The Beginning
Prequel to the pilot episode, Ghosts of the Confederacy
Vin Tanner watched as the wind picked up and the space he had just swept was covered once more by a coating of sand. Dust was a never ending commodity in this town. It was too bad they couldn't package and sell it. Old Virgil Watson would be a rich man. Vin ducked his head to hide the smile he felt stealing across his face. If Watson knew the truth about his new employee, he'd be a rich man anyway.
The smile faded and Vin held in a sigh of weariness. He wouldn't be here long enough for Watson to find out the truth. Soon as he had a little money put away he had to get back to tracking Eli Joe. That bastard wasn't going to get away with framing him. He'd track him to the ends of the earth and drag his sorry ass back to Texas, kicking and screaming every inch of the way, if he had to. This job was just a little setback.
He'd run plumb out of money and supplies getting over stove-in ribs. Luckily, food had been no problem. He'd had enough jerky and hardtack to last until he could hunt up some small game to feed himself, but he'd run out of coffee the first week he was laid up and, Lordy, he had missed his coffee. He'd just been lucky his horse hadn't been injured when it had stepped in that gopher hole. His ribs would heal, he couldn't have replaced the pony.
He'd been laid up for most of three weeks before he'd been able to head for a town looking for a job to tide him over. He'd thought about selling his old wagon, but the shape the thing was in, he knew it wouldn't have brought much, so he'd left it up in the hills. It was in such sad shape, he knew no one would bother trying to steal it. And it was within easy riding distance if he needed it. Course, after losing his mule to wolves last winter, he'd have to borrow one to get it to town. Wasn't no way he was gonna risk the ruin of his horse by having it pull the wagon that far.
He continued to sweep at the never-ending dust that collected against the stands Watson had set out front to display his goods.
When Vin had ridden into town, he'd not had any specific job in mind. He couldn't go back to bounty hunting yet, not with his own face on a wanted poster, but he'd hoped to be able to pick up a little work on one of the ranches in the area or maybe sign on with one of the trail herds passing through, he'd scouted for herds before.
With the last nickel he had left in his pocket, he had made his way to the saloon to see if there was talk of anyone hiring.
Vin remembered thinking that luck hadn't been with him that day. There had been no ranch hands in the saloon. The bartender had told him the hands in the area, preferred a place called Wickestown, outside of town, for their whisky and women. Vin wasn't certain of it's location, but he figured it wouldn't take long for him to track it down.
As for the trail herds, there had only been one in the area. He had seen the ramrod of the outfit as a bunch of hands brought the trail boss in to town looking for a doctor. He had kept his distance, but listened when one of the townspeople told the men they didn't have no doctor, only a healer. Vin had watched as the drovers carried the injured man up the stairs that lead to the healers place. He didn't know what had happened to the injured man, but the quick look he'd gotten of him as they passed told Vin it was already too late to save him. He heard one of the group say something about gangrene and shook his head as he moved away from the area. The most the healer would be able to do would be to ease the dying man's misery till he passed.
Vin backed quietly away and headed to the alley where he had left his horse hitched near the end of town. Even before he'd been framed for murder, Vin had been a cautious sort. Every event in his life had taught him that the less people knew you were around, the less likely you were to find yourself on the wrong end of unwanted attention. Living with a price on his head had only reinforced those lessons, so he had purposely left his horse away from the center of town.
He had made his way back toward the hardware store as the crowd around the drovers disbursed. He hadn't seen much sense hanging around town when there weren't even any ranch hands to ask about a job. Besides, with that one beer in the saloon, he was flat broke. He had decided to head on out and locate this Wickestown and see if there was a possibility of hiring on with an outfit close by.
But, as he had looped his stirrup over the saddlehorn to re-tightened the cinch on his saddle, fate had stepped in.
"You find anyone to help you out yet, Virgil?"
The words had halted him in his tracks. He'd continued tightening his cinch, but listened close.
"Naw. Ain't had no luck a tall."
"What you plan on doin'?"
"Don't know for sure. Nathan says I gotta stop liftin' those crates, or I'm gonna regret it come winter. But I ain't got a choice. Those supplies are comin' in and I ain't gonna be able to sell my goods if they're still in the storeroom. And there ain't many men willin' to work for five dollars a week."
Vin had remained still as the two men moved back into the store. Five dollars hadn't seemed like bad pay to him. But a store clerk? He had shaken his head and nearly ridden out. But something had stopped him. Hell, he'd had worse jobs. At least clerking in a store there would be less chance of a bounty hunter spotting him.
He remembered looking down at his dusty, worn clothes and deciding it might be wise to head out to the creek and flake off a few inches of trail dust before approaching the man about hiring him.
He had ridden back a few hours later, looking a little cleaner and after a skeptical look from Mr. Watson, he'd been hired.
That had been a week ago. He'd thought at first he'd made a bad mistake. His healing ribs had protested the lifting of some of those crates, but he'd stuck with it and now they didn't bother him at all. Watson was a pretty descent man to work for, but the best part of job was the fact that he kept a pot of coffee on the pot-bellied stove most all day for the two of them.
Gunshots erupted and drew his attention down the street again.
The rest of that trail crew had started drifting into town soon after they had brought the trail boss in to the healer. Vin was glad he had stayed away from them. Without their boss to rein them in, they were a particularly rowdy, hard-drinking bunch. And they were from Texas. It was a real possibility that one of them might have run across one of the wanted posters the Tascosa sheriff had sent out on him.
He and Watson had been hearing sporadic gunfire all morning as the drovers continued their drinking and hoorawing' all over town. But now, he could hear angry shouts coming from down the street. Vin had heard the trail boss had died during the night. Sounded like the cowpunchers weren't too happy with the care their boss had gotten.
Vin frowned as a burst of angry voices became louder and he saw a group of the drovers push their way through the crowded boardwalk and head up the dusty street. Instinct made him take a step back into the shadows of the store front. Whatever that group had in mind, he didn't want no part of it.
The group passed him and made their way with determination to the building where the healer was located. Vin watched quietly as the group marched up the stairs and within moments haul the body of their trail boss out and drag the kicking, cussing healing man to the balcony of his clinic. Things had just turned real ugly.
A flash of dark red color caught Vin's eye as he saw the newspaper woman turn and rush back into her office. He hoped she had enough sense to stay out of the way until this thing was settled.
During his week in the town, Vin had kept mostly to himself out of necessity. He had taken note of the people coming and going in town, but had made sure he attracted as little attention toward himself as possible. He had listened when people spoke about the citizens of the town. It had surprised him to find out the healer Watson had set such store in was a former slave, and that the town's newspaper was run by a feisty young widow. Vin had seen Mrs. Travis a couple of times during the past week, but he had seen the healer, Nathan Jackson, only once before today.
His hands gripped the broom tighter as the drovers hustled the dark man into a wagon at gunpoint. Where was that damned sheriff to put a stop to this madness?
As the wagon began to slowly roll down the street Vin took a step to the edge of the boardwalk. Surely the people of this town weren't going to stand by while a bunch of drunken cowhands lynched one of their town members.
The flash of red that had caught his eye a few moments earlier reappeared and Vin felt his heart skip a beat. He couldn't believe his eyes when the newspaper woman walked to the middle of the street carrying a double barreled shotgun in her hands and stopped in the middle of the street to face down the drovers.
Vin heard her words and felt his respect for the woman double.
~ "Stop right there." ~ she told them angrily.
~ "Step aside, lady. ~
~ "We don't hang men around here for no reason." ~
~ "He killed a good man. Said he was a doctor, but he let him die." ~
~ "I ain't never said I was no doctor..." ~ The healer spoken in his defense that time.
~ "Nathan didn't kill your boss. Gangrene did." ~
~ "You oughta be thankful that we're gettin' rid of this quack.. Ain't no darkie doctors. And there never will be." ~
~ "You're not hanging that man." ~ Vin heard the determination in her voice.
~ "I said get out of my way!!" ~
Vin couldn't believe what he was seeing as the ramrod of the trail crew kicked at the woman from the back of his horse, putting enough force behind his action to shove her to the ground. Another of the drovers rushed her and grabbed the shotgun out of her grasp. Vin had been angry before, now he was furious.
~ "Time for a funeral boys. Let's get this wagon movin'." ~
He saw Mrs. Travis push herself angrily to her feet and helplessly appeal to the townspeople who continued on their way without stopping to help her or the healer.
~ "Are you people just going to let this happen?" ~ She shouted and Vin heard her voice shake with frustration.
He had done pretty good at holding his temper until the drovers had manhandled the woman. Vin was stunned that the woman had the grit to confront the drunken cowboys, and double so that the drovers would treat a woman in the disrespectful way he had just seen. He silently watched as people continued down the street away from what was happening before their eyes. How could the towns people not seem interested in stopping the lynching.
He sighed heavily knowing he might get himself killed, but he'd be damned if he'd stand by and let an innocent man hang if there was something he could do about it. No matter the cost, he had to try.
He turned back to the store and headed to Watson's display of rifles. His own gun was tucked safely in the back of storeroom, but he only had a handful of shells for it left and he had to hurry if he was going to stop Jackson from hanging. His practiced eye roamed over the rifles and he chose the one best suited for his purpose, along with a box of shells and began to shove cartridges into the chamber of the gun.
Virgil Watson had not been in the front of the store when the wagon carrying Nathan Jackson had passed by, but he had appeared in time to see the drover's treatment of Mary Travis. He had followed Vin in to the store and watched as he grabbed a rife and shells and headed back outside.
~ "You walk off with that rifle and you're fired." ~ he said following along behind Vin.
It was an empty threat and Vin knew it. He suspected Watson knew it too, but it was the store keeper's attempt to keep him from getting himself killed. He gave the older man a half smile as he finished shoving shells into the rifle.
~ "Hell, I'm probably gonna get myself killed. Now I gotta worry about a new job too." ~
Vin saw a look of sadness cross Watson's face as he finished loading shells into the rifle and turned to stare down the street at the disappearing wagon. Watson knew the odds of his returning alive were pretty bad.
A tingle started at the back of Vin's neck, a feeling he always got when someone was watching him. For a brief instant his stomach clinched in dread. He had to act quick if he was going to keep the drovers from hanging the healer, he didn't have time to deal with a bounty hunter right now.
A quick scan of the street brought his eyes to a black clad figure on the boardwalk outside the saloon watching him silently. A feeling stole over Vin that he had never felt before, a closeness unlike anything he had ever experienced. In that instant, he knew beyond any shadow of a doubt that he could trust the man in black.
The man nodded toward the drovers and their captive. Vin returned the unspoken question from the stranger across the way with a nod of his own head and the two of them stepped into the dusty street together.
The Beginning