ON YOUR HORSES, BOYS

Part 33

In all the years Nathan had spent tending the sick, he had never seen anyone fight so hard to survive. Every time it looked as if Ezra would succumb to the terrible devastation of his wounds, the stubborn Southerner would rally and claw his way back to life. It was a remarkable thing to see, but as was evident by the stoop in Chris' shoulders, it was nerve-wracking as well. It had been several days since Ezra's fever had broken yet he still hadn't wakened. Considering how badly injured he had been it wasn't really surprising, but it was difficult to watch what the gambler's lengthy recovery was doing to his friends – Chris in particular. The gunfighter, although healing nicely since his own fever had run its course, was a bundle of nerves. Nathan could tell by the look on his face he was ready to bolt, but something inside made him stay. It was as if he thought he could 'will' Ezra back to health. Perhaps he had because by all rights the gambler should have died.

A light knock at the door caught Jackson's attention and Buck entered carrying a tray of food. "Hey, sorry I'm late with your supper but I went over to check how things were comin' along at the clinic."

"How's it look?"

"Better than a week ago."

"No kidding," Nathan mumbled as he sorted his meager medicines atop Ezra's chest of drawers.

Buck gave a supportive smile. "The good news is the damage was mostly to the front of the building. The back room is nearly intact."

"The bad news," the healer added, "is that most of the stuff I use for doctorin' was in the front room."

"Yeah, but the better news is that everyone in town is gathering some of their own supplies and sendin' them to the General Store; Mr. Hobson's holding it all for you 'til you need it."

Nathan's jaw dropped slightly.

"Real nice, don't ya think?"

The first smile the ladies man had seen in ages crossed Jackson's face. "Thanks, Buck."

"Hey, don't thank me. I didn't do anything."

"I'm thinkin' ya probably did."

"Nah, not me." Buck changed the subject. "So how's Ezra?"

The smile faded. "'Bout the same."

"Dang, he's been out of it a long time now."

"He's more restless than before so I'm hopin' that means he'll be wakin' up soon."

"And Chris?"

Nathan shook his head. "Worryin'."

"Sounds like Chris."

"I reckon. Why don't ya talk to him?"

"Right, give me the hard jobs, why don't you." Buck gave a grim smile of his own and went to drag a second chair by the bed. He bumped Chris' knee with the back of his hand. "How're ya doin'?"

The gunfighter seemingly ignored the question. "He should've come round by now," he said flatly.

"He's had a rough ride there, pard, can't damn him if he wants to sleep in." When Chris didn't reply, he decided to change the subject. "We got word back from Eagle Bend. The two Nichols boys we sent back there are gonna stand trial for murder sooner than we thought. It seems the town's real anxious to get started so Judge Travis'll be brought in to hear the case by the end of next week."

Larabee just stared at the floor.

"Damn it, Chris, say somethin'."

He didn't. Not until Ezra's leg moved and a bandaged foot slid out from under the blanket. Then he was on his feet and bent over the Southerner trying to talk him awake.

It took several minutes of encouragement, but the gambler finally opened his eyes. He lifted his head from the pillow only to have it fall back. Vaguely aware someone was speaking to him, he grimaced, grunted and raised himself again, this time succeeding in glancing around the room. He caught sight of Chris and froze.

The gunfighter saw a look of fear spark in his eyes and reached out to offer comfort, but when his fingers touched his arm, Ezra jerked away. Chris fell back in his chair, feeling as if he'd been punched in the gut. He knew he should have trusted his instincts and made himself scarce before the gambler woke up, but he had wanted more than anything to help. Now it appeared that wasn't going to be something Ezra wanted or needed. "This was a bad idea. You just rest and I'll leave ya be," he said quietly and turned to rise. Before he could make it to his feet, a hand shot out and grabbed him by the wrist.

"N-no," came the painful reply from the bed.

Chris looked back to see panic in the Southerner's damp green eyes.

"No," Ezra wheezed again.

Chris settled back in the chair and scooted closer. The hand on his wrist was weak and trembling but it did not let go. "Easy now," he said evenly. "I'll stay." His heart gladdened at what the contact implied, but he was deeply worried by the desperate look on his friend's face. It was clear he wanted to say something, but obviously couldn't make his lungs and mouth work in unison. "Take your time, I ain't leavin'."

"Tell… m-me."

"What d'ya wanna know?"

"What… happened?"

Chris hadn't expected the question. He looked at Buck and Nathan for help. Buck frowned and Nathan shook his head. "We can talk about it later, Ezra."

"Now," he insisted. "Need… to know." He paused and squeezed his eyes shut when another pain traveled his body. It took some time, but he finally managed to finish his question. "Did we stop them?"

The gunfighter flinched both at the question and the grip around his wrist. "Yeah, we stopped them."

"Buck's… alright?"

"Buck? He's fine."

The ladies man moved closer for the gambler to see. "I'm right here, pard."

His eyelids fluttered open to see the smiling mustached face. "Glad… you made it out… didn't know if it'd work."

Buck raised an eyebrow. "If what would work?"

Ezra bit down hard as the misery that was his body flared with pain.

Chris felt the fingers clutching him tighten. "We'll talk later. Just rest now. Get some sleep."

"Can't sleep… hurts… too much."

"Damn," Chris mumbled under his breath.

"H-hurts."

Nathan hurried to his small stash of medicines.

"Hang on, Ezra. We've got somethin' that'll stop ya hurtin'."

"What's… goin' on?" he begged and shook harder.

"Just hold on to me."

Nathan returned with a small brown bottle. "Give him a swig o' this." He pulled the cork top off. "Don't worry none about measurin', just get some down him."

Buck pulled the gambler's head back so Chris could put the container to his mouth. "Drink, Ezra."

He tried to comply but most of the bitter liquid leaked past his lips and dribbled onto the bed.

"Try again. Take your time." This time when the medicine left the bottle, Chris put a hand to the man's chin and closed his mouth for him. He sputtered and gagged but managed to swallow what he had been given.

The gunfighter waited for the drug to take effect as Ezra shook hard enough to make his teeth rattle, then he slowly turned the grip on his arm around until he could hold the weakening hand in his own. It was cold and unsteady but its movement was the first positive sign of life he had seen from the man in over a week. After several husky groans, Ezra began to relax. "You think you might wanna sit up some?"

He nodded and the three men set about helping him. Once he was situated among the thick padding of pillows against the headboard, Chris offered him water. He took one sip, then another, and before he knew it the cup was empty.

"Better?"

He slid deeper into the pillows as the soothing comfort of Nathan's drug began to reach for his arms and legs. His breathing calmed and the involuntary jerking of his muscles began to lessen. The pain was more manageable, but now the medicine was affecting his ability to speak. "Wh-where?" he slurred as he tried to make out his surroundings.

"We're in your room at the saloon." Chris answered.

That couldn't be right. Surely he would know his own room. He shook is head and made a face.

"I ain't messin' with you. We're in your room. Nathan and the others brought you here after the clinic burned."

He paused a moment to let his brain interpret what he had heard. "Burned? I wouldn't… wouldn't hurt Nathan…"

"No, you didn't burn the clinic, the Nichols did."

The gambler's head bobbed, but he was able to pull it back against a pillow. "Who?"

"The Nichols boys."

"They were… after Buck?" he asked, again in a panic.

"Ezra, nobody's after Buck; just settle down."

"N-no… they're goin' trap him." His words were becoming so jumbled together Chris could barely understand. "C-can cut'em off… 'round the gully."

"The gully," Wilmington repeated. "Wait a minute. He's talkin' about that run in we had on patrol out at Walter Hensley's place."

"You mean when those two boys tried to strong-arm ol' Walt into sellin'?" Nathan asked.

"But that was two weeks ago," Chris pointed out.

Jackson sat on the bed and steadied his patient's head. "Ezra, look at me." Lazy, bloodshot eyes blinked the healer's face into focus. "I want ya to think real hard for me."

They all watched the effort of concentration draw itself on the bruised face. It might have actually been humorous if it hadn't been so worryingly pathetic.

"What's the last thing you remember?"

His anguish was palpable. Some part of him knew the question was important but there was such a sense of dread sucking at his mind he found it difficult to answer. "I was ridin'… the gully. Wha' happnd… t' me?" He pulled away from Nathan and turned his face to the pillow. "Wha'd I do? Oh God, what'd I do?"

The Southerner's thickened accent added to the ambiguity of his slur, but Chris clearly understood what he said. "You listen to me, you didn't do anything. You got that?" The hand in his began to let go. "Ezra?"

Nathan reached a hand to check his eyes before he felt for a pulse. "It's alright, Chris, he's just asleep."

The gunfighter discreetly wiped his face and muttered an inaudible curse as he unconsciously fingered the bandage still wrapped around Ezra's wrist. "I wish I could bring every one of those dead son-of-a-bitches back to life so I could kill 'em all again with my bare hands."

"I'm with you there, pard," Buck said once he had cleared the emotion from his throat.

Jackson situated the blanket over the inert body of his friend and sighed. "I suppose it's a blessin' though he don't seem to remember what happened."

"But how long will that last?"

"Got no way of knowin', Buck. I seen this sort of thing before when a memory's too painful to hang on to. Some or all of it could come back to him tomorrow, or his mind might just shut it out for good."

Chris, still running his fingers over the gambler's thick bandage, announced clearly, "It's best he doesn't remember."

"Probably, but it ain't somethin' you can decide," Nathan said.

"Maybe not, but it's something I don't have to help along either. I don't want anyone discussing what happened in front of him."

"Chris, people around town…"

"Are gonna keep their mouths shut."

Nathan knew better than to argue.

"Look, I'm not stupid, I know we can't hide everything from him but we don't have to remind him of the details. He's gonna have questions when he sees beneath the bandages so we can't pretend nothin' happened… just don't fill in the blanks for him unless he asks."

"You're right," the healer replied. "We need to get him on his feet first, then we'll handle the rest as it comes." He watched Chris slump a little further. "Buck, why don't you two get outta here for a while?"

"No," the blond answered.

"Chris, he's gonna be asleep for a long time with what we gave him. You get some fresh air and somethin' to eat and you can be back here before he wakes up."

"Come on, buddy, he makes sense," Buck said. "You wanna be able to help Ezra down the line."

Chris didn't want to leave, but he knew there would be no peace until he did. He buttoned his shirt and pulled on his jacket. He paused when Buck opened the door and looked back at the bed in the middle of the room. "Nathan… thanks," he added before leaving, knowing the gambler was in good hands.

TBC

A/N: We're nearly there!