ON YOUR HORSES, BOYS

Part 17

"Do it, Buck. Let him go."

Wilmington stiffened when he heard the gruff voice at his back. Nathan was right – Chris was on his feet again, which meant the ladies man would suffer a reproachful 'I told you so' when the healer woke up. He turned and stared at the figure standing hunched over behind him. The gunfighter looked ready to drop; he also looked ready to kill. Nevertheless, he had to stop Ezra from doing himself permanent damage. "I can't, Chris, he's gonna tear himself up fightin' us the way he is."

"He's fighting you because he thinks you're the ones who did this to him."

"I'll get through to him."

"Not like that you won't, now let him go."

Buck looked back again to see Larabee step into the light cast by the bedside lantern. The expression on his friend's face was something akin to worry only a hundred times more dangerous. He glanced at Vin and together the two men surrendered their hold. When Chris staggered towards the bed, Buck went so far as to surrender his seat. He then took the gunfighter by the elbow and helped him settle on the mattress as he discreetly motioned for Vin to fetch Nathan.

Chris briefly clung to Buck to steady himself against the rush to his brain. The journey across the room had cost him what little energy he'd gained from his short nap and the dizziness was overwhelming. He'd wakened the moment Ezra started tossing in his delirium, but it had taken him all this time to gain his feet. Now there was next to nothing to pull from, but still he had to find the strength to do what needed doing. He ran a hand through his tousled blond hair and straightened as best he could.

Detecting the weight on the mattress Ezra clambered backwards until he had no place else to go. He yelped in pain when his torn back bumped the solid headboard. He tried to regain control, wanting desperately to say something, but in the end couldn't make himself understood.

"Ezra," Chris called quietly.

The Southerner didn't acknowledge him. Instead he abandoned his attempt at speech and began struggling against the sling tied around his body. "Let… go," he finally got out.

Chris called again and moved closer, being careful not to touch him. "Ezra, look at me. It's Chris." The fight against the imagined assailants lessened only a little, but it was enough for the gunfighter to hope he might have a chance of getting through to the gambler.

"Don't," Standish said ahead of a stream of mumbled words, and pulled away.

"I said look at me," Chris insisted in a tone he'd used in the past to get the gambler's attention. It apparently still had some effect because the scramble to move off the bed stopped even if the battle against the sling didn't. "Do it, Ezra."

Unseeing eyes moved suspiciously from side to side. Someone was with him… someone who shouldn't be. A flicker of memory flashed through his brain. "No," he whispered in warning. "Go away."

"I'm not leaving you."

The flicker returned, slowing just enough for him to recognize who was there. "Chris?"

"Yeah."

"You have to go. I can't do this… much longer."

"You don't have to, Ezra."

"Can't… I can't…" The gambler jerked hard against the sling. "I can't feel…" He fought harder but achieved little more than breaking open wounds Nathan had sewn closed. Blood seeped through the white bandages around his chest and abdomen, but he was determined and wouldn't give up until he freed himself. "Get off me," he yelled.

"Ezra," the gunfighter said sharply. "Don't move! You hear me? Stay still and let me cut you loose."

Standish froze. Chris was going to cut him free? Hadn't he already made that promise? There was pain in his wrists and he was hanging, but he couldn't remember why or how. His mind was such a jumbled mess he couldn't make sense of events or the passage of time, but it didn't stop him trying. "They hung me… I can't stand."

"I know. I'll cut you loose, just stay still." Chris reached for the piece of cloth holding Ezra's sling in place but fumbled slightly with the knot. He bumped the Southerner's arm and felt him pull away. "It's alright, be still."

Surprisingly, Ezra did as he was told.

Buck watched in amazement. He'd never seen Chris so at ease with Ezra before. There was a trust between the two that quite frankly took him off guard. He wasn't sure if they were even aware of it, but that trust was the only thing holding the gambler together at the moment and he prayed Chris' strength would last long enough to see him through. He tore his eyes away long enough to see Vin and Nathan standing in the doorway to the back room. Both men stared but neither man moved. They were obviously as astounded as he was.

Chris finally loosened the stubborn knot and untied the strap around the sling. Ezra was free to raise his elbow now but his arm was still trapped in the confines of its cloth cradle. When he reached to untie the material behind his friend's neck he heard two voices call out. One was Ezra, startled by the hand near his face, and the other was Nathan, warning him against releasing the injured arm. He caught the green eyes staring at him in fear and reassured the gambler with a few quiet words. He let Buck handle Nathan, and listened as the ladies man asked him not to interfere. A moment later, the sling was lowered and Ezra was allowed to bring his two hands together. "Go slow, don't move too fast," Chris cautioned.

Again, Ezra did as he was told and slowly rolled onto his side. "Hank," he said unexpectedly.

"What?"

He tucked his chin and repeated, "Hank."

A little surprised by the gambler's concern, Larabee answered, "Hank's fine, he's gone now." There was no sense telling him Connelly was dead and his sacrifice had been for nothing.

A small smile appeared just before a deep hacking cough overcame him and doubled him over. Everyone in the room reacted at once and reached out to offer comfort. The closeness and the contact drew the demons from Ezra's mind and he was forced once again to retreat. "No," he cried. "Get off me!"

The three men standing backed away.

Chris stayed put. "It's alright, Ezra, no one's gonna touch you. No one's gonna hold you down."

"M-my sins… my sins," the weary man mumbled. He drew both hands towards his chest and flinched when his left shoulder moved forward.

"What's he saying?" asked Buck.

Nathan neared the bed. "I don't know, but we need to watch that arm of his. He can't afford to pull that shoulder out again. You shouldn't have untied those bandages, Chris."

"I had no choice. Tying him up is the last thing he needs right now. If we're gonna get through to him we need to let him know he's not with the Nichols any more. They held him down to butcher him; we ain't holdin' him down to help him."

Buck stood next to Chris. "Well, you gettin' him to settle down is as close to him knowin' he's safe as he's been since we cut him down at the hotel. That was good work, pard."

"He ain't safe yet. We still gotta get through to him and this fever ain't helpin'," Larabee answered. "Nathan, can you make up some of that tea of yours? I'll see if I can get him to take some."

The healer nodded. "I'll be right back, just keep him still, alright?"

Chris agreed and shifted uncomfortably on the bed.

"You okay?" Vin asked, seeing the gunfighter pale. "It'd probably be a good idea for you to have some of that tea yourself."

"Later, right now we need to…"

"Noooo," Ezra said tightly, rolling further onto his side.

Chris noticed the awkward position he was forcing his shoulder into and put a hand out to stop him. Ezra jerked away and began muttering a stream of curses the gunfighter was sure he'd never heard the eloquent man use before. "Don't, Ezra, don't move."

The curses soon faded but the hallucinations of Standish's delirium seemingly ushered in a deeper feeling of dread and fear. "Knife… no, not a knife… next time… next time…"

"Easy, Ezra."

"No… Oh God..." The Southerner's breathing quickened and before he could say another word he choked.

Buck and Vin moved to either side of the bed. Chris scooted further up the mattress. Damn, how the devil were they going to get through to him if they couldn't touch him? Then Chris recalled his original plan. They couldn't touch him, but… "Ezra," he called. "Can you hear me? I need your help."

Ezra was still gagging but appeared to be searching for the voice speaking to him.

"We have to get out of here and we have to do it now. But I can't reach you. I need you to give me your hand."

The gambler actually swallowed the strangling sensation in his throat and tried to listen.

"Come on, Ezra, we have to go. Give me your hand!"

"I can't."

"Yes you can."

Confusion filled the blind eyes. "I don't understand. You… can't be here."

"I am here, Ezra. I've cut you loose and we're gonna go see Nathan, but you have to help me."

"Nathan… was here."

"Yes he was. He came and told me where you were. He brought me here."

Standish's green eyes grew large with fear. "No, no, no," he said quickly. Then he twisted around suddenly and grabbed hold of Chris' unbuttoned shirt. "They'll kill you!"

The reaction was so abrupt the gunfighter barely had time to respond. He snatched the smaller man's wrists and held on tight to keep himself from being knocked off the bed.

"They'll kill you," Ezra cried. "I didn't tell them, I swear!"

"Ezra! No one's gonna kill me! It's alright."

"They'll kill you!"

Nathan ran back into the room just in time to see Chris seize Ezra by the wrists and shake him. "What the hell?"

"Listen to me. No one is going to kill me," Chris cried. He let go the hands when he noticed blood soaking through the bandages. He hadn't meant to grip him so tightly but he had to get the gambler to make a move towards his own rescue. "Come on, Ezra, it's time to go! Give me your hand!"

"I can't!"

"Damn it Ezra, don't argue with me!"

"You shouldn't have to pay… for my sins… They said they'd do it … Please, Chris…"

"What are you talking about? What sins?"

"Punished me… for my sins," The Southerner answered stiffly.

"The Nichols?"

Wild eyes searched the low light until they found Chris' face. "I didn't tell them… I know I didn't." The fearful stare lowered and came to rest on two bloody wrists. "S-so they did it." When Ezra raised his eyes again, they were so filled with pain, Chris thought his heart would stop. "Oh God, they did it," the gambler said despondently. Finally, after several moments of repeating the same words over and over, the overwhelming fatigue in his body forced him into collapse. Chris caught him as he pitched forward, gathered him carefully against his shoulder and maneuvered him back onto the pillows.

The fight had gone out of Ezra so Nathan took the opportunity to coerce him into drinking. The gambler swallowed the liquid obediently but still didn't like being touched. He drank his fill, curled into the pillows and returned his hands to his chest. Every breath he took after that elicited a pain-filled moan, but he never spoke another word.

Buck fell into the chair next to the bed. "Nathan, is he gonna be okay?"

"We need to get his fever down. His body's fightin' as hard as it can, but he's gettin' weaker."

"How 'bout his mind, Nate?" Vin asked. "Seems like it's fightin' just as hard."

The healer didn't answer and it was that awkward silence which drew Chris' attention to the peculiar look on Jackson's face.

Buck bent forward to rest his elbows on his knees. "That was good thinkin' not telling him about Hank, Chris. I just wish I knew what he was talking about when he said 'his sins.' What did he mean?"

The gunfighter was so rapt in thought he didn't realize he'd been spoken to. He just stared at Ezra and thought about the things he'd said. The fear was indisputable – he was genuinely terrified and absolutely convinced that whatever the Nichols had threatened him with, they had done. He listened to the words in his head again and tried to piece things together. It didn't take long for him to begin to understand. "Oh, shit," he said suddenly as he reached for one of the hands folded on Ezra's chest.

"What is it, Chris?" asked Buck.

Ezra withdrew but Larabee took his hand anyway. "Hold his arm, Buck," he answered sharply, "carefully."

"Do you know what's wrong with him?"

Gently he pulled the hand into the light and stared at the bloody bindings.

Nathan, busy wiping Ezra's face, stopped when he noticed what was going on. "Chris, leave those bandages. I'll change them once he's gone to sleep."

The gunfighter turned the hand and continued to stare.

"Did you hear me? I'll take care of those."

He looked at the healer's face and saw an unsettling nervousness. "You know, don't you? You've known all along."

"Chris…"

"Vin, get me a pair of scissors."

Tanner did as instructed. "You have an idea what Ezra was talkin' about?"

The gunfighter cautiously snipped the cloth around Ezra's wrists. "Yes."

Wilmington hovered behind him. "What did they do to him?"

Chris kept working.

"Talk to me!" Buck hollered impatiently.

"Well, if you were going to make a gambler pay for his sins, where would you start?"

"Hunh?"

"What does a gambler need most in his profession, Buck?" Chris slowly peeled back the bandages from the bloody wrist.

"Oh hell," Wilmington replied when he figured it out, "his hands. Those bastards threatened to take his hands."

"Exactly, and Ezra thinks they did it."

"But they didn't, they're both still there."

"His mind's tellin' him something else. He thinks they really cut 'em off."

"My God…"

Chris raised the tattered limb to the light. What he saw turned his stomach.

Nathan appeared behind him with a basin of clean water and a rag. "Let me clean him up," he said quietly and waited for Buck to move the gunfighter to the chair.

Chris paled even more but held himself together. "Why didn't you tell me, Nathan? You knew and you didn't say anything."

"I suspected, I didn't know for sure," Jackson replied.

Buck stepped closer. "What are you talkin' about?"

"When ya'll brought him in, Chris noticed his wrists were messed up pretty bad. I looked at 'em and knew somethin' wasn't right about the wounds, but I didn't figure it out 'til Ezra started talkin' in his sleep."

"What d'ya mean?" Vin asked.

Jackson offered the naked wrist for Tanner's inspection. Vin took the trembling hand in his own and examined it thoroughly before he spoke. "The underside's torn up from Ezra's weight pulling on it. You can't hardly miss rope burns. But the back's been cut," he said, glancing at Nathan, "with a knife."

"Repeatedly," Chris added.

Buck was incredulous. "You mean they told him they were gonna cut his hands off, then cut him just enough to make him think it was happening?"

"Over and over. Remember what he kept saying: 'Next time, next time they said they'd do it'. They played with him for a long time but at some point they made him believe they actually went through with it."

"Son of a bitch!" Buck growled. "So he keeps reliving the moment he thinks they took his hands."

"He's too sick right now to know the difference," Nathan said as he began washing and rewrapping Ezra's injuries.

Chris straightened against the back of the chair. "What I want to know is why you didn't tell us. Even if you just suspected what they'd done, you should have said something."

"So you'd've had more reason to put yourself at risk?" Nathan answered.

The gunfighter didn't understand.

"Look at you, Chris, you're so sick you can barely stand. You're just too damned stubborn for your own good. You hid bein' hurt from us, you fought me when I took that bullet outta you, and you ain't barely had a minute's rest since this whole thing started. I had no idea what you'd do if I said somethin'."

"I'm fine, Nathan, so just stop worrying about me and concentrate on helping him," Larabee answered, pointing irritably at the man on the bed.

"It's my job to worry!"

Chris raised himself off the chair. "I'm nobody's job!" he shouted. The sudden movement sent him sideways into Buck.

"Alright," Vin hollered, "knock it off! We need to save the fightin' for the Nichols."

Buck sat Chris down again and waited for him to catch his breath. "You okay?"

Larabee gritted his teeth against the hurt in his belly. "Yeah," he said. "Vin's right, we have to take those bastards down and we have to do it soon. Get out there and find them."

The tracker grabbed his gun and headed for the door.

"Vin."

Tanner turned back to see Chris' fevered eyes boring into him.

"Save a piece for me."

TBC

A/N: I decided this chapter simply didn't read well so I went back, changed a few things and reposted. The content is the same but hopefully the style is much improved. Thanks, JMck!