Chris peered up angrily from the fire he stoked with a twisted branch. Vin entered the small corona of light. Larabee stared angrily at the man. Not angry with Vin, no never angry at Vin but still hatred poured from the gunslinger and anyone who ventured near him felt it. The others had kept their distance. Just as they were keeping their distance from Buck. Only Nathan ventured near Wilmington. Only the healer broke through the aura of death that emanated from the once jovial Ladies man.
JD sat huddled by himself watching from across the fire. His eyes darting nervously from Buck to Chris back to Nathan. Larabee nearly barked out a laugh. The poor kid, the damn fool should have known better than to throw his lot in with a bunch of two bit gunslingers. JD should have realized what he was getting mixed up in, damn fool. It would have been easier on the kid if he had gotten his own head blown off than it was for him to watch Buck slowly wither away. Dunne was dying from the inside out....just like Liam Donavon just like Buck was doing now, just as Chris had done when Sarah and Adam had died and now again with Buck's impending death. Chris narrowed his eyes at the young man. Damn fool kid should have known better...
Chris turned his biting gaze at Tanner not seeing the tracker at all.
Vin did not bother returning the stare. Larabee had been shattered. When that bullet tore through Wilmington its passage potentially destroyed two lives. Vin stopped. No, not two, seven. Yes Seven lives would fall to one bullet. The tracker wondered if the kid who pulled the trigger realized just how effective his shot had been. In one simple moment a tortured man-child did something that none of the local cattle barons had been able to successfully accomplished. The revenge of a simple dangerous young man had done what many hired guns had failed to succeed at. An angry half grown kid pulled the trigger and destroyed the Seven.
Vin shut his eyes. He closed out the ineffectual light of the campfire. He tried to hide from the shattered remains of the blond gunslinger he had come to call a brother.
Chris Larabee had been devastated before. He had crumbled and withered under the imposing death of his family. Buck had picked up the pieces. Buck had put them together and slowly rebuilt the man that lead the seven.
Vin sighed tiredly. How was he to do that? How was Vin suppose to pick up the shattered remains of Chris Larabee and put him back together again. Didn't Buck understand what would happen if he should pass from this life?
Vin's blue eyes skittered over the bundled form of Wilmington. Nathan knelt by the large man's head talking reassuringly to a man who knew he was dying. Tanner quickly averted his eyes. Wilmington was the last thread Chris had to his family. Buck was the last tie to a life that had once promised happiness and peace. With the violent destruction of that dream Buck became the binding that held Larabee together. If Buck should die then the last tendril that Larabee had with his dead family would fall asunder.
Vin knew that when Chris laughed with Buck or spoke of old times Chris would relive the memories of his former life. There was a time when those unwanted memories sent the man in black on a murderous rampage or a violent drinking binge. Over time that had begun to change. With persistence born from unmatched loyalty Buck stayed by Chris's side. With the gentle persuasions of FourCorners, Mary Travis and her son Billy Chris began to let loose of his demons. Wilmington had nodded and nudged the dark gunslinger down the road to healing, had picked up and protected a falling down drunk of a friend. Buck had weathered the storms and black tidal moods that swamped Larabee. It was Buck who without ire stepped down from his perch as guardian and handed the responsibility to Tanner.
Tanner accepted the reins. He and Chris had become as close as brothers. With that relationship came the job of caring for one another like brothers. It was new to Vin. Family was a concept he had once wished for and later spurned. Now that he was strapped with six others he did not want to lose it. Tonight, it was slipping through his fingers like dry desert sand. He did not know how to stop it.
Vin caught a glimpse of Larabee squatting in front of the fire. Already, he was just a shell. A smoldering demon that would become no different than the angry boy who gunned down Wilmington.
Tanner was suppose to rein Chris in, keep him under control....keep him alive.
Vin Tanner did not want the responsibility. He thought he did, he thought he understood Chris. Maybe he did, and maybe that was why Vin understood what a losing proposition he faced. Chris would not drag himself up from the black cesspool of dispair. Larabee would not allow anyone to help him up. He would fight and strike at anyone or anything that tried to breach his private world of grief.
Tanner knew this....knew this because he too was shattered and destroyed. If Buck were to die what would be left? Who would watch out for JD? Dunne would never let anyone that close to him again. The kid had an anger him that nearly matched Larabee's. JD did not know it existed, empathy and forgiveness kept the futility of anger under tight wraps. With the premeditated murder of Buck that forgiveness and gift of empathy would be thrust aside. JD Dunne would become the Young Chris Larabee who lost his family. Forgiveness would not be so easy for Dunne to offer. The vengeful murderer of Buck Wilmington had not granted it to JD's best friend.
An eye for an eye might leave us blind, but Tanner thought it left one hollow...dead inside.
Vin did not want to stay around to watch the men he had come to love as brothers fall. He would not stay to watch Chris drink himself to death or challenge a gunman that he hoped would be faster than himself.
Tanner knew he would stay. He knew he would spend his life watching over Chris.
The tracker stared tiredly at the dancing flames. He knew that his turn as guardian over Chris
Larabee would be very short lived. Chris would not allow himself to survive long without Buck.
Chris followed the sharpshooters absent gaze to the fire. The men around him were slowly falling from one another. The binds that held seven men together would not hold six. The death of one unraveled the delicate bonds of friendship and camaraderie.
Frustration roared through Chris's veins. Buck would not allow something like this to happen. Wilmington would fight to keep the others together.
Chris would do the same. It would be his 'marker' to his oldest friend. Buck wanted family. He wanted JD as his little brother and the others as his immediate family. The Ladies man would not sit idly by and let this all fall apart. Buck would grab the unraveling strings and pull them together.
Larabee would attempt the same. He did not have Buck's easy going manner or pliable personality. Chris would get the job done if he had to kill one of the others. He would hold the others together for as long as he could. It was the least he could do in Buck's memory....should he not survive.
The dark gunslinger was not in the mood for the hurt the others felt. Chris did not want to soften the death of one of their own. Death hurt. It was final. No second chances, no come backs. Nothing. When Death came for one of yours it took it. It ripped that individual from you with no compassion. It would leave a hole, a crater in ones soul.
Death danced amongst this campsite. It flirted with one of the seven.
Larabee had had enough.
"Where's Ezra?" Chris words were hissed out softly. Larabee's demons had been reborn. The dark specter that haunted his dreams had finally scratched and clawed enough that it could rage during Larabee's waking moments. Larabee did not hold Standish accountable. The southerner was just another target with in reach.
"Down at the crick," Tanner responded in a soft drawl. No warmth emanated from the fire. Funny, how the impending death of one of their own could numb you but still allow you to feel so cold.
"What the hell's he doin' down there?" Chris bit out never raising his voice. He felt JD's eyes following the conversation. The kid had not completely shut down.
"Dyin'," Vin's answered in quiet resignation.
JD dropped his head to his hands and buried them between his knees. Never again would he allow anyone to get this close to him. Never again. Gawd Buck don't die....please. Dunne bit back the tears that threatened to spill again. No..he would shed no more tears for anyone. He had cried over his last dead body. He had grieved and ached over the loss of his mother. No more. To hell with you Buck. If you won't fight to live, I won't fight to care.
The sharp bark of Chris's voice snapped heads up. Nathan ceased his gentle administrations to Buck. JD's snapped his neck up and stared at Chris. Vin jerked as if pushed.
"Git down there and drag his southern ass back up here," Larabee bit out. "You tell Josiah if that son of a bitch is dyin' he's gonna do it here amongst friends..." Chris straightened his squatting posture and matched Tanner's gaze.
Vin felt a glimmer of hope. There was fight left. The twisted anger that ate at Larabee’s soul burned in a new direction.
"I'm not goin' to let that southern bastard die down there alone so he can haunt me later on," Chris slowly climbed to his feet, "git movin' Vin."
There was no kindness in the voice or the posture. Vin did not care. Larabee was going to fight.
Chris turned his attention to the kid. Dunne should have known what he was getting into when he rode into Four Corners so long ago. He did not....he was a kid seeking adventure.....He found it...Now he was paying the dues on it.
Larabee would not let Dunne pay alone, "JD gather up more wood," His tone held no leeway. Dunne did not stir, "Move it!" Chris nearly spat the words out. It galvanized the boy into action.
Nathan watched from beside Buck. Jackson had figured when they lost Buck they would lose JD and Chris as well. The boy was devastated. Chris...Chris had become something frightening. It was not his actions but his lack of actions. Hatred emanated off him like heat off a wood stove. The healer wondered how long Larabee would last before someone gunned him down...before Chris allowed himself to be gunned down.
Vin could only do so much.
Nathan watched with apprehension as Larabee strode toward him.
"Let's move him closer to the fire," Chris spoke softly but again there was no room for discussion. Buck would get moved. Nathan could either help or get the hell out of the way.
Nathan quietly helped Chris move Buck closer to the campfire. Jackson chewed nervously on his lip, not sure whether or not to speak his mind. There was a glimmer of hope. The angle of the bullet wound and position of the wound offered a chance when certain death was assumed.
Should he speak? Should he offer that sliver of appeasement knowing that if he were wrong he would dash the hopes of those around him? Maybe he would hold his tongue and wait it out. If he were correct in his assumptions then Wilmington would start getting stronger in a day or two...if he survived the blood loss and possibility of infection.
Infection. There was always that risk. The ugly secondary marauder always lurked around wounds. Like a bird of prey waiting for a creature to falter, infection would dive in and kill its victim. A simple wound could become fatal, a potentially deadly wound could suddenly go belly up if Infection set its clinging vines around the wound. Like a wild fire it would spread through out the body, burning and destroying its victim. Nathan had seen many strong men crumble and die under the tenacious clutches of infections.
Should he speak up? Jackson stared around the camp. JD stacked fire wood next the small blaze. They had enough sun bleached twisted logs to keep a fire roaring for days. Dunne's movements were slow thoughtless. The boy's eyes never truly left Buck's still form.
Jackson bit his tongue. Chris sat beside Wilmington. The gunslinger stared at his long time friend just daring him to die on him. Larabee's face was set in fury. The undulating shadows of fire light enhanced the devilish expression in the gunslinger.
Nathan stared from Buck to JD and back Chris. Should he offer reprieve where there might not be any? Should he open his mouth and speak what he hoped to be the truth? What should he do?
He would ask Josiah. Jackson searched the campsite for the missing preacher.
Vin followed the same path down to the fledgling stream. He carried two blankets with him.
The tracker easily found his two friends. The moon offered enough light to see by. Though it was still a full moon it did not hold the same luster as it had the first night. Its light seemed to be waning.
"How's he doin'?" Tanner asked. He squatted beside the stream. Sanchez knelt in the small sandy stream bed. The icy clear water washed up over his thighs and around Standish's bare shoulders. A pile of fetid clothing lay by the bank in shallow water. A few rocks had been placed on the articles in an attempt to keep them from tumbling down stream.
"Brother Ezra is a fighter," Sanchez remarked. The large preacher gazed up from his charge and faced the tracker.
"Buck?"
"He's still hanging on," Tanner answered quietly.
Sanchez merely nodded. He turned his attention to the gambler in his arms. He had stripped the southerner of his fouled clothing. Standish would have been indignant at the gross invasion but Josiah feared he would not get to hear that tirade. The gambler was fastidiously neat and to be covered with such filth would seep some dignity from the man.
"Chris wants you to bring Ezra back up to the camp," Vin spoke quietly. Hope danced at the edges of his words. Chris was giving orders. He no longer sat dumbly blaming everything for the fate that befell his group of men.
Josiah caught the faint lining of reprieve. He understood what trials Vin faced should Buck fall. Funny how one death could tear so many apart while another death, though tragic, touched lives in a manner completely different. If it touched lives at all. Yes, any death no matter who or what touched someone or something.
Would the simple passing of the southerner create such a devastating effect on the lawmen? Josiah gazed back down at the wheezing man in his arms trying to find an honest answer. The very fact he had to search brought a groan of protest to the preacher.
"Ya need a hand?" Tanner asked stepping into the mid shin level water. He would help anyhow. Sitting idle was not something he could do.
Jackson gazed up when he heard people approaching the camp. Vin entered first. He jogged over to his saddle untied his bed roll and quickly laid it out on the ground. Josiah came in a few minutes later.
The large preacher was slightly bent over under the weight in his arms. He carried Standish wrapped in two blankets. Bare legs and feet dangled over one arm while exposed shoulders where propped in the other arm. Standish's head hung back toward the ground his mouth pulled ajar and eyes forced slightly open.
If Nathan was right Buck's chances may have improved slightly over Ezra's. Jackson felt no relief, no comfort, only a deepening of regret.
The healer watched quietly as Josiah and Vin lowered their burden onto the bed roll. They shifted the conman onto his side. The change in position resulted in heaves from the ailing gambler.
Nathan shut his eyes, hoping the simple action would block out the added responsibility that was just brought into camp. Responsibly and burden. How could he think of a friend as a burden, a yoke to be carried. The healer swiveled his saddened gaze from one fallen man to the next. Both weighed heavily on his shoulders. They were friends.....and because of that the toil had increased greatly.
Maybe he would speak up. Maybe a potential for hope was better than no hope at all.
JD sat between staring at the flames. How could they lose Buck? How could he have not even considered Ezra falling to the vengeance?
"He still with us?" Larabee asked without looking up. Chris stirred the coals to the fire. He would reek havoc on the young men that did this.
Both Nathan and Josiah jerked their heads up at the inquiry. Who was Chris referring too?
"Yeah Chris, Buck's still fighting," Nathan answered quickly.
Sanchez dropped his gaze back to the gambler. He laid a cold rag across the back of Standish's neck. Though the night was chilly the younger man's skin was burning up. A fever raged unchecked.
Sanchez had seen this kind of poison before. If consumed in enough quantity then a painful death would befall its victim. Castor bean seeds. A few would send a man to his knees with severe cramps, retching and foul stool. Josiah had seen men bleed inside out from such poisonings. He had seen courageous spiteful men fight the effect of the little seed. These men had eventually fallen dying in their own bloody juices as fevers took their minds. A frightful and miserable way to go.
"Josiah?" Chris spoke again. The anger in his tone turned heads. "How is he doin?" Larabee seethed. Unbeknownst to him one of his men had been struck down. Someone hit and battered one of his men without his knowledge. For once Standish was innocent. He did not deserve this...he did not bring this painful illness on himself.
Chris had. Larabee and Wilmington's past had finally caught up to them and struck indiscriminately. Thankgoodness it was not JD or Vin or one of the others.......
Larabee angrily threw his stick into the fire. No. He did not prefer to lose Standish over one of the others...no, he would not have picked the gambler as the 'scape goat'.
The fool southerner may have thought that of Chris and the others and maybe himself. But the gambler was wrong. Larabee would not....did not wish any mishap to befall his group.
Should ever the choice arise, Chris would never single out one of his men, one of his family, to be a target of such violence. Larabee if faced with such a brutal choice would pick himself. He would not leave it to fall....on the one who always expected it.
It enraged him beyond measure that the others assumed he inquired only of Wilmington. Standish was no less of a friend. If they thought that way of Chris did they think that way themselves? Did they hold Buck's impending death with more fear and trepidation than Ezra's. If they did then they all could go to hell.
They were seven. Seven equal...seven strong.....Seven distinct personalities...seven distinct strengths and weaknesses. Seven very distinct lives that somehow had melded together to make each man individually better.
Chris valued them all...six lives he held above his own...six trying irritating men that had become family. Not just one or two of them...Seven.
Larabee nailed each of the conscious men with a challenging stare. Two men lay dying in their midst. Two very important and cherished lives hung in the balance. Seven could easily become five before morning.
JD found his hands fascinating, when Chris hit him with a pointed gaze.
Nathan suddenly felt compelled to check for Buck's pulse. Vin stoked the fire watching the flame.
Josiah met the younger man's gaze, "He's fightin' back Chris," Sanchez mumbled out.
Cole and Devlin sat hunkered back in the brush. They had watched some what amused when the other four men had ridden hell bent for leather into the camp. The fool southerner had stumbled away to die somewhere. So be it.
Wilmington still fought and hung onto life in the embrace of Larabee.
Perfect.
Cole could not have asked for a better audience. Let the others witness what a coward, a weakling Larabee was when faced with the death of Wilmington. Donavon slid a smile across his features. Chris would not only lose Wilmington but he would lose face with his men.
Cole watched with growing enthusiasm as the mood of the camp became somber. They were just waiting for Wilmington to die.
The eldest Donavon swung a gaze at his brother. He nudged Devlin's arm a smile splitting his grizzled face. The grin drooped. Devlin's face seemed haunted.
"Ya did good Dev." Cole encouraged. It was after all Devlin's idea to gut shoot Wilmington.
Devlin kept his eyes on the camp. He forced a weak smile on his face and turned his attention to his older brother. 'Where'd you go Cole? I thought you would have been back by now,' Devlin mused. All this and still Cole seemed different.
Devlin wanted to go home. He started to voice his desire when his oldest brother hushed him.
"Ssshhh Dev. lets hear what the Darky has to say," Donavon crawled forward on his belly inching a few yards out from under the brush. He did not want to miss any of the impending helplessness of Larabee.
"I ain't sure I should say anything or not," Nathan began. He had tossed and turned the dilemma over in his head and finally decided he could not hold the information back. If it held the potential for hope then it had to be shared.
"What is it Nathan?" Chris asked. He had gone back to his solitary thoughts. The others were used to such behavior so he gave it to them.
Josiah gazed up from his administrations over the gambler. Vin stopped his harmonica playing. It was a small gesture in which everyone was slightly grateful. The man did not know how to carry a tune. Buck had offered to teach him a few notes but the tracker staunchly refused. No one understood why. The music made Tanner comfortable so the others tolerated it (sometimes quietly and sometimes not so tolerantly).
JD stopped whittling on a stick. He still sat some distance from Wilmington. They all understood the gesture. Dunne himself had yet to realize he kept himself away from his dearest friend.
"I've bin doin' some think'n on Buck here, n'," Nathan stumbled over the words. How to say that the wound might not be the death sentence they all perceived it to be without giving to much false hope.
"Jist spit it out Nathan," Vin prompted. He was in no mood for people right now. In fact he cursed the day he ever hooked up with these other six men. On his own, he fought for himself, hurt only for himself and feared only for himself. Now he found those emotions incorporated the other six men. That could really wear on a fella.
"Well if'n I'm right, but I ain't no doctor mind ya," Jackson scrambled.
"Nathan say what cha got to say," JD had found his voice for the first time that evening. If Buck was dying he did not want the news dragged out any longer than it had to be.
"Well then, um, Buck's wound might not be fatal," There he said it. It was out in the open.
Silence met his statement. The other five stared at him silently for a moment.
Finally Chris softly spoke up, "How?"
"Well judg'in from the angle and place of the entry wound 'n the exit wound," Jackson shrugged, "there is a chance that the bullet missed 'is intestines 'n stomach." Nathan stood up and continued, "see the bullet looks as if it came in like this," He pointed at his upper left abdomen, "an' traveled like this and exited here," again he pointed to his own anatomy near his back just above level of the entry wound. "What I'm say'n is..." Jackson took a deep breath, "it mighta miss'd the guts maybe nicked the stomach and got the liver bleed'n some. It shoulda bit a chunk from the lung but..." He paused gazing back down at Wilmington.
"But..." Josiah prompted.
"But he's breath'n to good," Nathan said, "and the bleed'ns stopp'd. I suspect when Chris cauterized the wound it mighta stopped all the bleed'n," Jackson paused and then quietly added, "It's jist a guess but I've seen wilder things happin."
"He's gonna live?" JD whispered in astonishment.
Jackson closed his eyes. This is what he didn't want, "No, JD I aint sayin' that..."
"But you just...." Dunne implored. He held a glimmer of hope and now it vanished.
"He's just said Buck don't have to die," Vin quietly spoke up. He would latch onto that morsel of hope.
"But he still might," Chris broke in. Good news was always shadowed by the worst news.
Cole heard the conversation. His fury rose.
Devlin listened intently. Wilmington might not die. The young man could not say that he was disappointed. Cole had not come back to him like he had thought. They were far from home. It was time to just go back to the farm.
The youngest Donavon was about to suggest it when Cole suddenly jumped to his feet.
"Nooo!" He screamed. Cole driven by blind raged raced toward the camp brandishing his gun. Wilmington would die. Larabee would watch it happen. They would suffer as Liam and he had suffered.
Chris heard the enraged scream and watched with fascination as a body melted out of the darkness toward their camp. At first the black shape held no recognition but as the form bled from the shadows and the light flickered across the running form, Chris recognized it.
Donavon.
A gun roared and dust blew into the air beside Wilmington. People around the campfire jumped. Nathan protectively threw himself across Buck. Josiah pulled Standish tighter to himself drawing his gun. Vin tackled an angry JD to the ground.
Larabee had his gun drawn and fired before the others could return fire.
Cole Donavon's mad assault was slowed. His racing gait hit a hitch. He was forced by some unseen obstruction to step back and to the side but his forward momentum continued. The blood curdling scream had lost some rage.
Another cloud of dust kicked up on the other side of Wilmington. The Ladies man lay unreactive. The other four peace keepers held their fire. Vin kept his hand on JD's arm while holding the younger man pinned to the ground.
Chris would handle this.
Larabee fired again.
Cole stopped. His gun hand fell to his side. He tottered forward and backward for an agonizing moment. His unblinking eyes were still full of hatred mixed with disbelief. Donavon stared slack jawed at the dark gunslinger and then crumpled to the ground in a twisted heap.
No one in the camp moved.
Devlin still lay in the grass. His blue eyes were wide, his mouth slightly gaped. Oh Gawd Cole. Cole.. Cole what have you done? Cole?
The youngest and only surviving Donavon crawled to his feet. He was unaware that he walked toward his fallen brother. He did not notice the other young man that encroached on his brother's form from the other side.
Devlin stumbled up to his fallen brother. 'Cole', he whispered. The young man stared at his oldest brother in disbelief. He was alive just a minute ago. Just a few seconds ago Cole was smiling at him. Oh my gawd Cole. "Cole?" Devlin asked again louder. Disbelief dripped from his tone. He could not be gone. It would mean Devlin had to face the world alone. 'Noooo. Cole, git up. Lets go home. I wanna go home. Please. Oh gawd please get up.'
Devlin did not realize he spoke out loud. Instead he stared at the glassy empty eyes of his brother. Even the growing red splotches on his brother's unmoving chest went unseen.
Then he noticed someone standing across from his brother's body.
A target.
JD jogged out of camp to check the body. He ignored the others that yelled at him to wait. There might be two of them. Dunne did not hear it. Instead he wanted to look up on the murdering monster who had shot Buck and poisoned Standish.
Dunne did not slow down until he reached the body.
It was then he realized someone else stood over the corpse.
Both young men recognized each others presence at the same time.
"Yer killed my brother," Devlin hissed through falling tears.
"Yer shot Buck in cold blood," JD seethed back.
"He murdered Liam, he deserved to die," Devlin countered. There was a reason behind shooting Wilmington. Gunning Cole down was just plain murder.
"Yer brother Liam killed four people," Dunne retorted.
Devlin stared over the corpse of his last brother, "Yer took my only brother."
JD met the gaze and rage filled him, "Takin Buck ain't gonna bring’im back."
"Vermin ate his guts," Devlin sobbed his voice cracking but his posture was still ready to fight.
Dunne stared back. His hand twitched over the hilt of his pearl handled guns. He would gun down this kid and avenge Buck.
"He kilt family, family gotta stick together," Devlin mumbled out lost. Cole was gone. His mom and Liam and Pa all gone. He was all alone. No one. They took Cole from him. Ohh Gawd all alone.
"Go back home," JD whispered. He backed away from brothers. Unpredictable. Wilmington would call this unpredictable....dangerous. Buck was always right. What would he do without Buck? Oh Gawd how could he face the day without Buck at his side needling him about something?
This sniveling kid tried to take Buck from him. Anger welled back up. Vengeance bubbled to the surface. He ground his teeth as he took another step back. Why was he backing up? Why didn’t he draw down on this lone brother. Why was he willing to let this kid walk away?
JD decided he was not willing to let go of vengeance.
Devlin stared one last time at his brother's lifeless eyes. He would not face a day without his brother. He would not let another family member slip from his fingers unanswered. That sheriff that slowly backdown would pay for killing Cole.
Devlin would follow Cole down the righteous path of revenge.
Both Devlin and JD reached for their guns.
'It's not how fast ya are...but how accurate you are,' Buck's words vibrated through JD's head.
His hand reached for his gun. He dipped his hip and knee just a bit as his hand unconsciously pulled for the ivory handle.
A shot tore through the night. JD's hand still rested on the handle of the gun. It had never cleared leather.
Devlin Donavon had a gift. A special deadly talent that fell to one in a thousand or maybe one in a million. He had both unheard of speed and incredibly accurate aim. He was one in a life time.
JD never stood a chance. Dunne was above average; better than most. Devlin was not most people. He was one of the very few. Only a hand full of people walked the earth that could match his skill and dexterity with a gun.
This canyon held two such marked people.
Dunne watched open mouth as Devlin Donavon crumbled to the earth beside his brother.
Chris Larabee had the gift too. Curse really...truth be known.
The dark gunslinger holstered his gun and turned back to camp. He left JD to the corpses and to whoever else had the energy to help the kid through tonight's many lessons.
Vin rose from the fire. Josiah still wipe vomit and other body fluids from the gambler. Nathan coaxed Buck from the edge of death and Chris sat between two ailing friends.
Tanner thought he had better see to JD.
Nathan checked the bandages again. There was not much more he could do. Buck's breathing remained labored. The Ladies man responded to pain but never fluttered open an eye. Jackson kept a cold compress on the forehead. It did more good for himself and the others than it actually did for Buck. Jackson did not want to sit idle. With two men struggling for life how could he sit and do nothing?
It was the waiting. The intolerable Waiting game. It was times like these that the gambler would be making odds and taking bets. Jackson ground his teeth. He hated this part of healing. Did the hard work pay off? Did he do the right thing? What did he miss?
It was these times he felt his patience grow short with the others. Though he hid it and curbed his temper. It was the hellish waiting period that brought him to the brink of angry retorts and short answers.
Nathan's tolerance for the gambler normally hit rock bottom. How could a man attempt to make money on another's suffering...even his own. Jackson had no doubt that if the conman was conscious he would be making odds on his very own survival. What would they be? Would the gambler be the underdog? Would he beat the odds?
It was during these times that Nathan would like to toss Larabee out on his ear. Jackson did not need the quiet pensive gaze of their leader following his every move. JD's penned up energy had no place in a sick room. The boy just moved to much. Buck normally found solace with a young lady. It was during this waiting period that Jackson wished he could wait alone. He wished the others would find something else to do and leave him to his own ineffectualness.
Jackson moved over to the fire. It still crackled and snapped spiraling smoke up with the breeze.
The healer's dark gaze fell to JD. The kid had drifted off to sleep just a few hours ago. He and Vin had buried the two brothers in shallow graves near the canyon wall. It was the first time the healer had seen such rage in JD. Dunne nearly threw his life away for the sake of revenge. What a colossal waste of life.
What had the others taught JD?
Vin still fingered through the coffee found in Buck's saddle bags. Castor Bean seeds. Nathan had never heard of them before. Apparently, Josiah, Vin and Chris had....judging by the forlorn expressions on their faces.
The Preacher had yet to leave Standish. The conman seemed dwarfed by the blankets covering him. A fever roared through the gambler and tired muscles continued to contract and heave. The body had given up long ago to protect itself from aspiration. The duty had fallen to Josiah. With every episode Sanchez would gently manipulate the smaller man with a practiced hand so the vile gastric fluid could flow unimpeded between cracked dry lips.
Jackson sighed. There was not much he could do for Standish. The poison was doing its best to kill the man. There was no cure. Nathan closed his eyes and rubbed at his face tiredly.
He could do no more for Buck.....but keep bandages clean and dry. He could not aid Ezra...in a manner of speaking it was to late.
Chris had finally succumbed to the effect of the blow to the head. A concussion. Nathan was sure. By now the dangerous after math of such an injury seemed to have passed Jackson could not be certain.
Once again all he could do was watch and wait.
Larabee had refused aid earlier... "Leave it be Nathan," Chris had warned when Jackson approached him with the intent of tending the wound. It gave him something he could do that would make a difference.
The voice was soft, unmenacing but somehow enough to freeze Nathan.
Jackson did not push the issue.
Larabee in one night had single handily finished wiping out a family. He did it to save Buck. He had undoubtedly saved JD's life.
Nathan stared at the sleeping form a few yards away. The lingering effects of the concussion did provide one positive thing. This one night Chris would sleep without nightmares.
The faces of the Donavon's would not plague his dreams....maybe tomorrow. The pale drawn face of Buck would not hover behind closed eyelids. Tonight Chris would rest undisturbed. Images of the dead would lay dormant until another night.
Nathan settled back on his bed roll next to Buck's.
All he could do was wait until morning.
Nathan did not intend on falling asleep. Infact he did not believe he had succumbed to the cries of his body.
Voices disturbed him. His eyes blinked open and it was then he realized that yes indeed he had slept the night....well part of the night.
Morning sunlight lit up the canyon. The light blue sky and scant white clouds indicated that it was not only morning but well past dawn.
Jackson jumped awake. Buck!
Nathan abruptly sat up and turned to peer down at the man a few feet from him.
Larabee blocked his view. Worse yet Chris was talking to someone.
"Now jist hold still," Larabee's stern voice rang out softly.
There was more grumbling and soft rebuttals but Nathan could not make heads or tails of them.
"Mornin' Nathan," JD spoke up. A bright smile plastered on his patchy face. The boy never seemed to pack a razor. The sheriff held out a cup of coffee to the healer.
Nathan accepted it silently with a nod of thanks.
"Buck iffen ya don't quit ya squirmin' we're gonna lit JD here change them bandages," Vin’s exasperated tone cut across the quickly warming morning.
Josiah chuckled from across the fire. He still sat beside the gambler. Dark circles hung under his eyes. The preacher used his hip to keep the still man on his side. Bare feet stuck out from under the blankets on one end and a mop of dark hair from the opposite end.
Nathan let cautious smile etch his features.
They were still seven.
"Gawd Damnit, Buck!" Larabee hissed out slapping bandages back into the skillet of water.
"It hurts pard'," Wilmington whispered out but the easy going attitude dripped from the tone. "Now iffen you were Pansy...."The teasing leer was unmistakable.
"Save it Buck," Chris chuckled out.
"Let JD clean the wound," Vin returned as he wrapped a piece of cloth around the wounds, "then we'd see 'im squirm."
" Ey!" Dunne attempted to sound indignant but could not quite pull it off. Buck had survived the night. Not only that but actually spoke and looked around camp.
Jackson eased around Larabee and stared at his patient, "How ya feelin' Buck?" He asked.
"Fine until these two started playin' Doctor," Wilmington retorted. Everything on him hurt. His limbs seemed weighted he felt out of breath. It even hurt to move his eyes. Gawd he was tired.
"That's gratitude fer ya," Tanner stood up, "gonna go help Ezra. Least he won't complain," Vin muttered as he stalked toward Josiah.
"Cuz he's still sleepin'," JD laughed out in response.
The tracker sat heavily beside the preacher and poured himself some coffee.
Larabee shook his head. He patted Buck on the shoulder and smiled his relief.
"Glad to have ya back," Chris muttered softly.
Buck smiled reassuringly and with fluttering eyelids muttered, "Ain't ever gonna leave ya pard'."
Chris's hand lingered on Wilmington's shoulder. The thank you was left unspoken.
"He sleepin'?" JD asked a bit worried.
Larabee quickly stood and faced the young sheriff, "Yea JD he's sleepin'." Chris nodded to Nathan with a half smile.
Jackson closed his eyes and nodded in return. It paid off. They won the pot. Buck beat the odds...so far. He survived the night and was stronger. The healer watched as Larabee disappeared down the winding path to the stream. Water still needed collected. Bandages needed boiled and blankets washed.
The waiting had been not fruitless. This was why Jackson tried to help people. Chris and Ezra had done the ground work on Buck. They had made Jackson’s job so easy. In saving Buck, Chris remained among the emotionally living.
Though Larabee thanked the healer, Nathan knew the true thanks belonged to Wilmington. Buck survived because he wanted to survive, he lived because he needed to see another day.
The seven remained seven.
Retching filled the area. One battle had turned for the better. The war was not over. Another battle still raged.
"Easy pard'" Vin whispered quietly. The tracker had thrown the rest of the seeds into the fire. He knew of no medicine that could help the gambler. Josiah and Vin held the gambler's face out of the yellowish fluid that drooled from slightly parted lips.
Nathan squatted down between the three men. The bright yellow held no trace of blood, fresh or digested...hope still flickered.
Buck lay quietly under the blankets. A gently breeze waifed across him. Pain burned in the distance but close enough to prevent a comfortable sleep. Wilmington settled for the hazy level of half slumber. He knew JD sat beside him. He could hear Chris and Nathan move about camp. Josiah snored somewhere near by. Vin and Ezra? He had not heard a sound from those two.
Those two off together would bring the whole canyon down on them. A smile peppered Buck’s face. He had no inclination to wake up and move about. If he laid still, if he breathed just right then the sharp stab of agony would remain at bay.
Yes sir, Good Ole Buck Wilmington was going to lay right here and let the day slip by quietly. Like a lazy Sunday afternoon. The only thing he was missing was his fishing pole and feminine company.
" 'Ey Buck ya awake?" JD asked. He had seen the smile of contentment on his friend.
Before Wilmington could find the energy to answer an authoritative voice rang out.
"JD help Vin fix up some shade."
Buck hid his smile. Chris was back to giving orders. Larabee had not given up and slunk back to the bottle. Who would have blamed him. How many people could one man lose before he gave up on everything....even himself? Wilmington did not fiddle with this thought to long. Sleep snuck up and grabbed him.
Nathan squatted down by the creek washing the soiled blankets and drying the clothing left in the stream. He purposely did it himself. He needed to know if there was blood mixed with the soiled belongings that once wrapped Standish. Josiah and Vin had both agreed no blood tinged the fluids but Jackson had to be sure. He wanted to make certain himself that there was a shard of hope.
Under the late morning sun, the healer scrubbed and beat blankets against rocks and laid them out to dry.
JD followed Vin's lead and picked the tallest straightest tree limbs he could find. It came down to choosing just about any stick with some length. The canyon did not harbor such treasures. Dunne collected an arm full and dragged them back to camp dropping them just outside the small perimeter of the camp.
"JD bring'em over here," Vin directed. The morning sun already threatened the coming of an unusually hot day. Buck and Ezra would need protection from heat.
Dunne held the poles as Vin tied the top of a blanket to it creating a lean-to of sorts. JD had been so engrossed in watching Vin he failed to notice Chris slink up beside him.
Dunne gave a start when a hand firmly grasped his shoulder. He partially turned and saw the dark gunslinger, " Hey Chris," JD tried to smile out. The young sheriff was still slightly bothered by the fact Chris interfered with his fight. JD knew it was his right to challenge Devlin. No one should have interfered.
"You ever pull a fool stunt like that," Chris spoke softly. No one else needed to hear this reprimand. JD made a mistake last night. A youthful sense of honor based on asinine codes that only got fools killed. "I'll shoot ya myself," Larabee did not bother forcing JD to look him in the eye. The kid did not need to be forced into submission. He made a mistake a stupid act that most likely would not get repeated. "You understand me?" Chris finished. He wanted to make himself clear. Last night JD could have gotten himself killed. What would it have done to Buck?
Dunne stared at the ground. He knew what Chris was talking about. Had Larabee not gunned down Devlin there might have been a chance JD would be lying next to Buck or worse yet Cole Donavon.
JD let out a sigh of relief when Chris walked away. Dunne hung his head leaning slightly on the pole for support. He had run out of camp like a fool. He not only humiliated himself but reinforced what a greenhorn he really was out here. Dumb..dumb...dumb...dumb...
"He's jist worried about ya kid," Vin spoke up finally. He placed the finishing knots on the lean-to. "Chris ain't willin' to lose anyone 'specially you," Tanner met the young man in the eye. He spoke the truth. JD needed to see it.
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