ON YOUR HORSES, BOYS
Part 3
Chris' first reaction to the sight of Ezra dangling from ropes outside the hotel was horror. The gambler hung limply from bloody wrists and sagged bent-kneed with the tops of his bare feet scraping the dirty boards of the sidewalk. The only clothing he wore was his gray and black striped pants and they were fast becoming stained solid with the blood oozing from countless cuts covering his chest and back.
Larabee's shock quickly gave way to anger, anger he felt tighten his fists and twist his gut. He swallowed hard and instinctively moved to help his friend.
"No, Mr. Larabee," Mrs. Nichols warned. "You will stay where you are or he'll receive more punishment for his part in this deceit."
Peter Nichols stepped from behind Ezra's slumped body and held out a small whip with many tails. He gripped its wooden baton firmly in his grasp and shook the heavy leather fingers of the weapon for the gunfighter to see.
Chris was sickened when his eye caught the glisten of Ezra's blood in the afternoon sun. Against his better judgment, he remained where he was and tried to will the gambler to look up. "Why did you do this to him?" he yelled over his shoulder, not taking his eyes off Standish.
"He tried to play us for fools and allowed you to escape when we came looking for you," Mrs. Nichols answered.
"Well, I'm back now so cut him loose."
"He will hang there until I am ready to cut him down," she proclaimed.
Chris stared at Ezra. There was something awkward in his posturing, peculiar in his placement between the beams of the hotel. When he couldn't put his finger on what was wrong, he dismissed it and redirected his attention to the state of the man's face, chest, stomach and back. Long lash marks crisscrossed his torso bearing witness to the undeniable fact he'd been whipped repeatedly and without remorse. His face was bruised, his lip was split, and one eye was swollen shut. He'd clearly been beaten senseless because every time the gunfighter thought he saw the man look at him, his head would bob and either drop to his chest or fall back to stare blindly at the ceiling.
"Ezra," Chris shouted, "can you hear me?"
The gambler slowly brought his gaze from the wooden planks overhead in an attempt to track the voice calling his name. He knew the voice, trusted it, but simply couldn't find where it was coming from. His head lolled again and his chin rested on his chest.
Chris turned and approached Mrs. Nichols. "Lady, you seriously need to get over this vendetta of yours."
Just as he was about to reach for the heavyset woman, he heard a loud crack and a pain-filled cry come from behind. Vin called to him at the same time he looked over his shoulder. Peter Nichols straightened, recovering his position after having stricken Ezra hard across the right shoulder and back with his whip.
Ezra's body jerked violently.
Chris' fury returned. "You," he said sharply to the man holding the whip, "hit him again and I swear I'll take you apart with my bare hands."
"You'll do no such thing, Mr. Larabee," the old lady stated boldly. "This man has committed a crime against my family and he will pay, as will you."
The gunfighter was filled with so much rage he nearly went after the old woman again but Vin reached out and grabbed him by the arm.
"Chris, don't," Vin said. "From the looks of him, Ezra can't take much more."
Mrs. Nichols moved forward. "You have just fifteen minutes to get Hank Connelly out here."
"Listen to me, Hank is already on his way back home. He headed east this morning, so cut Ezra down, take your boys and get the hell outta my town."
"You think me a fool? I know for a fact that murderer is again under your protection. One of my boys spotted him sneaking into the back of the saloon," she shrieked. "I see you need more proof of my sincerity."
Nichols raised her hand to Peter and he once again used his whip on Ezra. This time the tails not only dug into his back, but they reached to cut into his right side and belly as well. The gambler tried to pull away from the pain but merely succeeded in wrenching his bound arms over his head. His breath caught in his throat and the scream that rose up came out as a choked gurgling sound.
"You son of a bitch," Chris yelled as he took a step towards Peter. He would have made good his promise and killed him on the spot if he hadn't seen the man again raise his whip and motion towards the gambler. It took more control than Chris knew he possessed, but he stopped and lowered his fists. He took a hard look at Ezra and saw tears of pain spill from his clenched eyes.
"Hang on, Ezra," Chris said under his breath.
Mrs. Nichols moved closer to the hotel entrance. "Bring Connelly to me."
"Hank is here," Larabee said, taking a deep breath to keep his anger in check. "But I can't give him to you. He was wrong to shoot your son, no one's denying that, but he's sick, mentally unstable, he didn't know what he was doing."
"I don't care if he was possessed by the devil himself, I want Hank Connelly here in front of me now. He killed my David and he will pay for it. And don't think on trying to reach this friend of yours. There are guns aimed right at him. One wrong move and he'll be shot where he stands."
Chris took a step towards her without thinking but Vin held tight to his arm.
"Let's get back to the saloon," Tanner said calmly.
"I ain't leavin' him here on his own."
"He won't be alone, we're all here to get him outta this. Now let's get back to the others and plan what to do."
Chris wished he could get Ezra to look up, but the gambler was oblivious to anything but his pain. Seeing no alternative, the gunfighter gave in and allowed Vin to pull him towards the saloon.
M7M7M7M7M7M7M7
Ezra tried desperately to understand what was going on around him. His mind was in a fog like none he'd ever known. There was so much pain throughout his body he was actually amazed he was still conscious. Or was he? Perhaps he was simply experiencing a fevered delirium and the agony was the conjuring of illness. That would explain why he was so hot and thirsty and unable to breathe properly. He wondered where Nathan was. He'd seen him, hadn't he, his eyes filled with worry and concern. Was that for him? Damn, but he wished he could just focus.
He rolled his head back and opened his eyes to see a wooden ceiling overhead. At least he hoped it was a ceiling and he wasn't hanging upside down staring at the floor. He was so disoriented he couldn't tell. The resulting nausea was so overwhelming he was forced to close his eyes and listen to the angry voices arguing around him. One voice he thought he recognized – Chris'. Somehow the sound of that voice, angry or not, made him feel better, safer. If Chris was near then he had little to worry about… or did he? There was something in the back of his brain telling him the gunfighter's presence represented betrayal. Oh God, had he unknowingly been disloyal and revealed his whereabouts to the Nichols? No, he was sure he hadn't.
Then he heard his name and his heart began to pound harder in his chest. Chris was calling him, but the hurt in his body was so intense he couldn't answer. He couldn't even raise his head. He tried in vain to call back but nothing came out of his mouth except a pitiful whimper. It would have embarrassed him terribly if he'd had enough strength to care. Right now all he wanted was to sleep, to find that state of unconsciousness that eluded him. Then his mind registered a new pain – a dozen knives slicing into his flesh. Where had it come from? The agony exploded in his brain and he felt his body spasm out of his control. The darkness, he wanted to fall into the darkness. But sadly, miserably the darkness never claimed him.
M7M7M7M7M7M7M7
Josiah was holding onto a thoroughly pissed off Nathan when Vin and Chris reentered the saloon.
"Damn it, Josiah, get outta my way," the healer roared.
"You're not goin' out there, Nathan, so forget it. They'd shoot you as soon as look at ya," Sanchez answered, mustering as much patience as he could.
"They'll kill him if we don't do somethin'."
"Nathan," Vin called, "settle down. We're gonna help Ezra."
Jackson shook his head and moved to the window overlooking the hotel. He rubbed the back of his neck and began to stare at his friend hanging helplessly in front on him. He watched Ezra first twitch then shudder and knew he was wearing down quickly. The gambler's head had fallen forward and it appeared he simply couldn't raise it. Then he shifted, deliberately or instinctively, and his head rose enough for Nathan to see his face. A grimace appeared that the healer had only seen Ezra make one other time in the past. He pulled himself away from the agony on that pale, blood-streaked face and looked at the man as a whole.
"Oh, no," Nathan muttered, "it can't be." He left the window and tried once again to get past Josiah at the door.
Buck stopped him this time. "Hey, pard, what is it? What's got you so ready to take on a few dozen bullets?"
"His shoulder," the dark man answered. "Buck, his shoulder's dislocated and they got him out there strung up by his arms."
"Damn it," Chris said as he stepped up to the batwing doors. "I knew there was somethin' wrong about the way he was hangin'."
Vin pulled out his spyglass and aimed it at Ezra trying to see if they'd missed anything else.
"My God, how's he standin' that kind of pain?" asked Buck, taking a position alongside the gunfighter.
JD's curiosity got the better of him and he moved to take a look. He was sick just at the thought of what the gambler must be feeling, but rallied enough to ask the obvious question. "Why don't he stand up and take some of the weight off his shoulder?"
"He's probably too out of it to know how to help himself," Buck answered.
"That ain't it," Vin said, "is it, Nathan? You said before they'd already hurt Ezra. I'm seein' blood puddled up around his feet."
"They cut him," Jackson said, swallowing hard. "They broke a pile of glass on the floor. Just a whiskey bottle at first, then they added a few dishes. They took his boots off and made him walk in broken glass."
"Made him?" asked JD.
"By threatening me. He walked right into that misery to avoid me being hurt. Damned fool actually kept it together the whole time those shards were diggin' into the bottoms of his feet. He was hurtin' and bleedin', but he never gave in to them. He wouldn't tell them where Chris and Hank were."
Nathan paused as he remembered the sweat breaking out on the gambler's face as a small smile of victory passed between them. He'd believed he'd beaten them in that round. Then…
"Nate?" Josiah called, seeing fear fill the healer's eyes.
"You'd o' been proud, Chris," he answered softly. "He wouldn't tell 'em anything."
Larabee looked back at Jackson and wondered a moment at that statement.
"But them Nichols, they seen he could stand what they were doin' to him, so they went after him with a knife."
"A knife?" Chris asked.
"Yeah, they took a knife to his feet even though there was glass already buried in 'em. He tried real hard after that not to cry out, but he…" Nathan nearly gagged at the memory.
Chris felt the rage return as he reached again for his gun. Buck caught the motion out of the corner of his eye and turned the gunfighter to face him.
"You ain't goin' out there."
"They've tortured him, Buck. They've beat him, whipped him, taken a knife to him… His only crime was tryin' to protect me and mine. I can't let them hurt him anymore, not on my account."
"I hear what you're sayin', but if you try to take them on your own, they'll gun you down. That won't help Ezra none, will it?"
Larabee stepped back but didn't return his weapon to its holster.
Buck realized they wouldn't be able to hold Chris much longer. "I may have a plan to get Ezra back. It's risky, but it beats sittin' here watchin' him suffer."
The statement had the desired effect. Everyone, including Chris, listened carefully.
TBC
A/N: Will Buck's plan save Ezra? Hang on tight, here's where the ride really begins! Thanks to everyone who left feedback -- it really helps to keep me focused.