Josiah had already carried Ezra up to Nathan's clinic, where the healer was frantically trying to close the four-inch gash across his ribcage, and had come back down for Mrs. Jones, when Vin rode back into town. The injured woman was in shock, mumbling about her husband, as Josiah scooped her up and carried her from the bank, Chris following behind, rubbing his eyes wearily. He looked up as he heard the horse, seeing what could only be Vin outlined against the rising sun, his distinctive hat framing his unkempt hair. Chris was glad to see him, then pushed it down; they had business to take care of, and he needed Vin to search around the bank for tracks. He started to call out to the tracker when Mrs. Jones screamed, pointing at Vin as he climbed off his horse."That's him," she screamed, her eyes wild. "That's him! That's who attacked us, that's him!" Every person gathered around turned to glare at Vin, who stood frozen by his horse. Angry murmurs started, and Chris heard a distinct "I knew he was trouble," from the crowd. As more people gathered, he needed to defuse the situation.
"Josiah, take her home," he said, starting towards Vin.
"What are you going to do about Vin?"
"Lock him up," Chris replied.
He strode to where Vin stood. "Chris, what is..."
"Don't say a word. Come with me," Chris ordered, grabbing his arm and pulling him to the jail. Vin started to pull away, but at the sight of what was growing into an angry mob, he followed Chris to the jail, where JD was already by the door checking the shotgun for bullets.
"What do we do, Chris?" JD asked.
Buck joined them in front of the jail. "Real friendly group," he said.
Chris took the shotgun from JD and thrust it at Buck. "Keep 'em outside," he said, and led Vin inside the jail. JD followed, closing the door behind him.
"What the hell is goin' on?" Vin asked, checking his own gun.
"Somebody robbed the bank," Chris said. "Killed Mr. Jones, and hurt Mrs. Jones and Ezra."
Vin glanced up. "Ezra gonna be all right?"
"I don't know," Chris answered.
Shouts sounded from outside, and Buck could be heard telling the people to go home, that they'd handle it.
"You'll help him escape, you mean," a voice responded.
JD peered out the window. "Crowd's getting bigger," he said.
"Plenty of room in here," the actor in the cell said.
"Shut up before I shut you up," Chris said to him.
"Why do they think it's me?" Vin asked.
"Mrs. Jones couldn't see who did it, only his hat," Chris answered.
Vin's eyes narrowed.
"Bastard," he spat. "That bastard Smithers. I knew he was no good." He stepped to the door. "You cover me and I can make my horse."
JD shook his head. "Can't do that, Vin. The Judge will be here in two days. He'll clear you of charges and..."
Vin didn't let him finish. His cold gaze fell on the young sheriff, and JD took a step back. "You ain't sayin' I should wait in jail until then, are ya?"
"I'm just saying it would keep you safe and the Judge would..."
"Like hell I will. I'm gonna find that bastard Smithers and the Judge can have what's left of him." He started for the door, gun drawn, when Chris's steel grip grabbed his arm and pulled him back. He lost his balance and when he regained it, Chris shoved him into an empty cell, slamming the door behind him.
Vin stood in shock for a second as the door closed, then his defiant eyes met Chris's unreadable ones. "Larabee," he said in a low growl. "Let me out."
"You're already wanted, Vin. Pissing off the Judge isn't a good idea," Chris said. He turned from the cell to the gun cabinet, taking out a rifle and extra bullets.
"Chris, you can't find him alone. This snake is slippery. You'll need me to track him, and someone to watch yer back."
Chris paused. He looked at Vin, and saw more than a man set on revenge. He saw a man who had started to make a name for himself, not in a showy way for fame, but as a good man, someone honorable and dependable, who would have made his mother proud, and now someone was trying to smear that name. For Vin Tanner that was worse than being shot in the back. Chris nodded, his decision made, and walked to the jail cell with the keys.
"You gonna let him out?" the actor asked. "You let me out too, and I'll help you hunt the guy down." The man's smile faded at the glare he received from Larabee, and he sat back down on the cot. "Safer in here," he muttered.
"You don't think the Judge will clear him?" JD asked.
"He'll be cleared when we bring back Smithers," Chris replied, swinging open the door. Vin headed for the cabinet and grabbed another shotgun.
Chris looked through the shade on the door. "Looks like Buck is keeping them calm, but that'll change if you come charging out," he said.
"So how do we distract them?" JD asked.
Both Vin and Chris looked back at the actor still in the cell. A smile crossed Chris's face. "Always wanted to be in show business."
<<<<<<<~~~~~~~>>>>>>>
Josiah stepped on the porch in front of the jail, where Buck leaned with a shotgun resting in the crook of his arm. "Josiah," Buck nodded. "How's Ezra?"
Josiah rubbed his eyes. He couldn't remember ever being so tired. "Nathan says he did what he could. He said I better pray." He looked at the drawn shade on the jail door, and then at the crowd still hovering in the street. "What's happening with Vin?" he asked.
Buck shrugged, just as the door opened. The crowd surged forward, but calmed as they saw it was Chris and the young sheriff with a different prisoner.
Chris stepped out, holding the arm of the actor, who was yelling at the top of his lungs. "This is brutality!" He lifted up his hand, blood dripping from his fingers. "I demand justice! These men have brutalized me. Cruel and unusual punishment!" Chris jerked his arm and led him away from the jail. Buck and Josiah watched as JD stepped out also, looking at the ground. They looked closer, then at each other, and tried to hide grins as Chris and Vin, under JD's bowler and checkered coat, hauled the shouting prisoner towards Nathan's clinic.
As soon as they were past the crowd, they darted into an alley. Vin immediately yanked off the hat and coat, pushing his own hat back on his head with a sigh. Chris glared at the actor. "You ever come around here again, I'll shoot you on sight, you understand?" The man nodded and hurried away down the alley.
Chris glanced out at the street, and saw the coast was clear. "Let's go."
"You don't have to do this," Vin said. "I can do it on my own."
"Ain't doing it for you," he replied, then led the way to the posts where their horses were tethered. They climbed on quickly and rode off in a cloud of dust that settled over the ignorant mob.
<<<<<<<~~~~~~~>>>>>>>
They rode until nightfall, stopping in the same campsite where Vin had freed the eagle. Chris was quiet as they unpacked and started a small fire. Vin watched him spread out his bedroll and lean back against his saddle, chewing on a biscuit and jerky.
"I got some jam Nettie made me," Vin said. "Make that dry biscuit taste better."
Chris didn't look at him as he answered, staring into the fire. "No thanks."
Vin leaned back against his own saddle. Damn stubborn bastard, he thought, don't you know a peace offering when you see it? "This is where I camped last night," he said, his own voice sounding loud in his ears. Making conversation wasn't his strong point, but for some reason he didn't want to just sit in silence. "There was an eagle stuck in them rocks back there," he nodded back into the copse. Chris didn't answer. "I freed it, although it raised holy hell while I was doing it." He pushed up his sleeve. "Took a chunk of my arm with him," he said, holding out his arm so Chris could see the wound. The gunslinger glanced over, then back at the fire.
Vin pushed back down his sleeve, and grabbed a biscuit. His first instinct was to throw it at the recalcitrant gunslinger. The thought of how Chris would react as the bread bounced of his forehead brought a smile to his face.
"Something funny?" Chris said softly.
"I was just thinking about throwing this biscuit at you," Vin answered. Chris raised an eyebrow but didn't reply. Vin sighed in exasperation. "Shit, Chris, why'd ya have to make everything so goddamned complicated? We were getting along fine, until you went and made everything mean something."
"Is that what I did?"
"Hell yes. Things were fine before. We don't know what tomorrow brings. One of us could end up dead."
"So we shouldn't get attached, is that it?"
"No, not exactly," Vin replied.
Chris sat up, tossing the rest of his biscuit into the fire. "Actually, you're right. You get close to somebody and you end up hurting," he said. Vin knew from the faraway look in his eyes he was thinking of his family as he watched the bread burn.
"I didn't mean to bring up bad memories. I just wanted us to have a good time, like we were before," Vin said.
Chris looked up at him. "You think I just bend over and that solves everything?" Vin shrugged. "Then let's go," Chris continued. He pulled off his hat and tossed it to the side, then undid his gun belt and started on his shirt. Vin watched him, the steady mechanical movements, without a hint of desire. Was this what they were like before, before Chris kissed him that day? Were they like billy goats, as Chris kept saying?
"Forget it," Vin said. "I ain't in the mood no more." Chris shrugged and re-buttoned his shirt, laying back and covering his face with his hat. "Be like fuckin' a statue anyway," Vin muttered as he lay back against his saddle and hoped for sleep.
<<<<<<<~~~~~~~>>>>>>>
Vin jolted awake from the dream he'd been having. In the dream he was again watching the eagle trapped in the rocks, but this time he couldn't get close enough to save it, because the rocks were surrounded by flames. He tried to run through the flames, but the searing heat kept him away, and he could only watch as the bird screamed as the flames neared. The bird had just caught on fire when Vin awoke.
He shook his head to try and clear it of the image, then looked at Chris to see if he'd woken him up, but Chris's bedroll was empty. Vin stood, glancing around the campsite; it was still dark, but a full moon showed that Chris was nowhere around. He hesitated calling out, in case there was trouble, and stilled his body, listening for any sounds in the night. He heard only wind, so he stepped cautiously to the copse. The horses were still tied. He walked past them to the rock, images from his dream flooding his head.
As he neared the rock, he saw Chris, silhouetted against the night, sitting on one of the boulders. He must have heard Vin approach, but he didn't turn, whether out of trust or indifference, Vin wasn't sure. Chris sat with one leg pulled up against him, his back straight as he looked off into the distance, staring at something only he could see, a trait of Chris's that Vin had noticed soon after they met. He'd never had the courage to ask Chris what he saw in the distance, good memories or bad, because he figured whatever Chris saw was his own, was what kept him going despite the horrors he'd endured. Besides, he'd always figured Chris'd tell him to mind his own goddamned business, but now he wasn't so sure. As Chris sat there, Vin realized his thinking Chris was a statue wasn't fair; the man had strength and honor enough for a dozen men, and he wore it like he wore that black duster, as a warning to those who'd do harm that he'd stop them, but also as a warning to everybody else to keep away. He said caring for people ended up with hurt, but he'd still wanted to let Vin in, to take another chance on sharing himself, leaving himself more vulnerable than if he'd walked down the street in Purgatory naked and drunk. If Chris was willing to take that risk, was willing to offer himself at the risk of being knocked down, then Vin was too.
Decision made, he walked to behind where Chris sat staring. He noticed the gunslinger tense as he approached. Vin reached out his hand and gently turned Chris's face towards him, and tenderly placed his lips over his, waiting until Chris relaxed before pressing harder, slowly tracing Chris's lips with his tongue, not with the urgency of sexual need, but with all the compassion and admiration he felt for this man at that moment, with all the gratitude for being a friend worthy of this trust, with all the love he had kept bottled inside him all his life, and all of that was returned by Chris. Their bodies shifted, molded against each other, no rush for relief guiding their actions as they simply appreciated each other. When they finally did join, their eyes locked on each other's, the union was of two parts making a whole, perfect rhythm of body, breath, and heartbeat that resulted in more sheer ecstasy than either had even guessed existed. They rested against each other, their flushed skin cooling. No words were spoken, because none could express what each already understood. They watched as the sun rose, trying to keep the moment a little longer before the harshness of reality forced them to separate back into themselves.
<<<<<<<~~~~~~~>>>>>>>
Vin and Chris followed Smithers' trail to a small mining town called Thunder Ridge, so named for the mine blasts that echoed off the high rock cliffs lining the town. Judging from the tracks, Smithers was traveling with three men. They rode into the town near sundown. The general store, telegraph office, and blacksmith were all closed. The only other building was the nameless saloon, which spilled out stumbling miners and tired thin whores.
Vin and Chris boarded their horses in the livery, and Vin nodded at a dun gelding in a far stall. "That's Smithers' horse," he said, his voice low. Chris nodded, and they headed for the saloon.
A thick layer of smoke and the odor of cheap beer hit the two before they even entered the saloon; inside, it was worse. They glanced at each other, asking wordlessly if they should stay or go, and decision made to get it over with, they stepped further into the smoky saloon, Chris slightly in front as the object of attention, Vin scanning the room for signs of trouble. They made it to the bar before a glimpse of color caught each of their attentions at the same time. Vin's hand went for his gun, but Chris stayed him with a light touch. "No use hanging for scum like him," he said quietly. Then he headed for the gaming table, with Vin following.
Smithers looked up from beneath the black flat-brimmed hat with a smile. "Gentlemen, can I interest you in a game of chance?" he asked, brushing a piece of ash of the sleeve of the red coat he wore. The outline of Ezra's arm-rig could be seen beneath the ill fit.
"That coat belongs to a friend of ours," Vin said, his voice a low rasp.
"Yes, I admired it greatly. I tried to purchase one of my own, but it's apparently one of a kind, so I took this one."
Vin took a step towards the man, intent on ripping his throat out, but again Chris stayed him. "Smithers, we're taking you back to stand trial for murdering William Jones and attempting to murder Violet Jones and Ezra Standish. You come quietly, and I won't break every bone in your body before you get there." Chris's voice was calm, almost monotone, yet the men at the adjoining tables left hurriedly, and the saloon emptied quickly. Smithers, however, didn't flinch. He pulled out a knife, shined it on the sleeve of Ezra's coat, and began cleaning under his fingernails.
"I've been threatened by some of the meanest bastards west of the Mississippi," Smithers said.
"I'm not surprised," Vin said.
"And you certainly rank in that group, Mr. Larabee. Your reputation as a gunfighter is quite impressive. I'd like to test it out." Smithers smiled.
"You want Chris to shoot you?" Vin asked.
"I want him to try."
"No deal. Let's go, Smithers," Chris replied, stepping towards the man. Suddenly three guns cocked, one from the doorway, one from the landing, and a third from the bar.
"Perhaps you'd like to reconsider," Smithers said.
"You got a death wish?" Vin asked.
Smithers shook his head. "You didn't read the wanted poster on me, did you, Mr. Tanner?" Chris glanced at him, and Vin looked away. "Pity. You should always know your enemy." He stood, straightening the red coat, which was stained with mud and beer. "I'll see you two at dawn, right outside town. May the best man win." He finished his whiskey and left the saloon, his men backing out behind him.
"Ezra's gonna be pissed about his coat," Vin said, sinking down into a chair.
Chris grabbed a bottle from a nearby table and sat down next to him. "You didn't look at his poster?" he asked, pouring them each a strong dose of whiskey.
Vin gulped his down. "No, JD had it. Telegram said he was acquitted."
"Acquitted of what?"
Vin shrugged. "Murder, I suppose."
Chris finished his drink and stood. "Let's see if we can get some beds for the night." He walked to the door. Vin took another drink and followed.
"Chris," he said, and the gunfighter turned around. "Sorry."
"For what?"
"Gettin' you into this."
Chris's smile was cocky. He stepped closer to the tracker. "Vin, you could never get me to do something I didn't want to do," he said, and stepped back out the door.
<<<<<<<~~~~~~~>>>>>>>
The two entered the small spartan hotel room. Chris checked the closets while Vin peered out the only window. Other than two narrow beds with army blankets, there was only a basin, nightstand, and a few hooks for hanging coats.
"Not real homey, is it?" Vin said, tossing his saddlebag on the bed. Chris didn't answer, walking to the window where Vin had checked. "Town's quiet," Vin said. "Think one of us should keep watch?"
Chris shook his head. "No, killing us in our sleep would take the fun out of it."
Vin sat down on the bed, bouncing lightly on the hard mattress. "Speaking of fun, these beds'll barely hold one."
Chris smiled slightly. "We should get some sleep anyway. Meeting Smithers at dawn." He tossed down his saddlebag and sat on the other bed, bending to remove his boots. "I never understood choosing dawn anyway. I much prefer noon," he said, tugging off the stubborn boot and tossing it on the floor, then unbuckling his gun belt. "Last time I did one of these at dawn, I ended up shooting blind in to the sun." He reached for his saddlebag, then paused as he noticed how quiet Vin was. He looked at him, and he saw Vin picking at the loose strands of the army blanket. "Vin, something wrong?"
Vin didn't look at him. "How many of these you done?" he asked.
Chris sat back against the wall. "Seven," he answered.
"And you won 'em all?"
Chris smiled. "I'm sitting here, ain't I?"
"I mean, you killed 'em all?"
Chris paused, a succession of deathly quiet silences followed by a succession of deathly accurate shots parading across his memory. "Yeah," he said quickly, reaching again for his saddlebag.
"Ain't nothin' to be ashamed of," Vin said. "They'd a killed you."
"I know. Used to be, it didn't bother me so much. Now, I wonder if some of those fights could have been avoided. If I wasn't looking for a fight, for a way to take out my anger or have somebody put me out of my misery." He pulled out the soft cloth and oil to clean his Colt. "Hell, I'm probably just getting old."
"Not from what I've seen," Vin replied, his smile reaching his eyes. "Looks to me like you can keep up with men half yer age."
"Good thing, too. You'll be the death of me yet, Tanner," he said. Vin's smile disappeared. "Didn't mean it like that, Vin," Chris said.
"I know," Vin said, starting to take off his own boots. "Just antsy, I guess."
"Don't worry, Vin," Chris said. "I've got a perfect record." He set to the meticulous task of cleaning his gun.
Chris's words didn't reassure Vin much. Chris Larabee had more quiet confidence than anybody Vin knew, but Smithers was trouble, and he'd be planning something dirty, Vin was sure. As he watched Chris slowly and steadily dismantle his trusty Colt, wiping each piece down with a practiced hand, Vin tried to think of a way out of the situation they'd ended up in. Or more accurately, Vin reasoned, that he'd gotten them into. Vin wasn't sure what he could have done differently, aside from following his instinct and shooting Smithers on sight, but there had to have been something he could have done to avoid getting Chris into this situation. If something happened to Chris, Vin would never forgive himself. Chris's concentration was solely on the task at hand, scrubbing out the old gunpowder and oiling the gun down so he'd have a millisecond edge, the difference between life and death.
Vin knew he was a good shot; he'd been told he could shoot the fleas off a dog a mile away, but he didn't know if he could do it staring down the man you were to shoot, who was also ready to shoot you. Chris had to have guts of lead to be able to do that, which Vin knew he had from the first day they'd met. As he fell in step beside him to save Nathan from the trail herd, he'd felt the strength and confidence ease off the man, and that made Vin stronger in the fight too.
Chris must have felt Vin staring at him, because he glanced up, his usually wary green eyes relaxed as they met Vin's, before he looked back down at the gun he was reassembling. Vin felt a strange contentment at that moment, strange because they were a few hours away from a gunfight, but the contentment due to his relationship with this man, built on trust and friendship, then billy goat sex, and now something more, something Vin couldn't or wouldn't name. Whatever it was, it amazed the hell out of him, even as he enjoyed the sight of Chris's nimble fingers playing over the hard steel of the gun barrel. Maybe they did have time for a bit of that billy goat sex....
"What hand is Smithers?" Chris asked, drawing Vin out of his thoughts.
"What?" Vin asked.
"Smithers. Is he left or right handed?"
"Right," Vin answered.
"Ezra's arm rig was on the left."
Vin thought about it. "He drank with the right, and wore his gun on the right."
"Could cross over," Chris said, giving the gun a final look before replacing it in the holster.
"He could, but I doubt it," Vin said.
Chris nodded. "OK, if you say so." He paused and lay back, closing his eyes. "His gun look filed down to you?" he asked.
"Not that I saw."
"You reckon he'll wear Ezra's coat and rig?"
"Can't say. The man likes to keep us guessing," Vin answered. Vin knew Chris was probably visualizing Smithers in front of him, trying to anticipate what Smithers would do at dawn tomorrow, and he again tried to think of a way out. Not that Chris would take it; he'd agreed to meet at dawn, and he'd be there, even knowing he was walking into a trap. Larabee was too damn honorable for his own good, so Vin would just have to play dirty for both of them. He'd been down that road more than once, and if it meant Chris came out of this mess unharmed, he'd go down that road again.
Vin's mind was still racing when he noticed Chris's even breathing. He'd fallen asleep sitting against the wall, ankles crossed and his hands resting on his stomach. His mouth hung slightly open, and his light hair hung over his face. Vin had an image of a much younger, and a much happier Chris Larabee, without the anguish of a murdered family and the pressures of protecting a growing town on his shoulders. He wondered if that Chris Larabee would have given a scruffy sharpshooter named Vin Tanner the time of day, then decided he would have. Even happier, Chris Larabee was still Chris Larabee, and although they might not have ended up sleeping together, Vin knew the connection between them would still have been there if they'd met ten years ago or ten years in the future.
He stood up and walked to where Chris slept, sitting down on the bed and trying to figure out how to get the man to lay down, so when he woke his neck wasn't stiff. He finally decided on the direct approach, and walked to the end of the bed and pulled on his feet. Chris roused slightly, but scooted down so his tousled head rested on the pillow. Vin lightly undid the buttons of his pants, tugging them off, and unbuttoned the black shirt. Then he pulled the army blanket from his bed and covered the sleeping man with it, and sat back down on his bed, lowering the lamp and staring into the darkness as he listened to Chris's breathing.
<<<<<<<~~~~~~~>>>>>>>
They were at the meeting place early, scouting for possible ambush hiding places. That end of town was deserted, with an abandoned hotel on one side and an empty grainery on the other. As the sun started to rise, Vin could see a dozen places for Smithers' men to hide, and he wasn't going to be able to watch them all. He hurried over to where Chris was waiting, leaning on a hitching post, calm as if he was waiting on a drink instead of a gunfight.
"I don't like this, Chris," Vin said. "That hotel is full of windows, and the grainery's got a balcony and a walkway on the roof. Plus, that abandoned mine is close enough for a rifle shot."
"I know," Chris said.
Vin grabbed his arm. "Chris, you ain't got to do this. I'm the one Smithers went after first. I'll deal with him."
Chris looked into his eyes. "You ever been in a showdown like this?" he asked.
Vin shook his head. "First time for everything."
Chris didn't smile. "Some things shouldn't have a first time. Let me do this."
"This is my fight," Vin said.
"If it's your fight, it's my fight," Chris said quietly, so softly Vin barely heard him. "You can watch my back," Chris continued. "Make sure Smithers' men don't gun me down after I blow the bastard away." That cocky smile crossed Chris's face, the one that sent chills up the spines of most men, and Vin nodded. He held out his hand, and they grasped forearms, holding for a second. Vin started to speak, but was interrupted by Smithers.
"That's very touching," he said. They let go of each other and turned to look at him.
"Bastard," Vin muttered under his breath. Smithers was back looking like Vin; besides the slouch hat, he'd also somewhere found a similar tan hide coat and mare's leg, which he strapped around the outside of the coat.
"You gonna fight me with that heavy gun?" Chris asked.
Smithers glanced down at the holster. "I thought I'd give it a try. Add a bit of challenge to it."
"Where are yer men?" Vin called.
Smithers didn't look at him as he answered, instead readjusting the hat in a move that looked so much like Vin Chris almost laughed. "They aren't early risers. I told them to sleep in, and I'd wake them for breakfast."
"Don't count on it," Vin said. He turned away so his back was to Smithers. "Watch out for the arm rig. Looks like he's still got it on the left arm."
"He's also got something tucked under that coat, I'm sure."
Vin nodded, and hurried into the grainery. He thought it would be his best vantage point, because he could see all the windows of the hotel and the old mine entrance, and he'd be facing Smithers, in case he tried something sneaky. The inside of the grainery was cool in the early morning; fine yellow dust covered his shoes and hat as he hurried up the rickety stairs and to the door to the roof. It was locked, but a strong kick broke it open, and he hurried to the edge. He checked the hotel first, his eyes alert for any movement, but he saw nothing. He then looked down at the street where Chris and Smithers stood facing each other. It looked to Vin like they were talking.
"What did your wanted poster say?" Chris asked him as they backed away from each other.
Smithers smiled. "Said I was wanted for murder and bank robbery. Also said I used to be an army sharpshooter, and suspected in several unsolved murders. I was acquitted because a man was shot in the back, and the prosecutor said the perpetuator was right-handed. My lawyer proved that I was in fact left-handed."
Chris glanced down at Smithers' hands; the holster was on the right. He'd have to watch both hands.
"But that's not why I'm doing this," Smithers continued. "You see, I never robbed any banks, not until that one in your quaint little town. I don't claim to be innocent of killing, but stealing, that's different. Somebody was pretending to be me, and that was drawing a lot of attention to my past. I couldn't use my own name anymore. Do you know what it's like to have your name stolen, Mr. Larabee?"
Chris thought about his time in a corrupt prison, trapped in The Hole with only his thoughts keeping him alive, his name taken and replaced with Inmate 78. He nodded slowly. "Yeah, I do. But that don't explain why we're here."
"If I kill you, then I get my name back. Nobody will care about the bank robbing anymore. I'll just be the man who killed Chris Larabee."
Chris shook his head. He'd faced down more than one man looking to beat a famous gunslinger, and all of them, young, old, or crazy, had wanted the same thing: a name. Chris understood a little better after his experiences in the prison, and even more after learning how important Vin's name was to him, but the difference was they'd each tried to do right, to put value to that name. Smithers wanted to earn that name in blood. Part of Chris rebelled against it, and thought about winging Smithers instead of killing him, but he had to reject that thought. He knew himself well enough to know that he'd aim to kill; his bullets went through the heart, as with Eli Joe. His concessions to peace were to try and avoid a fight as much as possible, but when there was no choice, he was going to finish it.
"Let's do this," he said. Smithers nodded, and they faced each other. Chris blinked at the sight before him. With the hat and coat, Smithers did resemble Vin. He forced that distraction out of head and looked Smithers in the eyes. A man always revealed himself in his eyes, and Chris watched the eyes for intention rather than the hands for movement.
Vin kept an eye on the two men in the street while watching the hotel. Chris and Smithers were still as statues; the sun had fully risen so they cast long shadows over the packed dirt of the empty street. Vin couldn't see Chris's eyes, but he knew the look in them: eyes narrowed and flint green, completely focused on the man in front of him, waiting patient as a spider. Smithers' hand rested over the thick handle of the mare's leg, his fingers twitching as he tried to goad Chris into drawing first. Vin smiled; he knew Chris would never fall for that.
Then all of a sudden there was movement, from different places. Vin saw two heads appear in different windows of the hotel, rifles raised, while Smithers raised his left hand and ejected the arm rig. Vin couldn't see Chris as he fired at one of the men in the hotel, but he heard gunshots, several, from all different directions. The man he fired at ducked. A bullet landed near his head from behind him. He rolled quickly, shooting from his back at the third man, crouched behind the door to the roof. Bullets landed on the roof from the hotel as he waited for the man behind the door to show himself, then he looked down. The man's feet were just visible beneath the door. Vin aimed at a foot and fired, and the man screamed, falling to the ground, firing at Vin as he fell. Vin returned fire, and the man jerked as a bullet hit his chest, then lay still.
Vin waited to make sure he was dead, then hurried back to the edge of the roof. Smithers lay on his back, a stain of red spreading across his chest. He saw both men over at the hotel aiming at Chris, who was still in the street, barely hidden behind a rain barrel and aiming up at the men.
Vin couldn't hit all of them, and Chris was a sitting duck, so Vin made a split-second decision. He stood up on the roof and waved his arms, intending to distract the men so Chris could find cover. As he stood, two pairs of eyes from across the way were drawn to him, and then a third pair of statue green eyes as Chris turned to look up at him. Time seemed to freeze; Vin's eyes met Chris's a millisecond before a bullet slammed into his back, knocking him flat to the ground.
"No!" Vin yelled, aiming his gun at the hotel and emptying it into the windows. One man fell instantly, plummeting from the window to land in a cloud of dust. The other man returned fire, but Vin aimed for where he hid behind the wall, the powerful force of the mare's leg's bullets piercing the crumbling plaster and wood, and Vin saw the man sink to the ground, firing twice more before he slumped over the window pane, his gun tumbling from his hands to the ground below. Vin was gone before it hit, running down the stairs, ignoring the dangerous wobbling and ominous creaking of the steps in his rush to the street. He jumped over the lifeless body of Smithers and knelt beside Chris, who was still lying on his stomach, eyes closed and breath coming in short pants that stirred the dirt beneath him.
Vin grabbed his arm. "Chris? Where are you hit?"
"High left shoulder," Chris replied. His eyes opened slowly. "Ruined my perfect record," he said with a wan smile.
Vin looked around. A small crowd had gathered near the saloon, and was edging closer now that the gunfire had stopped.
"Where's yer doctor?" Vin yelled at them. The crowd of miners in undershirts and working girls in tight corsets didn't answer. "Where's yer doctor, dammit?" he yelled again. Some of the crowd looked at the ground, others started backing up into the saloon. Vin raised his gun and aimed at a man in the front of the crowd, a young man with a full red beard. "You're gonna need a doctor too you don't answer me," Vin growled.
The man pointed across the street to a grizzled old man coughing into a handkerchief. The old man said, "Bring him to my office," then started slowly, hunched over, down the street. Vin's heart was in his throat. "Hang in there, Chris," he said. "Can you walk?" Chris nodded, and Vin helped him up. Chris stifled a groan as he stood, then took a few deep breaths. He glanced down at Smithers, still lying in the street.
"Get Ezra's gun back," he said. "And make sure it says Smithers on his tombstone."
The doctor's clinic was small, even smaller than Nathan's, dark, and dirty. Chris was alert, although pale from blood loss, and gritted his teeth to keep from crying out as the doctor started to remove his coat.
"I'll do it," Vin said, helping to ease off the black duster and the ruined black shirt. Chris lay down on the cot, and the doctor brought over his tools. Vin stopped him again, looking at the needle, scalpel, and forceps he carried. They looked clean, but Vin had heard enough from Nathan about keeping instruments sanitary.
"You boiled these?" he asked.
The doctor looked offended. "Of course. I'm not a quack. I haven't had a patient die on me in weeks," he said. "Now, unless you'd rather remove the bullet, get out of my way." Vin backed off, but stood near the head of cot, watching like a hawk as the doctor prepared to slice open Chris's wound.
"You got something for the pain?" Vin asked.
"Just whiskey," the doctor answered.
"I'll take it," Chris replied. Vin got the bottle from a dresser and Chris finished half of it in one swallow. He held on to it as he lay back down. "Ready," he said.
He sucked in his breath as the scalpel sliced into his skin. Vin stepped closer, and he felt Chris's hand wrap around his knee, then tighten as the doctor probed for the wound. Vin stayed quiet, but if the doctor didn't finish soon, he'd be treating a broken leg next, as tight as Chris gripped him.
Finally, the doctor pulled out the forceps, clutching the crumpled bullet, then rinsed the wound with whiskey from the bottle he pried from Chris's hand. Chris relaxed his grip as the doctor began stitching the wound, and Vin bent down to massage his leg.
"Sorry," Chris said, his voice barely a whisper. Vin looked at him, his face pale, his hair plastered to h
s head with sweat.
"Don't be. I got ya shot."
Chris looked at him. "You didn't get me shot, Vin," he said tiredly. "My own fault, for turning my back. Maybe I am getting old."
"Not from I've seen," Vin said. "You'll be back on yer feet in no time." He looked at the doctor, who nodded.
"He needs to rest a few days. He can stay here until someone else needs the bed, then he needs to go to the hotel."
"Thanks, doc," Vin said, and sat down near the head of the cot. Chris's eyes were already closed, and his breathing had slowed. Vin leaned back against the wall.
"It's not your fault," Chris repeated.
"Get some rest, like the doc said," Vin answered. He waited for Chris to sleep, then closed his own eyes, seeing again the bullet enter Chris's body as he stood distracting him on the roof.
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