On Your Horses, Boys

Part 26

Madeline recovered quickly and dropped to the floor in front of Ezra, her hand seeking a way to offer comfort but faltering for fear of causing pain. "Mr. Standish," she cried, "can you hear me?"

He laid on his stomach, a folded arm pressed against his head as the feminine pleas above crowded his already overburdened mind.

"Oh Lord, what can I do, how can I help you?" she begged.

The sound of her voice, although frightened and strained, resonated soothingly in his ears. It was new to him, different from the screeches of the woman before, and oddly able to gently prod aside his desire to disappear from the face of the planet. He slowly raised his head and used his free arm to hold himself inches from the hard wooden floor. "Wh..?" he mouthed.

"What did you say?"

"Where?"

"You're at the general store. I'm Madeline Hobson, do you remember me?" She leaned closer until she was no more than a foot from his battered face.

He latched onto her concerned smile briefly before his eyes lowered and his head dipped slightly. "N-Nathan?"

It was apparent he didn't recognize her. In fact, she wasn't sure he recognized much of anything. "Mr. Jackson isn't here right now but I can try to find him for you," she replied, looking into the face of Peter Nichols and knowing that was the last thing she would be allowed to do. "Mr. Standish, Ezra, maybe I can help you. We could start by getting you off the floor." She reached a hand to him but he pulled away, lost his balance and fell flat. "Oh, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to..."

"Chris," he called, trying to raise himself again but only succeeding in scraping his bruised cheek on the floor. There was so much pain he couldn't think.

"Oh no," she whispered and fell back to sit on her heals. His friend was dead. She knew from the conversations among the Nichols family he had gone to great lengths to protect Chris Larabee. How could she possibly tell him now his friend had been murdered? She heard him call the gunfighter's name again and knew she couldn't do it; she couldn't take away the one hope he so obviously clung to. "It's alright, Ezra. I'll get Chris for you."

Peter came forward with his hands clasped behind his back. He leaned over to speak into Madeline's ear but made no effort to keep what he was saying a secret. "You do that, dear lady, and you may find your skirts singed by the fires of hell."

"Please," she begged softly.

"Please what? Please don't tell the poor lost soul laying on the floor his reason for defying me is gone? I have news for you, Mrs. Hobson. No man defies me and gets away with it. The only reason he's been alive as long as he has is because he's served a purpose. Now that his life is no longer of use to us, I think we should fill him in on the facts and then put him out of his misery."

"Of use to you?" Madeline nearly shouted. "He's not just a thing you use up and throw away!"

Joseph saw a scowl of disapproval on Mrs. Nichols face and took a step forward. "Maddie, no!" he warned his wife of her tone.

"Joseph, we can't let them hurt him. He's so sick and weak. His mind is…"

"Silence," the Nichols matriarch roared. "You, my good woman, will hold your tongue!"

"I will not! This man is broken; there is no reason to keep hurting him!"

Anger sparked through the old woman's eyes and Joseph moved quickly to his wife's side. He grabbed her by the arm and pulled her to her feet. "That's enough, Maddie."

She gave him a hard look of her own but relented and closed her mouth.

Peter, excited by the escalating clash of wills, laughed when Joseph reined Madeline in, and his mother, with all her bluster, appeared to be at a loss for words. The loss however was short-lived as a disturbing calmness fell over her face like the black veil of his weeper. "Four of my sons are dead, another is locked away like an animal and the remaining three seem to find humor when I am disrespected." She pinned each of her male children with an icy stare.

"No, Ma." Peter quickly sobered. "I didn't mean…"

"I have suffered this miserable town long enough." The statement was delivered with such rancor every person in the room fell silent… silent except for the mumbled words coming from the bandaged body at her feet. She raised the hem of her dress and hooked Ezra with her foot. Indifferent to the pain she caused she shoved him onto his back and gave him a kick for good measure. "My son was wrong about you, gambler. You do have one last useful task to perform." She looked him up and down, noting the sling and countless white strips of cloth holding him together. "Aye, but you'll not be performing it looking as you do. You were a much more interesting sight back at the hotel." She reached into the folds of her dress and removed the handkerchief she had stained with his blood. A frown pulled her lips into a hard line just as she toed him with her shoe. "Look at me!"

Ezra jerked at her shrieking voice and did as he was told… almost. His eyes were reluctant to open but he kept trying.

"Good," she said smugly. "I want you to listen to what I have to say." His eyes tried to roll back into his head. She kicked him again and forced him to focus on her scowling face. "I lost one child to Hank Connelly, may he burn in hell, but I've lost three more because of you and your ridiculous allegiance to Chris Larabee."

"C-Chris?" His head came up.

She huffed an airy laugh. "I see I have your attention now."

"I s-saw… Chris…"

"So did I," she snarled.

He didn't understand.

"I saw him dead in the street just outside."

"No," he whispered.

"Yes, I saw your colleagues carry his body away not ten minutes ago."

Ezra knew in his heart Chris was dead. He'd seen him with his own eyes… somewhere. But to hear it from the lips of a woman who had lied to him so many times made him hope against hope the gunfighter was still alive. Uncertain what to do, he looked around the room until he found a face he could trust.

Madeline, her gray eyes now brimming with unshed tears, caught him staring and knew she couldn't hide the truth. She bravely nodded her head but the look on his face was more than she could stand. She turned away and pressed her face to Joseph's shoulder.

Ezra closed his eyes and rolled painfully onto his side. Mrs. Nichols waited for the loss to sink in before she moved to her eldest son.

Peter saw the glint in her eye and the bloodstained handkerchief fisted in her hand. "Ma, what are you thinking?"

"I'm thinking its time to take back what is ours and leave this place. We're going to the livery."

"But Ma," Luke complained, "gettin' our coach back won't be easy. There're likely men all over the livery now that the clinic is on fire. One's right on top of the other."

"I hardly think anyone's botherin' with the livery if they're fighting a fire at the clinic. We need that coach to get your brother back."

"She's right," Peter said, "if we're gonna grab John away from that sheriff on the trail we'll need Uncle Simon's coach. It can take on any kind of wagon in any kind of terrain, but it's gonna be a rough trip. Are you well enough to make it, Ma?"

"I'm as well as I need to be."

"What about him?" he asked about the still body at his feet.

"Our broken man here will serve as a warning to anyone who's foolish enough to try and follow. He'll be the last message we leave this sorry excuse for a town."

"I don't know, Ma, I reckon he's a little too healthy looking to leave a proper message."

"Then I trust you'll take care of him," she said and turned away.

"Yes ma'am." He circled Ezra's body. "Hobson, get yourself over here and help me."

"What?" Joseph asked, confused.

"I want you to cut these bandages off and haul him outside."

"No," Madeline cried. "Please, leave Mr. Standish alone. Leave us alone."

Mrs. Nichols raised a hand to her hip. "I'm growing weary of you, Mrs. Hobson."

"You can't ask my husband to help you hurt another man. He's done everything else you've asked. Please, leave him be."

"Mark!"

"Yes, Ma?"

"Take Mrs. Hobson back upstairs."

Madeline backed away. "No, I'm not leaving my husband."

"Mark, take her upstairs, tie her down and gag her! I'll not listen to another word from her mouth!"

"Yes ma'am." He marched himself over, grabbed the middle-aged woman by the arm and dragged her away from the shopkeeper.

"Mrs. Nichols, I'm begging you," Joseph cried, "please don't hurt her."

"That's up to her, Mr. Hobson. If she behaves herself, she may just see tomorrow. Go Mark, and be quick about it."

Hobson gave his wife a look of For-the-first-time-in-your-life-please-don't-let-your-heart-rule-your-head. Please-keep-your-mouth-shut! Whether or not she got the message was uncertain; she was gone before she could say another word.

"Now then, Mr. Hobson, do as you've been told."

Hearing the ugly rage brewing in her tone, Joseph unwillingly sank to his knees beside Ezra and rested a hand on the side of his head. He felt fever from the man's body radiate towards him and heard painful wheezes rattle in his chest. "Mr. Standish," he called softly.

The gambler raised his head at the sound but never opened his eyes. He groaned miserably, dropped again to the floor and mumbled over and over, "I'm sorry, Chris."

Hobson pulled his hand away and turned a solemn look on his captors. "Please, don't ask me to do this."

"I'm not asking you, Hobson, I'm telling you," Peter replied menacingly. "Cut those bandages off him now."

"Mr. Nichols, I…"

"Either you do it, or I will," Peter said as he pulled a small knife from inside his coat and handed it to the storekeeper.

Joseph knew he had no choice and took the weapon, nearly dropping it he was shaking so badly. He rolled Ezra to his back and carefully began removing the sling and bindings circling his upper body. When he was done, he rested the gambler's arms cautiously at his sides and pulled the dirty sheet securely around his waist. He glanced back over his shoulder to find all three men and the old lady staring at the poor man as if he were the main course at Thanksgiving dinner. It was both repulsive and terrifying.

"Good enough, Hobson," Peter announced, pleased. "Now let's get to the livery."

"I think I've changed my mind," Mrs. Nichols said unexpectedly with a dangerous growl. "Luke, you and Mark go get the coach and bring it here. Peter and I will be seeing to Mr. Standish's entertainment out back."

"Out back?" asked Peter.

"Yes, I seem to recall a large wood box across the alley." She noted the lack of daylight peaking around the front blinds. "Since nightfall is fast approaching, I think we'll take advantage of the shadows and prepare Mr. Standish properly for his final service to us. Mr. Hobson, gather him off the floor and move to the back door. Luke, you and your brother meet us around back as well. The law will most likely come into town from the north. They'll load John up and head out the same way before they head east. We'll ride the alley behind the buildings and catch up to them on the trail."

"Yes ma'am," both boys answered at once and obediently left the store.

Mrs. Nichols turned her gaze on Ezra, who was now being held upright by no other means than Joseph's breaking back and sheer determination to survive the night. "Now then, it's time to finish this. Peter, see to it you have what you need. Mr. Hobson," she waved a hand towards the door, "if you'll be so kind as to lead the way."

TBC

A/N: This part is for Maggie! A genuine Ezra lover! And to everyone who has read, reviewed and hung in there with me even when I'm slow to post, Thank you, Thank you, Thank you!