Disclaimer: I don't own Back to the Past, Present or Future.

Author's Note: Another long one. Sorry, it's just a lot to fit into one chapter.

6: Chapter Five

September 7, 1885
07:55 AM PDT

Buford Tannen felt confident of himself, as he rode into town. Now he was going to teach that no-good runt a lesson he'd never forget. Smiling faintly, he jumped off his horse and made the others take care of the horses. Walking to the saloon, he looked through the window. Not able to see much, but guessing his opponent was in there – who wasn't? – he decided to call him out.

"Are you in there, Eastwood!" he called out. "It's eight o'clock, and I'm calling you out." He waited a few seconds, and then he saw the runt coming over to the window.

"It's not eight o'clock yet!" Clint yelled. Buford rolled his eyes about the yellow's punctuality. So what if it was seven-fifty-five? Did it matter? "It is by my watch!" Buford shouted back. "Let's settle this for once and for all, runt!" Knowing Eastwood's weakness, he added: "Or ain't you got the guts." Stepping back, he waited for Clint's answer.

It came after a few seconds and Clint looking at some stupid photograph. "Listen" Clint said. "I'm not really feeling up to this today." He spread his arms. "So I'm going to have to forfeit."

"Forfeit" Buford repeated. He'd never heard that word before. "Forfeit!" he shouted, now in his usual tone, and turned to his gang members. "What's that mean?"

One of the gang members thought a little, then provided the answer. "Um… it means you win without a fight" he explained.

Now, this was the most ridiculous thing Tannen had ever heard. "Without shootin'?" he repeated, incredulously. "He can't do that." Turned to Clint, he shouted: "Hey you can't do that! You know what I think? I think you're nothin' but a gutless yellow turd. And I'm giving ya to the count of ten to come out here and prove I'm wrong. One!"

oooooooo

"Poor Grandpa Marty" Local Marty said. "He really has to make the hardest decision of his life. To go by his beliefs – and get killed, or to break with his 'chicken' problem forever and get out of the fight unharmed."

"You think that Buford will let him go, even if he does end up allowing the gang to call him chicken?" Alternate Marty pointed out. "Now, let's wait and see. We all know the outcome, but it's good to watch Grandpa finally learning his lesson."

oooooooo

"Doc!" Marty exclaimed, shaking his friend through, anxiously. "C'mon, sober up, buddy, let's go." In the back, he heard Buford's "Two!" reach him. Please Doc… why does Murphy's Law never allow us a break? Really, why not? He sighed, and continued to pull on his friend's jacket. They had to get out of here, and fast.

"You better get out there son" one of the old men said. "I got 20 dollars go betting on ya so you can't let me down." Yeah, right. Like I care for that… The teenager sighed, and stared hard at his friend. Why didn't Doc just wake up…

"Three" Buford shouted, right as one of the other men spoke. "I got 30 dollars go betting against you so don't let me down!" Marty rolled his eyes at the 'support' as Buford's "Four" sounded. He had to get out of here in a hurry. What time was it, now? 7:56? 7:57? Was Doc really that punctual with waking up, too?

"You better face up to it son," the third man said, "because if you don't go out there…"

"What?" Marty exclaimed, just as Buford's "Five" sounded. "What? What if I don't go out there?" He felt unsure what to do. What reason, after all, could there be to go out of the saloon and face Tannen to his death…

"You're a coward!" one of the men called out.

"Six!"

"And you'll be branded a coward for the rest of your days!" one added.

"Everybody," one of the men said, "everywhere, will say Clint Eastwood is the biggest yellow belly in the west."

The teenager gulped. That didn't sound good. But then again, how much better was getting killed?

oooooooo

Buford Tannen felt confused and ashamed of himself, as he realized that he didn't know what came after six. Was it ten? Or fifteen? Or two hundred twenty-five? He couldn't remember. Embarrassed, he turned towards his gang.

Luckily, they got the hint. One of his friends, the smartest, held up seven fingers. Smiling, Buford turned back towards Eastwood and the mission. "Seven!" he shouted, loud and well aware of the impression he was making here.

oooooooo

Marty felt nervous, as a gun was slid towards him. What should he do? Go out, or not? Normally, he would've asked Doc, but the scientist was right at this moment still passed out. He'd have to deal with this task on his own. And Buford's "Eight" made the dilemma he was facing even harder.

"I already got a gun" Marty muttered, as he passed the gun back.

"Nine!" Buford shouted, from outside.

The teenager looked around, wondering what he should do. Then, another loud cry came from Buford. "Ten!" Marty remained silent. "You hear me runt? I said that's 10 you gutless yellow pie slinger!"

The teenager thought deeply. If I go out now, I'll be shot. My life will end early. No Marty Junior, no Marlene, no marriage to Jennifer. My parents will live lonely without me. Jennifer will have lost her boyfriend. And Doc…

Marty sighed. Doc told me I was his only real friend. He won't have a life anymore. I was so selfish yesterday evening. I told Doc to come with me, just because I wanted to have my best friend back. If I hadn't done that, me and Doc would've parted on sad terms, and I would be hijacking the train now – alone. Doc would be happy with Clara. Thanks to me, though, his future's ruined. I have to go back with Doc.

The seventeen-year-old then looked at the face of his ancestor. Seamus' brother was stabbed with a bowie knife. Marty thought back of that night, and of Seamus' words. Never considered the future, poor Martin. God rest his soul.

I hope you're considering the future Mr. Eastwood.

I think about it all the time.

Marty stared at Seamus, and felt the farmer's words into his heart. Seamus McFly was asking, begging him not to do it. If the teen did go out, he wouldn't even have glory. He'd get shot as one of Tannen's victims… one that stood for his beliefs. That tombstone could be his. Even if he did survive this confrontation, the tombstone would continue to haunt him and with this problem, his life wasn't secure.

Was it worth it?

No.

Marty stared out of the window, and looked at Buford. It was a Tannen. A Tannen told him what to do. He was listening to Buford Tannen now. He'd almost laugh on it. Doc's words were right. You shouldn't care what anybody else says. If you put your mind to it, you can accomplish anything, no matter what anybody said about it.

"He's an asshole!"

The 17-year-old saw Seamus' approval, and felt like going through with this. "I don't care what Tannen says! I don't care what anybody else says, either!" He looked up in relief. Then, suddenly, he heard some glass behind him. He looked – and saw a dazed Dr. Emmett Brown standing on two feet again. "Whoa!" the inventor called out, trying to steady himself.

"Doc!" Marty exclaimed, rushing over to his friend's side. "Doc, Doc, you OK?"

"I think so" the inventor groaned. "Whoa, what a headache."

Marty looked outside, at Tannen, and his mood darkened again. He turned to the bartender. "Listen, you got a back door in this place?" he asked.

The bartender nodded. "Yeah, it's in the back."

"Come on, Doc," Marty instructed, "let's go." He started to walk over to the back with his friend. From outside, he could just hear Buford's words call after him: "Are you coming out here, runt, or do I have to go in there after ya?" He ignored Tannen, and soon, they were exiting through the back door.

"The thing I really miss here is Tylenol" Doc commented. Marty had to chuckle faintly at that, as they made their way into freedom.

"Hey!" Marty stopped short in his tracks, as he noticed one of Buford's gang had noticed them. He dived away into the building next to the saloon, hitting an old stove. Then, he realized Doc was not with him. He crawled to his feet, and saw that Doc was still behind the barrel.

"Freeze blacksmith!" one of the gang members called out, as Doc rose his hands. Marty groaned, as he realized that it wasn't over, yet.

oooooooo

Clara waited, as the train started to move away. She still couldn't believe how Emmett lied to her. Still, it was true. Turning her head away from the town, she waited as the steam locomotive departed Hill Valley forever.

"Yes, sir, that poor fella last night had the biggest case of broken heart I have ever seen!" a man behind her suddenly spoke. "And when he said that he didn't know how he could live out the rest of his life knowing how much hurt he'd caused that little girl? Well, I really felt for him. I did. Right here." Clara glanced at the man, who pointed at his heart. Poor guy. Well, I guess that he might actually have been not honest with his girlfriend, or else she wouldn't have broken up with him. She snorted. But if it was the girl's fault – well, then he really is the opposite of Emmett. She sighed, as she concentrated on the long ride to San Francisco.

oooooooo

Local Marty watched, as Doc was carried up to the centre of the road. He really felt for poor Marty Senior. After all, it wasn't every day you saw your friend getting shot. He wondered what was going through his grandfather's head around now.

"Listen up Eastwood!" Buford shouted. "I intend to shoot somebody today and I'd prefer it to be you. But if you're just too damn yella, I guess it'll just have to be your blacksmith friend."

"Forget about me, Marty," Doc shouted, "and save yourself!" Sarah felt herself glow with pride for her grandfather. Of course, if Marty had done just that, she wouldn't be here right now. Then again, she wasn't really here… or was she? Mind travel was even more confusing than time travel.

"You got one minute to decide!" Buford shouted. "You hear me runt? One minute!" The mind travellers moved towards the shop Marty Senior was in, as they were starting to wonder how the teenager was going to solve this mess. After all, one minute wasn't much to think up a plan that would include saving himself and Doc.

oooooooo

Clara was still sitting in the train, as she listened to the men behind her converse. Then, the speaking took an unexpected twist.

"I never seen a man so broken up over a woman" the first man said. "What'd you say her name was? Cara? Sara?"

"Clara?" the other man suggested.

"Clara!" the first man replied, relieved that he remembered the name, now.

Clara's eyes fell wide open. No, it can't be, it's just a coincidence… then again, if it isn't, I'll be regretting it forever… she turned around. "Excuse me" she said to the men.

"Ma'am" the man on the right said.

"But was this man tall," Clara said, continuing, "with great big brown puppy dog eyes and long silvery flowing hair?" She had to know it, she had to…

"You know him" the man on the right said.

That was all the proof she needed. "Emmett" she whispered. If Emmett had really felt that sorry, and did only half the things the men mentioned, then he really was sorry about the lies he'd told her, and he deserved a second chance… She got up, firmly, and pulled the brake rope.

Suddenly, the train stopped moving. Everyone fell over each other, and Clara fell in the arms of the man on the left. She stumbled up again, however, and started heading out of the train, and towards Hill Valley, California.

oooooooo

When we go back home, I swear, I'll never go on foot again when I can use horses.

Tired all together, Verne Brown arrived in the city of Hill Valley. He glanced over to the main road, and to his relief, saw the spectacle hadn't began yet. The clock said 7:59. Buford Tannen was in the centre of the road, and had apparently put the history book with bag around it hanging onto his horse. If only he could get there unexpectedly… he groaned, looking around.

As he then realized what was really going on, he came to a conclusion. Buford was about to face Marty in the gunfight, and then, he would be arrested by Strickland's deputy. He smiled faintly, as he realized that this was the chance he could take. As police officer, he could inconspicuously head over to the bag and take the book.

Realizing that he was short of time, he headed over to the nearest clothes shop his memory provided him. Then, guessing he also needed a way to get out of the area without raising attention, he grabbed the walkie-talkie, and called his brother. "Jules! Jules!"

"Heard you, Verne" Jules' voice sounded. "What's the matter?"

"I got a plan to get the book back from Buford" Verne said, rushed, "but I need a quick escape afterwards, or the gang might come after me. They were arrested by the police originally, but maybe this time, they'll come further tracking me down."

"Don't worry sibling" Jules said. "In the back of the DeLorean, I've got the ideal construction for picking you up after quick getaway's like this. Don't worry, Verne – you'll be fine. Over and out."

"Check, Jules" Verne groaned, as he reached the clothes shop. This is going to get… heavy…