Four Corners had been quiet of late. Too quiet for Chris Larabee. He wasn't used to such things. It made him uncomfortable. It made him think of things he'd rather not, like the past, when life had been different from what it was today.
He tipped his chair harshly upright, its front legs slamming with shattering force onto the sidewalk. Frustrated by his musing, he rose abruptly and strode down the street, his spurs clicking rhythmically behind him. He had one errand to do this morning. He might as well get it done early.
It's time to move on , he thought. This waiting around for the Judge to recover was getting on his nerves. He had obliged the old man but he hadn't counted on the length of time it was going to take. After all, the Judge was an old man. He had been lucky to recover at all. But the worst thing was that the town was improving far faster than the Judge.
Maybe Mary Travis was right. Maybe all it needed was the announcement of hired guns and criminals avoided it for the most part. Sure there had been trouble in the beginning but it had slacked off considerably in the last couple of weeks.
The seven were getting antsy. Vin Tanner was talking about the price on his head in Tuscosa, Texas again. Chris had offered his help in clearing up the matter and when it was time he would lend his support. Hell, at least it promised more excitement than they had had lately. He wondered briefly how much longer any of them would stay together.
Ezra Standish was complaining of the lack of ripe pickings in the saloon. In a town this size, people learned quickly that Ezra was a professional. It tended to make them a little skittish about sitting down at a gambling table with him. A gambler like Ezra never stayed long in one place. It wasn't prosperous nor was it healthy.
The main thing keeping Buck Wilmington here was a flower named Blossom. Though Chris expected that Blossom's husband would eventually force Buck to depart Four Corners with much expediency one day.
And JD Dunne would be sure to follow the scoundrel when it happened. The kid was a leech. He had latched onto them that first day and had held on like a bearcat. Nothing deterred him. He was desperate to belong out west. Chris only hoped he'd live long enough to find his niche.
Now Josiah Sanchez and Nathan Jackson were another story. They seemed to be taking root in this town. Nathan had a growing practice while Josiah worked unceasingly on acquiring his own following at the mission. Such men had a different purpose in life than someone like Chris. He envied them slightly. They had a future.
Chris cursed shoving the morbid thoughts away again. He paused by the mercantile store to lite up a cheroot, his favored smoke of choice. He dragged on it heavily. Then he observed Vin stepping out of the store, a new box of cartridges in his hand. Vin grinned and nodded at Chris.
Chris pursed his lips around the cheroot, inclining his head towards Vin's purchase. "You expecting trouble or is that just wishful thinking?"
Vin slipped the box into his coat pocket. "I haven't had a wish come true in years, Chris. Besides trouble always has a way of surprising you when you least expect it."
The owner of the store, Mr. Simms, suddenly came out. "Thought I heard your voice, Mr. Larabee." He handed a box of ammunition to the gunfighter. "They just came in. I put them on your tab."
Chris' grin almost turned sheepish as Vin's eyebrow arched humorously. Mr. Simms returned to his store and Chris pushed the cheroot to the other side of his mouth. "No harm in being prepared," he said evenly.
Vin laughed out loud and then leaned towards Chris. "Bull!" he told the man observing the mirth in the gunfighter's green eyes. "You're being wistful."
Still chuckling, they moved down the street together, heading for the saloon. It was a bit early for whiskey but coffee sounded good. Vin's eyes trailed off across the street towards the bank. He caught sight of movement down the alley beside it. A flick of a horse's tail at the far end. He put a hand on Chris' arm signaling a halt. Chris obliged.
"The bank expecting a rear delivery this early in the morning?" Vin asked.
"Not that I was aware of," Chris replied tensely, his own nerves going on edge. He studied the area and then made a decision. "Get the others. I'll take a walk around back."
Chris and Vin parted. The gunfighter crossed the street diagonally while Vin beelined for the saloon where some of the others most likely were already.
Chris went almost all the way to the end of town before he swung in behind the row of buildings. He eased himself carefully out around the corner in order to get a look at the possible situation. Eight horses were tied to a rail behind the bank. Surprisingly enough, there was no one with them. That was odd for a bank robbery. Usually there was someone left with the horses. Chris slipped quietly out and walked towards them keeping close to the wall of buildings, his eyes darting around for slight movements in windows or on rooftops.
He approached the horses and reached out to touch the closest one in reassurance. It milled nervously but remained quiet. He glanced up the stairs to the rear door of the bank but it was closed. Chris walked down in front of the horses only to come up short at the sight of a familiar saddle rig.
His face paled slightly and he drew in a sharp breath. He bent under the rail and ran his hand across the leather saddle. It was black with silver conchas embedded along it's rim. Chris lifted the left stirrup flap and revealed initials burned into the ebony leather. P.D. Chris spat out his cheroot and spun back towards the door, a line of fury burning a path inside him.
His past had just rode into town.
He drew his sidearm and maneuvered to the stairs consumed with walking straight into the bank regardless of the odds and finding the owner of that saddle.
Chris heard the rifle shot split the air just after the wood next to him shattered. It brought him back to his senses. He dove for cover behind some barrels set along the side of the bank. More bullets careened about striking holes in Chris' vicinity but none of them hit their true mark. He returned fire the minute he spied the sharpshooter across the way near the only other landmark out here, the livery stable. Seconds later there was more shooting from inside the bank and then eight men poured out of the door.
Chris diverted his aim from the sharpshooter and laid down withering fire at the emerging outlaws. One went down as the rest returned fire forcing Chris back behind his sanctuary. The men rushed to their horses in a desperate mad scramble to escape.
Chris poked his head up and caught sight of the one man he thought he'd never see again. Ignoring the danger to himself he stood up shouting, "DUVALL!" His gun took aim.
A huge, well-muscled man turned towards him, shock evident on the grizzled outlaw's bearded face. With a mere second of reaction time, Duvall ducked low over his horse's neck and Chris' bullet took out the man directly behind him.
Finally Chris' backup arrived as Vin and Buck ran down the alley alongside the bank, firing as they went. Another rider dropped. Then the horses were racing for open ground, one's man laughter could be heard over the pounding hooves.
The bank's rear entrance opened again and Chris whirled to cover it but held his fire as Ezra emerged. Cursing, Chris jerked up his arm as Ezra raised his hands.
The fury in the gunfighter's eyes made Ezra's skin crawl. "They murdered a helpless bank teller before I could stop them," he announced. "But the currency is still accounted for. It seems they aren't adept at safecracking."
Chris turned to stare after the escaping outlaws, his jaw set tight, his mind dominated by a single thought.
Buck ran up to him, his own face full of shock. "Wasn't that...?" He too had recognized the man.
Chris pushed past him roughly running for the stable and his horse. "Yes," he snarled.
"Holy shit!" Buck exclaimed, staring after the fading cloud of dust. Vin glanced curiously for a second at Buck and then headed after Chris.
Within fifteen minutes the horses were saddled and the seven prepared to ride out after the outlaws. The entire time Chris Larabee said nothing, his face a mask of anger and tension. The rest of the men looked uneasily at each other. Buck kept looking at Chris and then back to the others biting his lip.
"Chris," he finally said, his voice almost pleading. The gunfighter's eyes snapped to impale him with an icy stare. "They need to know," Buck implored almost meekly.
"Then tell them!" Chris rasped out his throat constricted with dangerous emotion. "You're damn good at that!" He whirled his stallion and tore out of the stables.
The others looked at Buck expectantly. Buck swallowed hard and then shook his head. "The man's name is Pierre Duvall and he's a low down murdering scum. He escaped a hanging some years back." The others waited for more, for the real reason Chris was acting in such a hell bound manner but Buck held back. It was up to Chris to tell them. He had learned that lesson already. He rubbed a hand absently along his throat, then shook his head and lamely answered, "Chris really, really hates him."
The others sighed in annoyance and then spurred their mounts to follow Chris before he did something rash.
* * *
Chris' muscles drew taut suddenly in accordance with his horse's as its ears flicked forward abruptly. The stallion stopped on its own accord and stared off ahead and to the right. Chris strained his senses, listening for the slightest clue as to what had set the animal on edge.
He knew for a fact that it wasn't just imagination. After all these years together, they knew each other so well and learned long ago to depend on the other's strengths. His horse had been on the trail as long as Chris had. It knew what was a danger and what was not.
Right now both of them knew that something dangerous walked these woods, and that the hunter could easily become the hunted. Chris' instincts told him that was exactly what had happened.
Duvall and his men had split up soon after their departure from town forcing Chris and the rest to do likewise. Duvall was no fool. It wasn't long before he had split the group again and Chris and Vin, once paired, had to separate also. Chris had been following Pierre Duvall for almost three hours now and with each passing minute Chris had shortened the distance between them, until they were barely an hour apart. Duvall was once a mountain man prior to becoming a bank robber and therefore no fool in the woods. He had led Chris into his domain.
Patches of ice spotted the ground as Chris' clouded breath hung before him a few seconds prior to blending into the cold mountain air. His agitation grew expansively by the minute. He glanced around him not liking his position at all. The trees had only thinned out in an area to the left beside a steep, rocky hill. Chris looked down and his stomach twisted instinctfully. Ravine was more accurate. Chris was being herded and he knew it. Duvall was leading him into an ambush and Chris' gut was screaming. It was time to get out of there.
Suddenly the sound of a hammer being quietly drawn back roared in his ears. It came from in front hidden in the trees. Chris jerked his horse's head around. There was no room in the woods to his right. The trees were too thick. Only one way was open to him. The hill.
The stallion seemed to know it too. There was only a moment's hesitation as the horse gathered himself and leaped just as the gunshot rang out.
The tree next to Chris exploded, splinters sliced his neck and cheek. Then they were airborne, hanging there for what seemed like an eternity, abruptly they dropped. Chris leaned back, putting most of his weight on the stallion's hindquarters and giving him balance. If he leaned forward while the horse went down the hill, it would not be able to hold Chris' weight.
The stallion shuddered as they landed. Chris felt as if his spine had just skewered his skull. The mighty beast braced himself as they started to slide down the steep grade, rock and debris racing beside them. Both of them threw all of their weight to the back. The horse was practically sitting on its rear haunches.
A fallen tree was directly in their path and Chris could feel his horse's muscles tighten in expectation of jumping it. They were sliding too fast to avoid it.
The stallion leaped over the tree, its body already preparing to brace for the impact of returning to the earth. Chris was thrown forward by the animal's jump and his hands pressed against its neck for a moment. He was in the process of leaning back again when suddenly his right shoulder exploded in red. The right side of his body went numb and he fell forward once again.
The stallion came down off balance, its neck dipping dangerously close to the ground. With all its strength, the horse tried to straighten up but it was too late. It went down on one knee and then momentum took over as it fell to one side, pinning his rider's leg beneath its weight. Brushes and branches snapped under the two as they tumbled and fell, dirt and rocks flying up from their passage.
Dimly, the last thing Chris heard before the darkness swallowed him was the sound of victorious laughter, French laughter.
+ + + + + + +
Sweet elation swept through Buck Wilmington as he rode into Four Corners a few hours before nightfall. He had never felt happier about seeing the dusty town. If there was one thing Buck hated it was sleeping out on the open ground. Give him a warm bed any day preferably with a female bed-warmer to go with it. He tugged on the reins of the horse he was leading and commented to its rider. "You are so lucky we got back in time."
Ezra and Buck had caught up to one of the robbers and succeeded in bringing him in alive.
Ezra swung out of his saddle and wrapped the reins around the post. "Do tell," he said to Buck. "I gather you have an appointment for this evening."
Buck laughed, dismounting. "I have an appointment every night."
They moved their prisoner into the jail, Ezra gesturing towards the new accommodations. The outlaw complied meekly.
"That does not surprise me," Ezra drawled at Buck. He turned the key and heard the resounding thunk of the cell lock slamming shut. He hung the key on a nail across the room.
Buck consulted his pocket watch and then slapped his hands together excitedly. "Minutes to spare."
Ezra raised an eyebrow and voiced a concern. "Being as we are the first back to town, I would assume that one of us should guard our refined guest." He bobbed his chin towards the cells.
"Well, Ezra I believe that you are the right man for that job." He clapped the gambler on the shoulder and prepared to leave only to be stopped by his friend's dry, southern response.
"Yes, you see I would be more than enthusiastic about spending a pleasant evening here in this delectable establishment, however...." Sarcasm dripped from Ezra's words as Buck waited for the gambler to drop the other proverbial boot. "...I have been hired on at the saloon to run the gambling tables and so my other employer beckons this evening." He offered a twisted smile. "You on the other hand are not so gainfully employed."
Buck winced knowing that the insufferably smug dandy was right, but he was desperate. Blossom's husband was back in Yuma prison finally and it was Buck's first night with her in weeks. He gestured to their prisoner sitting sullenly in the dark cell. "Aw, whose gonna bother him in here? We'll just lock the door behind us."
Ezra shrugged. "Your call, my friend. You can explain the situation to our illustrious leader upon his return. I'm sure he'd find it fascinating, him being in such a fine mood this morning and being so especially understanding of late."
Buck frowned again. Damn it if Ezra wasn't right and Buck didn't like that one bit. Buck was already on Chris Larabee's bad side seeing as how he had told Mrs. Travis a little too much about the man's past. And then there was this morning's fiasco. In Buck's opinion, Chris had overreacted, way overreacted both times, but he didn't want to risk incurring the man's wrath again. He relented. "Fine!" he snapped in frustration. "I'll stay with the prisoner!"
Ezra grinned. "A wise decision, Mr. Wilmington." He headed out the door.
Buck called out after him. "If you see Blossom, tell her I'll be delayed!"
Ezra glanced over his shoulder back at Buck, a sly twinkle in his eye. "Oh, I will. Be rest assured that the fine lady will not want for company this evening."
"What!" Buck exploded, running for the door.
Just then the prisoner called out from his cell. "Hey, what about some dinner? I'm starving."
Buck's fury diverted momentarily. "Just shut up and sit back down! What do you think this is? A hotel?" When he looked back out in the street, Ezra was gone.
"Damn it!" he cursed throwing his hat to the floor. "My luck's not what it was, that's for sure."
+ + + + + + +
Bright lights of pain flared behind his eyes as Chris lay there on the ground not moving. That was the first sensation. He distantly became aware of smaller things. The sound of slow haggard breathing and finally the sharp stab of agony with each shallow breath.
He lay still, relishing the coolness of the earth, afraid to move away from its numbing comfort. He knew that there was more pain waiting as soon as he did. A part of his mind still couldn't believe he was alive. Something horrible had happened, but it hurt too much to grasp that elusive memory right now. It would come of its own accord eventually.
He heard a small wicker nearby and his mind snapped back with agonizing alacrity.
He remembered everything. The shot, the fall. Suddenly his body screamed in pain. His shoulder and right arm were useless, so he pushed himself up with his trembling left arm. His vision caved in and he fell back to the earth as sweat poured off his protesting body despite the cold. After several minutes of holding off unconsciousness he tried to rise once more, this time slower, resting his weight on his elbow. He looked around but his vision was not cooperating. Blurred shapes and shadows lingered. He squeezed his eyes tightly shut refusing to shake his throbbing head realizing that such an action would only cause more pain. Chris opened his eyes carefully and this time the world around him stumbled into focus.
His stallion was just off to the side, its head down and blowing hard occasionally. Dirt and blood spotted its sleek black coat. It was favoring its right foreleg. Bitterly Chris realized that if his horse was in that bad of shape, he was probably in much worse.
He began to take stock of his own injuries. He knew he had been shot in the back. To his relief, blood matted the front of his jacket so the bullet had found its way out. From the way his head spun and ached, he was sure it had impacted against something on the way down. His left leg was torn and bloody where it was pinned and dragged under his horse. He gingerly moved it and though the joints exploded with stabbing pain, he knew it wasn't broken. A small blessing. A very small one considering his other injuries.
"Damn," he hissed. The situation was not good.
How long was his next question. By the position of the sun only a couple of hours had passed. Long enough for Duvall to have killed him if he had thought Chris was still alive. The robber had most likely taken one look down the mountain and just assumed Chris was dead.
Just about , Chris thought. Duvall was long gone. Chris cursed again this time loudly, startling his horse. He was more angry over letting Duvall get away than about his current predicament. A foolish gesture but one that took his mind off his own pain for a moment. His pistol was missing from its holster, probably laying on the hillside somewhere. It might as well have been in another state.
He had separated from Vin only a half a day prior and was supposed to meet back up with him later. Chris estimated that that time had come and gone. Vin's skill at tracking was exceptional so Chris had no doubt that Vin would find him eventually. He just had to stay alive long enough to give him a chance.
The distant sound of rushing water entered Chris' ears. Cold mountain water would certainly ease the monstrous headache that continually threatened to overwhelm Chris' rational thoughts. All he wanted to do was lie back down and slip into the pain free world of oblivion. A snap of anger surged through him. He'd be damned if he was gonna allow himself a moment of weakness. To do so would be death and he knew it.
He struggled to a sitting position almost daring the pain to get worse. It obliged but Chris fought it as hard he had always fought life. It had never been kind to him why the hell should it start now. He began to slowly drag himself towards the water. Just the thought of its cold, numbing nature drove him onward.
The stallion watched him go and when Chris disappeared through into the trees it followed just as slowly barely putting any weight down on its swollen leg but intent on not being left alone.
Chris barely heard his new shadow as he crawled the last few feet to the stream. Once there all effort seemed worth it as he sunk his throbbing head into the icy water. For a moment the pain intensified as thousands of pins and needles stabbed into his skull but then gradually that too began to ease.
With his face half in the water Chris saturated his dry throat. A minute or two later, his thirst slackened, he lifted his head out feeling the rivers of excess water run down his neck and chest. He suppressed a shiver. He situated himself next to a nearby tree and slumped against it careful not to lean on his wound. He slowed his ragged breathing and watched his horse drinking warily beside him.
The stallion was the only link left to his past. He had turned his back on everything else long ago when Sarah and little Adam had died. A small shudder swept through him. He hadn't thought of his wife and son for a long time now. Maybe it was the pain or the loss of blood but he no longer had the strength to resist the flood of memories. The flames of the fire rose up before him once again. He could feel the heat of it against his flesh as he stood outside their house watching as it consumed his only reason for living. In his mind he could hear them screaming from within though in reality there had been nothing but the crackling of wood and flame and his own anguished howl. But he had never stopped hearing their terrified cries for help. Help that had come far too late, all because of man named Pierre Duvall. Chris had never forgiven Duvall or himself for that verity.
Duvall may not have started the fire that murdered Chris' family but he was as much to blame for preventing Chris from saving them. A day after Chris and Buck had hit Mexico, Duvall had been arrested and tried for murder but had escaped just before the hanging. At Buck's insistance they had joined the posse and tried to track him down but to no avail. When Chris had finally returned home, his life lay suddenly amongst the ashes, his wife and child paying the price for his absence.
It had been three years ago and he had spent so much of his life afterwards believing he would never find a reason to live again. He didn't deserve a second chance. He always found a reason to feel not good enough and it grew harder at the end of each day. He had longed for some distraction, some minute release to let him forget. So he had become an gunfighter, one that didn't care much about what happened to himself or to others.
Then one day something had changed him. Perhaps it was the thought that Sarah would have hated what he had become. Or maybe it was the sight of Mary Travis standing down a wagonful of drunken cowboys in an effort to save an ex-slave's life. Whatever it was it had brought him back from the brink. The town he now protected was his penance, a desperate last attempt to save his soul.
Too weary to stop them, more memories began to seep into his veins, snatches of scenes he had relegated to the dark corner of his mind that had always remained under tight lock and key. Trees and forests blurred and then blended into the only two people in the world he wanted to see. He could almost reach out and touch them. Sarah's face was slightly sad while little Adam's glowed with joy at his father. He felt weightless suddenly. Maybe he'd find some peace tonight in the arms of an angel.
His eyes slipped closed and Chris jerked awake. He couldn't sleep! He knew he would never wake up again if he did. He brought a trembling hand to his face. My god but how tempting it was , he thought, to be with Sarah and Adam finally, to feel her arms around me once more, to hear Adam's sweet laughter in my ears. His eyelids lowered and his head slumped, lost in the solace they offered. Then with a cry he wrenched himself hard awake again, terrified at how close he had come to giving in. He pulled himself out of his silent reverie. There was no comfort there.
He struggled to stand up, grateful for the pain, his swollen leg accepting his weight only grudgingly. He knew it wouldn't last long. He staggered towards his horse. It looked over at him but gratefully didn't shy away. Chris ran a hand over the horse's leg checking to see if it was broken. He almost sobbed with relief when it wasn't.
"Good boy," he whispered laying his forehead against its shoulder. Some of the gashes were deep but not life threatening unless they got infected. The horse had a better chance of surviving than he did. He reached for the bedroll that had amazingly remained attached behind the saddle. He was slipping into shock, his trembling an obvious sign. He eased himself away from the horse and limped slowly, agonizingly, back to the clearing wrapping the blanket around him as best he could with one hand.
Come on Vin , he murmured, where are you? Chris sagged against a tree at the edge of the clearing and slumped to his knees, crying out softly. He turned over easing his leg to a straight position. He tried to remain conscious but soon realized that it was a losing battle.
"Sarah, forgive me," was the last thing he whispered. Then the flames of the past engulfed him.
+ + + + + + +
Vin dismounted and checked the trail again. The print was definitely Chris' horse. When Chris never showed at camp, Vin had gone off in search of him. Now it would be dark in less than two hours and he still hadn't found Chris. Vin looked up. He was almost at the apex of the mountain. He walked his horse the rest of the way up.
Where the hell was Chris? If he had found Duvall, Chris would have brought him to the camp. Wouldn't he? Vin remembered Chris' state of mind and enraged expression when they had separated. If Duvall had seen that face the outlaw might have turned himself into the local authorities rather than have Chris Larabee find him. But regardless, Chris' absence only meant that something had gone wrong. If he didn't find Chris soon the man would be on his own until morning.
The trees were tight here even near the top. He glanced over to the left and saw the steep slope cut down off the mountain and took care to keep him and his horse far enough away. Suddenly his eyes noticed the churned up ground up ahead. He knelt down to the earth and read her tell-tale signs. He looked over towards the cliff. "Jesus," he whispered, a sharp clear stab of apprehension piercing him. He stood quickly and ran to the edge.
Disbelief and fear flooded his senses. Chris' black stallion stood in the distant clearing but it wasn't moving well. Vin's eyes searched for Chris but didn't see him. He leaped back into his saddle and carefully turned the horse back down the way they had come. There had been another easier path down into the clearing a half mile back. He checked his timepiece. He didn't have much time before darkness descended on the mountain.
+ + + + + + +
Nathan Jackson, Josiah Sanchez and JD Dunne rode into Four Corners just after sundown. The town was quiet except for the well lit, noisy saloon situated at the end of the street. The exhausted men led in two extra horses behind them both with riders, one sitting, one not.
Josiah took the reins of the dead man. "I'll deliver him to his final resting place," he told the others in his quiet almost dulcet, baritone voice.
Nathan nodded tiredly. It had been a long day. He noticed Buck's grey horse at the hitching rail near the sheriff's office. The glowing light emanating from the windows meant someone was inside. "Looks like Buck and Ezra had good luck tonight too. I'll add our man to the catch. Then I'm grabbing some sleep."
"Goodnight Nathan," Josiah offered moving off down the street with his silent companion.
JD leaped off his horse. "Doesn't anyone want to head for the saloon?"
Nathan eyed the enthusiastic young man wearily. He wondered briefly whether he had ever had that much unbounded energy in his own youth. It was so far in the past he couldn't even recall it. He had experienced too much of life apparently. "I'm sure they'll be someone in the saloon for you to talk to." He dismounted and moved to help his prisoner down off his horse.
JD frowned and then brightened as Buck burst from the jail, shouting, "Thank God almighty! You're here!"
Nathan's eyes narrowed with concern. "What's the matter? Trouble?"
"Hell, yeah! I'm late for an important appointment. You people are my salvation!" Buck glanced at JD. "Yo kid! I need you to handle a most serious job. Think you can manage that?"
JD's eyes widened at the prospect. Buck was actually gonna trust him with a real honest-to-goodness job! It was a miracle. "Sure! What do I have to do?" he inquired eagerly.
Nathan rolled his eyes at the kid's gullibility. Nathan knew Buck was just trying to get out of doing work. He led the prisoner past the two and into the jail so the man could join his fellow compatriot in crime.
Buck and JD came in right after, Buck's arm draped across the boy's shoulders. "Now we need to watch these hardened criminals till the Judge comes to town. We're taking shifts and mine is up so I'm passing the responsibility to you. Think you can handle it?"
"You bet!" JD shouted.
Just then, Mary Travis entered the jail, a heavy shawl wrapped around her against the growing chill in the air. "Did everyone make it back?" she asked, clearly concerned.
Nathan rubbed a hand deep into his burning eyes. "How about it, Buck?" he asked the scoundrel before he could dart out the door. "Answer Mrs. Travis' question."
Buck stopped but fidgeted as if he couldn't bear to be still. "Chris and Vin aren't back yet. I'm sure they'll be riding in with Duvall and his last two cohorts any time now."
His lips pursed with worry, Nathan regarded Buck. "Josiah caught sight of another set of hoofprints doubling back off the mountain, but we lost them in the darkness."
That perked Buck's interest. "Whose were they?"
"They weren't Chris or Vin's," Nathan stated dryly. Mary Travis' face tightened with further worry.
Buck considered the information and then grinned. "Chris is gonna be in a hell of a mood if Duvall gets away from him. I'd better enjoy myself while I can." He high tailed it down the sidewalk towards the saloon.
JD, ever on the lookout for some excitement, asked, "Do you think Duvall will head back to town to bust these guys out?" He gestured to the prisoners.
"I wouldn't rule anything out."
Mrs. Travis spoke up. "What about Mr. Larabee and Mr. Tanner? Shouldn't someone go look for them?"
Nathan's unease refused to wane but he shook his head. "We'd never find 'em now. We'll wait till sunup. Goodnight JD," he said walking out with Mrs. Travis. Suddenly he paused at the door and looked back at the kid. "I wouldn't do everything Buck tells you to do. You might live to regret it." JD only looked at him with wide-eyed disbelief. Buck was practically the kid's role model. Lord help him , Nathan thought. He bid Mrs. Travis a good evening and went to bed.
Mary Travis paused on the sidewalk gazing out into the darkness. Sometimes the town seemed an oasis compared to what waited folks outside this small slice of civilization. Though she remembered Mr. Larabee saying once that the town was almost too civilized for him. She wondered briefly what kind of life he was used to in order to make such a statement.
She had always hated being outdoors, being away from people. The countryside, though beautiful, was lonely and often deadly. Her late husband had loved it, of course, and so she had come to like it as well. But it had been a tragic decision. Death seemed to come too readily for people out here. It took a certain kind of individual to survive.
She hadn't thought of it before but she had come to respect all seven men who had willingly put their lives on the line for this town. The sudden thought of some of them dying in its defense struck her sharply. She silently prayed that the absent men would come home safely.
+ + + + + + +
A half hour before sunset, Vin galloped into the clearing. He swung off his horse before it had even slid to a stop. "CHRIS!"
He still didn't see him. Walking up to Chris' stallion, he grabbed its reins and winced at the deep gouges in its flesh. It was a miracle the animal hadn't broken its neck or legs. Had Chris been as lucky? He spun around desperately searching for the quiet gunfighter. Even in the short amount of time the two men had known each other, Vin sensed that they had become friends. A man like Chris didn't seem to make many and Vin felt honored to be one. He refused to accept the fact that their friendship was over so soon. Chris had to be alive. He was just too damn ornery to die.
Suddenly, Vin saw an odd shadow by the treeline. He raced over.
"Chris!" His friend's still, pale form was disturbing. He reached out to touch him preparing himself for the fact that Chris might already be dead. When the figure groaned, Vin smiled. He was too ornery to die. The drifter took stock of Chris' injuries and his smile faded. "Damn," he commented.
"That's what I said," came a weak voice. Chris' green eyes flickered open. "What took you so long?"
"I didn't take your short cut."
Chris laughed feebly. "Smart man."
Vin ran through his options quickly. He had barely twenty minutes left of usable daylight. His highest priority was dealing with Chris' wounds. Thanks to the cold, the man hadn't lost much blood. It was probably what saved his life, but it would also eventually kill him if Vin didn't get him warm soon.
He peeled away some of the layers of clothes away from the bullet's exit wound as gently as he could. A low moan still escaped Chris' thinly pressed lips. "Sorry Chris. I need to see if it's still bleeding." It was but only slightly. Vin had treated enough bullet wounds in his life to know what to do. But he still wished Nathan was here. The man had an uncanny knack for healing thanks to the war.
He looked down to see Chris watching him with glassy eyes. Vin saved him the trouble of asking. "I'm gonna have to cauterize it, Chris."
Chris sighed wearily. "I expected as much," he whispered. "Get it done." He paused and then regarded Vin with terribly haunted eyes. "Just don't let me fall asleep."
Vin nodded. The fear in Chris' eyes disturbed him. It didn't belong there. What was in his dreams that terrified such a man , Vin wondered.
He quickly checked Chris' other injuries. The head wound was mild considering and besides there was little he could do about it. The leg on the other hand he could handle. There was only one long gash which he quickly sewed together and bandaged. What bothered him was the fact that Chris barely flinched during the process. He wrapped his own blanket around his friend and with the last remaining shred of daylight he built a blazing fire. He placed the blade of his Bowie knife in the fire and then pried open one of Chris' cartridges from his gun belt. All the while he kept Chris talking about little things, about the town, about the robbery, the chase. Eventually though and not surprisingly the conversation slackened. They just hadn't known each other long enough. Vin had no choice but to delve into Chris' past. "Where you from originally, Chris?"
Chris dragged his tormented gaze away from the flickering flames and stared at Vin for what seemed like hours. "Nevada," he finally murmured.
For a second Vin doubted Chris was really with him in the present. He could see the fire's flames reflected in his friend's eyes. JD had once told him that Chris' family had perished in a fire. He wondered briefly whether it was those ghosts that haunted Chris Larabee this night.
Vin tried to distract him. "I went through Nevada once. Pretty country."
Chris didn't answer. His eyes had found the fire again. Vin checked the knife and saw it was ready. He walked up to Chris stepping purposely between the flames and his friend. Chris blinked and glanced up.
"It's time," Vin told him quietly.
Chris said nothing. Vin eased Chris' coat and shirt off, revealing his pale almost translucent skin against the dark cloth Chris always wore. The man seemed almost a ghost himself tonight.
Vin sprinkled the gunpowder from the open bullet cartridge around both wounds. Then he retrieved the blade from the fire. He offered Chris a stick.
Chris stared at it and then took it, placing it in his teeth. Taking a deep breath he nodded at Vin. "Do it," he said tightly.
Vin touched the glowing blade to the wound in Chris' back. Chris immediately arched back but found Vin's steel arms holding him, his agonized scream erupting around the piece of wood in his mouth. Within seconds, it was done and Chris sagged against Vin unconscious. Vin quickly did the front exit wound the same way through which Chris only moaned slightly. Afterwards, he pulled the stick from Chris' mouth noting the deep indentations nearly cutting it in half. The reflexive muscles in Chris' jaw worked incessantly even after as Vin bound up the wounds quickly, making sure Chris' right arm was immobile. Then he laid him carefully down on the ground near the fire wrapping the blanket around tightly. Chris' head lolled back bonelessly against the saddle.
Vin sat back, his own hands shaking slightly. It was over. Now it was up to Chris. Vin only prayed that Chris still wanted to live bad enough to fight for it. Vin knew for a fact that one's past had a tendency to draw you in. Many times it didn't let go and Chris had been running from that past for a long time. Maybe tonight was the night that he quit running.
It would be a bad time to stop.
It wasn't long till the dark cloak of night descended. For the next few hours Vin led Chris' horse on a regular basis into the cold stream hoping to reduce the swelling in it's leg. Then he wrapped a poultice on it. He prayed it would be enough.
He checked on Chris constantly but there was no change in his condition. He couldn't tell if his unconscious state remained because of the head wound or from the trauma of the cauterizing. Probably both.
Pouring himself a cup of thick, black coffee, he leaned into his own saddle set on the ground behind him. He had a decision to make. Come light he could take Chris back to town. It would be a long hard trek but at least Chris would be out of the elements. He drew in a deep breath. Or they could stay where they were and hope that Chris survived. Either option didn't ease Vin's mind. There were definite risks to both.
He laid back wrapping his long duster tighter around him, rubbing his face harshly afterwards. It might not matter , he thought bitterly. Chris might not survive the night. Tomorrow would bring his decision. He hoped Chris wouldn't make it an easy one.
"Stay with us, Chris."
+ + + + + + +
Dreams of ghosts assaulted Chris deep within the folds of oblivion. Sarah walked past him, her oval face turned towards him across her thick, dark hair. In his sleep she had not changed at all, the years had passed her by. God, how he missed her. He could suddenly feel her sweet lips lingering on his skin and sensed their heat again. He reached out towards her as those dark eyes that always filled him with passion's fire watched his every move.
"Sarah!" he cried out. "Don't go!"
But she walked steadily on towards the house. He moved to follow her but then stopped. A distant voice spoke to him, " Stay with us, Chris. " He turned back and saw Four Corners behind him, six, purposeful men strode slowly across the dusty street watching him as they went past. He had come to depend on those men, something he had never thought possible again.
Suddenly a woman walked up to him wearing a black printer's apron, her blonde hair almost spun from sunlight. "Mr. Larabee, could you help me?" Her voice was quiet yet pleading.
He stared at her in confusion and then glanced back towards Sarah. Little Adam had joined her on the porch and stood beside his mother's skirt. Chris took another step towards them.
Again the woman behind him spoke. "Mr. Larabee, I need your help. Please!" Buck stood behind her now, a wanted poster of Pierre Duvall in his hand, the ink still fresh.
Chris turned back, his face anguished. "I...I can't." That admission pained him considerably and yet he did not know why.
Then his ears caught a sound that made his heart go cold. The crackling and hissing of a fire. He spun around and their house was now caught in flames. He could see Sarah and Adam within, their mouths open wide in terror. He was too late again.
"NOOOO!" he screamed. Chris jerked awake, quickly cutting off the whimper that lingered in his throat.
Vin appeared a second later in his field of vision. "Easy Chris. You were dreaming."
Chris tried to clear his blurry vision and exhaled a shaky breath leaning back. The dull weight of pain settled on him again.
Vin reached over and brought over a cup. "Here, drink this. It'll give you some strength." He watched as the anguish in Chris' eyes passed and reverted back into the more familiar steel gaze he was used to seeing.
Chris rotely sipped the warm liquid. It was fish broth, thick and clear. "You've been busy," he muttered quietly. The sun had only been up at least an hour or so already.
Vin arched his eyebrows mischievously and smiled. "More than you know," he admitted.
Chris noticed that the man always seemed to find humor in the strangest of situations. He looked where Vin gestured and was surprised to see a travois already hooked to Vin's horse.
"Time to get you out of here and back to town" Vin said.
"It's a long haul," Chris noted. He did not relish the trip.
"You up for it?"
Chris closed his eyes and nodded.
Vin moved away towards the travois and then turned back. "Oh, I found this. I thought you might want it." He handed Chris his lost pistol.
"You thought right." The gunfighter took the pistol and laid it on his chest, his fingers encircling the weapon, feeling the cold iron. It was comforting.
Within the hour, they were moving. It was a slow pace. Vin led his horse as it steadily pulled the travois while Chris' horse limped behind, its head bobbing just above his owner lying in the sling. Each bump and subsequent jar was felt by Chris who slipped in and out of consciousness.
The terrain was rough and tricky. Gullies and rocks continually pushed them out of a straight line motion as they maneuvered their way carefully around. It was making the trip longer than necessary. Something they didn't need right now.
Vin glanced back at his patient occasionally. He knew this journey wasn't easy on his friend. He looked skyward not liking the growing state of the weather. It would soon turn bad, the reason for the decision to head for town. The temperature was dropping steadily and whatever precipitation that fell would not do Chris any good. He had to hope they would reach Four Corners before it hit.
Suddenly, Chris' horse shied violently, yanking the entire travois to one side. Chris moaned at the abrupt jolt. Vin cursed running back to control the animal.
"Whoa!" He grabbed hold of the terrified animal's bridle. "Easy boy" The horse quieted some and Vin looked down at Chris whose face was beading with an unnatural sweat. Lines of pain creased the corners of the gunfighter's green eyes as he stared at Vin.
"You okay?" Vin asked.
Chris nodded almost imperceptively. "Something set him off," he whispered indicating his horse.
Vin looked around, his own senses now on edge. Something wasn't right. The point between his shoulder blades began a constant itch. His hand dropped to the loop on his sidearm, easing it slowly off.
The sudden sound of a man's voice startled all of them. "Being hunted like a mad dog sets most men off."
Vin whirled towards the voice only to come face to face with the double barrel of a shotgun. Pierre Duvall held the weapon, his sneering face one of triumph.
"Take your hand off your gun and drop your belt," he ordered. Two more men walked up out of a deep wadi that had hidden them well from Vin's view.
Something about staring down the hollow end of a shotgun made a man think swiftly of complying with such an order, but Vin knew once he did it would be over for both of them. These men would show no mercy. He glanced at Chris who met his gaze with angry determination.
"Drop it!" the man to Duvall's left repeated forcefully, bringing his own weapon to bear on Vin.
Vin exhaled slowly and undid his gunbelt. It dropped heavily to the ground, their own chance of survival dropping with it.
Duvall walked over to the travois, a sickening smile splitting his features. "You're still alive, Larabee. Either you're too stupid to die or you just don't know when to give up. But that's always been the problem with you."
Chris swallowed the dry lump in his throat and painfully shifted ever so slightly beneath the blanket. "Every minute alive means another chance to kill you, Duvall," he hissed.
Duvall laughed heartily. "Well, your time's up. You've missed your last opportunity and I've got you dead to rights." The Frenchman swiveled the shotgun around towards the helpless man. "There's nothing like cleaning up old business."
Chris' eyes narrowed and a cheek muscle twitched. "I agree."
The sharp retort of a pistol shattered the air as Duvall flew back from the travois, a stain of red spreading across his chest like spilled ink. Chris bought Vin the precious distraction he needed to get the upper hand. He hoped the buffalo hunter wouldn't fail.
Vin leaped at the man closest to him who was too startled to react. They both went down hard into the dirt. Vin knew he had only seconds to take the outlaw down before his partner would recover from his shock and draw a bead on Vin.
He slammed a huge fist into the man's face and felt cartilage give way. The man sagged under him. Vin threw himself aside just as a rifle shot rang out. He heard it strike the body of the man he had just tussled. Bad luck for him , Vin thought.
As he rolled aside, Vin grabbed the dead man's pistol out of his holster and came up firing in a blaze of bullets. Each one impacted with lethal aim on the last outlaw who dropped like a stone, dead long before he hit the firm ground.
Vin stood slowly as the gunsmoke cleared with a gust of light wind. He walked over to Chris who lay quietly beneath the blanket through which escaped a small whiff of smoke from its gaping new hole. Vin grinned as Chris' eyebrow arched wearily.
"I hope that was your blanket and not mine," Vin commented.
Chris offered up a ghost of a smile. "I'll buy you a new one." He lifted his pistol out from beneath the blanket and eyed the body of his enemy. Justice was served...three years too late. "Burn in hell, Duvall," he cursed softly.
But now it was over. All those years of hatred for the man were gone, Chris' conscience swept clean by the wrath of a .45. For you Sarah .
Vin followed Chris' gaze, knowing that there was more to this gunbattle than the quiet and private man would say but Vin was never one to pry. He gathered up his gun and the reins of his horse. "We'll send one of the others back for the bodies when we get to town. They're not worth wasting anymore time on."
Chris silently agreed and closed his eyes preparing himself for the painful movement of the travois to begin again.
The sudden sound of pounding hoofbeats resounded in the distance and Vin pulled his horse up sharply, his hand dropping again to his weapon. "I didn't realize we took a main trail," he griped more to himself then to his companion, but relief shone in his eyes when he saw the familiar riders heading towards them.
Buck, Nathan and Ezra rode up hard. Nathan was the first off his horse immediately recognizing the need for a travois. Buck rode his horse around towards the back taking in the body count in the dirt, including Duvall. He looked over at Chris who met his eyes with a challenge but Buck said nothing to the others only nodding subtly at Chris. He'd keep this secret.
"We heard the gunfire," Buck told them. "Figured you were having fun without us."
Vin laughed softly. "You figured right."
"When you failed to return to our new home with all expediency," Ezra drawled, "we assumed that some dire matter of importance was keeping you."
"Right again."
Nathan took one look at Chris and knew immediately the man was in a bad way. Chris was already in the throws of a fever. "We need to get him back to town."
Buck rode up from the wadi leading three saddled horses. "I'll bring back our infamous outlaws here. You ride on ahead. I'll catch up. Ezra, give me a hand."
Ezra cast him an incredulous look. "I have no interest in the bounty on these men."
Buck regarded him scathingly. "Get down off that horse and help me or I swear I'll tell Blossom that two of kind don't beat a full house."
Ezra quickly dismounted. "I assure you Buck, I never had an opportunity to collect my winnings."
"Just shut up and help me."
+ + + + + + +
Nathan emerged from Chris' room only to find everyone gathered in the hallway, even Mary Travis was there.
"How is he?" Vin asked. Nathan had been in there for a long time and the man looked beaten. The trip back to Four Corners had been long and arduous with Chris slipping further and further away.
Nathan shook his head. "I don't know what's keeping that man alive. He's fighting one hell of a battle right now."
JD stepped forward. "But he'll be okay, right?"
Nathan stared at the kid. "That's up to him and God now. Not me. I've done all I can for the man."
JD's face slackened with shock. He hadn't imagined Chris Larabee dying. The man seemed almost indestructible in nature. Buck laid a comforting hand on JD's shoulder though his own face was ravaged by the tragic events. "Come on, let's go have a drink in the man's honor," he said quietly. He led the kid away. Ezra followed them.
Josiah drew a heavy sigh. "If you need me Nathan, you know where to find me. I think some time spent in the Lord's house might be appropriate. It's been known to work miracles a time or two."
"Chris could use all the help he can get right now," Nathan agreed, nodding to the big preacher as Josiah went downstairs. He turned to Vin whose face was almost unreadable but Nathan had a feeling what was troubling the man. "You did good work out there, Vin. There wasn't much more you could have done under the circumstances."
"We shouldn't have split up," he admonished himself quietly.
Nathan shrugged. "Second guessing yourself won't help him now. And who knows, maybe this was a battle Chris had to fight on his own."
"Can I go in and see him?"
"Yeah. I'm gonna get something to eat and drink and then I'll be back." He went down into the saloon.
Mary Travis hung back as the rest of the group broke up. She was surprised at how close they suddenly seemed. At first she had merely thought they were strangers gathering for the sake of money rather than out of a sense of duty or honor. But the way these men behaved towards each other after only a few weeks together drove home the point that she really didn't know much about them at all. They weren't hardened men with no morals or codes to live by. They seemed almost to draw strength from one another, that the seven working together made each of them whole. What one was lacking was filled in by the strength of another till they acted as a single entity.
She felt slightly ill at the lies she had printed when they had first come to town. She had merely used their already 'less than stellar reputations' solely to frighten other undesirables away from the town. Chris Larabee had been furious with her and at the time she didn't understand why. Now she did and she felt sick because of it.
These men were different. Their souls were tarnished but their hearts were still pure regardless of what they had been through before.
She started suddenly as Vin exited Chris' room. He turned towards her, his face like stone but she could see the anguish in his eyes. He seemed on the verge of saying something but hesitated, his throat constricting. Muscles clenched and unclenched in his jaw.
"I'll watch him," she offered reading his thoughts and saving him the trouble of speaking. He nodded in gratitude and left.
She quietly entered the small, sparse room. The man lying in the bed seemed slight and frail compared to the man she knew him to be. The fever made him thrash restlessly and the blankets slipped down around his waist. The bandages that swathed his shoulder were slightly bloodstained and his skin was almost like grey paste in contrast. She moved to sit in the chair that was situated near the bed. Chris' face was beaded with sweat and his head tossed weakly from side to side, his low voice murmuring unintelligibly.
She took up the damp cloth on the nightstand and moved closer to cool him off. She began to speak soothingly to him as she would speak to her fretting son. "Shhh, it's alright. You're safe now."
Chris' glassy eyes jerked open at the sound of her voice. The intensity in them startled her.
"I'm sorry," he whispered forcefully, almost desperately to her.
She was confused. Why would he need to apologize to me, she thought. Then she knew. He wasn't speaking to her, Mary Travis, he was speaking to someone else.
His left hand fumbled for hers. "Sarah, forgive me."
She almost pulled away but then caught herself and tightened her grip on his hand offering him what fortitude she could. She leaned forward again to wipe the sweat and his sodden hair off his forehead. Her voice shook slightly as she spoke, "Don't worry about it now. Just rest."
With a sudden desperate strength, he grabbed her arm with his sole good one, half rising painfully from the bed frightening Mary. She tried to push him back but he amazingly resisted her efforts.
Chris winced against the light in the room. It felt like the scorching heat of summer had returned. He had lost all track of time, but Chris' fevered state had brought Sarah before him. He knew there was a reason. He wasn't going to waste it. "I have to Sarah. Now before it's too late." His energy siphoned by the exertion, he fell back against the linen. "I wanted to be there. God, I should have been there," he told her.
Mary's voice was almost a whisper. This conversation struck close to her own guilty heart. She had played similar scenes in her own tortured dreams, the pain of them still as fresh as Chris Larabee's. "I know you did," she tried to reassure him.
He lay there, his limbs trembling, his eyes trying to slip shut but he continually forced them open. "Please Sarah, please say you forgive me!"
She was afraid to say the words that this man begged for her to say, afraid that he would stop fighting and pass on. She unexpectedly didn't want that to happen. Suddenly a small part of her that had died long ago seemed to gain life again. She wanted Chris Larabee to live. Tears welled in her eyes and rolled down her porcelain cheeks. Her heart shattered for this lonely, tormented man.
Chris weakly let go of Sarah's arm when he saw her dark eyes brim with tears. He didn't want to upset her. He lifted a weak hand with his last bit of remaining strength and gently brushed the tears aside. He felt them spill over his calloused fingers. He moved his hand slightly to the left and tangled it in her ringlet hair, remembering how soft it was, how beautiful she was.
Mary's head leaned into his hand, her eyes closing as soft rivers meandered down her face. "I forgive you, Chris," she whispered.
Peace flooded Chris Larabee as his own eyes overflowed and then slipped closed. His mouth formed the words I love you . Then he lay still, deathly still.
Mary's hand flew up to her mouth, a sob breaking forth. "Chris!" She quickly checked for a pulse and gasped with relief when she found one. It was weak but it was still there. She skimmed her hand through his hair. "Don't you die! You hear me! This town needs you." I need you, she admitted only to herself.
She heard a footfall outside and straightened quickly, wiping the moisture from her eyes and composing herself as best she could. She stood slowly, finding it difficult to tear her gaze from the man in the bed. Finally, she walked outside to find Nathan there in the hallway leaning back against the wall.
"He still with us?" he asked.
Mary nodded, feeling the same tightness in her voice that Vin Tanner had experienced earlier. "He asked me to forgive him," she confessed quietly. She raised red rimmed eyes to Nathan's and could see the question rising in his own. "He wasn't asking me. He was talking to someone else, a woman named Sarah. I'm not sure why he needs forgiveness."
Nathan said nothing. He knew almost nothing about Chris, none of them really did except perhaps Buck who suddenly wasn't talking. He studied Mary Travis. "I don't know much about that man's past," he told her after a long pause, "but I judge a man by what I see him do today, in the present. That's what matters. And that's a good man despite what you think you know or read about him. He's proven that time and again since he came to this town."
She felt the bitterness in his comment and knew why it was directed at her. "I know," she responded quietly. She wasn't angry at Nathan. He was right about her in that regard. She hadn't been treating any of them with much respect and she felt bad because of it.
What was it about Chris Larabee that had such an affect on people? These men would follow him to his grave if he asked them. Mary found herself almost responding with that same loyalty of late. She looked down the hall towards the small window that let in a brief ray of a new dawn. "He told me once that I didn't know him. He was right." She returned her gaze to Nathan. "But I want to."
Nathan softened. "Maybe you'll get the chance, but that's up to Chris now." He walked up to the door she stood beside. He paused before he went in, laying a comforting hand on her shoulder for a moment. "He might surprise all of us." Then he slipped silently inside.
+ + + + + + +
Buck stared out the window and observed the town going quietly about its business. He could see Vin and Josiah hauling some timber down to the mission probably to shore up that sagging support beam in the back. Such mundane tasks.
He stretched a nagging knot in his shoulder and then looked over at his old friend.
To his shock, Chris was watching him. Buck rushed over as the gunfighter took in a long slow deep breath. It felt almost strange to do so.
"Chris!" Buck couldn't keep the stupid grin off his face. "Welcome back to the land of the living, my friend."
Chris' throat worked laboriously to speak. It felt like dry sand. Buck offered him a glass of water and Chris managed a few sips, holding the last one in his mouth a moment to resaturate it. Finally he felt like he could speak. "How long have I been gone?" It came out low and harsh but understandable.
"Four days since we brought you back to town. We damn near lost you, Chris."
Chris nodded tiredly. He felt like hell but at least he was alive.
"Your fever broke a couple of days ago though I wasn't sure you'd ever wake up. But as Josiah said, you've made it through the fire. I'd say you're on the road to recovery." Buck offered him the water again. Chris had only been vaguely conscious a few times but the little bit of water Nathan and the others had been able to get in had saved him from dehydration and death.
Fragments of dreams flitted outside Chris' memory. He didn't have the strength to pursue them yet so instead he slipped back into the folds of sleep. For the first time in days, it was dreamless.
Buck set the glass back down on the stand and rubbed his own exhausted features. Relief washed over him replacing the sense of dread that had consumed him for the past week. A high-strung chuckle crept up his throat. Now he could go down and face the others. He had good news finally. He stood and walked out the door.
+ + + + + + +
A week later, Chris sat outside on the sidewalk, soaking up the sun that decided to make an appearance today. He tilted his head towards it, his eyes closed. His right arm still lay in a sling but he could now move it with greater range of movement. The minute dexterity had returned to his fingers he came outside. He had a mission to do.
In his lap he clutched lead and paper. The slight breeze ruffled the pages ever so slightly bringing his notice back to them. He stared at the words he had written so carefully, words to his wife.
"These past years, my life went on in an endless struggle to forget, to hold the darkness close around me, yet no stormy night seemed capable of freeing my soul from your embrace. My love for you is bound with heavy chains that will not break. The memories of all those blissful moments that we had enjoyed continue to crowd over me. How hard it was for me to give them up and let burn to ashes the hopes and future years we might have had to live and love together and see our Adam grown to manhood.
"But all that was thrown under the Wheels of Fate and my life lost all meaning. I became a stranger to all that you held dear, darkness my companion, solitude my guide. There is nothing so cold as not having you near me. Forgive me Sarah. How thoughtless, how foolish I have been. You granted me peace in a dream, a taste of you at once so bitter and so sweet. Just to hear you once more say my name saved my eternal soul, I believe.
"If I could break down the walls at Heaven's Gate and take you back in my arms a final time perhaps I could breath life easily again but that is not meant to be. Instead I will try to live the rest of my life the way you would want me to and redeem what's left of my soul for the single purpose of finding you again someday.
"Till then Sarah. Tell Adam I love him."
He traced her name again with his finger and then did the same with his son's. With his recovery had come the memory of his dreams. He still saw her and for the first time in a long while it wasn't as painful as it once was. This letter to her was the proof. He wasn't sure he was ready to let go completely of the pain but it no longer felt as debilitating as it had been before. It didn't sear his soul any longer with the flames of guilt. They had eased and all that was left was an ache. That he could live with.
He didn't hear the footsteps come up beside him so lost was he in his own thoughts.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Larabee," Mary Travis said. "It's good to see you outside."
Chris glanced up and noticed her for the first time. She had pulled her blonde hair back tightly behind her, but the wind had tugged some tendrils free and they danced about her face. She wore a soft smile also that actually made it all the way to her eyes. It wasn't haughty or sarcastic just genuine. It surprised him.
He inclined his head in acknowledgment of her greeting. "It feels to good to do a great many things." Nathan had said that there would be no lasting affects from any of his injuries and in fact the only one that bothered him still to any great extent was his shoulder. But with time that too would revert back to the speed and dexterity it once had. He was very lucky.
She regarded the papers in his hand. "Would you like me to post that letter for you? I'm on my way there now. I'd be happy to do it."
Chris was taken aback for a moment but then declined. "Thank you, no. I'll take care of it."
She nodded in understanding. "Of course." She lingered a moment almost on the verge of saying something more but then didn't. Finally she just said goodbye and continued down the street glancing once over her shoulder at him.
Chris stared after her. She seemed different lately almost civil to him and the others. He wondered at the change and found he liked it.
She brushed by Vin Tanner who was walking down the sidewalk. They exchanged brief greetings and moved away. Vin continued towards Chris. Upon arriving, he nestled himself in a niche alongside the man and held out a steaming hot cup of coffee. Chris took it appreciatively.
"Nathan know you're out and about?" Vin inquired.
"Not yet. He will."
"Then I won't stay long."
A corner of Chris' mouth lifted in amusement. "Coward," he accused.
Vin laughed. He caught sight of the papers in Chris' hand. "Wish list?"
Chris' face softened. "Maybe," he said quietly.
The two men sat in silence for a moment then Vin straightened. "The bounty on Duvall and the others came in. I've got your share when you're ready for it."
"Keep it," Chris told him. "Buy yourself a new blanket."
"I already did," Vin admitted. "I bought us both one."
This time Chris laughed, a low easy sound. He looked up at his friend. "Thanks," he told Vin honestly, encompassing all that needed to be said but would never be said aloud between them.
Vin nodded knowingly and ambled back down towards the saloon.
Chris drew in a deep settling breath, listening to the wind blow, the many voices carried within. The town had been peaceful for some time now and yet the seven had all stayed. He couldn't figure out why but he appreciated it. Chris didn't feel the pull of departure as strong as before. He felt relaxed for the first time in ages.
The papers rustled again in the persistent breeze attracting his attention once more. It was time. He withdrew a match and lit it between his fingers. Then carefully, almost painstakingly, he brushed the flame across the edge of the paper. He watched it slowly consume the letter and when it almost reached his fingers he let the burning mass fall to the ground. It flared brightly for a moment more and then it faded. With a gentle breath the wind took hold of the ashes and drew them up into the air. With a dance as light as a feather they rode higher and higher until Chris could see them no longer.
There was a slight moisture in Chris' eyes, one that was quickly fanned dry by the self-same breeze that carried his letter to its destination, almost as if it was his wife's spirit passing him by. His eyes slipped closed relishing the touch.
For the first time in ages, the thought of his wife brought a smile to Chris Larabee's face.
The End
