ON YOUR HORSES, BOYS
Part 5
Chris Larabee walked slowly into the middle of the dusty road separating the hotel and the saloon. He called out to Mrs. Nichols hoping to attract the attention of the whole Nichols clan. He needed to be the center of attention just long enough to have his men get into place and to be close enough to see if Ezra was still among the living. When he saw the battered Southerner raise his head of his own volition he breathed a small sigh of relief.
The Nichols matriarch heard the hail from the street and smiled. Barely holding her enthusiasm in check, she straightened her shoulders and strolled out the hotel entrance. Casually she stepped in front of Ezra, taking out her white lace kerchief and using it to wipe at the blood running down his face and pooling around his collarbone. The gathering of blood was almost an act of ritual, a rite she was careful to perform, and in an instant the delicate white fabric was stained a deep crimson. She held the crumpled cloth reverently in her open hand and moved to stand next to Peter at the bottom of the hotel steps. "I carried a handkerchief exactly like this on the day my David was shot and killed. I held it to his wounds as I watched the life flow from him… I held him in my arms as he drew his last breath. I begged him that day not to die. I've begged no man since," she said tightly, making sure Chris could clearly see the sodden lacey fabric. "Have you made your decision, Mr. Larabee?"
The gunfighter was admittedly taken aback by the vile gesture and wondered somewhere in the back of his mind if she and Hank weren't both cast from the same mold. They were both grief-stricken, both seeking revenge and both using a piece of cloth to remind them of what they'd lost. The similarities were disturbing but pointless to think about since his focus needed to be on Ezra.
"Mr. Larabee, I've not come out here to bake in the sun. What have you come to say?"
Chris looked past her to see Ezra's head fall onto his chest again.
"I'll not be playin' these games," she snarled and grabbed the small whip from her son's hand. When she turned to climb the steps, Chris knew he'd run out of time.
"No, wait! I'm here to make the trade," he said quickly.
She froze on the bottom step and grinned. At last, she thought to herself. She turned and once more revealed the bloodstained handkerchief in her grasp. "No tricks, I warn you. I want Connelly out here in front of me. When I have him, you may have this worthless excuse for a man." She motioned to Standish, who had grown very still.
"No tricks."
"John," she shouted to the son who stood inside the door behind her, "gather the family 'round and be ready to take your brother's killer."
"Ma?"
"You heard me, John! We all have a stake in this murderer's destruction." She threw the whip she held to the ground, turned to the son at her side and reached inside his long black coat. She removed his gun and calmly placed it in his hand. "Peter, if you see them so much as…"
She never finished her sentence. Just as she was about to order the swift execution of their prisoner should the trade actually be a ruse, a loud commotion could be heard up the street. There on a horse rearing up for all to see, was the man she'd dreamt of destroying, Hank Connelly.
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The atmosphere in the street between the hotel and the saloon quickly sparked with excitement. JD smashed the ill-fitting hat on his head, pulled back the reins of Hank's horse and forced the animal to take a couple of steps on his hind legs. The horse actually took the pose with ease and JD hastily turned him into two spinning circles before he kicked him in the sides and rode out of sight.
The Nichols boys ran from the hotel building one after the other when they heard their mother screaming at the top of her lungs to go after Connelly and bring him back to her alive. They obeyed without question and scrambled to find their mounts, but when they reached their horses several shots were fired and bullets churned the dirt at their feet.
Seeing the group disperse, Chris made a play to disarm Peter. He barreled into him, knocked the young man to the ground and wrestled for his weapon. Just as he was about to pull it free, he heard a shot nearby and turned just in time to see Mrs. Nichols grab her arm and fall. A dull thud sounded between them and he saw Ezra's Derringer fall to the ground, a glint of sunlight gleaming off its short barrel. She'd meant to shoot him in the back but Josiah had fired a shot to stop her.
"Ma, no!" shouted Peter, relinquishing his own gun and crawling to his mother's side.
Chris nodded to Josiah, who was crouched down behind the crates stacked outside the saloon's entrance. The preacher nodded back and began shouting. Chris couldn't make out what he was saying, but assumed it had something to do with being ready for the Nichols' coach. He glanced back at the old lady and her son and quickly got to his feet. Holding the gun he'd taken in one hand he reached for the knife hidden in his waistband with the other.
The echo of gunfire sounded again but Chris paid no attention to it and made his move towards Ezra. He couldn't let anything distract him, he had to cut the gambler free and get him to safety. He gave thought to changing the plan to use the coach and simply rush Ezra inside the hotel, but the gambler was looking worse with each passing second and needed to be tended by Nathan as soon as possible. There was no time for detours.
The sound of boots skidding in the dirt made Chris glance over his shoulder. He briefly saw Peter Nichols bundle up his mother and pull her toward the alley. She resisted him for a moment as she reached down to pick something off the ground. He watched as she scooped up Ezra's Derringer and tucked it into the folds of her dress before her son forced her from the street. Damn, he should've grabbed that deadly little thing when he had the chance.
He turned his attention to the task at hand, substituting the knife in his waistband with the gun he'd taken from Nichols. "Ezra," he called as he stood in front of the hanging man. Dear God, he hadn't realized just how terrible the man would appear this close up. "Ezra, can you hear me?"
One bloodshot green eye opened to stare vacantly at Chris. It blinked then blinked again before a gravelly voice spoke. "Told… you. He won't… trade… not for m-me."
Chris patted the gambler on the cheek as he bent down and tried to force him to look him in the eye. "You in there?"
Ezra flinched before he mumbled something that sounded like "Good as dead."
"You ain't there yet, but we gotta get you down so we can catch our ride outta here."
The gambler's face might have pulled a frown had half of it not been so swollen. He was obviously trying to understand who was speaking to him and why, but the effort was costing him precious strength. Then, as if someone had whispered the answer into his ear, he knew, and that knowledge terrified him. "You can't b-be here. Oh, God… w-what have I done?" He tried to look away, down at his shredded feet, up at his deadened hands, anywhere but the face of the man standing in front of him.
"Whoa now, hold still, I'm gonna cut you loose." Chris stared at his fellow lawman long and hard and quickly realized he didn't know how he was going to do that without causing him unspeakable pain.
"I must have t-told… I swear… I don't remember…Get away, run," he stuttered.
"As soon as I cut you down, just stand still."
"C-can't… can't stand."
"I know, don't you worry about it, just try not to move," Chris said, doing enough worrying for the both of them. If he cut Ezra's good arm loose first that would put all his weight on the dislocated shoulder. If he cut his injured arm free first it would likely twist and drop to the point it would tear something inside and his friend would suffer permanent damage. Some choice, but he had to make it. He'd have to try his best to hold him upright, free his awkward limb and lower it in such a way he wouldn't injure him further. He prayed he'd figure the last bit out once the arm was let loose.
"Don't… Hank," Ezra muttered.
Chris barely understood him. "Hank? Hank's in the saloon. It's alright."
"N-no… Hank," he said the name again, this time a little clearer.
Understanding Ezra was confused by what was happening Chris spoke a few words of encouragement as he worked to set him free. He had to take hold of the battered body somehow but couldn't see a way to do it without hurting him. He gritted his teeth, slid a supporting arm around the tattered waist, and pulled the gambler against him. Ezra groaned pitifully as the open cuts on his chest and belly pressed against the rough weave of Chris' serape.
The gunfighter ignored the whimper near his ear and reached the knife over his head to begin slicing through the rope knotted at Ezra's wrist. Gunfire could still be heard all around them, but he paid it no mind as he cut smoothly and quickly. Just as the last filament of rope was about to snap, he turned and tucked the knife beneath his thumb and used his fingers to grab for the gambler's wrist. Gently, carefully, despite the chaos around him, he eased the limp arm downward.
There hadn't been any feeling in Ezra's hands for a long time, but as his arm began to lower, an overwhelming rip of agony traveled its entire length and stabbed into his shoulder. Blinding pain tore a heart-wrenching cry from his dry throat. His body trembled and his vision blurred.
"Damn, I'm sorry," Chris apologized, resting the damaged limb as best he could at Ezra's side. He pulled the shaking body closer and raised a hand to the back of the lawman's head. "Breath, just breath."
Some part of the Southerner's brain understood the instruction and directed his lungs to comply. It took only a few moments, but amidst the insanity storming around them, Chris feared if he gave the man any longer to recover they'd be shot down in the street.
"Ezra, we've got to make this quick."
A weak nod against his shoulder told him it was time to cut the other limb free. He was about to reach up with the knife again when he felt the body he held stiffen. The shift was intentional, but he wasn't sure how the gambler had managed it since his feet were unable to bear weight, one hand was still tied overhead and the other was completely immobile. Something was wrong; he sensed it through the one person who could literally watch his back. "Ezra?" he asked, making no sudden moves.
Standish swallowed painfully as his eyes peered over Chris' shoulder. "H-Hank," he whispered near Larabee's ear.
"Hank?" He couldn't for the life of him understand why Ezra was so concerned for Hank. Had the old man been caught or worse, shot, by the Nichols?
Ezra drew as deep a breath as he was able and pushed a warning past his lips. "He'll… kill you… get away from me."
"I'm not leaving…"
"Damn it, Chris… Hank…" a cough stole away whatever else he had to say.
"You," someone called from the street. "Turn around you black hearted son-of-a-bitch."
Shit! Had one of the Nichols managed to sneak past Josiah and Nathan? The gunfighter gripped his burden tighter before he turned to look over his shoulder. Nichols and his mother were nowhere to be seen, but there behind him stood his father-in-law, holding a gun and pointing it straight at him. "Hank, get down, what the hell are you doing out here?"
"I'm here to kill the man who murdered my family."
"What?" Chris asked in disbelief.
"You killed my daughter, my grandson, you murdered them and you're going to pay," Hank answered, his blue eyes distant and haunted.
"Hank, listen to me, put the gun down."
Ezra didn't truly comprehend why Connelly would be looking to kill Chris but his mind understood the seriousness of the threat even if Chris didn't. He was also aware the gunfighter was completely defenseless as long as he was trying to save him. He shifted again and spoke quietly to the gunfighter. "You have to… leave me. Get out of here."
Chris turned back to look Ezra in his one good eye. He was clearly standing between two madmen.
Hank pulled back the hammer on the gun he held. "You're gonna die by my hand, for Sarah and for Adam."
"Listen, old man, I don't have time for this. Put that damn gun down and get back to the saloon. Don't you get it, there are people looking to kill you! Remember the Nichols?"
Hank heard the name and rolled it over in his mind. "Nichols?"
"Yes, you killed David Nichols, remember? You said he killed Sarah and Adam. His family is here and they mean to shoot you on sight. Now get back to the saloon."
The gun in Connelly's hand wavered as a dark fog began to build in his brain. "Here?"
Chris knew there was no reaching him now. He'd just have to pray they had time to get him into the coach and back to safety. As if on cue, he heard the large vehicle round the corner of the building and move in his direction. "Hank," he shouted, "when you see Buck, go with him! You understand? Go with Buck!" He saw the old man nod and look away.
The gunfighter turned to finish cutting Ezra loose just as he heard the wagon come to a stop not fifteen feet away. The gambler kept watch as best he could but Chris' sawing was causing a rocking motion that sickened him. Pain and nausea grew inside and he wanted nothing more than to simply drop to the ground and surrender to his body's desire to give up, but a greater desire coming from deep inside his soul overtook him.
"Chris," he choked out as dust from the coach filled his lungs. "L-look out."
Larabee literally felt Ezra's warning against his neck as the gambler's haggard breath blew hot against him. In that moment, time slowed and he became acutely aware of everything happening at once.
A voice from behind shouted, "No, Hank, don't!" It sounded like Buck, but he couldn't be sure since the plea was issued as a scream.
The rope holding Ezra's wrist overhead finally gave way and snapped against the sharp blade of his knife.
A second voice, he assumed was Vin's, yelled, "Chris, get down!"
The weight of the body he held sagged momentarily then righted itself of its own accord. He tried to maneuver himself into a position to pick Ezra up and carry him to the coach, but the gambler came at him, clumsily swinging his body forward and clung to him.
A horrifying growl filled the air just before the sound of a single gunshot resonated on the porch of the hotel building.
Ezra jerked and his upper body arced away until Chris snatched him back. The movement cost the gunfighter his balance and the two men fell, one atop the other, onto the sidewalk. He grunted in pain when he felt one of his own ribs give when he landed, but shook off the discomfort and tried to see the face of the man who lay over him.
"Ezra?" he asked when he saw surprise and fear widen the gambler's green eye. "What the hell are you doin'?"
Standish couldn't answer before his eye slid closed and his head dropped onto Larabee's shoulder.
Chris took the Southerner bodily into his arms and gently heaved him over onto his back. He looked the beaten body over and quickly discovered a new injury amongst the many, a hole nearly the size of a silver dollar gushing blood on Ezra's right side.
"Aw, shit," he said worriedly as he gathered himself and rose to his knees. Standish had been facing him when he was shot. If he had a large hole in his belly that meant the bullet had entered him from behind. He leaned over, slid a hand under the gambler's neck and pulled him upright to rest his head against his chest. When Chris ran his palm down his back he found what he was looking for, a second hole in his lower right back. "Damn, Ezra, how the hell…"
"Chris!!" Vin shouted from the street.
He turned to see Tanner bending over Buck, who lay awkwardly on the ground clutching his head. He turned his sight a couple of inches further and saw why. Hank had evidently struck the tall cowboy with his gun and was pointing the weapon crazily at anything that moved. "Hank," he called, "put the gun down."
The gun swung wildly in search of a victim; it stopped when it found him.
"You've gotta die for what you did," Connelly swore. "You left 'em, you left 'em to burn. You left my little girl and her child to die."
Chris heaved a heavy sigh. He heard the agony in those words, recognized the rage, the torment. He'd blamed himself using those exact words since the day Sarah and Adam had died. But now the bitterness and hurt that grew in both he and Hank had turned to poison and innocent people around them were paying for their grief. He looked down at Ezra and knew there was little time to save him. He'd grown paler than before, if that was possible, and he had to be taken to Nathan now.
Still kneeling on the sidewalk, Chris reached beneath his serape and gripped the gun in his holster. Slowly he got to his feet, and keeping the weapon out of sight, called in a steady voice, "Hank, I want you to listen to me."
Connelly eyed him warily.
"This is going to stop now before anyone else gets hurt." He turned at the waist and motioned with his chin. "Vin, get Buck inside the coach."
Tanner hesitated when he saw Hank shuffle his feet.
"Do it, Vin. Hank ain't shootin' nobody."
The tracker gathered Buck up and moved him cautiously into the black coach. The tall man groaned and shook his head as he leaned back against one of the seats. Vin stayed half in half out of the doorway and waited, his mare's leg at the ready.
Hank's eyes grew fierce and it seemed he would fire his gun from trembling as much as through intent. "It's come down to just you and me, Chris Larabee, just as it's always been. You ran off then and left her to die, and me, I wasn't there to protect her."
"I didn't run off and leave her, Hank. I was coming back, I did come back."
"Not soon enough!"
"No, not soon enough, but there was no way to know what was going to happen. I had no way of knowin'."
"That don't excuse you!"
"I know that! No one knows that better than me! But we've gotta stop doin' this before anyone else gets killed. We can't keep blaming each other!"
Connelly raised a sleeve to wipe at his face then gripped his gun in both hands. "I got no one else to blame," he stated sadly.
When Chris saw Hank's finger begin to pull back on the trigger, he dropped instantly to his knees at the same time bringing his own gun forward. Unbelievably, the first shot that sounded didn't come from Hank's gun or Chris', but rather from somewhere alongside the hotel. Peter Nichol's stepped into view, closely followed by his mother. Larabee had just enough time to spot a newly acquired weapon in his hand as Hank jerked and fell to the ground. He reacted instinctively and turned to fire on the man who was now aiming at him. Nichol's grabbed at his leg and staggered back into his mother. She collapsed beneath him and wailed in surprise.
Vin heard voices coming in their direction. "Chris, come on, we gotta get outta here now." When he saw the gunfighter move he climbed on top of the rig and grabbed the reins.
Larabee bent down on one knee and carefully gathered Ezra against him. The man hadn't made a sound since he'd been shot and the silence scared the hell out of him. Not knowing if he was dead or alive, he quickly hefted him in his arms and ran to where Buck was leaning out the door of the coach. Together they maneuvered the limp body inside and the ladies man gently leaned Ezra back against Chris as he felt the rig jump forward. The door swung closed from the motion and they both heard the lock catch.
Buck sat on the floor next to his friends and battled the swaying movement of the coach. When he saw the gambler's head roll against Chris' chest he put out a hand to keep it still. "Did we get to him in time?" he asked anxiously.
Chris didn't answer. He simply pulled Ezra closer, closed his eyes and prayed.
TBC
A/N: I know it's taken a while to get this part posted, but I'm hoping I'll be forgiven since it's an extra long chapter. JMcK