A/N: Howdy partner. Grab you some stew, grab a seat, and we'll continue our story.
Disclaimer: I don't own Chuck
Chuck watched Langston look around. Langston wasn't nervous, but Chuck could tell he wasn't happy. Tomorrow, he and Sarah would climb up in her wagon, and take off. Everything from her home was being sold. Bryce's suits, her dresses, the furniture… everything. And not just sold, basically given away for very little. Sarah wanted out of here.
Langston didn't think any of Shaw's gang would show up to the sale that was going on at the Larkin estate, but he couldn't be sure.
Chuck had sold his cart yesterday, after talking to Sarah. The two agreed that their two horses pulling her bigger wagon made the most sense. He offered to give her the money, but one look told him he would not, in fact, be doing that. She did worry about him selling the cart, but Chuck reminded her that he could literally build another one. That had made her smile, which is something Chuck hadn't seen a lot out of her.
He wouldn't lie; he felt indebted to Sarah. If it hadn't been for him, Bryce wouldn't be dead. He didn't know if she would appreciate him thinking he needed to help support his friend's widow. Sarah didn't seem like most women.
Last night, he had reread the letter Bryce had sent him, and wondered now, was there more in the letter that Bryce had sent him? Were there hints of problems, and Chuck could help him? Chuck couldn't find any obvious clues, but he did notice how Bryce seemed almost insistent he come visit the couple. He had put the letter away, knowing no more than he had before.
Bryce had been so impressed by Chuck becoming a bounty hunter that he wanted Chuck to teach him everything he knew. What Chuck had never been able to teach Bryce was the why of Chuck becoming a bounty hunter. That part had always escaped Bryce.
He sighed and looked up at the sky. It was clear and blue, a good sign for his and Sarah's upcoming trip. He found himself remembering the way the sky looked that day, some six plus years ago.
}o{
Chuck looked up as Devon came out of Chuck and Jill's home. The two had become close, and Chuck had asked Jill's father for her hand in marriage. He was thankful to find someone, to get out of what was left of his childhood home.
His mother had contracted consumption when Chuck was young. She had fought tuberculosis for years, but it was a death sentence. When they lost Mary, Stephen seemed to lose all common sense. Ellie and Chuck worked together to keep the family business going. She handled the books, and the orders, and Chuck took what he had learned from his father to build wagons.
It worked, until Ellie met Devon. And on the day she told Chuck she wanted to marry Devon, Chuck was both thrilled for the couple, and also, knew that his life would consist of taking care of his father. The fact Devon had pulled Chuck aside to ask permission to marry Ellie had meant the world to the curly haired man.
It was around that time that Jill Roberts and her family came to the town. Jill and Chuck became close, and Jill seemed to be one of the few people that could keep Stephen calm. Chuck and Jill grew close, and no one was surprised when the two wed.
"Devon, is she going to be okay?" Chuck asked, trembling. He saw the look on Devon's face, he knew that look. It wasn't a look he had seen on Devon's face before, but it was the same as the doctor that had told him his mother had the sickness.
"Chuck," Devon began. Chuck turned away, fighting away the tears. It was a death sentence, Tuberculosis. It was a damned death sentence. "I'm not going to lie, she has it, and… I don't know how much time she has."
"Damn it," Chuck swore. "Okay, what can we do?"
"Chuck, there's nothing," Devon said gently.
"Devon, brother, I know that you have been listening for anything that shows promise," Chuck told him. "I know that you think there is a cure out there. What do I need to do?"
Devon walked up to him and pulled him aside. He looked around. "There is a drug that some think can stop the sickness, but… it's expensive."
"How expensive?" Chuck asked.
"At least one hundred dollars if not more," Devon told him.
"I-I… Devon, that's a huge sum of money," Chuck said. "The only place…" he trailed off. "The only way I know to earn that kind of money, that fast, is to rob a bank, or be a bounty hunter. And I don't like guns."
Devon looked around again. "Chuck, do you remember my friend from the Indian Reservation?" Chuck nodded. "There's a drug that can… incapacitate men. It's still experimental, but it shouldn't kill anyone."
"And how would I apply it?" Chuck asked. "I can't go up to someone I'm hunting and say, 'Please drink this.'"
"A small cross bow with darts filled with the serum," Devon said. "That's something you could design and make, right?"
Chuck thought for a minute, then nodded.
}o{
He looked at the small crossbow he had made. The moonlight lit up the land enough for him to see his target and the two guards that were with him. Sam Jenkins was wanted for some unspeakable crimes. The bounty was one hundred dollars. Devon assured Chuck he would get medicine with it.
The crossbow had six darts loaded into it. Chuck had more darts, but if he couldn't get the job done with the six, chances were he wouldn't be on this earth long enough to reload the weapon.
Devon had explained why the serum in the darts wouldn't knock someone out, it would make them… confused, disoriented, and unsure of what was going on. Devon had told him the name of the drug, how to obtain it, and explained how one of the assistants to the scientist that had discovered it learned about the side effects.
These side effects were precisely the reason Chuck was using this drug.
The guard furthest away from Chuck had his back to the camp, and Chuck. The guard nearest Chuck wasn't looking in Chuck's direction. Chuck was dressed all in black, complete with a black handkerchief over his mouth and nose. He raised his weapon and fired, aiming at the right hand of the guard that held a rifle.
The dart found its target, and the guard dropped his weapon, looking at his hand. There was clear confusion on his face. He shook his hand, staring at the dart. Chuck fired again, this time the dart hitting the guard in the right pectoral muscle. The guard looked at that dart and started to sway. Chuck came forward, quickly and quietly. He grabbed the guard as he started to collapse, lowering him to the ground. The guard lay there, not asleep, not unconscious, but clearly no idea where he was. It was as likely as not he had no idea what his name was.
Chuck looked over at the fire where the target was lying, listening for any movement or recognition of the situation. He nodded, hearing the soft snores of his target. Slowly, he crept closer to the second guard. Raising the crossbow, he shot the guard in the back. The guard spun around, slapping at his back, like he had been bitten by a bug. Chuck had placed the dart just out of reach. As the guard flailed about, Chuck shot his still-sleeping target with a dart. The snore changed to a snort, and then the snore continued.
Chuck heard a noise and saw the guard had fallen to one knee. Chuck went to the first guard to collect the first two darts, and then headed to the second. He pulled the dart out of the guard's back, as the man slowly reached toward Chuck. It was clear by the look on his face, he had no idea what was going on.
Chuck returned to his target, removed the dart, and then hogtied him. Hoisting the target over his shoulder, he carried him off to his horse. Chuck secured his target on the back of the horse, climbed on, and started the ride to the closest sheriff's office to claim his bounty.
}o{
"Anything?" Chuck asked. Devon had emerged from Chuck's home. The medicine had been administered forty-eight hours earlier.
"Chuck," Devon began, but couldn't finish. Chuck nodded, tears in his eyes. "Brother, you did everything."
"It wasn't enough," Chuck said. He looked away. He sniffed, collected himself, and turned back to Devon. "How long?"
"Not long," Devon said. Chuck nodded and blowing out a breath, collected himself once more, and headed to the door. Devon watched him go, wishing he could do more.
}o{
Jill had lasted a week, and in the end, Chuck told her it was okay to go. She squeezed his hand with what little strength she had left, and the wheezing and rattling from her chest stopped.
He held onto her hand and cried.
}o{
He hadn't built a wagon in months. He couldn't. His father had grown worse without Jill there. Chuck spent most of his time managing his father. They needed money to live on, and he took bounty hunting jobs to pay the bills.
He continued to dress in black, hiding his identity. Ellie encouraged him to go back to building wagons, but in Chuck's mind, that's what a married man did… a family man. That wasn't what Chuck was, now. He had become what they called him.
A ghost.
"Ghost," he said softly to himself. "An apparition of a dead person which is believed to appear or become manifest to the living, typically as a nebulous image." He chuckled to himself. That's what he was – a nebulous image. Who he was… that was hazy, as well. Who he was… was vague… ill-formed.
He truly was a ghost, albeit corporeal.
It had been in those days that Bryce had become the one person he interacted with. Bryce seemed so impressed by what Chuck did. Chuck truly didn't care, but between the obvious disapproval of Devon and Ellie with Chuck's occupation, and dealing with his father who was becoming more irrational by the day, Chuck was glad to have someone… anyone… to talk to.
Chuck was happy to teach Bryce what he knew. That meant he wasn't by himself hunting someone, or by himself watching his father. Because that was all he did. Everything he did… was by himself.
Chuck had never thought about the consequences of teaching Bryce everything Chuck knew about being a bounty hunter.
}o{
As he stared at the blue sky, it dawned on Chuck that he had never actually taught Bryce everything about bounty hunting, that he had not taught Bryce the most important thing about bounty hunting.
This was a job where either you had nothing to live for, or you would do anything for the payday. You would give the ultimate sacrifice to save a life. Anything else was asking for an early death, when you still had something to live for.
Chuck looked across the yard at Sarah. It was in that moment that it smacked him across the face… that if he didn't find a way to teach Sarah that valuable lesson, that he would lead a second person to their death.
The sickness had claimed so much of Chuck's family, and now he was realizing that the collateral damage of the sickness was claiming others in his life.
He stared at the beautiful woman, selling the last of her earthly possessions to travel with him cross-country to get revenge on those who had wronged her. To stop them from ever trying to do what they tried to do to her.
"I have to save her," Chuck muttered to himself.
"Yes, you do," came a nearby voice. Chuck turned and saw Langston watching Chuck. "End this." With that Langston walked away, leaving Chuck with his thoughts.
A/N: Okay, it's getting late, and we don't need to drink any more coffee when it's this late. For reference, in 1895, $100 was roughly $3,500 in today's money.
See you tomorrow.