A sound in the alley spun him in that direction in anticipation. Both he and JD Dunne pulled up on their guns at the same time. Their eyes met. Larabee didn't like what he saw.
"Why aren't you with the others?" He asked angrily. Part of it was because the boy always, recently, seemed to be at the wrong place at the wrong time. Larabee was always drawing down only to pull up a split second before he fired, a split second before he would have shot the boy and all the ramifications of that.
The boy was always at the wrong place at the wrong time in recent gun battles. He was always where Larabee was, like they were thinking alike.
"Buck and the others are all right. I'm going after those men."
"I'll take care of them."
"I made a promise." They were both alert to their surroundings; the atmosphere of battle and potential danger.
"Buck wouldn't want you going out to gun a man down."
JD brought his dark brown eyes back from the surroundings to meet those of his idol. "I didn't make the promise to him. I made it to myself."
What bothered Larabee the most was that the statement held none of the naïve, false bravado that would have so recently marked this youth. There was nothing in it that was trying to impress the legend that Larabee had unwittingly become.
Before Larabee could argue or order him to stop or analyze his emotions, the boy was headed toward the livery.
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The hired guns were retreating, running, every man for himself. Vin knew that there had been four men in the desert and one in town. Five. How many more there might be, or how many were down, he didn't know.
There was more at stake here than the immediate threat. No one should be able to target the seven and get away with it. Vin Tanner wanted these men stopped.
But Clay Kestrel. He wished he didn't have to believe what JD had said. It made everything that Josiah had feared seem true. He had wanted it to be a matter of simple, revenge, a matter of coincidence that the attack coincided with the letter regarding his writing. Clay Kestrel was so manipulative, so dangerous. Even at their best it sometimes seemed they were playing checkers while that maniac was playing chess with them as pawns.
How had Kestrel figured out he wrote that poem? Mary hadn't published a name. Anonymous. Was he ashamed of it? No, he was beyond that.
And his attack on Nathan. No one in this town would attack Nathan's ability. He moved cautiously from one roof to another. Kestrel's men weren't here. He looked around for them. He needed to get these men and get answers - where would Kestrel go to ground? Where could they track him down?
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Buck and Ezra scooted down the back alley. They were following the sound of the gun battle.
Buck was determined to stay on his feet and see this to the end.
Ezra was forcing himself along through sheer will power as well.
At the moment, Buck's single-minded determination was to stop these men and make the town safe for his friends. Ezra had a more specific agenda in mind. He was going to protect Buck and JD from each other and themselves. And, if need be, he would protect them from Chris Larabee.
He glanced at the face of the rascal in front of him and saw a similar resolve in his eyes that the gambler suspected even the man himself didn't recognize.
As they cautiously moved toward the gunplay, all senses at alert, Buck realized that he trusted Ezra completely to watch his back. It was a stimulation to go headlong into battle he hadn't felt in a long time. Not that he needed a reason to dive recklessly into the middle of things.
He knew JD would try to cover him, but would make the mistakes of youth. He had felt that trust only sporadically with Chris since he lost Sarah and Adam. And though it was an all-powerful feeling when the two of them were in sync, more often now his old friend was distracted by ghosts and vengeance.
At least Vin and Chris could look out for each other. The others had too much sense to grow that devoted to one friendship - or that desperate, or that thankful.
Josiah and Nathan were well-rounded son-of-a-guns.
He looked back to check on Ezra and see if he was doing okay, and was surprised to see the gambler watching him for the same reason.
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Foster cautiously edged past the alleyway. This was where he was vulnerable; the only time he had nothing to cover his back. He pulled the feisty bartender tighter and, in quick movements, turned from one direction to the other. He never stayed in one position long enough for anyone to get a shot off without endangering the woman. She was struggling but it was doing no good.
Behind him, no one. In the alley, empty. Before him, nothing. Then in the street, not ten feet from him, stood the tracker. He was carrying a mare's leg. A scattergun was even more of a threat to the woman than a revolver. It gave the brigand confidence to continue. He mistakenly ignored Vin's body language which was relaxed and confident.
Foster again began to crab his way toward the livery, with his back to the buildings, the woman shielding him from the former bounty hunter. Luckily he had been the one to stay and study the town and its regulators. He knew this one would not do anything to endanger the woman.
The barrel of the sawed off shotgun moved with him, waiting for an opportunity, but Foster wouldn't let that opportunity come. No one spoke, no false bravado, no threats or ultimatums.
The sound, the force hitting him and the pinpricks of glass showering him registered at the same time. Foster had his back against the plate glass window of the mercantile when everything tilted and the next thing he knew, he found himself on the ground.
He was struggling to keep his grip on the woman who was fighting him like a wildcat.
He still held his gun and used it to backhand the giant preacher who had caught him off guard by coming through the window to tackle him.
The good padre was immediately holding his face, blood gushing into his eyes from the twin gashes made by the barrel sight and hammer of Foster's gun.
The woman screamed more in anger than fear.
Immediately Foster reeled around with the gun to look for the threat of the bounty hunter.
As he registered the man's location and aimed, he felt a sudden impact to his right shoulder. Only after the punch, and the realization that his hand would no longer grip and the gun was dropping from his numb fingers, did he look down and see the knife hilt protruding from the shoulder of his gun arm.
The black man he knew as the healer walked over, another knife at the ready, and picked up the gun. He then turned immediately to tend to his older friend. He never even looked back, knowing that Tanner would have the man covered.
A sound, an instinct, something, caused Vin to spin just before Perkins, wounded, and coming out of the alleyway, pulled the trigger.
The mare's leg barked and the target flew backwards with the impact and was dead before he slid down the wall, leaving a crimson slick where his back touched the wood.
The hotheaded senorita crawled quickly from within Foster's grasp and turned to rail at him in Spanish. You didn't want to be on her bad side, Tanner smiled. "Ma'am," he began. He couldn't interrupt her diatribe. "Miss Inez..." now he was laughing , "INEZ!"
"What?"
"Could I borrow your sash, Ma'am? We need this guy settled so we can go help the others."
Still angry, she whipped the red bolt of cloth from around her waist and tied the man to the hitching post herself, heedless of his wound.
"You find the others, Mr. Tanner. And end this. After that, all of you will stay in the tavern until I say differently. Mr. Jackson, what nursing you have to do? I suggest we go get all of your supplies now. None of you are leaving my sight after this until you can convince me you can take care of yourselves."
Tanner, Jackson and Sanchez, wide-eyed, somewhat awestruck by the display, couldn't find words.
"I'm getting too old for this." Josiah finally assured them.
Vin offered his bandana to help squelch the bleeding. Nathan gave Vin a look of reassurance as he and Inez began to wrestle the older man toward the clinic. No, Vin amended that thought, he was sure they were headed toward the saloon just as Inez had ordered.
He himself headed out to account for the rest of their friends and the rest of the men who where threatening them. +7 + 7+7 +7 + 7+
Ezra and Buck chose to enter the partially rebuilt stables from opposite ends. It was interesting, besides the fact that either one of them were still on their feet at all, that this is where it had all begun, and only three days ago.
Ezra was sure that if he made it the next three minutes things would be fine. Then he would sleep the next three weeks.
He stopped short, there was already a confrontation going on inside.
The man he had come to refer to as the 'Possum was in the middle of the stable. Chris, JD and Buck all had their guns leveled at the man.
Chris knew Buck well enough to know he would keep the man covered. The legendary gunfighter slid his pistol back into its holster.
"Chris..." His old friend's voice held all kinds of warnings in it. They were ignored.
One of the things Buck was trying to warn off took a painfully short time to come about. JD Dunne slid his gun back in the holster as well. "Damn it, Chris," Wilmington began, but he was interrupted.
Ezra watched as the 'Possum lowered his gun slightly in confusion. "I ain't gonna try to fast draw you, Larabee." The weasely little man bemoaned.
JD stepped forward immediately to fill that vacuum.
"JD." There was an order in Larabee's voice for the young man to stand down. He was ignored.
The dark clad gunfighter took a second to grab a look at his older friend. He looked like his worse nightmare had just come true.
"You and me." The youngest said steadily. "You win, they'll let you ride out."
"Not a chance in hell," Buck roared, his gun still aimed at the man who had caused and was still causing so much hurt.
"Buck, I gotta do this."
"Like hell, boy. Back off. He's goin' to jail."
"You've already got your gun out." JD goaded the Possum and ignored the desperation and pain in his friend's tone.
Chris was unnaturally quiet, ready to react, to protect these men, but the expression on his face as he watched JD fight back the urge to brush the long black bangs from his eyes, was troubled.
Ezra took in the situation. If Larabee shot the man that damn star struck kid would try even harder to be like him. If the kid took him out he would be one step closer to who Buck was afraid he would become. And Wilmington, he didn't have it in him to kill a man in cold blood, no matter how much the man deserved it. But he would pull that trigger he had pressure on even now. He would gun the man down if it would keep the other two alternatives from becoming realities. And a part of the lanky gunfighter would die as well, to kill when it might not be necessary and to have to do it to keep his friends from selling their souls.
Ezra made his decision. He stepped out of the shadows, "Excuse me, sir, I believe we have some unfinished business."
The man turned, gun aimed at the gambler. Ezra pulled the trigger. He would lose more sleep if the death of this man hurt his family than if he killed him to be sure one of the others didn't.
Larabee and Dunne both stood frozen, not willing to comprehend that it was over.
The boy's bangs hung forward in his face exactly like Larabee's. The fire in his eyes was the same. Buck held his breath at the similarities.
Then, while Larabee's eyes met his old time friend, he gave barely regretful smile and moved to make sure the man was dead.
When JD sought out Buck, he tucked the strands of hair behind his ear and his eyes lit up with joy to see his big brother well enough to stand on his own. The potential gunfighter was gone, at least for now. The idealistic, innocent boy Buck loved was back, just that fast.
A shuffle of hay and the nicker of a horse were the only warning any of them had. The "Bear" ran out of a stall where he had been hiding. He was making a desperate break for it. He had Ezra in his sights. The gambler stood between him and a chance at freedom.
The shot rang out.
It took a moment for the gambler to realize he hadn't been hit. Buck's gun was smoking. The Bear lay dead in the hay, again very near where his partner had fallen only a few days ago. This man, who was trying to gun down a friend, Buck had no qualms about shooting. No more than he would a mad dog.
Buck looked quickly at Ezra for any hint of what the two shootings might be costing him. That damn poker face was in place. And it made Buck mad. He couldn't call the southerner on the way he reacted, it was long engrained in him.
The rogue turned his anger on someone who was still molding himself into the man he was going to be. "Boy," He called to JD who seemed stunned by this turn of events. "You almost got Ezra killed holsterin' your gun like that. A damn fool stunt. Would it have been worth it? Was it worth it!" Ezra couldn't tell if the big man was talking to JD or Chris.
JD opened his mouth and closed it. At first his face reflected anger, then indignation, then fear of what might have happened, then regret. "God, Buck…"
Vin burst into the livery, gun at ready. He relaxed slightly when he took in who was standing and who was in the dirt. He went straight to check on his friends, never even considering the dead men.
"Are you alright, Buck?" He asked the man who was closer, "Ezra, what the hell are you doing up and here? Does Nathan know?"
"No. He damn well doesn't." He used small words to emphasis the fact that he wasn't looking forward to dealing with the usually gentle-natured healer. He could be most irritating when his patients didn't cooperate.
Chris watched JD walk over to Buck and humbly, without a word being spoken, ask forgiveness for disappointing the older man.
Buck had to fight with himself to grant the forgiveness, so much could have been lost, but in the end he reached out and pulled the boy close so their foreheads met and said something no one else could hear.
JD had seen every emotion go across the other man's face as he fought to find it in himself to understand and forgive. He never wanted to be the cause of that struggle again.
Nathan arrived in a rush, but like Vin relaxed when he saw things were under control. And yet, there was something wrong, but surprisingly, the feeling came from the newest arrival. Vin could tell by the gentle man's expression. "Nathan?"
There was no easy way to say it. "Foster? The guy we left tied up? He's dead." Vin frowned. He hadn't been injured that badly.
"Someone slit his throat." Nathan said with a deep sigh. "He didn't have a chance."
"Kestrel." Larabee growled.
"Clay's here?" Buck asked, worried all over again. The acknowledgment of this threat reflected in the other's eyes. Wilmington made a move as if to go look for him.
Chris put a hand on his shoulder and stopped him. There was a slight twinge when the hand touched the blistered skin, "He'll be long gone. To lay up and lick his wounds." He assured his old friend. "Let's get you and Ezra and JD taken care of. There'll be time to run him to ground when we're all healed."
The deadly gunfighter knew that watching out for the others would come before going after Kestrel as far as Buck was concerned. Larabee realized it was what he should have done instead of chasing Kestrel the first time. Vin met his friend's eyes, saw this realization and smiled.
"Josiah?" Chris asked when he noticed who was missing.
"Josiah's being mothered by Inez like she threatened. Hopefully she'll get it out of her system before we get..." Nathan said, heading toward Buck who was closest. "Are you crazy? Nathan, this is Inez. No offense, but she's a mite prettier than you are ..." Buck was letting the boy completely off the hook by starting to joke. He took a step pleasantly toward the doors heading to the saloon, but his legs turned to water and simply gave out under him. JD and Chris both caught him before he hit the ground and lowered him slowly to the hay.
"God, Buck," JD began.
"Hey, Kid, if I'm feeling this bad, Ezra's not doing so hot either. Go check on him?"
"Sure." JD knew that Buck was in good hands with Chris and Nathan was moving in fast. He thought Buck would rather have his old, trusted friend take care of him. JD understood. He wished it was different, but he understood he would have to earn that kind of connection with the older man. He hoped he hadn't frayed those chances today.
He moved over to make sure Ezra was doing okay. How could a man look that pale and be so sunburned?
"Not now, Nathan," Buck was a bit strident.
"Buck,"
"Please, Nathan, Ezra first."
With a sigh of frustration, the healer moved over from one obstinate patient to the other.
When they were finally alone, Buck looked up at Chris. He couldn't find the words. He didn't know if it was because he didn't want to hear the answer or was too tired for the fight.
"You look like hell, Buck. Why couldn't you let us handle this?"
Buck wouldn't meet his eyes. That wasn't what he wanted to talk about. Chris studied him. "You know it makes me nervous when you're so quiet," he continued.
Buck nodded without meeting his eyes. Okay, what was wrong? Chris wondered. He watched Buck cut his eyes over to JD and Ezra. Then Chris got it. "I took the boy because Josiah and Nathan had their hands full with you two."
Buck looked up at that. Was Larabee becoming a mind reader? "There were men trying to kill us." Larabee continued. "I could watch the kid while you couldn't."
There was a silence between them. Buck wanted to believe, but didn't know if this Chris Larabee would have that level of compassion; of understanding. The old one would, but... "I wouldn't let the boy call these guys out. It would never have gotten any further. I know how you feel about that." Buck stared. He did get it.
Relaxing seemed to prove that he had been surviving on adrenaline. Buck rested his head against the stall. "Chris, I gotta... talk to you about .. a river..." But his head slumped forward and the darkness claimed him before he could continue. "Buck? Buck!"