ON YOUR HORSES, BOYS
Part 21
JD actually heard the jail heave a pitiful groan as a large portion of the wall facing the street exploded. The force rocked him off his feet and sent him staggering into the cell holding John Nichols. He looked back to see his prisoner roll himself off the cot and onto the floor.
"They're here!" John shouted as he wriggled his way towards the front of the cell.
JD eyed the young man as if he had lost his mind. "Get down, you idiot!"
"My brothers are here to get me out!"
"If this is how they're tryin' to save you it's a danged fool way to go about it! They could've killed us both!"
John pushed against the bars. "No, no, it was Luke who set that blast; he's the best I've ever seen with dynamite!"
Oh great, JD thought, they're coming at us with explosives now. The ceiling overhead creaked. "You better hope they don't try that again. One more explosion and that roof's liable to cave in."
"On you maybe. I'm thinking these bars'll protect me just fine."
Sliding himself along the bars, out of John's reach, JD replied, "Are you willin' to bet your life on it? Better yet, are they?" He stared at the large hole at the front of the office, hefted the two guns he held and waited for the Nichols gang to come charging in.
"My brothers will do whatever it takes to free me."
"Are they plannin' on doin' it in this life or wait until they send you into the next?"
"You're talking out your ass, lawman," John spat out sarcastically. "I told you before, they're my blood. They wouldn't risk my life…"
Another explosion shook the building, this time blowing a large section from the back of the jail. JD's prediction came true -- one of the large support beams slid sideways and several heavy planks of wood fell from above. He crossed his arms and buried his head beneath them but the move wasn't enough to stop the boards sending him to the floor in a heap. The heavy beam which had been blown out of place shifted again and tumbled down on top of him.
John was thrown to the far corner of his cell, and although nothing fell from above, several chunks of debris were blown in his direction. Splintered wood and sizeable pieces of stone struck him hard across his back and shoulders. He could do little to protect his injured arms except turn away, huddle against the bars and wait for the dust to settle. The pain in his arms was the first thing to strike him when the numbing effects of terror wore off. He realized he was actually lying on his broken limbs and quickly rolled himself into a sitting position. Heaving in several smoke-filled breaths, it took a moment for him to notice the grunting coming from beneath the large pile to his right. "You still here, lawman?" he choked out.
Several curses could be heard before an answer came. "Sorry to disappoint you, Nichols, but yeah, I'm still here." JD managed to raise himself enough to look over the beam pinning his legs to the floor. Surprisingly, they didn't hurt, but the pressure bearing down on them was rapidly becoming uncomfortable.
"I'm not disappointed at all," John huffed, "I want you to be around to see my rescue." He motioned towards the back wall.
Dunne looked at the back of the jail and saw the second explosion had created another hole. It was a fairly large opening that spanned six feet on the outside of the cell and another two feet on the inside. It was too high for John to reach on his own with two broken arms, but it was large enough for someone to eventually crawl inside and help him. It was obvious that was what Nichols was hoping for. JD knew it was the last thing he could allow and pushed at the beam crossing his knees with every bit of strength he could muster.
"John!" someone called from behind the jail. "John, you alright in there?"
The young man struggled to gain his feet. "Peter?" He made it up and staggered to the opposite corner of the cell. If he stood close enough to the bars, the hole on the other side was low enough to see into the alley. "Is that you?"
His brother's face came into view. "It's me. You alright?"
"I'm good, just ready to leave this rat hole."
The older Nichols straightened his shoulders and announced, "Well, you're going to have to hang on just a while longer."
"What? No, come on, get me out of here."
Shouting voices sounded in the distance and JD again elbowed the weight across his lap. Peter Nichols, the man who had whipped Ezra, was standing within twenty feet of him and he wanted more than anything to catch the bastard before he slipped away. He looked for his guns but as luck would have it they were lying halfway across the room.
"We've got a job to do," Peter said firmly, "so you're going to have to wait 'til we come back for you."
"No, you can't," John whined.
Luke Nichols appeared in the opening. "Maybe we should try to get him out now," he said.
John saw him and quickly agreed. "Yes, Luke's right. Get me out."
The shouts in the distance were getting closer.
"No, there's no time, you know what Ma said," Peter insisted. "Let's go."
John's eyes grew wide with disbelief as his kin walked away. "What're you doing?"
"We'll be back for you," Peter said calmly.
"No, don't leave me!"
Luke stared at John's face with a flicker of concern before he asked Peter, "Are we really going leave him there?"
"Ma gave us our orders. He's safe enough where he is for now. We'll come back for him later."
"But that sheriff from Eagle Bend is supposed to be coming for him."
"I know that. Look, Ma made herself clear and I'm seeing she was right. We have a job to do and there's no way to do it if we're babysitting John in the condition he's in."
The large man tilted his head, not entirely convinced. "What about the condition you're in?" He pointed to Peter's leg.
"My leg's fine; Larabee's bullet didn't do any real damage."
"I don't know, Peter, leaving him doesn't seem right."
"Luke, we're not even supposed to be here. Ma warned us about trying this too soon, and I have to admit it wasn't the best idea you and I ever came up with to use this as a way to keep those lawmen busy. We'll get him later, don't worry about it. Ma hasn't steered us wrong yet, has she?"
Luke pondered a moment longer then nodded his agreement.
"No!" John yelled when he realized he was being abandoned.
"Someone's coming, we have to go," Peter said, dusting himself off. He gave his younger sibling a casual wave before he turned his back and hurried away.
"No!"
Luke merely shrugged and followed Peter down the alley.
"No!" John cried again.
JD tried again to push the beam aside when he saw the two men were getting away, but there was simply no moving the weight on his own. He slammed a fist to the floor in frustration then watched as John fell against the wall and slid to the floor. "Nice brothers you've got there," he remarked snidely.
Nichols raised his chin but didn't comment.
"Seems like that whole 'blood' thing you were counting on didn't really work out for ya, did it?"
John opened his mouth to argue but quickly shut it when it dawned on him he didn't actually know what to say. The arrogant chin lowered to his chest and for a brief moment he felt something he had rarely known before -- fear.
M7M7M7M7M7M7M7
Nathan leaned back in the chair he had dragged next to the cot. He'd managed to finish stitching the gaping hole in Chris' stomach and was just wiping his hands on a wet cloth when he got the distinct feeling he was being watched. He twisted around to look at the bed in the middle of the room and saw two green eyes trying to focus on him. The healer slowly realized he was seeing two green eyes instead of one. The swelling in the gambler's face had gone down so slowly he hadn't really noticed it until it was nearly half gone. He walked to the bed and leaned over his patient. "Ezra?" he called in a gentle voice. "Are you awake?"
Ezra's eyelids blinked but his mouth remained still.
"It's alright, you don't have to talk." He brought a hand to Ezra's fevered face and reached for the recently brewed tea on the bedside table. He placed the cup to the Southerner's lips and waited for them to part. When he didn't move to drink, Nathan slid a hand beneath his chin, raised it up and nudged the cup closer. On some level his weary brain understood the movement and his mouth opened. It was probably the messiest attempt at drinking the healer had ever seen him make, with half the tea dribbling onto the pillow when he couldn't properly coordinate a swallow, but Nathan was nothing if not patient. "That's good, just take it slow," he said encouragingly until the cup was finally drained. He let go Ezra's chin and then gave him time to catch his breath before he pulled the sheet to his waist to check his bandages and sling. Once he deemed everything secure he moved to check his bruised face. The swelling had indeed lessened, but the purple mottling had darkened so severely it gave him an even more frightening appearance. Nathan looked into weary, green eyes. Although they were still a bit glassy he did notice movement in them as they slowly surveyed the room. "Ezra, can you hear me?" he asked, wondering if the Southerner was more aware than he first thought.
Ezra frowned.
Nathan wasn't sure if it was in response to his question or if he was simply finding it difficult to get his bearings, but it was a reaction nonetheless and it gave the healer hope. "You're at the clinic." He waited for the information to sink in. "You're a little worse for wear, but you're gonna be fine."
The survey of the room continued.
"Ezra?" He touched the side of his friend's head and suddenly the wandering eyes turned on him, revealing an intense, not completely unexpected, combination of anger and terror. Nathan remained calm and left his hand where it lay. "Take it easy now."
The gambler squinted and tried to focus, and although his eyes were still glazed, eventually found the healer's face. He made several attempts to speak before he managed to whisper, "Nathan?"
Jackson grinned. "Yeah, it's me. How're ya doin'?"
The frown returned. "Hurt."
"I know. I just gave you somethin' that should help."
The look on his face clearly revealed he didn't remember drinking one of Nathan's teas. He shifted as if he wanted to sit up but was caught short when a sharp pain doubled him over.
"No, no, don't be movin' now," Nathan warned. "You need to lie still."
"I can't…"
"You ain't got much choice. Your body's been through too much."
The gambler tried to push Nathan away but couldn't manage it with his limbs pinned. He looked down on himself to find one arm wrapped in a sling and the other twisted in a sheet. A spark of memory sent cold dread into his chest. "Oh God," he moaned. "They did it… Nathan…"
Jackson knew exactly what he was thinking. "No, Ezra, wait. They didn't take them."
"But I can't feel," he swallowed hard, "I can't feel them!"
"It's alright. Your hands are still there." Nathan glanced down and saw the knotted sheet. He pulled away long enough to unwrap the cloth from his arm and raise the hand for him to see. "They cut your wrist, but they didn't take your hands."
Uncertain eyes darted to the sling.
"Your shoulder got dislocated when the Nichols had you, so I put the sling on to keep you from hurtin' it in your sleep." He rolled the edge of the sling back to reveal the lost hand. "See, they're still there."
"They told me…" He gagged on his panic.
"They didn't do it," the healer replied emphatically. "Lord knows they hurt you bad, but they didn't cut your hands off."
Standish's chest heaved out of control a minute longer before his head dropped forward in undeniable relief.
"Just try to calm down."
"I don't understand," he gasped. "How?"
"You don't need to think on it right now," Nathan said evenly, trying to draw Ezra back from the memory of the Nichols.
"My h-hands or his life…"
"Ezra."
Fever-bright eyes turned away and fell on a shadow across the room. "Oh God," he said with such sorrow it made Jackson turn and look. "No, no, no," he repeated as he slowly pulled away.
Nathan saw what caught the gambler's attention -- Chris Larabee, as pale as ghost, a large bloody wound in his abdomen, lying as still as death. Damn, he thought and silently kicked himself for not bandaging the gunfighter's injury right away. "Ezra, listen to me," Jackson said, but his friend wasn't hearing him.
"I've killed him," Ezra muttered, staring at his numb fingers with alarm.
"No."
"I don't understand. I chose… but it wasn't what they wanted to hear," he cried. "They kept coming back. They wouldn't stop."
"Stop what, Ezra?"
"They said I had to decide." He looked to the cot again. "I did."
"Easy now."
"No… my hands or Chris' life… they made me choose." He tore his eyes from the lifeless body. "I did. He shouldn't be dead, Nathan. He shouldn't be dead."
Jackson's mouth fell open when he realized what he was saying – Chris shouldn't be dead because Ezra decided to let those butchers slice off his hands rather than give up a friend. Nathan felt his stomach turn.
"Something's wrong… I must've told them… I killed him," the gambler choked out.
"No, Ezra, you have to listen to me. Chris isn't dead. I just gave him something to make him sleep," he said wishing more than anything he hadn't. "I swear to ya he's just asleep."
"I don't remember telling them… I don't remember…" The gambler drew his free hand to his chest and rolled deeper into the pillow.
Nathan tried again and again to persuade him he hadn't betrayed their friend but there was no getting through to him. He would have to wait for Chris to wake up before he would be able to convince the delusional gambler of anything. Fortunately from the sound of Larabee's irregular breathing and quiet groaning that wouldn't be too much longer. Unfortunately, Chris waking up earlier than expected meant he had very little time to finish tending his injury. He patted the back of the gambler's head and rose from the bed. "You rest now and let that medicine I gave you work."
More than a little worried, Nathan headed towards his supply cabinet. He gathered the last of his prepared bandages and was about to search the parcel Buck had opened earlier when a loud crash at the door turned him around. A dark figure rushed him, knocked him off his feet and sent him sideways into the foot of the bed. More from instinct than conscious choice, he made a grab for the holster he'd left hanging on the post. Regrettably he received a boot to the back before he could actually pull his gun.
"I see you've been a busy man, healer," someone said.
Large hands gripped his shirt and spun him around to see Peter Nichols looming at the doorway.
"Yeah," added the man who tackled him, "It looks like he's been doctoring these two real good."
"Well now that's a real shame," Peter replied, "It's such a waste to put so much time and effort into saving men who're already as good as dead."
Nathan felt a shiver run through him just before something hard smashed against his skull.
TBC
A/N: And the hits just keep on comin'! Poor Chris and Ezra... I'm so sorry for the delay in posting. I've been trying very hard to win the Lottery so I can retire and dedicate myself to the boys, but dang it, I never pick the right numbers! I tell you what, if everyone'll suggest one number between 1 and 52, maybe I'll win! Thanks again to all those who left reviews!