Part 4: The wish to appear clever often prevents one from being so…Maximes. No.244
Standish chuckled to himself. A sharp twinge between his shoulder blades reminded him to keep all unnecessary movement to a minimum. Beau, as he had come to be called, walked quietly at the end of the lasso. At the end, but with enough slack to keep the tension off the line. Chaucer walked out, proud of his accomplishments for the day.
Yes, a successful day, if one considered the possibilities such as being maimed, killed or worse yet lose the wager.
Standish once again swiveled gently in his saddle to keep an eye on the dog. Beau learned quickly. Quicker than most, if Ezra were a betting man. Which of course he was . Once again the Southerner, with an air of self satisfaction, wiped clinging dirt and dried grass from his coat. A few tufts of grass fell from his coat collar, a successful day indeed. Stars started to dot the sky. In a few minutes they would be home in Four Corners
The afternoon, though, not very smooth, brought him one step closer to winning this foolish wager.
Getting the dog off the stake proved quite a challenge. Nothing one Ezra P. Standish could not handle but it still posed somewhat of a hardship. Placing the lasso around the dog had proven futile. Beau had speed and flexibility that would make most yearling steers and colts bow their heads in shame. On more than a few occasions, the dog merely caught the tossed loop between clenched jaws. Then a tug of war between man and beast truly ensued.
That was not how Standish came to be covered in grassy debris. Heavens no, he had his trusty mount to thank for that.
After numerous failed attempts, though Standish would never admit they were failures it was more like a ploy to tire the dog down .but after numerous plays with the lasso the gambler realized a new direction needed taking. While dabbing his brow of copious amounts of sweat and catching his breath, he came up with his brilliant idea.
Brilliant being the operative word at least if he did say so himself and since no one was with him at the time Brilliant fit the bill.
With a stick, a few choice words, though the tone of his words matched the same tone he would use when finagling Billy Travis to run and errand for him, he had succeeded Phase 1 of said above average plan. It was the tone, not the words kids and apparently animals, listened too so with his soothing voice and not so eloquent vocabulary he had worked the end of the lariat through the iron ring that the tether had been attached too. With a long stick he had dragged the end away from the dog and fed it back through the other end of the lariat. The loop had now ensnared the ring.
Brilliant even now as he rode in the direction of town under the light of a new moon, he realized, once again, his mother raised a brilliant son. Yes indeed Brilliant.
With Chaucer saddled, he merely had to dally one end of the lariat around the saddle horn. With a confident air he had sat his saddle. The dog now sat at the end of the lariat. Nothing to it.
He had guided his horse up to the dog and to the stake that held the iron ring. The dog shied from the horse. Chaucer´s muscles had quivered and he kept his ears flat against his head. Neither horse nor dog had seemed pleased with the plan.
Ezra had been ecstatic. With a confident air, he had dismounted and under the protection of his horse undid the stake. Things were moving brilliantly .because he was indeed a genius.
Once back on his horse, however, things had slipped quickly down the genius scale to the level of, ‘What were you thinking?´
With gentle leg pressure, Standish had asked Chaucer to move out. He had reined the horse, unnecessarily, toward town. That was not where his plan hit the snag.
The rope had pulled tight. The leather collar around the dog´s thick neck had started to cinch down. Beau had held his ground.
The rope had pulled increasingly taut. With a cocky air, Standish had pivoted in his saddle and called the dog. Beau had bristled at the summons and had leaned back on his haunches.
Standish, with a glee of victory, had nudged the horse forward. With little effort, the twelve hundred pound quarter horse easily dragged the eighty pound dog forward.
Standish had not begun to worry yet nope not yet because he was brilliant. He was after all Maude Standish´s son .
Beau had reared and jumped left and right. He had jerked himself backward, had tried to run to either side but the persistent pull hauled him forward.
As stated earlier, Beau was smart ..perhaps even brilliant.
Ezra had smiled knowing he had easily won this battle. Then the unexpected had happened. Perhaps his brilliant plan had missed one vital possible scenario.
With no ability to go back, no true ability to go left or right, Beau had only one choice but to go forward.
The dog immediately realized this once he had calmed down. The rope did not hold the stiffness of a club if one followed its line.
Ezra had watched with growing apprehension as the massive black dog had started advancing up the rope. Eating his way up the rope it would seem to the suddenly ‘not so brilliant man´ in the saddle.
Tying a predator to a tow line anchored to a prey species suddenly did not herald the image of a genius.
With a flash, the dog had rushed the horse. The horse, with its superior peripheral vision, had witnessed this flank attack and had reacted. Reacted in a manner that the horse world deem as decidedly brilliant, in the human training world .not so brilliant.
With a squeal, the massive horse had tucked its hind end in and struck out at the dog. The dog had dodged the flying foot.
Standish, not positioned quite securely in his saddle, had suffered from an abrupt jolt. He had retained his grip on the saddle, but his butt was nearly the level of his shoulders. Things were not looking so ingenious at the moment.
The dog had charged again. A low dark figure with flashing teeth. Chaucer had skipped to the side pivoting on his hind legs and swinging his front legs toward the dog. With ears back and his own teeth bared, the horse had faced off the dog.
Standish hung precariously to the edge of his saddle. His right calf rested neatly in the seat of the saddle. His shoulder had bumped against the cinch.
No, not so brilliant now.
The dog had ducked under the flying hooves and skittered away. The lariat had tangled somewhat around his body and somehow managed to make a loop over and around one of Chaucer´s striking feet.
The dog dove again at the horse. Chaucer had leaped to greet it.
The massive lunge had driven Standish mercilessly into the ground. He didn´t even bounce.
The horse´s well placed iron shod foot had grazed the dog´s head, sparing it´s skull but not a concussion. The dog had hit the ground in much the same fashion as his new owner.
The rope had pulled tight around Chaucer´s foot and had yanked his one settled front foot out from underneath himself. The horse then hit the ground chest and nose first. Large clumps of dry prairie grass clung to its nostrils.
Dog and horse had stared at one another in momentary blurred and somewhat double vision. The ground work in their relationship had been drawn.
Their master was to be blamed for this.
Standish had lay curled in the dirt trying desperately to gulp in air from evacuated lungs. His eyes had watered, a moment of panic seized him, as his body screamed for air. Finally the elusive breath came and in great gasping heaves he recaptured his breath.
With a groan and a curse, he had struggled to his feet. With ringing ears and swimming vision, he had notice his horse and dog facing each other.
The bet he had to remember the wager. With a sigh, and stooped posture, he had approached the horse. Chaucer had crow hopped away from his owner and toward the dog. The dog had snarled and snapped but did not lunge at the maniacal horse.
After some threats and coercion, Standish had finally gained his spot in the saddle. With a not so confident air, he had stared at the dog. Beau had returned the gaze and waited.
With a cautious nudge, Standish had directed Chaucer toward Four Corners. As the slack in the lariat began to disappear, Ezra had found himself securing himself in his seat, readying for battle.
It never came. The dog had walked calmly just at the end of the rope, just out of reach of the flaring hooves. This crazy demented horse was not something the dog wished to battle again not now.
And so Ezra had guided the two home. The sun had stretched across the horizon and set behind some trees. As time passed and they closed the distance to town, the sore muscles and bruised bones began to register.
Dog and horse kept their animosity to themselves. Ezra enjoyed the peace. Relished in the fact that he now had taught Beau to lead. The money was all but in his pocket.
Yes, brilliant indeed. A wicked dimpled grin cut Standish´s face. Yes, brilliant, if he could be so bold. And he could.
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Chris sat forward in his chair. Finally.
He squinted his eyes and watched as the dark silhouette of horse and rider slowly separated itself from the dark shadows of night.
Buck laughed at the sight coming down the street at them.
“He´s got the damn dog with him,” Tanner´s awed voice held a hint of humor.
“Didn´t think he´d be able to do it,” Buck agreed.
“Got ‘imself a wager to win,” Jackson tried to discern from a distance and through the inky blackness, if indeed, the Southerner had escaped unscathed. It appeared as if all were well.
Ezra rode close to the saloon but kept his distance from the occupants of the boardwalk. He could not be sure he had removed all debris from his person and he could not guarantee that Beau would not try and make a meal of someone. Surely they were deserving but one had to think of the dog. “Gentlemen.” A grin split his features. Oh yes, he could practically smell the cash rolling in
“Ezra,” Chris tipped his hat and turned his attention back to his beer. His concern in the matters ceased once his men made it to town safely. Their affairs were their own.
“Josiah and me set up a place for him,” Tanner indicated to the snarling dog at the far end of the lariat. Chaucer snapped out a hind foot just as a reminder to the dog. Ezra ignored the actions of both animals having become quite used to their immense sense of personal space.
“Out behind the saloon,” Vin watched the interactions of the two animals. Dang they don´t even like each other figures
“Thank you gentlemen,” Standish tipped his hat to the others and directed his horse down the ally. Hopefully with Chaucer´s help or interference he would get the dog secured to its tether.
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Ezra entered the saloon trying to hide his stiff gait. His shoulders and hip hurt. The spot between his shoulder blades twinged and muscles seemed to tighten on their own. Falling off ones horse onto hard autumn ground did not do one any favors. All he needed was a little something to relax the muscles. The bath house was closed so Medicinal Brandy was all he had at his disposal.
With an air of confidence and nonchalance, he coursed across the room to the bar. In a few minutes he joined a game of chance on the raised dais.
If he could avoid the scrutiny of his companions he just might make it through this night unscathed.
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“Ezra sure is packing away the brandy tonight,” JD wiped his brow still feeling tired out from the little bout of fever. A cool breeze whipped in from the saloon doors.
“Yup,” Vin nursed his beer and hid a smile. Standish did a pretty good job hiding his aches. But his smooth gait sure had a hitch in his ‘git along´. The others hadn´t seemed to notice. Tanner kept the secret to himself. Dang horse of his probably threw him.
“No hammering before the sun rise,” Chris made his decree catching the eyes of the two offenders. Inez had been a bear all day. Larabee watched the gaming table for a moment and figured there would be peace for the next few days.
Josiah and Nathan nodded their consent. Watching Ezra try and con the dog would be entertainment enough.
Buck leaned back in his chair and twirled his mustache, “Wonder how he got the dog on the rope?”
No one had an answer.
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Part 5 Everywhere in life, the true question is not what we gain, but what we do…Carlyle
The early morning sun, in a spontaneous act of annoyance, shone brilliantly in through the second story window of the saloon. The lone occupant of the room moaned and rolled over pulling a thin sheet over his head. The sun persisted. Light penetrated closed lids and heated the room to an unbearable degree. With a muttered curse and profound but useless gestures toward nature herself and the ungodly hour of the day, the body dragged itself into a sitting position. The remnants of too much whiskey hammered the skull and neck. Stomach juices tossed and boiled the remains of a partially digested dinner like a ship caught in rough seas. Another moan echoed around the room. A pair of shaky white hands clasped the temples and ignored the sweat that seemed permanent since the beginning of Summer.
Misery had found a shelter .
Ezra clawed to his feet and swayed. He staggered forward a bit and kicked the heel end of a stray boot. A foul curse flew forth. The venom and strength of the voice seemed too much for sensitive ears and a touchy constitution. Another pitiful moan escaped. Dear Lord.
With a lack of vigor, with no prospects of escaping his self induced misery any time soon, the gambler began the daunting task of getting dressed. Muscles twinge and pulled reminding him of his sudden, rude encounter with the Earth.
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Vin pushed his slouched hat off his forehead. A grin creased his face, “Howdy Ezra, yer up early this morning.” The Tracker didn´t bother to stifle a chuckle. The sunrise had been particulary pretty this morning. It promised to be another hot day Indian summers. The tracker kept his eye on the not so quiet sufferings of the gambler beside him but listened to the approach of Larabee.
Chris bounded up the board walk with a stealth that rivaled most cats but with an ominous presence that seemed to speak louder than any church bell. The man carried an air of threat and danger. He made heads turned but somehow convinced hands to stay away from holsters and guns.
“You best check on yer dog Ezra,” The command in Larabee´s voice did not penetrate through the whiskey induced Hell that engulfed Standish.
“Not my dog Mr. Larabee,” Standish whispered out. Lord his teeth ached.
“You took responsibility for him you best live up to it,” Anger laced the words.
Standish heard an order and bristled, “I´ll git to it when I can.” Good Lord how much Brandy had he indulge in last night surely this would be the last time he succumbed to such over indulgences.
The gunslinger raised his lip in a snarl. The dog meant nothing to him. They should have destroyed it that first night. Damn this man and his wagering.
“Ya best git to it now before you lose all yer money .and them fools kill it,” Chris struck the gambler in the only spot he knew would aggravate the Southerner into action.
The prospect of losing wages moved the gambler. Red injected eyes snapped up at the gunslinger trying to finagle the truth of the matter. Larabee spoke what he believed to be accurate.
Standish eyed Tanner and then hurried down the boardwalk. His foot falls quickened from a fast walk to a jog. He rounded the corner of the saloon into the alley. His eyes darkened with what he saw. He slowed his steps deliberately and casually marched down the shadowy narrow lane between buildings.
Chris and Vin followed at a slower pace. Neither man spoke.
Josiah stood on the steps of his church and watched the threesome. His concern grew when Standish disappeared down the ally out of sight. The preacher trotted across main street and followed Chris and Vin.
Ezra grabbed the pick handle leaning next to the rear exit of the saloon. A little safety measure he kept there in case a disgruntled card loser decided to ambush him on the way to the Privy.
Three men taunted the dog. The cur snarled and snapped at the end of his tether. Hackles stood on end from neck to shoulders down the back and toward the hip. The tail hung straight out with a slight crook. With teeth bared and a deep growl, the dog lunged. The tether Vin and Josiah had constructed held true.
Standish leaned on the pick handle like a cane, “ I would ask you gentlemen to leave the beast be.” The smooth tones of his Southern heritage rang soft and thick. Anger flashed through green eyes though his posture portrayed one of no concern. Though a dimpled smile graced his lips a strong warning held the air.
The men turned, appraised the gambler and dismissed the dandy. One of the men picked up a rock to hurl at the tethered dog.
“I would not advise that,” Ezra held the man´s eyes. The brutality of men, though familiar, continued to surprise him.
“Go away Mister or we´ll feed ya to the dog,” The rock wielding man held the maliciousness of a bully and the cowardly intentions of one as well.
With his eyes on the Southerner, the man cocked his arm to hurl the rock at the dog.
Josiah held Vin back and shook his head. Chris leaned against the wall of the saloon content to observe the action in the shielding darkness. He would not intervene unless needed.
That morning standing in the shadows of the ally, Vin Tanner once again came to respect the speed and contrary sense of obligation that wavered and swelled within the gambler.
Josiah finally saw a spark of responsibility within a man who wanted none a sense of duty for what was right and wrong acceptable and unacceptable. Standish acted because he perceived something to be wrong unfair.
Ezra didn´t understand why he reacted as he did .he blamed it on the malingering effects of alcohol, on the smell of the foul men before him .blamed it on the sun and the early hour .he claimed his actions stemmed from anything but a growing conscience. A conscience would be the death of him .an inner voice with ethics and morals like that of Mr. Jackson, or Mr. Dunne or even Mr. Sanchez would destroy his way of life. A way of life he enjoyed and flaunted.
He acted to protect his investment, to keep the wager alive and hence improve his chance of winning. Winning, of course, was everything and any means to a gainful end must be employed.
Ezra struck for any number reasons but certainly not because of some misguided sense of right and wrong.
The three men who taunted the dog did not care what reason dictated the sudden brutality that befell them. Their only concern lay in escaping the blue coated wraith that rained upon them with a club.
The rock wielding man had hauled his arm back, cocked it to whip the rock at the tied dog that defied him. His arm never shot forward instead a well sanded, shiny, carefully kept pick handle smashed his forearm. Bones snapped like kindling. A frightful wail, the searing cry only associated with dire injuries, curled through the area. The other two men turned and faced their attacker. One made a move toward the southern aggressor.
Standish wheeled the stick as if it were an extension of himself. The gambler completed the arc, passing though the forearm swinging the wood upward to smash the underside of the jaw of the furthest man. Blood, teeth and spittle sprayed into the air as the man arched away from the blow. His feet left the ground as he flew backward.
The third man reached for his gun.
Larabee, a mere shadow in the background, laid his hand on the butt of his revolver. Josiah put a restraining hand over his and shook his head.
Ezra needed no help with the physical aspects of his actions.
Standish spotted the movement and simply swung the club back down in a figure eight pattern. The pick handle landed with a solid crack to the collar bone area. The man fell to his knees like a repentive sinner before an angry deity. The gambler finished the figure eight motion by bringing it down and across the man´s shoulder knocking him to the ground.
In just a few seconds, three men lay sprawled on the dirt cradling broken bones and battered muscles. Cries of protest and unholy curses filled the area.
The cur stood at the end of it´s tether and eyed the man wielding the stick. It stood it´s ground. When the stick was raised again the dog raised it´s lip but no sound escape.
Vin watched the captured animal. Through those few seconds the untrusting, deviant brown eyes never left the gambler.
The dog had watched the actions of the man, almost seemed to understand them.
Tanner realized he had lost the wager .maybe not today nor tomorrow but in this simple act of protection Standish built a bridge. All the gambler had to do was recognize it and venture across it.
Another month´s wagers lost to the conman .damn.
Tanner slid his eyes toward Larabee. The gunman grimaced. He had witnessed the same thing. Son of a Bitch.
“Brother Ezra do you need some help?” Josiah´s voice startled the gambler. Standish whirled around bringing the ax handle up to guard. The dog bared it´s teeth.
“Whoa Ezra .jist us pard´,” Tanner stepped forth. Amusement shone in his eyes, “You handle an ax handle pretty good pard´.”
“Yes well,” Standish shrugged unwilling to articulate any reasons.
“Wouldn´t it have been easier to just shoot the bastards?” Humor almost laced Larabee´s words.
“The loud report of gun fire at such an early hour seemed unjustified and rude.”
“Got yourself a hell of a headache don´t you brother?” Josiah hauled a battered man to his feet.
Ezra smiled sheepishly, “Yes, and there is that.” The gambler watched as the three men hauled the strangers back down the ally. Movement at the corner of his eye garnered his attention. Standish sighed in a weary fashion. He had a wager to win. The foolishness of the bet suddenly hit home. What had overcome him to take on such a bet? Even with six to one odds the meager earnings of his fellow peacekeepers would not cover the effort he would be forced to put forth. Perhaps with a little finagling and some friendly gestures he could pat the dog and parade it through town and be rid of the beast before the week was up. Yes, if he started now he would be finished sooner.
“Well it seems I have worked up an appetite how ‘bout you?”
The dog growled in response to the voice but exposed no teeth.
“Yes well there is something we must do about your deplorable lack of manners.” Standish spoke casually as he pulled on a crate and dragged it just out of reach of the dog. With a sigh, he sat on the wood box and fished through his pocket for the folded napkin full of biscuits.
“How about we win this wager then go our separate ways?” The gambler unfolded the cloth and broke off a section of floured biscuit. He tossed it to the dog.
The dog shied from it. Ezra seemingly ignored the dog and broke off a piece for himself. His stomach churned and revolted.
The big black sniffed the food, never taking his eyes from the man that just sat outside his reach. Deeming the food safe but the motivation behind the actions suspect the dog quickly snatched the morsel up and swallowed it whole.
Ezra watched and was careful to hide his smile.
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part 6 The worst solitude is to have no true friendships…..Francis Bacon
The two weeks came quicker than most would have thought possible. It came before fourteen days actually passed.
Trouble had started brewing within the boundaries of Four Corners. Someone or a group of individuals had taken to robbing citizens of the town. Unfortunately the clandestine activities did not stop with the simple lifting of stolen property but included beating the victim as well. Man or woman it did not matter. Age or occupation seemed not a determent.
The town grew tense. Wary eyes traveled and searched dark shadows. People saw their neighbors in an accusing light. Strangers had lost their welcome.
Chris had ordered his men to patrol at night in pairs.
Ezra clicked his pocket watched closed and sighed. Where was Mr. Wilmington? Tonight he and Buck had the grave yard shift. Patrons still crowded between the walls of the saloon, the late hour had Ezra seething. People were shy about leaving the relative safety of the lighted saloon. As a direct result they imbibed in more whiskey, lost their inhibitions and thought themselves overtly bright and skilled. It all easily translated to a potentially, wonderfully, successful night at the tables .So, where was one Ezra P. Standish, gambler extraordinaire ..outside waiting on Mr. Wilmington.
Standish sighed. The clink of glasses the sound of slurred voices, pulled at his moral fiber. By all rights it was his duty to relieve them of their cash. It was his job, the very reason he had been put on this Earth. Good Lord why was he standing out here?
Voices rang over the sound of scraping chairs and boots. The sound of a cards being shuffled by unskilled hands called him like a siren.
Ezra checked his watch again. Ten minutes. Buck was ten minutes late. Mr. Wilmington could not still be with the formidable Ms. Sherry? Could he? Well, Ms. Sherry did have a certain amount of endurance.
It stood to reason that if Mr. Wilmington found solace fulfilling his weakness .why couldn´t Ezra?
With a predatory smile Standish surveyed the lighted room and sauntered into the saloon.
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Buck trotted down the board walk ..Just a few minutes late. Not too late. Hell Ezra was probably still cheating folks out of their money.
Wilmington quickly fought to tuck his shirt in around his suspenders.
He never heard the footsteps. Never even thought to be wary of the dark ally. Never even entered his mind .until the blow landed.
Something crashed down just at the base of his neck. It drove him to his knees. A brutal kick connected with his ribs and sent him careening to his side. Something smashed into his cheek. He never had a chance to get his bearings, to catch his breath or make a sound.
Two sets of hands dragged him into the ally. Wilmington did not go down without a fight. He kicked out with one leg. A blood tinge smiled creased his rapidly swelling face. He connected with something almost solid. Flesh .
Unfortunately, it brought about a more vigorous attack from his unseen assailants. He heard them chuckle at his groans. Could just make out their mocking tones as bright lights and sharp burning spears of pain lanced his body.
Somewhere in the darkness he thought he heard a growl.
Then all went black.
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“Ezra what the hell do you think yer doin´?” Larabee leaned low over the gambler´s shoulder. His hot whiskey laden breath brushed Standish´s neck.
Standish leaned slightly away from the looming gunslinger. In answer to the question, the gambler simply held up his cards. Gambling .
“Don´t you and Buck have patrol?” The sarcasm gave an indicator to the level of inebriation in Larabee. He got satiric just before he got murderous.
“Why, yes we do,” Ezra had learned enough about Chris´s mannerisms to know when to fold. Besides he only held a pair of twos. The gentlemen to his left held a set of tens. It was always good for morale and ones health to let a few lesser players win a hand or two. Without much consternation, the gambler simply folded his hand, “Sorry gentlemen but duty calls.”
Ezra no sooner stood up with Larabee giving little quarter, when JD came bursting through the batwing doors. “Nathan! come quick! It´s Buck!” Dunne was already heading back out the doors with Jackson on his heels.
The others followed in short order.
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Ezra rounded the corner before Chris. There in the dark ally hidden slightly by crates and debris, lay Wilmington. He had curled into himself in an instinctive reaction to protect himself. From the looks of things, it seemed futile.
“Josiah,” Nathan glanced quickly over his shoulder. His eyes skimmed over Standish dismissing the conman, “I need yer help.”
Ezra moved to step forward but Sanchez dismissed him with an abrupt shove. Standish staggered back a step. The force of the physical contact paled miserably to the unspoken implications.
Vin searched deeper into the ally hoping to find any clue as to who the assailants were and where they might have disappeared too. The tracker stopped at the massive dog tracks.
Larabee rounded the corner and spied his oldest friend. His fury burned blindly. “You son of a bitch!” Chris whirled on the Southerner and landed three rapid punches. Two to the face and one to the abdomen. Standish found himself stumbling back into the wall. “You God damn lazy son of a bitch,” spittle laced with the tangs of whiskey washed over Ezra.
The gambler tried to move away from the fury before him. Larabee shoved him back. “Ya can´t do anythin´ without screwing it up.” The angry thickening of words were the only hallmark to the gunslinger´s whiskey influenced mind.
Ezra stood his ground defiantly. He would not argue tonight. The caustic stare from Nathan, the reaction from Josiah and now this .no one was listening and he sure as hell didn´t feel like trying to prove anything. Standish squared his shoulders. He would not cower before anyone nor waste his breath.
Beside Larabee had the right of it. He was a screw up…an untrustworthy lying cheat. They all knew it when they first met, included him into their little niche because of what he appeared to be…it was time they all realized that he was exactly what they originally wanted…A cheat. The years together had not changed anything…only made them more comfortable with one another unless unrest befell the group. Then his less than stellar ways became a brand the differentiated him from the rest. His profession branded him and he wore the colors and marks with pride. A professional gambler and conman was not a livelihood most could excel at and live to a healthy old age. Ezra Standish had every intention of being an old successful cardsharp.
Sometimes, however, he wished he could step outside his boundaries. He occasionally wished he could see the world through JD´s enthusiastic trusting eyes, or Buck´s carefree attitude. Wouldn´t it be nice if someone called on him in times of trouble like they did Nathan or Josiah. Just once wouldn´t it be nice to be the kind hearted, caring, enthusiastic soul that everyone seemed to admire. Of course, the others were always broke. A kind heart did not feed an empty stomach. A giving soul did not keep a roof over one´s head.
Wouldn´t it be nice if just once he did something that would be worthy of his compatriots notice?
Ezra should have been there to protect Buck. He knew it. This never should have happened. The very inclination that the others were justified in their accusations only served to infuriate Standish himself. To hell with this. Ezra stood his ground. He would not shy from what they always knew him to be… a simple gambler.
Vin watched. Damn him and his southern pride. Back down Ezra ya dumb ass jist back down. The tracker watched as Larabee bristled at the gambler that still stood before him bruised and bleeding but not cowering. Not seeking forgiveness.
Chris´s lashed out again. JD, appeared out of no where, and deflected the punch, just as a growl rumbled through the ally.
Everything stopped.
Larabee, Vin and JD pulled their guns. Ezra recognized the sound. He had been listening to that growl for the past ten days. He had come to recognize the differences in pitch and meaning to the growls. Though each had a spine tingling effect, not all were meant as aggressive.
This one did. Beau sat somewhere in the shadows.
“Ezra yer dog tied up?” Vin asked quietly.
Ezra dabbed blood from his mouth with the back of his hand, “He was earlier this evening.”
“Vin you see that black son of a bitch .shoot it,” Larabee let his heated gaze linger on Standish. Chris had watched as the gambler had become increasingly more dedicated to the dog. In fact, that morning JD had pointed out, unnecessarily, how the two had started getting along.
“Chris we got to get Buck up to the clinic,” Nathan had ignored the others until now.
“Do you need a hand Mr. Jackson?” Ezra´s pronunciations were lisped by the swelling lips and cuts.
“No,” The curtness of the words landed as efficiently as one of Larabee´s punches.
Jackson saw the flicker of hurt and almost apologized. Then he stared down at Buck´s swollen, beaten features and felt no remorse for his words. Dang it! He shouldn´t have been gambling.
“JD,” Chris turned his back on Standish, dismissing his very presence as unimportant. JD and he helped Nathan and Josiah.
Vin stood in the ally watching the others leave. He hung back in the shadows with his mare´s leg down by his leg. Curiosity got the better of him and he sank against the far wall and watched the gambler.
Ezra gingerly bent down on one knee and gently called the dog. >From the shadows, the dog slipped soundlessly across the dirt ally way to the gambler. In the dim light cast by the saloon, Vin caught a glimpse of the black dusty dog. Since being under care of the Southerner, the dog had put just enough meat on its bones to fill it out properly. Beau was a force of nature to behold.
The tracker watched as two strays revealed a sense of acceptance between themselves. Social creatures spurned by society for what they were raised to be…somehow it didn´t seem fair.
“I hope Mr. Tanner you do not intend on shooting this dog,” Ezra´s wary voice floated with a hint of anger.
“I ain´t gonna shoot yer dog Ezra,” Vin pushed himself off the wall. Hurt and some what disappointed that Ezra would think he would kill the dog. The tracker approached the two straying only briefly into the light. The dog immediately started snarling. Tanner kept his distance. “Hell, I´m thinkin´ it saved Buck´s life,” The chuckle in his voice offered a simple peace offering.
Standish nodded silently and slowly pushed himself up right. Beau kept himself firmly between tracker and gambler.
“But it might be best to keep low fer the next few days til things cool down.” Tanner watched the interaction between conman and dog and wondered who was conning who more. Standish or the dog? Ezra would no more get rid of that dog than the dog would run away. They created their own invisible chains. Vin couldn´t help think both found an unlikely alliance. They needed it…deserved it.
“I will not hide,” Standish´s voice held the sound of bitter resentment. He fouled up. Buck got hurt. No denying it but he would be damned if he would openly admit it. Circumstances dictated the results. A sequence of events led to this unfortunate incident. Mr. Larabee should have known not to have him do patrol tonight. A gambler by trade, since being weaned from milk and yet Mr. Larabee ignores it Wonder how diligent and forthcoming Mr. Jackson would be if Mr. Larabee made him sit at the jail and pull his shift while a woman cried out with a difficult labor. Ahh Hell Mr. Jackson would burn the soles of his shoes to come to the aide of someone. Mr. Larabee accommodates him. As well he should but why not everyone? Why just Nathan and Vin Josiah? Why them and not the others?
Vin couldn´t read the expression on the gambler´s face. The tracker merely nodded and left.
Standish patted the dog one last time before walking down the ally toward the back of the saloon.
The dog followed quietly.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The sun rose in the Eastern sky with no care for the turmoil that plagued the people below it. With a colorful display of reds, pinks and the occasional purple, the sun rose in the horizon to start another day.
For some, the day had already started.
Nathan Jackson stood rolling the last of his newly cleaned bandages. Buck rested in an artificially induced sleep. Soft snores fluttered by swollen tissue.
Josiah sat on the roof of his church and rearranged a few piles of wood shakes, not really taking much care in his work. The smell of rotten eggs still lingered. A brief smile quirked the corners of his mouth at the memory. It faded quickly. He sat heavily on the slanted roof of the church and watched.
Down below on the boardwalk, before the saloon, sat Vin. He slouched with one boot heel resting on the toe of the other boot. He sat arms folded and hat pulled low.
>From his perch, Josiah though the tracker to be sleeping. Sanchez smiled again when he spied the tracker stretch out a lazy hand and accept the coffee mug Larabee walked from the saloon holding.
The smile again faded quickly when Standish appeared at the batwing doors. No one had seen him since the ally last night but none were inclined to search him out.
Blood still ran hot with the foul play that had befallen Buck.
Sanchez shook his head. He had really thought Standish would fall in with the rest. The preacher had truly thought that under that thick gambler´s façade rested a responsible human being. The image of Buck´s bruised face, cracked ribs and swollen eyes hammered home the belief that Standish was just as he appeared. A con, a cheat and a gambler. A disappointment.
They couldn´t trust him to do his job unless they shoved him from behind. Such a shame.
Josiah watched as Larabee whirled on the blue coated gambler. Sanchez could not hear the words but he watched the body language. Larabee leaned forward, aggressive. He barely moved.
Standish stood shoulders square and the ever present grin on his face.
His “I don´t give a damn´ dimpled smile. The preacher shook his head. The smile normally meant just the opposite. The wearer, however, would not seek atonement from anyone. You belittled the man and he either gave the impression of ignoring you or wore it like a badge. He gave no satisfaction in punishing him publicly or privately.
Where do you learn to defend yourself like that? Josiah´s heart felt heavy.
Sanchez shook his head saddened at the outcome. The preacher´s eyes fell to the tracker. Vin seemed not to listen or care at the one sided argument beside him.
Sanchez frowned at the apparent lack of rebuttal from Standish. Perhaps the southerner was learning the wisdom of silence.
Finally, Standish tipped his hat and sauntered by the gunslinger. Josiah couldn´t help but think Ezra purposely turned his back on Larabee. The gambler played the bet that the gunslinger would not shoot a man in the back. Would not attack from behind ..
Josiah picked up his hammer, still keeping his eye on the retreating form heading toward the livery. Ezra had early patrol. At least he had the sense enough to do his job this morning.
Sanchez started hammering shakes.
He had positioned and nailed in five shingles by the time Standish walked his horse from the livery. Josiah sat back with his knees bent. He dangled his hands over his shins as he watched the gambler trot out of town. Ezra became the exception to the rule this day. He rode on patrol alone. No back up. Josiah wondered, for just a flash of time, if Ezra would be back. The thought left a piercing twang of loss in his gut.
Sanchez found his gaze redirected to a black shape loping after horse and rider. The dog. The damn dog. Josiah chuckled. Who ever would have thought. Standish had a partner for this morning´s patrol.
The preacher suddenly held his breath as he watched Larabee lay his hand on his revolver. The gunslinger trailed the dog with his eyes. Sanchez released the breath when Vin quietly came to stand beside the gunslinger.
Josiah watched the two men exchange words and saw the contemplative look Larabee gave the trio of retreating forms. Chris´s hand relaxed at his side. Sanchez leaned back on his elbows and soaked up the morning heat. His eyes traveled to the retreating pack. In the distance, but clearly visual, Sanchez watched as Chaucer kicked out at Beau.
The preacher let loose with a hearty laugh.