He knew what the sharp, stinging pain in his side
meant. Knew what the hot, wet feeling of blood trickling down his side
meant. He was mortally wounded. Ezra had seen the gun turn in his direction.
Felt the bullet's impact. Fallen helplessly to the ground as pain flooded
through him. And then watched as Buck and Nathan came running over while the
others took care of the remaining outlaws.
"Ez?" Buck knelt down on
the ground and peered worriedly into the gambler's pain whitened
face, while Nathan Jackson began probing gently at the wounded man's side,
attempting to assess the damage. Ezra let out a quickly stifled cry of pain.
He hurt so bad, he wished death would hurry up and claim him. His whole side
felt like it was being scorched with red hot coals and the feeling was
rapidly spreading to his gut. And his thoughts were becoming fuzzy and
incoherent as the pain began to overwhelm him.
"I can't tell how bad
it is. Too much blood. I'm going to have to clean it first. Make sure he
holds still, Buck." Nathan's terse command was promptly obeyed, as Buck
gently placed his hands on Ezra's shoulders, pinning them firmly to the
ground.
"How is he, Nathan?" Ezra peered up blearily through slitted
green eyes at the sound of Chris Larabee's voice. Rather muzzily, he hoped
that he was putting on a good show. Dying bravely. Like a true southern
gentleman. He wouldn't want Chris and the others to be ashamed of
him.
"Don't know yet, Chris. Hold his legs while I clean the wound. It's
gonna hurt like the devil, so he's likely to thrash around some and I don't
want that." Nathan in his healer capacity was one of the few people that
could give Chris Larabee orders and not wind up with a gutful of lead for
their troubles.
"I assure you, Mr. Jackson, that I can endure with
fortitude anything..." Ezra never got a chance to complete his sentence,
because at the first drop of carbolic acid in the wound, the gambler's eyes
rolled back in his head, delayed shock caught up with him, and he passed out
cold.
+ + + + + + +
He
was still dying. Damn, but it was a slow process. Ezra opened his eyes. He
felt very little pain now. And he felt one step removed from his body. He
supposed that was not unusual for someone who was near death. He glanced
around the room. He was in the clinic. Vin Tanner was in the chair next to
the bed and Nathan was across the room, pouring something into a bottle.
Ezra coughed weakly. His throat was parched. He should probably get used to
the feeling, since he had no doubts whatsoever about where he was going once
he'd shuffled off this mortal coil.
Vin looked up at the small sound.
"Nathan. He's awake." Vin smiled at the southerner. "About time."
"No
need to keep up the pretense, Mr. Tanner. I am fully aware of my condition
and I am endeavoring to accept it with grace and dignity."
Vin's mouth
opened and closed several times before he finally was able to
speak.
"Huh?" Was what he finally said.
"Ezra. You feeling any
pain?" Nathan stood frowning down at him in concentration. He placed a cool
hand on Ezra's forehead and the gambler sighed heavily. He was going to miss
Mr. Jackson, as well as the others. Although admitting that was perhaps even
more painful than dying.
"Just the pain of knowing I shall have to leave
with so much work left undone. So many poker games left unplayed." Ezra
sighed again, feeling rather noble, if a trifle melancholy.
"But
Ezra, you ain't..."
"Please, Mr. Jackson." Ezra raised a trembling hand
to stem the healer's protests. "I have certain things I would like to say to
each of you. If you would be so kind as to summon the others?"
"But
Ez..."
"Please, Vin. Acede to my request. Every moment may count and I do
not wish to meet my maker without first making my peace here on
Earth."
Nathan and Vin exchanged glances, lips twitching. Ezra was rather
touched that they apparently felt that much sorrow at his impending demise.
He could get to like this dying thing. He felt remarkably peaceful. Even
rather happy. As if he were floating on a cloud.
"I'll go get them,
Nathan. They'll wanna hear this." Vin made a choked sort of sound and
quickly exited the clinic.
Nathan, lips still twitching, began checking
the bandages covering Ezra's side. The gambler could feel the pain, but it
was a distant thing, unable to reach him.
"Ezra? You had something
you wanted to say?" Buck walked in through the door, followed closely by JD,
Chris, Vin and Josiah. Ezra was gratified to see that all of them wore
suitably downcast expressions.
"Yes, Mr. Wilmington. I wish to bid you
all a fond farewell. And ask that you please inform Mother that I died in
true southern fashion." The gambler paused for breath.
"I also wished
to inform Mr. Wilmington that I bear no ill will towards him for that little
incident with the fair Miss Lily. And that likewise, I hold no resentment
towards young Mr. Dunne for luring the richest mark ever to come through
this godforsaken town away from the poker table to go fishing." The
gambler's voice had become a bit sharp and he took a deep breath.
"That's
real nice of ya, Ez." Buck's mustache quivered, as JD nodded his vigorous
assent.
"Mr. Jackson. I know we have had our differences, but in light of
the current situation, I would like to let bygones be bygones. Perhaps you
might take a small memento from my belongings to remember me by?" Nathan
just nodded, eyes cast down and shoulders heaving. Ezra was pleasantly
surprised at how well this was going. Somehow, he'd expected dying to be
less...civilized. At least in this town, amongst these men.
"Mr.
Sanchez, I wished to thank you for many an interesting conversation. I shall
be certain to give your regards to Our Lord and Savior should I be fortunate
enough to meet him." Ezra then turned his eyes towards Chris Larabee and Vin
Tanner.
"Gentlemen. You have both been an inspiration in your own unique
fashions. I have definitely never encountered a wardrobe as...well, like Mr.
Tanner's, let us just say. And Mr. Larabee's social skills. Ahem... Well,
they have been quite useful to me on occasion. I hope you both will remember
me fondly."
"And now I have a few small bequests..."
"Ezra?"
Chris Larabee finally spoke, cutting the gambler off midword.
"Yes, Mr.
Larabee?" Ezra was a trifle annoyed that their illustrious leader had chosen
to interrupt his final words. The words of a dying man. It was those
aforementioned social skills of his.
"You ain't dying." The blunt words
took a moment to sink in.
"Excuse me?"
"You ain't dying." Chris
repeated patiently, a suspicious quiver in his voice.
"I'm not dying."
Ezra repeated the words slowly to himself. A hot flush of red began to work
its way up his body, until it reached his face. He stared at the faces of
his traitorous friends, all of whom were grinning openly now. Buck and JD
were beginning to snicker.
"You...but I...it felt...awwwww hell." Ezra
closed his eyes, wishing fervently that he were, in fact, at death's door.
The grave seemed vastly preferable to lying here listening to his so called
friends obtain a good laugh at his expense.
"Don't worry, Ez. We know
it was just the laudanum talking. But I'm sure I speak for all of us when I
say we were downright touched at your little farewell speech." Still
laughing, Buck turned and headed for the door.
"What do you say we head
to the saloon and toast Ol' Ezra's miraculous recovery?"
There was
general agreement to this proposal and the six men began to file out the
door of the clinic. Nathan with a final admonishment to get some rest and
the assurance that a little bit of embarrassment ain't never killed no
one.
"What about a significant amount of it?" Ezra whispered wryly to
himself.
Almost as if he'd heard, Vin turned and tossed him a quick wink
over his shoulder.
Ezra merely groaned in reply. He hated these men.
Really he did.
The End
