The Bisected Letter
Beta: None – so read at your own risk!
Main: Ezra and Buck
Warnings: Language, No Beta
Spoilers: A reference to One Day Out West – just the razor scene with Buck and Chris.
Disclaimer: The Magnificent Seven belongs to Mirisch, CBS, MGM and Trilogy and I'm using their characters and some settings without prior permission. No money will be made from this endeavor.
Notes: This comes after The Found Letter
Summary: Buck and Ezra take a trip that turns ugly -- and Buck hates ugly. Ezra ain't too happy about it either.
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Suddenly, a shiver ran up his spine and the sixth sense that had developed from over thirty years of gambling and conning screamed at him.
"Buck," he whispered. He would speak louder but was afraid to trigger the danger that tingled along his nerves.
Ezra Standish carefully turned his head on his pillow and tried to see his roommate in the dark.
Four hours ago, Buck Wilmington and Ezra Standish arrived at a no-name dusty town to rent a double room for the night. Soon after dumping his saddlebags on the floor, Buck declared that he was turning in and suggested the gambler do so as well. It would be an early morning departure and they needed their sleep.
It had been a long, hard ride over many hot miles. Neither of them even took the time to undress before flopping on the beds in the dark room to catch some sleep. The only things they did take the time to shuck were their boots, hats and guns. Ezra had slid his derringer into his pocket just to have the comfort of the little hideout gun on his body.
Ezra had only time enough to ponder that Buck was indeed tired if he wasn't going to look in on the working girls in the saloon down the street. Buck had similar thoughts about Ezra turning in before he played a hand of poker.
Sleep was quick in coming for them.
That blissful exercise was now gone like fog on a hot day.
Ezra was beginning to wish he had gone down to a poker game and Buck was with a woman who wore too much makeup and perfume.
"Buck?"
There was no answer but a slight snore from the ladies' man as Ezra tried to ease himself from his own bed.
'Easy, easy,' thought Ezra as he tried to be silent in his quest to reach the man that lay four feet away. As he slid from his bed, he snagged his shoulder gun in his left hand. He went to his knees on the wood floor and did a blind crawl with his right hand extended to make sure he didn't crack his head open on the furniture.
His left hand that held the gun stayed at the ready, covering both the faint light from the room's window and the direction of the dark door.
"Buck, wake up," the gambler hissed through clenched teeth. Ezra's concern was growing by the second. 'Why isn't he responding? Surely, he can feel this. He's been a gunfighter and drifter for years now. He should be able to feel this.'
Ezra bumped into the edge of Buck's bed and scooted to the top. Something touched his head and he almost yelled. The gambler's right hand quickly touched the object and realized that it was Buck's gunbelt hanging from the headboard.
He pulled Buck's .45 Peacemaker from the gunbelt and gripped it lightly in his right hand. Ezra took a second to look away from the window and the door to make out Buck's lax form.
Another snore escaped from under Buck's dark mustache.
'Well, this is going to be interesting,' thought Ezra ruefully.
Ezra carefully lay flat on the floor and slid under the edge of his roommate's bed. When he was secure in the knowledge he would be relatively safe, Ezra took action.
The gambler's left hand rose and his thumb cocked back the hammer on his Remington. The click was deafening in the silence.
The only indication that his ploy to wake Buck worked was the slight whisper of leather against wood. After that slight sound, silence was all that met Ezra's ears and he had to grin to himself at Buck's attempt to play possum after discovering the absence of his gun.
"Mr. Wilmington," whispered Ezra in his soft Southern voice.
Buck was quiet as he reached again for his absent gun. "Ezra," he hissed, "what's goin' on? Where's my gun?"
Ezra reached out from under the bed far enough to raise the Peacemaker above the mattress. "Here." He almost snorted when Buck nearly broke his fingers trying to retrieve the weapon.
"Feeling a little naked there, Buck?"
"Shut up. What the hell is goin' on?"
"Quiet and feel."
Buck Wilmington clamped his lips shut to stop the smart remark to the gambler. Instead, he kept still and let the night soak into his long, lanky body. It didn't take long to feel the edge to the darkness.
Buck shook away the groggy feeling from waking from his much-needed deep sleep and peered into the darkness. "Where are you?" As annoying as the gambler sometimes was, Buck didn't want to shoot him by accident.
It also might be a little hard to explain to Chris Larabee, his friend and leader of their little ragtag group.
"Under your bed."
Buck quietly laughed as the sudden image of a rattler hiding under a log came to mind.
"It's not funny, Buck," was the indignant reply to the almost soundless mirth of his traveling companion.
"Says you."
"Feel it?" hissed Ezra as the wind picked up outside and rattled the glass in the dirty window.
"Yeah. What is it?"
Ezra shifted his gun. "Don't know yet."
Buck nodded to himself. "Where?"
"Don't know yet."
The moments turned to minutes and Buck was beginning to think they'd imagined the danger in the dark. As if reading his mind Ezra's Southern voice drifted up from under the bed. "Wait for it."
Buck settled back down for the wait. For a brief moment he whished Vin Tanner was with him on this trip. No one was more in tune to danger than the half-wild tracker.
"What's taking so long?" Ezra shifted under the bed. "We need an escape route. Now."
Buck felt slightly ashamed for slighting the gambler, even if it was only for a second. He would still be sleeping if Ezra hadn't of woke him. He should have remembered that the only thing more sensitive than a gunfighter or a bounty hunter was a gambler on the look out for disgruntled marks.
"Too long. It's going to be big," whispered Ezra, his voice falling away to almost nothing. He decided to move from under his cover.
"Where you going?"
"Out. This is a death trap." Ezra's head was level with the bed when the door kicked in. Two men dived into the dark room. Faint lamp light from the hall briefly outlined them.
Ezra took his first shot and then switched the gun to his right hand. His left hand reached out to grab Buck's shirt as Buck shot his gun at the intruders.
The gunfire was returned from the doorway, flashes bringing sound and color to the second rate room. Buck shot at the men again, muttering to himself.
As a soft sound from his pillow indicated a bullet that came too close, Buck thought, 'Damn, I'm a sittin' duck up here!' He grunted and began to struggle with his bedcovers.
Ezra didn't wait to see if another bullet came their way, he jerked Buck from the bed, heard a grunt, and muttered cursing from the dark haired gunfighter. "Dammit, Ezra! Watch the bones."
Anger kindled in Buck at the rough treatment and the shooting and he started to rise from the floor. Ezra pressed down on his left shoulder. "Keep down, you idiot. They're shooting at you."
Buck turned his head to the shooter and gaped, trying to make out their faces in the dark. 'Now, who would want to shoot me?' He stopped thinking and started shooting again as more flashes came from the shadows.
Ezra returned fire at the shadows and heard a sharp yelp. He grabbed Buck's shirt again and tugged. "Come on!"
Cursing and groaning came from the shadows, giving Ezra the hope that the two men were down long enough for him to pull Buck from the dead end room.
They needed to hide right now. Have better cover.
Buck staggered to his feet and gasped at a burning in his side. He tried to put a hand to it, but Ezra was pulling on his left arm and his gun was in his right hand. Ezra might be shorter than Buck Wilmington, but he was a male in his prime. His powerful frame propelled Buck into and down the hallway.
-------
"Hide, hide, hide," muttered Ezra as he kept his shoulder against Buck's left side.
"Uh, Ezra—"
"We need to hide."
"But, Ezra—"
Ezra stopped at the end of the hall by the stairs that led down to the main desk. He looked over the situation, his mind playing angles and discarding half-formed plans. Ezra kept Buck up against the peeling blue wallpaper as he glanced down the stairs and then back up the hallway.
Louder cursing floated down the hall and the sound of scrambling boots on wood.
Distraction: It worked in poker and it would work here.
Ezra reached into his pocket and pulled out his derringer. Lord, he loved the little gun. Years of helping him get away from drunken cowboys and angry mobs endeared the little chunk of metal to the gambler.
Without looking, Ezra pitched the gun down the wide stairs and pulled a now silent Buck into the first room that had an unlocked door.
Unwitnessed, the small gun landed on a tread halfway down the stairs and glinted invitingly in the faint light thrown by the main desk's lamp.
Ezra released Buck once they were inside the chosen room and continued to look for hiding options. His distraction may work but there was no telling if they would come back later after checking on his gun. It depended on how determined the men were and how stupid.
"Ezra—"
"Whoever has this room has a trunk behind this bed. Maybe—"
"Hoss!"
Ezra looked up in the dim light to see Buck holding his side, his tan shirt turning black in the darkness. "Aw, hell!" Ezra rushed back to Buck digging in his pockets for a handkerchief. "Why didn't you – never mind." He stuffed the cloth inside the wet shirt and placed Buck's large hand over it. "Hold it." He stopped to stare into Buck's shadowed dark blue eyes. "We still need to hide. It will have to wait."
Buck held the gaze with the younger man for a moment and then pressed harder on his wound. "Sure, Hoss. Gotta get a place to hole up."
"Working on it, my friend."
Ezra helped Buck sit down on the double bed and then continued his search. In the end, the sum total of what they had to work with was a closet and a trunk. Under the bed was out . . . that would be the first place they looked if they came to this room.
The window was also out as an escape route. The next-door building was built using that particular wall of the hotel as a starting point. The hole where the window used to be was now used to hold a few extra room towels.
Terribly short sighted of the builders to not consider this situation before they closed up a perfectly good escape window.
The gambler carefully closed up the large trunk and dragged it over to the closet door. He grunted at the weight and wondered briefly if whoever packed this truck was related to his mother and knew of her penchant of toting around bricks.
Ezra positioned the solid trunk between the door of the closet and the hallway door. With any luck, it would provide some cover if they were discovered.
He wandered back to Buck and felt his concern ratchet up a notch when he realized Buck's eyes were now closed. "Buck?"
"Hurts like a son of a bitch," murmured Buck.
Ezra grabbed a pillow and pulled the top patchwork blanket from the bed. He sighed as he realized he'd most likely have to pay for the thing since Buck was still bleeding. "Come on, we're moving to the closet."
Buck nodded and stood up, his hand clamping down even harder on the hot/cold feeling in his side.
Ezra opened the door to the closet and was pleased to see a few jackets hanging almost down to the floor. They would help screen them from searching eyes and muffle any sound that Buck might make from his injury.
Ezra threw the blanket on the hard floor and the pillow went into the left back corner for Buck to lean on. After helping Buck settle, Ezra slunk into the closet, leaving the door slightly ajar so that he could hear any noise at the room's door.
"Hell of a day," muttered Buck as he shifted to get comfortable.
"Yes, hell of a week," responded Ezra, his left eye to the crack of the closet door searching the room.
"I wouldn't be here if it wasn't for you."
"Hey," said Ezra sharply. "I did not tell you to keep my traveling plans from Chris."
Buck chuffed a laugh. "You should have been there and seen his face," Buck paused long enough to hold his breath to settle down the pain. "Thought he was gonna pop an eye out of his head."
"I guessed from the state in which I found my letter upon returning from the horse race."
Ezra Standish had not been able to resist the temptation of going to Watsonville to do a little betting on the horse race. It has been a fine event with over thirty horses vying for the prize money. It was almost like attending a county fair. Ezra gave a gloating chuckle over his winnings from that day.
The money almost made a pissed off Chris Larabee worth all the trouble.
The gambler left a letter with JD Dunne, the youngest of the group, at the jailhouse. There was no way he was going to tell Chris Larabee to his face that he was pulling up stakes and going to Watsonville to bet on a horserace.
Not if he wanted to get to Watsonville in one piece.
When Ezra returned from his trip, he found the letter torn in half and pinned to his room's door with a long bladed hunting knife.
Oh, Chris Larabee was irate to say the least.
The resulting argument that happened when Ezra finally met up with Chris in the saloon was spectacular.
"He don't mean a thing by it, Ezra," whispered Buck faintly from the corner of the closet as if he could read the gambler's thoughts.
Ezra nodded his head. "I didn't think he did or guns would have been involved."
"He just worries—"
Ezra rolled his shoulders in exasperation. "I know, Buck. If he really wanted to physically harm me, he had the opportunity." He suddenly grinned to himself, exposing his gold tooth in the dim light. "He knows how to really hurt a man such as myself without raising a hand."
Buck began to grin right back in the gloom. "Sure does, Hoss. I thought you were gonna cough a lung up when he said you had to come here. And to make sure you spent as much of your winnin's as you could."
"Bastard knows how much a cup of coffee costs out here."
"Damn straight!" replied Buck as he pulled the neckerchief from around his neck and jammed it to his side. Ezra's bit of cloth was on its last legs in stopping the bleeding. "As much as Chris roamed this territory, he knows were to avoid when he's down on his luck."
"I should have talked to him before I left," said Ezra after a moment of reflective silence.
"Yeap, you played hell, but then again, you wouldn't be enjoying my fine company while sitting in a closet."
Ezra shifted a little closer and took in the black stain on Buck's shirt. "I think I saw a doctor's sign at the end of town."
Buck grunted in return. "Sure, just have to stay alive before I can go."
Ezra went back to his post at the closet door. "Who's after you? Hell, we just got to town. How did you have time to piss someone off?"
"Well, hell, Ezra . . . I don't know. I didn't see a damn thing back there but shadows and gun flashes."
"You've come to this filthy town before?"
Buck took the tip of his tongue in his teeth and tried to think through the throbbing pain in his side. "Well . . . I may have been. When I was a lawman way back when. Had a few run-ins with a few people. They might still be around."
Ezra sighed. "Why ever did you come on this trip?"
Buck huffed again. "'Cause Chris was fixing to pound us both in the head and I figured I'd take my punishment in the form of traveling rather than healing."
The gambler nodded. "Well, on the surface that seems like good logic. Not so good when you get shot when you could have just put up with a few glares and a sore head."
"Seemed like a good plan at the time."
Ezra squinted at the ladies' man. "Why didn't you tell Chris where I went when he asked? Or even tell him about the letter waiting at the jail?"
The dark haired man rolled his head from side to side, as he leaned his aching head against the back wall. "He found out soon enough and I wanted to see him sweat a little." Buck wrenched his lips up in a smile. "He was about to tear up the town when JD came out on the boardwalk holding your letter."
Ezra snorted. "It was almost like being back in the military again with Chris around."
Buck snapped his dark blue eyes to Ezra's shape.
"Tell me, does he come by that commanding bearing naturally, or was it drilled into him?" asked a soft Southern voice.
Buck suddenly flashed on Chris' warning not to talk about him and his past. His hand almost went to his neck expecting to find Chris' limber hand holding a razor to his flesh. That was a while ago, but Chris was still as closed mouth most of the time. "He don't like to talk about his past."
"Who does?" reflected Ezra blandly. "We all have our mistakes that stick in our craws."
"Chris is a little more . . . eager to keep it to himself."
Ezra sighed and let the matter drop.
Buck could almost feel a depression settle over the gambler. "Something wrong?"
Ezra had to slap his hand over his own mouth to keep from laughing loud enough for their hunters to hear him in the hallway. "Wrong? Wrong? I'm just sitting in a closet hiding from madmen intent on killing you. What could possibly be wrong?"
Buck sucked his front teeth noisily. "Yeah, uh-huh. You are a mealy-mouthed bastard, ain't you?"
Ezra shrugged. "I have no idea what you are talkin' about."
The mustached cowboy/gunfighter leaned forward slightly. "I got word that you were upset by a box of somethin'."
Ezra felt like thumping his head against the wooden wall of their hideout in frustration. Will that damn box and its contents never leave him alone? Since receiving the box and looking at Maude's old mementos, his dreams were full of war battles and shadowy father figures. But most of all, the question of Maude's fidelity to his birth father. "Just some of Mother's things. The place where she kept them wanted to be paid since the dear woman skipped out on the bill."
"Sounds like Maude. She's slippery as a hog that's wallowed in creek mud."
"You have no idea, Buck," replied Ezra in a long-suffering tone.
They sat in silence for a few minutes, each straining their ears for footsteps.
"You think they're gone?" whispered Buck.
Ezra shook his head. "Depends on why they want you dead."
Buck turned his head to look at the coats handing by them. "Where's the guy who rented out this room? What are we gonna do if he comes back?"
"Massive amounts of money."
"You think?" asked Buck in surprise.
"Anything can be accomplished with large amounts of money, Mr. Wilmington."
Buck shook his head and thought about it. If he came back to his room and found two men hiding in his closet, would he overlook it for a bit of money? His pondering went nowhere, not sure what he would do. "I'm not so sure, Ezra."
"Well, we'll come to that when it happens." Ezra pulled his wide black string tie loose and opened his frilled collar. It was getting stuffy in the small space with two grown men heating it with their bodies. "I'll be everlastingly grateful if you can think of who's trying to send you to your grave and me along with you."
"Ahem . . . well was out this way a few times to round up some lowdown mean bad guys. Nothin' special about 'em." He thought some more. "Of course, there were a few women along the way—"
"Aw, Lord, please," begged Ezra, "don't go into detail."
Buck's voice changed, getting lower in his throat. "Yeah, there was Daisy with the huge . . . uh, never mind. Patricia was out this way, or maybe that was in California. An' I think Pattie Mae was out this way. Whooee, she had the finest—"
"Buck," said Ezra sharply.
"Hell, Ezra, how am I gonna educate you boys in how to appreciate fine women if you won't listen to me?" whined Buck.
"I'll survive," replied Ezra in a dry tone.
Buck was about to respond when a soft sound came from the room's door. Ezra raised his Remington and huddled closer to the closet's doorway.
Then voices came.
"Chiter, I don't see them anywhere. That little gun was on the stairs, maybe they's gone."
"They's got to be here, Clem. Len's on the door out to the front and ain't seen them come out," replied Chiter in agitation.
"Maybe they went out back," said an aggravated Clem.
"Nah, Lester would have said something from back there. He knows how much I want that whoring Wilmington. He'll never lay a hand on her again. Not while I'm around."
Ezra shifted to throw a hard look at Buck in the gloom. Buck just shrugged and gripped his gun tighter.
The door to the room opened slowly giving Buck and Ezra a better earful.
"Bastard . . . should have shot him when he rode into town," moaned Clem.
"Damn, that would have been smart," dismissed Chiter. "Real smart, since Sheriff Colpliss was standin' right there on the boardwalk with his sawed off."
"Old fart can't hit the side of a barn."
Ezra eased the closet door shut and scooted back to Buck. They huddled in the corner and kept their guns trained on the voices.
"See anythin'?"
"Hell, no," the disgust was evident in the Clem's tone. "Bastard is more slippery than a snake crawling through bacon grease. Dammit!"
Buck perked up at that comment. He was always looking to add to his mental cabinet of homey sayings.
"Pattie Mae ain't gonna be happy when she hears about this," said Chiter. "I promised her I would take care of Wilmington."
"I told you to do it in the street. This sneaking around crap is gettin' on my nerves."
"Shut up, Clem!"
There was a sudden quiet until Clem's voice broke the silence. "How's the arm?"
There was some quiet muttering. From what reached Buck and Ezra's ears, it was mostly cursing.
"It's fine! Come on, I don't think they're in here. Let's check on Lester again."
The door slammed and slowly Ezra and Buck relaxed, but their guns stayed on the closet door.
"What in the hell did you do to Pattie Mae?" asked the gambler. His tone oscillated between amusement and anger.
"Weeell, I might have promised to marry her and then snuck out in the middle of the night."
"Buck Wilmington getting engaged?"
"It happens every now and again," protested Buck in an injured tone. "I've proposed at least ten times during my wilder years."
"Which you are still living by the looks of it."
Buck allowed himself a smirk. "Hell, yeah!"
"My, my, a woman scorned . . . will you ever learn?"
Buck grunted as he tried to get up with his stiff muscles and painful side. Ezra reached out and helped him up. When they were both standing, Ezra placed a hand on the door and carefully opened it.
The room was empty.
"Now, Ezra, you know I don't scorn women."
Ezra could see Buck wiggling his eyebrows up and down in the moonlight from the window. "Tell that to the lovely lady you left at the alter."
"Now hold on, I didn't leave her at the alter. Hell, that was months away when I left."
Ezra shook his head in disbelief. "For a man who purports to know women, you surely don't understand the place that matrimony holds in their hearts."
The gambler ghosted away from Buck and stood to one side of the hotel room's door. He reached out his right hand and slowly turned the knob. Looking back at Buck, he nodded his head and then flung with door wide.
When no shots came, Ezra poked his head around the doorframe and studied the hall.
"I believe we are free to leave."
Buck dragged his weary body over to Ezra and poked his own head out the doorway to look around.
Ezra looked at his traveling companion and caught a look of strain on his face. He let his green eyes drop to Buck's side and saw more black stain and trembling fingers.
"You need to get to the doctor."
"Yeah," replied Buck softly.
"It's only a few doors down. A piece of cake."
"Yeah," muttered Buck.
They carefully crept from the hotel room, leaving behind a bloody blanket in the closet and items on the floor from the search by the two gunmen. Whoever had the room for the night was in for a surprise when he finally came back.
-------
Ezra kept vigilant, letting Buck get himself to the front desk of the hotel.
A mousey man was sitting on a stool behind the desk when they finally reached it. The man jumped and then asked them in a shaky voice if he could help them.
"Dang, you been here all this time?" asked Buck in an amazed voice.
The meek man nodded.
"And you didn't think to get somebody here to see what all the shootin' was about?" demanded Buck as his anger began to kick up.
"The . . . the, uh, sheriff left a few hours ago to go to his cabin. It's . . . it's ten miles away."
Buck let his hard blue eyes pin the little man down. "What in the hell is your lawman doin' living ten miles away from his town? We could have been killed!"
Ezra snorted. Hell, Chris had a cabin in the back country, something that seemed to have slipped Buck's mind. He lightly pushed Buck away from the little man and leaned into the counter. "You haven't seen a derringer, have you? About this big," he help up his hands to show the size of the gun. "It would have been over by the stairs."
"No . . . no, sir. Haven't seen a gun like that."
With slumping shoulders, Ezra turned away. Those fools most likely picked it up and took it with them. Damn idiots. "Is there a sensible doctor around?"
The little man shook his head. "I don't know about sensible, but Doctor Greevy is down the street. Last building on the edge of town."
Ezra turned from the counter and put a hand to Buck's elbow. "I think I know the location." He helped the lanky gunfighter to the hotel's front door.
"Uh, won't they be out this way, Ezra?"
"No, the fools are probably watching the back door."
They studied the dark street that was empty of street fires or lamps. Nothing was moving but a faint breeze that shifted some of the free hanging business signs.
Ezra nodded and helped Buck out the door and turned them in the direction of the doctor's place of business.
-------
The doctor was a tall man that almost topped Buck, and who had a think middle covered by a blood stained white apron. His clothing looked like he had slept in them for at least three days.
Ezra almost backed Buck out of the doctor's ramshackle office when he caught the unfocused pupils of the man. If Ezra had to place of bet, he would bet that the man was sampling his own laudanum stock and frequently.
Buck was now resting from the doctor's attention while Ezra was guarding the only doorway that led to the street.
"He needs some rest," slurred Doctor Greevy. An old rusting six-shooter was on his desk holding down a few papers. Covering the rest of the desk was grimy rags and a couple of plates of leftover food. Some of the food looked laced with green mold.
Ezra shuddered and turned his eyes back to the street. "Yes, well, that may not be an option."
The doctor fingered the two gold coins that Ezra had thrust at him when he dragged Buck into the office. "You can leave him here and head out to the Sheriff's place. He can help you fellas out."
Ezra turned his pale green eyes back to the washed out man playing at being a doctor. Ezra's eyes showed his suspicions. Laudanum was a more expensive habit than whiskey. It wouldn't take much to bribe the doctor into handing over Buck if the men showed up.
"Thank you, Doctor, but Mr. Wilmington will be leaving with me."
The doctor sighed and put the gold coins away. "Where you fellas from anyway?"
'Jackass,' Ezra silently bemoaned to himself. "We are . . . itinerant at the moment." Ezra absolutely refused to tell this addict a thing. This man would sell any information immediately to any interested parties.
The doctor huffed and shut his mouth.
Ezra let the doctor fade into the background and let his sullen mind dwell on his derringer. 'Damn, I hope I get Tisiphone back. She's saved me many a time. Hate to be without her.' Then he remembered that his '75 Remington in their room. 'Damn, left Megaera behind as well.'
He was glad that he had his Remington 1875 Army revolver clutched tightly in his hand.
Buck staggered into the main room from his rest on the musty cot. "Let's get out of here," his blue eyes regarding the doctor with disgust.
The doctor dragged himself to unsteady feet and fingered Buck's bandage. Buck slapped his hands away. "Hands off, you lush," he growled.
"Buck."
"I ain't letting this lush touch me again."
Ezra nodded. "Can you stay awake while I get our stuff from the hotel and the horses?"
Buck fingered his .45 Peacemaker that peeked out from the waistband of his tan pants. "Sure, Hoss. Me an' the doc here will get along just fine." He pulled his hairy upper lip up and showed his teeth like a snarling dog.
The doctor decided it would be best to sit quietly and carefully at his desk until the crazy man was gone.
-------
Ezra contemplated the utter and complete disrespect that God had for him as he wove in and out of darkness on his way back to their hotel room.
The hotel loomed over him and he stopped under the hanging sign that proclaimed "The Celebrated Gold Hotel" to search for the idiots.
He stopped cold when he saw four men standing in the shadows of a nearby porch talking in angry voice and broad gestures.
"Dammit! Pattie Mae is goin' to make me sleep out with the cows if you fools have let that bastard get away!"
"Now, Chiter. You was there just the same as us. Clem had a right fine idea of shooting the bastard down in the street."
Ezra let the voices fade as he slipped around the back of the hotel and quietly opened the back door. The door gave a slight squeak and rattle and Ezra help his breath as he listened to the night.
Hearing nothing, he pushed inside and went to their deserted room.
He wasted little time in getting together their belongings together and scuttling back out into the darkness to retrieve their horses.
Ezra was relieved when he didn't hear the men again in his walk to the stable. He hoped that for once, his luck made them go home to the fine Pattie Mae and leave them alone.
At the stable, the two horses moaned in disagreement as Ezra saddled them up and tied on the saddlebags.
His horse was particularly bitchy about the whole procedure after walking all day to get to the comfort of the stall only to be dragged out of in the middle of the night.
"Sorry, sorry," whispered Ezra as horse teeth were shown. "You can get you're rest when I'm out of danger of being shot."
More teeth were shown.
"You better hope I'm not shot. I don't think anyone else would put up with your lazy rear end."
-------
Buck kept Doctor Greevy quite with an occasional glance at the pitiful man.
As soon as Ezra left, Buck had pulled his gun from his waistband and held it at the ready. Mostly for the benefit of the lush, but you never could tell when some idiot would turn up trying to shot holes in a body.
Buck was contemplating the wonderful charms of Pattie Mae when he knew her back when. Now that he thought on it, he really couldn't remember why he had proposed to her.
It was no secret that Buck enjoyed women and made sure that they enjoyed themselves when they were with him. Women were at the very core of his being and lifestyle. He rarely came across a woman that didn't tempt and intrigue him.
Buck was sure his warm feelings for women came from his mother's example. She did an outstanding job of raising him while plying her trade in whorehouse after whorehouse. He never wanted for much. Her love was about all he needed.
Therefore, he liked to spread that love around.
Sometimes, it got a little out of hand and he convinced himself that bedroom loving was getting married and settling down loving.
He was positive that Pattie Mae was one of those cases. And when he snuck out on Pattie Mae all those years ago, he was pretty sure she was getting cold feet just like he was, but she was reluctant to say anything to him about it.
The doctor stirred at his desk and Buck turned a hostile eye toward him. "What?"
"I think someone's coming to the window."
Buck pulled back into the shadows near the door. "Window?"
The nervous doctor cleared his throat. "Sometimes I get some uh, eager customers."
Buck nodded. "I bet. Customers who are up to no good is the only kind that probably sees you. You see who it is and I'll be right over here. With my gun."
The doctor pulled his shade and looked into the night. Clem and Chiter were there and Clem motioned to the door. The doctor nodded after a moment and replaced the window shade.
"They want to come in."
"You just keep your mouth shut until they get in here."
The doctor wiped his sweaty palms on his stained apron and got to his feet. He made sure there was a goodly distance between Buck and himself as he went to the door.
The old door was cracked a fraction and the doctor peered out at the men.
"Ey, Doc, Chiter here got a bullet in his arm." Clem dug into his pocket and pulled out some greenbacks. "I got cash."
The doctor almost forgot about Buck at the sight of the roll of money. "Come on in, fellas."
The door opened quickly as the men pushed in, Chiter grumbling about the pain in his arm.
Everything froze as they laid eyes on Buck in the shadows with his big gun pointed at their bellies.
Time hung up as eyes shifted and muscles tightened.
"Things are about to get ugly if you boys decide to go for your guns," drawled Buck with squinted eyes.
Clem was uncertain. He knew that Len and Lester were outside, still looking for this very man that stood before them. They would come if they heard gunfire.
However, gunfire could be a bad thing in such close quarters.
Chiter, on the other hand, had no problem pulling his gun on this bastard. After all the stories that Pattie Mae told him of this son-of-a-bitch, he was ready to gun him down.
Without any talk or second thought, Chiter went for his gun.
The doctor dove for his desk.
Clem tried to fall backward out the door, but didn't quite make it.
Chiter . . . well, Chiter just died where he stood as Buck pumped two bullets into his chest.
As Buck moved his gun to cover Clem, he saw the man trying to wiggle the rest of the way out on the boardwalk and out of danger.
"You! Back in here!" called Buck as he surged forward to pull on the man's right boot. "Where're the others? Huh? Where!"
-------
Ezra was almost back to the doctor's office when he heard the shots.
Damn if they didn't sound like they were coming from where he had left Buck. He threw the horses' reins over a post and, with a gun in each hand, he ran for Doc Greevy's.
Ezra was almost on the boardwalk when two unfamiliar men came skidding around the corner from a dark alley. Guns glinted in their hands.
"Len!" cried Ezra on impulse and the taller of the two men swiveled his head in Ezra's direction.
"There's the friend!" snarled Len to his companion.
The two men changed their path to meet Ezra at the doctor's front door.
Ezra Standish wasn't usually a man that would shoot to kill without trying to talk his way out of trouble first. This situation was different. Buck was somewhere in the building and there were guns all around in this hostile place.
There was no time for tact or diplomacy.
Ezra put a bullet into Len with his Remington in his right hand and at the same time twisted the gun in his left to get a clear shot at Lester.
Lester went down when he pulled the trigger.
Ezra stood over the men with his breath coming hard from the short run and the sudden action. Lester was moaning softly while he clutched his chest. Black blood was coating the splintered boards of the walk.
Ezra kicked his gun away and then moved to check Len. He kicked him hard in the side and watched as the body shifted and then went back to being still.
He wanted to check on Buck, but knew he couldn't leave a hostile gun at their backs. Ezra took the time to search both men for hidden guns and turned up his prized derringer.
Ezra felt happy at the return of his little gun, but quickly pocketed it and turned to look for his friend.
The door of the office was still cracked so Ezra didn't need to holster either of his guns to gain entry into the place. His well made boot kicked the door in with the sound of cracking wood.
Ezra came face to face with a pale Buck Wilmington.
The gambler almost clutched his chest in fright.
"Damn, Hoss! Didn't anyone ever tell you it ain't polite to just bust in on a man," said Buck as he quickly lowered his gun to cover Clem on the floor.
Ezra shook his head and ignored the question. "Let's get out of town while the getting is good."
"The others?"
Ezra put up his shoulder gun and held out a hand to assist Buck back to the horses. "One dead, the other is quickly joining him in hell."
Clem squeaked from the floor and Buck looked down at the cowering man. "Tell Pattie Mae that she was a right fine woman and I didn't mean to do a thing to hurt her. I'm right sorry if this one here meant something to her, but a man is going to shoot back when someone's trying to kill him."
Clem didn't say a word as his eyes followed the two men out the door. Both men, one dressed like a cowboy and the other like a riverboat gambler, kept their guns on him and Doc Greevy as they slowly fled.
---------
Buck and Ezra reached the horses with twin sighs of relief.
"Cover me," whispered Ezra as he holstered his Remington to help Buck into the saddle.
Buck grunted as he tried to split his attention between getting on his horse and keeping a look out.
"You settled?" asked Ezra as he stepped back.
"Yeah. Let's get out of here."
They didn't use the main road to get out of town. They just cut down one of the town's alleys and rode into the brushy surrounding land.
They rode in silence, both trying to be sure they weren't being followed.
It wasn't until the sun peeked over the horizon and their view of the surrounding area showed them nothing but flat ground and little to no cover for enemies that they started to relax.
Ezra took out his flask and offered Buck some whiskey as they stopped to check the wound.
Buck sucked the liquor down as Ezra prodded at the bandage. "Easy there, Hoss. I ain't that drunk yet."
Ezra shook his head, but let Buck continue to guzzle his whiskey. "The wound doesn't appear to be any worse than when we fled that horrid little town." He looked around. "You want to take a rest? We're still a distance from where we hang our hats."
Buck looked at the morning sky and rolled his shoulders to ease some of the strain of the hard ride.
"I want to go home," he finally said in a plaintive tone.
Ezra chuckled under his breath. "Indeed."
They resumed their trek at a walk.
"You know, it's still your fault I'm here," said Buck as he swayed with the rhythm of his horse's stride.
Ezra made a sound that would have made a constipated bull beam with pride. "Please! All you had to do was tell Mr. Larabee where I was going. Or about the letter I left with J.D. Anything that has happened to you on this little trip is squarely on your own head. And Pattie Mae's"
Buck rolled his eyes.
"May I suggest you not come to this part of the country again? She seemed a mite put out by your shared history," said Ezra as he pulled a small brown bottle of Red Eye out of his saddle bags and joined Buck in his morning repast of burning liquor.
Buck nodded. "You've got that right."
"May I never see another letter," muttered Ezra.
"What's that?"
"Nothing, just talking to myself."
Buck snorted and pursed his lips. "That's no way to get good conversation. Now, a good subject for conversation is women. Did I ever tell you how I met Pattie Mae? I saw her comin' out of the saloon and she had the most—"
"Buck, if there is a Lord in Heaven, you won't finish that sentence."
Buck's chuckle sounded suspiciously like a giggle as they gave their tired horses a little encouragement to get them home.
End