Disclaimer: The 'Magnificent Seven' and other characters from the series are the property of MGM, Trilogy and the Mirisch Company. I just borrowed them, played with them for a while and then very regretfully gave them back! The original characters within this story are mine and should not be used without permission. No infringement of copyright is intended to whoever holds any legal right to the works of Robert Burns. Sadly, no money will be made from this work of fan fiction — I just wrote it purely for my own pleasure and entertainment!
Genre: Old West - H/C/angst/action. This story contains graphic, ADULT material.
Main characters: Vin, Chris and Ezra.
Rating: NC17 — Mainly for language, violence, elements of torture/physical abuse and a descriptive sexual scene. If you are not comfortable reading about Ezra being involved intimately with a woman, then this story is definitely not for you. There are several references to my story Under the Aegis of Seven and, although it isn't necessary to read that to understand this storyline, it was a stand alone piece that I specifically wrote in order to lay certain foundations and set-up characters for Sins of the Father. Also, I'm a Brit and, as my storyline involves a Scottish family, I have used phrases and words relative to their background and the Victorian era.
I want to take this opportunity to assure everyone that the convoluted plot, OMCs/OFCs, the conceptual ideas and writing for Sins of the Father are, in their entirety, all of my own work. Apart from hundreds of grammatical corrections by my super-beta, Jean B, no one else has had any input into my story.
Heartfelt thanks to my husband, Mike, for being such a supportive fella, during the highs and the way too many lows of writing this epic. I think he was joking when he threatened divorce, naming the 'Seven' as the reason for our marriage break-up! Huge, huge thank you to Jean B for doing such a great job in beta'ing this for me — Jean, you deserve a medal for so ably dealing with my comma fixation! You're one of the Best! Aside from Jean's many corrections, any other grammatical boo-boo's or plot flaws are mine and mine alone! An extra special thank you is due to Elizabeth, one of the tireless helpers on Lady Angel's website, for all of the hard work that she put in making my story look so good on the website. Elizabeth, you are a true professional — thank you for being so understanding, and graciously making all those pernickety amendments that I kept sending through to you.
If you enjoy this story, please let me know at susieburton999@yahoo.co.uk — I just love feedback!
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Ezra Standish smoothed the map out on a large flattish rock and then gazed around at the landscape. A satisfied smile curved his mouth and, looking down at the paper once again, he tapped a finger at a spot on the sheet.
"Now, we are standing approximately in this location," he informed his attentive companion, "and your brother said that the site most suitable for building on is right... here!" The gambler traced an imaginary circle on the top section of the map as he spoke.
Fiona Cummings bent closer to the man as she also studied the paper. "This is perfect! We are almost equal distance from Robert's ranch and the town, which will be an important factor if you are to carry on with your business interests in Four Corners."
The man nodded thoughtfully. "Yes, the Gods do seem to be treating us fairly! Ah, my love! Robert and Abigail have been more than generous by gifting us this land! Fifty square miles is a princely holding and it appears that there are several streams and tributaries running off the main Chaipas River."
Several seconds passed as Fiona thought over what this actually meant to them both, until she sensed the man's eyes upon her. With an enraptured smile, she leaned provocatively into Ezra and lifted her face upwards slightly. The map was forgotten as the couple kissed passionately and, bracing his back against the boulder, the gambler drew the young woman into the protective enclosure of his arms, holding her so tight it was as if he would never let her go again.
It had been less than a week since he'd asked for and received an elated acceptance from the woman for her hand in marriage. The days following their happy announcement had been busy and exciting for them both as they started to make arrangements for their wedding, and also began working out details of where they would live afterwards.
"Mmm!" the woman breathed ecstatically as they eventually drew apart. "That was much nicer and certainly more interesting than a stuffy old map! Ezra dearest, I simply cannot believe how lucky I am, and every morning I have to pinch myself just to make sure that I'm not dreaming all of this!"
"I have been running through a similar routine myself, but I believe that I have finally convinced my mind that this is reality! It hardly seems possible that in less than a month's time, we shall become Mr and Mrs Ezra Standish!" The gambler caught hold of Fiona's left hand and the large ruby stone of his betrothal ring glittered dully in the bright morning sunshine. Pressing her warm fingers to his mouth, Ezra gently sucked on her fingertips and, as their eyes met, he felt a shiver of desire ripple through his body.
"Ah, my dearest, if you continue doing that, then I shall have to punish you," Fiona scolded her fiancé, but she didn't attempt to pull back from his firm embrace.
"That would be a most welcome distraction, my love! Perhaps we should abandon the idea of looking over our land, and go and find a private place to spend the remainder of the day. I can think of many things to show you, which will gratify us both!" The gambler grinned rakishly and the woman easily read her lover's actual meaning.
Ezra and Fiona had only managed to steal one brief, but nonetheless satisfying moment of intimacy since their first joyous union in Chris Larabee's cabin nearly six weeks ago. And the couple knew that in the coming month they would be hard pushed to have any privacy at all, as the wedding arrangements took priority on their time.
The gambler slid his hands under the mid-length, woollen black serape that Fiona wore over her dark shirt and riding pants, and he gently squeezed her pert buttocks. He had never experienced such powerful emotions before, nor felt so completely at ease on a sexual level. It seemed like his life was totally fulfilled now and he knew that he could face any future diversity, whilst he had this incredible woman by his side.
The woman wriggled seductively, pushing herself into the man forcefully, as she played along with the teasing game. "Why, sir, methinks you are eager to bed me before thee weds me! My virtue is not a trifling thing for your personal gratification, but I'm a bonnie Scot's lass and it is my duty to obey the man in my life!" Fiona spoke in a broad lilting accent, her speech mannerisms mimicking those of a Scottish Highlands country-girl.
"Is that a yes then?" he asked with a chuckle.
"Weel..." she began, coyly fluttering her lashes, "it does sound like a splendid idea! Of course, I am already a fallen woman, but waiting for those weeks to pass until we are married will seem like an eternity. All I long to do is wake up next to you each morning in our own bed, in our bedroom, and more importantly, in our own house! Are you sure that the main building can be completed in time?" Fiona asked, a little apprehensively.
"Ehem, well... I have no reason to doubt that our timescale for the work is not beyond reach, my love. The house plans that Robert showed us last night are extremely detailed and I know of several skilled carpenters in town who would have no problem in accomplishing the task. Also, if we hire additional workers with me supervising the overall project, then I believe we can reach our objective in time for our honeymoon."
Fiona gave a heartfelt sigh of relief. "Forgive my impatience, dearest, but I just so want everything to be right! To be honest though, I would not give two hoots if we had to live in a cave for the short term! At least we would be together!"
The gambler squeezed her hand tightly. "I would not allow it to come to that, my love. If we cannot make our deadline, then we can always take rooms at the hotel, or manage quite satisfactorily in my quarters above the saloon."
"Yes, we must be truly blessed as we have several options available to us." There was a serious look on Fiona's face now, and she pulled away from the man's grasp slightly as she struggled to find the right words for her next request. "Ezra... I...umm...oh dear!"
Alarmed by the woman's obvious dismay, Ezra reached out and captured Fiona around her slim waist, bringing her close to him once again. "What is troubling you, my love? This should be a happy and carefree time for a bride-to-be, so please tell me what is causing your concern," he urged the woman.
"I know you want to have our house built for me as a wedding gift, dearest, but I would feel happier if we used the money in my trust fund from Richard's family. It's just...well... it would seem more fitting to use that money for that purpose, and it is not like we lack for funds to live on. I still have quite a substantial sum left from my mother's inheritance and the money you have would buy a reasonable saloon or even a hotel that can supplement our income, until the stud farm begins to return a profit."
"Yes, that is true. But I wanted to build you the house of your dreams and there's still the cost of erecting a barn, stabling and corrals. You cannot even begin to breed horses without the appropriate structures being ready for use," Ezra pointed out.
Fiona glanced over to where the two horses were grazing, giving a smile when she saw the comical actions of her black stallion. The horse had wandered a little away from the gambler's chestnut gelding and he'd put a back hoof on the trailing rein which was now pulled taut. A lush clump of grass was just out of his reach, but he continued to try and nibble the tantalising morsel, not realising that if he only lifted his rear off-side leg then he would be able to get to the tasty snack.
"No. Although looking at that empty-headed horse of mine, I'm not sure that I want Rio to be the sire of the new Cummings-Standish bloodline!"
The gambler laughed at the rueful look on the woman's face. "Yes, he does appear to be lacking in the brain department, but his strength, grace and beauty more than compensate for his other shortcomings. His offspring will fetch a reasonable price at the horse sales in Ridge City."
"We seem to be getting ahead of ourselves at the moment, dearest. Shall we continue going over this area, or do you want to head back to the ranch?"
Ezra turned his attention back to the map and, tossing away the stone that had held the paper in place, he folded the sheet up before tucking it into his inner jacket pocket. "This is not imperative, but we will need to hire a surveyor to ensure that we construct our house in the most advantageous place. We'll return by way of Mr Larabee's small-holding, seeing as he has now become our closest neighbour. Perhaps he will share a celebratory drink with us if he is in residence," he commented.
"Why, Mr Standish! Are you anticipating that your friend will not be at home?" the woman asked coquettishly, although her eyes were wide and sparkling with mischief.
"I am wounded, dear lady! I am a Southern gentleman, and my intentions are honourable. However," Ezra arched one sandy eyebrow and gave the young woman a meaningful smile, "if Mr Larabee is elsewhere...well...ehem...I see no reason why we couldn't linger for a while at his cabin. He certainly would not deny us a modicum of hospitality—even in his absence!"
"You are incorrigible, sir! I can tell that I am going to have my hands full with you as my husband!"
"As will I, having such a bewitching lady for a wife! You have cast your spell, my love, and I can deny you nothing. So, if you are indeed certain that you want to use your trust money for the cost of building our house then that is how it shall be. I shall just have to come up with another idea for your wedding day gift."
"Ezra dearest, that is not at all necessary. How can you possibly give me more than you have already?" she asked.
"That is a double-sided coin, my love! You have captured my heart totally, and I cannot imagine there is anything else that you could do or give me that would increase my happiness," the gambler murmured as he kissed the woman's open palm.
Fiona's other hand came up to stroke the man's face and she gave a shy, secretive smile. "Well, I may have a surprising gift for you shortly, dearest, which could just disprove that statement."
A puzzled frown creased the peacekeeper's brow and he opened his mouth to speak.
"No! I shall say no more at this time!" Fiona put her fingers to Ezra's lips, effectively silencing the man's unspoken question. "You will just have to be patient for the time being. Now, I have seen all that I want to this morning, so let us go a-visiting!"
Within minutes the couple were mounted, their horses walking side by side as they picked their way along the rarely used trail leading to Chris Larabee's small-holding.
Will Tanner gave an exasperated snort as he approached the small line cabin at the south-easterly section of Robert Cummings land and anger coursed through him when he saw for himself the wrecked building. It had been the previous evening that the security boss had been told of the substantial damage sustained to the wooden shack and, after discussing the problem with Jim Fielding, the Texan had resolved to investigate the next morning. He had also decided to make a systematic check on the other outlying buildings, as it was likely that these would be targeted if it transpired that Kehoe was the guilty party.
Pulling his horse to a stop, the man gazed around the site, noting the smashed corral and hitching posts, before he spotted the sickly-looking grey scum covering the small watering hole. Someone had poured lime into the freshwater lake, rendering the vital supply completely poisonous for many years to come. Dismounting from the bay mare, the security boss tethered the animal well away from the lethal water and began scouting around the area. The one-roomed cabin had never been the sturdiest of structures but, after having its door, windows and roof ripped off, it was now very unstable and the building leaned at a precarious angle—a strong gust of wind would easily topple the shattered structure.
"I'd really like to catch the bastard responsible fer this," Tanner muttered to himself as he made his way over to the ruined shack. Carefully peering through the hole where the door had been, the man surveyed the wreckage inside. Whoever orchestrated this act of vandalism had done a thorough job, as even the two narrow bunks had been totally destroyed, and wood that had once been a table and chair was scattered around the floor. Bending down, the security boss gingerly reached inwards for the pot-bellied stove that was lying on its side in the doorway.
"I thought this 'ud git yer attention!"
Tanner surged to his feet, whirling around as his right hand dipped for his gun. The movement ended and the Texan froze as he recognised the man in front of him.
"Joseph!"
The security boss wasn't really surprised to see his former partner, but what shocked and angered him more was the fact that the other man held a gun on him—and looked more than ready to use the weapon.
Samuel Joseph had spent most of the morning organising the four young ranch hands from the vicinity on the well concealed bluff above Coyote Pass. With the exception of Gareth Royal, the youngsters had never handled dynamite before, but the older Texan had given all the men a quick lesson on how to set, prime and ignite the sometimes unstable compound. After going over the plan several times with the men, Joseph was eventually satisfied that they were in a position to accomplish the job, and he left the four to carry on with the preparations for the dangerous task of blowing up the rocky precipice. It was mid-morning and, knowing that he had limited time available to achieve his objectives, the outlaw had headed south to see if his destructive endeavours of the previous day had borne fruit.
Samuel Joseph gave a hard, mirthless smile as he trained his revolver on the other man who was no more than ten yards in front of him. Evidently his efforts hadn't been wasted, and he'd even managed to get the drop on his former accomplice. It all seemed to be coming together at last.
"Ya sound surprised, Tanner! Didn't ya reckon I'd catch up wit' ya? Even ya cain't be that stupid!" Joseph sneered at his old partner.
Will Tanner shifted uneasily, keeping his hand well away from his gun butt as he warily studied the other man. "Couldn't miss wit' the gift ya left me! I knew ya'd come sniffin' 'round eventually, 'cos we both know what's at stake, but I kinda figured that ya'd wait 'til I got on the trail t'Texas. Course, I realised ya also wanted to settle the score wit' Larabee, 'though it's a mite surprising that ya ain't handled that b'now. Or are ya too yella to make yer move?" the security boss asked scathingly.
"Wuz thinkin' th' same thing 'bout ya, old friend! Ya must've had plenty o' chances to get revenge, but it looks like all this honest work has made ya soft! Me on t'other hand, waal... I ain't got too many scruples — as y'know — an' m'next chore will be t'take care of that black dressed bastard. Which then jes' leaves me wit' ya! Ain't it strange how yer family have given me such grief over the years? Ya had no intention o' cuttin' me in wit' whatever ya'd arranged wit' Vin, 'cos once ag'in a stinkin' Tanner wuz gonna try an' double-cross me. Let's not beat 'bout the bush any longer, huh? I'm real keen t'hear what the boy's told ya. Does he know where the hoard's buried?"
"Ya leave him outta this, ya murderin' bastard! Vin knows nuthin', so ya'd jes' be wastin' yer breath askin'. He wuz jes' a button when it all went down—not that ya need me t'tell ya that. Joseph, if I knew anythin' I'd spill it, jes' so I got ya off o' our backs once an' fer all. Not that I reckon ya'll let me come out o' this alive, 'specially seein' how ya've got a gun lined on me right now!"
Joseph sighed heavily, and shook his head in mute resignation. It was exactly how he thought it would be; his former partner in crime wasn't going to willingly share any information he'd learned from his kinsman. The man left him little choice in that case, as Joseph knew that the security boss would never go along with his own brutal, but effective, methods of extracting the truth from Vin Tanner.
"It pays to take precautions—ya would'a done the same if ya were in m'boots. No, I needed this bit of insurance," the outlaw gestured with his head to the gun, "'though I had thought old loyalties might still count fer summat. Guess I wuz wrong 'bout that! Now, I was toyin' wit' the idea of splittin' the gold wit' ya if ya co-operated, but seein' as how ya won't, then I reckon I can handle this alone. I don't need ya, Tanner. Never did, never will. An' I can easily get what I want from the boy, once we're headed fer home," Joseph stated confidently.
"He wouldn't tell ya anythin', Joseph, even if he knew. Vin's a mite cagey an' he's real good at readin' atween the lines. The boy's got integrity an' courage—two traits that ya wouldn't understand—an' threatening him won't work." The security boss had been looking for an opening move against the other man and he shuffled sideways a little as he spoke.
"That's far enough! Ya move again an' my bullet'll find its mark!" the stocky outlaw warned.
Tanner let out a short laugh. "I'm a dead man anyways! I can see that ya want the stash all fer yerself, so nuthin's changed there. No honour among thieves, huh?"
"Honour! That's summat yer family's a mite shy on, Tanner. Even yer pa lost m'respect when he squirreled away that gold! What right did he have in takin' off wit' summat that belonged t'me an' my kin?"
"Is that why ya killed pa? 'Cos ya couldn't find out where he'd hidden it?" Tanner spat out.
"The stupid, interferin' ole fool should'a left things as they were. But no, he couldn't resist the smell of all that money. My money. Mebbe he would'a still bin alive if..." The words trailed off as Samuel Joseph saw the other man's right hand suddenly twitch.
Will Tanner's senses were working overtime and as the stocky Texan had talked, the security boss had carefully studied his former colleague. Joseph had allowed the muzzle of his revolver to drop down a fraction as he ranted on and, seeing the other's gun dip slightly, Tanner knew he probably wouldn't get a better opportunity to take the man. The security boss' hand flashed down to his own weapon as he also threw himself to the side but, as his gun cleared leather, he heard a loud blast. The jolting impact of the close range bullet propelled him backwards and he felt a burning pain in his left side, as his crumpling body hit the rickety wall of the cabin. Blackness swooped down on the security boss, and he didn't even hear the rumbling groan and tearing of timber as he sprawled beneath the subsiding structure.
The cabin had folded in on itself, like a house of cards. The heavy wooden cross beams that had supported the roof, fell across the planks and sheets of timber that had made up the walls, and under all this splintered debris was the motionless body of the blond Texan.
Samuel Joseph twirled his revolver on his finger before sliding the weapon back into its holster. Taking a few steps forward, the man waved his hands in front of him as thick, choking dust billowed in the air. The wood creaked and shifted occasionally as the remains of the shack settled and, peering through the dusty cloud, the outlaw could just make out a booted foot sticking out from under the weighty, tangled mess.
"Waal, that's another Tanner off my back!" Joseph chuckled viciously. The man then frowned, as yet another loud bang came from the mountain of broken and twisted wood; beams of buried timber were still breaking under the stress of the load above them and the whole pile looked extremely unsafe. It was unlikely that the man entombed in the ruins had survived. Joseph was certain that his bullet had found its mark and the collapsing building had done him a service by finishing the job.
Turning away from the cabin remains, the outlaw strode over to where Tanner's mare was patiently standing, and grabbed the animal's long lead rein. The horse would come in very useful; he would need an extra mount for the long journey into Texas.
It had been a successful morning thus far, but the next stage of his plan was going to be the trickiest part to pull off. Once mounted on his roan gelding, he tied the mare's rein to the back of his saddle, and then glanced up at the sun. He judged the time to be approaching mid-day, and he was hopeful that Jeb Randall and Ian Martin had managed to track down Chris Larabee. It would take him more than an hour to reach the gunslinger's small-holding but, once there, he was then less than two hours ride from Cummings ranch. Timing was going to be a crucial factor in his scheme, but with Tanner senior now completely out of the picture, he was confident that he would come out victorious.
"This's gotta be the most boring chore I've ever done!" Ian Martin moaned. "An' we're gonna miss all the fun an' games this afternoon, when those Scotch bastards get their comeuppance! Y'know Jeb, the more I ponder on all this the more I think that Mr Joseph don't trust us," the man remarked, glancing at his companion as he spoke.
Jeb Randall tossed away the blade of grass he'd been chewing on and nodded to his partner. "Yeah, I wuz thinkin' th' same thing m'self. We's handled dynee-mite afore an' I reckon we could'a done that job better'n them four rich ranch kids that he's got up at Coyote Pass. They didn't even know how to prime the fuses!"
Martin and Randall had been sent by Samuel Joseph early that morning to keep a close watch on the gunslinger and to follow the man if he started to head out into the open countryside. The pair of troublemakers had not seen their victim at all that morning, but Joseph had told them that the peacekeeper had been riding back and forth across Robert Cummings land during the past week and always returned to his property at the end of each day. After a thorough search of the immediate vicinity had failed to locate the gunslinger, the two men had found a concealed vantage point overlooking Chris Larabee's small plot of land and cabin, and had settled down to wait, hopeful that the man would come home at some point in time. It was a good choice of position to watch for the unsuspecting gunslinger, as the elevated promontory gave the pair a clear view of the surrounding area, including the well-travelled main trail from Four Corners. However, it was now mid-morning, and the men were bored with the inactivity and beginning to think they had been sent on a fool's errand by the Texan.
"Huh! Damned spoilt greenhorns—all four o' 'em! 'Specially that whinin' kid Kehoe and Mr 'Loudmouth' James!" Martin scoffed spitefully. "'My uncle's the richest and most important man in the territory!'" he drawled, imitating convincingly the remark made by the outspoken Mark James, when the six young men had met the day before at the line cabin that Samuel Joseph had been staying in.
"Well at least we ain't gonna be ridin' wit' 'em no more. Once the boss' finished his business at Cummings ranch today we're gonna hole up at Devils Fork, an' then hit the southbound trail by first light tomorrow. Shucks, it'll be a lark to be back in Texas! D'ya 'member when we went to Waco an' I met that lady in O'Shannigans saloon? That gal had melons that were so big an' juicy a man could lose hisself in 'em and die there! Now that's my idea of Heaven!" Randall rolled his eyes expressively, licking his lips at the lascivious memory.
"I r'member! How th' hell could I forget? Jeb, it war three days afore ya came outta that calico cat's room, and ya blew all the cash—mine included—on that pox riddled whore! That ain't gonna happen ag'in. I'm keeping m'money from this job well away from yer greedy mitts!"
"Alright, alright! Still, a thousand dollars apiece is a tidy sum. An' he ain't even wantin' us t'kill a man!" Randall exclaimed in amazement.
"Yeah. Seems a tolerable 'mount of pay jes' fer keepin' watch on Larabee an' then ridin' in t'Texas wit' him an' that other one," Martin remarked thoughtfully. "Y'know, Jeb, I think his dealings wit' Kehoe fer getting' Cummings outta the way ain't as important as this other thing wit' the Texan an' Larabee. I wonder what it's all about?"
"Dunno. From the bit Mr Joseph mentioned, I got t'figgerin' that he needed t'know summat real bad from Tanner, 'though the way he ranted on 'bout Larabee...waal, I've seen men act like that before. That was a vengeful man speaking last night! But that's his business Ian, 'cos we ain't bein' paid t'ask questions. All I'm interested in is the money." The man frowned as he spoke, and then pulled himself upright to lean against a boulder in front of him. "Pass me that eyeglass," he requested of his partner, impatiently jiggling his hand for the small telescope.
"Is it him?" Martin had bobbed his head up briefly before picking up his Winchester rifle.
"M'not sure," Randall murmured distractedly as he squinted through the lens. "There's two hosses, but they're on the old back trail an' can only be goin' to the cabin. One's a black though, so....waal, looks like we got two fer the price of one! If it ain't that fancy talking gambler, Standish! I'd know that flashy red jacket anywhere! I saw 'im playing poker at the saloon in Four Corners and heard that he wuz one o' those seven men. T'other rider's dressed in dark clothes an' he's on the black, so that's gotta be Larabee!"
Ian Martin lovingly stroked the barrel of his rifle. "I bet Mr Joseph'll pay us a bonus if we save him a chore an' bag that bastard fer him now. An' he did say that he wanted to get even wit' them seven hellers from town! Looks like we could whittle them down t'the 'Magnificent Five'! How far away are they?"
"'Bout half a mile, I reckon. They're not far off that small clearing, afore the trail disappears behind the rocks. They make real easy targets 'n' all!" Randall tucked the brass telescope into his belt and reached for his own weapon. "Yeah, the man might 'preciate our talents if we show him we can do this chore. He wants that bastard Larabee dead anyhow, and wit' this beauty in m'hands, I cain't miss!" he exclaimed, as he hefted the weighty rifle in his arms. The Sharps 'Old Reliable' was his prized possession and he was a competent user of the .50 calibre, single shot rifle.
Jeb Randall had joined the Union Army at fifteen, during the final year of the War Between the States, and due to his age, size and skill with a rifle he had been trained as an Army sharpshooter. Following the end of the conflict, he had then hunted buffalo on the Texas Plains before the dwindling herds had forced him into partnership with his childhood friend, Ian Martin. The pair had been riding together for nearly five years now, drifting from job to job, whilst just managing to skirt around the law. But recent times had been lean for the two young men, and after failing to secure honest work, they had turned to cattle rustling and robbery. The duo were teetering on the edge of a slippery downward slope with the Devil yanking at one leg, and it was only a matter of time before they turned to more serious crime. In fact, it was only due to the pair meeting up with Samuel Joseph in Eagle Bend and being offered this well paid, relatively risk-free chore that had made them dismiss the idea of robbing the bank in that town.
Martin shifted his Winchester into position, peering carefully along the barrel as he got the red jacketed rider in his sights. The '73 model rifle was his latest piece of booty, stolen off of a lone ranch-hand the pair had accosted and robbed on the trail, and the outlaw had had little time to practice with the new weapon. Not that he doubted his own skill with a rifle, but he was aware that his partner was a better than average shot particularly with the 'Old Reliable'. "We's runnin' outta time, Jeb. D'ya want t'go for this or not?" he enquired of his companion, who was studying his intended victim through the Sharps eyepiece.
"Yep. We may not get a better chance. I've got a clean line on Larabee now, so whatever ya do, don't screw up the shot on Standish. It's gotta be both or neither! Mr Joseph won't be best pleased if ya miss an' we have a vengeance seeking witness on our tail! Then, once they've bin dealt wit', we can head on over to Coyote Pass and surprise the boss."
There was silence as the two concentrated on making their respective shots; both men knew they wouldn't have any room for error. If either Chris Larabee or Ezra Standish survived this ambush, the two young men would spend the rest of their lives looking over their shoulders. Watching his partner out of the corner of his eye, Ian Martin put his finger on the Winchester's trigger as he patiently waited for the Sharps to fire.
The peace and tranquillity of the countryside was broken as the dull, heavy boom of Jeb Randall's rifle echoed around the small canyon, and a few seconds later the lighter crack of the Winchester rang out, causing a flock of startled birds to take flight.
As the smoke cleared, the two men peered over the top of the rocks, exchanging satisfied smiles at what they saw. The two riders lay sprawled on the ground, a few yards from one another, but the only sign of movement was from the two horses that had strayed away from the crumpled bodies.
Feeding another cartridge into his weapon's bullet chamber, Randall gave an irritated grunt as the magazine jammed. "Fucking hell! Ian, we need t'make sure them hosses don't head back t'town. Take the pair of 'em down. Now, for gawds sake!" he yelled at his partner.
Swinging the Winchester up once again, Ian Martin squinted along the barrel and hurriedly squeezed off a shot at the black horse. The animal sunk down onto its forelegs as the bullet drove into its chest but, as the man rapidly worked the lever for a second shot, Ezra Standish' spooked gelding galloped off. Firing two shots in quick succession, Martin tried to hit the fast moving horse.
"Shit! I might'a caught him, but he's gone b'hind the rocks now! Should we go after him, Jeb?"
Randall peered down at the two motionless bodies and the black horse that was now lying on its side. Looking along the visible town trail, he couldn't see any sign of the chestnut mount. "Nah! If ya nicked 'im he ain't gonna be stoppin' anytime soon. Mebbe a mountain lion or two will pick up the scent of blood, which'll do us a favour. C'mon, them two are cashed, so we'd better meet up wit' Mr Joseph an' tell 'im the good news."
Without a backward glance at their victims, the two men strolled over to their waiting horses. They felt no remorse at taking the lives of two innocent men; in fact, within the criminal fraternity, their reputations as outlaws and gunmen would probably be enhanced once word got around that they had taken down the infamous Chris Larabee. It was a job well done, in their opinion.
"Hey, Chris! S'good to see you, pard!" Buck waved to his oldest friend before signalling to Inez for another round of drinks.
Chris Larabee strolled across to join Buck, JD, Josiah and Nathan at their table in the saloon, giving his friends a brief nod in greeting as he got closer. It was approaching noon, and he'd spent the past few days following Will Tanner as the Cummings' security boss travelled around the range and went about his everyday work and business. Nothing the man did was remotely unusual, and the gunslinger was feeling a little deflated by the normality and uneventful circumstances of the blond Texan's movements; Chris was a worried man and beginning to think that his instincts had let him down on this one occasion.
The previous day the gunslinger had tracked after Tanner and several Cummings' hands, as they had ridden out to start rebuilding the line cabin that had been burnt down but, after a tedious afternoon watching the men, he'd decided to stay in the area to see if anyone else turned up. The peacekeeper was convinced that Kehoe, James and Royal hadn't given up on the idea of driving out the Scottish rancher, so even if his surveillance of Tanner had been fruitless, at least he could keep watch to see if any other person arrived acting suspiciously. That evening, Chris had camped close to the Chaipas River, which was swollen and fast running, but after a cold, damp and thoroughly miserable night out on the open range with nothing to show for his efforts, the black dressed peacekeeper had decided to head back to town for a much-needed bath and a hot meal.
Pushing away his troubled contemplations, Chris pulled a cheroot from his pocket as he sat down with his colleagues.
The five peacekeepers were silent while Inez distributed more beers, but once the Mexican girl was out of earshot, Buck Wilmington leaned back in his chair and gazed at the new arrival.
"You don't look that happy, pard," the ladies' man remarked.
Chris lit his cheroot, drawing on the weed for a few minutes before answering. "According to you Buck, I never do!"
"Yeah, that's true! C'mon, you tell us what you've been up to and then we'll tell you our good news." The ladies' man had a smug look on his features and, as he fidgeted on his seat, the gunslinger realised his friend was itching to impart some momentous information.
"You're acting like a cat that's had a bird, pard! I'll make mine brief, 'cos I can see you're just dying to tell me summat!" Chris paused to take several gulps of his foaming beer.
"So, did you discover anything about Tanner?"
"Jeez Buck! Gimme a chance, will you?" the gunslinger sighed in exasperation.
"Alright, alright! Keep your shirt on, Chris! It's just that we ain't heard from you for a while and wondered what you'd managed to find out." Buck cocked his head to one side, giving his oldest friend a wide, disarming smile.
"Nothing," Chris said flatly.
"Nothing!" Surprise tinged the voices of Buck, JD and Nathan, as they repeated the word. Josiah remained silent, and merely leaned forward, elbows on the table as he made a steeple of his fingers in front of him. His craggy features were pensive as he considered his colleague's curt statement.
"Nope. I've kept on his tail for the past few days and he's not put a foot outta line. Tanner's been so clean the man almost shimmers!"
"So he ain't met or spoken to anyone other than his work colleagues? Nor done anything else suspicious-looking?" Nathan asked, frowning in confusion.
Chris shook his head. "'Fraid not!"
"D'you think he might have spotted you following him, Chris?" JD immediately regretted asking the question when he saw the withering look that the gunslinger directed at him.
"I reckon Chris is a bit more adept than that, kid!" Buck nudged the sheriff, grinning at the dismayed expression on JD's face.
The younger man gulped. "Uhh...I didn't mean it like that! Sorry, Chris. It's just that I know how clever Will Tanner is when it comes to the open countryside. Howard said that it was Will who'd done most of the tracking when they caught that mountain lion—and, this is the real scary bit—he made the shot to take that cat down from more than a hundred yards! And from the back of a fast moving horse! Howard reckons he's never seen anyone make such a difficult hit and be bang on target!"
"That figures!" Chris grunted. Vin had told the gunslinger what an excellent marksman his grandfather had been, a trait that the old man had obviously passed on to his grandson. So it followed that Will Tanner would have similar skills; Chris' grudging agreement to JD's comment was probably the closest the gunslinger would come to openly admitting a familial connection between the two Texans.
Josiah relaxed back in his chair as he addressed his four friends. "We're no further forward then. Fortunately, things have been relatively quiet in town for a few days, 'though I believe that's only due to our ranching friends being involved in the first batch of calving. So I take it we'll just carry on as we are, until we get the proof we need?"
Chris nodded. "Unless of course, anyone else has a different idea."
There were general shakes of the head and mumbled 'no's' at the gunslinger's remark; the peacekeepers could only continue with the original plan and hope they got a successful result very soon.
"Well, you ain't gonna believe what our news is then, pard!" The ladies' man drummed his hands on the table to get Chris' full attention.
"Ezra and Fiona are getting married?"
"Who the hell told you? Or did you just make a lucky guess? It's not common knowledge, 'cos Mary ain't even put a notice in her newspaper yet!" Buck exclaimed.
"I ain't blind, Buck. I'm just surprised he took so long about it!" Chris grinned, savouring the astonished look on his oldest friend's face.
"You thought he'd ask her before this?" the ladies' man asked in amazement.
The gunslinger shrugged. "It was just a feeling I had. So, where's the happy groom-to-be at the moment?"
"Brother Standish rode out to Robert's yesterday morning. I believe he was going to stay for a few days to discuss the arrangements for the engagement party—the forgathering that the Cummings' were planning has now turned into a double celebration! Ezra has already sent word to his mother and I heard that the lovely Mrs Standish is due to arrive on next Wednesday's stage, and that she'll be staying until after the nuptials take place." Josiah leaned back in his chair, grinning widely as he imparted this information.
Chris let out a quiet, anguished groan. That was all they needed! He hoped that the arrival of the gambler's mother didn't herald another new wave of problems for the peacekeepers, as trouble—with a capital T—invariably trailed around after the lady in question. The gunslinger recalled only too clearly how many times in the past Maude Standish had breezed into Four Corners, usually leaving chaos and upheaval in her wake before departing town under a cloak of mystery and intrigue. "Things are sure gonna be lively 'round here until the big day, huh?" the gunslinger finally stated with a crooked grin.
"D'you reckon this marriage is on the level then?" the moustached peacekeeper wanted to know.
The gunslinger's grin quickly disappeared. Chris stared at the ladies' man, a frown settling itself on his features as he silently regarded Buck. "I take it you think that Ezra's only after getting his hands on the lady's money," he said after a while.
"The thought had crossed my mind," Buck admitted sheepishly. "And I dare say I won't be the only one thinking that! You know what he's like, Chris. There ain't no-one who can twist a situation to his own advantage like that conman can—and he ain't got too many scruples about using folk to turn an easy profit!"
"The phrase yer looking for Buck is, 'get rich quick'! And marryin' a wealthy an' titled lady has got t'be the easiest money Ezra's ever earned! I gotta say, I have m'own doubts 'bout his true feelings for Miz Fiona, 'cos it all jes' seems a little bit hasty." Nathan glanced over to where Inez was busily polishing glasses. He'd often wondered what type of relationship the gambler had achieved with the beautiful and quick-witted Mexican girl, as the pair had always struck him as having much in common.
"Now don't you think that you're being a bit judgmental, Nathan?" Josiah put in quietly.
"Waal Josiah, mebbe I am, but I r'member only too well how Ezra was when Lydia an' her gals came t'town. It r'minded me of a cattle sale—but with people instead of cows! An' I thought slavery had bin abolished! He didn't have any scruples 'bout tryin' t'make money outta their problems an' he's done the same thing over and over again," Nathan retorted.
"I agree that on the surface he does appear to be the most selfish and money grabbing man God put on the Earth, but I feel sure that this is totally different. Miss Cummings may be rich, but even if she'd turned up in town, penniless and dressed in sackcloth and ashes, then I'm certain that Brother Standish would still have been reaching this very juncture. We should rejoice that our friend has been so wondrously blessed—and start planning the celebrations for his last days of bachelorhood!" The ex-preacher grinned widely as he thought of the prospective night of partying—at the Southerner's expense of course!
"Hey—that's right! A stag night! Now that's my kinda party! Course, we'll have to organise some lively entertainment, so that we give the condemned man a proper farewell to his final days of freedom! And fellas—I do mean 'entertainment' of the female kind!" There was a lecherous look on the ladies' man face as spoke that made Chris Larabee shake his head in bemusement.
"Life's just one big social whirl for you, ain't it Buck? Stag night? Sounds more like a Buck's night!" The gunslinger grinned at his deliberate play on words.
"Ha-ha. That's a funny one, Chris! I nearly split m'sides laughing! Not!" Buck drawled, rolling his eyes sarcastically. "Hell, I remember your last night as a single man, pard. Whooee! I'm telling you boys, that was a real humdinger of a drinking session! Why, Chris was so drunk he climbed all the way up..."
"Okay, Buck!" Chris interrupted his friend. Once Buck got going it would be hard to stop him and the gunslinger had no desire to talk about his past in such an open and public place.
At that moment the batwing doors flew open and a young boy of about ten dashed into the saloon, skidding to a halt as he scanned around the room. Finally his gaze settled on the five peacekeepers and, pulling a scrap of paper from his vest pocket, he immediately trotted over to the table.
"Mr Sanchez! Mr Sanchez! M'pa told me to deliver this telegram straight t'ya, 'cos it's marked urgent," the youngster lisped as he thrust a crumpled note into Josiah's hand.
The ex-preacher smiled as he flipped a small coin to the boy. "Thank you, son. Tell your pa I'm obliged to him."
Clasping the money tightly in his hand, the youngster gave the peacekeeper a toothy grin. "Gee! Thanks mister!" With a hasty wave, the boy ran out, eager to spend his reward on some of the new candy in Virgil Watson's store.
Josiah lounged back in his chair while he studied the note. A frown creased his craggy features and he bit at his lower lip, but he stayed silent and didn't even notice the puzzled looks his friends were casting his way.
"Bad news, Josiah?"
The ex-preacher's head shot up at Nathan's concerned query. "Not at all, brother. But duty calls me elsewhere for the time being, so I'll see you gentlemen later." Josiah swigged down the remainder of his beer and then got to his feet, stowing the telegram safely into his shirt pocket as he left the saloon.
The healer sipped his drink thoughtfully as he watched the man leave. Although Nathan admitted he felt a close kinship for all of his peacekeeping colleagues, he had known Josiah the longest and the two firm friends seemed to be linked on a greater moral and esoteric level. Both men were from devoutly religious backgrounds, with their respective fathers the mainstay of their Christian beliefs, and it was these early teachings that gave them such compassion in their chosen fields of expertise.
The pair had a gift for caring for people, but their skills had branched in different directions; Nathan's healing abilities gave succour for ailments to the body, whereas Josiah's wisdom and wide-ranging experience of life had endowed him with a talent that helped him to heal a wounded soul or mind. Now as the former slave stared at the still swinging saloon doors, he felt sure that the ex-preacher was deliberately concealing something from his friends. And he was convinced that the other's unusual reticence was connected to the sudden appearance of Vin Tanner's father.
Chris Larabee gazed at the pre-occupied healer, sensing the bafflement in the man. He'd also caught the slight tension in Josiah's manner, but he made no comment. The gunslinger was probably the most uncommunicative of the seven peacekeepers, and he respected anyone else's privacy, readily accepting their need for keeping their own counsel. If and when Josiah Sanchez had something that he wanted to share, then his friends would soon learn what was causing his uncharacteristic behaviour.
"That's the second telegram Josiah's had in two days," JD blurted out, glancing at Buck meaningfully. "An' Buck said that he's been in an' out o' Miz Travis' office as well. D'ya reckon he's planning t'make a trip or summat?" the sheriff asked curiously.
"I don't rightly know that it's any of our business, JD. Josiah ain't gotta answer t'us 'bout what he's a'doin'," Nathan chided the youngest peacekeeper.
"JD ain't just being nosy, are you kid? But Josiah has been acting kinda strange lately and he was real secretive and abrupt when we spoke to him yesterday. We were concerned that he might have need of some help or advice," Buck said in JD's defence.
"And you're the perfect man for giving good advice, ain't you pard?" Chris said dryly.
"Reckon I'm just as good as anyone else. I prefer to meet my problems head on and come right out with what I want to say! And talking of which—have you been to see Vin yet?"
"Nope."
Buck's face screwed up into a disgusted scowl and he rolled his eyes in frustration. "Well, are you going to go visit him, or do ya intend to let things carry on like this? He ain't mentioned anything 'bout all of this, but I know he wants to speak t'ya."
Chris pursed his lips, avoiding eye contact with his three friends as he considered the ladies' man's question. Suddenly, the hairs on the back of his neck prickled and the black dressed peacekeeper sat up straighter in his chair as he peered through the saloon's smoke-blackened window.
"Shit!" The gunslinger leapt to his feet as the expletive came out, and he strode towards the saloon door.
The three other peacekeepers had been sitting with their backs towards the front of the building and failed to see what had caused the gunslinger's consternation. The men exchanged puzzled looks, but quickly realising that something was wrong, they hurried outside after Chris Larabee. As Buck, Nathan and JD got onto the sidewalk, they immediately saw the reason for their friend's alarm.
A horse was loping back and forth along the town's main street, snorting and rolling its eyes as it attempted to get away. Several men had spotted the rider-less mount and had spread themselves across the thoroughfare at each end of the block, effectively trapping the nervous animal. But the most worrying aspect of this spectacle was the identity of the sweat-lathered animal. There was no mistaking Ezra Standish' chestnut gelding.
"Whoa! Easy boy! Steady!" Chris spoke in a soothing tone to the agitated horse that had finally come to a stop by a water trough.
Stealthily creeping up to the frightened gelding, the gunslinger continued to talk in a quiet voice as he grasped the loose reins and started to check the horse for injury. With a frown, Chris put his finger to the flap of the saddle. "Blood, Nathan!" Glancing around at his worried colleagues, the man started to issue orders. "Buck, JD, I want you to go ready our hosses and saddle up a replacement for Ezra. Here," Chris handed the reins over to the ladies' man as he spoke, "take him with you and ask Tiny to make sure he ain't hurt. I'll go an' find Josiah and then pick up some extra rifle shells from the jail-house. Meet us back at the clinic as soon as you can."
"C'mon kid, let's get going." Buck nudged JD, who was staring open-mouthed at the dark blood stains on both the saddle and the gelding's coat.
"Huh? Oh! Yeah...sorry, Buck! D'you think Ezra's been shot? That's a helluva lot of blood on his horse! What could've happened to him? D'you think there's been trouble out at the Cummings'? I hope Vin's not been injur...!"
"JD!" The tall peacekeeper's quiet, but emphatic warning stopped the sheriff's speculative questions.
Following the ladies' man's concerned gaze, JD saw the haunted look on their leader's face. Obviously the black dressed man was thinking along similar lines.
"I'm on m'way," JD mumbled and he started to follow his older friend to the livery stable as Chris and Nathan also hurried off.
It didn't take long for the men to get ready and ten minutes later the citizens of Four Corners were treated to the spectacle of five grim-faced peacekeepers racing out of town.
The resounding clang of metal hitting metal caught Vin Tanner's attention as he came out of Robert Cummings' ranch house and, after a quick look around the deserted front yard, he decided to go and see who was working in the stable block.
It was early afternoon and, after being closeted inside for most of the morning, the tracker was relieved to finally be out in the fresh air. The previous evening's family dinner had turned into a celebratory affair, with Fiona and Ezra being enthusiastically welcomed into the Cummings' clan as a newly betrothed couple. Once the meal had been cleared away, the senior members of the workforce had been invited into the house for drinks to toast the happy pair, and the merry gathering had lasted well into the early hours of the morning. Vin had also joined in with the revelry but, as a result of the uncustomary late night, the tracker had slept in later than usual. After sharing a delayed but leisurely breakfast with the slightly hung-over Southerner, the long-haired peacekeeper had then been ushered back into his bedroom by Andrew MacIntyre.
The doctor had proceeded to give the tracker a thorough examination before informing his patient that he was going to remove all the stitches from the surgical incision. This had been a bolt out of the blue for Vin, but he stoically bore the physician's ministrations as MacIntyre finished the treatment by smearing some of Nathan's herbal ointment over the still tender scar. Pleased with the Texan's general health and speedy recovery, the doctor had finally released the man from his medical supervision, although he advised the peacekeeper to take things slowly for the next week. Vin knew it would be several days before he was fit enough to ride a horse, but after such a long period of confinement he was delighted to be free from the meticulous physician's strict care.
Having reached the main stable block, Vin gave a chuckle as the hammering abruptly ended and a yelp of pain rang out, followed by a string of loud curses.
"Hey, Howard! Yer cussin' worse than a Yankee drover who's all liquored up!"
The tracker had entered the building and once his eyes had adjusted to the dimness, he smiled when he saw the blond ghillie bent over and sucking on his injured thumb. A hammer and a brand new horseshoe lay in the straw and Will Tanner's dun mare stood patiently waiting for the man to finish the job of cold shoeing.
"Ach, 'tis the fault o' this fidgety lass, Vin! She jes' willna keep still! This wee chore should'a took me no more than thrice blinks o' m'eye, but now I've hit me flamin' thumb, an' lost the bloody nail in the straw as well!" Fraser exclaimed in frustration as he straightened up again and stretched his back.
Poking around in the straw with his boot, the tracker tried to find the elusive horseshoe nail. Bending down as his toe made contact with an unyielding lump, Vin raked around the floor until he'd located the small piece of metal.
"Here ya go," the Texan said as he handed over the nail. "D'ya want me to hold her bridle, while ya finish wit' that shoe?"
Fraser gave the other a grateful nod. "Aye, if ye have the time, that'll be great!"
"I got nuthin' but time, Howard!"
"No, I 'spect not," the ghillie murmured distractedly, as he captured the mare's leg in between his thighs and began to line up the new shoe once again. With the tracker keeping the horse calm and still, it didn't take long for Fraser to complete the job, and as he carefully put the horse's leg down he gestured for Vin to walk the animal around the large stall so that he could make sure the shoe was fitting correctly.
"That's much better! Thanks fer yer help, man. Without any o' th' other lads around to lend a hand, I'd've still bin fiddlin' wit' that at supper time!"
"Have ya got t'do the rest o' 'em?" the tracker enquired, glancing around the stalls. There were only four horses in the stable at present, one of which was Vin's black gelding. The arrival of the peacekeeper had made the restless animal stamp around in the stall excitedly and, thrusting his head over the door, the horse was now desperately trying to nip at the tracker's jacket
"Nay! I noticed her limping as I went in t'saddle up me auld Barney boy! She must'a threw that shoe after I turned 'em out, 'cos I always do m'checks first thing. Will's had t'use one of the other rides today," Fraser explained. The ghillie then guffawed with laughter as the black gelding managed to stretch out and snatch the tracker's hat off of his head. "He's full o' springs an' in a reet wicked mood today, Vin!" he chuckled, as he quickly took the mare's rein from the hastily ducking peacekeeper.
"He'll be in Miz Lizzie's biggest pot, 'appen he keeps on like this! Let it go, ya orn'ry, long-eared, hawg-stupid mule!" The Texan tugged on the hat, eventually prising it away from the horse's tightly clamped teeth.
Fraser had unclipped the rein from the mare's bridle and then turned her out into the small corral leading from the building. Crossing to the black's stall, the Scot's hand dipped into his pocket, bringing out a quarter of an apple which he offered to the snuffling horse. "Yer jus' a wee bit bored, aren't ye lad? An' t'isn't like ye have the necessary equipment to go a'courtin' one o' those bonnie lasses in yonder corral! Oh-oh! Someone's getting all green eyed! Here ye go, boy. See, I didna forget ye!" Fraser's dappled grey gelding was in the stall adjacent to Vin's mount, and had poked his head over the door as the peacekeeper's horse munched on the fruit. The grey snorted, butting at the ghillies shoulder before daintily accepting the second chunk of apple the man held out.
The tracker smiled indulgently as his gelding dribbled out chewed up apple bits and juice. "He ain't the only one bored wit' bein' cooped up! An' it's gonna be like breakin' 'im all over, when I finally climb on him ag'in!" the Texan exclaimed ruefully.
"Weel, if ye hav'na got any objection, I could ride him oot fer ye—jus' t'let him chase away the cobwebs!"
"I ain't gotta problem wit' that, Howard. Ain't sure how that orn'ry critter would take it though. He don't take kindly to bein' ridden by a stranger!"
"Och, we're good friends now, aren't we laddie? He's a fey beastie, an' he willna bite the hand that feeds him!" The ghillie reached over and patted the black gelding's neck as he spoke.
"Dammit! That hoss is makin' me out t'be a liar. I allus warn folks away from 'im, 'cos he can turn faster then a jackrabbit bein' chased by a fox!"
Howard Fraser chuckled at the disbelieving look on the other man's face and gave a casual shrug. "I ken what yer sayin, mon. He's been snappin' at an' bullyin' everyone all the while ye've been oot here, Vin. He don't care who he has a go at neither! Why, jus' t'other day he took a lump out o'..."
The tracker never did find out who his bad-tempered horse had bitten, as the man's remark was cut off by the sound of several rapidly approaching horses.
Vin and Fraser had both drawn their weapons and were sidling over to the stable's main entrance to see who was making such a dramatic arrival. The tracker immediately lowered his Winchester when he saw the riders and, striding out into the yard, he smiled broadly as he held up a hand in greeting.
"Howdy, fellas!"
"Vin!" Chris Larabee's relief at finding his friend safe and unharmed was plainly evident but, as he stared at the Texan, his face run the gamut of various emotions; surprise, concern and confusion all competed for supremacy. At least Vin was safe, but what had become of Ezra?
The black dressed peacekeeper slid from his horse, glancing around the empty yard before giving the ghillie a brief nod of acknowledgement.
It was clear that something was wrong and the smile quickly died from Vin's lips. The tracker looked at the grim-faced men still mounted, noticing the rider-less horse led by JD Dunne. Walking up to the gunslinger he extended his right hand. "What's 'appened, Chris?" he asked, as the pair clasped each other's forearms in a tight, welcoming grip.
"Ezra's horse came back t'town alone. An' there was blood on his saddle."
"Bluidy hell!" The ghillie had followed Vin out of the building and the muttered oath tumbled from his lips as he heard this worrying news. "He an' Lady Fiona went out a few hours back—they were planning on going up to Springfield Plains," the Scotsman explained to the men.
"That ain't far from my place." Chris frowned, as his mind mapped out the likely route the couple would have taken from the Cummings' ranch.
"We need t'start lookin' in that area then. Chris, if either of 'em are injured and wit' Ezra afoot, they could be in real trouble," Nathan put in unnecessarily. The former slave then twisted around in his saddle as he heard the ranch house door open.
"Well, this is a most pleasant surprise!" Andrew MacIntyre exclaimed breezily. The man had no idea about the developing crisis and came down the porch steps, smiling in greeting to the five peacekeepers. Walking just behind the doctor was a puzzled-looking Bruce Soames who, on seeing the horrified look on his fellow countryman's face and the grim features of the men from Four Corners, put a restraining hand on the physician's shoulder.
"This isnae a social call, doctor! What brings ye out here, Chris?" the steward enquired apprehensively.
Soames listened intently as the gunslinger quickly related everything he knew, and he nodded in agreement as Chris detailed the few available men at the ranch into two small groups for the search. As he finished speaking, the fair-haired peacekeeper glanced at the tracker, who had methodically checked the bullet chamber of his sawn-off Winchester before fastening the ties on his buckskin jacket.
It hadn't escaped Vin's notice that his friend had excluded him from the search party, but he was determined to ride with his friends. "I'll saddle up," he grunted, already turning towards the stable block.
"No! Vin, you're not strong enough to ride as yet!" MacIntyre's eyes had widened in alarm on hearing the tracker's declaration, and he caught hold of the younger man's arm as he spoke.
"I'm going, doc! He's m'friend an' I don't turn m'back on a pard!" Vin growled, angrily shaking off the doctor's hand.
"Chris, you must stop him! He could do himself irreparable harm if he insists on riding at this stage in his recovery. I only removed the stitches this morning and I know that he's not fit enough to cope with the demanding speeds that you will be travelling at. Not only that, if he does injure himself internally, then any additional damage to his innards may be beyond my abilities to repair." The physician had turned to the black dressed peacekeeper, making his concerned appeal to the other man as Vin headed purposefully for the stables.
The gunslinger could hear the anxiety in the man's voice and, as he looked up at the gravely nodding Nathan Jackson, he could tell that the doctor wasn't exaggerating the risk to the Texan's health. Chris knew that he was probably the only person who could reason with Vin, so he had to try and make the tracker see the personal danger.
"Hit the trail, fellas. I'll catch up with you," Chris ordered tersely.
Howard Fraser had been readying his own and Bruce Soames horse and, as the gunslinger went after Vin Tanner, the ghillie led the two animals out into the yard. Within a few minutes the front of the property was completely deserted; Andrew MacIntyre had gone back inside the house to inform Abigail Cummings and Lizzie Fielding of what had occurred and Fraser had accompanied the four peacekeepers. Soames had galloped off in the opposite direction, having made the decision to ride out to Coyote Pass to inform Robert and John Cummings of the problem. With all the Cummings' hands working either with their boss or out on the range, it only left the doctor at the ranch with the two women and the Fielding twins.
Chris had tethered his black to the hitching post close to the stable before entering the dim interior. The tracker had already buckled his horse's bridle into place and the Texan was standing beside the tack burro, adjusting the stirrup straps on his saddle, but he looked up as a shadowy figure came towards him.
"I know what yer gonna say, Chris, but I gotta do this," Vin drawled as he hefted the saddle from the stand.
The gunslinger leaned against the wall, his eyes narrowing as the other man slowly made his way back into the stall with the cumbersome saddle. "So you feel comfortable leaving the doc, womenfolk and a couple of kids alone in the house?" Chris asked.
Vin let out an exasperated sigh, shifting his heavy burden slightly as he stared at his friend. "That wasn't my call, Chris. Andrew'll be here an' he can handle a rifle jes' fine. Hell, I wouldn't put it past Miz Lizzie t'get in the thick o' things 'n' all, 'cos I ain't seen a more determined gal when it comes to protectin' her boys! 'Sides, what makes ya think summat's gonna happen here?" the tracker wanted to know.
"Vin, we don't know whether this is part of a plan cooked up by Kehoe. It just makes sense to have another man—someone with fighting savvy—to stick..." Chris' comments were cut off as the gunslinger darted forward to catch the saddle slipping out of the other's arms. "Dammit, Vin! You've been laid up sick for more than two weeks and your stamina ain't what it was! How the hell do you think you'll manage a hard ride, when you can't even lift a saddle?"
"Yer goin' soft in yer old age, Chris! 'Cos yer flappin' wuss 'n' the doc or Nathan! Gimme that,"—Vin snatched the saddle off of his friend—"an' jes' get outta m'way. I'm going—an' it ain't open t'discussion!"
Chris pursed his lips in frustration as he watched the Texan throw the saddle on his black gelding. The tracker was a stubborn, headstrong man, but the gunslinger could sympathise with his friend and acknowledged that he himself would probably say the same if the positions were reversed. Seeing that the other wasn't going to be dissuaded from joining in with the search, the black dressed man spun on his heel and strode outside with an annoyed harrumph.
Vin's horse had whinnied and stamped excitably as the saddle hit its back, making it difficult for the tracker to fasten the girth; the animal was full of energy after such an extended period of inactivity and the peacekeeper muttered a heartfelt curse as his mount began twisting around in the stall.
"Stop that ya damned lump o' crow bait!" Vin scolded his horse, glancing through the main door as Chris Larabee disappeared from his line of sight. "C'mon boy, this ain't the time t'be downright orn'ry, 'cos Ezra an' the lady need..."
A furtive movement out of the corner of his eye made the tracker turn towards the rear of the stable and, as a shadowy figure darted out of the gloom, Vin's hand stabbed down to his gun butt.
"Chr...!" A muscular arm suddenly looped around the tracker's chest, pinning his limbs by his side and, simultaneously, a cloth was clamped over the Texan's nose and mouth, cutting off the warning cry.
Vin immediately kicked backwards at his assailant, but the other had anticipated the move and began hauling the peacekeeper down and away from the startled gelding. It was becoming harder to draw breath but, as the tracker fought like a man possessed, he felt his legs go from under him, his full weight now being supported against his attacker's chest. A sweet, sickly aroma assaulted Vin's nostrils and he felt like he was swimming through thick molasses, but he couldn't shake his head away from the ether-soaked material, nor call out for help. Despite the dizziness that was nibbling at his consciousness, he continued to struggle against the unknown foe, although he knew that the threatening blackness would soon claim him.
"Got ya, y'sonofabitch!" Samuel Joseph stated smugly, releasing the limp body as the peacekeeper finally collapsed in a tangled pile onto the floor. Bending over the unconscious man, the Texan kept the cloth pressed to Vin's face for another minute or two, allowing the drug to work to its full potential. There were a lot of miles to cover before sundown and he didn't want a prisoner who was alert or able to make an escape attempt. Finally satisfied that the tracker was no longer a threat, he dispassionately rolled his victim onto his back, and then disarmed the man, tossing the sawn-off Winchester into a pile of hay. It had been easier than he thought it would be and all he had to contend with now was the black dressed peacekeeper.
The stocky outlaw had eventually made contact with his two helpers thirty minutes ride from Chris Larabee's small-holding, and he'd been incensed to be told that the pair had gone against his orders by bushwhacking the gunslinger. The furious Texan had gone white with anger and, unhooking a bull-whip from his horse's saddle it had taken him nearly five minutes to control the urge to beat the two men for their disobedience. Practicality had prevailed in the end—he needed the extra hands for the time being.
Ian Martin and Jeb Randall were in no doubt that their employer would have whipped them to within an inch of their lives for making the mistake and, still smarting from the tongue lashing that Joseph had given them, the youngsters were now keen to make amends.
"That wuz too easy, Mr Joseph! Y'sure made good use o' that ether!" Martin crowed delightedly.
"Keep mum, ya hawg-stupid bastard! And move him"—the outlaw kicked the supine Texan—"over to the back door an' outta sight, while I figure out how t'get Larabee."
The three men had been watching Robert Cummings property for almost an hour, hidden from sight behind the bunkhouse, as they patiently waited for Vin Tanner to make an appearance. When the long-haired peacekeeper had finally ventured outside, Joseph had then been dismayed to witness the fast approach of five riders. The anger and frustration that had bubbled up on seeing more men arrive on the scene had swiftly been replaced by exultation when the Texan recognised Chris Larabee with the group. Evidently his bumbling cohorts had shot the wrong man earlier that day—a theory confirmed when he'd heard the shocked comments made by the worried ghillie. More by luck than judgement, the misplaced actions of the two owl hoots had given Joseph a clear edge and it appeared that he would have no problems in seizing his prey. On seeing the majority of the men gallop off after their brief discussion, the three interlopers had sneaked into the main stable block through the unlatched back door and concealed themselves in an empty stall.
Samuel Joseph couldn't believe how simple it had been to use the drug on the unsuspecting tracker, but the gunslinger posed a greater challenge. Having heard some of what had been said between the peacekeepers and the Cummings' men, the outlaw was aware that Chris Larabee was waiting for his friend to join him before leaving to search for the missing couple. He didn't want to alert anyone in the house to what was occurring, so Joseph thought his best chance of dealing with the gunslinger was to somehow lure the man back into the stable. Gesturing to the other two men, he pointed to the low-slung supporting rafters of the roof. "Git up to those beams and sit still an' quiet 'til I've got Larabee in here. When he's right under ya, then ya can jump 'im! I figure even ya pair of idjuts can handle that," the outlaw remarked scathingly.
As Martin and Randall reluctantly obeyed their boss, Joseph looked at the tracker's restlessly pacing gelding and, casually entering the horse's stall, he smiled as the seeds of an idea began to grow in his mind. The man had been listening to the animated conversation between the two peacekeepers and now knew that the Texan had been seriously ill whilst at the Cummings ranch and had only recently got back on his feet—and that was a physical frailty that Joseph could use to his advantage. He was certain that Chris Larabee would come back inside to investigate if he suspected the tracker was having trouble dealing with his cantankerous horse.
Taking off his bandana, Joseph twirled the large square of cotton around his head before flicking it towards the black's face. The horse gave a loud, furious squeal, its front legs lifting a little, causing the unfastened saddle to slip over its rump and crash to the floor. Giving a satisfied grin as the gelding snorted and stamped angrily, the Texan hastily backed out of the stable and bolted the door.
Chris had just finished refilling his canteen from the main well at the side of the ranch house when he heard the horse's angry whinny ring out followed by a muffled thud. Shaking his head in mute resignation, he strode towards his own mount, hooking the water carrier onto his saddle before heading back into the stable. The gunslinger was beginning to get frustrated with the delay and silently cursed his obstinate and fiercely independent friend. Entering the dark building, Chris frowned in puzzlement when he saw the tracker's horse, much calmer now, in his stall but found no sign of Vin Tanner. A sudden rustle above his head alerted the peacekeeper but, before he had a chance to react, a flailing body ploughed painfully into the top of his shoulders and back. Air whooshed out of Chris' lungs from the force of the assault and the gunslinger fell headlong into the straw, sprawling helplessly under the weight of the man who had now straddled his back.
Ian Martin had jumped the ten feet or so from the huge wooden cross-beam, landing close to their victim and instinctively going into a roll to break his descent. As he scrambled to his feet he witnessed the effectiveness of his partner's synchronous attack. Jeb Randall, the larger and stockier of the pair, had been right on target after his own downward leap and the winded gunslinger was now pinned to the ground, face down and spread-eagled beneath the young outlaw's well-muscled frame.
Chris had been momentarily stunned by the unexpected ambush but, he quickly recovered from the shock and began to fight off his attacker. Reaching his revolver would be difficult as the man on top of him had pushed his full upper body weight onto the gunslinger's shoulder, neck and arms, making any movement of his torso virtually impossible. However, the peacekeeper's legs were unrestrained and, tensing his thigh muscles a little, Chris kicked backwards and up with his feet in an effort to dislodge his assailant.
"Help me, Ian!" Randall screamed at his friend, as the peacekeeper's boots made painful contact with his back.
Martin glanced over at Samuel Joseph, who was busily occupied with pouring fresh ether onto the cloth, and giving an angry snarl as his partner was flipped off of the gunslinger, he drew back his right foot and viciously kicked the black dressed man in the ribs.
Pain exploded through Chris' body and he gasped in agony as he felt bones crack under the heavy blow. Red and black dots danced before his eyes but still he surged upwards, his hat falling from his head, whilst his hand clawed for the butt of his gun. Suddenly, the gunslinger was knocked completely off balance as a nearly full sack of horse feed was thrown into his chest and, falling to his knees, Chris' numb fingers dropped the revolver that he'd managed to draw.
Darting over to the dazed peacekeeper's side, Joseph grabbed a handful of Chris' hair, yanking the man's head back and hauling him to his feet. Randall came up behind the peacekeeper and captured him in a bone-crushing bear hug, immobilising the labouring man with his strong arms.
"Night-night, Larabee! No pleasant dreams fer ya, y'murderin' bastard! Yer nightmare's jes' beginning!" Joseph gloated as he forced the cloth over the struggling man's face.
Chris knew that he was in serious trouble, but as the grasping tendrils of darkness began to wrap around his addled mind, all he could think about was Vin Tanner. Was his friend lying badly injured in a dark corner of the stable? Or worse still—dead. The gunslinger's last conscious thought as the powerful drug embraced him, was of his failure to stop the three men and his inability to help his closest friend.
Pain. That was the only thought that came to him as he prised open his eyes and stared up at the blue sky. A frown creased his brow as movement in the azure vista caught his attention, and licking his dry lips he suddenly recognised the black objects wheeling in circles above his head. Buzzards! Was he dead? If he wasn't, then he couldn't imagine what else could as agonising, nor as cold.
Cold? He had always thought that he would be destined for Hell when the time finally came, but he was certain that he wasn't currently languishing in Hades fiery domain. That could only mean one thing—he was alive! But what had happened to him?
Memory came flooding back to Ezra Standish with an almost painful rush and he shakily forced his wounded body into a sitting position.
"Fiona!"
The tortured gasp fell from Ezra's lips at the horrific sight that greeted him. Shock and fear gave him the strength to move and he began hastily crawling towards the crumpled figure.
The young Scotswoman was lying huddled on her side, no more than ten feet from the gambler and as Ezra put a gentle hand to her shoulder she gave a low, shuddering moan.
"Ez...Ez...ra?"
Fiona's head turned a little and her bloodless lips tried to form a smile as the gambler bent over her, his questing fingers already checking her for injury.
"Yes, my love, I'm here. Shh now! Just be still... whilst I... I need to ascertain... Dear God, no!" Ezra's last comment was little more than a whisper and, trying desperately to blot out the harrowing sight before him, he slumped down beside the woman, bowing his head in sorrow.
The heavy calibre bullet had caught the woman in the stomach, ripping through her before bursting out of her back. The entry hole still oozed with gore, and there was so much blood saturating her shirt and most of her pants, that it was impossible to distinguish the colour of the material. The ground beneath Fiona was dark and slick with pooled blood; no-one could lose that amount of blood and survive.
"I don't think... I can move..." There was no fear or panic in the woman's quiet statement, and her next request was remarkably casual, almost as if she were talking to her lover during a romantic tryst. "Ezra dearest...I need you to hold me... I want to... feel your warmth."
The woman's quiet, pain-filled voice tore at Ezra's heart and, shifting into a sitting position, he gathered her onto his lap, his arms locked tightly around her as he rested his lips against her forehead. The skin was icy cold and clammy and, with a heavy heart, the gambler knew that his idyllic dream had been cruelly shattered. His beloved—no, his soul-mate—was dying and there was nothing he could do to save her. The Southerner had already spotted Fiona's dead stallion some distance away and there was no sign of his own mount; the couple were stranded in the wilderness, miles from help or medical assistance. Not that the presence of a doctor would save Fiona. Ezra had seen this type of injury before and knew that it was a fruitless desire to hope for a medical miracle. The most skilful surgeon in the world couldn't win this battle for a precious life.
And to make things even worse, the woman was aware how gravely injured she was—the usually well-schooled features of her lover had confirmed her own suspicions. The gambler was trying desperately to conceal his fears from her, but there was no mistaking the abject horror and sorrow on the man's grief-wracked face.
"Hush, my love. Save your strength." The man's concerned plea sounded banal and futile, but Ezra was at a loss for words as he gazed at the pallid-faced woman. Carefully picking up her slack hand, he rubbed the freezing fingers against his cheek in a vain attempt to warm them.
"You're hur...hurt, dearest!"
"It is just a scratch, beloved." Ezra's own injury had been forgotten in his worry for Fiona—he didn't even feel the bullet wound in his left shoulder, nor care about the blood still seeping into his shirt and jacket. He was numb with grief and shock and, with the exception of the fading life he cradled against his chest; everything else around him seemed to be frozen in this tragic moment in time.
"We... we didna choose... name... our h.. h.. home, dearest."
Tears welled in Ezra's eyes as he heard the tone of regret in Fiona's halting statement and, swallowing noisily, he increased his hold on the woman, as if his touch alone could stave off the inevitable. "No, my sweetest love, we did not. It is something that we shall have to rectify as soon as possible."
There was pity and sadness in Fiona's gaze as she looked into the man's tortured green eyes. "Oh my dearest Ezra, it shall... not be as we would... wish. I... I need to journey alone soon. My... time is ending in this... place, but your... love and... and strength gives me the c. ..c... courage to go on."
"No! No! I cannot allow that! We will always be together—it has been agreed! Fiona, I love you like I have loved no one ever before. You are the centre of my life and nothing will part us! Nothing!"
"You... we have no say in... in God's will, dearest. He calls me to Him. There is so much... to say...I...I will always love you, Ezra dearest. That... will never change..." The woman's eyes slid shut and, fearing that these were Fiona's final moments, the gambler gave a choking cry of anguish as he hugged the bloodied form tighter to him.
A light tap on his fingers broke through Ezra's despair and, looking down at the white-faced woman, he stifled back a sob as he saw the pain and sorrow etched in the once sparkling violet eyes.
"Ah, do not lose heart, dearest. Our time together has been... wondrously fair... you gave me such joy. More than... anyone has before. Now...be strong, for me... please. So... tired... cold..." Fiona's voice was little more than a whisper and the gambler leaned closer into the woman, rocking gently back and forth as his lips brushed against the girl's sweat-dampened hair.
There didn't seem to be anything left to say and Ezra didn't know how long he sat there listening to Fiona's laboured breathing. A slight movement followed by a soft gasp from the woman made him start and, as Ezra gently smoothed his hand over Fiona's hair, his eyes followed the line of his beloved's awed gaze.
"Such...b... beautiful night to be called to Heaven," she breathed, blinking in wonderment at the sky. "Ezra... dearest... do you see the stars? They shine so bright!"
"The stars are dull and...and jaded compared to your sweetness and radiant beauty, my love," Ezra murmured in Fiona's ear, but he frowned in puzzlement as he rolled his eyes upwards to the cloudy sky.
"Always... flatterer!"
"No. I only state the truth, dear lady. You are and always will be the most important person in my life. I have given you my heart."
"P... promise me... you... must con...continue with your future plans...live our dream... for us both, my dearest."
Ezra was unable to reply for a minute or two. "I...I... my love... I..." The man's strangled voice trailed off and he looked away forlornly. A future without Fiona was black and empty—an aching, unfulfilled shell and no more than a travesty of actual life. He didn't want to go forward alone, there seemed little point. So how could he make such a promise? It was such a terrible admission of finality for what might have been, and he just could not bring himself to make the pledge to the dying woman.
"Ezra!"
There was a sharp edge to Fiona's sudden command that made the man straighten up a little. "Yes. I'm still here, beloved," he said eventually.
"You have to... you must... give me your word, my dearest. I will... accept nothing... less from you. Your friends they will... help... you... overcome. I... You... must give me homage... by carrying on. It is only right and... proper that you uphold my desires. And... I would not have you shrivel up with... with grief."
"I will not let you down, my sweetest love. It will be... difficult... but I promise, I will try to... to live up to your expectations. I love you Fiona, and your integrity.... your wishes are held safe within my soul."
"Thank you. Ez... ra, we will be to... together again someday, and then we can spend... all eternity loving one... another." The woman smiled serenely, content to finally let go now that she had received her lover's word on her supplication.
"Knowing that you wait for me, will give me the power to carry on, beloved," Ezra whispered and, lowering his face to the woman's, he gently kissed Fiona's cold lips.
"I love you..."
The gambler hardly heard the woman's last breathy words and, as he stared at his betrothed's peaceful face, his heart clenched in pain and sorrow. Burying his head against Fiona's lifeless, blood-soaked body, Ezra finally allowed the bitter tears to fall.
The five riders had increased their speed as they pushed their sweat-lathered horses up the winding trail that led to Chris Larabee's property. It had been the distant sight of vultures spiralling high in the clouds that had caused the search party to spur on their horses, and as the men reached the summit of the tree-dotted hill, they exchanged looks of consternation at the sight below them.
"Oh Lord!"
The shocked oath tumbled from Nathan Jackson's lips and the former slave urged his horse on faster as he recognised the missing couple some three hundred yards ahead. Fear gripped him as he saw the unnaturally hunched position of Ezra Standish and, glancing at the horrified face of Howard Fraser, he knew that the ghillie had seen the crumpled figure being held by the man.
Hastily sliding off his horse and tossing the reins over a nearby bush, the healer forced himself to keep calm as he grabbed his medical satchel and a blanket from his saddle.
"Ezra?"
The healer crouched down beside the motionless gambler as he spoke, but something about the bearing of his friend made Nathan hesitate and he didn't attempt to touch his younger colleague. Josiah had sunk to his knees on the other side of the blood-soaked couple, his craggy face grim as he studied the still form clasped possessively to Ezra's chest. Glancing up as the healer managed to put a finger to the woman's slack wrist, the ex-preacher crossed himself as Nathan gave a slow shake of his head.
"Kyrie eleison."
"Christie eleison."
"Eternal rest grant this dear, sweet child, O Lord."
Buck Wilmington and JD Dunne had stopped several yards from the tragic tableau, securing the horses whilst their friends saw to Ezra Standish. As the ex-preacher's murmured words of absolution began, JD dropped to one knee, also crossing himself as the familiar Scripture rolled over him. Painful memories of his mother's all too recent death came flooding back to the Bostonian and, once again, he wondered if the litany helped to alleviate the grief of those left behind. Perhaps it could for some people, but JD wasn't sure that the Catholic Church's ritual following death had lessened the shocking impact of losing the only person in his life he'd cared about.
"Kid," Buck nudged the sheriff's shoulder, "we'd best check the area. We're a mite vulnerable down here and whoever's responsible for this could still be around. I'd say we're looking for someone with a powerful rifle, judging by the amount of..." The tall peacekeeper cut off the remark with a loud sigh, placing a comforting hand on the back of JD's neck as the other got to his feet.
"Yeah, there ain't many weapons that can take out a horse with one hit. It looks like three shots were fired—or maybe more. Do you reckon this was the work of one man, Buck?" JD asked, his dark gaze scanning the immediate vicinity as he began to try and piece together what might have happened.
"Dunno. But if I find the stinking bastard who did this, then he's gonna be wishing his pappy hadn't met his mammy at the time they did!"
The ladies' man held his rifle, and there was a ruthlessly hard expression on his normally carefree features that made JD shudder. The sheriff hoped that God would forgive whoever had killed Fiona, for if the moustached peacekeeper found the murderer then it was clear that Buck Wilmington would show no mercy.
The two peacekeepers were joined by the ghillie, whom after dragging himself away from the stricken couple, had then checked over the dead stallion. Fraser was devastated by the death of Fiona but, aware that his tracking abilities might be needed if they had any hope of finding the attacker, had shown great maturity by pushing aside his anger and sorrow. There would be time for grieving later.
Nathan Jackson looked up briefly as Buck, JD and Fraser rode away, knowing what the three were going to investigate but aware that he would not be able to offer them any assistance. The healer had his own problems to contend with at the moment, and the former slave knew he would need to keep his wits about him when dealing with the grief-stricken but badly injured man.
"Ezra? Ezra, I need t'look at yer hurts," Nathan said quietly, carefully putting his hand on the gambler's tensely rigid back.
The younger man's head was buried against the woman's shoulder and he hadn't moved nor spoken a word. Ezra Standish was completely lost in an all-consuming grief; nothing intruded on his anguish and he seemed unaware that his two friends were beside him.
The healer tried again, his face showing his concern as he glanced at the worried features of Josiah Sanchez. "Ezra, ya gotta let J'siah take Fiona, 'cos yer hurt real bad an' I need t'stop the bleeding."
At Nathan's gentle entreaty, the gambler shuddered, shifting the weight in his arms a little as a muffled gasp of pain escaped his lips. Lifting his blood and tear streaked face to the healer, Ezra blinked in confusion at his friend, his green eyes glassy and devoid of emotion. "I must... get her home," he mumbled, starting to struggle to his feet.
"Let me at least fix up yer shoulder, Ezra. An' then we'll take her home." Nathan's tone was gently insistent as he pushed the unresisting man down, glancing meaningfully at the ex-preacher.
Josiah carefully prised Fiona's body away from the gambler and reverently laid her on the blanket that Nathan had spread out, wrapping her so that only her face was visible.
The healer had begun tending to Ezra's wound, his concern mounting for his friend's physical state, as he frantically worked to control the bleeding. The gambler had fixed his tortured gaze on the blanket wrapped form beside him, and he didn't react or make a sound as Nathan probed the ragged bullet hole.
"Nate?"
Josiah had collected his water canteen and, as he came back to squat next to the healer, he could see that the former slave was extremely worried.
"Bullets still in there, but I won't risk diggin' 'round fer it out here. I'm gonna need Andrew's help an' equipment, 'cos it feels like it could be lodged in his collarbone. It's stopped bleeding fer now, so once I've bandaged him up we can head on back," Nathan murmured, holding out his bloodstained hands for his friend to rinse off. Drying himself on a small towel, the healer then rummaged in the satchel for his supply of bandages.
Nathan had just finished immobilising the gambler's injured limb, when he heard the sound of horses approaching. Quickly adjusting Ezra's ruined jacket over the man's shoulders, the healer gave the other's right hand a squeeze of sympathy before joining his colleagues.
"How is he?" Buck asked, darting a look at the ashen-faced and motionless gambler.
Nathan shook his head in dismay. "Not good. Ain't said a word yet, an' I'm not sure that he's gonna either. Did ya find any sign or anythin' that might help us catch the killer?"
"We saw two sets of tracks going eastwards up on that ridge,"—Buck pointed to a small rocky outcrop—"an' found this empty shell not far from where a coupla hosses were tethered." The ladies' man offered the spent cartridge to Josiah, who studied it intently for a few seconds.
"A brass casing? And a large calibre too! This looks like it came from a Sharps."
Howard Fraser nodded in agreement. "Aye, yer right Josiah. His Lordship has one in his collection and I'll swear that shell's identical to the supply in the gun room."
"You get a real good view of the town trail and Chris' cabin from up there. It's the perfect place for an ambush," Buck commented.
Josiah frowned and, glancing at the healer's perturbed face, the big peacekeeper's eyes were drawn first to the blanket wrapped form, and then to the carcass of the woman's black stallion. "Hell and damnation! I believe the killer made a mistake today. I think the intended target was Chris!"
"Shit!" Buck's eyes widened in horror, as he also made the connection with the horse and the colour of the dead girl's clothing. "We'd better find Chris, afore the killer does. I don't think he'd've wasted much time arguing with Vin, so I bet the pair of 'em are travelling at a slower pace right behind us," the ladies' man predicted.
"Let's hope so. We need to get going as soon as possible then. Nate, it'll probably be better if you stick close to Ezra. I'll...I'll carry Fiona," the ex-preacher murmured.
"M'not sure how he's gonna react to all this, Josiah. I've seen men eaten up wit' grief afore, an' they're liable t'do anythin'! Why d'ya think I took this offa him?" Nathan tapped the second handgun tucked into his belt, and the other three peacekeepers instantly recognised the gambler's Remington.
"He wouldn't have pulled it on us! Would he?" JD asked, but there was a note of uncertainty in his voice.
The healer gave a heartfelt sigh. "There's no sayin' what he might do, JD. That man ain't hisself right now, an' I'm guessing he won't be 'til he finds the bastard that's done all this. He's in shock from his own injury too, which is making things even wuss."
"We'll just have to do this as best we can. Buck, I'll need you to pass the girl up to me once I'm mounted," Josiah instructed, as he untied his horse and started to mount.
Leading his own horse and the livery animal over to the gambler, Nathan watched as Ezra slowly climbed to his feet. Pausing to adjust the stirrups on the spare horse's saddle, the healer didn't notice the hostile and defensive stance that the injured man had adopted.
"NO! How dare you! Get your filthy, pawing hands off of her!"
Buck Wilmington had crouched down beside the dead woman but the gambler's sudden scream made the ladies' man jump up. Seeing the blazing fury etched on Ezra's face, the moustached peacekeeper immediately backed away, holding up his hands in a placating gesture.
"Whoa, take it easy, Ezra! Buck needs to get Fiona ready fer the ride home. We're jes' tryin' t'help ya, 'cos ya ain't in any..."
Nathan's soothing commentary ended abruptly, as a low rumbling noise echoed in the distance. The five men looked at one another in consternation, their concern for their friend momentarily forgotten as they felt the reverberating aftershock under their feet.
"What the hell was that? Could it have been thunder?" JD scanned the sky, but saw no sign of stormy weather.
"Hell's right enough! That was an explosion—and a big one! It's hard to pinpoint exactly, but it seemed to come from the east. Howard, is Robert using dynamite for any reason down at Coyote Pass?" Josiah asked the ghillie.
"No! He wouldna' take any risks with the stock being close by, even if he needed to clear an area of land."
"I've got a real bad feeling about this," the ex-preacher murmured uneasily. "I knew those crows gathered on the church roof this morning were an omen of some kind! Brothers, I fear evil forces are at work today. I think we should go and check on Cummings and his men. Nathan, can you handle Ezra and Fiona on your own?"
"Yeah, I reckon I can."
The healer's doggedly terse statement made Josiah raise his eyebrows in suspicion. Shooting his older friend a wry grin, the former slave strode across to the dazed-looking gambler and, before Ezra had a chance to speak or move, Nathan's right fist whipped upwards and connected squarely with the younger man's jaw. Ezra's head snapped back and he went down like he'd been pole-axed.
"Dammit! I really didn't enjoy doing that, but I ain't got time fer niceties!" the healer exclaimed, as he knelt down to check the unconscious gambler's pulse. Finally satisfied that Ezra's wound had not re-opened, Nathan signalled to the ladies' man. "Buck, he's gonna have t'ride wit' me. Help me git 'im on m'horse, an' then ya'll need t'git moving. I'll keep an eye out for Chris and Vin too, 'cos they've gotta be on the same trail we took from the ranch. Josiah, can ya see to Fiona?"
"Jeez! Remind me never to argue with Nathan when he gets that determined glint in his eye!" Buck muttered to JD, as he helped heft the limp gambler onto the healer's gelding.
It didn't take them long to get organised and, after climbing up behind the unconscious man, Nathan let out a heavy sigh as he watched the other four gallop off. Things seemed to be going from bad to worse, but the healer's priority now was to get his friend's injury taken care of, although he wasn't relishing his arrival at the Scotsman's ranch. The brutal murder of Fiona would inflame an already tense situation and there was likely to be a violent reaction by the Cummings' family and workers against the local cattle barons. The healer was convinced they were on the verge of a bloody and retaliatory confrontation but, after the slaughter of an innocent woman, Nathan had to admit that Robert Cummings would be justified in taking the appropriate action if he found his sister's killer.
Wrapping a powerful arm around Ezra's chest and bracing the slack gambler against him securely, the healer clicked his tongue in encouragement to the horse he led. It would be a slow journey back to the ranch and, although Nathan was concerned about the man's bullet wound, the healer's greatest worry was about Ezra's state of mind.
It was difficult to predict how the grief-stricken man would react in the coming days and weeks, although the healer was certain that his friend's need for revenge would get him through the initial stages of mourning. Of course, if the murderer was found and quickly brought to justice, then Ezra would then be left with nothing to focus on except his loss. The man would have the support and sympathy of his colleagues but, knowing how reticent and standoffish the gambler could be, Nathan suddenly wondered whether it would be enough to bring their friend through this tragedy.
The day had degenerated into a personal catastrophe for Ezra Standish, but as the former slave headed for Robert Cummings land, he was blissfully ignorant of the troubles that awaited him and his friends.
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