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Buck / OFC
Chapter 1
The pungent smoke of kerosene from the flickering overhead hanging lamps, the stale odor of cigars and the stink of sweat and spilled spirits permeated the makeshift courtroom hastily set up in the bar. Judge Orin Travis placed his glasses on his nose, unfolded the twelve scraps of paper piled up on the bar before him and read each one quickly, silently. A small trickle of sweat ran down the side of his face past the grim set of his lips but that was all the emotion he showed. He was not surprised by the vote but his mouth was suddenly very dry as his throat constricted.
Clearing his throat and taking a calming breath, he placed the papers down and slowly, almost reluctantly, turned to the man sitting at a table to his left, his voice somber, authoritative and tinged with anger. The trial had been a sham from the onset, he thought, shaking his head what with the prisoner's steadfast and vigorous admission of guilt and he had known the outcome even before he'd unfolded the slips of paper. "In the matter of the murder of Grayson Kant...this court has found you guilty as charge."
The heretofore stillness of the courtroom was quickly disrupted by an ever growing cacophony as voices rose, some in dismay, while others lauded the verdict sure beyond a shadow of a doubt of the prisoner's guilt. The whip-crack of the gavel being wielded forcefully against the oaken bar, as much in frustrated anger as to bring order to the room, eventually brought the standing room only crowd back to some semblance of order.
Only the One Tree Brethren sat, a small devout collective dressed in black and somber grays, never speaking, barely moving as chaos reigned around them. The elders looked on with detached interest, for in truth they cared not what the upshot of the legal exercise was, for it was not The Brethren's place to find the man guilty or innocent. Only God could judge a man and judge this particular man, God surely would.
To the strange and secretive sect he was a wolf in sheep's clothing, a non-believer who had infiltrate their ranks, seducing with honeyed words and not so selfless deeds, the young wife of Grayson Kant, Alice. The elders knew that the vain and somewhat reckless Alice Smith Kant had suffered greatly adjusting to the sparse living conditions and the austere ways of the Brethren but had recently responded favorably under the tutelage and iron hand of her husband but it was all for naught. Grayson Kant was dead and his wife was gone.
"Order! I will have order in my court!" Orin Travis turned again slowly in his seat to look directly at the condemned man. It was a practice that had always held him in good stead because frontier justice was truly an eye for an eye. Over the years the federal judge had found that when he looked into the face of the ill fated that the eyes opened to the soul and guilt, or in the unlikely case, innocence could quickly be found therein.
As if clairvoyant the prisoner lifted his eyes to meet the intense gaze of the judge then dropped quickly to stare at the floor, the same posture he had assumed throughout most of the afternoon's proceedings. Had it been there or was Travis simply hoping to see at least a flicker of guilt making his sentencing of the man a little easier? He had assuredly seen a brief flicker of pain, an emotion that belied the guilty man's glib demeanor, his almost flippant disregard for the proceedings that had sealed his fate and as he studied the prisoner a few moments longer staring at the thick hair on the bowed head, a hush again fell over those present as they waited for him to continue. Only the nervous scuffling of feet and the errant cough disturbing the stillness.
"By order of this court you will be remanded into custody and returned to jail where, at precisely 12:00 noon tomorrow, you will be taken from confinement, led to the gallows and hung by the neck until dead. Do you have anything to say to the court...to the Brethren, Mr. Wilmington?"
"Say something, Buck! It can't be like you said! Tell 'em what really happened," JD pleaded jumping up from his seat as the courtroom erupted once again.
Nathan grabbed the young man's jacket sleeve restraining him and the gavel sounded again Judge Travis again calling for order and threatening contempt of court. The healer doubted very much that Judge Travis would hold the youngster in contempt considering the circumstances but held on tightly to the rough material of JD's suit nonetheless.
"Tell me what really happened," the crestfallen young man whispered before allowing himself to be pulled back down into his seat. Sitting heavily with his arms resting on his widespread legs, his head hanging low, J.D. began to contemplate his life without Buck Wilmington, the man who had been more of a father to him these last months than the man who had lain with his mother, deserting her quickly thereafter.
Nathan gently rubbed his distraught friend's back absently his attention now on Chris Larabee who stood to the right of the doorway, face passive except for the barest movement in the man's clenched jaws and the healer wondered how the taciturn gunfighter would take the loss of his long time friend and partner. Nathan himself would sorely miss the affable ladies man. In the short time he had known him Buck Wilmington had caused bodily harm and even killed on occasion but the former lawman firmly believed in the frontier code of justice and had caused no undue harm...until that fateful day. The day he had supposedly bludgeoned a man to death and though loath to believe it, Buck's unswerving admission of guilt left Nathan with no other choice but to believe that even in the most affable of men, the very worst kind of brutality could rear it's ugly head.
Chris Larabee stood against the wall but he was no longer in the makeshift courtroom. He was miles away and years ago thinking of his twelve-plus-year relationship with Buck Wilmington, recalling the good times and the bad, relegating the last week to the bad and tomorrow to the very worst. Knowing Buck as well as he did Chris knew that, even if he were guilty, Buck had his reasons for not heading for the hills and the obscure freedom the vast and untamed frontier afforded those who chose to leave an unsavory past behind but he still wished his friend would reconsider.
Vin Tanner was also in the saloon standing deep in the shadows near the small staircase that lead to the platform overlooking the bar. As he surveyed the small enclave of jurors and spectators the Tracker's chest felt tight, his breathing restricted, as the impact of the verdict and sentence hit him fully. He could feel the rope tightening around his own neck and his hand went to his throat, a finger loosening his collar.
The gavel struck oak once again this time ringing like a shot. Buck, head still bowed, took in a deep breath and looked as if he would speak but instead closed his down turned eyes and shook his head.
"Very well," Travis said looking to the man by the door, "Mr. Larabee, you will escort the prisoner to the jail where he will remain in your custody until noon tomorrow whereupon you will carry out the orders of the court and the duties of your office." As an aside he added, "See that he has whatever he likes from the Hotel restaurant. The court will pay."
Ezra Standish, at a loss as to why society deemed it necessary to hang a man on a full stomach, snorted derisively at the likelihood of that final feast returning to haunt those who would hang him as the body expelled its contents upon death and he said mockingly under his breath, "And the condemned man ate a hearty meal."
As he gathered up his papers Judge Travis looked once more at Wilmington sitting so still and wondered how he could have been so wrong about this particular man. Definitely a womanizer and a rogue Wilmington was also a man with an inherent honesty even in his most lascivious of dealings. He was friendly, easy going and a scoundrel to boot but had nobly performed his duty to the town and its people and Orin had never had a serious complaint against him...until this.
Buck Wilmington was a complete rounder but the Territorial Judge would never have believed him to be the cold-blooded killer he confessed to being. It would not have surprised him in the least if Chris Larabee had been sitting before him in Buck's stead but to have the sociable, devil may care ladies man sitting before him surprised him. It surprised him, it perplexed him, it angered him and most of all it saddened him. "Would you like to see…someone?" the Judge asked quietly turning again to Buck.
The closest thing the town had to a preacher was Josiah Sanchez, Buck's friend and compatriot, and Orin wanted to make things easier for the condemned man by allowing him to spend the remainder of his life on earth in the company of his more spiritual friend.
"Yeah…but she's gone," Buck thought to himself and said nothing while Josiah waited hopefully for the chance to offer comfort to his comrade.
Having kept his own peace Josiah knew there was more to the story than met the eye and the ears of the jury and he had fervently prayed that Buck wouldn't wait until it was too late to explain the motives behind his inexplicable actions and behavior but to no avail.
"Mr. Wilmington," Travis looked down and quickly signed the official decree, "May God have mercy on your soul," and with a final rap of the gavel pronounced, "Court's adjourned!"
Buck rose up and, head bowed, awaited his shackles and his escort back to the jail.
Chapter 2
The cell door clanged shut behind him and Buck sat down on the cot his insides suddenly queasy at the thought of the iron door opening one last time. At six o’clock sharp tomorrow morning the door would open again, not to set him free to go on his merry way after a night of drinking, fighting or public indecency, but to the wooden gallows Mr. Roper was even now putting the finishing touches on, the work begun a week ago, the conclusion foregone and the trial simply a formality.
Buck looked up to see Chris Larabee walk away and flinched when the gunman slammed the key ring over the nail head in the wall with a curse, the only words he'd uttered since escorting him from the bar back to the jail. They both watched as the heavy iron keys swung to and fro, two pairs of eyes intent on the back and forth motion, a motion not unlike that of a man hanging from a gallows. In fact, Buck noted, Chris Larabee had hardly spoken a word to anyone since he'd come upon him in the Kant house.
Buck had sent the Steiner boy to the jail to fetch someone and, as he'd sat complacently waiting, he hoped it would be Chris or Vin Tanner and not the naive and trusting JD Dunne to answer the call to duty. It had always been a tricky job balancing precariously on the pedestal the young man had put him on and for his youthful friend to see him and the aftermath of the brutal attack would have been too overwhelming for the boy and too painful for himself.
It had pained him enough to see the condemnation in his oldest friend's eyes as Chris deduced, whether correctly or in error, what had happened in the plain wooden house. The gunman's eyes had widened with understanding and his mouth had set grimly with the resigned acceptance of what lay before him. It was as if Chris had always known that it was only a matter of time before Buck Wilmington was done in by his love, however misguided, of a woman.
"Listen Chris, I…"
"Don't Buck! Don't say a word!" Chris turned on him in anger. If his oldest and dearest friend wanted to confess, yet again, he didn't want to hear it. Once in court, under oath, had been enough.
Chris Larabee had never given serious thought to a life without Buck Wilmington floating in and out of it, occasionally stirring up trouble but more often than not lending a helping hand, if not a shoulder to cry on, and the realization of what was to come cut through him like a knife stabbed and twisted in his gut.
They'd both started out as young cocks of the walk, wild and troublesome, but the war had changed them both, as had the deaths of Chris' family. In the days that followed those terrible days they had ridden the territories, mostly apart, but given enough time their paths always seemed to cross just as they had when the growing town of Four Corners had needed them.
Chris sat down at the desk, leaned back in the old wooden chair and lit up a cheroot while Buck lay back on his cot in one fluid motion. The ladies man clasped his hands behind his head and said under his breath, "So be it," and resigned himself to leave this world with deeds undone and words unspoken.
Buck Wilmington would go to his maker soon enough but he would go with a clear conscious, the Good Lord finally exacting an eye for an eye, as he thought back on past events.
The day dawned and the sky was a wealth of powder blue streaked with rays of baby pink. Buck Wilmington took in a heady lungful of fresh air and smiled. On mornings like this it was great to be alive. His horse was as snuffy as he was and when Old Bart shook himself like a wet dog, tack jingling and leather creaking in the quiet of the dawn it was just like music to his ears.
Taking the time to once more stir the sodden ashes of the fire he had used to brew his morning's coffee he was satisfied that it was out and returned to his horse. Vaulting into the saddle he rode up a rise and stopped to survey God's vast prairie that spread out before him...and that's when he saw her.
She was a tiny slip of a thing trying desperately to hold onto and hold back a cantankerous old mule harnessed to a plow. Hopelessly tangled in the guide reins she fell face first into the arid dirt she'd been attempting to plow.
Buck rode across the field and turned the mule and stopped him before he could drag the girl into the plow blade. He got down off of his horse and bent to help her up. Grateful, she stood and brushed the dirt from her plain, homespun gray dress as Buck readjusted the plain white bonnet she wore on her head and told her, "There Missy, you're as good as new."
The girl looked up at him with her big blue eyes and, despite the plain silver band on her ring finger, Buck was smitten...even more so when big fat tears started to roll down her pretty pink cheeks. "Aw, now don't you cry, darlin'. It can't be as bad as all that," he said to her and she began to cry in earnest.
"I can't do this," she wailed and wiped her tears away with raw blistered hands.
Buck took her hands in his and rubbed the tops soothingly with his thumbs and shushed her until her tears stopped. "Where's your man? Why ain't he doing the plowing?" he asked and tucked a stray strand of yellow gold hair up under her bonnet, his voice gentle so as to not set her off into tears again.
But she was evidently through with her crying as anger flashed in her eyes at the mention of her husband. "We're of the One Tree Brethren of which my husband is an elder and he cannot be bothered to do menial farm chores and I've a complaining nature...so much so that our neighbors have stopped offering to help."
"So he expects you to do it all?" Buck asked incredulously.
"He says it will build my character," she told him though it was obvious she didn't believe a word of it. What she did believe was his threat, "and if I haven't completed the task before planting time he says he'll beat some character into me."
"Well, Ma'am," Buck started and she hushed him.
"Alice...if you please. Ma'am sounds as if you're speaking to my mother."
Buck laughed. She was well spoken, prim and proper but the boldness in her eyes when she looked at him was anything but pious. He took her arm and helped her step out of the tangle of reigns and replied, "I'm please to meet you, Alice. My name's Buck, Buck Wilmington."
"Alice Smith...Kant, I mean. I've only been married a short time."
"Well, Alice Smith Kant," he said, "If my horse doesn't mind being teamed to a jackass then we'll have this field plowed in no time flat."
He'd plowed the field and as he did Alice walked along side of him and told him of her life in Missouri before becoming the bride of a man old enough to be her grandfather. When the work was finished he walked her and the mule back to the outskirts of a small farm tucked in the bosom of the Brethren compound, where Alice let Buck go no further than the end of the driveway...and no further than a kiss on the cheek.
Chapter 3
Planting day had come and gone. Ali tended her crop every single day in the hopes that Buck would come by to check on her efforts while Buck continued to ride to the field for the express purpose of seeing Alice. Together they hand dug a small tributary from the stream to the head of the field and when it failed to rain they diverted the water to the rows. After a while they had a field of corn its green leaves shivering in the dry, warm wind.
With the majority of the work done and, on those odd days when his presence was not needed in town, the two of them spent the afternoons under an old apple tree and when the corn was thigh high Ali watched the rise over which Buck would travel on his big white horse. She had gathered the fruit from “their” tree, as she liked to think of it, and had baked him a cobbler. Her husband, whose life's work consisted of the Brethren and nothing but the Brethren. had, to her surprise, noticed that she'd baked something other than bread. He had also noticed that she had used up most of their precious store of sugar to sweeten the dish and had punished her accordingly. But to see the smile her efforts would most assuredly bring to Buck Wilmington's handsome face was well worth it.
To her husband's, and therefore God's eyes, she had seemed contrite after he had meted out her punishment but it was only a ruse because no matter how often or how hard he hit her Alice could not be saved simply because she was no longer lost. Buck Wilmington had found her and had subsequently saved her the first time he had made love to her under the fruit filled branches of the tree and, when the opportunity arose, she took the cobbler and ran to the cornfield.
Buck's heart raced a little faster when he came over the rise and saw her standing by the tree. She wore the same simple dress of gray cotton, the plain white apron and the white bonnet that covered her glorious tumble of long blond hair that she always wore but it was what was beneath the dress and under the rough homespun underclothes that caused him to grow hard and strain against his breaches.
Alice Smith Kant looked like a child but she was a woman, full grown, whose firm yet voluptuous body was shrouded in the austere attire of the One Tree Brethren. She was also a passionate woman and, once she had overcome the shyness that her steady gaze belied, she matched him thrust for thrust, grunt for grunt and moan for moan.
Climbing down from his horse Buck turned him out to graze on the sparse prairie grass that grew in clumps around the field and swept Ali up in his arms when she ran to him. He held her tightly and she cried out in pain and pushed away from him.
Knowing he hadn't squeezed her any harder than he ever did he steadied her and asked, "Ali, what is it? What's wrong?" but her face suffused with color and she refused to answer him, just threw herself back into his arms and clung to him.
He laid her down in the grass beneath the tree and kissed her. He untied her bonnet and unbound and fanned her waist length hair out over the ground marveling at its silken texture and shine. He was content to just stare at her for a while then started to unbutton her dress. Pulling it from her shoulders he saw the bruises that marred her perfect skin.
Buck sat back on his haunches and asked, "Did he do this to you, Ali?"
Alice saw how upset Buck was and, instead of him comforting her, she soothed him and said, "It's all right. Life among the Brethren is meant to be harsh. It makes us more worthy to receive God.
"The only thing your husband's worthy of receiving is my boot up his ass."
Alice had been worried sick that Buck might feel the need to exact some sort of retribution on her behalf and despite her trepidation she laughed at his comment. Her reaction took him by surprise and she saw his anger dissolve. What could he do about it anyway? Ask her to run off with him?
Buck Wilmington was a handsome, gentle and caring rogue, but a rogue nonetheless, and she was a married woman. If they did run away together how would he support her and what would she do when he grew tired of her? However enjoyable their lovemaking was the thought of being forced to rut with a total stranger to earn enough money just to survive left her more than cold. Her best bet was to make the best of her lot in life and to savor the time spent with him.
Two weeks later when he came to meet with her again under the tree she wasn't there. A young man dressed in the black pants and a plain white shirt of the sect was there instead. His sleeves were rolled up and he bent low as he hoed the weeds that had grown between the rows of corn that now stood shoulder high.
"Morning," Buck said nodding to the young man from atop his horse.
The boy straightened up, wiped his brow on a black handkerchief and stared up at Buck hostilely, "If you've come to see Sister Alice she's taken to her bed with a mild fever." He said the rehearsed words with utter disdain but Buck knew better than to antagonize any of the sect's members. They were Ali's "family" and he would not have her suffer any undue hardship or have shame cast upon her just because he wanted to throttle the little piss ant. He would simply return back to town and when he got there he would ask Josiah to say a prayer for her speedy recovery and return another day.
Three days later he was back and neither Ali nor the boy were anywhere to be seen. Concerned for her well being Buck threw caution to the wind and rode his horse up to the small austere building that was Ali's home. He tied Bart to the hitching rail out in front and knocked on the door. When he heard crying he lifted the latch and walked in, propriety be damned.
Inside the house Buck took off his hat and when his eyes adjusted to the darkness he looked around and noticed Alice standing behind a rough-hewn table and chairs. Tears ran from her beautiful blue eyes while blood smeared her pale face where she had tried in vain to wipe them dry. His heart jumped into his throat when he saw her and, when he started to go around the table to get to her; he noticed the body...and the blood.
There was a great puddle surrounding what could only be the body of Alice Kant's elderly husband. His head was bashed in and the thick branch that had been used as a weapon lay on the floor next to him.
"Ali, what happened?" Buck asked her over the corpse.
"I...I don't know?" she replied woodenly, a stricken look on her face.
"I tried to come see you. Some boy told me you were sick."
"Sick?" she repeated as if in a fog then looked hard at him and said, "Buck?"
"Yeah, darlin, it's me, Buck. He said you were in bed with a fever."
A whimper came from her throat and she told him, "I was in bed because he beat me. He beat me and beat me...until I lost the baby."
It took a few moments for the enormity of her words to sink in before Buck asked, "Why in God's name would he do that? If nothin' else he'd have another unpaid hand to work this godforsaken place from sunup to sundown!"
Anger and disgust filled him to overflowing and he realized he had been shouting when he saw Alice take a step back in fright. He quickly backed down. "Oh, God, Ali. I'm so sorry," he said trying to comfort her.
She moved farther away from him instead and said piteously, "It was my fault. I never should have told him about the baby."
Buck looked at her with squinted eyes, his brow wrinkled in confusion and wanted to know, "Why in the hell not?"
"I was Grayson's third wife," she explained in a voice that was barely a whisper, "He never bore a child with either of the other two."
"Well, that don't mean nothin'," Buck told her, "Plenty of stallions have been mistakenly studded to dry mares."
Ali sighed and then added, "But he was old when he married me...with neither the seed nor the means to plant."
Any other time Buck would have tease her about her euphemisms but this time her meaning hit him like a sledge hammer. "My baby?" It was both question and answer and when Ali slowly nodded her head, an insidious pain stole into his gut then worked its way into his heart. He closed his eyes and covered his face with his hands as if to hide from the sudden and harsh truth. "What have I done?" he whispered and dragged his hands down his face. All the years of rutting like a stag in heat had suddenly caught up with him exacting a bloody toll.
Ali began to cry again, her bloodied hands pressed to her cheeks, and he reached for her to hold her closely, tightly, her head tucked under his chin. "I didn't mean to hit him so hard", she admitted and, after a few minutes more, asked him, "Do you think they'll hang me?'
"Nobody's gonna hang you if I can help it. You just do exactly what I tell you and you'll be okay," he said and she looked up at him with eyes so full of trust that it took his breath away. "First, you're gonna go wash up and change your clothes," he said and then turned her to face the front window, "You see my horse out there?"
Ali nodded her head and looked back up at him.
"He's the best horse God ever saw fit to put on this good earth. He's sure-footed, strong winded and has a heart as big as Texas. Old Bart'll carry you far, far away from here, Ali, carry you 'til he drops."
"But where will I go?" she wailed and her tears began again.
"You go home, Ali. Go back to your folks in Missouri. Let 'em take care of you."
"Will you come with me?" she asked with her heart in her eyes.
Buck shook his head and said sadly, "I wish I could, Ali girl, but I can't."
Ali shook her head and refused to listen any more and Buck grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her gently. "I got some money," he said and dug in his pants pocket, "It ain't much but I want you to have it. You can buy a train ticket in the first town you come to that's got a railhead."
"What about your horse?" she asked and Buck breathed a sigh of relief knowing she was going to go and go alone.
"You sell him and get a good price for him. You'll be needin' the money more than I'll be needin' a horse," he told her with a sad smile.
Chapter 4
Ali, along with his old friend, was gone and although it had only been a few hours Buck missed them both terribly. He heard hoof beats on the road outside and, fearing it was Ali coming back, he hurried to the front door, which he kept ajar despite the plethora of flies that now feasted on the bloody puddle inside to vent the smell of the ever-ripening corpse. He was relieved to see that Ali had not returned but was more than a little apprehensive to find that Chris Larabee had arrived and he watched as his friend dismounted and walked up the front steps.
The lawman walked inside and directly over to where the buzzing was the loudest.
"Buck," was all Chris said by way of a greeting as he passed him by. He reached into his breast pocket to pull out a cheroot all the while surveying the carnage before him. Striking a match on the planked wall he puffed until the tip glowed red and took in the aromatic smoke. He held it in his mouth for a moment then let it out between clenched teeth. "Goddamn it! You just couldn't let it be, could you?" The gunman's words were angry. Despite his warnings, Buck had continued to see the Brethren woman and now it had come to this.
Silence stretched out before them for long moments then Chris spoke again "What happened here, Buck?" His voice had gone softer as he became resigned to the situation and he pulled a chair from the table taking care to not slide the legs through the coagulated puddle that had seeped from the dead man's head and sat.
"Well, Chris," Buck started slowly and a reconciled grin crossed his face, "He purely pissed me off...so I hit him."
Chris' eyes jerked to Buck's face. He should have expected nothing less. "You think this is funny, Buck?" Anger simmered just beneath his calm exterior.
"No, Chris, not in the least." Buck hadn’t forgotten his unborn child, would remember as long as he lived which probably wouldn't be too much longer.
Three times before that day death had shaken Buck Wilmington to his core, his mother, Chris Larabee's family and this unborn child.
"Old man Kant got wind that she was runnin' away with me so the old bastard sent her off to another group of bible thumpers. I just lost my temper, that's all," Buck lied with a straight face and crystal clear eyes.
"How long ago'd she leave?"
"He said a week today."
Chris noticed the dishes on the table. There were two place settings, one at the head of the table, one to the left of that. Remnants of bacon, long since hardened, and eggs were congealed on the plates and the gunman highly doubted that Grayson Kant had invited Buck Wilmington to have breakfast with him. He continued to sit and smoke. "Buck, I've got a good idea what went on here and I'm askin' you if you're gonna stick to your cock 'n' bull story?"
Buck had the decency to flush a little with guilt but replied, "Yeah, Chris, I am."
Larabee sighed, stood up and walked outside to his horse. Buck followed and the lawman turned to him. "You know I'm gonna have to take you in?" Chris asked knowing full well that, as far as Buck Wilmington was concerned, all was said and done.
The ladies man wouldn't change one word of his story so he had no choice but to pull a mean set of heavy iron cuffs from his saddlebag shaking out the kinks in the short chain.
Buck held up his hands, wrists extended, and told him, "You're gonna have to double me back to town, too, while you're at it."
"Where's your horse, Buck?" Chris asked only as a formality. He knew damn good and well where that horse was and who had ridden out on him.
"Well, you know that son of a bitch caught wind of a mare in season and just up and ran off."
"Just ran off?" Chris repeated shoving the locks home on the shackles.
Buck just smiled and said, "I told you he was a som'bitch."
Chapter 5
Chris Larabee sat in the dark and listened to Buck Wilmington snore. He was of a mind to throw a boot at the cell bars to wake his friend so he could be as miserable as he himself was. His anger had given way to sadness that, in a few hours, would give way to grief and Chris thought it best that he left town for a few days. His dark mood grew steadily even as his black was saddled and waiting around back, his bedroll tied to the saddle, his destination most likely Purgatorio.
The tip of his cheroot glowed in the darkness and he breathed out the smoke with a sigh. The gunfighter thought he had it all figured out...all of it except Buck's willingness to die what could only be an honorable death. For whatever reason, Alice Kant had undoubtedly wielded the stick that had put her miserable, mean tempered husband out of his misery and Chris was pretty sure that Judge Travis would have been more than lenient if she had stood trial.
But Buck Wilmington, with misguided sense of chivalry outweighing his common sense, hadn't trusted Lady Justice to be fair and impartial...which could very well have been the case with an all male jury. Again the point was moot because Alice Kant was gone...plain and simple.
JD opened the door to the office and was surprised to find the one room building shrouded in darkness. He could smell cigar smoke and the glow of the lighted cheroot danced eerily in the darkness and he knew Chris Larabee sat vigil. Hearing Buck “sawing logs” JD wondered how the condemned man could sleep so easily. He sure hadn't been able to...hence the late night visit.
Chris struck a match and lit the oil lamp and leaned back in his chair to pull an extra chair up beside him and motioned for JD to come in.
Sitting down next to the gunman, JD wondered aloud, "How can he sleep when...when..." He spoke softly but couldn't make the remainder of his thoughts pass his lips.
"Clear conscience would be my guess," Chris said and offered the whiskey bottle he'd been sipping on for the greater part of the evening to the young man.
Refusing the drink, JD looked past Chris toward the cells and let out a watery sigh.
Chris couldn't help but hear it and demanded, "Give me your boot, JD." His voice was louder than JD thought proper and tinged with enough anger that the young peacekeeper simply lifted his leg and yanked off his footwear.
Chris stood and chucked it directly at the bars of Buck's cell. "Wake up you son of a bitch! You've got a visitor!"
Buck sat up with a start, his heart hammering hard enough to send him into a fit of coughing. He looked out the small window above his cot and still saw stars and knew he had a few more hours left.
"Get the keys, JD," Chris continued and shoved the bottle at him, "Buck could probably use this."
JD looked at Chris with confusion in his eyes and the gunman huffed a mirthless laugh, "I ain't gonna let you break him out. I just think he owes you."
Still confused JD stood up and, clasping the bottle of whiskey to his chest, repeated, "Owes me?"
Turning to glance at the stunned prisoner, Chris replied, "He owes you answers to your questions. He owes you an explanation. And JD," he said sincerely, his voice softening, "He owes you an apology."
Buck rose to his feet and wrapped his fingers around the bars. "Listen, Chris," he started wanting to send his young friend from Boston away but Chris pushed JD toward the keys and the cells.
"If he doesn't apologize...I'll beat it out of him," Chris promised as he walked back to the desk and sat down once again.
JD stood before the cell door in one stockinged foot, the keys in his hand, staring dumbly at the only father he'd ever really known and although he was royally pissed at Chris Larabee, Buck took pity on the boy and told him, "I'd be more comfortable...and a whole lot more private if you come on in and sit with me."
With trembling hands JD slid the keys into the lock and swung the cell door open. He offered the bottle to Buck, who took it gratefully, and sat down on the cot his head hung like a whipped dog, and Buck felt as if he were still balancing, none too steadily, on that pedestal.
The ladies man had come to terms with his decision until he allowed himself to think about the ramifications. Well used to death, Josiah, Ezra, Nathan, Vin and even Chris would get over his in good time and his memory would fade more and more each day but JD Dunne was a whole different story.
Buck had made a decision to save one but in the process he would loose another and Chris was right. He did owe JD an explanation and so much more.
"God says "You shall not covet your neighbor's house; you shall not covet your neighbor's wife, or male or female slave, or ox, or donkey, or anything that belongs to your neighbor," Buck started and JD looked up at him even more confused than before, "Let's just stick with 'coveting your neighbor's wife', JD."
"You're talkin' about Mrs. Kant, aren't you?" JD asked, his question rhetorical to say the least. He'd heard Chris and the others accuse and berate Buck behind his back and even to his face. He knew Buck had crossed a line that the others were loath to accept but he had reserved his judgment.
To Buck it sounded much worse when JD used Ali's proper name and he hefted the bottle and took a long swallow. "I broke one of God's most important laws. I took advantage of a sweet, innocent, young bride and now her husband's dead."
"But you didn't kill him," JD insisted.
Buck just shook his head. "I killed him as sure as if my hand was on that stick of wood. I killed him...and I killed Ali's baby...my baby...just as sure as if I'd laid hands on her myself."
JD's stomach roiled and he took back the bottle and took a small sip of the whiskey to calm his nerves. Buck had thought it important enough, had thought him important enough, to bare his soul to him and he didn't want to tarnish the honor by puking. He was not as naive as everyone thought and he knew exactly what Buck was trying to say to him. His friend hadn't laid a hand on anyone, not Mr. Kant nor his wife. He had only loved her in his own way and as a result of that love two lives were lost.
In his desperation to keep his friend from being the third, JD threatened to take Buck's "confession" to Judge Travis. The ladies man smiled sadly at him and when JD saw the disappointment on his face and the sadness in his eyes he finally understood and quickly backed down as Buck began his apology.
"I'm sorry I won't be around to see you come into your own, JD, to grow into your courage and to trust fully in your instincts." Buck stopped and looked up at the ceiling of the jail, a little trick he used when he was about to break into tears. He took a cleansing breath, another belt of whiskey and continued, "I'm sorry I won't be around when you finally realize that Casey's the one and you ask her to marry you. I'm sorry I won't be around when your children are born, when you teach them to ride and rope and the difference between right and wrong."
JD wiped angrily at the tears that rolled down his cheeks and Buck chuckled letting his own tears fall unchecked as he thought of the loss of his unborn child...and of the young man sitting so quietly next to him.
"JD, I'm sorry for so many things in my life..." Buck stopped to swallow the lump that had lodged in his throat, "but most of all...I'm sorry that I let you down."
Chapter 6
Chris Larabee had neither pretense nor excuses when it came to his eavesdropping on Buck and JD. He still didn't trust himself to speak directly to the condemned man for fear of loosing his temper and saving the court the expense and the town the spectacle of a good old fashioned hanging. But he wasn't above simply listening as the two men in the cell talked and as he listened things became clearer for Chris...if not more palatable.
Buck had not only bedded the Kant woman but he had gotten her pregnant as well, an inauspicious start to his slide down a slippery, blood-covered slope. Alice Kant had, in fact, wielded the club in retaliation for her husband's beating her so unmercifully that she had lost her baby and to Buck's mind it was only right that he be the one held accountable and made to pay for the death of that child...as well as the man.
There was no question that Buck had given up his horse, as well as his freedom and soon his very life, to Alice to aid in her escape and to set the scales right. The harsh law of retaliation, an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth, a life for a life, played no part in his decision. His only concern was salvation for the innocent and punishment for the truly guilty. Buck would die so that Ali could live.
Buck's decision wasn't any different than Chris Larabee's in that the gunman would give anything, even his very life, to have his wife and son back and knowing the full story he felt a little better about the duties he was sworn to uphold in less than an hour from the looks of the lightening sky. He checked his pocket watch and his stomach pitted when he saw the time...5:00.
As Chris stood Buck glanced up at him and returning his gaze to JD grasped the young lawman's shoulder and told him, "You go on now, JD. Go out to the Wells' place and spend some time with sweet Casey. There's no need for her or Nettie to come to town."
JD's heart started to thump wildly as he stood on legs that had suddenly grown weak. Buck was right. There was no sense in anyone watching a good man hang...especially him. "You won't think it cowardly of me?" he asked, his inhaled breath quavering again with the building of sorrow.
Buck stood. "I'd consider it a favor to me if you didn't watch. I want you to remember me like this," Buck told him and with a mischievous smile he herded JD to the door and literally booted him from the building.
Chris watched and wondered for a moment what lengths, if any; he would go to to stop Buck if he chose to run. But instead of making a break for it Wilmington simply turned to his friend and with a wistful smile on his face said, "I wish you didn't have to be there either, pard."
"I wouldn't be anywhere else, Buck," Chris told him making sure his friend knew that he would be there with him to the bitter end.
The street outside was fairly empty. Only a few curious souls, along with the Judge and Mary Travis, had braved the overcast day and the early morning chill to stand around the gallows. In his infinite wisdom Judge Travis had chosen the quick turnaround and the early hour to lessen the impact on the town and on Buck, whose many friends and conquests would still be asleep at this early hour.
As Mary looked around she saw Nathan Jackson coming her way, his jacket collar pulled up and his head bent down. He came to stand beside her and she smiled wanly and nodded her head in acknowledgment but kept her peace because if she were to speak to the healer she might not be able to stop herself from sobbing.
The three of them stood together in their official capacity, Judge Travis to see that the law was carried out to the letter, Mary, as the editor of The Clarion, to see that the news of the execution was handled with decorum and dignity and Nathan, as the town’s only healer, to pronounce the death of a dear friend.
The town's only man of God, Josiah Sanchez, had come to minister to Buck's everlasting soul before and after it's journey and joined them on the street while Ezra Standish, still awake after a long night of celebrating his friend's life, stood in the doorway of the saloon, his face a mask of composure as he watched from across the street as Vin Tanner entered the jail.
Charged with assisting Chris Larabee as he carried out the wishes of the court, the tracker's paint was saddled and ready to go, tied to the railing behind the jail next to Chris' black.
Only JD Dunne was missing and, although he had a tenuous relationship with God at best, Buck thanked the Almighty for small favors as he shuffled slowly up the thirteen steps, his leg irons clattering noisily on the wooden treads as he did so.
Refusing a blindfold and a last request, the hangman's noose Chris slipped around Buck's neck was tied with thirteen loops to denote a murderer. A horse thief or cattle rustler's would have had only nine making it easier to pull the loop tight and dispatch the condemned man more mercifully and Buck made a mental note to take up the discrepancy with God...or the Devil...depending.
Chris Larabee put his hand on the lever that would drop the trapdoor and allow Buck to hopefully fall far enough to break his neck as opposed to strangling slowly but surely. Vin Tanner waited below the gallows to lend a helping hand if things went awry.
As the small gathering grew quiet someone in the crowd asked, "Is that the man accused of killing the church elder?"
Judge Travis turned to the man who asked and told him, "Accused and convicted."
"Well, one murder's as good as another I guess," the man then said cryptically, "And it looks like he won't be needin' his horse after all."
"What do you mean?" Mary demanded glancing away from the gallows to stare at the well-dressed stranger.
"Name's Doc Williams from over Eagle Bend way," he said extending his hand. "Alice Kant was my patient and, even though your man didn't kill her husband, the bastard sent her off to die just as sure as if he'd shot her himself."
Chapter 7
Inside a moment in time, a fate can be sealed, a destiny can be fulfilled, a hero can be shaped, a wrong can be set right and a light can shine through the darkness. At precisely 6:00 am Chris Larabee pulled the lever and the trap door dropped swiftly and heavily hitting the back of the gallows with a resounding thud.
At that same moment in time, Judge Travis shouted, "Stop!", Mary Travis screamed, "No!", Vin Tanner jumped forward to take the brunt of the one hundred seventy five pounds of dead weight that fell through the trap door and Buck Wilmington saw Ali standing at the forefront of the small gathering, her face beautiful as she smiled at him.
"Cut him down!" Judge Travis ordered as Nathan rushed to Vin's side to help steady and relieve some of the pressure on Wilmington's neck.
Buck's fall from at least ten feet above had been cut short when Vin grabbed his legs but the rope had still tightened enough around his neck to cut off his airway and Ali's face grew brighter for a moment then faded to black. A few moments later the ladies man was flat on his back looking up through the trap of the gallows as Chris Larabee, knife in hand, looked down at him.
Strong and determined fingers gouged the soft tissue of his neck to loosen the rope. His head swam and it was hard and painful to swallow but the rope was finally gone and thanks to Vin's quick thinking he was still alive...but for how long...and why.
Nathan examined Buck and deemed him battered and bruised but in remarkable condition for a man just hanged. With his help the condemned man got to his feet and stared dumbly at those surrounding him.
"Buck, this is Dr. Williams from Eagle Bend," Judge Travis said to him and added, "He's brought back your horse."
The doctor looked at Buck as if he were shit on the bottom of his boot and told him, "Alice made me promise to return him to you. After what you did to her all she was worried about was getting your blasted horse back to you."
"Where is she?" Buck demanded rubbing his fingers gently over the burning flesh of his neck, her visage still clear in his mind, "Where's Ali."
"She's dead," Williams said bluntly, "She was still bleeding when you turned her out to find her own way and she passed a week later in my office."
Buck's face drained of all color and he swayed unsteadily. Chris grabbed his upper arm to steady him and, with a look to Ezra, the southerner started to disperse the onlookers gathered around the gallows.
"Bleeding?" Buck asked in confusion.
"She suffered an incomplete miscarriage," the doctor said with barely contained disgust and anger, "Bits of tissue were left inside of her to rot and she died of sepsis."
"Sepsis?" Buck asked his head still reeling from the news of Ali's death.
"Blood poisoning, Buck," Nathan explained in a much gentler tone.
Buck took in a deep breath and sighed, his eyes sparkling with unshed tears. His head and body ached and his emotions were in turmoil. "Ali never said anything about..." he started but ended up at a loss for words.
"She needed a doctor, you fool," Williams declared, "Not a forty mile ride on your damn horse."
Vin took a step toward the doctor but Josiah cut him off. "I'm sure if Buck had known about Mrs. Kant's condition he'd have sought medical help immediately."
The sheer size of the preacher caused the physician to temper his anger a bit. "Well, I've done as she asked me. Your horse is at the livery."
Chris felt Buck begin to tremble and knew that the events of the last fifteen minutes, as well as the past few weeks, had taken their toll and digging into the pocket of his vest he pulled out a twenty dollar gold piece and flipped it to the doctor. "For your time and your effort," Chris said, his voice devoid of any emotion.
The pure coldness of it along with the look in Larabee's eyes caused the doctor to forgo any further attack on Buck and he turned to go.
"I'll need you to sign a document attesting to Alice Kant's deathbed confession exonerating Mr. Wilmington before you leave, Doctor," Judge Travis informed the man.
Williams stopped short and paused for a long moment. Someone needed to pay for the poor woman's death.
Josiah saw the man hesitate and placed a hand on his shoulder. "God will bring to judgment both the righteous and the wicked, for there will be a time for every activity, a time for every deed."
The big man was right, Williams conceded. It had been his job to see Alice Kant on to the next world and to carry out her last wish. It would be The Almighty's to sort the rest of it out.
Chapter 8
With Chris and Vin on either side of him, Buck Wilmington shuffled down the street and back to the jail. It was 6:15 am and he was fifteen minutes into his second chance...or on borrowed time if he chose to think of his reprieve as such. He lay back down on his bunk to wait for word from Judge Travis and for the further consequences of his actions as they bore down on him unmercifully.
Sure that it hadn't just been an illusion, the weight of Ali's death alone would have crushed him if it weren't for the fact that he had seen her smiling and apparently well wherever she now was. But that knowledge didn't keep him from finally breaking down into tears.
Chris watched from his chair at the desk satisfied that Buck's emotions finally matched the gravity of the situation. No more flippant comments or stoicism, no more indifference to his pleasure or pain, just pure, unadulterated, gut-wrenching sorrow for what he had done.
However noble Buck’s intentions, Chris had been infuriated when his friend had chosen to take the easy way out as opposed to telling the truth and living with the consequences. But his own reasons for wanting Buck to live had not been altogether altruistic, they had been purely selfish in that Buck willingly shouldered much of the guilt regarding the deaths of Chris' own wife and son, a gesture that helped the gunman live with his own fateful decisions. Now, with the deaths of yet another mother and child on his conscious, Chris wondered if they had really done Buck a favor.
Vin stood in the doorway listening to a man's heartbreak, a sound he wouldn't soon forget, secure with his own emotions and with his actions. He would rather have his friend, no matter how damaged in body and spirit, alive because Iyatiku, the mother of humans, would take him back to her breast and in time he would be reborn, never to forget but to go on, just as he himself had done.
Josiah sat next to Dr. Williams in the office of the Clarion as the physician recounted the final days and hours of Alice Kant's all to short life and smiled secure in the knowledge that she was indeed in a far better place.
Mary sat next to her father-in-law transcribing the doctor's words onto a paper to be witnessed and duly sworn to as soon as they were finished. As she listened, her sorrow for Alice Kant's harsh lot in life was tempered with relief at the prospect of Buck Wilmington's inevitable release and with her love for the man at her side, the circuit court judge and grandfather to her son.
As soon as it was signed Nathan delivered the document to Chris Larabee and, in his capacity as town's peacekeepers, the gunman said the words wrought by nothing short of a miracle, "You're free to go, Buck."
The ladies man wiped his tear-streaked face, stood up and looked at his oldest friend as he handed him his gun and leather and, although he remained silent, Chris saw the question in Buck's red-rimmed eyes and told him, "You don't forget...but it gets easier to breath."
Old Bart was none the worse for his journey and as horse and rider made their way up to Nettie Wells' small ranch house, JD Dunne knew that within a moment in time, faith can be its own reward, a heart can heal and prayers can be answered.
FIN
Many thanks to the Magnificent Seven faithful, of which I have been a proud member since January 3rd, 1998, for helping to keep The Seven alive and well in our minds as well as in our hearts.
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