ON YOUR HORSES, BOYS
Part 7
It took a very long time for Nathan to clean, stitch and dress the countless lacerations covering Ezra's upper body. To the healer's surprise, the muscles in his own hand had actually begun to cramp from holding a needle so long. But now that it was done he smoothed clean bandages in place and turned to gently remove the sheet from his friend's bare legs. Tell tale signs of abuse to the gambler's lower extremities became evident when the white sheet stained red from hip to knee. It was obvious the whip he'd been beaten with hadn't discriminated as to where it struck his body. Fortunately, if there could possibly be a "fortunately", the wounds were treated quickly with salve instead of needle and thread.
Nathan's worry grew as time passed. He knew for a fact his patient was completely aware of every time he'd been touched, he could feel it beneath his fingers as he'd washed and sewn him together. Despite the fact he'd been given as much laudanum as was permissible for a man in his condition, and that he should have succumbed to fatigue long before now, fine tremors and quiet gasps revealed the gambler had never once fallen asleep or passed out. It made the healer's job that much harder, but he continued his work until he was satisfied infection wouldn't take hold and once again covered Ezra's legs with a fresh sheet. He heaved a heavy sigh, rubbed his chin on his shoulder and gave Standish a sympathetic tap near his ankle.
Vin snagged a damp rag from the side table and offered it to Nathan to wipe his hands. "His feet, Nate, how do we go about gettin' all that glass out?"
"I've been thinkin' on that. We should probably soak 'em in warm water for a few minutes; some of the smaller pieces will rinse off, others we'll have to go after."
"I sure don't envy him that."
"No, but it's gotta be done pretty soon. One of his feet looks to be swellin' up and there's heavy bruisin' 'round that ankle."
"You think that's from them holdin' him down?"
"Could be, they weren't none too gentle. He's in a lot of pain and he just can't take much more handlin', not even by us."
"Why's he still awake? Why won't he just let go and sleep?"
"I reckon he thinks his job's not done yet. He went a long way to keep the Nichols from findin' Chris and Hank. He don't know half the gang is dead."
"Or that Hank is dead," Chris said, leaving his watch at the window.
"Hank's dead?" Jackson asked in surprise.
"Yeah, Peter Nichols shot him in the street while we were tryin' to cut Ezra loose," Vin explained, deciding not to bring up the fact Hank had tried to kill Chris.
"Damn, I'm sorry."
Larabee pulled a stool next to where Ezra lay and sat down. "As sick as Hank was, I suppose it was gonna happen sooner or later. Even if he was outta his head, he had a lot to answer for."
"Still," the healer began.
"Forget it. We need to see to Ezra right now. Get that hot water you need. We can move him to the end of the table to soak his feet."
"One of us is gonna have to hold him up to take the pressure off his shoulder and back."
"I'll do it," Larabee said.
Vin pulled Nathan away and motioned for him to get what he needed. Once he'd gone, the tracker moved alongside the gunfighter and put a hand to his shoulder. He felt Chris' muscles twitch beneath his fingers and knew the day was quickly catching up to him. "He's gonna get through this."
Chris took a deep breath and gave Ezra a long hard look. "I pray he does, because as soon as he's well enough I'm going to kick his ass from here to Sunday. What was he thinking messing with the Nichols like that?"
Tanner pulled back in confusion. "He was thinkin' he was protectin' you."
"Well, protectin' me got him tortured."
"Ezra knows the risks of his job, Chris."
"Protecting me is not his job."
"Don't be an ungrateful bastard, it's not like he went lookin' for a fight. He just did what Ezra does best, he conned them."
"Well, it didn't w-work," Chris stuttered. His mouth suddenly went dry and his head began to spin.
"Yes, it did, it gave us time to get Hank outta town. He had no way of knowin' the old man would come back here, half out of his mind." Vin saw his friend sway a little. "Chris?"
"I don't want him dead, Vin, not because of me."
The guilt that laced his voice caught the tracker off guard. He gripped the gunfighter's shoulder again and held tight. "I know, Chris, I know."
M7M7M7M7M7M7M7
Once Buck had corralled the Nichols' horses behind the livery and concealed the coach harnesses in the hayloft, he returned to where he'd stowed the armored rig and checked it for any weapons that may have been left behind. He ran a hand across its exterior before he opened the door to climb inside. The craftsmanship of the coach was truly to be admired – it was powerful, dangerous and yet strangely beautiful. Large wooden benches topped with deeply padded leather not only offered comfort for its passengers but also provided storage space for ammunition and guns. The small windows on either side and in the back were ideally positioned to shoot out while safeguarding anyone inside. It was a fortress on wheels, a masterpiece of engineering, and here it stood secreted in a barn for fear it would be used once again to destroy innocent lives.
Buck brought his mind back to the business at hand and began searching every bench and cubbyhole he could find. The rummage turned up three handguns, four rifles and eight boxes of shells. There was also a grim assortment of knives, leather straps and rope. It appeared this group had taken vengeance so close to heart they felt the need to carry their own implements of torture, each of them devoting themselves completely to the art of punishment. It was an abysmal thing that an entire family should be so lost in hatred, but sadly it wasn't the first time Buck had seen it and he was sure it wouldn't be the last.
He stacked the gathered guns in a pile on the floor of the coach. When he bent down to pick them up, he spotted large smears of blood between his feet. It took several seconds for the significance of what he saw to register in his brain, but when it did intense feelings of anger began to ignite. It was Ezra's blood and the sight disgusted him. That any part of his friend should be left behind in this place was inconceivable, unbearable. He grabbed the scraps of blanket he'd torn earlier in the afternoon and tried to wipe away both the blood on the floor and the image of his friend's beaten body from his mind. His fury grew as he scrubbed, but after several minutes of intense scouring and enraged cursing, he was forced to accept there was little he could do remove either. The blood had been virtually sucked up by the wooden floorboards and the picture in his mind had been made indelible on his brain.
He slammed a fist down before he leaned back to sit on his heals, his mind racing. God, Ezra, I'm sorry. I knew you lied to protect Chris and I knew they'd come after you when they figured out the truth. Why didn't I come back sooner? Why the hell didn't I just come back sooner? He dragged his fingertips absently across the tacky boards and fell silent. There was nothing left to do now but catch the people who had done this. He hefted the weapons he'd collected and climbed out of the coach. The admiration he had imagined for the vehicle before was quickly replaced with feelings of revulsion. If he had his choice, he would burn the abomination to the ground, but there was no time for personal indulgence. It was time to do something about the Nichols family once and for all.
M7M7M7M7M7M7M7
Josiah shook his head as he helped John Nichols lay on the cot inside the Four Corners jail. The little fool now had two broken arms thanks to his family's desire for revenge. Well that and his inability to move stealthily with one arm in a sling. What the hell was the young idiot trying to prove, sneaking up on him in the middle of a gun battle with more bravado than balance?
"You know, next time you come at a man meanin' to kill him, you might want to make sure you can stay on your feet long enough to see the deed done," he told the youth.
"I would've had you if those crates hadn't gotten in my way," John growled as he tried to find a comfortable position in which to lie.
"Son, those crates didn't come at you, you came at them, remember?"
Nichols turned his face to the wall as Josiah locked the jail cell door.
"Ah, problems with balance and skills of observation, not good qualities for a man hunter. You just sit tight and I'll see if I can find someone willin' to fix that arm of yours."
"Get me that black healer, he did a fine job before," John ordered.
Josiah turned a look on him that was anything but preacherly. "Mr. Jackson is currently seein' to the man your family whipped and strung up on the hotel steps. I doubt very seriously he'll be of a mind to help you anytime soon."
"But he's a healer," Nichols whined. "He has to."
Josiah raised an eyebrow.
"Make him!"
"Make him? After what you did to his friend? You really want me to force him to come in here, take a hold of your broken bone and twist it back into place. You're a bigger fool than I thought. You'd be lucky if he didn't twist it right off." Sanchez knew Nathan would never deny anyone help, but the boy needed a good lesson in what goes around comes around. Fear could often times be a great teacher.
"It wasn't me, I didn't cut that gambler up and I didn't whip him."
Josiah winced at how easily the description of torture came to Nichols' lips, but he also knew his description of Nathan's treatment was getting to him; he could definitely detect fright beneath the condescension. "You think that's gonna matter if he can't save our friend?"
John hesitated just a moment before he said pitifully, "But… you can't just let me lay here and suffer."
Josiah was astounded by the man's overblown sense of self and complete lack of compassion for others. He rattled the cell door to make sure it was secure before he looked Nichols straight in the eye. "Yes," he said calmly, "I can." With that, he turned and walked over to throw the keys on the office desk.
JD, who'd listened to the exchange from his position near the gun rack, shared the preacher's dismay. "It's hard to believe someone so young could be so coldhearted. He's no older than me."
"Yeah, and since his brother ain't been dead that long, I doubt it's something that came over him all of a sudden. He was probably that way long before any of this happened."
Dunne nodded as he threw Josiah a reloaded rifle and grabbed another for himself. "We can't leave him here on his own. Those brothers of his might come lookin' to turn him loose."
"I'll baby-sit the brat, you go on to the clinic and meet up with the others. Let 'em know we think three of the boys got away and we're still not sure what happened to the old lady."
"Okay, I won't be gone long though." He peeked out the window before going to the door. "Looks like folks are startin' to move around out there. That's a good sign. I'll be back quick as I can."
"You just be careful and watch out for the brat's kin," Josiah said.
JD hefted the rifle in his hand and headed out the door.
TBC
A/N: Just a little nod to my very dear friend, Winnie... the next part is for you, because you do love your Chris-whump! And I want to thank you again for your continued support. So many times I've fallen into that large black hole of writer's block and you've always managed to throw me a line! Love you, girl!