Part 16a
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 Four Corners, 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 despair. 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.
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Part 16b
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.
part 17
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.
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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. Thank goodness 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.
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