Demons and Lovers (Or the Devil's Luck)
Parts Three and Four
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The day passed slowly, with no one outside of Buck and JD aware that Ezra was in jail. Up in the clinic, Josiah watched over Nathan, although he did wonder why Ezra hadn't returned after getting the supplies he needed. He hoped it was because the gambler was getting some more sleep. The younger man had still looked exhausted, especially after watching over them last night, even though he had seemed lighter than he had all week.
Josiah didn't blame Ezra for what happened to Nathan, how could he? But, like the others, the preacher had needed a little distance for a while, something he was denied because Ezra was tending both of them. Nathan and JD had both accepted Ezra's actions without thinking, but Josiah knew he had acted coldly, just as Buck, Vin and Chris had. He regretted that aloofness now, knowing it might have badly damaged the relationship he'd been building with the younger man, and hoped Ezra would stop by so that he could tell him in person.
Dearest God, how could he have been such a fool as to allow himself to act that way?
Nathan yawned and opened his eyes, looking up at his friend sitting next to him. The healer smiled, and raised a hand to reach for Josiah's. The preacher grabbed it without hesitation.
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Several hours later, around early afternoon, Yosemite looked up from his smithy as two riders came in slowly towards him and his livery. Placing his hammer to one side, he leant back in the chair to greet them.
"Afternoon strangers, can I help you?"
"You the livery owner, blacksmith?" the taller man asked. He was swarthy, thick of lip and dark of brow. Black hair was tied back sloppily behind his head, allowing for several loose strands. Some women might describe this Hispanic man as handsome, but Yosemite saw an ugliness there that had nothing to do with looks. Nevertheless, never one to turn down a copper, the blacksmith stood up from his chair and nodded.
"That would be me, you need your horses stabled?"
"This one is quick, huh Frank? Smart as a whip, eh?" the second man grinned as he spoke, his voice oddly high pitched for someone with such an old face. Perhaps about fifteen years his companion's senior, this old man was also much uglier. His face twisted into a leer as he watched Yosemite through a pair of pig-like eyes, the silver hair on his head contrasting sharply with a long handlebar moustache the color of pitch.
Yosemite shot him a look, but didn't reply. Instead, he looked back at "Frank." The Hispanic man shot his old friend a dirty look for the sarcastic comment, then dismounted.
"How much," Frank asked.
"Nickel a day," Yosemite replied, "per horse."
Frank nodded, and handed his reins over to the stout man. As he pulled his bags from off the horse's saddle, he looked up at his companion, "Give him your horse, Chet."
Chet snorted slightly before dismounting and adding his reins to Frank's. Then he fished a couple of nickels out of the small purse at his belt and handed them over. Yosemite accepted them with a nickel fisted salute. Chet ignored him and went to pull his own bags from off his horse's saddle.
Frank turned to look over the town, his eyes alighting on the two saloons. After a moment, he chose the one he imagined their friends to have chosen and walked away. Chet followed, shooting one more twisted look at Yosemite as he left.
The blacksmith grimaced slightly, then shrugged. He reached out to pet the one called Frank's horse, who responded by tossing her head slightly. She showed signs of having been ridden hard, which annoyed the soft-hearted man.
"Shh, lovely lady. We'll get you and your friend here someplace nice and comfy, very soon."
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Frank threw his tack against the wall of the boarding house, his anger evident in every muscle on his face.
"Sons of bitches! What the hell were they thinking!" They'd just spent almost two hours working their way through town, only to discover that the two men they'd come to meet had been put in jail this morning.
Chet flinched where he sat on one of the small beds, and shook his head. "Shhh, Frank, you want the whole world to hear?"
"Shush? SHUSH! You want me to be quiet! Blast you, old man, I have a right to be angry. All those two lowlifes had to do was scope out the town for the day, make sure it was still empty of peacekeepers, and what happens? They get themselves tossed in jail and, to make matters worse, Slim gets himself shot in the arm? What hell good is a lockpick and a safecracker with only one arm? There's more gold in this town's bank than in any of the ones in a twenty mile radius, all because of the seven lawmen, and now I'll never even get to look at it!"
"Boss, boss, there is some good news," Chet tried smiling, betraying several gaps in his yellow array of teeth. Frank, who tried to keep his teeth white (for the ladies) turned away in disgust.
"What good news. You heard what they're saying in town. Them peacekeepers of theirs are back, which is why it was so easy for them to take our boys down this morning. Damn fools! Damn, stupid idiots! Iffin we hadn't gotten that info about them being away in Red Fork so late...."
"Boss..."
"What?"
"Boss, they ain't all back, and, those that're here? I understand only two of them ain't hurt."
Frank frowned, turning to Chet with dark eyes. "Say again?"
"Well, see, there's supposed to be seven of 'em, right? Six and the Larabee fella? Well, Larabee's out of town with one of the other ones, and they're not expected back till tomorrow. Then I heard tell that another two are laid up in the clinic over the livery, basically useless to anyone, so I've been told. And then, there's a big fella whom everyone's been saying is drunk as a skunk in one of the saloons, and, when I went to look, boss, sure enough, there he was. But best of all, he got himself a sling. Wrenched his back and hurt his shoulder, so they say. So that leaves..." he paused, counting down on his fingers from seven. Finally, he held up two fingers proudly. "Two!"
Frank watched the small man throughout his whole speech with a cold expression, but when he finished, some warmth returned.
"Well, just two, eh? Any idea where they are?"
"Well, I peeked in the jail about an hour ago, and saw one of them behind the desk watching our boys and some gambler type sitting in the cells. The other, so I overheard, is probably up in the clinic watching the sick ones."
Frank pursed his lips, then clicked his tongue. After a moment, he nodded. "Well, that does make things seem a mite bit brighter, Chet. Don't mean we're going to rob this town, not with Slim hurt, but at least we can probably get 'em out of jail without too much trouble."
"Yeah, that's what I was thinking," Chet positively beamed, and Frank had to look away again so as not to look directly at his teeth.
"Well, then," the dark man said, "let's get this over with. I want this done before the drunk one gets his wits back."
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Ezra looked up as the kid wandered back into the jail, his face expectant. Behind him, the lazy late afternoon sun shone warmly, silhouetting the boy in the door for a moment before he shut it. When JD shook his head, Ezra sighed.
"I tried, Ez, but he's really far gone. He got angry with me or asking, then..." his face took on a slightly pained expression, and he touched his rear end, "then he got kinda frisky."
Ezra'e eyes widened at the remark, and, unable to resist, burst into laughter. "Oh, my poor friend! Dear Lord...." He held his hand over his heart, while JD tried to shoot him a nasty glare. Finally, incapable of not seeing the humor, JD smiled as well. Over in the adjacent cell, the two cowboys watched and listened with crooked expressions. Then JD sighed.
"Anyway, Ez, I think you may have to..."
"Get myself out. Yes, I thought that might happen," The gambler stopped laughing and drew out the pair of picks he had secreted in his waistcoat pocket, sighing as the thread holding them in place ripped. He hated having to do that...mainly because he hated always having to sew them back in afterwards. JD's mouth fell open as Ezra moved to the cell door and twisted sideways so he could reach his arm through and insert the picks into the lock.
"I forgot you could do that," JD said, watching Ezra twist the picks around. Ezra smiled. After a moment of, JD frowned.
"Hey, wait a second, you could do that all along?" he asked.
Ezra grinned as the lock clicked, and he pushed open his cell door. "Of course, Mr. Dunne. But I told you that I wanted Mr. Wilmington to be the one to let me out. However, I don't have the luxury of waiting for him any longer. Not if I want to take a bath and be ready for this evening." At the outer cell door, he again twisted sideways to reach out and insert the picks in the lock.
JD shook his head in amazement, then he smiled. "No, I mean...have you always been able to do that?"
Ezra looked up, pausing his playing with the lock. "What do you mean, always?"
"I mean, always. As in, from the day we got here?" JD was watching Ezra's fingers, the flat pick loose in the man's flexible hands. Ezra smiled.
"As in, why didn't I let myself out when you first put me in here, all that time ago?"
JD grinned and nodded, and Ezra shook his head. The conman leaned more into the door and returned to his craft.
"Mr. Dunne, if I knew that answer to that question, I would gladly tell you. All I know is, instead of taking advantage of your absences at that time, I had chosen to wait. I'm not really sure for what." The lock fell open, and Ezra pushed open the outer cell door. Well, truth is, he did know, but he would never admit it out loud. He'd stayed because he'd wanted to follow Chris again.
"Hey mister! How bout letting us out too!" One of the cowboys cried, holding onto the bars of his cell. "We'll make it worth your while."
Ezra threw them an incredulous glance and looked back at JD. The young sheriff was leaning on his desk with his arms crossed, clearly impressed.
"Will you teach me how to do that, someday?" he asked. Ezra shrugged.
"Sure, but...."
"But at the moment he's going to use that talent to let my friends out," a low voice said. Both JD and Ezra immediately went for their guns, but it was too late. A tall, handsome Hispanic man stood in the open doorway with a gun pointed and cocked at JD's head. As he walked inside, the creak of the back door to the jail also shut and a gray-haired man wandered in from the rear of the jail. He too had a gun raised, a LeMat from the looks of the old weapon.
Frank indicated the cell door with his weapon, "Open it."
Ezra considered his options, feeling the comforting weight of the derringer on his right arm. Sensing the hesitation, Frank stepped up and clobbered JD on the side of the head with the butt of his gun. The kid fell to the floor in a heap, never having made a sound.
"Hey!" Ezra tried to move forward, but the click of the LeMat behind his head stopped him.
"Let them out, gambler."
"Frank! Chet! Man, are we glad to see you!" the man with the sling said.
"Shut up, Slim." Frank glared at the man, trusting Chet to watch Ezra. "What the hell were you idiots thinking. Now I got to get you out of here before that other lawman finds out."
"We're sorry, Frank," the man with the compress on the side of his face said. Slim, meanwhile, looked confused.
"What other lawman? The drunk one, you mean? The one with the keys? You ain't got to worry about him, Frank. From the sounds of it, he's well into his cups and won't be coming out for a while." Slim was watching Ezra, who was still trying to decide if he could get them out of this.
"No, dimwit. The other one. They says there are two who ain't hurt, and we don't want that other one coming here and causing trouble."
Slim frowned, "But, Boss, the other one is here. You got him there." He pointed at Ezra, who was pursing his lips in annoyance. Frank's expression changed then, face lit with astonishment as he looked at Ezra. The gambler glared back.
"You sure, Slim? I thought this joker was just in jail?"
"Yeah, 'cause the drunk one's jealous about something. That's him, Frank. You got 'em both." Slim smiled then, and Frank's lips twitched. His eyes appraised Ezra and, slowly, he smiled.
"You don't say..." He watched as Ezra swallowed, fingers itching to reach for his guns. "Grab his guns, Chet," Frank said happily. The older man pulled the Remington from Ezra's hip, then lifted the sides of his jacket up to make sure there weren't any more guns. Ezra hadn't bothered to put his shoulder holster and Colt on this morning, so the Remington was the only obvious weapon he wore.
"Now let them out," Frank smiled. "Let them out, or I will ensure that this boy here doesn't see another tomorrow," he placed a boot on JD's exposed neck and started to press. Though still unconscious, JD's face started to tense up as his air was caught off.
"Stop, please!" Ezra hissed, his brow furrowed. "I'll let them out." He walked to the cell door and inserted his picks. In less time than it had taken himself to do it backwards, he had the door opened and the men were released. Ezra stepped back as Slim and his companion walked out. The two cowboys walked to the desk and pulled it open to get their own guns out.
"Impressive," Frank applauded, watching Ezra carefully. "You know, gambler, it seems a shame to waste such a talent. Tell you what, I'm going to give you a chance to save this boy's life." He still kept his boot pressed to JD's neck. Ezra glanced down to make sure JD was still breathing, relieved to see a weak rise and fall of the chest. He looked back at Frank, noticing grimly that he now had four sets of guns pointing at him.
"What have you in mind?" he asked softly.
Frank smiled, pleased at the resigned undercurrent to the man's voice. "Well, I've seen your skill with a lockpick, gambler. Tell me, can you also crack safes?"
Ezra gritted his teeth. "You want to break into the bank," he said.
Frank nodded slowly, "Dead to rights, gambler. And if you don't help, this boy will never see the light of day again."
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Part Four
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Judge Travis leaned out of the window of the stage, being careful not to knock his head on the side of the window and watched as Chris Larabee gazed off in the distance. He was looking in the direction of Four Corners for probably the tenth or eleventh time since lunch. While never a talkative person, the gunslinger now made his normal speech habits seem verbose. The Judge also knew that, if he were to peer out the other side of the carriage, he would get the same impression from Vin.
At this moment, they were as equidistant from Four Corners as the Judge's final destination, Greeley. If Chris and Vin were to turn off now, they would reach home by nightfall.
"Chris," Travis called, shifting slightly as his hurt arm bounced off the wall of the carriage when it hit a pothole. When the gunslinger didn't respond immediately, the Judge sucked in another breath and tried again more loudly. "Chris!"
Chris jumped slightly, then growled when he realized that he had not been paying attention. Not trying too hard to hide his irritation, he looked over at the judge with a dark expression.
"Yes?"
"Go home."
The gunslinger frowned, "What?"
"You heard me. Listen, I really don't need an escort for the rest of the ride, and besides, the sheriff of Greeley said he would meet me not too far from here to escort me into town. Why don't you go home, check on the others."
Chris narrowed his gaze, trying to read the man's face. "I thought you said the sheriff of Greeley couldn't meet you."
"I received a telegram in the last town we stopped at. He can meet me now," the Judge lied. "Hired himself some extra deputies with my permission. In any case, the gang from Red Fork is in bits and pieces now, Chris. I have no fears that I will arrive at my destination safely."
"Judge, Vin and I promised we'd see you all the way there."
"Not necessary. And you have more important things to do. Fences to mend." The older man's eyes narrowed to take on a knowing expression. "I think you may not only be feeling the need to check on your men who are unwell, but on the healthy as well, correct?"
Chris watched him intently for a moment, refusing to admit that he had been feeling guilty about his standoffish treatment of Ezra. The sound of hoof beats caused him to look behind, just in time to see Vin pull around the back of the stage and come up alongside.
"We should go home, Chris. The Judge is right." The tracker had his head bowed, not looking at either man. After a moment, though, he too found himself staring off in the direction of Four Corners out the corner of his eye.
"We made a promise, judge, not to leave you until we were sure you were safe."
"I'm safe," Orrin stated, wincing as he was once again thrown against his bad arm. He stuck his head out a little further to send a glare in the direction of the oblivious driver and his second. "And I'm going to beat this fool driver's head in if he doesn't start looking out for potholes!" he yelled. Up above, the driver sent a startled look back, his face confused. His second laughed.
"Yeah, well," Chris looked at the rifle sitting across the knees of the driver's second. These were seasoned men transporting the judge, and it was true they were not that far from Greeley. He closed his eyes, sighing. His heart willed him to ride off, but his reason demanded he stay.
"Seems safe enough to me," Vin said to the air. "See you later Judge." With an abrupt move, he tipped his hat at Orrin and turned Peso's head. Moments later, he was heading out at a good clip in a direction almost perpendicular to that as the stage. Chris's mouth fell open.
"You gonna let him beat you back to town?" The Judge teased.
Chris glanced back at him, then gave him a crooked smile. "See ya Judge," he said, before tipping his own black hat and turning Solon around to follow his best friend.
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Ezra had his arms crossed over his chest, watching JD with a nervous tension. The boy still hadn't regained consciousness, and this was beginning to worry Ezra immensely. Sending a lethal glare in the direction of Chet and the other two outlaws (what were their names? Slim and Paisley? Something like that), who continued to hold their weapons on Ezra and JD with astonishing concentration, the gambler tapped his fingers on his sleeves and sighed heavily.
Chet looked up from where he sat next to JD on the floor, "something the matter?"
"How much longer are we going to sit...."
The back door creaked open, bringing everyone back up to attention. Ezra straightened, hoping it would be Buck, but the smell of too much cologne told him otherwise. Frank smiled as he reentered the main room of the jail, and threw a purse of coins at Chet.
"Got the horses, including an extra one for our reluctant companions here. They can ride double," the handsome bandit said, brushing a long black lock of hair from his face. "We can leave now."
"And where, pray tell, are we going?" Ezra asked, watching JD. As if aware of the scrutiny, JD groaned and a hand drifted to his head. Frank ignored him to also look down at the kid.
"Nice timing," Frank grinned, kneeling down to prod JD with the barrel of his gun. "Wake up, boy."
Ezra let out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding when JD's hazel eyes fluttered open. The kid groaned again when Frank's face came into focus staring down at him.
"Oh hell," the boy muttered, shutting his eyes again. Frank laughed lightly and prodded him again.
"No, no, keep 'em eyes open, boy, we're going for a ride."
"Where are we going?" JD croaked back, opening his eyes again, his vision clearer now. Ezra tried to take a step forward to check on him, but Slim and Paisley shook their heads. The gambler stopped, his lips pursed in frustration.
"To a little hidey hole me and Chet found," Frank replied. "You'll stay there with Slim and Paisley while we and your lock-picking friend here come back to rob the bank once night has fallen."
"Lock-picking friend?" JD eyes narrowed in puzzlement and he titled his head up off the ground to look around the room. Ezra stood with his arms crossed a few feet away, watching him closely. "Oh," the boy whispered, "but Ezra can't crack safes."
Frank frowned, dark eyes darting to meet Ezra's, "That true?"
"No. I can open the safe."
"Ezra," JD hissed in disappointment, "don't."
"I will not put you at risk anymore than I have to, Mr. Dunne."
"Yes, that's right," Frank nodded at the gambler. "See, Mr. Dunne, if Chet and I do not return to the encampment by dawn, Slim and Paisley will kill you. Slowly, if I know Paisley." He looked across at the silent man, who had a bunch of nasty, tiny little cuts on the side of his face where Inez had gotten him with the bottle. Paisley didn't respond, too unhappy about his face to think about anything but watching Ezra.
Frank, meanwhile, looked back at JD, "And your friend here has assured me that he will do whatever I ask to prevent any harm coming to you. He gave me his word."
"Oh hell, Ez..." The boy sat up, his hand still on his aching head. Chet reached out and helped pull him to his feet.
"Tie him up," Frank ordered the older outlaw.
"What? Why?" Ezra demanded, stepping forward, his arms falling to his sides although he knew there were no guns there, his right arm itching to release the derringer. Frank instantly put his gun to the side of JD's head and cocked it. Ezra stopped, fear coursing through him.
"Because while you seem to be a coward, the boy here does not," Frank replied quietly. Ezra stood stock still, his eyes flashing. Then, slowly, he re-crossed his arms and stepped back. He would not risk JD. He would not let the boy get hurt because of him. He wouldn't let that happen again. His head lowered so that he stared blankly at the ground.
"This is too easy," Frank laughed lightly. Chet snorted in derision as he tugged JD's arms behind him. The kid, meanwhile, was staring with a completely confused expression at Ezra. This was so unlike the gambler. God, he hoped this was a con.
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The hum of the only sewing machine in town rolled out of the door of the seamstress's as Miss Meg redid the seams on the blue dress Inez had brought her. Her foot rocked up and down on the peddle, the neat spindle rapidly loosing thread as the machine did its work. She was not a young woman, the new seamstress, not like the young woman she had replaced who had, so Meg had been told, met an untimely end. No, she wasn't young, but neither was she old, and an unlined face stared with intensity at the delicate stitch-work beneath her fingers. The only testament to the years she held was the silver stretching back from her temples.
"How is it going?" a sweet accented voice asked from the doorway. Miss Meg smiled, but didn't look up. After one more second, she stopped pumping with her foot and the machine stilled. She pulled the fabric out and gently snipped the thread with a pair of scissors.
"It's done," she replied in a slight Scottish brogue. "Ye've got a nice frock here, lassie, very fancy." She stood and shook the dress out. "Ye should try it on afore I let you leave with it, though."
Inez smiled and stepped inside, her hands reaching for the dress. Miss Meg released it with a sigh and watched as Inez stepped over to pull closed the curtained space on one side of the room.
"You needed it in an awful hurry, lass. Is there sometin' special going on tonight?"
Inez laughed at the question, color rising on her face as she pulled the dress on. "Yes...you could say that. I'm, uh, I'm going to dinner with someone."
"Truth? Oh, that's lovely. Is it that Buck?"
"Buck?" Inez laughed harder, "No. No, there was a time..." she drifted off. "No, your gossip is a touch old, Miss Meg. Buck and I have never been more than friends. No, it is one of his friends."
"Oh," Meg smiled and sat back down next to her machine, her fingers playing with the needles and pins sticking out of the pincushion on the desk. "Then it is with the gambler. The one 'ose lovely jackets and weskits I seem to have to stitch up more oft than I like to think on."
Inez didn't laugh this time. Instead, she emerged from behind the curtain, the dress fitting snugly around her. The shape was flattering, but she bit her lip as she self-consciously smoothed it down. "Yes. Ezra. Has a habit of getting in the way of bullets," she attempted a laugh, but there was no humor in her eyes. Aware of her failure, she shook her head. "Oh, senorita, I swear, every time I learn that he has been hurt I...." She stopped and sighed, wondering why she suddenly felt vulnerable in this room and this dress. As she looked into the seamstress's almost bottomless black eyes, the normally self assured manageress found her walls crumbling.
"Seems like you care quite a bit for the young man," the seamstress said, stepping forward to check on her handiwork. Inez raised her arms as Meg walked around her.
"Yes, I...He and I, well...." Inez smiled, "It's been almost a year and a half since I first met him, and, in that time, we have become very close, especially when he moved in to the saloon from the boarding house. He helps me with the saloon, you see, and I have come to rely on him to always be there for me. He was my first friend in town, the first to take me seriously, to take me in and...and I still count him as my best friend. And there have been times, late at night, when I wondered, watching him helping me close up the tavern, that...." She stopped, her dark brown eyes looking up, almost startled. "Oh, Miss Meg, I'm sorry. I don't know why I'm babbling," she grinned sheepishly, but the seamstress shook her head.
"I asked, love. And, I get the feeling that you needed some'un to talk to about it."
"I, yes, maybe," Inez shook her head. She prided herself on always being in control, but, for some reason, the closer she got to the hour she was supposed to meet Ezra, the more nervous she was feeling. Her hands moved to smooth down the dress again, to hide the peculiar shiver that hit her.
"He's very lucky," Miss Meg said. Practiced hands tested the tautness of the dress's torso, and her eyes inspected the stitching for loose threads and hems. Inez raised her arms again as Meg floated around her. For an absurd moment, she felt like a princess being readied for the ball.
"As am I," Inez replied quietly. Her eyes looked out the large plate glass window to the street beyond. The seamstress's shop was down one of the streets off the main one, and looked directly across at the barber's. For a moment, she wondered if Ezra might be in there. A smile crossed her face as her nerves bubbled up inside here again. Her raised arms felt tired with the strain of holding them up for so long.
"I'm just afraid, senorita," she continued. "You see, I...I was the one to...I mean, he asked me, but, I wonder...."
"He'll be there, love. If he's not, he is the greatest fool this world has e'er known." The seamstress didn't look up as she tugged down on part of the skirt and watched the repaired hem hold. "This looks fine, Miss Inez. It is perfect."
Inez smiled.
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JD leaned back slightly as the rented horse bucked a little. In front of him, Ezra quieted the antsy mare with a soothing word and a pat. The kid swallowed and shifted to get a better balance. He hated riding in back, and he especially hated doing it without being able to hold onto the rider in front of him. He had to trust his legs and balance, and, while he trusted them on his own horse, this skittish mare was providing a challenge.
She calmed down enough to allow JD to relax slightly. Around them the other four outlaws were not paying them much attention as they cantered towards the trees in the distance. They were heading vaguely northeast, in the direction of the James Ranch. Because James "owned" all this land around here for his cattle to graze, there was no one around who might be able to help them.
Slowly, they descended into a valley lined by a thin, bubbling brook down its center. JD leaned forward as Ezra instinctively leaned back.
"Ezra?" JD hissed in the gambler's ear.
"Hmm?"
"What is the plan? I mean, you have a plan, right?"
"Not as such, no."
"But, the way you acted back at the jail...That was an act, right?"
"No."
JD's eyes widened at the honest statement. Damn.
Ezra swallowed, his eyes on the ground before the mare's hooves. "I said I would do nothing to jeopardize your safety, Mr. Dunne."
"Ez, come on, they are going to kill us anyway, you know that."
"Maybe. Or maybe I can convince them to let you go, if I get them what they want."
"Ezra, you're not seriously....You can't rob the bank!"
"If it comes down to having to choose between you and something else, JD, I will choose you. I will not sacrifice another of my friends, especially not to save a mere bank."
JD heard these words, his face screwed up in worry. Then, with a shuddering sigh, he figured it out. This was about Nathan. The kid rested his head on Ezra's shoulder, his eyes closed.
"Can you crack safes?" he asked after a while.
"No."
"No?" JD looked up, eyes wide.
"But I have a habit of memorizing numbers, Mr. Dunne, an interesting side effect of my profession. Half the time, I do not even notice I'm doing it. In any case, I have seen our bank manager open the safe enough times to know the combination by heart."
JD's eyes remained wide open as he processed this.
"But there is something I want to give you," Ezra said quietly. The gambler looked around at the outlaws, but they too seemed intent on guiding their horses down the slight incline. Slowly, he snaked his right arm behind his back, and engaged the derringer rig. JD felt the released gun dig against his abdomen, and he shrank back slightly.
"I can't grab it. My hands are tied behind my back," JD whispered quickly. "Besides, you might need..." He shut up as he felt Ezra feel along the top of his trousers with the gun barrel. When he reached the bone of his hip, the gambler tucked the gun inside JD's pants pocket. JD frowned, as Ezra returned his arm to the front.
"If you get the opportunity, use it to get you away."
"What about you?" JD whispered quietly. His eyes were narrowed now, knowing that there was nothing he could do to give the gun back with his hands bound.
Ezra didn't answer.
Parts Three and Four
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The day passed slowly, with no one outside of Buck and JD aware that Ezra was in jail. Up in the clinic, Josiah watched over Nathan, although he did wonder why Ezra hadn't returned after getting the supplies he needed. He hoped it was because the gambler was getting some more sleep. The younger man had still looked exhausted, especially after watching over them last night, even though he had seemed lighter than he had all week.
Josiah didn't blame Ezra for what happened to Nathan, how could he? But, like the others, the preacher had needed a little distance for a while, something he was denied because Ezra was tending both of them. Nathan and JD had both accepted Ezra's actions without thinking, but Josiah knew he had acted coldly, just as Buck, Vin and Chris had. He regretted that aloofness now, knowing it might have badly damaged the relationship he'd been building with the younger man, and hoped Ezra would stop by so that he could tell him in person.
Dearest God, how could he have been such a fool as to allow himself to act that way?
Nathan yawned and opened his eyes, looking up at his friend sitting next to him. The healer smiled, and raised a hand to reach for Josiah's. The preacher grabbed it without hesitation.
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Several hours later, around early afternoon, Yosemite looked up from his smithy as two riders came in slowly towards him and his livery. Placing his hammer to one side, he leant back in the chair to greet them.
"Afternoon strangers, can I help you?"
"You the livery owner, blacksmith?" the taller man asked. He was swarthy, thick of lip and dark of brow. Black hair was tied back sloppily behind his head, allowing for several loose strands. Some women might describe this Hispanic man as handsome, but Yosemite saw an ugliness there that had nothing to do with looks. Nevertheless, never one to turn down a copper, the blacksmith stood up from his chair and nodded.
"That would be me, you need your horses stabled?"
"This one is quick, huh Frank? Smart as a whip, eh?" the second man grinned as he spoke, his voice oddly high pitched for someone with such an old face. Perhaps about fifteen years his companion's senior, this old man was also much uglier. His face twisted into a leer as he watched Yosemite through a pair of pig-like eyes, the silver hair on his head contrasting sharply with a long handlebar moustache the color of pitch.
Yosemite shot him a look, but didn't reply. Instead, he looked back at "Frank." The Hispanic man shot his old friend a dirty look for the sarcastic comment, then dismounted.
"How much," Frank asked.
"Nickel a day," Yosemite replied, "per horse."
Frank nodded, and handed his reins over to the stout man. As he pulled his bags from off the horse's saddle, he looked up at his companion, "Give him your horse, Chet."
Chet snorted slightly before dismounting and adding his reins to Frank's. Then he fished a couple of nickels out of the small purse at his belt and handed them over. Yosemite accepted them with a nickel fisted salute. Chet ignored him and went to pull his own bags from off his horse's saddle.
Frank turned to look over the town, his eyes alighting on the two saloons. After a moment, he chose the one he imagined their friends to have chosen and walked away. Chet followed, shooting one more twisted look at Yosemite as he left.
The blacksmith grimaced slightly, then shrugged. He reached out to pet the one called Frank's horse, who responded by tossing her head slightly. She showed signs of having been ridden hard, which annoyed the soft-hearted man.
"Shh, lovely lady. We'll get you and your friend here someplace nice and comfy, very soon."
___________________________________
Frank threw his tack against the wall of the boarding house, his anger evident in every muscle on his face.
"Sons of bitches! What the hell were they thinking!" They'd just spent almost two hours working their way through town, only to discover that the two men they'd come to meet had been put in jail this morning.
Chet flinched where he sat on one of the small beds, and shook his head. "Shhh, Frank, you want the whole world to hear?"
"Shush? SHUSH! You want me to be quiet! Blast you, old man, I have a right to be angry. All those two lowlifes had to do was scope out the town for the day, make sure it was still empty of peacekeepers, and what happens? They get themselves tossed in jail and, to make matters worse, Slim gets himself shot in the arm? What hell good is a lockpick and a safecracker with only one arm? There's more gold in this town's bank than in any of the ones in a twenty mile radius, all because of the seven lawmen, and now I'll never even get to look at it!"
"Boss, boss, there is some good news," Chet tried smiling, betraying several gaps in his yellow array of teeth. Frank, who tried to keep his teeth white (for the ladies) turned away in disgust.
"What good news. You heard what they're saying in town. Them peacekeepers of theirs are back, which is why it was so easy for them to take our boys down this morning. Damn fools! Damn, stupid idiots! Iffin we hadn't gotten that info about them being away in Red Fork so late...."
"Boss..."
"What?"
"Boss, they ain't all back, and, those that're here? I understand only two of them ain't hurt."
Frank frowned, turning to Chet with dark eyes. "Say again?"
"Well, see, there's supposed to be seven of 'em, right? Six and the Larabee fella? Well, Larabee's out of town with one of the other ones, and they're not expected back till tomorrow. Then I heard tell that another two are laid up in the clinic over the livery, basically useless to anyone, so I've been told. And then, there's a big fella whom everyone's been saying is drunk as a skunk in one of the saloons, and, when I went to look, boss, sure enough, there he was. But best of all, he got himself a sling. Wrenched his back and hurt his shoulder, so they say. So that leaves..." he paused, counting down on his fingers from seven. Finally, he held up two fingers proudly. "Two!"
Frank watched the small man throughout his whole speech with a cold expression, but when he finished, some warmth returned.
"Well, just two, eh? Any idea where they are?"
"Well, I peeked in the jail about an hour ago, and saw one of them behind the desk watching our boys and some gambler type sitting in the cells. The other, so I overheard, is probably up in the clinic watching the sick ones."
Frank pursed his lips, then clicked his tongue. After a moment, he nodded. "Well, that does make things seem a mite bit brighter, Chet. Don't mean we're going to rob this town, not with Slim hurt, but at least we can probably get 'em out of jail without too much trouble."
"Yeah, that's what I was thinking," Chet positively beamed, and Frank had to look away again so as not to look directly at his teeth.
"Well, then," the dark man said, "let's get this over with. I want this done before the drunk one gets his wits back."
__________________________
Ezra looked up as the kid wandered back into the jail, his face expectant. Behind him, the lazy late afternoon sun shone warmly, silhouetting the boy in the door for a moment before he shut it. When JD shook his head, Ezra sighed.
"I tried, Ez, but he's really far gone. He got angry with me or asking, then..." his face took on a slightly pained expression, and he touched his rear end, "then he got kinda frisky."
Ezra'e eyes widened at the remark, and, unable to resist, burst into laughter. "Oh, my poor friend! Dear Lord...." He held his hand over his heart, while JD tried to shoot him a nasty glare. Finally, incapable of not seeing the humor, JD smiled as well. Over in the adjacent cell, the two cowboys watched and listened with crooked expressions. Then JD sighed.
"Anyway, Ez, I think you may have to..."
"Get myself out. Yes, I thought that might happen," The gambler stopped laughing and drew out the pair of picks he had secreted in his waistcoat pocket, sighing as the thread holding them in place ripped. He hated having to do that...mainly because he hated always having to sew them back in afterwards. JD's mouth fell open as Ezra moved to the cell door and twisted sideways so he could reach his arm through and insert the picks into the lock.
"I forgot you could do that," JD said, watching Ezra twist the picks around. Ezra smiled. After a moment of, JD frowned.
"Hey, wait a second, you could do that all along?" he asked.
Ezra grinned as the lock clicked, and he pushed open his cell door. "Of course, Mr. Dunne. But I told you that I wanted Mr. Wilmington to be the one to let me out. However, I don't have the luxury of waiting for him any longer. Not if I want to take a bath and be ready for this evening." At the outer cell door, he again twisted sideways to reach out and insert the picks in the lock.
JD shook his head in amazement, then he smiled. "No, I mean...have you always been able to do that?"
Ezra looked up, pausing his playing with the lock. "What do you mean, always?"
"I mean, always. As in, from the day we got here?" JD was watching Ezra's fingers, the flat pick loose in the man's flexible hands. Ezra smiled.
"As in, why didn't I let myself out when you first put me in here, all that time ago?"
JD grinned and nodded, and Ezra shook his head. The conman leaned more into the door and returned to his craft.
"Mr. Dunne, if I knew that answer to that question, I would gladly tell you. All I know is, instead of taking advantage of your absences at that time, I had chosen to wait. I'm not really sure for what." The lock fell open, and Ezra pushed open the outer cell door. Well, truth is, he did know, but he would never admit it out loud. He'd stayed because he'd wanted to follow Chris again.
"Hey mister! How bout letting us out too!" One of the cowboys cried, holding onto the bars of his cell. "We'll make it worth your while."
Ezra threw them an incredulous glance and looked back at JD. The young sheriff was leaning on his desk with his arms crossed, clearly impressed.
"Will you teach me how to do that, someday?" he asked. Ezra shrugged.
"Sure, but...."
"But at the moment he's going to use that talent to let my friends out," a low voice said. Both JD and Ezra immediately went for their guns, but it was too late. A tall, handsome Hispanic man stood in the open doorway with a gun pointed and cocked at JD's head. As he walked inside, the creak of the back door to the jail also shut and a gray-haired man wandered in from the rear of the jail. He too had a gun raised, a LeMat from the looks of the old weapon.
Frank indicated the cell door with his weapon, "Open it."
Ezra considered his options, feeling the comforting weight of the derringer on his right arm. Sensing the hesitation, Frank stepped up and clobbered JD on the side of the head with the butt of his gun. The kid fell to the floor in a heap, never having made a sound.
"Hey!" Ezra tried to move forward, but the click of the LeMat behind his head stopped him.
"Let them out, gambler."
"Frank! Chet! Man, are we glad to see you!" the man with the sling said.
"Shut up, Slim." Frank glared at the man, trusting Chet to watch Ezra. "What the hell were you idiots thinking. Now I got to get you out of here before that other lawman finds out."
"We're sorry, Frank," the man with the compress on the side of his face said. Slim, meanwhile, looked confused.
"What other lawman? The drunk one, you mean? The one with the keys? You ain't got to worry about him, Frank. From the sounds of it, he's well into his cups and won't be coming out for a while." Slim was watching Ezra, who was still trying to decide if he could get them out of this.
"No, dimwit. The other one. They says there are two who ain't hurt, and we don't want that other one coming here and causing trouble."
Slim frowned, "But, Boss, the other one is here. You got him there." He pointed at Ezra, who was pursing his lips in annoyance. Frank's expression changed then, face lit with astonishment as he looked at Ezra. The gambler glared back.
"You sure, Slim? I thought this joker was just in jail?"
"Yeah, 'cause the drunk one's jealous about something. That's him, Frank. You got 'em both." Slim smiled then, and Frank's lips twitched. His eyes appraised Ezra and, slowly, he smiled.
"You don't say..." He watched as Ezra swallowed, fingers itching to reach for his guns. "Grab his guns, Chet," Frank said happily. The older man pulled the Remington from Ezra's hip, then lifted the sides of his jacket up to make sure there weren't any more guns. Ezra hadn't bothered to put his shoulder holster and Colt on this morning, so the Remington was the only obvious weapon he wore.
"Now let them out," Frank smiled. "Let them out, or I will ensure that this boy here doesn't see another tomorrow," he placed a boot on JD's exposed neck and started to press. Though still unconscious, JD's face started to tense up as his air was caught off.
"Stop, please!" Ezra hissed, his brow furrowed. "I'll let them out." He walked to the cell door and inserted his picks. In less time than it had taken himself to do it backwards, he had the door opened and the men were released. Ezra stepped back as Slim and his companion walked out. The two cowboys walked to the desk and pulled it open to get their own guns out.
"Impressive," Frank applauded, watching Ezra carefully. "You know, gambler, it seems a shame to waste such a talent. Tell you what, I'm going to give you a chance to save this boy's life." He still kept his boot pressed to JD's neck. Ezra glanced down to make sure JD was still breathing, relieved to see a weak rise and fall of the chest. He looked back at Frank, noticing grimly that he now had four sets of guns pointing at him.
"What have you in mind?" he asked softly.
Frank smiled, pleased at the resigned undercurrent to the man's voice. "Well, I've seen your skill with a lockpick, gambler. Tell me, can you also crack safes?"
Ezra gritted his teeth. "You want to break into the bank," he said.
Frank nodded slowly, "Dead to rights, gambler. And if you don't help, this boy will never see the light of day again."
__________________________________
Part Four
_________________________________
Judge Travis leaned out of the window of the stage, being careful not to knock his head on the side of the window and watched as Chris Larabee gazed off in the distance. He was looking in the direction of Four Corners for probably the tenth or eleventh time since lunch. While never a talkative person, the gunslinger now made his normal speech habits seem verbose. The Judge also knew that, if he were to peer out the other side of the carriage, he would get the same impression from Vin.
At this moment, they were as equidistant from Four Corners as the Judge's final destination, Greeley. If Chris and Vin were to turn off now, they would reach home by nightfall.
"Chris," Travis called, shifting slightly as his hurt arm bounced off the wall of the carriage when it hit a pothole. When the gunslinger didn't respond immediately, the Judge sucked in another breath and tried again more loudly. "Chris!"
Chris jumped slightly, then growled when he realized that he had not been paying attention. Not trying too hard to hide his irritation, he looked over at the judge with a dark expression.
"Yes?"
"Go home."
The gunslinger frowned, "What?"
"You heard me. Listen, I really don't need an escort for the rest of the ride, and besides, the sheriff of Greeley said he would meet me not too far from here to escort me into town. Why don't you go home, check on the others."
Chris narrowed his gaze, trying to read the man's face. "I thought you said the sheriff of Greeley couldn't meet you."
"I received a telegram in the last town we stopped at. He can meet me now," the Judge lied. "Hired himself some extra deputies with my permission. In any case, the gang from Red Fork is in bits and pieces now, Chris. I have no fears that I will arrive at my destination safely."
"Judge, Vin and I promised we'd see you all the way there."
"Not necessary. And you have more important things to do. Fences to mend." The older man's eyes narrowed to take on a knowing expression. "I think you may not only be feeling the need to check on your men who are unwell, but on the healthy as well, correct?"
Chris watched him intently for a moment, refusing to admit that he had been feeling guilty about his standoffish treatment of Ezra. The sound of hoof beats caused him to look behind, just in time to see Vin pull around the back of the stage and come up alongside.
"We should go home, Chris. The Judge is right." The tracker had his head bowed, not looking at either man. After a moment, though, he too found himself staring off in the direction of Four Corners out the corner of his eye.
"We made a promise, judge, not to leave you until we were sure you were safe."
"I'm safe," Orrin stated, wincing as he was once again thrown against his bad arm. He stuck his head out a little further to send a glare in the direction of the oblivious driver and his second. "And I'm going to beat this fool driver's head in if he doesn't start looking out for potholes!" he yelled. Up above, the driver sent a startled look back, his face confused. His second laughed.
"Yeah, well," Chris looked at the rifle sitting across the knees of the driver's second. These were seasoned men transporting the judge, and it was true they were not that far from Greeley. He closed his eyes, sighing. His heart willed him to ride off, but his reason demanded he stay.
"Seems safe enough to me," Vin said to the air. "See you later Judge." With an abrupt move, he tipped his hat at Orrin and turned Peso's head. Moments later, he was heading out at a good clip in a direction almost perpendicular to that as the stage. Chris's mouth fell open.
"You gonna let him beat you back to town?" The Judge teased.
Chris glanced back at him, then gave him a crooked smile. "See ya Judge," he said, before tipping his own black hat and turning Solon around to follow his best friend.
____________________________
Ezra had his arms crossed over his chest, watching JD with a nervous tension. The boy still hadn't regained consciousness, and this was beginning to worry Ezra immensely. Sending a lethal glare in the direction of Chet and the other two outlaws (what were their names? Slim and Paisley? Something like that), who continued to hold their weapons on Ezra and JD with astonishing concentration, the gambler tapped his fingers on his sleeves and sighed heavily.
Chet looked up from where he sat next to JD on the floor, "something the matter?"
"How much longer are we going to sit...."
The back door creaked open, bringing everyone back up to attention. Ezra straightened, hoping it would be Buck, but the smell of too much cologne told him otherwise. Frank smiled as he reentered the main room of the jail, and threw a purse of coins at Chet.
"Got the horses, including an extra one for our reluctant companions here. They can ride double," the handsome bandit said, brushing a long black lock of hair from his face. "We can leave now."
"And where, pray tell, are we going?" Ezra asked, watching JD. As if aware of the scrutiny, JD groaned and a hand drifted to his head. Frank ignored him to also look down at the kid.
"Nice timing," Frank grinned, kneeling down to prod JD with the barrel of his gun. "Wake up, boy."
Ezra let out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding when JD's hazel eyes fluttered open. The kid groaned again when Frank's face came into focus staring down at him.
"Oh hell," the boy muttered, shutting his eyes again. Frank laughed lightly and prodded him again.
"No, no, keep 'em eyes open, boy, we're going for a ride."
"Where are we going?" JD croaked back, opening his eyes again, his vision clearer now. Ezra tried to take a step forward to check on him, but Slim and Paisley shook their heads. The gambler stopped, his lips pursed in frustration.
"To a little hidey hole me and Chet found," Frank replied. "You'll stay there with Slim and Paisley while we and your lock-picking friend here come back to rob the bank once night has fallen."
"Lock-picking friend?" JD eyes narrowed in puzzlement and he titled his head up off the ground to look around the room. Ezra stood with his arms crossed a few feet away, watching him closely. "Oh," the boy whispered, "but Ezra can't crack safes."
Frank frowned, dark eyes darting to meet Ezra's, "That true?"
"No. I can open the safe."
"Ezra," JD hissed in disappointment, "don't."
"I will not put you at risk anymore than I have to, Mr. Dunne."
"Yes, that's right," Frank nodded at the gambler. "See, Mr. Dunne, if Chet and I do not return to the encampment by dawn, Slim and Paisley will kill you. Slowly, if I know Paisley." He looked across at the silent man, who had a bunch of nasty, tiny little cuts on the side of his face where Inez had gotten him with the bottle. Paisley didn't respond, too unhappy about his face to think about anything but watching Ezra.
Frank, meanwhile, looked back at JD, "And your friend here has assured me that he will do whatever I ask to prevent any harm coming to you. He gave me his word."
"Oh hell, Ez..." The boy sat up, his hand still on his aching head. Chet reached out and helped pull him to his feet.
"Tie him up," Frank ordered the older outlaw.
"What? Why?" Ezra demanded, stepping forward, his arms falling to his sides although he knew there were no guns there, his right arm itching to release the derringer. Frank instantly put his gun to the side of JD's head and cocked it. Ezra stopped, fear coursing through him.
"Because while you seem to be a coward, the boy here does not," Frank replied quietly. Ezra stood stock still, his eyes flashing. Then, slowly, he re-crossed his arms and stepped back. He would not risk JD. He would not let the boy get hurt because of him. He wouldn't let that happen again. His head lowered so that he stared blankly at the ground.
"This is too easy," Frank laughed lightly. Chet snorted in derision as he tugged JD's arms behind him. The kid, meanwhile, was staring with a completely confused expression at Ezra. This was so unlike the gambler. God, he hoped this was a con.
_____________________________________________
The hum of the only sewing machine in town rolled out of the door of the seamstress's as Miss Meg redid the seams on the blue dress Inez had brought her. Her foot rocked up and down on the peddle, the neat spindle rapidly loosing thread as the machine did its work. She was not a young woman, the new seamstress, not like the young woman she had replaced who had, so Meg had been told, met an untimely end. No, she wasn't young, but neither was she old, and an unlined face stared with intensity at the delicate stitch-work beneath her fingers. The only testament to the years she held was the silver stretching back from her temples.
"How is it going?" a sweet accented voice asked from the doorway. Miss Meg smiled, but didn't look up. After one more second, she stopped pumping with her foot and the machine stilled. She pulled the fabric out and gently snipped the thread with a pair of scissors.
"It's done," she replied in a slight Scottish brogue. "Ye've got a nice frock here, lassie, very fancy." She stood and shook the dress out. "Ye should try it on afore I let you leave with it, though."
Inez smiled and stepped inside, her hands reaching for the dress. Miss Meg released it with a sigh and watched as Inez stepped over to pull closed the curtained space on one side of the room.
"You needed it in an awful hurry, lass. Is there sometin' special going on tonight?"
Inez laughed at the question, color rising on her face as she pulled the dress on. "Yes...you could say that. I'm, uh, I'm going to dinner with someone."
"Truth? Oh, that's lovely. Is it that Buck?"
"Buck?" Inez laughed harder, "No. No, there was a time..." she drifted off. "No, your gossip is a touch old, Miss Meg. Buck and I have never been more than friends. No, it is one of his friends."
"Oh," Meg smiled and sat back down next to her machine, her fingers playing with the needles and pins sticking out of the pincushion on the desk. "Then it is with the gambler. The one 'ose lovely jackets and weskits I seem to have to stitch up more oft than I like to think on."
Inez didn't laugh this time. Instead, she emerged from behind the curtain, the dress fitting snugly around her. The shape was flattering, but she bit her lip as she self-consciously smoothed it down. "Yes. Ezra. Has a habit of getting in the way of bullets," she attempted a laugh, but there was no humor in her eyes. Aware of her failure, she shook her head. "Oh, senorita, I swear, every time I learn that he has been hurt I...." She stopped and sighed, wondering why she suddenly felt vulnerable in this room and this dress. As she looked into the seamstress's almost bottomless black eyes, the normally self assured manageress found her walls crumbling.
"Seems like you care quite a bit for the young man," the seamstress said, stepping forward to check on her handiwork. Inez raised her arms as Meg walked around her.
"Yes, I...He and I, well...." Inez smiled, "It's been almost a year and a half since I first met him, and, in that time, we have become very close, especially when he moved in to the saloon from the boarding house. He helps me with the saloon, you see, and I have come to rely on him to always be there for me. He was my first friend in town, the first to take me seriously, to take me in and...and I still count him as my best friend. And there have been times, late at night, when I wondered, watching him helping me close up the tavern, that...." She stopped, her dark brown eyes looking up, almost startled. "Oh, Miss Meg, I'm sorry. I don't know why I'm babbling," she grinned sheepishly, but the seamstress shook her head.
"I asked, love. And, I get the feeling that you needed some'un to talk to about it."
"I, yes, maybe," Inez shook her head. She prided herself on always being in control, but, for some reason, the closer she got to the hour she was supposed to meet Ezra, the more nervous she was feeling. Her hands moved to smooth down the dress again, to hide the peculiar shiver that hit her.
"He's very lucky," Miss Meg said. Practiced hands tested the tautness of the dress's torso, and her eyes inspected the stitching for loose threads and hems. Inez raised her arms again as Meg floated around her. For an absurd moment, she felt like a princess being readied for the ball.
"As am I," Inez replied quietly. Her eyes looked out the large plate glass window to the street beyond. The seamstress's shop was down one of the streets off the main one, and looked directly across at the barber's. For a moment, she wondered if Ezra might be in there. A smile crossed her face as her nerves bubbled up inside here again. Her raised arms felt tired with the strain of holding them up for so long.
"I'm just afraid, senorita," she continued. "You see, I...I was the one to...I mean, he asked me, but, I wonder...."
"He'll be there, love. If he's not, he is the greatest fool this world has e'er known." The seamstress didn't look up as she tugged down on part of the skirt and watched the repaired hem hold. "This looks fine, Miss Inez. It is perfect."
Inez smiled.
______________________________________
JD leaned back slightly as the rented horse bucked a little. In front of him, Ezra quieted the antsy mare with a soothing word and a pat. The kid swallowed and shifted to get a better balance. He hated riding in back, and he especially hated doing it without being able to hold onto the rider in front of him. He had to trust his legs and balance, and, while he trusted them on his own horse, this skittish mare was providing a challenge.
She calmed down enough to allow JD to relax slightly. Around them the other four outlaws were not paying them much attention as they cantered towards the trees in the distance. They were heading vaguely northeast, in the direction of the James Ranch. Because James "owned" all this land around here for his cattle to graze, there was no one around who might be able to help them.
Slowly, they descended into a valley lined by a thin, bubbling brook down its center. JD leaned forward as Ezra instinctively leaned back.
"Ezra?" JD hissed in the gambler's ear.
"Hmm?"
"What is the plan? I mean, you have a plan, right?"
"Not as such, no."
"But, the way you acted back at the jail...That was an act, right?"
"No."
JD's eyes widened at the honest statement. Damn.
Ezra swallowed, his eyes on the ground before the mare's hooves. "I said I would do nothing to jeopardize your safety, Mr. Dunne."
"Ez, come on, they are going to kill us anyway, you know that."
"Maybe. Or maybe I can convince them to let you go, if I get them what they want."
"Ezra, you're not seriously....You can't rob the bank!"
"If it comes down to having to choose between you and something else, JD, I will choose you. I will not sacrifice another of my friends, especially not to save a mere bank."
JD heard these words, his face screwed up in worry. Then, with a shuddering sigh, he figured it out. This was about Nathan. The kid rested his head on Ezra's shoulder, his eyes closed.
"Can you crack safes?" he asked after a while.
"No."
"No?" JD looked up, eyes wide.
"But I have a habit of memorizing numbers, Mr. Dunne, an interesting side effect of my profession. Half the time, I do not even notice I'm doing it. In any case, I have seen our bank manager open the safe enough times to know the combination by heart."
JD's eyes remained wide open as he processed this.
"But there is something I want to give you," Ezra said quietly. The gambler looked around at the outlaws, but they too seemed intent on guiding their horses down the slight incline. Slowly, he snaked his right arm behind his back, and engaged the derringer rig. JD felt the released gun dig against his abdomen, and he shrank back slightly.
"I can't grab it. My hands are tied behind my back," JD whispered quickly. "Besides, you might need..." He shut up as he felt Ezra feel along the top of his trousers with the gun barrel. When he reached the bone of his hip, the gambler tucked the gun inside JD's pants pocket. JD frowned, as Ezra returned his arm to the front.
"If you get the opportunity, use it to get you away."
"What about you?" JD whispered quietly. His eyes were narrowed now, knowing that there was nothing he could do to give the gun back with his hands bound.
Ezra didn't answer.