The Devil's Destiny---10
Josiah Sanchez stared into the cup in front of him. The coffee Inez served him lay untouched and cold. He was a spiritual man and sometimes he knew when things were bad. The crows outside his window always scared him, yet he'd faced death rather than show that fear. Five long days the crows had been there, yet the ex-preacher knew his friends were alive. He only hoped they were able to find Chris Larabee. He knew now that Maguire was the one who'd taken him, knew it as sure as he knew the sun would shine tomorrow. He watched the people going about their business, a sense of pride on his face. These people were showing just how much they appreciated the work the seven did in Four Corners. Ever since Mary Travis informed them what happened they'd constantly come to him for word on the missing men. The men of the town were taking shifts to make sure the area was patrolled in order to give him a break. He silently prayed the four men would find Chris and bring him home. He smiled as the young woman came out of the saloon.
"You never touched your coffee, Senor," Inez observed as she set a plate of eggs, biscuits, and bacon before him. "I'll get you a fresh one."
"Thank you, Inez." He picked up a biscuit and ate without tasting it.
"They will find him," the woman told him firmly.
"I hope so," Sanchez said, turning his attention back to the town he called home.
M7M7M7M7M7M7M7
Chris opened his eyes as he felt a new round of coughing building in his throat. He moaned as the first harsh effort tore past his lips. He felt hands lift him forward and hold him as the torturous coughs seemed to rip the lungs from his chest.
Buck held his friend, watching in horror as the man fought to breathe. He could feel the heavy wheeze and reached for the cloth as a small amount of thick crud left the injured man's mouth. He heard the small, weak cries emanating from the blond and spoke soothingly. "I got you, Chris, and I'm not gonna let you go."
"B...Buck," Larabee wheezed.
"Don't try to talk. Just concentrate on breathing," Wilmington ordered. "Nathan!" he called as the bout grew more intense and he swore he felt the life leaving his friend. "Nathan!" he repeated, unaware that three men were already at his side.
"Let me in there, Buck," Jackson ordered. He slid into the spot Wilmington vacated and let the lean chest rest against his arm. "Chris, it's Nathan. Just listen to my voice and concentrate on breathing. Don't fight the coughing. It's gonna help."
"C...can't b...breathe, N...Nathan, c...chest on f...fire."
"Ezra, Vin, bring me in that pan of herbs I put on the stove. Buck, find me a sheet or something to make a tent. JD, fetch me a cup of the tea I had steeping. Hurry!" he snapped, realizing the man he held was in distress and needed help desperately. He heard the flurry of activity as if from a distance as he continued to sooth the man on the bed. He felt the shoulders heave as his own hand massaged them gently.
"What do you want me to do with it?" Wilmington asked as he returned with a white sheet.
"Drape it over the headboard and tuck it under the mattress just below us," Jackson explained.
"Where do you want the water?" Tanner asked worriedly.
"Pour it into a basin and place it on the bed," the healer said as his orders continued to be obeyed without question. "That's it, Chris, bring it up. Not there, Vin, bring it closer," he told the sharpshooter. "Buck, make sure that sheet is pulled tight around us," he snapped and climbed onto the bed beside the weak man. The hot steam from the herb filled water soon filled the enclosed area and Jackson prayed it would ease his friend's suffering. "Breathe in the vapors. That's it. Breathe as deeply as you can. You're not alone anymore, Chris, you've got friends, f...family who care about you."
The gunslinger fought with what little strength he had, knowing to give in would be surrendering everything he was, everything he held dear. In another way it would be allowing Maguire to win and he couldn't...he wouldn't allow that to happen. Slowly the pain eased and he was able to feel the air entering his abused lungs. He cried out as the broken ribs picked up where the painful coughing left off. He felt every lash mark on his back, every wound Maguire inflicted with the heated blade and the scalpel. All the pain eased as he felt the strength of the arms holding him, talking to him, telling him he wasn't alone anymore. That he had family. "N...Nathan, M...Maguire...is h...he d...dead?"
"He's dead, Chris. He died when the cavern collapsed. He won't be hurting anyone ever again. Now you just relax and keep breathing those vapors."
"H...he's d...dead?"
"Yes he is," the healer assured him. "I've got something I need you to drink. Okay?"
"T...think so."
"JD, pass me that tea," Jackson ordered, he watched the heaving chest and the pain written on the pale face.
"Here, Nathan," Dunne's hand came under the sheet and Jackson eased the gunslinger back to the pillows.
The former slave took the proffered cup and held it to Larabee's mouth. "Alright, Chris, I want you to drink this. It'll help with the fever and some of the pain. I wish I could give you Laudanum, but right now that'll only make things worse."
"It's o...okay. N...not y...your f...fault, 'sides its n...not t...too b...bad," Larabee smiled thinly, the lie obvious on his face.
"Sure, Chris, here," the healer watched as the injured man slowly took in the willow bark tea. He pulled the cup away often, in order to let him take air into his lungs. He watched the pain filled eyes slowly close as the last of the tea made its way past the swollen lips. He moved the basin of water a safe distance from the still form, eased out from under the sheet and placed the empty cup on the table.
"Nathan?" Tanner's voice was filled with questions.
"He's resting, Vin. I'm not gonna lie to any of you. This is bad. Chris is damned close to pneumonia and you all know how dangerous that can be on its own. If he comes down with a full blown case I don't think anything short of a miracle will pull him through. There's another problem with us being so far from town. I need more supplies. I got enough with me for maybe two more days, but he's gonna need more than that. There's no way he'll be up to the ride back to town for at least a week and that's being generous. I checked the garden out back, but there's not much I can use there. If he's to have a chance at all someone's gonna have to ride back and bring out some of my supplies." He watched the emotions warring for domination on each face. He knew how hard it would be for any of them to leave without knowing if their leader would be alive when they returned. "Someone's gotta go."
"I'll go, Mr. Jackson," Standish offered, a lump in his throat at the thought of leaving. "Its time we informed Mr. Sanchez that we found Mr... found Chris."
"Alright, Ezra, I'll need my herbs and some of that paste I use for wounds," Jackson ran his hands down his cheeks as he tried to think. "I'm gonna mark down what I need. You and Josiah should be able to find everything. Just make sure you get back here as fast as you can."
"I assure you I will," the gambler vowed.
"Vin, keep an eye on Chris. Buck, go get some rest before you fall down. JD, see if you can't rustle up something for supper. Ezra, come with me."
"Go ahead, Buck, I'll come get you if anything happens," Tanner told him.
Wilmington nodded, his eyes showing just how much he was entrusting to the sharpshooter. He walked from the room, his shaky legs barely able to carry him.
"He'll be okay, JD. They both will," Tanner told the youngest member of the seven. He knew the kid was having problems dealing with the horrors he was forced to see over the last few days. He also recognized the inner strength the young easterner held beneath his emotional exterior.
"Why would Maguire do this to Chris, Vin? Why would he do it to anyone?"
"Maguire was a sick man, JD. I don't think anyone'll ever understand what makes a man like 'im tick. Maybe when Chris is better he'll be able ta tell us what happened, but he might not want ta talk about it fer some time ta come."
"I'm glad the son of a bitch is dead!" Dunne swore angrily.
"Me too," Tanner assured the other man, not wanting to reveal his plan to go back and make sure the maniac was dead.
"I'd best see if I can get supper started."
"Check the smokehouse, JD. Maybe there's somethin' there."
"I will," the easterner said and hurried from the room.
Vin sat on the chair and reached out to lift the sheet. The wheezing seemed to have diminished but he knew it wasn't enough. The strong smell of Jackson's medicinal vapors made him heady but he slid under the sheet and bathed the still form. The heat under the makeshift tent soon had him shrugging out of his flannel shirt, but he continued to try to cool the heated body. He looked up as the sheet was removed, his eyes meeting those of the healer. "He's still hot, Nathan."
"I know, Vin, and this tent won't help with his fever. It's a matter of the lesser of two evils. We need to treat his lungs as well as his fever. I've got some cold water from the well here and I want you to use it on him. You let me know when he wakes up and we'll get more of the Sassafras and Willow bark teas into him. I've also got some broth ready and the more water we get into him the better. He's fighting, Vin, fighting damned hard and if we help him I think he'll beat this one too."
"I'll do anything you say, Nathan. We all will," Tanner turned back to the job at hand. He used the fresh water to bathe the form, carefully tending each and every mark heaped on the body. The face was barely recognizable through the vivid bruising and array of cuts covering it. He fought back a sense of guilt as he realized they might have prevented this if they'd listened to their own intuitions. They were all guilty of relaxing once they thought the salesmen rode out of their lives that day. Instead he'd waited until they felt safe before attacking a man who they'd all instinctively chosen as leader. "I'm sorry, Chris, sorry that son of a bitch died so easy. Coulda showed 'im a few things 'bout torture and pain. Comanche's 'ave their own brand of revenge and I seen 'em use it," he whispered. 'If I find him alive when I go back there I'll teach him every one of 'em,' he thought, not wanting to voice it aloud. He wanted Chris to hold onto the fact his tormentor was dead and it was up to him to make sure he was.
During the next twenty four hours the fever continued to rage through the gunslinger. The bouts of coughing were intense and painful for not only the affected man, but his friends as well. They continued to care for his injuries, sitting under the sheet when Jackson thought he needed the medicinal vapors again. They bathed him constantly, hoping the cool water would help diminish the heat rising from the body.
Jackson sat under the make shift tent as two weary, fever bright eyes opened. The fear he saw there told him another round of coughing was about to start. He lifted the blond forward and held him as gently as he could. He spoke softly hoping to ease the fear he knew would come with Larabee's inability to draw a breath.
"I got ya, Chris, try to concentrate on breathing, nothing else but getting air into you. I'm not gonna let you go so just hold onto me," he soothed as the first of many tortured coughs erupted from the heaving chest.
Chris concentrated on the voice of his friend. He listened to the soothing words without hearing them; all he needed at the moment was to know someone was with him. As the first cough left him he knew what misery and pain were. The familiar burning sensation in his chest flared as he reached for the dark arms that held him. He fought the panic as time and again waves of fresh agony washed through him. He had no idea how long it lasted, but for him it was much too long. Again and again he spit the thick mucus from his lungs into a cloth Jackson held to his mouth. His chest heaved and he gasped as the tightness finally eased and he drew shallow breaths.
"W...water," he rasped painfully.
"I'm gonna ease you back on the pillows, Chris. Just lie still and I'll get you water and a few other things."
"O...Other things?" Larabee's smile was short lived as he wrapped his arms around his chest.
Jackson let the sheet drop back over the bed as he hurried to get the tea and broth he prepared earlier. He placed the items on the small bedside table and sat on the edge of the bed. He folded the sheet over the edge of the bed and removed the basin of water. He saw the green eyes were closed, but knew from the lines creased into the forehead Larabee was awake and in misery. He sat on the edge of the bed and spoke softly.
"Chris, this'll help."
Larabee forced his eyes open and slowly dipped his sweat soaked head. He didn't have the energy needed to speak past his ravaged throat. He opened his mouth and sipped the warm tea. The liquid eased the heat at the back of his mouth and his eyes filled with gratitude. The empty cup was removed and a second took its place. He recognized the taste of the chicken broth and slowly drank it. By the time the third cup was placed before him his eyelids were dropping. He sipped at the cool water for a few seconds and turned away. He slipped towards sleep, barely aware of the three men who entered the room.
"How's he doing, Nathan?" Wilmington asked.
"He's still with us, Buck, and right now that's something we need to be thankful for. I gave him broth, water and Willow bark tea. That's about all we can do. We gotta keep getting him to drink things, keep bathing him with cool water and keep up the vapor treatments for his lungs. I know it hurts to see him like this and sometimes it feels like we're only adding to his pain, but we're not. He needs this, all of it, in order to heal."
"Nathan, why don't you get some rest? I can stay with Chris for a while," Dunne suggested.
Jackson debated before answering, his own body telling him he needed rest. "Alright, JD, but you come get me if he wakes up and needs anything."
"JD," the ladies man said.
"Yeah, Buck?"
"Me and Vin are gonna take care of the family. We'll be up on that ridge gettin' the graves ready. You make sure you come get us if he needs anything, Kid. I mean anything."
"I will," the easterner assured them. He watched the three men leave and turned his attention to the man on the bed. A man he admired not only for his abilities with a gun, but for his ability to use them only when he needed too. He watched countless times as the gunslinger stood before a man who called him out. Watched as the green eyes turned deadly and the cold look came over the handsome face. Nine times outta ten the other man backed down and turned away, unable to face the Larabee glare. JD knew how hard it was to kill someone and he knew his own regrets were mirrored by the six men he rode with. None of them were cold blooded killers, but when they needed to they killed to save lives, either their own or someone they cared for. The man on the bed tried to tell him to go home that first day at the Seminole village. JD smiled as he remembered Larabee's softly spoken, "Go home, Kid." He was angry at the time, but that anger subsided when Larabee and the others took him under their wings and showed him just how hard life in the west was.
A small moan brought him out of his reverie. He picked up the cloth and bathed the fevered brow. He watched as the battered face creased with pain.
"N...no!" Larabee's tortured voice came out as a gasp. "K...kill you, B...bastard... S...stop," he cried as something hot enshrouded his body. His need to escape the fevered dreams cast him back into reality, into a pain that threatened to send him into the fiery gates of hell. "M...Maguire...k...kill...you...I'll...k...kill you!"
"It's ok, Chris. Maguire can't hurt you any more. He's dead."
Larabee's stomach churned and he knew he was gonna be sick. He fought the heavy feeling, not wanting the pain that would come with the heaving. His eyes sought the face of the voice he heard, finally focusing on the dark haired young man seated beside the bed.
"S...sick..." he rasped and tried to move.
"Hold on, Chris, I got it," Dunne snapped as he grabbed the basin and held it under the sick man. He waited for the blond's stomach to finish expelling its contents. As the last of the dry heaves receded the kid placed the soiled basin on the floor and picked up the clean cloth from the second basin. He washed the face and looked into the green eyes, holding the gaze as long as the gunslinger allowed.
"S...sorry," Larabee apologized.
"For what?" the Bostonian asked
"C...causing s...so much t...trouble."
"Ah, Chris, you didn't cause trouble. It's not your fault Maguire was a killer. We shoulda known what he was before he did this to you."
"N...not your f...fault, K...K...," he groaned as he tried to move up on the bed.
"Let me help you, Chris," Dunne offered and tried to help Larabee up on the pillows. He reached for an arm and realized there was no where he could really touch without coming in contact with bandages or bruising. "Dammit!" he swore, realizing no matter where he touched he'd be causing more pain.
"I...it's ok, Kid, n...nothing you c...can do. C...can you g...give me s...some w...water?"
"Sure!" JD reached for the glass on the table and helped the injured man drink from it.
"T...thanks, JD, f...feel so d...damn t...tired all the t...time," the gunslinger mumbled as sleep beckoned once more.
JD picked up the cloth and continued his silent vigil over his injured friend, praying the fever and injuries would not be the undoing of this once strong man.
TBC