The mud cascaded down the slope building speed as it gathered momentum and mass. Horses and men alike were washed away in a tsunami of rain soaked mud and top soil.
Trees stood like silent sentries until at last ,young trees and ancient ones alike were uprooted and toppled, swallowed under, along with everything else, only to boil to the top of the massive avalanche of cascading soil.
Mud rushed like an out of control train, down hill, knocking over all that stood within its path, filling every space that sat within its borders. Crushing the life out of whatever was trapped within its grip.
Mud flashed down the hillside, muddying small and big streams alike with its impending approach.
It was this small churning of water, the ever sensitive earth, aware of even the tiniest vibrations sent its own kind of warnings to those that listened even as far down as narrow valley floor a quarter of a mile below.
In that valley, where the rain had yet to hit, five horse men sat at a stream contemplating their next move, hoping to find their two missing friends before it was too late.
It was JD who noticed the small stream suddenly turn cloudy. However, it was Vin who immediately interpreted what they saw and it was Chris who quickly assessed the situation and led his men out of the path of the wall of mud that boiled and rolled down the mountain slope with its incredible speed and force.
And it was Josiah who sent up a prayer asking for guidance and a miracle….and it was Nathan who spotted the first body as it washed passed; the flash of burgundy all too familiar.
Rain, wind, and thunder followed shortly after, punctuated by bolts of lightening streaking across the sky and reaching for the ground. Prairie grass and trees bent under the gale like winds as driving rain pummeled the earth.
Five men worked frantically standing and kneeling bent and braced against the elements, trying desperately to move a mountain of mud.
The frantic few hours that passed were some that none of them ever wanted to repeat in their life time.
JD would forever remember the heaviness of trying to move mud in a fashion that was too fast and too unproductive. The heavy slop oozed and sludged forward in a manner that filled in what little spots he had cleared. qqq qqq Chris felt old fury and familiar frustration ripple in the depths of his soul and leech its blackness through his body, devouring his heart.
Josiah fought the mud with an anger to match the jealous God of the old Testament. Sanchez hurdled mud and rocks to the side like God himself had hurled plagues down upon his own people.
Vin worked quickly, methodically, offering promises of small sacrifices to the Spirits of the Earth in appeasement if they were allowed to find their friends alive. He worked steadily hoping to spare himself another massacre of family, this time brought about by the Earth itself.
Nathan worked steadily, running through his triage of knowledge as quickly as he removed mud and rock from an area he thought he had spotted a flash of a burgundy coat.
Damn Ezra and his coats. The man liked his colors though.
The first cry of alarm, dulled by the beating of incessant rain, shot forth. That first horrid moment when others paused and waited unsure of whether to be elated or crushed, stretched for an eternity.
No one moved. Nathan and Josiah waited staring at the respected ground at their feet wondering which of them would be called.
"Nathan!" it was JD's voice, cracking with relief and tension, "git over here…Buck!…hold on Buck!"
The frenzy of activity that followed would be lost to memories that were engorged with adrenaline and relief.
Shortly after, came the second the voice. Chris this time, lacking the excitement and emotion that JD put into every syllable and every letter when he had found Buck.
Instead, Chris had simply increased the tempo of his work. Then he had frozen.
Vin read the signs and waited…as had Josiah. Neither stared at one another, neither wanted to see each others fears or hopes.
They did not want to witness the emotions of one another, too consumed and rawed by their own turmoil.
"Nathan, git over here….Josiah, Vin, give me a hand….this wiry son of a bitch is cheatin' death again." Larabee's words though spoken briskly and with a hint of irritation could not hide his relief or elation.
Vin and Josiah struggled through the knee deep sucking mud and crossed the distance to Larabee in less time than it took for him to finish speaking.
~~~~~~'
The five riders that had hunted Wilmington and Standish had been lost. Three horses were found and ponied behind the small buck board Josiah had hauled with them from the town of Circle Creek on the hunt for trouble and her two partners, Buck and Ezra.
Circle Creek, a three day ride from Four Corners, was more danger than it was worth. One step above Purgatorio but well beneath the likes of Jericho.
Buck and Ezra should never had been sent there by the Judge and they should never had been sent alone.
~~~~~~'
Josiah snapped the worn leather reins over the backs of the four mules urging them to move with more alacrity. The rain and lightening had left the grasses and trees lusher and brighter bringing out their vibrant colors.
The mules' coats beaded the rain and dried in the sun that tried to break free from the thinning cloud cover. The mules refused to trot but they lengthened their strides and quickened their pace with their long dark ears twitching in time with each forefoot fall.
"Josiah hold up," It was JD, "think Ezra's gonna be sick again…Nathan?" The unsureness of JD's voice had Josiah swinging around on the bench and hauling back on the reins.
The single gun shot that had burned a furrow alongside Standish's forehead and temple promised to keep Nathan busy for the next few days.
"JD git his head down and over the side," Nathan spoke from Buck's left side, with Buck's unconscious form between himself and Ezra he couldn't move fast enough. "JD! Git his head down…" The brusqueness in Jackson's voice belied the fear and yoke of responsibility he garnered when they found survivors. Not just any survivors but their friends.
The reflexive gurgle and contraction of muscles in retrograde motion had the gambler's abdomen flexing up and down and spoke volumes of JD's assessment of the situation.
"Here, I'll help you brother," Josiah wrapped the thick leather reins around the brake lever as he jumped from the bench. In one fluid motion, he hauled the semi conscious gambler to the side of the buckboard and held his head down as once again Standish's stomach emptied itself.
"Any blood Josiah?" Nathan asked, still pinned by his responsibility to Buck. Internal bleeding had Jackson worried for both men.
Wilmington was pale, his breathing shallow, the knife wound in his side deep while the lashes on his back, though shallow, were red, puffy and wept heat, serum and infection.
The sounds of retching filled the small area. Vin pulled his horse back a pace and offered up another offering to the spirits that had taken mercy on them and had answered his earlier pleas.
Chris watched from a distance anger waving off him like the smell of heavy rains.
"No blood," Josiah held Standish's head by the temples while JD had a hold of the gambler's bare shoulders. Dunne closed his eyes each time Ezra's back arched reflexively upward accentuating vertebrae and ribs as the gambler's stomach curled and lunged itself toward his throat.
"Looks like mud again," JD spoke quietly and in revulsion. How much more mud was Ezra going to bring up before this was through?
After a few minutes, that had to have seemed eternal to the gambler, the retching stopped. Josiah and JD eased Standish back into the wagon and onto his side.
"You doin' ok Ezra?" JD asked peering into the glazed green eyes that dripped water from their corners. Dunne quietly accepted the freshly damp rag that Josiah handed to him and wiped the gambler's face again, hoping the cold water would cool him and the touch soothe some of his fear.
JD didn't expect an answer nor did he get one, though the disappointment still weighed heavily with the young man. He wanted Ezra and Buck alive and well, not half drowned and crushed with mud and beaten listless. Even still, this was better than the alternative, though not near as good as if nothing in Circle Creek had ever happened. But still this was better than death.
At the moment JD didn't think Ezra or Buck, if and when Buck woke up, would agree. JD took a forlorn look at his big friend and felt his heart sink a little more.
He turned his attention back to Ezra, "Jist hold on Ezra, we're gonna fix you up in no time." His words were spoken softly and he hoped he spoke the truth.
~~~~~~~~~~~'
Nathan ran the cold cloth over Wilmington's chest and stomach trying to wash away the dry dust, a remnant of the lingering mud, and cool the fever that had been slowly building all day.
Josiah sat on the opposite side of the fire doing his best to wash the caking mud from Standish's ears and eyes. The gambler fidgeted weakly, swatting at the preacher's hand and trying to curl away from the relentless scrubbing.
A sad smile graced Nathan's face as he watched as Ezra rolled onto his side trying vainly to escape the wash rag that assaulted in and around his ears. The gambler's low moans and haphazard resistance earned him no respite.
Standish still lingered in the disoriented haze of a concussion and near asphyxiation. He slipped in and out of awareness as often as JD moved.
The silhouette of a dark shadow had Nathan glancing up away from Josiah and his charge to the form that stalked back and forth, nothing more than a shadow cloaked in the deep night.
Chris's relief at finding his men had slowly boiled away and was replaced by familiar anger. Occasionally he would stop to stare at Josiah and the gambler contemplating something and then resume his shadowy march.
Nathan picked up a canteen and poured more water on an old bandage turn rag and resumed cleaning Buck's lacerations. He prayed that Wilmington would start fussing like Ezra. Jackson turned his gaze to the campfire.
JD picked the cooked meat off the last of the rabbits, deboning them and wrapping them like Vin had taught him to preserve the meat a little longer in saddle bags.
Tanner sat somewhere off in the night keeping watch over the camp.
Circle Creek was a day or more away but Four Corners still sat and elusive two days away.
What trouble Buck and Ezra had found in that sorry excuse for a town would not be sneaking up on them tonight. Jackson feared perhaps that was exactly what Chris and perhaps the others wanted. The need for revenge waved off Larabee and Tanner like an obsession. Jackson understood the feeling. He too felt the need to retaliate with some plantation type justice, for the wrong doings that were done to his friends. Unlike Chris and Vin, Nathan had his mind and hands occupied by trying to save their friends lives. Revenge and retribution could wait a few days, a couple of weeks or months or even years. Jackson had learned at a young age all about grudges and repaying injustices. His father had just recently exposed how long a man could wait to wreak his revenge.
The healer cringed and caught himself staring at Chris. Three years and Chris still hunted his family's killer and those few times they had come close, the old murderous rage was easily brought to the surface. Larabee had proven his patience. Nathan hoped he would be patient enough to get Buck and Ezra home before starting out to Circle Creek.
Buck moved a leg and rolled his head letting a small moan escape.
It garnered the attention of the camp.
"Buck?" Nathan turned his full attention to the large man, "Come on Buck," Jackson tapped the lightly grimacing features. Wilmington rolled his head away from the contact.
"Ezra…" Wilmington's lips barely moved as the name was spoken as a simple breath.
"He's doin' fine Buck…" Nathan quickly reassured, casting a glance at Sanchez and the recumbent Standish across the fire, as if making sure he did not speak a lie.
"Ezrrrraaa?" again the Ladies' Man spoke softly slurring the name as lips refused to form the syllables. "Don't…Ezra.." Buck scraped his feet against the bed roll, tossing his head and furrowing his brow, "don't…hoss, kill's fer sure…Ezrraa.." Buck's whispered cries tapered off in an exhale.
Nathan looked up to Chris and watched the gunslinger, as Larabee stared from Buck to Ezra back to Buck. Jackson hadn't ever seen Chris look so intensely angry.
Wilmington unconsciously shifted a leg and drew the healer's attention back to him.
"Buck, I need ya to drink some water," Jackson grabbed the canteen that rested next to his hip, "JD, give me a hand."
Dunne was there instantly wiggling under his large friend and propping Wilmington up against his knees.
"Let me help you brothers," Josiah dropped his dirty rag and left the half awares gambler with a partially cleaned neck, face and a rim of wet hair. Standish burrowed under his blanket. Out of sight out of mind.
The preacher crossed the camp to help JD and Nathan.
Chris watched from the shadows. He watched as his oldest friend had to be propped up and fed like a new born calf too weak to stand and nurse on its own. Those kind of calves tended not to survive. Larabee could see the bandages, the bruised skin and the hint of the lacerations that came from a whip. His anger grew.
He worked his jaw fighting the rage that skimmed so close to the surface. Retribution for the wrong done to his men rolled forward like an incoming tide. He rolled twin fists and clenched his jaw.
Larabee's gaze was pulled from Wilmington when Standish moved under the blanket.
Chris observed the gambler for a moment, Ezra's head wound kept him confused, unbalanced and unsure of the things around him, spending more time unconscious than awake and never truly coherent. Nathan said it would quickly pass, it was just a matter of time.
Larabee watched through the flickering of the campfire as Josiah, Nathan and JD worked in concert to get water down Buck's throat.
Down foals were more apt to die, weak calves faded and died despite a farmers best intentions. Chris watched Buck as the Ladies' Man struggled with the simple reflexive action of swallowing.
It was all wrong. Wilmington was vibrant, full of spit and vinegar with tales as tall and as loud as the man himself. To see him wasted to nothing more than a helpless victim was more than Chris was willing to tolerate. Larabee bristled.
Chris stepped out of the shadows and squatted down beside the gambler, taking Josiah's spot. He just needed a clue, a name, something to follow, to lead him to the man or men who had beaten Buck in such a manner.
He wanted answers. He needed to act, sought revenge.
"Ezra," Chris spoke softly as he turned his attention away from the four men across the fire. He eased the blanket back off the gambler's head. Mud still streaked the younger man's bare shoulders and torso. His face was cleaner but still carried the fine stiff dust of mud that refused to leave after just one cleaning.
"Ezra," Chris said again in a more commanding voice trying to garner the gambler's attention and hoping to spark some lucidity.
Standish rolled his head toward the voice. He raised a hand to swipe at his eyes. Chris grabbed his wrist and held it, keeping it from rubbing at the closed swollen eyes that constantly drained tears. Nathan said it was from the mud and dust that was trapped under the lids. Though Josiah had tried to clean the gambler's face as best he could Standish fought just enough to keep the job from being done completely.
Larabee forced the captured wrist to the ground and noticed the lack of rope burns. Buck's wrists were torn and gouged, ropes had bitten into the big man's wrists burning and tearing skin. Furrowing grooves almost to the bone.
Larabee stared at the pale unmarred wrists of the gambler. A jealous anger started to boil. Chris bit back at it, irrationally wishing it was Buck who had been spared but knowing it was wrong to wish harm had befallen Standish instead. Larabee was a better man than that, Sarah had married a better man, and Adam's Pa was certainly above reproach.
With a calming breath, Chris tried to bury his reactive suspicion. What had happened out there?
"Ezra." Chris spoke again, the anger he felt for the bodies still buried under the avalanche of mud colored his voice, despite his best attempts to disguise it.
Standish shied from the underlying rage, furrowing his brow and trying to blink his eyes open. The fine particles of dust and debris prevented it. The furious blinking spilled a stream of tears down the gambler's cheeks leaving tiny trails highlighting the remaining skiff of dirt on his cheeks.
"Ezra, what happened out there?" Chris asked again grasping the gambler by the chin trying to keep Standish from rolling his head off the makeshift pillow Josiah had fashioned from his coat.
Standish shrunk back from the captive holds, tried to pull his wrist and head free. He moved his legs slowly at first kicking at the blankets that ensnared them. His sense of captivity became enhanced.
Larabee noted Standish's dark pinstripe pants were as dirty as the ground he lay on. He felt the younger man's struggles increase. Larabee fastened his holds tighter.
A vicious circle neither man understood they perpetuated.
"Ezra, what happened? Who did this?" Chris's frustration communicated itself through his hands. The grip on the gambler's jaw tightened as Standish's left wrist was pinned to ground.
Standish began moving his legs in earnest, to free himself of whatever entangled him.
He needed to get away. Get Buck. Where was Buck? Panic began to spike.
"Ezra, knock it off," Larabee hissed out cinching his grip tighter hoping to convey his strength to that of his friend. "Just answer me Ezra. Who did this?"
Standish stopped moving. Answers, they had wanted answers, a name. They had kept asking Buck who had sent them….Just tell them a name and they would stop….tell them or they would find the gambler and ask him. They had just wanted a name, who knew of their operation to send lawmen from Four Corners. Buck's pain would have stopped with a just the utterance of a name…the whip and taunting laughter would stop if Buck just whispered a name or gave up the Gambler…offered a toy for them to tear strips off.
With his heart fluttering in his chest, unable to see or make sense of what held him captive, the Southerner kept completely still. He willed his chest not to move with each breath. He froze, like an injured creature hiding from a maundering predator. He had to get Buck. Rescue Buck.
"Leave'im be brother," Josiah's voice so close had Larabee snapping his head around and reaching for his gun. He had been so intent on Ezra that he had missed the preacher's approach. "Brother Ezra, won't be able to tell us much even if he were in his right mind." Sanchez spoke with understanding; acknowledging Chris's desire and need to know what had happened and who had perpetrated such heinous brutality upon Buck.
Larabee held his breath and released it slowly, simultaneously relaxing his grip on Ezra's chin and wrist and realizing just how tightly he had held his grip. The finger indents from the pale flesh were slow to fade.
"Buck?" Larabee nearly hissed out the words. His anger and building frustration needing a vent.
"Got some water down him," Josiah said as a way of encouragement as he adjusted the blankets Standish had kicked free of in his struggles.
Ezra held still, afraid to breath thus move and reveal his place amongst them. Anxiety pounded through his veins as he desperately tried to disentangle hazy disjointed images. One image kept repeating; Wilmington tied, hung by his wrists facing into the wooded glade that Ezra had concealed himself when he had tracked Wilmington to the encampment just out of Circle Creek. He had to help Buck…somehow he had to free Buck.
Chris growled under his breath and pushed himself to his feet keeping his eyes on the still form across the fire and under Nathan's and JD's care. He melted back into the shadows generously afforded by the dark night.
Josiah settled down next to the gambler and could see the tension in the taut muscles of the Southerner. "Easy Ezra, no one wants to hurt you." He laid a reassuring hand on Ezra's bare shoulder and frowned when he felt the muscles twitch away from the touch.