From afar, the ranch looked no different. It still sprawled majestically across the valley, wealth among nature. As Chris and Vin rode closer, they noticed subtle differences indicating decay. The corral, which used to hold some of the finest horseflesh in the territory, was sagging and toppled. Entire beams were missing. They stopped, listening in the stillness for signs of life. There were none. Not even birds sang in the early evening breeze."Maybe they're waiting to ambush us," Vin said quietly, gun cradled in his arm. For what good it will do, he thought as he mentally counted how many bullets he'd loaded.
Chris also drew his gun, turning in the saddle to look around.
"I ain't waiting for a trap," Chris said suddenly. He pointed his gun at the sky and fired off a few rounds. "Ella!" he yelled.
Vin grinned. Hell, even he could hit the clouds, and he fired twice at the darkening sky.
Following the echo of the bullets, again there was silence. Suddenly, footsteps sounded behind the ranch. Both Chris and Vin were off their horses in a second and running in different directions around the house. Chris saw the man first, running for the tree line. He ran after him and tackled him, grabbing him by the front of his shirt and shaking him.
"Where is she?" he yelled. "Where's she hiding?" The man's head hit the ground with a thud as Chris continued to shake him.
"Chris, hold up," Vin said quietly, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Look at him."
Chris dropped the man to the ground. He tried to back away, but Chris stilled him with a hand on his chest. The man was old and gray, and hadn't shaved or bathed in a while. His ragged clothes hung from his loose frame, and an open sore oozed from under his eye.
"He's just a squatter," Vin said. "He ain't workin' for her."
"I ain't working for nobody," the man said, his voice shaking. "Nobody's been here for awhile."
"Since when?" Chris asked, standing and backing away from the man.
"There was a big shoot out. Maybe you heard about it? Lots of men killed. They were fighting over a woman."
Chris turned away in disgust and headed back toward the house.
Vin reached down to help the man up. "You got a horse?" he asked.
The man nodded. "She's real skinny and slow though."
"Ya best be on yer way then." The man backed away slowly, and then ran into the trees. "Weren't no woman we were fightin' over," Vin said to himself, then followed Chris to the house.
Inside, most of the fine furniture was gone, only a few heavy pieces left, covered in white sheets. The house looked bare and dusty. The broken windows had allowed rain to come in, giving the place a moldy wet smell. Chris found a small candle and lit it. There was some wood in the fireplace, still smoldering, with a dented pot hanging over it.
"Looks like he took to burning the corral," Chris said.
"And the floor," Vin added, pointing to several holes where the once-polished floorboards had been pried up. He walked over to the fireplace. "At least he left us supper," he said, taking the pot from the fireplace and looking inside. "'Cept I don't know what he was cookin'. His socks, maybe." He walked to one of the glassless windows and dumped the contents outside.
"Ain't hungry anyway." Chris said, pacing the room. The boards creaked beneath his weight. "I was sure she'd be here, Vin. I was sure of it."
"Ya may want ta watch where ya step. This floor don't sound too sturdy." He banked up the fire, using one of the loose floorboards. "Maybe we should sleep outside tonight, decide what ta do in the mornin'." Chris didn't answer. He was staring up the dark staircase. The questions about Ella and Fowler that he had tried to keep at bay were getting louder. Did Ella kill his family? Could she have? Somebody was lying. Fowler could have lied to throw Chris off the trail of whoever hired him, which would have been Ella. Fowler was enough of a bastard to torment Chris even knowing he wouldn't be around to see it. But why say he was after Chris?
Or else Ella was lying. Why? To take credit for the killings, convincing herself that she had done it out of love for Chris? That would explain why she waited three years; maybe she'd just heard about it. She was certainly crazy enough.
He almost screamed in frustration. He had two people claiming to have killed his family, and they were both liars, and cruel.
He knew there was only one place to find the answers. That room, that goddamned shrine of hers. He grabbed the candle and climbed the stairs. He stopped at the top, looking into what was left of Ella's bedroom. Silence, silence, silence, he urged himself, to block out the memories. He strode to the door at the end of the hall.
Vin followed at a discreet distance. He'd guessed that's where Chris was headed. Chris hadn't told him exactly what was in the room, but Vin knew it was something awful.
The door had been boarded up. Chris pounded on the wood in frustration, and then began pulling on the wood barricading the door, bracing himself on the doorframe with his leg. His hand slipped, and the skin of his hand tore as it caught on the wood, but he kept pulling, his jaw clenched, sweat pouring down his face. One board came free slowly, and Chris tossed it behind him, reaching for another.
Vin put a hand on his shoulder, handing him a bandanna. "Fix up yer hand," he said. "I'll get out the next one."
Chris wrapped his hand, watching Vin struggle with the board. He used the first board as a lever to pry loose the second, and it popped out, along with some nails. He wiped his forehead and started on the third.
They took turns removing the boards until there was a big enough gap for a man to fit through, then Chris kicked the door open and stood looking into the small dark room. It was exactly the same as it had been the day Ella had told him about his family. Dust had settled over everything-the picture of them with all but his face scratched out, the burned out locket. He felt like he was walking under water as he climbed into the room, the air heavy and thick in the flickering candlelight. He heard Vin climb in behind him and stop cold at the sight.
"What is this place?" Vin asked quietly. He reached out to touch a newspaper clipping. His reading wasn't too good, but he recognized MURDER and Larabee. "Chris?" he asked.
"Do you smell that?" Chris asked instead.
"Smells like lavender," Vin answered.
Chris nodded. "She's been here. Her scent is still here."
"Room's been locked up. She coulda been here weeks ago."
The lavender scent flooded Chris with memories of when he was here before, when he had decided to stay and live the rest of his life here. What had he been thinking? He realized he hadn't been thinking at all. He had seen an illusion, and part of him had known it was an illusion, but he had shut that part away, just like he had shut away the questions about who killed his family. He wasn't ever going to know the truth; he realized that now. He was going to die having failed to avenge his family, and having failed to fill the hole in his soul their loss wrenched open. He sank to the floor wordlessly, clutching at the desecrated picture.
"Do you think she killed them, Vin?" he asked.
Vin looked at him, puzzled. "She said she did, didn't she?"
"Fowler said he was hired to kill me."
"He coulda been lyin'."
Chris closed his eyes. "So could she," he said. He felt tired, defeated. He'd come all this way, to the edge of the cliff, and he was too tired to jump off and too tired to turn back.
"Then we just ta have ta find her and ask her, before we kill her."
Chris was surprised at the venom in Vin's voice. He opened his eyes to look at him. "We?"
Vin was looking at the shelves of items, some charred. He paused. "I mean, you," he replied.
Chris sighed and sat back against the wall. He knew he shouldn't have brought Vin here. This was his hell, and he'd asked a lot of Vin already, especially if Ella's subtle threat about the jealous and weak-of-heart was aimed at the tracker. But he was glad Vin was here. He'd keep relying on Vin's quiet calming presence as long as Vin would let him.
He stared down again at the torn and defaced picture of his family. The only face left intact was his, and he didn't look happy in the picture. He remembered the day that picture was taken. It was his birthday, and Sarah had made a cake and invited several of the neighboring families to a picnic, but he'd wanted a quiet evening at home, then maybe a ride into Eagle Bend with Buck for some drinks. He didn't like playing sociable. He wanted his family, and he wanted his fun with Buck. God, what a bastard he'd been.
Then, Mexico.
"What?" Vin asked, looking away from the razor and locket on the shelf.
Chris didn't know he'd spoken out loud. "Mexico," he said. "I was in Mexico when..."
"Ya couldn't have known," Vin said, leaning against one of the shelves.
"No, I couldn't have known. Except, you wanna know something funny? I knew when you were in trouble, when Eli Joe was taking aim at you. Got a bad feeling like something was wrong. I didn't get that feeling about Sarah and Adam."
"That ain't the same, Chris. Mexico is a hundred miles away. You were right across the street from me and Eli."
"Yeah, that could be. Could be something else, too."
Vin didn't ask. He knew Chris would tell him anyway.
"I was sitting in this cantina in Mexico. Buck had found himself a pretty little senorita to play with, and she had a pretty little friend. That girl came and sat on my lap and drank my whiskey, and I didn't stop it. I was sorely tempted. Before I was married, Buck and me, we'd had more fun than the law allows."
He heard Ella's words despite wanting to hear silence: Why hitch a stallion to a plow?
He took a deep breath and continued. "Part of me missed that. So when Sarah and Adam were...were dying, I was having my fun with this girl. That's why I keep going, Vin. I stared down my gun so damn many times, but I wouldn't end it. I deserved it, the suffering. I didn't deserve Sarah and Adam."
Vin knelt down in front of him, looking into his eyes, shiny with unshed tears. "There ain't an ounce of truth in that. Everybody deserves happiness, and a family. Even you. Hell, especially you. You loved them both, and they loved you. If'n ya stepped out of line for a night, nothin' changes that. And ya blamin' yerself and tearin' yerself apart ain't the way. There's only one person ta blame, and that's Ella Gaines." Chris looked at him, and then grabbed his arm. "Thanks, Vin," he said quietly.
Vin nodded and stood.
"Vin, you remember what Fowler said at that bar? That he was hired to kill me?"
"Yep."
"Why would he say that, if Ella hired him to kill my family?" He finally voiced the questions that had been bothering him. He knew Vin would probably see it clearer than he could.
"'Cause he's a lyin' bastard messin' with yer head."
Chris smiled slightly. "I hoped you would to say that," he said, standing slowly.
"Chris, look at this," Vin said. He pointed to an envelope with Chris' name in elaborate swirl on it. Unlike everything else in the room, it wasn't covered in dust.
"She has been here," he whispered, reaching for the envelope. It was the source of the lavender scent that filled the room. He opened the envelope and took out a folded piece of paper. He opened it with shaking hands, and looked on an image of Vin, squinting into the sun. Below it read, Wanted for Murder. Dead or Alive. $500.
He crumpled it, yelling, "Bitch!" at the top of his lungs. He swiped his arm across the shelves, knocking all the mementos to the floor, and then lifting the shelves. "Why?" He yelled. "Why? Why did I do it?" He held the crumpled piece of paper to the candle and held the lit paper in front of him. "You won't hurt anybody else, you hear me, Ella?"
He dropped the burning paper on the ground, where it caught the floor on fire. Vin had watched Chris's torment in silence, but he moved when Chris dropped the wanted poster, pushing him out of the way and stamping out the flame.
"Chris," he said. "She ain't gonna win." He tried to grab Chris's arm, but Chris pulled away.
"This is my fight! Go home, Vin. I don't need you here. You can't even shoot anymore," Chris yelled.
"I ain't gonna let ya do this. Ya destroy yerself, and yer doing her work for her. And it is my fight. She hurt me too."
"How? She killed my family! And I let her. I touched her. For God's sake, I slept with her. I was going to stay with her, like one of her goddamn prize stallions. Why?"
Vin touched his arm softly. "Because ya wanted a family again. Ya wanted a home and safety, and children. Things you can't never have back with me."
Chris looked at him sharply.
"I mean, back in town," Vin said, pulling his arm away, but Chris grabbed it.
"Is that why you left with Charlotte?" Chris asked, his grip tightening. "Because you wanted a family and safety, and children. Things you can't have with me."
Vin didn't answer.
"Did you want me back then, Vin? Because you started this whole thing between us, remember? Is that why you're still here?"
Vin pulled his arm away and started for the opening in the door. "Yell all ya want, Larabee. Take it out on me, if'n it makes ya feel better."
"Come on, Vin, spill it. What was it about Charlotte? Because she'd fuck you when I wouldn't?"
Vin paused. "Weren't that."
"Then what? Stimulating conversation?" Chris hated what he was doing, but he couldn't stop himself. He was so full of rage and hate, at himself, at Ella, at Fowler, at the world, but the only one around was Vin. "Tell the truth, Vin. Was she a good lay? Did she give good head?"
Vin looked back at him with a grin with no humor in it. "Not as good as you," he said.
Chris lunged at Vin, and they crashed through the door, punches flying.
Vin landed on his back, the air knocked out of him. He turned his head as Chris's fist came at him, and the blow landed on the floor instead. He used his weight to push Chris off balance, and then straddled him, holding his arms down. "I don't wanna fight ya, cowboy."
Chris struggled, and jerked his head foreword, catching Vin under the chin. "I told you, I ain't a cowboy," he said. He threw another punch, hitting Vin in the midsection. Vin grunted. He was trying to keep his anger in check; he didn't think this was the way to solve anything, but it wasn't working. This was Chris's fault. He'd slept with the goddamn woman; he'd been the one to throw everything away. And he couldn't shoot her either. When Chris went to hit him again, he caught Chris's fist and held it, pushing Chris backwards and landing on top of him, his own fist catching Chris in the solar plexus. Chris gasped as they rolled on the floor, each trying to get a foothold, each trying to get on top, each landing a hit here and there before receiving a blow in return.
Chris saw the edge of the staircase first, and instinctively grabbed Vin to pull him away from the edge, but Vin threw off his hand and elbowed him in the stomach, then lost his balance, falling down the stairs. Chris still had hold of Vin's jacket, and followed him down the staircase, curling himself into as tight a ball as possible to avoid the sharp impact of the steps, and hoping Vin was doing the same. When they reached the bottom of the staircase, a cloud of dust rose where they landed, and then there was a low creaking snap. The torn-up wooden floor collapsed beneath them, and they fell into the basement below.
<<<<<<<<<<~~~~~>>>>>>>>>>
When Chris woke up, he had no idea where he was. He heard no sound. He was surrounded by blackness and stillness. Everything on his body hurt, and he could barely breathe. He tried taking a deep breath, and felt a fierce pressure on his chest. Moving his hand slowly, he felt something hard and heavy resting over him. It felt like a wooden beam. He slowly remembered where he was, and what had happened. He had been with Vin, in that room, and then...then he'd hit Vin and the stairs...Oh God, Vin. He tried to call out, to see if Vin was around and nearby, but no sound came from his throat. He then tried to push the beam off, but it was too heavy. He took as deep a breath as he could, counted to three, and shoved against the beam again, straining and sweating at the exertion. It moved down a fraction. He pushed again, and it moved a bit further, near his hip. He had to rest, breathing heavy as the weight was lifted and his lungs could fill again. He tried calling out to Vin again, but he still couldn't catch his breath enough to speak. He listened for some other sound besides his own heaving breaths, sounds of Vin moving around in the rubble, sounds of Vin catching his own breath, but he heard nothing. The house was silent, and dark as pitch in the night.
He took one last deep breath and shoved against the beam, lifting it enough to slide most of his legs from under it before letting it go. Sharp pain shot up through his leg where the beam landed on his knee, but he could ignore that. He yanked his leg the rest of the way out, and tried to stand, but his leg and hip screamed in pain, so he settled for crawling through the wood and dust on hands and knees. He had to find Vin. The blackness in the basement they had fallen into was complete. Chris paused to let his eyes adjust, but it became clear that he wasn't going to be able to see anything. So again he listened, and heard silence. Not the silence that had plagued him since he had found out about Ella, but real silence, silence without movement or breath. "Vin?" he was able to whisper, but received no answer. He crawled forward slowly, his hands sweeping in front of him, catching on shards of wood or legs of furniture, but not the brush of clothing or skin. His leg was throbbing, but he had to find Vin. Chris had gotten him into this mess, and he'd been the one responsible for them falling down the stairs, but it was more than that. He'd shut Vin out, the only person who could help him, the only person he wanted help from, and he'd cut him off, silenced his presence along with everyone else's. He didn't know when Vin had become so important to him, whether it was like a lightning bolt that first day they saved Nathan from lynching, or if he'd seeped in through cracks in Chris's armor, but the fact was clear: he had to find him, because without him, Chris would have nothing left inside him except empty space. Empty space and silence. He ignored the pain in his leg, the stab every time he breathed, and kept searching, floundering like a blind man in the dark, listening for some sound, some small indication that there was somebody else alive in here except him. Please don't punish Vin for my mistake, he prayed silently. He doesn't deserve it. "Vin?" he whispered. "Where are you?"
Then he heard it-a soft almost inaudible gasp from behind him. "Vin!" he called, crawling that way as fast as he could, shoving aside the debris and reaching out into the darkness. His hand felt the rough material of Vin's coat, and he grabbed onto it. He reached over and felt Vin's hair and arms; he ran his hand over his face and felt the warm wetness that could only be blood, but he also felt Vin's breath on his hand. He took a deep breath and kept checking for injuries. He didn't feel anything on top of Vin, nor did he feel any broken bones. He shook him slightly, and was rewarded with a low groan.
"Come on, Vin, wake up," Chris said. A hand reached up and weakly brushed his away.
"Get off," came the raspy reply.
"Make me," Chris answered, smiling. He felt Vin struggle to sit up, then lay back down, groaning.
"Where are we? And why's it so dark in here?"
"We fell into the basement. Don't you remember? I was kicking your ass, then you fell down the stairs, dragging me with you."
"I always knew you were a bastard, Larabee."
Chris dug in his pockets for a bandanna. "Yeah, I know." He gently felt around Vin's head for the source of the bleeding.
"Ow, that hurts." His hand was pushed away again.
"We got to stop the bleeding, Vin." He pressed against the cut he felt just above Vin's eye. He could also feel a huge knot forming above his forehead.
"How's 'bout we get outta here first?" Vin asked. He tried to sit up again, but failed. "Or maybe we wait until mornin'."
"That sounds like our best bet," Chris agreed. He moved around behind Vin, leaning against some bulky piece of furniture, and gently moved Vin's head onto his lap. He checked the wound and found it had stopped bleeding. He listened to the slow even sound of Vin's breathing, and realized he was still grabbing on to Vin's arm, as if afraid if he let go he'd lose him again in the dark.
"Vin, you awake?" he said softly.
"No," Vin answered.
"Smart ass." Chris hesitated. "Vin, I'm sorry."
He felt Vin's hand reach up and clasp his forearm, the way that they shook hands. "Me too, cowboy."
Vin's eyes drifted closed, and soon he was dozing. The dream started again almost immediately, the same except he couldn't see Ella at all. He heard her laughing, he heard the escaping hoof beats, he heard Chris behind him in the dirt, but he couldn't see at all. He raised his gun and fired anyway, again and again, at the sound of the retreating horse and Ella's laughter, but he missed again and again as she kept laughing. He turned to help Chris, but then Ella was in front of him, and she attacked him, clawing at his face and neck, pounding on his chest as she laughed. He tried to push her off, but she wouldn't move, so he managed to bring up his gun and put it right against her forehead and fired. A hole appeared in her head, blood gushing and running down her grinning face, but she didn't die. She kept laughing, and stood, grabbing Chris who was writhing in pain and pulling him into the house. He watched as the door closed behind them, heard Chris's yells and Ella's laughter, and put the gun to his own head...
"Vin!" He heard someone yell at him, and was shaken. "Jesus, wake up, Vin!" He opened his eyes, and it was dark, like in the beginning of his dream. He sat up, grasping for his gun, but his hand was grabbed and held down.
"Let go, bitch!" he yelled.
"Vin, it's Chris. You were dreaming," Chris's voice finally entered in his thoughts, and he stopped fighting. His breath was coming in heaves, and his head hurt like the devil. He had to lay back down as a wave of nausea washed over him.
"You OK now?" Chris asked.
"I reckon," he answered. Except my head's about to explode, he added silently.
He felt Chris's hands probing his head. "Ain't bleedin' no more," he said, lightly pushing the hands away.
Chris sat back, dropping his hands to the floor. "Vin," he said. "What were you dreaming about?"
"Don't remember," Vin answered, although the image of Ella bleeding and laughing was still vivid in his mind.
"Was it Ella?" Chris asked softly.
"Don't want ta talk about it."
"OK. But if you do, you can talk to me. You might think you can't, because of me and Ella, but you can."
"Thanks," Vin replied, vowing to never bring it up around Chris as long as he lived.
They sat back in silence for a while, neither wanting to sleep. Vin felt an odd detachment as he lay on the floor, in Ella's house, his head resting in his best friend's lap. He didn't recognize the feeling, but he suspected it might be peace. Aw hell, Tanner, you're spending too much time listening to Josiah, he thought. Ain't nothing peaceful about Chris Larabee. He's meaner than a mountain lion and ornerier than a mule, and you followed him here, and let him yell at you and pound on you, and you even let him fuck you, for what? No hope in it, no future. Ain't never thought about a future until you met him neither. Bastard.
But Vin knew he'd keep following, like a shadow, just like the others of the small band of outcasts folks had started calling The Magnificent Seven. Magnificent, my ass, he thought. Ain't none of them fit to be in polite society, except maybe Ezra, and he'd be eyeing their jewelry. Yet Chris kept them together, and kept them alive, and kept them honorable. Bastard.
"Chris, what'd ya do in the war?" Vin asked suddenly. The question was something he'd been curious about, but never thought it was his place to ask. Damn head wound was making him reckless.
Chris paused, surprised by the question. "I was in the army. The 39th, out of Indiana. We did mostly border skirmishes."
"No battles?"
"A few. Shiloh, Stone River. Don't like to think on it."
"What was yer rank?"
Chris shifted so Vin's weight wasn't on his busted leg. Vin tried to sit up again, but he held him down with a light grip on his shoulder. "I was a first lieutenant."
"Does that mean ya had yer own company?"
A long-forgotten image of dirty, tired men, leading starving horses through cold, wet mud flashed in his mind. "Our captain was wounded in a raid in Kentucky, and some of us ended up unofficially promoted. That was about 8 months before the war ended. Why?"
Vin ignored the question. "Did yer men like ya?"
Chris laughed. "None of them shot me." He hadn't thought about those men in years; half of them never made it back home. He realized he didn't know about Vin's time during the war.
"Where were you during the war?" he asked.
"Texas. Scouting fer the army, some."
Chris did some quick math in his head. "How old were you?"
He felt Vin shrug. "Don't know exactly. Peach fuzz age."
"And did the men like you?"
"Reckon not. One of them did try ta shoot me. Called me an Indian-lover." Chris could feel Vin grin, and pictured the lop-sided lift of his mouth and that devilish gleam that came into his eyes.
"Take it he missed," Chris said.
"Yep. Spooked the horse, though, and it took off with me on it. I didn't stop until I reached Kiowa land." Suddenly the grin disappeared. Vin felt the wave of anger, small but still there, and sweat broke out on his forehead. The image of Ella riding away laughing filled his head. "Speakin' of missin'..." he said in a whisper.
Chris's grip on his shoulder tightened. "Don't worry, Vin. It'll come back," he said. It sounded hollow to his ears, and he wished he could think of something to calm Vin down.
"I reckon," Vin said quietly. He concentrated on breathing, and the firm grip of Chris's fingers on his arm. Slowly the wave of anger subsided, replaced by overwhelming exhaustion. His eyes had just closed again when Chris said, "Sun's coming up. Let's see if we can get the hell out of here."
He helped Vin sit up, and then stood and stretched, groaning as the pain still shot through his leg. Vin felt the lump on his head which still throbbed like a bitch, but other than that, he was relatively unhurt. "Chris, ya make a right nice pilla," he said, standing slowly. He heard Chris mutter, "Goddamn smart ass," as he walked away. Vin noticed Chris was limping, and his arm was wrapped around his middle as if trying to keep his ribs from moving. Vin walked behind him. "You OK?" he asked. "Ya look pretty banged up."
"I'll be better once we get out of here," Chris replied.
They walked gingerly over to the hole where they'd fallen through the floor, the increasing sunlight illuminating the jagged circle about five feet above their heads. They looked at each other, thinking the same thing: We ain't getting out that way.
They started looking for the steps that lead to the door. They had to climb over some rubble and furniture to get to it. Vin helped Chris up the stairs, and then tried the door. It was locked. He took out his gun, but Chris stopped him. "Better let me," he said with a grin. "You might end up hitting me."
"And ya call me a smart ass," Vin mumbled as they stepped back down the stairs. Chris aimed and fired at the lock, and shot it out first try. The door flew open.
"Show off," Vin said. They climbed out of the dank basement, relieved to be out in the light again. "We need ta get these wounds cleaned up," Vin said. "And something to wrap your ribs in." Chris looked at him sharply. "Ya ain't foolin' me, Larabee. Yer hurt. Wait here and I'll see if the well's still good." Chris glared at him, but nodded.
The back door was open from when they had come in the night before. It had only been about 12 hours, but it felt like it had been 12 years ago. Vin stepped onto the back porch, shading his eyes from the sunlight. His hat was still upstairs somewhere. He saw the glint of metal at the exact time he heard the shot. His reflexes kicked in and he dove to the ground, but bullets landed around him as he tried to crawl for cover back in the house. Instead he headed behind a bench and turned it on its side for cover, little as it was. A flaming pain shot up his side, and he looked to see where a bullet had passed through the skin right below his waist. He took out his gun and waited for whoever was shooting to have to reload, and prayed Chris didn't do anything stupid.
Chris had just sat down on one of the dusty chairs left in the living room when he heard the shots. He stood back up again too quickly, and pain from his leg nearly doubled him over. He pulled out his gun, and looked around for the shotgun. He didn't see it; it probably ended up somewhere in the basement. He hurried to the back door and peered out; he couldn't see Vin, but the porch was shot nearly to splinters. He pulled back as a bullet landed near his head in the doorframe, sending splinters into his cheek and lips. "Vin!" he called out. "You hit?"
"Not bad," Vin answered. "Ya think it's Ella?"
"Probably somebody who works for her," Chris answered.
More bullets landed on the porch, and knocked off part of the bench near Vin's feet. "Damn, don't he ever run out of bullets?" Vin said.
"I'm going around, try to sneak up on him," Chris called.
"Chris, yer hurt. You couldn't sneak up on a blind and deaf man!"
"You got a better idea?"
Vin didn't answer as more bullets landed around him. "Watch yer back," he said. He'd try to distract whoever was shooting at them while Chris tried to sneak around. "Whoever ya are, ya got lousy aim," he yelled in between bullets.
"Stand up and say that," a deep voice answered, from behind the well.
"Ya pissed at something in particular, or just in the mood ta shoot somebody?" Vin yelled back, hoping Chris had heard the man and could figure out his position. The well was in the middle of the yard, out in the open. There was no way to get behind him without him seeing.
"If you're Vin Tanner, then I got 500 reasons to be shooting at you. Got a poster here with your picture on it," the shooter answered.
"Reckon ya spent near that in bullets already." Come back, Chris, we'll figure out something else, he thought.
"You come out peaceful, and I'll take you back alive," the man called.
Vin smiled at that. Not a chance in hell. "If it's the same to you, I'll stay here," he called. There was no response. He listened, and he thought he could hear the man moving, changing position. He lifted his head quickly to see the man walking towards him with a rifle pointed right at him. He got a quick glance of two more rifles slung across his back and a pair of Colts around his waist before another bullet nearly scalped him. Damn, Vin thought, now he knows where my head is. He quickly tried to turn around, so when the bounty hunter started another barrage, at least he was aiming at his feet. A quick hail of bullets assailed the bench where he hid, and then there was one loud shot from above. Chris was on the roof. How the hell did he manage that? There was an answering bullet from the bounty hunter, then silence. Vin risked a glance up to see the bounty hunter sink to his knees, clutching a growing red stain on his chest with one hand, but the other still had the rifle pointed to the roof. Vin got to his knees, aimed his own gun at the man and fired. And missed. "Godammit," he swore. "Not now, don't let it happen now," he whispered. He aimed again and tried to pull the trigger, but his hands froze. It wasn't bad enough that he couldn't shoot straight no more, now he couldn't shoot at all.
The bounty hunter fired again up at the roof, and Vin heard a groan, and then watched in horror as Chris fell off the roof and landed in a heap right in front of the bounty hunter.
<<<<<<<<<<~~~~~>>>>>>>>>>
"Chris!" he yelled, and started to stand, but a bullet from the bounty hunter sent him back for cover.
"Got your sniper, Tanner. Looks like he's still breathing. You give up now, and I won't put another bullet in him."
Vin looked down at his hands. They were shaking. What the hell was happening to him? He weren't no coward. If he was gonna die, then so be it, but he wasn't gonna get Chris killed too. He wiped his sweaty palms on his pants, and then grabbed his mare's leg and stood, aiming it right at the grizzled bounty hunter, who had his rifle aimed at Chris's head. "You shoot him, I shoot you," Vin said.
"Looks like we're in a stalemate then. Next move is yours."
Vin weighed his options. He could fire, and hope he hit the man before he could hit Chris again, but if he wasn't fast enough, or if he missed completely, Chris was dead. He stepped over the bench, his gun still raised. The bounty hunter didn't waver as he pointed the gun at Chris, although the blood seeping down his shirt was growing larger. "Yer in pretty bad shape there, mister. How 'bout we both drop our guns and call it even? I'll even get ya to a doctor," Vin said.
The bounty hunter laughed. "No, I don't think so. If I'm going to die, I think I'll take him with me." He started to pull the trigger, and Vin launched himself from the porch, knocking the gun into the air as it fired. He landed on the bounty hunter, putting his knee on his chest, and raised his gun again, shoving the barrel to the man's forehead.
But again he couldn't fire. He saw fear in the man's eyes, and knew he couldn't kill him like that, not while looking in his eyes. He knew Chris wouldn't do it, the goody-two-shoes bastard, so neither would he. He leaned back and turned to look at Chris, and sighed in relief as he saw him take another breath. He started to stand, but the bounty hunter found some last reserve of energy and pushed him over, reaching for one of his Colts. Vin grabbed
is mare's leg and brought it down on the man's skull, cracking it open. The bounty hunter fell back dead in slow motion, landing on his side, his hand still reaching for his Colt.
"Least I don't miss that way," Vin said, putting his mare's leg back in his holster. He then turned to Chris, and as gently as he could, half-carried, half-dragged him inside.
Once inside, he bandaged Chris up the best he could. The bullet wound didn't look too bad; it had grazed him across the arm, but his leg looked worse. There was a long gash down his thigh, and his knee had swollen to twice normal size. Bruises were forming from his ribs to his toes, and his hip swelled. Vin removed his shirt and gently cut a slit up Chris's pant leg, then wrapped the shirt tightly around his thigh. He tore up the blankets draped over some of the old furniture for more bandages. He walked out back to the well to collect water, stopping by the dead bounty hunter to collect his knife and canteen. He found an envelope in the pocket of his jacket, and knew the handwriting, even if he couldn't read the words. He shoved it in his own pocket before covering the dead man with his coat and walking back inside.
He was tying off the bullet wound to Chris's arm when the unconscious man began to stir. Chris moaned, then sat up fast, reaching for his gun.
"Whoa, there, Chris," Vin said.
Chris pressed his hand to his head and lay back down. "I feel like hell," he said.
"Teach ya ta fall off roofs," Vin said, pouring water over a cut across Chris's shoulder. Chris winced. "How the hell did ya get up there anyway?"
"Up in the attic, there's a door to the roof. That fake doctor raised pigeons there, or some silly shit like that. When the bounty hunter hit me in the arm, I lost my balance trying to dive back in the door." Chris opened one eye to look at Vin. "You OK?" he asked.
"Yep."
"You're bleeding."
Vin glanced at the wound to his side. "Through-and-through. I'll patch it up when I'm done with you."
"You get him?" Chris asked.
"Yep," Vin said again.
"Good."
Vin finished cleaning the wounds, then ran his hand across Chris's jaw. Chris pulled away. "Looks like ya landed face down on a two-by-four. We need ta get them splinters out."
Chris nodded.
Vin looked around the room, and felt in his pockets. "Ya wouldn't happen to have any of them tweezer things that Nathan uses?"
"Look upstairs. Maybe something got left behind."
Vin stood, pulling the envelope from his pocket and tossing it to Chris. "Found that on the bounty hunter," he said, and carefully climbed the stairs. In the doctor's room he found a pair of tweezers and a mirror, and a brown bottle that looked like laudanum.
When he came back downstairs, Chris had crushed the letter in his fist.
"Bad news?" Vin asked.
"She's not going to give up, Vin. Now she's after you. Offered extra for you alive."
Vin set down the equipment, and wiped the dirt from his hands on his pants, which weren't much cleaner. He picked up the laudanum and offered it to Chris.
Chris grabbed his wrist. "Vin, weren't you listening? There's no telling how many bounty hunters she sent that to."
"You think the town's in danger?"
"No, dammit, you are!"
Vin sat back, looking out the window. "I been runnin' a long time. What you said before, 'bout how it wears on a man always sleepin' with one eye open, that was true. Didn't know how true 'til Ella Gaines almost took it all away. So if'n yer suggestin' I run again, I don't want to. What I got is a home, and if you keep watchin' my back, then I figure we can handle anything that bitch throws at us."
Chris didn't answer, and Vin risked a sidelong glance at him. He saw Chris nod, and lean back. "You're right," he said. "But maybe next time we bring some more fire power."
"Next time we bring a cannon," Vin replied. "Now sit back and let me yank out them splinters. We don't wanna ruin that pretty face of yers."
"I ain't the one looks like a girl," Chris said.
Vin smiled as he pulled out the first splinter.
"Hell, that hurt!" Chris said.
"Call me a girl again and you'll know hurt." He worked steadily pulling out the splinters. Chris did take a small sip of the laudanum, and dozed as Vin worked, trying to be gentle now that Chris had apologized for calling him a girl. When he thought he got them all, he ran his hand over the curve of his face, feeling for any he may have missed. Then he grabbed a blanket and covered Chris as he slept. He didn't know what his future held, but at least he knew he had a future, and that he wouldn't be alone. He and Chris had put each other through hell, and probably would again, but they were on the same side again, for better or worse, and anybody else who tried to get between them would end up experiencing first hand some of Vin's Comanche knowledge. He glanced down at the man sleeping by him and grinned. He had a thing or two he was going to show that mule-headed fool, too, soon as he was able.
Vin grabbed the rifle and sat in the doorway, guarding against whatever the night might bring.
<<<<<<<<<<~~~~~>>>>>>>>>>
Chris slept the night through, and was jolted awake the next morning by the sound of gunfire. Still groggy, he grabbed the first weapon he could find, which turned out to be the bottle of laudanum, and ran to the door, forgetting his busted leg, and landing in a heap before pushing himself up again. He stumbled out the back door. "Vin!" he yelled, following the sound of gunshots.
When he rounded the front of the house, he had to stop for a second to piece together what he was seeing. Vin had lined up some pinecones on the posts of the corral, and was using them for target practice. Chris watched as Vin aimed his mare's leg and fired. The pinecone exploded. Chris felt an immense sense of relief.
"Lucky shot," he called, leaning against the porch and setting the laudanum bottle on the railing. Vin turned to face Chris, and then quick as lightning raised the gun and fired. The bottle of laudanum flew off the railing and smashed to the wall behind him. Chris looked at it, then slowly turned to look back at Vin.
"Tanner, what exactly were you aiming at?" he said.
Vin just grinned and turned back to the corral.
"Smart ass," Chris yelled at him.
"To the bone," Vin answered, and fired again. For now at least, his aim was back.
Continues in Rough and Ready
Comments to: sammie323@aol.com