A/N: Hey guys! I'm sorry I haven't updated like normal! I was kinda swamped with exams and prepping for term 2 of Nursing. Oh joy.
Thanks to everyone who read and commented or followed or favourited. That means a lot. So anyways, here's my Christmas present to all y'all! The final chapter! I hope you enjoy.
Oh yeah, also thanks to my beta AlElizabeth.
Chapter 5
"Pete, wha' happand?"
Pete sat nervously in the chair he'd been deposited into by Fritz and Dan. He had still been pretty groggy when they dragged him from the jailhouse but he didn't miss the puddle of blood in front of the saloon.
"I don't know, Bogs. I was guarding the Sheriff just like you said and the back door opened and that damn Injun walked in. I was bout to shoot him but someone must have come up behind me. Next I knew Fritz was there and the Sheriff was gone," Pete explained, shaking like a leaf.
Bogs set his hand down on Petes shoulder and patted him. "Don' worry, Pete. Ei'll give ya a saykint chance. Tha Injun an' Ranga ain't no good. Ei'm gonna make ya ma new saykint in command, an' tha first thing Ei wan' ya to do is go round to tha boys and let 'em know tha Ranga's out ther."
Pete nodded and quickly ran out of the saloon, eager to escape Bogs' wrath.
Tonto leaned over the edge of the roof of the saloon, checking where his prey waited. He was about to attack when the skinny little man that John had knocked out during the fight at the jailhouse ran in.
"Bogs! You gotta come quick! I saw the Ranger! He was tying up Dick and Hanson!" Pete reported, breathless.
Bogs slammed his cup down and stood unsteadily, "Caint any o' y'all idiots do anything? He yelled and pushed Pete out of the way as he ran from the saloon. Pete quickly followed behind, trying to catch up to Bogs.
Tonto dropped down from the rooftops, landing silently next to one of the men standing guard. Fritz jumped and pulled out his gun, aiming it.
"Fritz," Dan hissed, "Bogs'll here you."
Fritz paused. He didn't want to end up like Carson. He put his gun back in the holster and pulled out a small knife. Dan, behind him, did the same and the two quietly advanced.
Tonto pulled his tomahawk from its leather belt and waited for the men. John didn't want him to kill anyone, and he would do his best to honour that, but unlike his friend he would not wait to die if it came down to it. Fritz advanced on Tonto, knife held threateningly. Without warning, Fritz lunged at Tonto, overextending his arm in excitement, letting Tonto grab his fist and snap his elbow. Fritz screamed and fell to his knees, dropping his knife.
"You bastard!" Dan yelled and stepped forward, pushing Fritz out of the way. "I'm gonna cut ya good, Injun," he warned.
As Dan ran forward, several gun shots rang out, distracting him enough for Tonto to slip in close. He was about to settle his tomahawk blade into the side of the man's neck when he remembered his friend. Grudgingly, Tonto turned the weapon in time so that the flat of the blade hit him across the bottom jaw. Dan dropped his knife and clutched his jaw painfully. Tonto hit him once more, this time with better aim, across the side of his head, knocking Dan out cold.
Tonto quickly moved to where Fritz was lying, cradling his broken arm and hit his as well. He tied up the two unconscious men and climbed back up to the roof.
The Sheriff finished tying up his last target, a man named Mitch who had been hiding in one of the houses, keeping a group of women at gun point. Sheriff Jacobs was running quickly down the boardwalk back towards the jailhouse where they had agreed to meet up.
The door to the apothecary suddenly swung open and Pete jumped out, gun drawn. "Hello, Sheriff. Remember me?" He asked, cocking back the hammer.
"Don't do it," Jacobs said, holding his hand up.
"Sorry, Sheriff. Orders are orders," Pete said and pulled the trigger three times.
"No!" The Ranger yelled, running around the corner. He was so close but he couldn't do anything to stop what was happening. He fired his own gun knocking Pete's gun out of his hand but it was too late.
The Sheriff staggered back and stumbled off the boardwalk, landing in the dirt.
The Ranger jumped and knocked Pete off his feet. Angrily, he punched Pete as hard as he could. John felt the outlaws nose break, blood covering his fist thickly. "Dammit! Why? Why did you do that?" John demanded and hit the outlaw again. John sat back on his heels and breathed, trying to calm himself down. He felt a sudden wave of dizziness from the exertion and had to steady himself before he pulled some rope from where it was coiled on his belt.
After tying the outlaw up, John made his way down the boardwalk to the jailhouse. He pushed the door open and slowly walked inside, in a kind of daze.
Tonto looked up from where he sat, but didn't speak.
"The Sheriff's dead," John announced as he slumped down into a chair.
Tonto looked away without a word. They sat in silence for a couple minutes. Tonto stared out the window, watching for any signs of an impending attack. Johns head slowly started to sink down to his chest, his exhaustion overwhelming him.
"We're going to get justice now, Kemosabe," Tonto said, standing stiffly. Though he would never admit it, his battle wounds from the other day were causing him quite a bit of pain and he was half sure he had an infection.
John jerked awake and sat up straight. "Huh? Oh yeah, sure justice. But we're not going to kill anyone," John answered and yawned loudly.
Tonto frowned. "That's not the answer I wanted," he admitted.
"Bogs! Come out and fight me!" John yelled into the empty street, his heart pounding. He didn't think there were any more men in Bogs' gang left but he still had Tonto sitting on the rooftops, just in case.
For a minute, no one answered, but then the batwings of the saloon opened and Bogs stepped out, large brimmed hat pulled down over his eyes.
"Hello, Ranga. Ya've looked betta," Bogs called as he stepped into the street.
John smiled, "Is that so? Well you look about as bad as usual."
Bogs sneered, "Le's get this show on tha road."
The two men stood, waiting for the other to make his move, hands hovering over their holstered gun. A hot wind blew through the dead street, kicking up a swirl of dust as it went.
In an instant, the two men moved for their guns at the same time, drawing. The sound of gunfire rang through the small town, a moment later; a man hiding on the roof of the saloon fell to the ground, a tomahawk deep in his chest. The bullet from the sniper hit John in the right shoulder, sending him spinning into the ground.
Bogs grunted and fell to the ground.
Tonto jumped from where he was and ran to Bogs, checking for a pulse. When he was satisfied he ran over to John and rolled his friend over onto his back. "Tonto, did I get him?" John asked.
"He is dead, Kemosabe," Tonto told him.
"What? Dead? But that's not possible," John argued. "I aimed for his gun."
"Rest. I will get doctor," Tonto said and ran off.
John woke slowly, finding that he was lying on a rather comfortable bed and staring up at a wooden ceiling. He slowly sat up and looked around the room he was in, which he recognized as Pickett's office. Tonto was slouched over, sleeping quietly in a wooden chair neat the door, his tomahawk resting in his lap.
John stood up and walked over to the door and stepped outside. The doctor was sitting on a chair just outside the door, staring at the stars above, a cup of sangaree in his hands.
"Doctor," John greeted and sat down.
The doctor didn't move. "That's one dedicated Injun you have," he noted. "Sat through his fever in that chair and didn't leave 'cept to piss the whole time you were here resting up."
John sighed. That honestly did not surprise him at all.
"How long?"
"Four days."
They didn't say anything again for several minutes. The doctor refilled his cup a couple times and rolled himself a cigarette in the time they watched the stars.
"What happened with Bogs?" John finally asked. He dreaded to have the answer but he couldn't ignore what had happened.
"He's dead. Seems the bullet bounced off his gun and right into his forehead," the doctor said. "Would have been a simple disarming otherwise. Your Indian said you don't kill. It wasn't your fault. Just a fluke, Ranger," the doctor replied, the smoke bouncing between his lips, the cherry burning brightly.
"Right. A fluke," John said, yawning. He stood, "Thank you, doctor."
"Ranger," the doctor called just as John was about to go back inside. "You're not the most observant man, are you?"
John froze, "What do you mean?"
"Ranger, I gave you a hundred clues that the gang was there and you didn't notice. I just thought you might like to know you should work on your observational skills," the doctor said, a smile playing across his face.
"Right. Thank you," the Ranger said and walked into the apothecary, his cheeks burning. When he walked into the room, Tonto was waiting. "It's not your fault," he said, staring out the window.
"Thank you, Tonto," John said, heading to the bed. He paused just as he was about to crawl in, "Did you want the bed, Tonto?"
Tonto smiled. "I am used to sleeping in the desert. This chair is good enough," he said and looked back out the window.
Two days later, John and Tonto were saddling their horses out of the apothecary in the early morning light. The doctor leaned on the side of the building, sipping his sangaree again.
"You take care Ranger, Tonto," the doctor said, watching the two getting ready.
"You'll make sure the outlaws stay in the jailhouse this time?" John asked.
"Yessir. The other men and I will take shifts until we get that prosecutor out here. Should only be a couple days," the doctor said.
"Good man. Alright Tonto, let's go," John said jumped up onto Silver.
As the two men rode off into the morning sun, one of the ladies from the town walked over to the doctor on her way to General Store. "Say, Doctor. Who was that masked man, anyway?" She asked watching their figures disappear on the horizon.
"Why him? That was the Lone Ranger."