ON YOUR HORSES, BOYS
Part 28
Luke gathered a fist full of hay to wipe the blood from his pistol grips. "Looks like they only had two guards watchin' the place."
Mark holstered his weapon at the same time staring at the two unconscious men on the ground near the back entrance of the livery. He hadn't hit his man hard enough to draw blood and wondered briefly about the man his brother had taken out. "He dead?" he asked.
"Don't know," Luke replied uninterested, "but he won't be goin' anywhere anytime soon." He stepped over the sentry and moved towards the shadows in the far corner of the building. "Here," he announced when he spotted the family coach.
Mark followed his brother. "Where d'ya reckon they hid the harnesses?"
"Not much tellin' but they're probably not far. Check the loft; I'll dig through the tack room and the hay piles." He raised his head to the sounds of men yelling and coughing. He could also hear boots running across wood boards nearby. When he noticed Mark had stopped to listen as well, he called out, "Be quick about it before someone decides to come in here."
Mark hurried up the ladder to the loft and began moving bales of hay. Luke went to work searching the small room below. When he didn't find anything, he exited in a huff. Then he heard his sibling's voice.
"Hey, Luke," he said, hanging over the garret, "I found 'em!" He gave a toothy grin as he waved a bridle in the air.
"Good. Get everything down here," he ordered. "I'll fetch the horses."
Mark dove back into the hay and gathered every piece of leather he could find.
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"I said 'that's far enough,'" Mrs. Nichols shouted, her temper obviously short. "Now be puttin' him where I told you."
Joseph hefted Ezra's weight against his hip one last time before he lowered him forward across the wood box opposite the alleyway from the General Store. Bent at the waist, his knees sinking painfully into the ground, Ezra drew his right hand over the planked top of the box and curled it to his chest. Hobson heard him mumble incoherently and groan as he struggled to raise his head, then the shopkeeper turned to the woman at his back. "Please ma'am, he's hurt so bad he doesn't even know what's goin' on. Maybe you could just leave him here for his friends to find."
"He has a job to do, Mr. Hobson, as do you."
"Pardon?"
"I believe you heard me inside; he will be the means by which we teach your town's protectors the consequences of their actions. You attack my family, Mr. Hobson, and you die."
The threat wasn't lost on him.
"Your job will be to make certain he doesn't come off that box 'til I say so. Do you understand?" she asked, reaching her hand toward Peter. Her son pulled the bloodstained whip from his coat and laid its baton across her pale fingers.
Joseph's eyes grew large when he saw the weapon that had been used on Ezra on the hotel steps. He mustered as much bravery as he could and slowly placed himself between the kneeling gambler and the woman who intended to beat him again. "I'm begging you, please don't do this."
Mrs. Nichols frowned at the shopkeeper's defiance but didn't speak. Instead Peter raised his gun and pointed it toward Joseph's chest. "Move, Hobson. Trust me when I say you don't want to be standing there."
The old lady pulled the leather tails of the whip through her fingers but Joseph stood his ground.
Peter moved around his mother and aimed his gun at Ezra's head. "We can do this my way or yours. My way leaves him just this side of breathin'. Your way finishes him right away."
He wasn't sure what to do. How could he hold a man down while he was being thrashed? But if the gambler could hang on long enough for his friend's to find him, he might actually survive. Who was he kidding? He knew the poor man would never make it through another beating. He remained where he stood.
"I should also mention," Peter said with a sickening smile, "the stakes haven't changed. If you don't do exactly as you're told, that feisty little wife of yours will die as well."
That decided it. Joseph dropped his chin and stepped aside.
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Madeline paced her husband's study. Well, 'paced' was a bit of an exaggeration since the room was so small, but she nearly wore a hole in the rug with her constant fidgeting. She was worried, for her husband, for Mr. Standish and for the whole town of Four Corners. After the nightmarish turmoil the Nichols Family had brought to their community, she wondered if it would ever be the same. The more she thought about it, the angrier she became. She plopped herself down in Joseph's favorite chair with a sigh then jumped when something heavy fell into her lap. "Oh Maddie, you idiot," she chided herself and reached into her apron to remove the gun Buck had given her. She stared at it long and hard before she said out loud, "Well, you can sit here like a doddering old lady or you can get yourself out there and help your husband." The decision was made before she even completed her sentence. She gripped the large gun in her hands and elbowed her way out the door.
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The scene in the alley was the most evil thing Joseph Hobson had ever seen. It was inconceivable that an old lady would even be able to hold such a vile thing as a whip much less use it to inflict pain and draw blood while her son stood by and watched. And her victim, a man who could do her no harm, had never really done her any harm, suffered so badly he could do little more than whimper. Joseph felt the gambler's agony though his own hands. He could feel not only the tremors in Ezra's muscles, but the slap of the whip every time it struck the man's flesh. He forced himself to look closer at the Southerner. His face was reddened by both fever and exertion, his teeth were clenched, his jaw was set, his eyes were… Joseph looked away. The man's eyes were blind with fright and brimming with tears. Please stop! He screamed in his head but the whipping never slowed. Joseph thought for sure the old lady would tire, but she showed no sign of weakening. In fact, she seemed determined to vent every moment of anger she'd ever known on the pitiful soul over the wood box.
He was drawn again to the face next to his when he realized the soft cries he had been listening to had stopped. "Mr. Standish," he whispered, but the man he held on to was past hearing. There was something different about him, something much more frightening in his demeanor. His face, though still reddened beneath the many bruises, had gone slack. And his eyes, still open and blind, were now vacant, the wetness they had held dripping a tear at a time onto the slats of the crate. At first he thought the gambler had passed on, died in grasp, but the quivering beneath his hands never ceased. He considered calling to him again, but knew wherever his mind had gone it was in a much better place than where his body lay. He cursed himself for his part in the man's torture and did what he should have done in the beginning -- he let him go. "God forgive me," he prayed softly and watched Ezra's body slide to the ground.
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Madeline was careful to check every room she passed in the hallway so no one could sneak up behind her. Her father had taught her well. What her father hadn't taught her was how to stifle the terrible case of nerves which threatened to send her screaming into the street; that she had to learn all on her own. And she did. No one knew better than she this was no time to be squeamish. She had to find her husband and she had to be on hand to help him if he needed her.
Quickly she walked down the hall; grateful for the bulky carpet she had convinced Joseph to bring along when they came out west. Its thick fibers efficiently absorbed the sound of her footfall as she made her way towards the stairs. Eventually however, the rug ran out and she became much more aware of her movement as she headed toward the darkness of the shop below. She took one step and listened, then took another step and did the same. She repeated the act a half dozen times until she came to the bottom of the staircase. There she heard a noise. She held her breath and waited for the noise to sound again. It didn't disappoint her.
Raising her gun in front of her, she moved away from the safety of the steps and hid herself in a part of the store not lit by the lantern on the back counter. She put off breathing again until the noise became clearer. Finally she realized what she was hearing was a male voice groaning. Was it Joseph? Had he escaped and come back for her? "Who's there?" she asked nervously. When a harsh cough replied she almost pulled the trigger.
"Mrs. Hob…" the cougher began.
"Who are you?" she demanded from the shadows.
"I'm sorry… ma'am…"
Madeline's curiosity got the better of her when she thought she recognized the voice. She pulled away from her hiding place, and with her gun cocked and raised, neared the shadow of a man leaning heavily against the flour bin. When the shadow raised its head, a face came into the light. "Mr. Larabee?" She lowered the hammer on the gun and rushed to his side. "Mr. Larabee, what on earth are you doing here?"
Chris, clad only in black pants, an open shirt and a bandage around his middle, tried to answer without choking. "I'm lookin' for Ez…" he managed to say before he was cut off by another cough.
"Mr. Standish isn't here. The Nichols took him away a little while ago. Oh look at you; you're in no shape to be going after those men. You can barely stand." She tucked the gun in her apron, moved under his arm and wrapped an arm around his waist. "Come sit down."
He allowed her to move him to a chair but grabbed her hand when she began to fuss. "T-there's no time, Mrs. Hobson. I have to find Ezra before they kill him."
She knelt down in front of him and pulled his shirt open. "Your friends have gone to do just that. Now let me see this wound."
"I'm okay."
"Not all that long ago I thought you were dead, so just humor me and let have a look. I thought you were supposed to be in Mr. Jackson's care at the jail."
"I left."
"I can see that. How did you get all the way here without anyone stopping you?"
He winced at her touch. "The sheriff from Eagle Bend came in."
She looked up at him with a raised eyebrow. "So while everyone was distracted, you just walked away. That doesn't speak well for your fellow lawmen, Mr. Larabee."
"Our prisoner didn't wanna go. He started puttin' up a fight."
"And you took advantage of the moment to sneak yourself over here."
"I knew you and Mr. Hobson were in trouble… Ezra still is. I gotta go," he said, shoving himself off the chair. He made it to his feet but staggered into the counter.
Madeline moved along with him. "I know you want to save your friend, but you're not well enough to…"
"Don't," he said through his teeth. "I'm not listenin'."
"That's very apparent, Mr. Larabee, but what I was going to say is you're not well enough to go after them alone."
It was his turn to raise an eyebrow.
"I'm going with you."
"No," he said flatly, "I ain't puttin' a woman in danger. There's no way I'm lettin' you go after the Nichols."
"Mr. Larabee, just where do you think I was heading when I came down those stairs? Joseph is my husband and I go where he goes."
"Goin' after bad guys and stirrin' up a fight is not something a woman should be doin'."
"It was a woman who started this whole thing!" she shouted, her chin held high and her hands on her hips.
"I said no, Mrs. Hobson. Just tell me if you know where they took Ezra." He straightened and glared.
She opened her mouth to disagree but was interrupted by a sharp cry coming from the back of the store. "Joseph?" she mumbled before she stepped away from Chris. "Joseph," she said again and made a run for the back door.
"No," Chris ordered as he grabbed her around the waist, put a hand over her mouth and pulled her back to the counter. "Be quiet. If you don't want to get your husband killed, don't make a sound."
Contrary to her nature, Madeline fell silent.
TBC
A/N: This part is for Jami, who in contrast, is amazingly gentle in her support!