthed the words "one dollar." Vin grinned and assented with a nod.
They continued to watch as several leather cases were handed down, clearly of good quality. Ezra noted they were monogrammed with gold, though he couldn't make out the letters.
"I take that back," the gambler said. "He's higher than civil service. He's someone in office."
Josiah looked again at Vin, and the tracker shook his head again. "Two dollars," the tracker mouthed, sticking up two fingers behind Ezra's back. The preacher nodded.
"Think he's a card player, Ez?" Vin asked, just as the newcomer noticed them. The man handed some money off to the driver to have his bags taken to the hotel, then headed over, squinting a bit at the bright sun.
"Oh I certainly hope so," Ezra replied, greed flavoring the tone. He grinned at the man as he reached them. The newcomer glanced only once at Vin and Josiah before focusing on Ezra.
"Excuse me, uh, gentlemen, but is the sheriff in?" He looked behind them at the jail as if measuring its worth.
Ezra shook his head, "I'm afraid we don't have a sheriff, Mr.…ah…"
"Greene. Harold Greene. Then could you direct me to the law in this town? I'm attempting to locate my brother, and I understand he is under their protection." If the newcomer was aware of the surprised looks that crossed the men's faces in front of him, he gave no sign. Harold Greene looked nothing like his brother.
"Well, Mr. Greene, you are currently standing in front of three of them," Josiah rumbled. "I am Josiah Sanchez, this is Vin Tanner, and…."
Ezra stuck out his hand, "Ezra Standish, at your service sir, and may I say it is a distinct pleasure to make your acquaintance."
"You're the law?" Greene clearly did not look pleased, and he ignored the hand. Pretending not to notice, Ezra swept his hand back to indicate down the street towards the apothecary's shop.
"Yes, we are, and, if you'll permit me, sir, I'll walk you to your brother's shop. May I ask, if it is not too much trouble, what business you have in our small hamlet?" He started walking, and the Surveyor General could do little more than follow.
Harold Greene frowned, eying Ezra suspiciously. "I'm afraid that, at this moment, I do not feel it is proper to explain without talking with my brother first. Perhaps later."
Ezra nodded, and glanced behind him to see Josiah and Vin following slowly. "By the way, Mr. Tanner," he called, "I believe you owe Mr. Sanchez two dollars?"
Vin came to an abrupt stop, his mouth open. Josiah started laughing and stuck out his hand to the younger man. With a grumble, the tracker pulled a couple of silver dollars from his pocket and handed them over.
When they reached the apothecary's, Ezra escorted Harold Greene inside the empty shop, then turned around to step outside, casually leaning against a handy post on the boardwalk. Vin sidled up and whispered something in his ear, then wandered off. Josiah had already headed off back to the jail.
The shop door closed with a faint 'shush,' muffling the sounds of the outside including the laughter of the children over in a neighboring alley. Taking its place, Harold heard the sounds of someone moving around in what was undoubtedly a storeroom in the back. The man's heart began to beat slightly faster as he wondered how his brother and sister-in-law would react upon seeing him again. They had not parted on the best of terms….
He busied himself by looking around the dusty shop, wrinkling his nose at the strong scents assailing his nostrils, his upper lip curling slightly in distaste. He whipped out the handkerchief from its pocket in his suit and brought it to his nose. Most people liked the smell of the apothecary's shop, especially as Belinda saw fit to stock plenty of lavender, cedar and pine, but the Surveyor General disliked all things that smelled, regardless of what they were. In his mind, he could imagine the odors invading his sensitive nostrils and setting him up for a humongous sneeze. Part of the reason he'd never found a wife is because he couldn't stand the smell of perfume on skin. He saw a line of perfume jars on one shelf and rolled his eyes.
He was inspecting a jar filled with vanilla bath salts when a creak from behind indicated the shop keep's reappearance from the back.
"Oh, I'm sorry sir, I didn't hear you come in…" Stephen stopped, nearly dropping the large jar of mustard seed he was holding, his eyes wide. Then he grinned, "Harry?"
"Hello Stevey," Harold replied, pulling off his hat. For some reason, his nervousness increased as he saw the way his brother's face had lit up upon seeing him.
"My God, Harry!" Hastily dropping the jar on the counter, Stephen crossed the floor and enveloped his younger brother in a hug.
The two were an interesting contrast: they were perhaps about the same build, which wasn't very tall and somewhat thin, but their coloring and facial features were as different as night and day. Harold's skin was smooth and pale, almost translucent, and his thick hair and fancy moustache were almost black in color. His eyes were large and round, light hazel in color and ringed with shadows, and frown lines marked his pale lips. Stephen, on the other hand, was blond with small dark brown eyes, a pockmarked, ruddy visage, and a ready smile. His hair was thinning, the result of being almost five years older than his brother, and the only hair he wore on his face were a pair of wide Gladstone sideburns that were lined with silver thread. If it hadn't been for the common last name, most people would have been hard pressed to know that they were related.
Harold returned the hug stiffly, then tried to pull away. Sensing this, his older brother let go.
"Damn Harry, how long has it been? Six, seven years?"
"Something like that," his brother replied.
Stephen continued to grin foolishly, "Well, what are you doing here? Wait, no, don't answer that. Let me call Bel first. She'll be so pleased you're here," he turned and yelled for his wife, not seeing the wry look his brother gave him.
"Stevey, I…."
A woman's voice interrupted him, sounding a little tired. "What is it Stephen? I had my hands filled with rushes…." Bel entered the room, wiping green stained hands on her apron. Her jaw fell as she saw who was with her husband.
"Harold," she breathed.
"Hello Belinda," Harold said quietly, staring blankly at the floor. "It is nice to see you again."
She just blinked, then seemed to recover. Smiling tightly, she stepped forward and stood next to Stephen, wrapping a hand around his arm.
"I must admit I'm surprised to see you," she told him. "But it is also nice to see your face again. Stephen has been most worried about you. Every time he sees an article in the paper about you, he clips it and hangs it on the wall above the icebox." She continued to smile and squeezed Stephen's arm. He patted her hand absently.
"Well, I came as soon as you sent me that telegram. I had to make sure you were alright, especially after what happened to Paddy Shaw," Harold stated.
Stephen's face darkened, puzzled. "Paddy Shaw? What about him? Our law sent him down to trial at the territorial seat three days ago. And I sent you a letter, Harry, not a telegram. I'm sorry if it gave you the impression that you needed to come up here. Our law here is the best in the territory, and they've kept good care of us."
Harold's face matched the puzzled look. "No, no, I got the letter too, Stevey….um…." he frowned, and turned to look out the window for Mr. Standish. A slight trickle of fear ran down his spine as he realized the fancy coated man was no longer watching out front. "Where did he go?" he wondered aloud. Both Stephen and Belinda looked outside, then back at Harold.
"What happened to Paddy Shaw, Harold?" Belinda asked, gripping her husband's arm tighter. Harold was still staring outside, his jaw tensing.
"Apache raid, so they say, though no one actually saw it happen. Killed him en route to the city. Never had a chance to testify. Um, is the gentleman gambler in the red coat really a member of the law here?" He looked back, his large eyes bright with nervousness.
"Sure. That's Ezra Standish," Stephen answered, waving his free hand towards the outside, though his dark eyes remained fixed on his brother's too pale face. "If Shaw is dead, Harry, then there is no one to testify against that Farron man, is there?"
"No. They never even got around to arresting him….Wasn't on site when the Marshals went to look." A pregnant silence descended when he finished, and Harold looked once more out the shop windows, his face pinched with worry, hoping to see the lawman in the red coat. Belinda looked up at her husband and shook his arm. The older Greene grimaced.
"Harry," Stephen's voice dropped, "What is it you are doing here? You once told me you'd never leave the city again."
Harold blinked. "What do you mean, why am I here? I came because you….because you said if I didn't, they would kill your sons," he replied, his voice taking on the same low quality.
Belinda cried out and raised a hand to her mouth. Stephen just stared at Harold blankly.
"What are you talking about?"
"The telegram, Stevey. You sent a telegram. I came as fast as I could."
"I never….Bel, go find one of the Seven, and find the boys. Harold, you must get out of here!" Stephen stepped forward, grabbing his brother's arm in a fierce grip. Harold just stared at him. Stephen grimaced, "I didn't send a telegram, Harry. You've been set up for some reason." Harold's eyes grew huge.
A cry from behind him turned Stephen around, and his hold on Harold fell. A tall, stocky old man with salt and pepper hair was holding Belinda, a knife to her throat. Her lips twitched in fear as he pressed it deep enough to cut a small line of blood. Behind him, another younger man appeared from the back to hold a gun on the two brothers.
"Too late, I'm afraid, Mr. Greene," the old man smiled.
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"What is it you want, Farron," Harold Greene asked, his tone sententious. "Why did you bring me here?" Both his brother and sister-in-law had their hands tied behind their backs, and a young man with light colored hair held a gun to the back of Stephen's head. They had already learned that this was John Farron, Michael Farron's son.
"You're here because I wanted to demonstrate to you how serious I am, my good sir, and to ensure that you would not use distance as an excuse to delay. All I ask is a few little scrawls with a fountain pen, Mr. Surveyor General," Farron announced coyly. "A small adjustment to the maps and I promise not to kill your family."
"Where are my sons!" Belinda demanded, trying to step forward. John drew her back with a sharp tug to the long dark braid she wore.
"They are healthy, Mrs. Greene. They are in the capable hands of my youngest son, Andrew, and I'm sure that they have not been harmed. What good would you all be as bargaining chips if I let any harm come to you?" Farron turned soft blue eyes on the woman, and she had to wonder how someone with such a kind face could be so snakelike underneath.
"Let the boys go, please," Stephen plead, trying to read those same eyes. Farron actually looked ashamed as he shook his head.
"I am sorry, but I'm afraid that they, and you, are simply too useful. Initially, I did try to spare the children and you, Mrs. Greene, of this terrible trouble, but my plans were rudely interrupted by the cavalier lawmen of this…place. Consequently, I was forced to take more drastic measures. Now, Harold, if you please."
The younger Greene took a deep breath, his eyes narrowed slightly. Corruption he could handle, but this was more than he had bargained for. "Will you let them go after I sign?"
"Let them go?" Farron's brow furrowed. "Now what would be the point of that?"
"If you don't, the law in this town will hunt you down!" Belinda challenged, her eyes flashing. "You're no match for them, you…you nasty man, and they will bring you to justice."
"Oh yes, the famous Seven. Well, I wouldn't worry about them, Mrs. Greene. See, they're looking for a man with a long white beard and about eighty pounds heavier. One of my sons saw that awful picture hanging in their jail near the door, and that likeness is deplorable. I'd already lost the weight, and all I had to do then was shave the beard and add a few streaks to my hair. It's amazing how different one looks with a clean shave." He brought a hand to his face, perhaps still not used to the feel of his chin after so many years. He smiled again.
"If you let them go, I promise to do whatever you want from now on. I am no hero, Mr. Farron, and, though I may have been a bit rude to you upon our initial meeting, I am more than happy to make up for it." Harold held his hand out for the fountain pen, which Farron happily gave up.
"Oh, I am certain that is true, Harold. May I call you Harold?" The smile grew as he drew a handful of documents from out his jacket and unfolded them. "However, I have never been one to rely on the sincerity of strangers, particularly when they are politicians. You rejected my offer of money first time round, Mr. Greene. Oh, I am well aware that you were merely holding out for more, but, frankly, I find this to be a much more economical solution. Besides ensuring your continued compliance, I also gain four fresh workers for my mines."
Harold's hand shook as it hovered over the first paper, his quick eyes reading the words thereon. Farron was having him rewrite the borderlines. It was pure perfidy. "If anyone finds out that I have done this," he whispered, "I will not only lose my job, but I'll probably be arrested."
"Well, then, you'll have to make sure no one finds out. Oh, and, if they do, I'm afraid both your life and that of your family will be forfeit. I really am sorry about that. What is the youngest's name? Wyn?" Farron leaned over to point at the dotted line on the sheet, ignoring the angry shout from Belinda. "Right there, Mr. Greene. Your signature goes there."
"What happens after this?" Harold asked. He wondered if he was signing his death warrant.
"We put your brother and his family in the back of the wagon I have sitting around back. It's covered, of course, to hide us from being caught, and then we simply trundle out of here. You, Mr. Greene, will go outside, go across to the saloon, have a few drinks as if nothing were wrong, and then take the evening coach out of here. And if you wouldn't mind, please try to keep the law here distracted for a while?" He nodded at Harold, and leaned on the counter.
"They'll know we've gone," Stephen said. "They've kept a very close watch on us lately. Even with Harold still here, they'll know…."
"They'll know absolutely nothing, Mr. Greene. I know that the one called Buck is still laid-up from that gunshot wound – infection and blood loss can be such a bother. And the boy sheriff, JD, has barely left his side. I also happen to know that the indomitable Mr. Larabee has gone to take some supplies to his cabin, and that the black healer has left to ride a patrol to the north. Honestly, do they really believe I would be so foolish as to approach from that direction after being described as being in Red Rock?" He shook his head. "As for the other three, frankly, I can't imagine that they are really as terrible as their reputations allow. I've been here for three days, Mr. Greene, and no one has so much as approached me!"
Harold looked at his brother, and was worried to see doubt on the man's face. Belinda was staring at the floor, visibly shaking, though from anger or fear the younger Greene wasn't sure. Finally, he turned back to Farron.
"You won't hurt them?" he whispered.
"Not unless you give me cause, sir," Farron replied. He glanced pointedly at the paper.
With a sigh, Harold signed it, and the ones accompanying it. Farron grinned, and tucked the papers back inside his jacket.
"Thank you, Surveyor General. You may remain here until we have left. Now, if your brother and his wife would accompany me outside? John?"
Farron's son nudged Stephen and Belinda in the back with his gun, forcing them to follow the old man. Stephen stole one more glance at his brother, then bowed his head in resignation of his fate. Harold stood in the front of the shop, staring blankly at the glass counter, the pen gripped in his hand. What had he done?
_______________________________
As Farron had described, there was a covered wagon out back, heavy cloths hiding the sides, back and front from view. Farron drew away from the Greenes to stand by the rear, leaning casually on a large wheel. It had the girth and weight of a converted stagecoach, with four steel bound wheels, meaning it could move fairly quickly, especially with four horses leading it.
"In the wagon, please," he asked politely, drawing aside the cloth. He almost jumped out of his skin when he found a sawed-off Winchester rifle pointed at his head.
"Hi there," Vin greeted cheerfully. Farron instantly scrambled backwards, but was prevented from running by a heavy hand to his shoulder, and a Smith & Wesson shoved in his back.
John raised his gun at the surprise threat, about to call his father's name, but found that he too had a gun to his head. A black colt pressed against his temple, and his father's name died on his lips.
"Drop it," Chris hissed, pulling back on the hammer. Josiah pushed Farron forward to stand on his own, but kept the Smith & Wesson pointed at his chest. The old man gritted his teeth. Meanwhile, Vin extricated himself from the wagon, his Mare's Leg now loose in his hands. Holstering it, he smiled at the family and stepped forward to untie their bonds.
Stephen smiled in relief, then the smile fell. "My boys?" he asked worriedly.
"With Ezra at the Potter's, Mr. Greene. Safe."
"Thank you," Belinda said emphatically. She threw her arms around Vin after he loosed her wrists. He blushed deeply and ducked back out of the embrace.
"What have you done with Andrew!" Farron suddenly demanded, looking around for his son. Andrew was supposed to have been with the children.
"I'm here, pop," a young voice answered. A blond man in his late twenties was shoved from out the dark of the alleyway next to the shop. "I'm sorry. They got the drop on me before I could get to the boys." He looked darkly back at his captor. Nathan grinned in return, shoving the man forward again with another push.
Harold emerged from the shop, his face slack-jawed as he saw that the Farrons had been captured. Behind him, Buck and JD wandered out, the ladies man still sporting a sling. It didn't seem to hamper the solid grip he had on the gun in his left hand though.
Farron was shaking his head, his expression clouded. "How did you…how did you know?"
"I am afraid your…disguise…was not as effective as you'd hoped, Mr. Farron," Chris stated, taking the gun from John's hand. "We knew who you were the minute you arrived in town. Then we simply followed you as you met up with your sons, and listened to your plan."
"Wait, you knew he was here?" Belinda asked, her expression incredulous. "You knew what he was planning and you didn't warn us?"
Chris grimaced, "I am sorry about that, Mrs. Greene. But with Paddy Shaw dead…."
"You knew about Paddy Shaw too? And you didn't tell us that either?"
"It was necessary, Mrs. Greene. We had to catch the Farrons in the act or else we…."
"You didn't trust us with the information? What, you thought we would run or something?" She was angry, and she stalked right up to the gunslinger, offering him a glare to rival his own. "We were terrified out of our minds, Mr. Larabee. I thought my children were in mortal danger. Do you know what that is like? And all this time, you knew?!"
Chris's eyes darkened, and a stony professionalism marked him. "We had to make it believable for the Farrons, Mrs. Greene. Believe me, we never let either one of them with five feet of Jeremy or Elwyn, and we had someone watching through the window at all times."
"And that is supposed to make me feel better?" She spat.
"Bel, please, try to calm…" Stephen tried, stepping forward to take her arm.
"No!" She whipped around, all her fear and frustration feeding her anger. Part of her was aware that she was being irrational, but, after everything that had happened, she couldn't let it go. "I will not calm down!"
BANG!
Bel screamed, falling to the ground with her hands around her ears. Stephen joined her, pulling her to him. Everyone else jumped for cover, all except John and Andrew Farron, who were staring at their father.
Someone had shot old man Farron through the heart. Black blood welled out of the wound.
"PA!" Andrew screamed, his eyes wide. John ran over to his father, pulling the old man off the ground and into his arms.
"Get behind cover!" Chris shouted at them, but neither of the Farron brothers listened.
"Pa?" Andrew looked up at his brother, tears filling in his eyes. John met his younger brother's eyes and slowly shook his head. Andrew let out an agonized wail and pressed his head down on his father's chest.
The others had raised their guns, and were trying to figure out where the shot had come from. By the alley still, Nathan picked himself to get across to the old man. Two more shots exploded in the dirt in front of him, forcing him back again. Vin whipped around and fired loudly at the roof of the apothecary shop, catching sight of a hooded and masked figure in black before it disappeared from view.
Sensing an opening, the healer once more tried to check on the old man, but John's eyes blistered with hatred, warning him off. Looking at the blood, and at the young man's face, Nathan already knew that there was nothing he could do. Farron had likely died instantly. Chris saw this as well, and ordered his plan accordingly.
"JD, Buck, stay here and watch these people. Josiah, Nathan follow him from the ground. Vin, you're with me!" Chris ducked inside the shop, planning on heading to the roof. Josiah and Nathan took off down the alley to the front.
JD ushered the Greenes inside as Buck went to cover the Farrons, his eyes half on the roofs above his head. The kid returned and headed across to see John still cradling his father in his arms while Andrew sat on haunches, head in his hands.
"We should get him to the undertakers," the kid said solemnly. John looked up at him, then at his brother. Then he nodded quietly and stood, dropping his father's body to the ground.
"You want to get his shoulders?" John asked hoarsely of Andrew. The younger man looked up and blinked. After a moment, he inclined his head. John sighed in response and shifted around Buck as if he would take his father's feet. Buck watched him warily, keeping his gun level with the older Farron brother's chest.
Andrew stood as well, but instead of moving to take his father's upper body, he wrapped his arms around his stomach and started to back away towards the alley. His brother watched him pass, his brow furrowed.
Frowning, JD followed Andrew, his colts both up. "Uh, where are you going?"
Andrew looked at him…and smiled.
"Drop the gun, sonny boy," old man Farron's voice croaked from behind him, "or the one armed gunslinger here gets it."
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Vin skirted across the roof, slipping a bit on the loose tiles, remembering with a pang the last time he'd had to be up here. Driving Eli Joe from his mind, he kept one eye on his feet and one on the black clad figure jumping onto the roof of Potter's mercantile. The mercantile had stairs that ran down the back on the outside, to make more room for the store and storage rooms inside. If the shooter made the stairs, and had a horse waiting, Vin knew he wouldn't catch him. There was too much of a lead.
Chris skipped along behind him, but he wasn't as sure footed, and not for the first time the gunslinger wished he had Vin and Ezra's agility when it came to scaling roofs. He saw Vin jump across to the roof of the hotel and scramble up the steep sides. Grimacing, Chris braced himself to follow, trying not to think about the heights.
On the ground, Josiah kept one eye up, trying to keep the runners in perspective. Looking ahead, he realized that the shooter must be on the roof of the mercantile, maybe trying to get down by the back stairs. Pointing at Nathan to stay in the front of the store in case the shooter jumped onto the roof of the bank, he ran down the alley between the mercantile and the hotel and skidded to a halt around back.
KA-BANG! KA-BANG!
The preacher jumped backwards, feeling something sting his shoulder. The shooter was on the stairs, and in a far better position than he was. Cocking the Smith & Wesson, he leant back against the side of the building, listening.
Still on the stairs, the shooter looked back up to the roof, knowing that the tracker would be there in a moment. Grimacing, the masked figure sucked in a deep breath and started running down the stairs, eyes on the back of the dark sorrel mare tied up at the bottom. One more landing and he could jump on the back of the beast and be gone.
The creaking of the stairs told Josiah exactly where the man was as he made his mad dash, and taking a deep breath, he knew that he would only have one chance at stopping the man from getting to his horse. A wolfish grin crossed his face and he charged out from the alley, his gun up and firing, running straight for the horse. The mare screamed at the sudden explosion of sound, and the shooter reacted instantly by ducking into an eave and bringing his own gun to bear.
Josiah rolled and dived, getting behind and somewhat underneath the horse, amazed that he wasn't dead yet. Unfortunately, based on the fact that the other man was also still firing, he also knew he had missed.
Ducking down, he grabbed the horse's reins, trying to stop her from stomping on him as she shifted around. He had to consciously tell his heart to slow down, as it felt about ready to explode out of his chest. On the stairs, the shooter swore loudly, and hastily reloaded.
"Drop it!" Vin yelled from above, trying to get a fix on the shooter, but the roof's eaves blocked his view. The man on the stairs immediately swung his gun upwards and sent of a hail of shots towards Vin's position, splintering the roof, noting with glee as a grunt from the tracker indicated one had hit its mark. Swinging the gun around again, the shooter estimated the distance to the ground and swallowed thickly. Uttering a quick oath, the masked man leaped up onto the railing and jumped down.
Josiah had only just finished reloading when the shooter abruptly landed beside him. Surprised, he flipped his gun into position and took a shot, but the man was already rolling. Whoever he was, he was incredibly fast. The shooter fired a few times in Josiah's direction, forcing the preacher to shift sideways and fall badly on his injured arm.
A red coated blur appeared from nowhere, and the shooter fell backwards under the tackle. Josiah regained his footing to see Ezra wrestling with the shooter, trying to get the gun out of the man's hand. Quickly, he joined the fight, grabbing the man's arm and wrenching it back, forcing the fingers to release their grip on the weapon. Ezra grimaced and grabbed the other arm. Together, they pulled the shooter to his feet, and Ezra ripped off the man's hood.
Light brown hair fell out in a wave, and bright blue eyes glared at the two men. If she hadn't been so angry, she would have been beautiful.
"A girl?" Vin's voice called angrily from the roof. He was holding his right arm, a look of pure astonishment on his face. "It took three of us to get a girl?" Chris appeared beside him, also looking down with a surprised expression.
The shooter spat up at him, her lips curled in derision.
______________________________
"Who are you?" Chris demanded, his eyes fixed on the woman's face. She looked familiar, but he couldn't figure out why. Ezra was standing a few feet away, his arms crossed angrily across his chest. He was shooting daggers at Josiah, but the preacher had failed to notice since Nathan was tightly winding a clean cloth around his shoulder. The gambler was filled with an irrational anger, his mind tripping over the image of Josiah's mad dash to capture the woman's horse, barely escaping with his life. It was a totally unnecessary risk – they could have chased after the woman had she gotten to the mare first, and, even if Vin was hurt, either he or Chris could have probably taken her down with a well aimed shot. What had Josiah been thinking? And why wasn't anyone else chastising the preacher for his foolishness? He had expected either Chris or Nathan to say something, but both had been silent, as if it was all right for Josiah to make suicide attempts. With this in mind, he switched his angry gaze to Chris.
"I'm not going to ask again," Chris was saying, pulling the woman forward with a solid grip to her black shirt. She merely snarled in return, making her appear ugly despite being an obviously attractive woman. Ezra rolled his eyes. My god, was the gunslinger that dense?
"Oh come on, Chris, look at her," Ezra rejoined darkly. "She's obviously Farron's daughter." He had seen the resemblance immediately, his profession teaching him well how to recognize a daughter when it was necessary. "Though I must admit, she looks pretty healthy for someone who is allegedly dead."
Chris's eyes widened slightly, then narrowed. Yes, he could see it now as well. They had the same eyes and the same shape face. She was also quite clearly not ten years old. She matched his narrowed gaze.
Hidden beneath the shadow of the stairs, Vin looked up, unable to hide his interest. Both he and Josiah had been forced to stand aside from the confrontation as Nathan bound their wounds. Josiah had merely been grazed on the shoulder, but she had managed to get lucky and take a sizeable chunk out of Vin's right arm.
"Why'd she want to shoot her own father?" he asked curiously. Chris raised an eyebrow at the woman, but she remained tightlipped.
Finished, Nathan walked over and picked up her two guns where Chris had tossed them to the ground, turning them over in his hands. Vin got to his feet and went over to stand near Chris, while Ezra returned to staring angrily at Josiah. The preacher caught the caustic look this time, and looked back with a bemused expression. Ezra broke first, turning to stare down the empty alley with a grimace.
Vin tried to read the woman's eyes, but they were like ice. "We had him in custody you know," he told her, cradling his hurt arm. "He would have been up for attempted murder and extortion. He'd probably of hanged… Why take the risk of killing him yourself? Did you hate him so much that you would sentence yourself to die with him?"
She raised her eyebrows, but, of course, still didn't say a word.
Disgusted, Chris grabbed her fiercely by the arm. "Well, whatever the reason, Miss Farron, you are going to jail." He started to head off that way when he heard Nathan call his name.
"Why would she need two guns?" Nathan suddenly asked. "You only need one to assassinate someone." Chris felt her arm tense, and he stopped, surprised at her reaction. Dread filled him then, and, handing her off to Vin, walked back to grab the guns from Nathan. With the air of a man well practiced in his art, he checked both weapons, popping open the chambers, then slamming them closed. His eyes glittered with anger as he held up the one on the left.
"This one is filled with blanks. Josiah, watch the boys. Vin, bring her!" He took off running, the others on his heels.
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They found JD face down on the ground, unconscious. No sign of the Farrons or Buck anywhere. The wagon was also gone. Nathan tapped the kid's cheek, trying to wake him up. JD groaned, drawing a shaky hand to his head.
"What…," he blinked and rolled on his side, staring blearily up at the healer. "Nathan?"
"JD, what happened?" Nathan asked.
"Ungh," JD pressed his hand to his head, closing his eyes again. "I don't…." he stopped. Suddenly his eyes popped open to stare at the healer with surprising intensity, his hands grasping the man's shirt. "Nathan, it was a trick. Michael Farron's alive. They've got the Greenes and Buck!"
Farron's daughter started to laugh. Vin tightened his grip on her arm.
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Concluded in Part Four (coming very soon!)