ON YOUR HORSES, BOYS
Part 32
Chris hadn't been sitting in the chair by Ezra's bed long when the gambler began to groan in his sleep. It was a low, guttural groan broken by such harsh gasps for breath it sounded as if he was physically taking hits to the stomach. He was on his side, propped forward against a stack of pillows to keep his shoulder safe and to lessen the pressure of the whip marks on his back, and Chris wondered if the position was making it difficult for him to breath. "Ezra," he called softly, leaving his chair to sit on the bed. He reached a hand to touch him, and even through the blanket covering his torso, felt a constant tremor run the length of his body. Uncertain whether he should try to move him or just leave him alone, he called his name again. The gambler jerked and Chris quickly snatched his hand away.
"S-stop," Ezra slurred.
Chris looked closer at his face. "It's alright, I won't touch you again."
Another hard shudder racked the Southerner's body as a whimper escaped his lips.
"Ezra, I…"
"It ain't you, Chris," Nathan said, appearing from the darkness. "He's dreamin'."
"He's awake, his eyes are open."
"He's been doin' this off and on since that fit he had the other night."
"What fit?"
"His fever went so high he seized a couple of times. Since then he has spells where his muscles start actin' up on their own."
Chris looked again at the blind green eyes staring at the pillow. "He's asleep?"
"I don't think he's really asleep, it's more like his brain can't quite get awake."
The gunfighter's eyebrow went up.
Nathan shook his head, he knew what he was saying didn't make a lot of sense. "He's somewhere in between being asleep and awake. It usually don't last long, but the shiverin' gets pretty bad so we need to make sure he don't hurt himself. We also need to make sure his fever stays down." He pulled a cloth from the water basin on the bedside table and wrung it out. Folding it long ways, he raised Ezra's head enough to slide it around the back of his neck. He then reached for a cup of herbal tea and offered it to his patient. Surprisingly, Ezra took a long drink before he settled down; his lips quivered, his eyes closed and his body slowly let go the tension that fed his twitching muscles.
"How long's he gonna be like this?" Chris asked.
"I wish I knew." Nathan pulled the cover down and examined the freshest slash marks on Ezra's back and hips. "He's got a ways to go before I can say he's outta danger."
Chris stared at the damage revealed by the blanket's removal. It was the first time he had actually had a chance to see the gambler's injuries for himself and the sight cut through him like a knife.
"You alright?" Nathan asked when he saw the gunfighter pale.
Chris turned away.
"I knew it was a mistake lettin' you up. You should be in bed."
"I'm fine."
The healer waited and watched.
"In fact, I think I'm well enough to get back to my own bed in my own room."
"You'll stay here 'til I tell ya you can leave."
"You can't keep me here."
"The hell I can't. You ain't strong enough to get past me yet."
"Don't push me, Nathan," Chris said, coming around with fire in his eyes.
"Look, I know you hate this, but you gotta know I'm just tryin' to help ya."
The blond steadied himself against the bed and stood. "I need to get outta here."
"You ain't leavin' 'til I turn ya loose, so get that through your head."
Chris' back stiffened and his eyes drifted to Ezra. "I can't stay here," he said just before he swayed forward.
Jackson made a grab for him but he stumbled out of reach.
"Back off," he snarled after he bumped the tub behind his legs and lost his balance. He wrenched his body sideways to avoid falling in and awakened the hurt in his wound.
"Dang it, are ya tryin' to kill yourself?" Nathan circled the bed and gathered him up in his arms. "Why do ya have to be so damned stubborn?"
The gunfighter tried to pull free. "I told you to back off. Don't you get it? I can't stay here. I can't be here when…"
Nathan didn't let go. "When what?"
Chris was dangerously close to caving in. He drew a long breath and let his head fall back against the healer's shoulder. "I can't be here when he wakes up."
"Why would you think…"
"I'm the reason he's in this mess. If we want him to survive, I can't be here remindin' him how he got this way."
"Chris…"
"Just let me go. I can go back to my place, do my healin' there."
"You will do no such thing!" The two men looked up to see Madeline Hobson, flanked by Josiah and Vin, standing in the doorway. "Mr. Jackson has worked himself to near exhaustion trying to save you and Mr. Standish and you are not undoing his fine work by going off before you're well enough."
Nathan adjusted his hold on Chris. "Thank you, ma'am," he said with relief.
"Lady, this is none of your business," the gunfighter growled.
Vin stepped into the room and sat down the basket of food he had carried for Madeline. "Mind your manners, pard. I reckon she's earned a right to speak her mind since she's been helpin' tend you and Ezra these past few days."
"Why?" he asked sarcastically. "Guilty conscience?"
"Chris!" Nathan yanked the gunfighter's arm tighter.
"It's alright, Mr. Jackson. I know he's not himself and I'm sure he understands how things were when my husband was forced into service for the Nichols family."
The anger on Chris' face quickly turned to shame and the fight in him dwindled into fatigue. His knees sagged and Nathan felt his awkward grip fail him. Josiah hurried forward, scooped the gunfighter off the floor and returned him to his bed.
Madeline was at his side in an instant. "Do you see now why Mr. Jackson didn't want you to leave?"
"You don't understand," he mumbled.
"I think I do. You did quite a lot of talking when the fever had you."
He looked up in surprise.
"It's alright. Your friends set me straight about what you were saying, and I promised never to repeat what I heard." She pointed the three men standing to the food baskets in the corner. "Now, you boys need to eat. I'll prepare something for Mr. Larabee and then perhaps he can get some sleep."
Chris touched her arm as she began to rise. "I meant what I said. I don't want to be here when Ezra wakes up."
She patted his hand. "You don't seem to understand, you have no choice. The Nichols convinced him you died because he failed to protect you. That knowledge might cost him his life unless you make him understand you're all right. He has to see you and hear you," she sandwiched his hand between her own, "and feel that you're alive."
"He should never have taken on the Nichols for me in the first place."
"I know Mr. Standish is a little different from the rest of you, but do you think so little of the kind of man he is to assume he wouldn't 'take on' the devil himself if it meant protecting you?"
Chris turned sharply at the accusation. "No."
"Then appreciate his sacrifice for what it was. Let him know he did his job as a lawman and as a friend."
He didn't say a word when she put his hand down and left him to prepare a plate.
Vin came to stand beside him. "Smart lady. She's been through a lot herself lately."
"I'll apologize to her later."
"Good. And listen to her. She was with Ezra right there at the end before we got 'im back. I reckon she probably saw some things we didn't."
Chris rolled to his side to get a better look at the gambler on the other bed. He stared long and hard at the bruises and bandages and came to the conclusion he'd never really seen the man beneath. Approval pulled at the edges of his mouth and he ultimately had to admit, "Yeah, I reckon she did."
M7M7M7M7M7M7M7
Ezra heard them talking close by, a woman and several men, and his heart threatened to stop. He didn't understand where he was or how he had gotten there, but the sound of those voices terrified him so badly he could barely breathe. "Get away," he wheezed as the overwhelming urge to escape hammered in his chest. Sadly, his first attempt at moving gained him nothing except a massive hurt from the top of his head to the soles of his feet. It was a pain so intense it sent his mind reeling; like nothing he'd ever experienced, cold and deep, and in complete contrast to the heat burning just beneath his skin.
And they were here, those who had done this to him, standing just feet away, talking and laughing and obviously planning his demise. He moaned in frustration and tried again to force his body to move. Why was this happening? What had he done to deserve a death that destroyed him a piece at a time? He was dizzy from his efforts but finally coerced muscles too tired to respond to push him onto his elbow. Daggers pierced his upper body and tears of pain were sent down his cheeks. "Oh God, I can't…" he cried and reached out to grab anything he could find to stop himself collapsing. In the midst of his panic, someone took hold of his fingers and slid a hand round his neck. He cringed at the touch and tried to wriggle away, but whoever had him wasn't letting go.
Giving freedom one last shot, he jerked hard, snatched his hand to his chest and fell awkwardly onto his back. The agony that resulted literally swallowed him whole and he screamed until his lungs began to smother and choke.
He couldn't fight them any more.
No man could.
So he gathered his hurt and his sorrow close to his heart and slowly stepped away…
TBC
A/N: A big hug to Maggie for helping me work my way through this chapter... Some days are just harder than others, and some chapters are just plain stubborn! As always, thank you to those who offered feedback. Without ya'll I might be tempted to just shove the thing in a drawer and forget it.