As Nathan predicted, he awoke the next morning to find Vin Tanner sitting on his bed dressed and ready to ride. Although Vin's fever was down, his breathing was still ragged, and he coughed most of the night. Nathan sighed and said, "Vin, you are not fit to travel today."
"He's insistin' on gettin' back on the boy's trail, Nathan. Says he's feelin' much better." Buck informed the healer.
"Really, Nathan, 'm ok," said Vin, although it would have sounded more convincing if he hadn't broken into another coughing fit right after saying it.
"Dammit Vin, you ain't ready. You're gonna end up with pneumonia," Nathan voiced his concerns.
"Why don't we jist head out and see. If I get to feelin' worse, then we'll stop," Vin replied.
"Yeah, like you're gonna tell me...you mean if you fall off your horse, we'll stop." Said Nathan.
Vin smiled, "somethin' like that." There was no fooling Nathan; he knew these men all too well.
Nathan didn't like it. He had not forgotten how ill the tracker was just the day before, but then again - the last thing he wanted was Vin sneaking off alone to hunt for the boy.
So, the three men saddled up and rode south out of town, the way the town's folk said the men headed. The trail followed a river, and there were small villages scattered along the way. From talking to the settlers, it seemed that they followed the correct path. The three men realized that they were at least a few days behind though.
By lunch time, Vin was about done in. He started to fall asleep in his saddle, and if Buck hadn't reached out in time – he would have toppled to the dirt below, just like Nathan said. Nathan ordered them to stop for an hour or two to eat and rest.
Even though he felt better, Vin was surprised at how weak he felt. He had not eaten much over the past few days and wasn't sleeping well due to the cough. So, he took an hour nap while the other two prepared some food.
After lunch, all three mounted back up and continued to head south.
Nathan told the others about Chris and Ezra taking Storm to Yuma prison, and Buck laughed when Vin asked, "do you think they've already gotten there by now?"
"Probably," Buck smiled, "if Chris didn't shoot Storm and Ezra and bury them somewhere along the way."
"Maybe we'll run into them on the trail," said Vin. "They'd likely come back this way."
"If we do, we're sending you back to Four Corners with them," replied Nathan. "Buck and I will go on looking for the boy."
"Ah, you two'd miss me and ya know it," smiled Vin. He knew Nathan was mostly teasing him; it was unlikely they would cross paths with Larabee and Standish with all of the open ground out here anyway.
It was getting dark, and they were about to cut away from the river, so they decided this would be a good place to camp for the night. Vin was able to keep himself in the saddle all afternoon, but he was still pale and easily worn out. Nathan wanted some time to get another good meal and some tea in him before they bedded down for the night.
The next morning found Larabee and Standish shivering, sore and grouchy. Ezra was already tired of their accommodations, and Chris was growing increasingly frustrated with every painful breath. The soreness in his ribs had gotten worse overnight, and the gunslinger was having trouble finding a comfortable position.
Ezra noticed the obvious discomfort of the leader, and asked if Larabee wanted him to check for broken ribs. Chris reluctantly agreed and moved over to lie in a patch of sunlight in the middle of the pit. Ezra probed around Larabee's right side ribcage. He didn't feel anything grossly out of place, but the bruising was horrendous. The skin was purple along the ribcage and even around onto Chris' back. "That alone would be enough to make a person too sore to move," Ezra reasoned.
Afterwards, both men laid there in the sun trying to get warm. Ezra hated to admit it, but old man Storm was kind of right. Larabee always looked like such a formidable, scary force with his black hat, duster, and colt on his hips. Now, lying on the sunny dirt patch with no hat, no shirt, and no boots – it was painfully obvious that the gunslinger was just a regular man – able to be hurt and humiliated like anyone else.
The transformation was pretty amazing, when Ezra thought about it. Very few folks would mess with Chris Larabee, but in reality – he wasn't a large man. Larabee was a couple of inches taller than himself but didn't have much more meat on him than Vin, who was always teased about being the skinny one in the group. Watching Chris lying there with his eyes closed, the sun shining on the wheat-colored hair and bruised face, Ezra couldn't help but feel admiration for the man. Larabee wasn't invincible, and likely wasn't really as tough as his reputation suggested, but he had kept the seven safe for years against all sorts of threats…and Ezra was extremely thankful for that.
Larabee opened his eyes and noticed Standish staring at him. He started to ask "what the hell are you lookin' at?" but stopped when he saw the look in the younger man's pale green eyes.
"You alright, Ezra?" Chris asked. He knew Ezra was likely getting nervous about their prospects to escape. Hell, he was starting to get nervous himself.
"I'm fine Chris," replied Standish, after which Larabee knew something was definitely amiss. Ezra almost never called him by his first name.
Chris didn't press the issue though, and after a few more minutes said, "do you think we should try to take a look around up there?"
"And how would we accomplish that?" asked Ezra.
"I'm not sure how tall this pit is, but if one of us let the other stand on his shoulders, the top fellow might be able to pull himself up on the grate and take a peek. We could check out the lock and see how many guards there are." Chris said, although not all that confident that they could pull it off. Both men were injured, so who was going to volunteer to be stood on?
Chris thought he should probably be the one to go up since he had two good shoulders to hold himself up with, but he went ahead and asked Ezra, "you want the top or bottom?"
Standish chuckled, never expecting to hear that particular question from Chris Larabee to himself, and said "Neither sounds overly appealing right now. I honestly don't know if either of us is strong enough to stand up with a full-grown man on our shoulders," Ezra responded. He and Larabee were similar in weight, so there wouldn't be a huge advantage in having either man either place.
"I'm goin' nuts just sitting here doin' nothing, Ezra, so I figure we might as well give it a shot."
"Alright, I will try the bottom, but if my strength is insufficient, then we will have to rethink our plan."
The two men moved close to the wall, where Ezra squatted down and braced himself. Larabee too held onto the wall while he put his feet on Ezra's shoulders. It was more difficult than either man imagined, but Standish slowly stood up.
Larabee was impressed with Ezra's strength. It amazed Chris to see how good of shape Standish was in given his propensity to sit in a Saloon most of the day. He was almost jealous of Ezra's physique, if he gave himself time to think about it. But, there wasn't much time because Chris was having to use all of his concentration to balance himself even with the use of the wall. Finally, once Ezra stood completely upright, Chris was able to grab onto the grate. The pain shot through his ribs, but he pulled himself up and took a look around.
Ezra was thankful for the break on his shoulder while Larabee held himself up on the bars. He wasn't going to agree to try anything like this again unless Josiah was along with them. Then there would be no question who would take the hoisting job. The big preacher was tall, broad, and muscular and was physically the strongest member of the seven.
Larabee's arms were shaking, and he couldn't see much from his position. He could see that the pit was off by itself; there were no other buildings close by. The lock was a simple padlock, but they weren't going to be able to break it easily. After a few minutes, his arms were about to give out, so he yelled to Ezra to grab his legs and help lower him to the ground. Before Ezra could get there, they heard a laugh from above and one of the guards stepped on Chris' hand. The gunslinger immediately let go, but Ezra wasn't ready, so the two men fell to the ground in a tangled mess of limbs.
"Son of a bitch," Chris yelled as he grabbed his squished fingers, followed by "sorry Ez, wasn't plannin' to let go that quick."
"No apologies necessary, Mr. Larabee, "said Ezra as both men looked up at the guard who was now staring down at them.
"You boys wouldn't be thinkin' 'bout trying to escape now, would you?" the guard smiled. "Mr. Storm won't like that. He ain't had no fun with ya yet."
The guard walked away, and Chris and Ezra were left to sit in the pit for the remainder of the day with the sun baking down on their bare heads and shoulders.
The silence was starting to wear on Ezra, so after an hour of lying there enjoying the warmth of the sun, he asked, "what was your childhood like, Mr. Larabee?"
Chris opened his eyes and said, "what?"
"Well, I know about Nathan's tragic youth as a slave, Buck's life as the son of a working girl, Josiah as a missionary's son, the death of JD's and Vin's mothers. I just realized that I do not possess any knowledge of young Chris Larabee," Ezra answered. "Of course you do not have to answer if you do not wish."
"Quite frankly, Ez, there isn't much to tell. Maybe the reason that I haven't said anything about my upbringin' is because it was so ordinary compared to the rest of you," Chris rolled on his side and looked at Ezra. "I grew up on a farm in Indiana with two decent parents. My folks worked hard; worked us kids hard, but they treated us fair."
"So you have brothers and sisters?" Standish inquired. Ezra always wanted a sibling when he was younger. At least then he would have had a playmate when he was shipped off to live with some old, grouchy relative of Maude's.
"Yeah, my ma bore 5 children. One died as a baby; one as a young child. I was the youngest of the surviving kids; I have an older sister and brother," Chris looked up at the sky trying to search his memory for things to tell Ezra. "My folks were older when I was born and both have since passed on. My ma knew about Sarah but never got to meet her; Pa died when I was in the war. Ma did get to meet Buck," Chris smiled. "It was almost like a passin' of the torch between those two. Ma wasn't doing well; was actually the last time I saw her, and I think she somehow knew that Buck was goin' to watch out for me…..good ol' Buck." Chris let the sentence fade as he thought about his life and long-lost family members.
"Where are your siblings now?" asked Ezra.
"Honestly, I don't know," answered Chris. "I think my sister may still be in Indiana. She married a farmer, and they probably took over my folks' land. My brother moved to Indianapolis after the war and became a businessman of some sort…at least the last I heard. Haven't really talked to 'em since Sarah and Adam died. My sister sent a few telegrams, but….well, you know, I wasn't thinkin' straight for a couple of years."
"You heard from Maude recently, Ez?" Chris decided it was Ezra's turn to talk.
"Not for about 6 months," Ezra sighed. "Last I heard she was headed to San Francisco with a new, wealthy suitor. I'm guessing she has since absconded with a good chunk of that gentlemen's money and moved on to a new locale."
Chris just smiled; he didn't know what to say about Maude. It clearly upset Ezra that she didn't stay in touch; probably because she was the only family the man had. "Did you know your father at all?"
"Unfortunately, Mr. Larabee, I never had the pleasure of meeting any of my paternal relatives. It was not something that my mother would speak of. I lived with Mother's sister, Kay, for a while when I was in primary school. She showed me a photo of a man whom she alleged to be my father," Ezra paused and continued to stare up at the sun. "My aunt claimed he was Maude's one true love and had perished just before I was born. My aunt was a bit of a romantic though, so that photo could have been anyone."
"Did the man look like you?" Chris did not see much resemblance between Ezra and Maude, so he always assumed that the gambler must look like his father.
"It was a long time ago and an old, worn photo, but I must say that the man did not look un-like myself," Standish tried to will himself to remember more. "He had dark hair and a friendly face….or at least I thought so when I was seven." Ezra laughed and questioned, "who do you favor, Mr. Larabee, your mother or father?"
"Never really pondered on it much," said Chris. "My pa was a good-sized feller: about Buck's size, with hair about the color of yours. Ma was small, but tough; had long red hair in her younger years. My brother took after my pa, and my sister was the spitting image of my mother, but I guess I was a mix of both of 'em." He paused for a minute and then finished with, "always kinda felt like the runt, compared to my pa and brother. Guess that's probably what prompted me to learn to shoot."
Ezra was surprised at how openly Larabee was speaking and responded with, "yes, I too had similar motivations for learning to defend myself with a firearm. As a younger man, I often gambled with men larger and stronger than myself."
"Ya still do, Ezra," Chris laughed as he got up to stretch his back and legs.
By late afternoon, Chris could see that Ezra had gotten enough sun. "You're lookin' awful pink there; think we should probably move up to the shade in the west end." That area of the pit provided a bit of protection from the sun's rays that time of day.
The warm sun felt so good in the cold pit that Ezra forgot that he didn't have a hat or shirt to protect his skin. He spent so much time in the saloon that his complexion was fairer than the other men.
"Yes, that sounds like a splendid idea," Ezra replied, noticing then that Larabee was looking a bit pinker himself. Chris spent a good deal of time outdoors, but it was just now getting late enough in the spring that the sun's rays had sufficient power to burn. Larabee had not spent much time outside without his hat, and certainly not without his shirt, in the last few weeks. With his light-colored hair and eyes, Chris was fairly susceptible to early-season sunburns as well.
As with the previous evening, they were given meager water and food rations, and they ate what was offered. They had only one tiny meal or less a day for four days now, and their stomachs were feeling the effects.
The men attempted to find a comfortable position to ride out the long, cold night and did their best to sleep. With the sunburns and hot skin, both men shivered violently.