Disclaimer: he characters belong to Trilogy, MGM, Mirisch etc and were used without permission.
No copyright infringement was intended and no money was made.
English spelling has been used in this story.
Vin Tanner shivered and coughed, hunching deeper into his coat, and wondered why Yosemite was not more generous with the hay in Peso’s stall. He just could not get warm. The cold seemed to be gnawing into his bones. It was the coldest winter that he could remember and there did not seem to be an end in sight. He was going to have to ask. Exhausted both from lack of sleep and the ravages of his hacking cough, he could not stand more nights like the last few he had endured.
However, although it had been hard enough getting to this point, it was even more difficult determining which one of his six friends to ask. Until about a month before that would not have been a problem because he would have gone to Chris Larabee. However, now the gunslinger was last on his list. He had done something to anger the black-clad man, but for the life of him he could not figure out what it was. However, he knew it was serious as Larabee was as prickly as hell and nothing the tracker did seemed to be right these days.
He tried to ignore the glares, the sarcastic gibes and the outright rebukes, but it was hard and he was starting to consider whether he wanted to stay in Four Corners or if it was time to move on. Move on. The thought was depressing, but the alternative was fast becoming untenable.
If he could only get warm, it might be different, things might seem better, but he doubted it. Still, as it was he would need that blanket whether he and Peso were to stay or leave. For, apart from Chris Larabee’s inexplicable hostility, the blanket was his current concern.
The last few nights he had huddled coughing and shivering in Peso’s stall, while his horse enjoyed the luxury of his blanket. Well, he admitted wryly to himself, perhaps luxury was not really the right word, as the blanket was threadbare and the animal’s restlessness showed that he too was cold in spite of it.
So Vin had decided he had to do something about it. If he purchased a new blanket for Peso, he could retrieve the old one for himself. The trouble was he suspected blankets were probably expensive, he was stony broke and payday was an interminable two weeks away.
He told himself that he should be able to wait that long, but lack of sleep was telling on him and he was starting to feel quite ill. He could not afford to fall sick if there was a possibility that he might decide to leave Four Corners. Travelling was going to be hard enough as it was.
Okay, that meant he needed to borrow and the question was from whom.
He could not ask Josiah. All the preacher’s spare cash went to those in need and Vin did not consider that he wanted to be numbered among them.
Nathan Jackson definitely was not an option either. Indeed Tanner was avoiding the healer at all costs, lest the latter observe that all was not well with him and imprison him in the clinic, with the intention of forcing the most noxious potions known to mortal man down his throat.
That thought also wiped JD, as he was likely to blab about the loan and the story about the blanket purchase might well reach Jackson’s justly suspicious ears.
Buck Wilmington was a possibility, but by this time of the month the ladies’ man was usually strapped for cash, having spent too much on pretty trifles for fair charmers and having played too much poker with Ezra Standish.
The gambler would be flush with money. He always was, in spite of the fact that he frequently bemoaned his impoverished state. Vin supposed he was his best chance.
So now he reluctantly arose, and collar up and hands thrust deep into his pockets, headed for the saloon in search of Standish.
As it was only early evening, there were not many people present and Ezra had not yet embarked on his evening’s play. However, he was seated in his favourite chair, shuffling his cards and looking around keenly, but unobtrusively, for potential marks.
For a few minutes, Vin hovered by the door. It was not in his nature to ask anybody for anything. He had learnt early in his life that asking did not pay. It was more likely to earn you a curse and a clip around the ears, so it was better just to resign yourself to doing without. That was easier in the long run. ‘Ya don’t need it yet, Tanner. Ya can wait till payday,’ he told himself sternly. ‘Anyway, the weather might have turned by then and then ya can save yer money.’
However, at that moment, his cough returned with a vengeance. Hearing the harsh noise, Ezra looked up and caught his eye.
"Good evening, Mr Tanner," he greeted urbanely. "Would you care to partake of a few hands of cards?"
"No, thank ya, Ez," Vin replied, hurrying across the room towards him, "but I’d like to speak to ya iffen I may."
"Of course, the company of such a renowned conversationalist as your good self is always most welcome," Standish replied easily.
Vin was not quite sure what Ezra’s words meant, although he rightly suspected that the gambler was enjoying himself at his expense. However, he was used to that and it did not bother him, as he believed there was no real malice in it. Hell, he had been called far worse than Ezra was ever likely to sully his mouth with.
"Well, might I be so bold as to inquire the subject upon which you are desirous of conversing?" the gambler questioned, when Vin stood awkwardly before him.
Tanner gulped and then blurted, "Could ya lend me some money please, Ez?"
"Me? Me lend you some of my hard-earned remuneration?"
"Yeah, just till payday," the tracker added reassuringly.
"I regret that I must decline. Are you not conversant with the words of the immortal bard?" Ezra asked sententiously. "If I have the quotation correct, and I have no reason to doubt my ability to recall it perfectly, Polonius stated:
‘Neither a borrower nor a lender be,
For loan oft loses both itself and friend,
And borrowing dulls the edge of husbandry.’
And that, Mr Tanner, is an aphorism most appropriate to this situation, I believe."
"What’s gettin’ married got to do with anythin’?" Vin asked in puzzlement.
"Married? I said nothing about marriage."
"Ya said somethin’ about husbands," Vin pointed out.
"Oh, the word was ‘husbandry’. In this context it means thrift."
"Huh?"
"One should live within one’s means and not squander one’s money as you have apparently done."
"Does squa… squa … whatever that word was mean gamble?"
"’Squander’? No, why on earth would you make such a presumption?" Standish queried, fully aware that that was just how many people would see his favourite activity. ‘Gambling is not squandering,’ he assured himself smugly, ‘at least not for those of us blessed with preternatural skills as regards that endeavour.’
"Well, ya took all my pay off me at poker the night I got it. Ya remember, ya couldn’t get another player so ya pestered … I mean ya asked me to join yer table," he amended, still hoping that Ezra was not really going to refuse him.
He need not have bothered. Standish chose to ignore the implication that he should take some responsibility for the tracker’s impecuniosity. It was his policy to deftly side step anything that was likely to rouse his normally quiescent conscience. In line with this policy, he returned to ‘Hamlet’, with the intention of changing the subject. "You know, Mr Tanner, I consider that the bard spoke many words of merit through the mouth of the much-maligned Polonius. Why that self-same speech also gives most valuable fashion advice:
‘Costly thy habit as thy purse can buy,
But not expressed in fancy; rich not gaudy,
For the apparel oft proclaims the man.’
And I must say that we both bear out the truth of that assertion," he added, preening himself and managing to look disdainfully at Vin’s well-worn buckskin coat at the same time.
Poor Vin listened in total confusion. It was hard enough following Ezra’s meaning when his head was clear and he was well, but at the moment it was impossible. Still, he did his best, "What sorta habits does that Bart fellow mean, Ez? Drinkin’ and stuff?"
Standish could not suppress a chuckle. Mr Tanner’s woeful ignorance of the finer things in life could be so amusing at times. "That is ‘bard’ not ‘Bart’"
"Funny name," Vin observed.
"It is not a name. It’s a common noun."
"Ain’t too common, ‘cos I ain’t heard it."
"I mean as opposed to a proper noun. It means poet."
"Well, why didn’t ya just call him that?"
"Because … oh, never mind," Standish said dismissively, as his eyes fell upon a couple of well-heeled looking strangers entering the saloon. He had observed their arrival at Four Corners that morning and had hoped for a chance to make their acquaintance, both to lighten their wallets and perchance to enjoy some more stimulating conversation than usually came his way in Four Corners.
Vin followed his eyes. He knew that any chance of speaking to Ezra privately was ending. "So are ya goin’ to lend me the money please, Ez?" he asked, hoping his voice did not sound plaintive.
"I thought I had made my refusal to accommodate you abundantly clear," Standish replied, his eyes fixed on his potential opponents.
"Yeah, s-sorry I bothered ya, Ez," Tanner mumbled. Ashamed at having even asked, he started to turn away.
Hearing the muttered apology, Ezra’s normally conveniently quiescent conscience smote him. "Wait one moment, Mr Tanner," he said. "Perhaps if you were so kind as to elucidate as to the amount you are seeking …" he started.
Vin had turned back at his voice and now his head went down, as he had to admit, "I dunno." He had not liked to go into the general store and look at blankets when he had no money and so had no idea of the price.
Standish looked at him in amazement. "Are you certain that you actually want a loan?" he asked. "If you will excuse my observation you appear to be in a peculiarly confused state. Perhaps a visit to Mr Jackson’s clinic would not go amiss." He had not failed to note Vin’s dark-rimmed eyes, flushed cheeks and the wracking cough he had made on entry to the saloon.
At the mention of the clinic, Vin hastily said, "No, I’m fine" and started to back hurriedly away to avoid the scrutiny of the doubting eyes.
Unfortunately, a large cowboy, one of the hands from a herd passing a couple of miles from the town, was just heading towards his friends’ table, a glass of beer in his hand. The tracker went straight into him. The beer spilt and the cowboy gave a roar of rage.
Vin spun around, an apology on his lips. However, the man was not satisfied with that. "Watch where yer goin’, ya clumsy, little bastard!" he roared and backhanded Vin viciously across the face.
Wrong-footed, Vin crashed backwards into Ezra’s table, striking his right wrist against the table edge with a sickening crack.
The gambler’s catlike reflexes stood him in good stead as he leapt nimbly to his feet, thus avoiding joining the tracker on the floor as the table tipped over.
The cowboy moved forward and raised one large foot clearly intending to stomp his victim.
Seeing his intent, Vin clawed awkwardly for his mare’s leg with his left hand. Fortunately, the gambler also went for his gun. The lethal, little derringer slipped from his wrist holster and he levelled it at Vin’s assailant. "I would not advise you to proceed further," he warned, "or I may be forced to do you some grievous harm."
The man swung around. He looked contemptuously at the weapon. "With that popgun?" he asked.
"Yes, and …"
"And I’ll back his efforts with this one," an icy voice added.
The room had gone fairly quiet when Standish drew, but now you could have heard the proverbial pin drop.
"Who the hell are you?" the big man asked belligerently. "Butt out, mister, this ain’t yer fight."
"Name’s Chris Larabee and I’m makin’ it mine," the black-clad man said coldly.
"L-Larabee?" the man asked fearfully. Shit, of all the people to mess with, he had to pick a notorious killer.
"That’s right L-Larabee," the gunslinger mocked. "Now I suggest ya go and join ya friends."
"Yeah, ya take yer pretty, little friend and keep him out of trouble," the man said, with a show of bravado, as he headed for the relative safety of his friends’ table.
"Thanks, I think I will," Larabee responded, reaching down to grasp the tracker by the front of the jacket and hauling him roughly to his feet. "What the hell did ya do this time?" he hissed, shaking Vin as he did so.
That set Vin off into a coughing fit. "Accident," he managed to mumble between coughs. "I b-bumped …"
"Why in hell can’t ya act properly?" the gunslinger snapped.
"I d-didn’t mean …"
Larabee interrupted. "Yer always causin’ trouble."
"Mr Larabee, I must protest …" Ezra started, uncomfortably aware how unjustly Vin was being treated.
"No, you must shut up. This don’t concern ya. Right, Tanner, ya’d better get out of here before ya cause any more strife," he said, as he gave the tracker a shove towards the door.
Vin spun around, his eyes blazing blue fire. "I’m goin’ all right, Larabee. I dunno what the hell I’ve done to upset ya, but it don’t matter no more. I’ll just get my gear and ya won’t hafta see me again." He turned on his heel and hurried for the door.
Chris Larabee stood staring after him open-mouthed.
Standish’s voice broke the silence, "Well, Mr Larabee, I presume you are happy now. This development appears to be precisely what you have been endeavouring to accomplish over these last few weeks."
The gunslinger turned around and glared at the gambler. "Just what do ya mean by that remark, Standish?" he demanded coldly.
Ezra met the look, which would have quelled most men, without flinching. "Mr Tanner leaving town," he observed with maddening calm. "Quite frankly, the way you have been treating him lately, I am only surprised that he did not depart days ago … either that or shoot you."
"Yer wrong, Standish, he ain’t goin’ anywhere without my say so," the gunslinger snarled and then he headed off after Vin.
The tracker was not hard to find. He was in the livery, putting his pathetically small pile of possessions into his saddlebags.
He heard Larabee enter. He would have known that step anywhere, but he did not turn. He did not want to meet that hostile gaze, not when his eyes were welling with shameful tears. The adrenalin rush that had been fuelled by his anger had gone and he felt too shaky and weak to cope with the gunslinger’s wrath.
The last thing he needed was a Larabee lecture. His anger had already changed, as usual, to despair and self-recrimination. He knew that somehow he must have been at fault. All he wanted to do was to leave … to be alone.
A strong hand settled on his left shoulder. Vin tensed, but made no move to shrug it off. "C’mon, Tanner, we have to talk," Larabee said firmly.
Vin bit his lip, desperate to conceal his upset, and kept his back to the gunslinger. "We ain’t got nothin’ to talk about, Larabee," he said stiffly. "I’d thank ya to take yer hand off me."
"I’ll put my hands anywhere on ya I damn well please," the gunslinger snapped. "Now come with me!" he ordered, his grip tightening painfully.
"Let go, Larabee," Vin warned.
"Or ya’ll do what? Ya can’t do nothin’. Ya’ve got a bung wing. I saw ya tryin’ to use ya left in the saloon."
At that, Vin kicked back into one of the gunslinger’s shins and simultaneously tried to twist away.
Chris swore as the boot made its painful connection, but he managed to retain his hold on Vin’s shoulder, His right arm snaked out and dragged Vin’s right arm painfully up his back. Vin bit back a cry of agony as the gunslinger’s fingers dug into his broken wrist. "Right, Tanner, next stop Nathan’s clinic," Larabee snapped, as he forced Vin out of the livery.
Ten minutes later, he was sitting rebelliously on the clinic’s bed listening to one of Jackson’s lectures on the stupidity of trackers, who can’t tell when they are on the verge of pneumonia and go around picking fights in saloons when they should be in bed. "You ought to damn well know better," the healer scolded, as he bandaged Vin’s broken wrist.
Keeping his head down, somehow Vin swallowed the hot retort that rose to his lips. He knew Nathan only spoke out of concern for him, and he owed him for his care in the past when he had been ill or hurt, but it was still hard to sit there and accept the reprimand without protest.
"Right, get yourself undressed. You’re staying here tonight where I can keep an eye on you," Jackson said. "I’ll just mix up something to help with that congestion in your chest."
In spite of the fact that the clinic was relatively warm, Vin did not want to stay. The room was too small and the smells of the various medicines turned his stomach. He started to lurch to his feet only to have Larabee push him back down. "I’ll be all right in with Peso," Vin argued.
"IN WITH PESO?" Jackson fair shouted.
"Y-Yeah," Vin stammered, taken aback by the healer’s vehement outcry.
"You’re sleeping in that damned horse’s stall? In this weather?" Nathan questioned incredulously.
"Yeah, but …"
"But nothing! Now get those damned clothes off or I’ll get Chris to help me strip you."
"Nate, please, I d-don’t …" Vin started. Painfully shy, he hated having to disrobe in anyone’s presence, but the thought of the pair of them …. No, he could not stand that. However, he knew that the healer was not given to making idle threats.
"TANNER!" Jackson’s tone clearly indicated that his patience had reached its end.
Head down, his blushing face screened by his unruly curls, Vin began to fumble with his shirt buttons, thus missing the odd look of relief on the gunslinger’s face.
Then, once he was abed, Jackson produced a particularly noxious glass of medicine that contained, among other things, a sleeping draught. As he drifted off, he could hear Chris and Nathan talking in hushed tones and was vaguely aware of a hand gently brushing his tangled curls off his face. That hand confused him. It had to be Nathan’s. It had to be. And yet he’d have sworn that the skin was white.+ + + + + + +
When he finally awoke it was morning and Jackson was nowhere in sight. Vin decided to seize his chance and abscond while the going was good.
He stood up, swaying awkwardly, but decided he ought to be a little better after his first full night’s sleep in over a week. In truth, he still felt lousy, but he told himself his head felt a bit clearer and his chest did not seem to hurt quite so much. Dressing as quickly as he could with the handicap of his injured wrist, he made his escape.
A shaky Vin emerged into the watery sunlight and glanced down the street. Larabee was nowhere in evidence. Indeed, few folks had decided to brave the frosty day as yet.
Clutching the stair rail with his good hand, he made his way precariously down to the street.
He still had no idea of his next move. Apart from the fact that he felt too much like death warmed over to face riding out yet, the gunslinger had him so confused he still did not know whether he should stay or go. Chris seemed so angry, so mad with him, and yet he had insisted that Vin go to the clinic and had used physical force to ensure that he did so. Surely, if Larabee was really so furious with him, he should have been glad to see the back of him rather than forcing him to remain to have medical assistance. And then there was that hand … But perhaps he had dreamt that. He shook his head in confusion and the sharp pain immediately made him regret the action.
After a few moments’ hesitation, he decided to head for the saloon. A whiskey might be just what he needed. Anyway, at least, it would be warmer in there and it was still rather early for there to be many patrons there.
As he pushed his way through the door, he realized he had made a mistake. All of the other peacekeepers, with the exception of Ezra, were present.
Nathan immediately headed towards him, scolding as he did so, "What the hell do you think your doing, Tanner? I told you that you were to stay in bed. Now you just turn around and take yourself back there."
"Aw, Nate, I’m feelin’ better," Vin protested, silently adding ‘than I did’ so that it wasn’t really a lie.
"No, you’re not!" Jackson insisted. "Now are you going or am I going to have to ask the boys to escort you."
"I’s goin’," Vin muttered, though he was careful not to say just where and he certainly did not intend to go to the clinic. He started backing away, aware that his too knowing friends might well see through his words and elect to act as escorts.
Just then the door of the saloon opened and young Toby Smith hurried in clutching a letter. Realizing at the last that the tracker was actually moving backwards, the youth barely managed to sidestep him. "Wait a sec, Mr Tanner, this letter came in on the early stage. It might be for you," he added hurriedly, as he perceived Vin was not stopping.
"Won’t be," Vin said. "Ain’t nobody’d be writin’ to me."
"It’s got your name on it," Toby said. He thrust it towards Vin. "See!"
Vin gingerly took the proffered letter, peering at it as if it might bite him.
The others were looking at him full of interest. "Is it for you?" JD asked.
Vin hung his head. "I dunno," he admitted, his face flaming.
"What do you mean you don’t know?" the sheriff asked, perplexed. "Is it addressed to you or not?"
"I-I d-dunno," Vin stammered, shamefaced.
He could not bring himself to say that the squiggles on the envelope were completely beyond him, but was saved from having to make the admission when Toby spoke up. "Yeah, Mrs Potter was confused too. She said she wished people would be more careful with names and addresses as it makes her job of sorting the mail difficult."
"Surely a name like Tanner, should be simple enough to read," Wilmington said.
"Yeah, but it doesn’t say Tanner," the boy explained.
"Well, why on earth are ya givin’ it to him then? What does it say?" He held out a hand for the offending missive.
"Vin Standish."
"Vin STANDISH?" Wilmington echoed.
"Could someone perchance be taking my name in vain?" a silky voice inquired, as the gambler descended the stairs for the day.
"If yer name’s changed to Vin Standish," Larabee replied, glaring at him.
"To my certain knowledge, it has not. Be assured I would certainly not contemplate changing the undoubtedly aristocratic name of Ezra to that rather mundane diminutive of heaven knows what," the gambler replied.
"How do ya explain this then?" Larabee demanded, snatching the letter from Buck and thrusting it aggressively at the gambler.
Ezra blinked in surprise as he took the envelope and read the name. Then he smiled, as his agile brain remembered the circumstances of its use. "Why of course!" he exclaimed. His tone changed from one of derision to a soft purr as he said, "I confess I had momentarily forgotten that we were anticipating a message, Mr Tanner. May I invite you to accompany me upstairs to my rooms so that we may peruse it in comfort … and privacy."
The about-face in both his tone and manner took the other six quite off-guard. While four men awaited the tracker’s response with eager anticipation and Larabee with deep suspicion, Vin stared at the gambler in honest bewilderment. He could not recall any expected mail.
"Come now, my dear Mr Tanner, surely the little ‘investment’ that you made, when last in Eagle’s Bend, has not slipped your memory," the now-honeyed voice prompted.
"Huh?"
"Surely you recollect that most importunate young man?"
Vin shook his head. "Sorry, Ez, I …" he started, the word ‘importunate’ having merely added to his confusion.
"Nonsense, I am persuaded that you can recall him only too clearly. You were most hesitant about purchasing from him until I explained the considerable advantages of doing so. Then we chose this alias against just such an eventuality as has so fortuitously occurred."
Vin gaped as the penny dropped. He remembered now, but it couldn’t be true … could it? "Oh, yeah, but … but, Ez, I didn’t really think …I-I d-didn’t expect …" He trailed off helplessly.
"On the other hand, with my superior knowledge of such things, I was quietly confident," the gambler stated, calmly and inaccurately. In truth, his heart was thumping in his breast and he could hardly refrain from tearing the letter open immediately to confirm his hopes.
That brought Vin back to himself. "You? Quiet? Hell, ya never stop rabbitin’ on," he said.
"You wound me, Mr Tanner," the gambler responded in mock sorrow. "Such calumny! I can hardly credit such base ingratitude, especially when we have the evidence of my clear-sighted concern for your well-being right before our eyes." He raised the letter in a flourish. "Now please accompany me, I am most desirous of investigating the content of this most welcome missive." He spun on his heel and moved towards the stairs.
Vin obediently followed, only to have Buck grasp his upper right arm, bringing him to an abrupt halt. "What the hell is goin’ on, Vin? Ya can’t leave us in suspense like this."
"I-I’ll have to see what Ez says," Vin muttered. "I d-don’t ‘xactly understand how these thin’s work."
"What things?" JD inquired eagerly. "C’mon, Vin, tell us."
"No, maybe later. Depends what Ez says." He tried to pull free, but Wilmington tightened his grip. "Let go, Bucklin … please. I don’t want to have to hurt ya."
The ladies’ man’s hearty laughter rang around the saloon. "Ya couldn’t take me on a good day, slick, and today I doubt ya could best Casey in a fair fight. No, ya can stay right here ‘til ya tell old Uncle Buck what ya’ve been up to with that sneaky gambler."
Vin turned suddenly and swung awkwardly at him with his free left arm. Expecting the blow, Buck simply shot out a hand and grabbed Vin’s wrist. "Naughty, naughty," he remonstrated, teasingly.
Vin started to struggle ineffectively, cursing and coughing as he did so. His head was spinning and he was starting to feel dizzy and nauseous.
Observing the pale face and hearing the rasping cough, Nathan intervened. "Let him go, Buck. He’s in no shape for your roughhousing at present. Hell, he’s just as likely to spew all over you."
"Yuk! Don’t ya dare, Tanner!" Buck said, releasing him abruptly.
Vin spun, lost his balance and staggered into Larabee. The gunslinger grabbed hold of him and prevented him from falling. For a heartbeat, Vin was held against a broad black-clad chest. He twisted his head and glanced up at Larabee’s face. The hostility he saw in the cold, green eyes made him shiver. "S-Sorry, Ch-Chris. I didn’t mean …."
"Shut up, Tanner! Ya’d better go and see what yer damned business partner wants."
"B-But, Chris, I-I …"
"Just go!" the gunslinger snapped.
Vin moved slowly towards the stairs, while the gunslinger grabbed for his whiskey bottle and poured another glass, glowering at its contents. "Bit early for that, isn’t it, Chris?" Wilmington asked.
"Shut the hell up, Buck!" Larabee retorted.
"All right, stud, if that’s the way ya want it. C’mon, JD, it’s time ya did yer mornin’ round of our fair town."
As soon as the pair was outside, the sheriff turned to the ladies’ man. "What do you reckon is going on between Vin and Ezra, Buck?"
"No idea, kid, but knowin’ those two they’ll be up to no good."
"Why do you think Chris’ is so mad with Vin?"
"Dunno that either, but I sure wish they’d sort it out. Chris’ been like a bear with a sore head since we got back from Eagle Bend last month."
"What exactly did you four get up to there? Ezra mentioned that letter had something to do with Eagle Bend."
"Nothin’ unusual. We were only there one night. We delivered those prisoners to the sheriff and then went to the saloon. I met a couple of very hospitable young ladies and had a bit of fun. Of course old Ez was busy playin’ poker and fleecin’ the locals, but I dunno exactly what Chris and Vin got up to. Neither said anythin’, but Larabee started snipin’ at Vin at breakfast and snarled at him off and on the whole way home."
"And Vin didn’t say anything?"
"Nope, he just kept his head down and tried to ignore Chris. Ya know what he’s like. He just kinda withdraws into himself. One time I spoke to him though and he looked up and those damned puppy-dog eyes were full of hurt and confusion. I don’t reckon he had any idea what he’d done to get Chris all riled up. Probably didn’t like to ask since Ezra and I were there."
"Well, I just wish they’d sort themselves out. It’s hard to know what to say to Chris as you’re likely to get your head snapped off."
"Don’t I know it, kid, and I reckon today’s little episode will make him worse … if that’s possible."
Meanwhile Vin had reached Ezra’s rooms and was hesitating outside the door.
"Do stop dillydallying and come in, Mr Tanner," Ezra said, his impatience overriding good manners. He was extremely anxious to investigate the contents of the envelope.
Vin slipped in and pulled the door closed. "Is it that about that lot … that lot … that ticket ya made me buy?"
"I imagine it must be. You must have won a prize. I trust you are duly grateful for my foresight in advising the purchase."
"Yeah, thank ya, Ez. I reckon since I wouldn’t have bought it without yer pushin’ me, we should share it."
However, the gambler, in a gesture that would have stunned the other five men, but did not surprise Tanner in the least, demurred. "No, it is your prize, Mr Tanner
"No, Ez, it’s ours!" Vin insisted.
"I think you should see how large the prize is before making such an offer."
"It don’t matter. There’s only one thin’ I need."
"And that is?" Ezra prompted.
"I’d like to buy a nice warm blanket for Peso. He’s a mite cold at night."
"Nothing for yourself?"
"No, ‘cos iffen Peso got a new blanket I could get my one back off him," Vin explained innocently, totally oblivious of the gambler’s horrified reaction to the thought of sharing one’s bedcovers with an animal.
Standish was about to pontificate upon the extreme folly of such behaviour, when sudden guilt assailed him. "Mr Tanner, was that what you wanted to borrow money from me to purchase?" he asked, already knowing the answer.
"Yeah."
"But why did you not explain the reason for your financial request."
Vin nearly pointed out that Standish had not been interested in it, but forced the comment down. "It don’t matter, Ez. Anyway now I might have enough to buy one. Hell, ya might too!"
"Not a purchase high on my priority list," Ezra responded, looking at his comfortable and cozy bed. "Anyway, as I observed earlier, the prize is yours."
"Nope, it’s ours, Ez, and anyway I’ll need yer help to read what it says." The perspicacious gambler was the only one of the other six men, apart from Larabee, who had observed Vin’s inability to read. Aware of how sensitive Vin was on that score, on several occasions, he had unobtrusively helped Vin cover up his lack and thus had kept the others’ in the dark. Vin was very grateful for that kindness.
"But …"
"No, Ez, iffen ya won’t agree, I reckon I’ll just rip the letter up," he threatened, preparing to do just that.
"No, please desist, Mr Tanner!" the gambler said hastily.
Vin held out his hand. "Partners?"
"Partners," Ezra replied and was surprised and touched to have Vin grip his forearm in the warriors’ grip that he normally shared only with Larabee.
With what he considered admirable restraint, the gambler then strolled to his writing desk and returned bearing an ornate, silver paper knife.
"What have ya got that funny little dagger for?" Vin asked.
"This is a paper knife, Mr Tanner. It facilitates the opening of envelopes."
"But they rip real easy. I’ll show …" Vin started reaching for the letter only to have Standish deftly whisk it out of his reach.
"Please desist, Mr Tanner, a gentleman does not rip his correspondence."
Vin did not bother to point out he had no pretensions to that title. In the months since he had known him, the gambler had told him, in an authoritative tone, many things that a gentleman did or did not do and he knew it was pointless trying to argue against his strictures. It saved time if one said nothing, as he would never win a battle of words with Standish. So he stood back and watched Ezra slice open the envelope with a flourish.
However, what happened next stunned him. The gambler hurriedly scanned the letter and his face went quiet white.
"What’s wrong, Ez?" he asked worriedly. "Are ya okay? Ya’d better sit down."
"I am fine, Mr Tanner. I-I just … I confess I did not really expect … I hoped, of course, but …"
Vin was amazed. He had never seen the loquacious gambler apparently lost for words. The others would never believe it. He tried again. "What’s wrong, Ez? Please tell me."
"Look!" He thrust the letter at Vin.
Vin peered at it. The words meant nothing, but the number 5 jumped out. "Have I won $5?" he asked in excitement. That would surely be enough for the blanket.
"LOOK AT IT!" Ezra insisted loudly, forgetting in his agitation that a gentleman does not shout.
Poor Vin was at a loss. "Ezra, all I can see is a 5. There ain’t any other numbers lessen ya count those noughts."
"Of course you count them," Standish snapped in exasperation. "How the hell did you survive as a bounty hunter?"
Vin’s head went down and he muttered shamefacedly, "I listened to what people said. Iffen there was a new poster up lotsa people would read it out and then I’d know what a man was worth to the law."
Observing the tracker’s discomfiture, Ezra said contritely "I’m sorry, Mr Tanner, I should not have made such a disparaging comment. It is simply that I can hardly credit that … that … Mr Tanner, you have won the first prize in the State Lottery."
"F-First? That’d be a bit more’n $5, I ‘spect."
"Considerably more! It is $5,000!"
Vin gaped at him, blue eyes wide with shock. Then to Ezra’s surprise, he shuddered and whispered, "No ... No."
"What on earth is wrong?"
"It’s too much! I don’t need … I couldn’t … Ez, I wouldn’t know what to do with money like that." The gambler had never seen the normally calm and collected sharpshooter in a state verging on panic, but he saw it now.
Taking charge, he said, "I propose that we take this draft down to the bank and lodge it safely in your account for a start."
Vin bit his lip. "I ain’t got one."
"You have not got a bank account?" Ezra asked in some surprise. He could not imagine being without one.
"Ain’t never got money to put in one. Hell, Ez, ya allus see I’s cleaned out straight after payday," he added, gradually recovering his spirits. "We’d better put in yer one. Anyway the money’s half yers remember."
"Half mine?" Maude would have been mortified to realize that in his excitement over Vin’s good fortune, Ezra had actually failed to recollect the tracker’s earlier terms. Why a true son of hers should have been busily plotting ways and means of getting his deserving hands upon the lot.
"Yeah, half yers," Vin insisted. "What’s halfa $5,000, Ez?"
"Two thousand, five hundred dollars, but … but surely you do not intend to split such a stupendous amount with me."
"’Course I do! Hell, Ez, iffen ya hadn’t made me get that ticket, I wouldn’t be havin’ this problem now. It’s only fair that ya have to take some offa my hands. Maybe ya could buy yer saloon back," he suggested, knowing full well how best to tempt the gambler, having observed, despite Standish’s best efforts to conceal it, his upset when he lost the establishment to his scheming mother.
The saloon! That was enticing. Maude could have had no idea how she hurt him when she managed to get it off him. At least, he hoped she had no idea. "But what will the others say? They will assume I have cheated you out of your winnings."
"They don’t need to know I won anythin’. I ain’t one to blab and I reckon ya might manage to keep yer mouth shut … maybe."
"I assure you, Mr Tanner, I will be as silent as the proverbial grave. Why to paraphrase your friend ‘Bart’, I will give every man my ear, but few my voice."
"Damn, I hoped I’d heard the last of that Bart fellow. Hell, Ez, he talks more rubbish than ya do."
"Perchance he does. Come, let us pay a call upon our banker. If we employ the fire-escape at the rear of the building we can avoid a possible confrontation our dear compatriots."
"Huh?"
"Let’s sneak out the back so the others don’t see us," Ezra elucidated.
"Okay."
A few minutes later, they hurried down an alley and slipped unobtrusively into the bank.
Ezra approached a teller and requested a private interview with the manager, Mr Watson. "I’m afraid he’s rather busy today, Mr Standish," the man replied.
"Oh, but I am certain he will make time for me. Please convey my compliments to him and inform him that Mr Standish wishes to make a substantial deposit."
The teller returned to say that under the circumstances, Mr Watson would be pleased to see Mr Standish, but looked askance when the tracker started to follow the gambler. "You can’t go in there, Tanner," he said. "Mr Watson will want to speak to Mr Standish about his business in private."
Vin noted that he did not warrant the title ‘Mr’, but made no comment. He knew that many people in the town saw him as beneath their notice and accepted this as the natural way of things. Hell, how could an illiterate ex-bounty hunter expect things to be otherwise?
However, Ezra took umbrage at the remark. "My good friend and associate Mr Tanner will naturally accompany me," he announced majestically, sweeping onwards with an awkward looking Vin following him.
Showing better breeding than his teller, the banker shook hands with both men, although he turned to Ezra for an explanation of their requirements. However, when he heard that his bank was about to receive such a substantial injection of capital, he fair beamed upon them both. Indeed, he could not have been more helpful, actually filling out the requisite forms himself.
"Of course, we do not intend that our good fortune should become public knowledge." Ezra said. "As you will no doubt appreciate, there is nothing more distressing than to become the subject of common gossip."
"I quite understand. Be assured no word of this shall pass my lips and I shall vouch for the silence of my employees."
The gambler turned to Vin. "I am certain that Mr Watson will be able to answer any questions you may have as to the future investment of your funds, Mr Tanner."
"I am more than happy to advise you, Mr Tanner," Watson assured him.
"Th-Thank ya, Mr Watson. I wondered … I wondered iffen …"
"Yes?"
"Could I stay on for a few minutes and ask ya some stuff iffen I ain’t goin’ to be too much of a bother?"
"Of course. You are most welcome."
Ezra took his leave and Vin immediately turned to the banker and said apologetically, "I’s sorry I put ya too the trouble of openin’ that account for me, Mr Watson, but I don’t want it."
"What?" The banker looked dumbfounded.
"Well, ya see … I don’t … I don’t need … Mr Watson, I reckon it’s too much money and I want to share it with … with Chris and the others. I ‘spect they’ve all got accounts here. Do ya reckon ya could pay some into their accounts and say it was from an anon … anony … Ya know one of those people who don’t tell their name."
"An anonymous benefactor?"
"Yeah, that’s it!"
"And how much do you propose to give them?"
Vin blushed. "I reckon ya know from watchin’ me scratchin’ my mark on that paper for the account that I ain’t got learnin’. Could ya tell me how much each would get iffen my money was split among those five please?"
"All of it?" the banker asked aghast.
"Yeah, just to give me an idea to start with."
"Well that would be five hundred dollars each, but surely you can’t …"
However, Vin did not hear the rest of his protest. Five hundred dollars! It seemed such a fitting amount. The Texas authorities reckoned he was worth that. Well, he knew his friends all did their level best to ensure no one ever collected on it. It seemed so right that they should all be rewarded for their loyalty to him with a like amount.
Well, perhaps not all. He still had to get that blanket. He grinned. Larabee had been particularly nasty to him lately. It could come out of his share. The small deduction should have him wondering if the men ever compared notes on their good fortune." Mr Watson, could ya arrange that Buck, JD, Josiah and Nate all get $500 please?"
"And Mr Larabee?" Watson questioned. The omission had surprised him given that the gunslinger and the tracker had always seemed to be particularly close friends.
"Well, I need $5 cash, so I reckon ya could take that outta his $500."
"Only $500? Surely you should retain a larger amount."
"Old Chris might feel a mite hard done by iffen I did," Vin replied, smilng. "I cain’t be too unfair."
"I mean from each of them."
"No, I only need the $5. I gotta buy somethin’."
"May I take it that Mr Standish is unaware of your plans to divide your share?"
"Yep! And it’ll be too late fer him to stop me when he finds out," Vin said triumphantly. "Ya won’t tell Chris and the others the money came from me, will ya?"
"Of course not, Mr Tanner. Your confidentiality is assured. However, it is possible that they may have concerns about the possible illegal origin of the money, so may I suggest you lodge the evidence of your win with Judge Travis. If they raise the question, I can then assure that he has approved the transfer."
"Yeah, that sounds like a good idea. I’ll take my letter to him. Thank ya kindly fer all yer help, Mr Watson."
"It has been my pleasure, Mr Tanner," Watson replied sincerely. It had indeed. After Vin had gone, he spent some time reflecting on the tracker’s generosity and the dangers of prejudging a man. He had been guilty, as had a number of others, of doubting Judge Travis’ wisdom in employing the seven men, particularly the unkempt Tanner, who looked like he would be more likely to be found on the other side of the law. He told himself he would be careful not to show such prejudice again.
Comments to: rugglesb@internet.co.nz