Magnificent Young Riders
Disclaimer: This story takes elements from both Magnificent Seven and Young Riders so if you recognize it, it's probably not mine.
Chapter 1: Wanted
"I do hereby swear, before the Great and Living God, that during my engagement, and while an employee of Russell, Majors, and Waddell, I will, under no circumstances, use profane language, that I will drink no intoxicating liquors, that I will not quarrel or fight with any other employee of the firm, and that in every respect I will conduct myself honestly, be faithful to my duties, and so direct all my acts as to win the confidence of my employers, so help me God." Two boys, nearly grown, recited together.
"Just make your mark under 'So help me God'." The office man instructed.
The blond and brunette shared a brief look before each signed their papers.
"Here's a Bible for your soul and money for your pocket," The man grinned, showing his missing teeth, "Dangerous work shouldn't be done for nothin'. Welcome to the Pony Express, boys!"
The new riders exited the office into the rowdy boomtown. The blond smirked as he watched his dark-haired companion be whisked away by a willing female. Chris shook his head as he watched them sneak out of town in a buggy; he didn't plan on seeing Buck for a few hours anyway. He headed to the town's only saloon to drink away most of his new pay before he spent the rest of it on ammo.
Nobody bothered him about his age as soon as he turned his glare on them, or they noticed the easy way he carried his gun on his hip. He bought a bottle and found a dark, quiet corner to spend the afternoon.
Nothing bothered him until someone shot his bottle. Downing one last glass, he strode out the batwing doors to find the idiot that put a bullet through his drink.
Chris watched a lynching party shoot up the town. They had a black teen, about his age, tied and at their mercy. He fought hard against his captor but he was badly outnumbered. He didn't stand a chance as they led him into the cemetery and up to a tall tree. The kid would probably be buried there too.
He felt the hairs rise on his neck; someone was watching him. His eyes meet the blue eyes of a scruffy kid a few years younger than him. The kid stood across the street in an apron, holding a broom.
The boy nodded before turning to enter the building he worked at. Chris worried he'd read him wrong before he came out again with a gun that seemed too big for his skinny arms to handle. Chris heard the store owner loudly fire the younger boy but he couldn't hear the boy's quiet replay.
Their eyes met again. Without a word, they met in the dusty street. Walking shoulder to shoulder, they strode towards the commotion in the graveyard.
"Cut him down," Chris ordered quietly.
"Reckon you'd all be a lot happier if you just rode away," His companion rasped.
"You shot a lot of holes in the clouds back there. Anybody stop to reload?" At Chris's question, a gunfight insured. One man went for his gun. Chris drew his first. The fight was fast and deadly. Taking cover behind some headstones together the two newly met strangers took out most of the hanging party. Chris's deadly accuracy with a handgun was coupled with the cover fire of his new companion's rifle.
He watched the younger boy shoot through the rope hanging the dark-skinned teenager they had set out to save. Chris noticed the long-haired boy handled the rifle like he was born with it in his hands.
As quickly as it started, the gunfire ceased. The two newly acquainted boys checked the graveyard for any movement or threat before they stood.
"Name's Chris."
"Vin Tanner. New in town?"
"This morning."
"Last week."
"You signing up with the Pony Express?"
"Heard talk about it."
"They could use someone like you."
"Don't sound like I got a job no more," Tanner smirked, "Might mosey on over there."
One of the lynchers had some fight left in him as he popped out of an empty grave, his bloody hand drew his revolver taking aim. The young man they were saving, still gasping, threw a knife into one of his attackers, saving his saviors.
"One of y'all want to pull the knife out of that fella cut me loose here?"
The three young men stood at the edge of the cemetery, feeling out of sorts as their adrenaline levels dropped. They were free, whole, and alive.
"Boys-...Gentlemen, I run the Clarion News. Where did you come from?" A younger blonde woman eyed them critically, tapping a pen against a pad of paper.
"Saloon," Chris spoke over his shoulder dismissively as he walked away, the other two followed after him.
"Hey, I-I want to talk to you. Where are you going?"
Chris and Vin shared a look before answering. "Saloon."
Vin stopped to return the borrowed rifle."Sight's a little off."
"You can keep it." His old employer laughed, waving his hand towards Chris and his type of trouble, "I have a feeling you're gonna need it."
Vin tipped his hat in thanks before following after the other two.
They headed to Chris' table where his broken but unfinished bottle waited. Vin rounded up a few more glasses before they sat to their drinks.
"Nathan Jackson," The last boy introduced himself, holding out a hand. The other two took it without hesitation and in turn introduced themselves to him.
They sat nursing their drinks in silence for a few minutes before a pensive Nathan broke it.
"Was heading into town when I came across them. Thought they could use some help but he was too far gone. Gangrene. They'd left their friend untreated while they got drunk. He was too far gone." Nathan swallowed hard rubbing his neck.
"There was nothing ya coulda done, doc," Vin spoke softly.
"Ain't no doctor just try to help folks when I can."
"Where you headed?" Chris asked swirling the last of his drink.
"Heard an old friend was running the Express Stop in the area."
Josiah looked over the boys, his boys. He was hired to train and ride herd on the young men before him. He was not much older than most of them at twenty-seven years old. His formative years traveling with his missionary father, as he taught the Indians, had given him the skill set to mentor the new Pony Express riders. As he looked over the six boys, he felt ancient. With a sigh, he began to teach them what he knew. Hopefully, it was the knowledge that would make the difference between life and death.
"You will be expected to ride seventy-five miles flat out; switching out your mount every fifteen miles. You will be alone against Indians, bandits, and sometimes God himself."
Josiah approached the first boy in line, "What's your name, son?"
"Sir, I am not your son," The southern accent was biting.
"Boy, I don't care if you were raised by wolves," The adult snapped, tired already, "But I need a name for the record so you can get paid."
"Ezra Standish," The southerner gave a nearly invisible flinched but tried to feign indifference by brushing off an immaculate sleeve.
"Buck Wilmington," The tall dark-haired youth grinned, answering without prompting, "This here is Chris Larabee. We ride together."
Josiah held up a hand to stop the talkative youth from delving into his and his yellow-haired companion's whole life history. Noting both boys' name on his register, he turned to study the dark dressed, sullen Larabee.
"You're wearing that colt a mite low, Chris," Josiah observed.
"It have a hair-trigger?" Chris nodded with a steel look in his green eyes.
"Your here for riding, not gun fighting," Josiah warned before moving on to the next boy.
"Good to see ya again, Nathan," Josiah smiled at the boy he'd meet a few years back after he'd been freed by a Quaker doctor friend.
"Good to be seen, Josiah," Nathan grinned.
Ezra scoffed in distaste, he hated nepotism. Nathan balled up his fists ready to take the southern boy down a notch. Josiah placed a hand on Nathan's shoulder to stop him, before turning to Ezra.
"If its trouble you're after, trouble you'll get," Josiah advised, "You don't need to go looking for it among your fellow riders."
Speaking of trouble, Josiah considered his next charge. Dressed in buckskins, long hair, and carrying more firepower than it seemed his lithe form could handle. Josiah almost pegged him for a renegade or a half breed if it wasn't for his light complexion, light-colored wavy hair, and soft features.
"Vin Tanner," The boy spoke softly as his blue eyes shuttered hiding something Josiah couldn't quite make out.
"You spent time with the Indians," Josiah stated more than asked.
"Yep."
"You know how to handle that thing?" The adult pointed to the rifle.
"Yep."
"You don't stand and fight, you run like hell. You understand?"
"Yep."
A man of few words. As long as he stayed out of trouble and did his job, Josiah could care less how much he said. Still beat Chris in syllables spoken, even if not by much. He finally arrived at his last charge the one that made him the most hesitant about the whole thing. The other boys had some form of hardness. Boys of the west, born and raised in hardship. Even Ezra in his finery had an air of maturity and competence. This last boy was shorter, softer, and full of more naivety than the others. His floppy dark hair and large dark eyes just added to the image.
"You sure you're cut out for this work. You look a mite small there, little brother."
The little fella took off over into the corral, climbing onto a small brown Indian pony. He rode over the fence at a breakneck speed. Expertly bringing his mount to a stop before reigning it into a tight circle.
"My name's JD Dunne, and I can ride," JD pulled his gun out, "And I can shoot."
The noise startled the horse enough to rear up and unseat its rider.
"And he can fly!" Ezra chortled.
"And he can swim, too!" Buck howled with laughter as the young boy surfaced, sputtering, from the water trough he'd landed in.
"Lord give me strength," Josiah prayed before he hauled the waterlogged boy out by the back of his shirt, "No need to impress me; I'm not gonna be the one chasin' ya JD."
JD wilted like a kicked puppy until Buck horse collared his arm around the younger boy's neck, knocking off his bowler hat. "You ride good kid, but you need a real hat." Coming out of his slump, the easterner turned his emotions onto the older boy. Soon, the two were bantering and laughing with Buck, threatening to give the out of reach bowler hat another soaking.
Josiah had spent the last few years traveling aimlessly across the west. Trying to find his purpose. He'd had a dream the night before. He'd seen a big black bird, he figured it was a crow. His life was about to change. It seemed to be his time to meet his Maker. There was a lot in his life he wasn't proud of. For better or worse, even if it killed him, these six young riders were now Josiah's responsibility. He aimed to make sure they lived to manhood.
Josiah cleared his throat, causing all the boys to freeze and look his way, "You've had your fun. Just remember, you've been hired to do a man's work so act like it and do yourselves proud."