JD was curious. Whoever grazed Ezra had never showed up. Now he, Buck and Ezra were sitting in the hot white sand with no shirts, no hats and no water.
Their captors kept the camp throughout the day. They had their shirts and hats that protected them from the worst of the sun's debilitating effects, and they drank water whenever they wanted. But they weren't immune to Buck and Ezra when the two were together.
As Buck had seemed to revive some, he first visually checked Ezra's wound. It was bleeding, but not much. So maybe it wasn't a bad thing. The slight bleeding might wash some of the dirt out and lessen the chances of infection. The blood was staining the waistband of his trousers and the experience of the gunfighter told him that it would be turning tacky and uncomfortable. He was sure Ezra hated uncomfortable. He reminded himself it could be worse.
Resigned to their situation, at least temporarily, Buck decided to amuse himself by irritating the hell out of their captors. It was a natural talent he had refined over the years, often on Chris Larabee to pull him out of his often churlish moods. He started by explaining in elaborate detail how whiskey would increase the effects of the sun. He tried to wheedle them into torturing him with some until Ezra volunteered the fact that they probably didn't have any. They couldn't afford it having lost all of their money because of their abhorrent gambling skills.
Their kidnappers were having some palaver of their own but it was clear by the occasionally tensed shoulders or head that almost turned to glare at them that their audience was hearing every word. And it was getting to them.
Now Buck was lying on his back in the sand, eyes closed and had moved on to a diatribe on Chris Larabee's penchant for vengeance. "I had to follow him across two states and part of the territory one time when some fellas beat up a friend of his and stole his grub stake. And fast? He was so mad, he called all three of them gunfighters out an' took 'em on at the same time. Sorriest thing, when he has to shoot that fast, he don't have time to wing a body. They're all pushin' up daisies, now."
"But at least it was fast?" Ezra asked with a false concern.
"Nope, fires at center mass. Two were gut shot. One took out a lung."
Ezra tsk-tsked at the ungentlemanly demise.
JD turned to hide a smirk as the 'possum squirmed. His friends were fascinating him with the way they were eating away at the self-confidence of these men with mere words while they were, themselves, in such vulnerable positions. What would it accomplish? If they were working toward a goal, they hadn't let JD in on it, but it did pass the time.
"It never ceases to amaze me that you survived your association with him all those years." Ezra mused.
"It never ceases to amaze me you've survived your association with him all of two years." Buck responded in a low key imitation of the southerner's drawl.
"Touché." Ezra smiled with genuine affection in the tone.
"You're a gentlemen and a scholar, Ezra." Buck replied keeping up the banter.
"That puts me in mind of Mr. Sanchez." Ezra offered. "I suspect he could break church pews in his anger and I feel sure he would be able to break a man's back with his bare hands."
"Might rather it. Might like bein' the one to send a man of a certain attitude toward evil to visit St. Peter." Buck observed.
"An appeal to his religious roots? To feel the fruits of his labor? Guns and bullets are so long distance - so impersonal, I agree, Josiah would break a man's back and leave him to reflect on how he got to that point in this life."
"Josiah's big on ponderin'." Buck agreed seriously. "Not like Vin."
"Just the opposite, I would think." Ezra agreed. "He would want to practice his sharpshooting technique. How far can one shoot, having a predisposition to do so, Mr. Wilmington?"
"I figure he could pick a man off at 300 yards movin' or still. Whoever they got perched in them mesas that took a shot at you? Vin's got range on him."
"And of course the preeminent Mr. Jackson with his knives…"
"Shut up!" Perkins broke first. He stumbled to get his traction as he made his way toward them. "Shut up!" The man towered over the prisoners sitting on the sand. Buck ignored him and never opened his eyes. Ezra looked up at him with an expression of total innocence.
"Mr. Wilmington, I do believe that there are elements of this little soiree that these men weren't let in on before they hired on."
Bannister sauntered over to stand between his man and the others. "Chris Larabee is nothing compared to the man who's payin' us. You don't cross him."
"But there's only one of him." Buck pointed out as he sat up and began paying more attention to the situation, dusting the silty sand off his shoulders and arms.
"A valid point. While I would consider Mr. Larabee and his compadres, individually and together, are a force to be reckoned with, I question how much of a threat one man could be against what, four? Five of you?"
"He's right." The bear spoke up, not liking to be slighted or his courage questioned.
Moving quickly and grabbing Ezra by his neck, before Bannister could stop him, Perkins growled, "So, what about that money?" He referred back to their earlier conversation.
"I'll take you to it."
The man placed the palm of his left hand over Ezra's wound and leaned into it.
Ezra couldn't hold back the scream that escaped his raw throat. Buck tried to crawl to him and was kicked back by the 'possum. JD lunged to help and was caught up in the grasp of the bear.
"Let up." Bannister ordered.
Perkins held there for a moment then finally let up. "That attitude could prove painful." He purred to Ezra.
Ezra turned suddenly serious. "You intend to abandon us to a slow death in this wasteland. Anything, no matter how painful, that speeds up that end is preferable to the alternative."
"Your friends over there feel the same way?"
"You've done your homework. How much do you think that matters to me?" Ezra didn't look to see the reaction of his friends to this statement. He was betting again. This time he was gambling that the "Boss" wanted them to die in the desert or otherwise they would already be dead. He was also wagering that he and Buck had successfully played on their egos regarding their courage and their greed.
"He's slippery as a slug." Bannister cited, referring to Standish and not willing to return him to town.
"Take the boy with you." Ezra stated flatly.
"No!" JD demanded. He had been enthralled at how Buck and Ezra had manipulated these men and how close they were to getting a chance for one of them to get to town, maybe escape, maybe rescue the others. He was startled and angry when Ezra suggested he be the one to go.
"I'll tell him where the money's hidden. You get it on top of what your boss is paying you." Ezra didn't take the time to respond to the boy.
"Ezra, I don't want to leave you here."
The gambler continued to ignore the youngster. "You let him go after you get the money. He at least gets some chance to get help to us. You've fulfilled your obligation of leaving us here and you will at least double your profit." He had to make it sound like he was still looking out for his own best interests. And he waited to see if they would take the bait.
A thousand thoughts filtered through Vin's mind as he crossed the street to the saloon. Josiah's talk had done some good, supplied a little perspective. But he was warring with himself over the news he thought to impart. He didn't want to be the source of false hope, but at least they would be doing something. As the former buffalo hunter walked through the swinging doors, he was encouraged to see the others had at least stopped avoiding each other and sat together, although in silence, at the familiar table.
The other three looked up in silent greeting. Josiah slid a chair out with his foot for Vin to join them.
The tracker studied the men. They were lost, at dead ends. No one knew who had kidnapped their friends, there were no ransom demands, no one that any of them had made angry enough lately to do this and they had reached the realization that no pacing, no anger, no riding the territory could change any of that.
Vin took a deep breath, knowing he might be torturing them with false hope and spoke, "I found three sets of two horses that left last night around the time of the fire." The others knew this was leading somewhere and even Chris looked up expectantly. "I don't know why they would split up…"
"They thought they had to? To intentionally throw you off?" Nathan suggested.
"They got more confidence in me than I do." Vin smiled self-deprecatingly.
"When we asked around, no one remembered a lot of activity besides buckboards and the stagecoach last couple of days. That many people leaving on horseback at that time can't be a coincidence." Josiah offered up.
"Should we follow all three? Split up?" Nathan asked, anxious for a course of action.
They all looked to Vin for an answer. Josiah silently willed his young friend to trust himself. Try He thought so hard he was sure the younger man must be able to read his mind. Try. For yourself. For everyone.
When the tracker spoke there was the slightest hint of an unfamiliar treble. "One track led to the badlands. Ain't likely a man would be goin' out there this time of year lessin' he's up to no good or prospectin'. The other two are on busy paths that'll lose themselves in other travel activity soon enough." He stopped and offered the other side. "But at best we'll only be findin' one of our boys - if I'm right."
"You find him," Chris voice was low. "And whoever is with him will tell us where the others are."
"What if I'm wrong? What if this is our only chance to find them and I'm wrong?" The responsibility never weighed so heavy.
Chris was surprised at the self-doubt. "At least it's a chance." Then he added, "Tracking is more than reading sign. It's knowing your target. It's an instinct. You've got it."
"I got enough of the trail marked. We can leave as soon as the moon's up," Vin offered. It would be easier to follow the stark contrast of night time shadows in the glow of a full moon than to wait until the glaring and less distinct contradictions of sunlight on the hoof prints.
Chris stood and squeezed the tracker's shoulder as he passed. Vin wondered again at how easily words almosst led to hesitation that could have kept them from finding a lead to their friends and possibly topple everything that had become important to him. And he wondered how that single action by one man could give it all back.
Their somber leader disappeared. None of the others were invited in the move. The man needed some time to himself. He bottled too much up inside. This was something Josiah began to sense that the dark gunfighter had in common with the bounty hunter. The ex-preacher was beginning to see that what first appeared to be a sense of inner peace in the younger man was, instead, a way of hiding emotions he was afraid would be perceived as weakness.
The remaining three peacekeepers split up to pack their saddlebags with what they each thought they would find vital.
Sanchez rubbed his big hand over his face and thought about the mask Vin wore to hide the internal turmoil. Did Chris,Vin, Buck and Ezra have any idea how alike they were in their differences? Four different masks, but all for the same purpose.
Night was falling in purple hues that only could be created along the desert floor. One group of four men debated the fate of the other three who sat nearby.
"And I'm saying to hell with it." The bear demanded.
"He's right. We did the man's job we got paid for. He wanted two of them lawmen out here…"
"He wanted Wilmington and the boy."
"Probably because they were on patrol together - making it easier for us." He rationalized. He wanted the gambler's money.
"How could it matter which ones stay?"
"Think how much money that gambler could have holed back."
"It could be a bluff…"
"He's got our money! And it ain't on him." This seemed to confirm the existence of a hidey-hole to the bear. Bannister glanced uncomfortably over at their prisoners. The glow of greed in his gray eyes gradually turned into a flame.