Hold On Mr. Larabee
Disclaimer: The Magnificent Seven and characters are the property of MGM Television, The Mirsch Corporation, Trilogy Entertainment Group and CBS. No profit has been made off of this work. No copyright infringement is intended.
Chapter 6
Ezra peeked in the stove and grinned, a few more minutes and they would be ready. Looking at the kitchen table he smiled to himself, call him lazy would they. He'd like to see any of them attempt to prepare such a succulent repast.
Moving to the kitchen door he looked out into the parlor, Chris was still lying on the cot before the fire. At some point, it appeared the man had turned onto his stomach and was sprawled out, one arm hanging toward the floor. Ezra could have sworn he heard him mumble something in his sleep, but could not fathom what it could have been. He had no intention of waking the gunslinger, how did the saying go? "Let sleeping dogs lie." Sniffing the air he remembered his biscuits, Ezra all but ran back into the kitchen, he grabbed a towel and pulled his now perfect biscuits from the oven. Setting them on the sideboard he pulled each one from the pan and placed them gently on the plate, crooning over each perfect morsel.
Pulling his gaze from the biscuits he glanced out the kitchen window and scowled. "They said they'd be right back. They are ruining supper." Pulling off the apron he'd donned earlier, he pulled on his coat; he'd just have to see what was much more interesting than the meal he'd slaved over all afternoon. Grumbling darkly he snatched a biscuit off the plate, took a vicious bite out of it and yanked open the door; stepping right into the business end of Dick Peter's Remington pistol. Slowly raising his hands in the air, "When did you arrive?" he mumbled around the biscuit currently occupying his mouth.
"Just never you mind." Peters snapped, "Come on down here, real easy like. Be sure you keep those hands in the air."
Ezra cautiously stepped down out of the kitchen, trying to dry swallow the biscuit before he choked. Glancing around, he assumed that Dick was alone, especially if they already had Buck and Vin. Ezra prayed that Chris would awaken and realize something was wrong. Feeling a muzzle press into the base of his skull Ezra stopped cold.
Peters laughed evilly, "I almost forgot." Pulling Ezra back against him, he reached around and divested Ezra of his sidearm. "Now be real careful and hand me that little pea shooter you got squirreled away up your right sleeve."
Cursing to himself, Ezra released the derringer from its rig and handed it back. Peters snatched it from his hand and shoved it into his pocket.
"Head toward the barn, I'm sure your friends will be happy to see you." Jamming the gun into the gambler's back they trudged toward in that direction.
~o~
Chris wasn't sure what had pulled him from sleep, but as he lay on the cot listening to the fire crackle he realized that it was quiet, too quiet. Rubbing at gritty eyes he looked around the empty room, frowning in confusion he pushed his aching body up from where he lay. Dropping his feet over the side of the cot he noticed his rig sitting nearby, grabbing it up he pulled his Colt Peacemaker free. Looking it over carefully, he smiled, Good Ol' Vin. He was sure the tracker had been the one to clean the weapon for him.
Once he had managed to extricate himself from all the blankets, he hobbled over to the fireplace where his clothing had been laid out to dry. Chris grimaced in pain as he bent over to retrieve his trousers. They were only slightly damp; he could live it with for now. After dressing as quickly as he could, he strapped on his gun and moved quietly to the kitchen. Slowly pushing the door open he glanced into the room, it too was empty except for the delicious aromas still hovering on the air. Cautiously moving into the room, he found the plate of biscuits. Picking one up and stuffing it into his mouth; he chewed slowly. The biscuits were still warm, so wherever they went, they hadn't been gone too long. By the looks of the supper laid out, someone had been industrious in the kitchen.
Chris could hear the wind knocking the branches against the house and a draft swept under the kitchen door, causing him to shiver against the chill. Balking at the thought of going out in the cold, he snagged another biscuit off the plate and stalked back into the parlor to grab his coat. Looking around for his hat he sighed and his shoulders slumped; he'd lost it when he'd fallen into the well. Damn it! He'd just gotten it broken in the way he liked too; Vin's nag had destroyed his last one. It just wasn't fair. Pulling open the front door he slipped silently into the night, tip toeing down the stairs, he kept to the shadows.
~o~
Buck watched Frank Peters pace back and forth from where he was tied to one of the support beams in the barn, the thief had been grumbling under his breath for the last fifteen minutes. "Guess Ol' Dick don't trust you to nothing but guard duty." Buck snarked as Frank passed by him.
"Shut your mouth or I'll shut it permanent like." Frank snapped as he rushed at the ladies man.
"Really, you gonna bash me over the head and leave me for dead like you did Yosemite?" Buck spit out in defiance.
Vin just sighed in frustration, Buck and this fool had been going at it off and on for the last half hour, and if Vin's poor head hadn't been pounding before; it sure was now. Vin watched out of his one good eye, as Frank puffed himself up as much as he could in front of Buck. Unfortunately, the man was built like Chris Larabee, and no amount of posturing was going to intimidate the ladies man.
"You won't be alive to see the sunrise, you heifer." Frank laughed and danced away as Buck fought his bindings. "Dick's gonna eat you for breakfast."
Buck yelled at the top of his lungs in pure unadulterated anger, which left Vin wincing in pain. Frank just giggled in the middle of the barn, slapping at his knee. The barn door suddenly blew open and the thief drew on the two people walking in.
"Put that gun away, Frank. It's just me. I've brought another one of their friends." Dick snapped and kicked Ezra in the back, sending the gambler sprawling across the dirt floor.
"That was not very hospitable of you. If you treat all your guests this way, you shan't keep many friends." Ezra simpered as he slowly stood up and brushed the dirt from his clothing.
"Be quiet!" Dick growled and kicked him toward an available support beam, "Frank, tie 'im up. Make sure you make the knots extras tight. Think we got ourselves a weasel here. Don't want him slinking away before we need him to."
Frank looked Ezra up and down, "Why can't you do it? Let me go after the gunslinger. I want to have some fun too."
Dick scowled at Frank, "This is not supposed to be fun, at least not yet. Once we've got'em all squared away I'll let you have some fun. The gunslinger is mine. You can have the others."
Frank just shot Dick a glare and grabbed Ezra by the elbow, dragging him to an open post.