part1
A raptor soared in the desert night sky. Its wings stretched out silhouetted against a midnight blue backdrop. It's flight feathers separated like fingers on a hand as it soared, climbing higher. The powerful legs were drawn up tight to the body. Talons were clenched securely closed. The large bird rode the thermal currents searching the dark desert ground for a meal. Its piercing yellow eyes focused briefly on the small flickering flame resting in the narrow canyon floor. It did not recognize the light as fire, it did not recognize the three forms huddled around it as men. It did categorize that at the moment they would not be a suitable meal. Not yet. The smell of death hung prematurely from the small lighted area but death had not yet claimed any victims.
The bird swooped higher up into the sky catching another thermal current. It switched its powerful vision from the three forms and concentrated once again on the plateau a few hundred feet above the humans. The full moon offered clear visibility to the hunter. Very few clouds dotted the starry sky. A desert hare caught the raptors attention. The hare browsed in a nervous fashion alert for any danger that might spring upon it.
The humans already forgotten the bird tucked its wings close to its body and dove on the unsuspecting prey. It careened to the earth at an alarming rate. In utter silence the bird descended on the hare. Wind and desert air rushed passed the bird as it threw itself at the hapless victim.
At the last second the rabbit sensed the rapidly approaching danger. Primal instinct felt the threat from above. In less than a second the prey bolted. It scurried off in panic seeking adequate protection under prickly sage. It paused keeping still waiting as death swooped by on the wind. The hare paused a moment longer ensuring its safety before it continued to chew the morsel of food it still stored in its cheeks. It had escaped death for now. Hunger would lull it out into the open before morning. Danger lurked both on the ground and from above. With heightened senses and a rapid heart rate the hare balled itself within the confining protection of the sage.
The bird quickly adjusted its wings, refolded its powerful legs and pulled out of its steep dive just inches above the clay packed ground. Wind brushed and stirred as the raptor skimmed the empty spot. Another meal escaped. The bird climbed high into the night. It ignored the silver highlighted clouds. It did not recognize or marvel at the numerous stars that off set the black sky.
The hunter circled, searching, again its eyes fell to the struggling fire light. Three forms one by itself laying curled like an animal on its last breath. The others were a conflagration of melted shapes. The smell of blood was strongest from these two forms. Death permeated the area. The raptor would stay close. A scavenged meal was better than an empty gullet.
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Chris cradled the head and shoulders of his life long friend. Buck shivered in the chill of the arid night. Larabee pulled his worried gaze from the countless stars above to the mustached man that bled in his arms. He pulled Buck tighter to himself trying to share body heat, trying to stave off death. The presence of Death had slowly coiled its tendrils around his friends icy form. "Hold on Buck jist a little longer," Chris whispered his desperation clear. The pleading tone would have wrenched hearts had anyone been paying attention.
A raw breeze blew low across the desert canyon. The large sand stone walls rose like black monoliths all around them reaching into the sky. They stood out like black specters of death looming over the three men that huddled in their midst. A stream trickled near by, it too going through its own throes of death. In a few short weeks it would be nothing more than a sandy stream bottom, an empty promise to any traveler. Water would not trickle through its banks until late next spring.
Buck's muscles trembled again. A low groan escaped parched lips and legs stirred.
"Easy Pard'" Chris whispered hugging the large form to himself unsure how to offer comfort to a man who had comforted him through his most trying times.
"C..c..c..old" Wilmington stuttered.
Larabee folded Buck's weathered callused hands within his own. Chris had never felt live skin so chilled. A small campfire crackled just a few short inches away. Blankets surrounded the larger man. He lay on both Chris and his own bed rolls and was covered by Ezra's and all three blankets.
"I know Buck jist hold on," Chris pleaded with his friend, "Nathan'll be here soon, jis'hang on a little longer." Larabee tried to comfort his dying friend, unconsciously tightening his grip. A lie. He just lied to Buck. Chris shut his eyes and took a shuttering breath. He had stooped so low as to use a Standish tactic to give false hope to a dying man. How could it be wrong? How could it be immoral to try and ease some of the agony with false hope?
Jackson wasn't coming.
Nathan sat comfortably in Four Corners unaware of the miserable death cresting over one of the seven.
"Goin'...nowhere...pard," Buck whispered out quietly. A small smile split his face. He knew he was dying. The guilt he felt about leaving Chris hurt more than any bullet hole to the side. The loss Chris was floundering through was worse than any amount of blood that spilled unimpeded from Wilmington's body. Buck silently cursed himself for failing his friend. He hoped Vin would be able to pick up the pieces and put Chris back together again. Oh how he was going to miss Chris and the others. Gawd he felt terrible. How could he have failed Chris so badly. The smile started to fade as the pain began to roll through him like a building wave.
Chris missed the small light hearted smirk.
"Thhh...irrr..ssstty" Buck grimaced as the pain crested and crashed down on him. He ground his teeth and tried to muffle the groan. Oh God this hurts so bad.
"Hold on Buck," Larabee reached for one of the canteens. He picked it up and shook it. It was empty. Chris dropped it in disgust and stretched for the other one. It too was empty. Gawd damn gambler....
"Ezra!" Chris shot out in a harsh whisper. He waited a moment and watched the curled form from across the fire move with great reluctance.
The gambler had come down with a stomach sickness just before dawn this morning. Larabee had gone to relieve him from watch to find him on his knees heaving. Chris had silently sworn. Could anything else possibly go wrong. Buck had been gut shot the night before, they were being pursued by two brothers bent on revenge and then Standish had come down with an illness.
"Ezra!" Larabee bit out a little louder dragging the stubborn southerner into some sluggish movements. Larabee shifted the heavy weight of Wilmington in his arms trying to get a more comfortable grip.
"Toss me your canteen." Chris waited a few intolerable moments. The quiet sounds of the desert night were lost on him. Instead he was only concerned with comforting a dying friend.
Standish unwrapped an arm from around his midsection and reached for his canteen. He had trouble focusing on it. His head pounded and felt as if it were caught in a vice. His stomach seemed to rest just behind his tonsils, the slightest wrong movement sent him lurching to his knees heaving. Gawd it was cold out.
He reached a shaky hand for the canteen. It was light. To light. It was empty. The others were empty, he knew because he had drank them as well. He was so incredibly thirsty. Never, could he recall ever craving the sweet taste of water so badly. Hell anything liquid.
"Empty," he breathed out. It hurt to talk. His headache was so fierce his teeth ached, just the simple action of moving his tongue brought misery to his head. He kept his eyes closed the light of the fire sent physical nauseating pain shooting through his head.
"Gawd damn it Ezra you drank all the water?" Larabee hissed out infuriated. Larabee stared with murderous intent at the curled form across the campfire from Buck and himself.
"Ey,....pard.....go......easy..." Buck whispered out. He did not understand why Chris was angry. Wilmington did not realize much right now, even the fact that it was night eluded him. He could only focus on his incredible thirst and the impending damage he was about to impart on his oldest friend.
"Ezra go fill the canteens," Chris ordered. He held tightly to Buck. Larabee could feel the blood from the saturated bandages soak through his pants leg. He could feel Buck's life ebb from him as the expanding pool of blood was absorbed down his thigh. Wilmington only wanted water and Chris could not even offer him that little reprieve.
"Ezra!" Larabee barked out in desperation. He would not let Buck die craving something as simple as a sip of water.
The dark blue coated form across the fire stirred again.
"Git some water," Chris ordered again. Why Buck? Why did Buck have to take a bullet? Why not him?
"Come on Ezra git on your feet, go git some water," Larabee's coaxing was mixed with a threat.
Standish moved.
Ezra heard Larabee. The gambler missed the coaxing, the pleading, and the unspoken threats. He was thirsty, gawd awful thirsty. Water. Chris wanted water, Buck desired water and so did himself. Ezra would fill the canteens and drink himself full. Maybe he would even drink from the stream before filling the canteens. Yes, he would do that and then fill the canteens.
Larabee tightened his grip around Buck and watched as Standish gamely pulled himself to his knees and then struggle to his feet. Chris tossed the two empty canteens toward Standish. With an unsteady gait the gambler staggered off in the direction of the cold running stream.
Chris watched the stooped southern frame dissolve into the desert night.
Larabee gazed back up at the blanket of stars that adorned the dark sky. A full moon held the sky giving the night an unearthly clear glow. Moon shadows were cast forlornly across the desert. A chorus of Coyotes yipped and howled in the distance. The shriek of something falling prey to tooth or talon cut through the night. The slight breeze kept the hovering insects at bay, its passage marked by a hollow moan as it wove between canyon walls. The small camp fire danced and crackled in the refreshing breeze sending spirals of smoke and sparks diagonally into the heavens.
Chris never noticed the symphony of night creatures. In turn the nocturnal creatures ignored the struggle of a man that slowly bled to death in the arms of a friend. Life and death was the one thing that put all living creatures on an equal plane. Nothing could escape the vast reach of the reaper.
Larabee closed his eyes, silently begging Buck to hang on, not to give up. A prayer found its way into his thoughts. His private pleas turned into a request. A trade. A life for a life. He prayed to a God he had blamed for his family's violent death. A God he blamed as much as he blamed himself. Chris bartered with a God he had given up on and grew to hate.
Trade a life for a life.
Spare Buck. If a soul needed taking tonight, take his, take Chris's. End his suffering. Let JD's older brother survive. Let Wilmington live another night to spend in the arms of a lady he hardly knew. Give Buck another chance to accuse Standish of cheating.
A simple trade a life for a life.
Let Buck live. Let Wilmington continue to teach others how to live life to the fullest, laugh at life's most difficult obstacles. Please don't take Buck from those who need him the most.
What kind of God would pull such a gifted man from this earth and leave a numb murderous gunslinger to face an unsuspecting world. What kind of God would let a young boy burn to death? What kind of God would take a loving mother and wife from a husband?
The same kind of God that would let a best friend bleed to death, the kind of God that would turn a blind eye to the battle waged on this quiet crisp arid night.
Please a life for a life.
Chris clenched Buck tighter to his chest. Maybe his heart could beat for both men.
Please take his life spare Buck's.
A life for a life.
A simple bargain a simple request.
A deaf God.
Wilmington did not want to die. He did not want to bleed to death. He would not go without a fight. Wilmington could not feel Larabee's tightening grip around him. He was not aware of the battle Chris waged. Buck did know that Chris fought. Right now behind the pain, behind the leaden feeling somewhere veiled beyond the sea of grey that comprised of Bucks chilled world, Chris fought like a raging demon. Buck would help him. Wilmington would stand by his side and once more beat the odds. Together Chris Larabee and Buck Wilmington would face insurmountable odds and beat them back. They would prevail against death. They had before and they would this time.
If they could just get the bleeding stopped. He felt so thirsty.
"Cautery," Both whispered it. Buck slightly behind Chris's words. The simple word became a tangle of syllables that no outsider would understand.
"Buck," Chris spoke quietly staring down at the pale features. The moonlight did not enhance the blanched features. "Buck we can try an' cauterize the wound." Larabee would not do it without Buck's permission.
Wilmington peeled his eyelids apart. Gawd they felt so heavy. He was so cold. The thought of fire brought false promise of warmth. He merely nodded a slow near impossible movement that left him feeling exhausted.
"It could kill ya Buck?" Larabee whispered back. He slid the Bowie from Buck's belt and leaned forward over Wilmington slipping the large blade into the edge of the flame.
"Dy'n...any'how...pard'" The words floated off the hot labored breath. Another wave of pain washed through Wilmington. A groan escaped.
"Hold on Buck," Chris cinched his arms tighter around his friend. He would not let Buck go. He would defy the God that had stolen away his wife and son. He would bare his teeth at the deities that stole souls to early from this earth. Chris Larabee would fight Satan himself tonight to wrestle back the life of Buck Wilmington....
And if anyone had asked.....Ezra Standish would have laid the odds in favor of Chris and Buck. The gambler, after all, left nothing to chance.
The large stainless steel blade turned black, then shone bright red and orange and finally turned white. The knife was ready.
Chris slid out from under Wilmington. He laid the large gunslinger flat on the two bed rolls. Chris pulled back the blankets and the third bed roll and pulled up Wilmington's blood soaked shirt. The make shift bandages were soaked and dripping uselessly. Larabee removed the sopping shirts that once made up the gamblers laundry.
The entry wound was deceivingly small. The size of a child's pinkie maybe. Blood oozed from the red swollen hole. The exit wound was alarmingly large. It could easily accommodate an adult index finger. With each ragged breath blood ran from the gaping tattered maw.
"You ready Buck?" Chris asked. He received no answer. Wilmington lay on his side exposing the wound to the light of the fire.
Chris cursed quietly out loud. He would not even get a chance to say good bye. Damn you Wilmington. Larabee, as was his nature, became angry. He was infuriated with the world. To hell with everything and everyone especially you Buck Wilmington. You can go to hell, because when you get there I'll be there to kick your pathetic butt. Damn you for passing out on me and leaving me alone. You son of a whore damn you for dying on me.....
Chris wiped at his eyes angry at the tears that threatened to fall on their own accord without his permission. To hell with the world. Larabee watched as Buck drew in a ragged breath. You better hold on Buck Wilmington or I'll kill you myself.
Chris grabbed the handle of the Bowie knife. It singed his hand. Chris's rage was such that he did not notice the burn that scorched his palm. Larabee knelt beside his life long friend. He held the white blade over a man that had pulled him through a war and the loss of a family. Chris shut his eyes and once again bargained.
A life for a life.
He placed the blade into the exit wound.
Smoke billowed from the hole. Blood popped and burned, skin curled and turned black. The heavy unmistakable smell of burnt flesh filled the area.
Buck arched away from the searing pain.
A blood curdling scream tore across the night.
It careened and bounced off canyon walls echoing like a hellish roll of thunder. It washed over the singing coyotes silencing them abruptly. Raptors heads swiveled on necks searching out the sound of the potential meal. Crickets and insects of the night stopped their chatter briefly as the tortured cry rolled passed them.
Vin, JD, Nathan and Josiah pulled their horses to a halt. No one spoke. The death scream washed over them like a flash flood. Tears rolled unbeknownst to JD down his dusty cheeks. Sanchez closed his eyes and prayed for a miracle and Nathan realized he was to late. Tanner ground his teeth, he failed his friends. The wrenching scream belonged to Buck Wilmington.
The anguished cry of pain sailed over the unconscious form near the stream. The parched dry lips never got to taste the sweet water that lay only a few yards away. Canteens hung in a loose grasp. A columns of ants marched unhindered by the sudden obstruction. They continued their purposeful movement over fevered cheeks. A few black ants strayed into the partially parted lips and a few up un-reacting nostrils. The insects discovered nothing of use on their detours and return to their ranks. They crossed the face, traversed the neck, back to the ground unaware and unconcerned of the impending death of the gambler.