Ezra kept still, listening. The camp had quieted down some time ago. He scrubbed furiously at his eyes and still could not get the sensation of something trapped under the lids to lessen. No one held his wrists down, no one tried to ask questions of him.
The gambler lay listening intently to the sounds of the night. He could hear the fire crack and snap and the smell the distinctive odor of wet wood burning. Two different snores rattled around the camp, competing with one another.
Standish tried to open his eyes and was reward with the unquenchable instinct to rub at them and keep them closed. He could not ignore either reflex.
No one tried to stop him. The gambler slowly sat up. No one pushed him back down.
Through tears and rapid blinking he searched the immediate area looking for Buck. The glare of the firelight had him raising his hand and turning his head.
Still no one sounded the alarm. He had to protect Buck.
The gambler crawled from his blankets. His hand hit a solid object and immediately recognized it as a holster with a gun. Things were improving. The gambler quickly belted it around his waist pulling the belt to the last hole. The gun slung dangerously low on his hips, threatening to fall to the ground.
Barefooted and determined, the gambler circled around the campfire searching for Buck.
He had to get Buck away…Unsure of why and away from whom…But somewhere deep down he knew Buck needed his help. And for a moment he was back in that wooded glade staring at the glazed eyes of Wilmington that squeezed shut with every landing of the snapping whip as it lanced his back. Ezra had remained concealed, heard the questions, the laughter, and the orders that demanded a name or the gambler.
Buck had at one time even focused on Ezra. The hint of a lazy quarter smile from the Ladies' Man had nearly crushed the concealed gambler. Still Standish had remained in hiding, biding his time, as his friend lost strips off his back.
They had just wanted a name. Buck had given them the name of every whore he ever knew and then some. It had not been what the monsters were seeking, and he had paid for his glibness in blood.
Ezra had remained unseen and waited. He had closed his eyes to the pain but could not drown out the sounds of the snapping whip or the soft cries that escaped Wilmington's bleeding mouth.
Ezra, as he searched the now sleeping camp, remembered that particular scene with startling clarity but not much more. He circumvented the fire. He was through hiding and biding his time. It was time to act.
He found Wilmington. With eyes, that refused to open or stop blinking, the gambler did not notice the bedroll that Wilmington lay on, or the bandages that adorned his upper body. Standish did not register or try to rationalize why their captives would treat Wilmington with such kindness.
Instead, the gambler tried to quietly rouse his big friend, to no avail. Desperate and knowing he was flirting with lady luck, the gambler reached down and grabbed the edges of the bed roll and, with aching muscles that burned in protest, began to drag Wilmington away from the fire, away from the camp, and away from their captives.
He would kill to defend Buck.
Bare footed with no shirt the gambler eased Buck from the light and warmth of the fire, careless of the tracks he left, yet profoundly aware of the noise he made and carefully made their escape. Not unlike the night he had originally rescued Buck.
This night, however, had he been able to open his eyes and see clearly, he might have noticed the quiet long haired tracker who blatantly watched him from just within the reach of the fire light. Had Ezra been more coherent he would have realized he ran from friends into the unknown and would have seen the silent commands from the tracker and dark gunslinger for the others to remain still and quiet, to keep from risking a sure death at the hands of Standish.
Ezra slid into the night dragging Buck with him, determined to save his friend and kill anyone who interfered, or tried to stop them.
When the two lawmen disappeared into the dark shadows, the other five climbed to their feet.
"He's a determined bastard ain't he?" Vin shook his head and chuckled.
"Where ya think he's takin' Buck?" JD asked strapping on his revolvers.
"Not far," Nathan remarked tiredly.
"Well Brothers, should we go after our wayward lambs?" Josiah started forward. With an amused grin, despite the danger in the gambler's speed and unpredictableness, Larabee nodded and led the way.
"Jist remember Josiah, one of them lambs got himself your six shooter, and he's lookin' pretty dead set on getting' away." Vin pointed out as he and JD peeled off to the West to circle around.
"Hope he don't go cuttin' his feet on anything…or steppin' on any mesquite thorns." Nathan shuddered at the thought and followed Josiah and Chris.
~~~~~~~~~~~~'
Ezra had made it as far as the horses and had stopped. He leaned against the nearest horse and tried to catch his breath.
JD's young gelding took the extra weight amicably.
JD and Vin watched from the safety of the shadows. Dunne started to speak but Vin quickly hushed him.
Josiah, Chris and Nathan waited from the direction that the gambler had just traveled. They watched and waited as Standish struggled to get his breath.
Nathan tried to step around Chris and Josiah. Ezra needed help, they couldn't let him keep abusing already overtaxed muscles and it was not doing Buck any good. Jackson hoped to just talk to Ezra and help him realize he and Buck were no longer in danger.
A twig snapped underfoot. The sound seemed to echo around the small rumudea line.
Ezra cleared leather before the others could blink.
Nathan froze.
They watched as the gambler tilted his head trying to pick up any sound that would give him a hint as to which direction the danger lurked.
The five men in hiding remained unmoving. Standish had the look of a man determined to find freedom no matter the cost. Nathan recognized the look and felt a pang of familiarity.
No one moved. They watched as Standish kept still and bent his head in concentration, the hammer of the revolver cocked back and ready to fire. Buck lay slumped at his feet.
The others waited, what seemed an eternity. Finally Standish uncocked the gun and slowly reholstered it.
Chris and the others remained silent. They knew they were no danger to Ezra and Buck but they could not believe the same thing of Ezra.
They'd wait.
And wait they did.
Finally Ezra started moving again. Unable to keep his precarious balance, the gambler was unable to lift his unconscious burden onto the back of the horse. Though he struggled and tried, cursed and fell a few times, his white feet shining in the moonlight when he would fall, Ezra could not lift Wilmington high enough to drape him over a horse's back.
JD's gelding stood patiently, munching grass but keeping an eye on the activity at his flank.
In the end, cursing and frustrated the gambler continued to drag Buck off into the night.
The other five men shadowed them.
It was some time later, with the sun just peaking up over the horizon, that Standish finally succumbed to exhaustion and fell to his rump for what seemed like the thousandth time that evening. The difference being, this time he sat, shoulders slumped, head bowed, chin touching his chest before he fell over to his side, unmoving.
The mumbled apologies had not gone unheard.
The five peacekeepers waited in the dim light of predawn for any sign of movement from the gambler. Vin melted from the shadows and silently approached the two crumpled men. He carefully reached down and removed Josiah's gun from the holster around Ezra's hips.
Tension diffused from the area.
"I'll get the wagon." Josiah said turning back toward their camp.
"JD give'im a hand," Chris said with a touch of respect in his voice as he stared at the pair huddled in the grassy plain. Ezra you tenacious son of a bitch, what the Hell happened out there?
"Sure Chris," JD turned to follow Josiah and then stopped and looked back, "never thought he'd get this far….never would have believed it." There was a touch of awe in the young man's voice.
"Tryin' to save a friend JD, you'd be amazed at what you can do," Nathan spoke with a touch of quiet admiration that was tinged with hard won experience.
Tanner silently nodded his agreement.
~~~~~~~~~~~'
Chris, Josiah and Nathan loaded the wagon in the light of a false dawn, while JD and Vin started breaking down camp and saddling horses. The five met on the trail, JD and Vin ponying the other horses and riding at a slow trot.
The wagon and her crew had not gotten too far ahead.
The road back to Four Corners, under the heat of the sun, was bumpy at best.
Buck had begun to fight, as Nathan had hoped and feared. The fever climbed unchecked while bound wounds still seeped their foul poison.
Josiah hauled the wagon to a stop multiple times, and at such constant intervals that the mules learned to slow down and stop in their tresses without command, whether Sanchez wanted them to or not.
Poultices were quickly made and changed. Buck's discomfort grew with each passing hour. His hoarse cries and frantic movements had the others keeping their eyes on the wagon but keeping their distance. Trying to find comfort in the space they created hoping, perhaps to stave off any bad news.
It was late afternoon when Standish finally pulled himself into a sitting position and sat hunched at the back of the wagon. Unlike so many times in the past day and a half, he did not try to slide from the moving wagon seemingly unaware of its very presence, instead he sat at the back edge and kept a white knuckle grip as his bare feet dragged dangerously close to the ground.
Nathan tried to reach for the gambler's shoulder, mindful of the scrapes and bruises that lay disguised under the sheen of dirt and sweat.
"Ezra?" Nathan questioned over the noise of the rocking wagon and rattle of leather, wood and buckles as the mules' moved in their harnesses.
Jackson tried to work his way free of Buck, to steal this chance for himself, a break from constantly tending the delirious man, and use the small amount of freedom gained to stretch knotted muscles and stiffened joints as well as check on the welfare of his other patient.
Ezra had been on his own since morning. He no longer needed someone constantly at his side to keep him from choking, simply because his stomach had nothing else to reject.
Chris reined his black in behind the wagon. His search of answers had been put on hold since following Ezra and Buck into the plains. Standish was doing his damndest to protect Wilmington and Chris would reciprocate in kind. In fact, his form of protectiveness crossed the line to aggressive. Larabee knew he would be returning to Circle Creek some time soon.
"Ezra?" Chris slowed his black to a walk and paced beside the wagon. Standish sat with his head down clutching the bed of the buckboard with a firm grip. The gambler did not raise his head.
Larabee shot Jackson a questioning glance.
Nathan shrugged.
Dunne cantered up, brought his horse to a stuttering walk and slid from the saddle while the horse still moved. The young sheriff jumped up onto the tail end of the buckboard next to the gambler.
"Hey Ezra, ya feelin' better?" JD gave Larabee a quick smile.
Standish responded by lifting a hand to his head.
"Betcha ya head is killin' ya huh?" Dunne pointed out.
Standish nodded delicately.
"JD." Chris made his unspoken order clear.
Dunne nodded, understanding. The young man turned his attention back to the gambler who swayed gently with the motion of the wagon.
"You remember what happened at Circle Creek?"
Ezra sighed and rubbed at his head. His balance became precarious, forcing JD to place a guiding hand on the older man's dirty knee. The pant material felt stiff with mud.
"Rustling cattle, but we found," Ezra paused and swallowed back the bitter taste of bile as his stomach complained about the motion of the wagon.
"Whatda you'n Buck find Ezra?"
Ezra held his head and bowed forward slightly forcing Chris to quickly slide from his horse, dropping the reins and putting his hands on the gambler's upper arms, to keep him from sliding from the back of the wagon.
"Josiah," Nathan spoke quickly but unnecessarily. Sanchez brought the wagon to a stop.
Vin sidled Peso closer to the group.
"What else Ezra?" Chris asked tilting the gambler's head back trying to get a better look at the pale features and glazed, partially opened eyes.
The green eyes were no longer glazed nor did they blink with the rapidity of having something trapped beneath the lids. Josiah and Nathan had worked that morning to finish the job. The canteens would need refilling at the next stream.
Standish appeared more lucid than he had since they found him and Buck.
"They were rustling cattle and what else did you find, Ezra?" Chris focused his attention on the gambler, ignoring all else around them.
"Judge just thought it was cattle, but, they're tradin' homesteaders too, kids, women, moving them with the cattle…cross the border."
The others swore.
Standish kept talking, "They wait a while across the river and then move the cattle back across the border back into the territories, new brands, new papers, sell'em at the trail heads. Their human stock, more valuable, is sold or traded along the route, above and below the border…Or to the highest bidder, few Judges, couple of Governors and an Eastern Congressmen are on the buyer's list." Ezra's voice was laden with exhaustion matching his physical appearance.
"Son of a bitch," Tanner spat out.
"Next shipment is in a little over a month…they gather the cattle in small groups, cut down suspicion." Standish muttered out and leaned heavily against the buckboard's sides.
Larabee's anger expressed itself physically. Standish weakly attempted to wiggle free of the cinching grip encasing his upper arms.
"Uh..Chris?" JD spoke up nodding his head toward Ezra.
Chris lightened his hold.
"You and Buck did good…real good, Ezra." Vin stated from the back of Peso. He stared at Chris.
Josiah read the look, "We get them home first, tell the Judge, and then go back out." Sanchez paused and his eyes hardened, "with or without his consent."
"Few days and Ezra might be able to give us some more." Jackson said from his seat in the wagon next to Wilmington. He hoped Buck would be able to offer his help as well.
Tanner and Larabee conceded. "Lets git'im home then."
~~~~~~~~~~~'
Judge Travis sat alone in a chair in the saloon nursing the one shot of whiskey Inez felt obliged to give him. It had been the only one she had graced him with and he feared it would be the only one he would receive for the rest of the night from the bar maid. Her looks of contempt, now that was something that she offered every few minutes.
The saloon patrons themselves were subdued. Two of their lawmen were injured, one still flirting dangerously close to death as if the grim reaper himself wore a skirt.
The Judge sighed. He had expected Larabee's ire, Tanner's contempt, Sanchez's dark warning gaze and Nathan's stony silence, but he had not anticipated the scathing ire that spewed forth from the diminutive sheriff.
JD Dunne had proven yet again, that he was a man not to be trifled with when something stirred his blood or endangered his friends. The young man had grown quite a bit from the first eager days he wore a sheriff's badge.
The title of Territorial Judge or the person who wore it, no longer sat upon a pedestal that seemed raised above reproach or question, in the young sheriff's eyes.
The Judge could not help but feel that in sending Wilmington and Standish to Circle Creek he had fallen from a place of esteem with the young sheriff.
Perhaps it was a mistake to send only two men to such a town. And perhaps, the Judge mused with saddened introspection, that it was a potentially fatal mistake to send them on an errand to investigate the where-abouts of missing beeves.
Though they were lawmen and were slated to do his bidding he did not wish to wield men's lives like a blacksmith wielded a hammer.
And perhaps that was where his fall from grace had come. JD had seen the Judge's actions as putting friends lives behind the lives of some missing cattle, but it was more than cattle that were being stolen and resold. Much more. He hadn't known…If he had he would not have sent just two men…never.
Though the boy's assumptions were wrong, Judge Travis could not fault the younger man for his anger.
Travis sipped at his drink and once again felt the burning gaze of the barmaid as she pointedly ignored his near empty glass.
Travis sighed, placed his glass down and waited with the rest of the lawmen and the town.
When the batwing doors flew open a few hours later and JD burst through with all the energy of a tornado on the plains, Judge Travis knew that Buck Wilmington had made the turn and would survive his bout with the denizens of Circle Creek and his run-in with mother nature.
Tomorrow he would visit both lawmen and offer up an apology.
The Judge blanched and shuttered at the mere thought of having to apologize to the gambler.
The damn man, had been brought into town hanging over the side of the wagon, retching up whatever Nathan had given him that morning. He had enough energy, however, to caste a watery gaze on the Judge and simply quirk an accusatory eye brow.
Judge Travis closed his eyes at the thought. He would be paying on this mishap for a very long time. Already the cries for hazard pay, compensation for damaged property and risk of life could be heard from the porch of Nathan's clinic.
The Judge feared walking into main street anytime after late morning. The gambler was worse than a rooster waiting on the sun. The minute he saw the Judge he made his demands.
Across the saloon Vin Tanner and Chris Larabee both tried to relax, settling into their chairs the minute JD burst through the doors. Even before JD could make his announcement the two men tipped raised glasses toward one another and slung back a silent celebratory shot.
The Judge had wires out checking into the information Standish had related. The others would be heading out soon.
Buck was going to survive…just like Ezra….and probably like Standish, Buck would spend the next few days wishing he weren't going too.
The tension in the saloon defused with an almost audible sigh.
Larabee and Tanner, though relieved, also grew slightly more tense. They would be heading out in a few days.
Tanner stared across the saloon to the Judge and watched as the older man seemed to let go of the tension that had squared his shoulders for the last two days. Then a look of consternation settled over the aged worn features.
"I'm thinkin' the Judge is thinkin' about how he's gonna have to apologize to Buck and Ezra."
"Yup." Larabee answered nodding his head in thanks to Inez as she refilled his glass. The dark gunslinger had not let it slip his attention that the Judge had been practically ignored all night. His face softened with the twitch of a smile.
"I'm thinkin' that must burn his craw to think on apologizin' to ole Ezra." Tanner couldn't keep the smile out of his voice.
Chris chuckled and brought the shot glass to his mouth, "Yup."
"Thinkin' it might be best to keep the Judge company some, maybe Inez might give'im at least one refill on that empty glass he's been toilin' with all night."
Chris pushed back from the table and slowly unfolded himself from the wooden chair, "yup." It would be good to close the distance to the Judge if only to increase the tough old man's unease. Larabee was slow to let go of his anger, his men were not fodder to be spread from town to town on a whim.
The two men slowly made their way across the room and took seats on either side of the Judge. They would be working closely together for the next few days. It would do no good to let anger and blame stand in the way.
Inez watched from behind the bar. Her ire at the Judge did not wane.
~~~~~~~~~~~~'
A day and a half later, Nathan could be heard from the porch of his clinic hollering for the unseen gambler and Ladies' Man. Vin had disappeared into the wilderness a day ago after reassuring himself that his two friends would indeed survive their ordeal but perhaps not each other or Nathan. The tracker planned to spend his time offering up his 'thanks'. And to scout about and talk to a few braves about the black dealings over by Circle Creek.
Chris had retreated to his cabin to keep from being pulled into the middle of whatever trouble Buck and Ezra caused while under Nathan's care. Though when he had left, Buck was intermittently coherent, sleeping most the day through.
The wires the Judge had sent had come back with ambiguous answers. Travis sent a calvary regiment to watch a section of the border below Circle Creek.
JD found helping Ms. Nettie a lot more preferable to being under Nathan's feet and emptying and cleaning an assortments of pots. He rifled through his list of bills and Mary's newspapers hoping to catch a glimpse or hint that would help them with the 'rustling'.
That left Josiah to carry the burden of keeping Nathan from killing his two patients. It also entailed keeping his two younger friends from getting into more trouble than they could handle. Which at the moment consisted simply of moving on their own.
It was with a patient sigh that Josiah waited for the inevitable. They wouldn't be heading out to Circle Creek unless they were seven strong.
Ezra sat within the cool confines of the saloon and sipped his first whiskey in what he believed to be too long a time, and carefully tested the fickle nature of his delicate stomach with Ms. Inez's flour tortillas.
Josiah sat at the table with him enjoying the quiet and focused attention the gambler gave his lunch. It was preferable to the last few days of verbose complaints and nights of delirious slumber and restless dreams.
The last few nights had set the preacher on edge. Standish's nightmares simply replayed the black nights he and Buck were missing.
"I'm thinking that Brother Nathan is going to be in here in a minute or less and not be pleased to find you here." Josiah sat back in his chair and enjoyed the dynamics of his friends. Yin and Yang under the effects of Peyote.
Not that Jackson wasn't correct in his concerns. Josiah stayed close by because the gambler's sense of balance seemed as fickle as fate and at times headaches hit him with such force the color drained from his features and would nearly take him to his knees. Nathan had good reason to be upset, just as Ezra had good reason to be restless.
Buck, however, was another kettle of missing fish and a little more difficult to find. His fancy pulled him in whatever direction a willing, comforting skirt billowed.
Standish carefully nodded at Josiah's assessment and stared at the small fork full of food and contemplated the intelligence of actually putting it in his mouth and swallowing. He did not after all want a repeat of the last few days. His head nor his abdominal muscles could take much more. Perhaps Mr. Jackson was privy to information the gambler was not when it came to the ease in which his stomach would or would not handle certain foods.
As if on cue, the batwing doors blew inward and Nathan stormed through, "What the Devil do you think you are doing?"
Standish moved his eyes from his fork to Josiah and raised his eyebrows expectantly.
"I think brother Nathan was speaking to you," Josiah offered in his most serious tone.
Ezra quirked his eyebrows as if it had never occurred to him that Nathan would actually be searching for him.
"Ezra you ain't ready to be eatin' spicy solid food jist yet," Jackson spied the whiskey glass that had only been sipped at. "And no whiskey."
Standish placed his forked down, having not tasted it, "Perhaps you are right." Ezra offered a weak half smile at the healer playing one of the angles his mother had taught him from the time he was a child. He played to the healer's more basic caring side and appeared tired and ill. Not a difficult illusion to portray.
"Have you seen Mr. Wilmington? I would like to speak to him about certain things," Ezra spoke, again employing another of his mother's tactics and redirected the conversation not only away from himself but onto someone not present and who could dominate the attention of others. A layer of truth always helped as well. He needed to speak to Buck, in private, offer his apologies, as he had at night when they found themselves alone in the clinic. Wilmington had dismissed the apologies, and explanations the gambler offered. Buck had simply said it wasn't anyone's fault but the bastards who did it.
Though Ezra agreed, he could not help but feel the weight of his failed responsibilities. He needed to talk to Buck. But Wilmington had disappeared as soon as his legs allowed him to move to the closest female bed.
"Josiah keep an eye on that fool…and haul his sorry ass back to bed when he collapses." Jackson stared pointedly at Standish as if daring him to argue. Ezra maintained his boyish innocent mask.
Frustrated Jackson threw his hands up in the air, "Buck's probably at the boarding house." Jackson bit out as he stormed toward the bat wing doors.
"I'll kill him…I'll wrap my hands around his neck and throttle'im," Nathan muttered as he crossed the floor weaving between empty tables.
Ezra smiled, revealing the devilish gleam that sat hidden just below the surface.
"I'd try room 12, Ms. Ellie is back in town, but perhaps you should knock first, I fear it might be her legs you find wrapped around Mr. Wilmington's…."
"Brother?" Josiah spoke out in warning, stopping the description before it crossed the line of crude.
Ezra gave Josiah one of his patterned innocent perplexed looks and then dropped his gaze to contemplate eating his lunch.
Josiah stared out the window of the saloon and idly wondered when they were all heading back to Circling Creek.
The end.