JD rode docily beside the man next to him. He wasn't sure if he had ever hated a man before. Just after leaving Four Corners the man had pulled up the reins on both horses. Grabbing JD's chin and pulling him around, he used the glow of the full moon to drill his glare into the younger man's eyes. "I'm going to untie you. I'm going to take the gag out. If you run, your friends will die. If you go for help, if I get arrested, they'll still die."
JD remembered looking back. They were barely past where the main street gave way to the hard-packed prairie road between towns. He could ride back. He could get Larabee and make this man talk. But what if the man escaped? What if he didn't know where the others had been taken? What would Buck do in his place? What would Vin do in these circumstances?
The man had ridden off. The arrogant bastard had never even looked back to see if JD would follow. It was like the man knew how the boy would react. Worse, it was like he was testing a theory as to how he had been told the boy would react.
And so, now, a full day into the unrelenting desert, JD found himself following slightly behind the man and memorizing every feature. The man's stringy gray hair hung down thin and straight as a board to his shoulders. Small pox scarred his face. The flat bulbous, ruddy nose somehow had JD thinking of someone who couldn't control his drinking. JD would never forget the face. And if anything happened to his two friends, he would escape and hunt this man down and kill him.
The man acted like he thought he could predict what JD would do. Could he predict that killing the gentler influences from the boy's life and leaving him with only the influence of a Chris Larabee would be signing his own death warrant as well as a death warrant for anyone who helped hurt his friends?
+ + + + + + + Ezra knew they had ridden through the night when the first morning rays finally began to chase away the chill. He was blindfolded, but even without that, he couldn't have kept up with the subtle angles and detours this man had taken to conceal their final destination. Ezra Standish was not an outdoorsman.
At sunrise the man 'had they called him Perkins?' had stopped and pulled Standish off the rough-gaited horse. He untied the gambler's soft, talented hands so that he could striped off his rich green jacket, brocade vest, ruffled shirt and rig for his derringer. They had already taken the small firearm.
Whoever they were, these men had known Ezra carried the sleeve weapon. They had known of the bond that had grown between Wilmington and the boy. They had known there was a past between Larabee and Wilmington. These men had way too much information regarding the goings on in Four Corners and its resident peacekeepers.
The man never removed Ezra's blindfold. But the clicking sound told him his captor was delighted to now investigate the spring mechanism that worked the small gun's arm piece. The man was distracted. The metal on metal told Ezra exactly where the man was. The conman smiled to himself. This would be too easy.
Based on where the sound came from and how tall he remembered the man to be, Ezra threw his shoulder hopefully towards the other man's solar plexus. Ezra was rewarded with a startled gasp for breath as he and his captor went to the ground. He had ripped off the blindfold and landed two blows before the other man could react. He slammed Perkins' hand against a rock until he let go of the derringer.
Perkins finally got the leverage to kick the smaller man off, but Ezra bounced back to his feet immediately ignoring the protesting injuries from the night before. With a long practiced slight of hand, Ezra Standish came up with the six-shooter that had so recently rested in his adversary's holster. Perkins raised his hands slowly. "You do this you best keep runnin'." The man's voice tried to show more confidence than he felt. "Those other two will be dead and Larabee'll never let you rest."
The taller, heavier man started to worry when he didn't see any reaction in the gambler's face. I don't have any doubt I could hide from Mr. Larabee you low-life son-of-a-bitch. You're just lucky I've learned recently I can't run from myself. The gambler didn't keep the gun directed at the other man. They both knew where they stood for this particular hand. The rest of the game was still to be played.
Ezra realized he hadn't had any water since before this ordeal began and they had ridden already to where the dry, cracked red clay began to give way to the powdery wind-beaten silt of the true desert. Ezra sidled over to Perkins' horse and grabbed the canteen. After taking a swallow, he poured more water over his head to give himself time to think. "I'll take you back to town. I'm sure Mr. Tanner can convince you to tell us everything you know with a few techniques he has acquired from the native inhabitants of this land."
Perkins had to figure out what had been said. But, unfortunately, he had an answer. "We're on a time schedule. You're cuttin' it close as it is. Any of the three of us don't show up, the others kill their men."
Damn it. The gambler cursed himself, although it never showed on his face. Every logical bone in his body said ride out. A few of them even dared suggest Larabee would understand if he were to bring this one in and get help. But Buck looked to have been hurt pretty badly. JD wouldn't be able to think beyond that fact. Ezra's mind flashed uncontrollably to Nathan unconscious in the burning barn. He clamped down on that train of thought. Stay with what must be dealt with first. There will be time for the other later.
The man who so recently had the upper hand watched the well-dressed dandy. How had he gotten the drop on him? What would he do now? He carried the gun casually, not overtly on guard or concerned about the taut situation. But still, Perkins had the feeling the man would as soon shoot him as not. He watched Standish saunter over, pick up the derringer, palmed it then look from his shirt and jacket into the glaring sun. He turned conversationally to Perkins. "Removing the shirt is to insure the greatest debilitating effects of the sun?"
Perkins' already creased brow wrinkled in confusion. He didn't want to say the wrong thing, but for the life of him he didn't understand the question. Ezra saw this and shook his head. With his patience and perhaps time waning, he backhanded the man. "Is it part of the plan that we suffer from the effects of the sun?"
"Yeah." The man said slowly. What the hell am I doing. Ezra shouted to himself mentally. Outwardly he gave nothing away. Well, I guess I'm out of luck with the shirt It amazed him how, with this thought, he could suddenly feel the sun's heat being absorbed by his skin. But if he was wearing the shirt when they made it to the rendezvous point, it would garner unwanted suspicion.
Ezra found his own gun and holster hooked over the saddle horn of Perkins' saddle. He fingered it and let Perkins sweat the silence as he formulated a plan of action.
Finally Ezra turned and dumped the bullets from Perkins' six-shooter. He kept the derringer aimed in the outlaw's general direction. It was enough to keep that hired gun at bay. Ezra tossed the revolver back to Perkins. "Return it to the holster." The empty gun was replaced.
Only then with his free hand did Ezra retrieve his own revolver while leaving the holster draped where it was. Ezra mounted his bay, palmed the derringer, concealed the other gun between his saddle and saddle blanket and sighed. The sweat wouldn't do it much good, but c'est la vie. Finally he wrapped the length of rope around his wrists as if he were tied. "Shall we proceed?"
When Perkins was on his gelding Ezra pulled up next to him. "And with all due haste, I suggest." Ezra added. "Because if we are too late to save my friends, I will cut your heart out and let you watch it take its last beat." He allowed Perkins to pull forward as if still in control of the situation.
Foster followed his assignment. He was to stay in town and see how the others reacted to the kidnapping of their friends. He sat in the chair outside the general store and observed. The Boss would be pleased.
Larabee split his time between drinking and wandering the streets like a rabid dog. He was alienating himself from everyone in town. While it might not have been a conscious action on his part, it was deliberate.
The Tracker was exhausting himself searching for clues that didn't exist.
The Preacher seemed resigned. Resigned that his God was not a fair God and miracles weren't forthcoming. Whatever regrets he had over the loss of his friends were buried with careful practice beside so many other regrets. He couldn't comfort his friends. He couldn't comfort himself. He surprisingly seemed to comfort the townspeople, the working girls, and the ranchers, perhaps feeding them false hope he himself couldn't believe in.
The Healer kept himself busy with other injuries and sickness in town. It was almost as if he sought out people who needed his care as a means to occupy his mind.
It seemed amazing that after less than 24 hours, the remaining lawmen were avoiding each other's company again. They had joined each other in the saloon at first, but those times were fewer now. The frustration of not having a course of action, of not being able to help their friends, was tearing them apart. Being together reminded them of their helplessness; reinforced their failure. Men like these did not like to be reminded of such things.
The Boss was a genius. He had complimented Foster by saying that he had the mind to appreciate what was happening as the family unit disintegrated. Appreciate it? More than that, he was fascinated by it. There was more damage being done here than they could have done with any gun.
Ezra's horse trailed behind Perkins as they pulled to a stop before the men camped in the vast stretch of nothingness that was the badlands. There were a few yucca and saguaro. Not even barrel cactus or prickly pear dared this climate. The silty, powdery sand was the kind that would burn up through the soles of your boots. There were rugged outcroppings two to three hundred yards further beyond, but here there was only sand and sun and heat.
Buck was sitting, his legs akimbo and his long arms to his side. He was staring into the distance as if he were not quite aware of his surroundings. The rust colored blood, dry enough to start flaking on his neck and face, gave clear indication that they had not given them water to drink, much less cleaned the wound. JD was beside him, whispering softly. Like Standish, the shirts had been removed from the other two peacekeepers. Their arms were tanned, from where they would roll up their sleeves before indulging in manual labor. But the pale skin on their chests and back and shoulders was beginning to turn pink.
Ezra was touched at what he read in the young man's face as he looked up and saw his Southern friend alive. First and foremost, he was glad to see his friend safe. He was glad to have someone he trusted to help him with Wilmington. Then he was regretful that his friend was in the situation with them. Ezra smiled encouragingly at the boy and winked.
Bannister "I'll-kill-you-if-you-call-me-Bishop" was beside the horses, and between Ezra and his friends. A bear of a man stood even closer to the boy. The last man in the crew, who reminded Ezra of an Opossum, was watering the horses. Buck was in no condition to help them. The boy tried so hard. But would he know how to react quickly enough when Ezra made his move?
Ezra sighed to himself. It was an elaborate gamble, but the stakes were too high to fold. Ezra mentally sucked in a breath as Bannister called out, "You're late, Perkins."
Perkins didn't know what to say. To distract them Ezra jumped off of his horse to dash toward JD and Buck. "JD!" The emotional outburst was carefully gauged. It did the job. More of a reflex, more to stay in command of the situation, Bannister moved between Ezra and his friends. In that instant, Ezra grabbed the man by the throat and stuck the tiny gun to his temple. The bear and the 'possum were fast enough to draw their weapons and point them at JD and Buck. JD had moved to stand between Buck and the guns. His eyes moved from Ezra to the others. "Gentlemen," Ezra finally drawled, "shall we negotiate this situation?"
Buck was trying to stand, but his equilibrium was suffering from the head injury. "Stay still Buck! We got it!" JD pled. Ezra forced himself to focus on the threat before him. WE GOT IT? Ezra repeated to himself. This situation was hardly under control. That's comical.
"What'cha got in that peashooter, two shots?" The leader of the men hissed.
"But I assure you I am proficient and will take one of you out with each bullet." He replied to Bannister.
"And the rest of us kill you three."
"But which of you will be left standing? Is this employment worth it?"
Perkins was sweating. "My gun's empty. He got the drop on me." The rest was left unspoken. He would be useless in this confrontation.
"G -go for the one furthest from Buck. I'll keep this one from getting to him." JD referred to the bear beside him and tried to act brave. He meant what he said, but didn't know his chances against the mountain of a man. He hoped his willingness to fight, if nothing else, would add some support to Ezra's position. He regretted that his voice betrayed his fear.
Ezra almost laughed out loud. JD wasn't experienced enough to watch his enemies reactions. JD's anxiety made him an unknown quantity. It showed in the way Bannister's body tensed. Worrying over what a frightened cub, with just enough experience to have killed, would do to protect his own, threw the hardened gunfighter off his game. Ezra made a mental note to tell the boy how well that worked and to use it to his advantage as long as his youthful looks allowed.
"How much are you getting paid to do this?" Ezra asked casually. He kept Bannister as a shield between him and the others. He very gradually started moving toward his friends - not enough to make them a single target, but close enough to cover them if it all went to hell.
"How much?" He asked again to conceal his movement.
"Thousand dollars. Split between the survivors." Perkins submitted.
"Perhaps I can alleviate some tension in our little stalemate. What if I increase that sum? You return us safely to Four Corners, and tell us who hired you...?" Ezra let the question trail off and waited for a response. The men were clearly afraid of the man they were working for, but the money was tempting.
"Ezra," When the silence looked to linger, JD called softly as not to distract him too much, "Buck needs some water. We haven't had any since..."
Somehow that made the gambler very angry. He turned vicious green eyes on Perkins. "Give the boy a canteen." He hesitated and looked to Bannister for permission. When the man was slow in responding, Ezra roughly tapped him on the temple with the derringer. "To show good faith in the arbitration."
Bannister finally nodded. Perkins complied. "Stay away from him. Toss it to his feet." Ezra ordered, trying to keep as much control as possible over the volatile situation. The man complied.
JD scrambled to the canteen. His hands were tied in front of him, but he was still able to quickly get it to his dazed friend's lips. The Southerner watched. Buck seemed to be aware of his surroundings just not as coordinated as he usually was.
"Easy, easy," JD encouraged as the big man drank hungrily from the canteen. It wasn't long before he shoved the water to the boy in a motion clearly insisting he drink his share. Where the boy touched the older man the skin on both their arms turned white briefly before returning to its reddish tinge. A sunburn already. Damn. "Where are their shirts?"
Bannister was ready to negotiate now and answered with a question of his own. "What guarantee do we have you'll give us the money?" He had shown himself too readily influenced by money at the poker table. Ezra knew he had him hooked. Ezra had edged to his saddle where the larger, more effective gun was concealed. Just as he took hold of the grip, the shot rang out.
Ezra felt the burn in his side and his legs collapsing before the sound registered. A red veil covered his vision. The six shooter fell from numb fingers. He felt someone rip something from his other hand. The derringer was gone. The same someone shoved him roughly onto his back.
Standish saw JD scramble to get to his side. The huge gunman grabbed the boy around the waist and completely lifted him off the ground. Buck was able to get on the man's back. In his weakened state, the rogue was thrown off the man's shoulders like a terrier pup.
One man had a gun pointed at Buck's head. By the look on his friend's face, Ezra was afraid the threat of the gun wouldn't be enough to keep him from doing something foolish. JD was still struggling in the grasp of the man-mountain.
From what Ezra could tell the bullet had gouged a chunk of flesh and muscle from across his rib cage. Thankfully a bullet from that distance had lost some velocity. Still his side burned unmercifully. There was no sign of the sniper. Ezra noticed even their captors seemed surprised by the gunshot. Disturbed, even. They too were looking around for its source.
The shot had to have come from the stone outcropping probably 200 yards west. Hell of a shot Ezra caught himself gasping as the initial shock wore off and the pain filtered into his consciousness. Bannister hunkered down to observe him impassively. Ezra didn't react. He knew from the poker table how to play this man. Ezra couldn't keep the pain from etching its mark on his face, but he kept it to a minimum. The space of a few heartbeats seemed an eternity. Bannister looked around as if to confirm who could and who couldn't hear him. Bannister got in Ezra's face. "Now we'll negotiate, you son-of-a-bitch." + + + + + + +