Whispers of the Wind

Part 1

Throughout the course of the night the wind howled in ominous fury, whipping up loose dirt from the compacted road and swirling it high into air, clouding and blanketing the frontier town. Shutters strained and creaked against the invisible hostile, eager to gain entry into the homes of Four Corners. Above the roar of the wind the church bell sung, ringing occasionally as it too was buffeted in the gale force winds.

In the semi-darkness of pre-dawn, a sinister form battled furtively through the tumultuous conditions toward the back entrance of the Four Corners’ Gem Hotel. With a comfortable ease, he held a Colt .45 securely in his rough and callused hand. The stranger slithered stealthily along, hugging the wall of the hotel until he reached the entrance. Looking fervently over his shoulder while opening the door, he stepped quietly inside. The wind sought access into the hotel for a moment when the door opened allowing entry to the stranger.

Treading lightly over the wooden boards he briskly climbed the staircase; ever present in his mind was the thought of exposure. Without a source of light, he had to depend on his other senses; these had become more alert over the years due to his less than stellar occupation. His hand slid along the brass rail that clung to the hallway guiding his movements as he crept to the room he sought. Tracing nimble fingers over the knob of the door he slowly turned it. A smile of satisfaction lit his countenance as he silently opened the unbolted door and stepped over the threshold into the room. He briefly let his eyes adjust to the darkness before raising his weapon and without hesitation, ruthlessly shot the sleeping man in the bed.

Blood immediately spread quickly, darkening the sheet that lay covering the victim’s chest. The killer stepped closer and held the gun to his target’s head and once more pulled back the trigger. His quarry was dead after the first bullet entered his body, stopping his pulsing heart, but the stranger seemed to get some morbid satisfaction at putting another bullet between the unseeing eyes of the dead man. After the weapon discharged the second time, the murderer turned the bloodied head to the side and sliced off his victim’s ear. He stowed the morbid souvenir in a pouch then slid over to the door, opening it a fraction to peer out through the crack. The hall was still deserted, though not likely for long, so he made his escape of the room in the aftermath of confusion, closing the door behind him on the way out. He slipped inside a utility cupboard and waited patiently for the curious heads to slowly steal a look from behind doors in adjacent rooms, obviously woken by the gunfire. Afraid, or undaunted, they closed their doors and ignored the rude awakening when nothing obscure was sighted in the hallway. The murderer then left, unseen and unhindered from the hotel.

The callous killer stood in the shadows waiting for the seven protectors to reveal themselves, as he knew they would. He’d then depart town while they searched, and collect his payment.

Part 2

The Southerner lay sprawled on his bed, restless and irritable from the lack of sleep. The windstorm outside his room howled and buffeted, shaking the windowpanes and whistling through the minute gaps in the walls. Retiring early the night before had certainly not been one of his better ideas, but with the saloon emptying out early there left little opportunity to increase his funds further. Unable to sleep because of the natures’ wailing, Ezra gave up the façade of sleep in defeat. He lit the lantern and opened a book that rested on his nightstand and began reading. He had only read a few pages when, through the boisterous winds, the familiar report of a gun exploded, followed closely by a second. “Good Lord,” the gambler exclaimed, absently tossing the book aside. Muttering under his breath Ezra groused, “This better not be one of Buck’s practical jokes.” He promptly stepped into his boots and donned his jacket over his bare torso. Standish gathered his weaponry before racing out and joining the seven in the street below.

*******

The long-haired sharpshooter had abandoned his wagon many hours previous for the comforts of the saloon, his wagon had rocked and swayed with the restless caress of the wind. A man accustomed to the harsh environs of the wilderness, Vin Tanner had to admit he didn’t enjoy the rocking sensation of his abode. He’d dragged a blanket with him, and set up camp on the floor of the saloon. No one would be the wiser come morning.

“Hell and damnation,” the tracker swore, jumping to his feet in response to the gunfire. He was the first of the seven to reach the main street. Squinting through the darkness, Tanner raked the main street with careful inspection. Expecting to find some evidence of the gunfire he was momentarily baffled to find none. Turning back to the saloon he saw Ezra step out. Arching an eyebrow at the conman, Vin couldn’t restrain his surprise at the promptness of the gambler’s arrival on the scene. Probably couldn’t sleep either, Vin mused. “Ezra,” Tanner greeted, calling over the roar of the wind.

“Mr. Tanner?” Vin shook his head negatively, indicating he’d seen or heard nothing since arriving on the street.

Chris Larabee and JD Dunne arrived on the street within seconds of each other and Nathan and Josiah both appeared together. All, but Vin, were in various states of undress. Buck Wilmington was the last to arrive, in nothing more than his red union suit and gunbelt. Ezra grinned wickedly, lighting his features as he regarded Wilmington’s apparel, or lack of. Bare feet peeped out below the long legs of his long johns and his gunbelt slung low around his middle. Standish heckled the scoundrel, whistling suggestively at him. In return, the ladies’ man gestured widely with his arms, attempting to affect a curtesy, while bestowing a roguish smile, not at all embarrassed or uncomfortable by his attire.

“You two cut it out!” Larabee chastised.

It was four in the morning when the sharp report of the gun discharged, mingling with the howling strains of the wind. The seven peacekeepers of Four Corners reacted instantly to their call to protect. Gathering in the main street in the semi-darkness and swirling wind they prepared to search to town for the culprit - and the victim. Larabee surveyed his mismatched group; some would call the Larabee gang, yet others dubbed The Magnificent Seven. Chris lifted his voice over the roar. “Split up…” the blond ordered, “and be careful,” he warned.

The groan of the wind distorted the origins of the gunfire, giving no indication as to which direction they should begin their search. Save for the seven protectors, the street was empty; no one else had joined them outside to offer any useful information. JD and Buck paired off together, carrying a flickering lantern between them. Nathan and Josiah left in the opposite direction, leaving Vin and Chris to check along the buildings that lined the main thoroughfare through town.

Sighing deeply, Ezra, left to his own company started checking the darkened alleyways.

The seven lawmen spread out. Their eyes squinted against the blinding wind and the pre-dawn shadowy darkness. Moving with determination and precariousness, the law enforcers began the futile search.

*******

The stranger hovered close, but strained against the baying wind to hear the gunslinger’s words. He shuffled his feet on the ground, alert to each man’s chosen direction. Keeping his back to the wall, he stole along it, among the shadows and overhangs he made his way to where he’d tethered his horse. The killer glanced down in amusement at the wanted poster that had wrapped around his leg; he smirked as he recognised the sketch of the felon depicted on it. Bending down to remove the offending piece of paper, another gust picked it up and carried it away before he could reach it.

Part 3

A shrill scream echoed loudly in the early morning dawn, drawing the seven men like a magnet to the Gem Hotel. They bolted to the rooming establishment from various parts of the town, all arriving within minutes of each other.

Vernon McGee was an Irishman who’d left his home years before in the hopes of finding adventure in this American soil. He was a pasty faced, diminutive man, who was uncomfortable among people that towered over him. Such was the case with most of the seven peacekeepers that protected the town. He waited cowardly; shivering in fright, for those brave men to appear. McGee knew who had screamed, it was one of the hotel’s cleaning maids, and he had no intention of investigating the reason for her sharp cry. The bleary eyed manager sat askew behind the counter, blinking owlishly through his thick rimmed glasses that sat perched on the end of his nose.

Chris barged into the hotel, crashing through the closed doors and threw a speculative look at the snivelly Irishman cowering behind the counter.

At the abrupt intrusion, McGee scuttled back. Nervously fingering the inkwell on the counter top, he directed the men upstairs with a tip of his balding head. He would not escort them up, nor would he follow.

Larabee instinctively felt the presence of Tanner by his side as he bolted up the stairs two at a time. The heavy footfalls on the stairs confirmed that the others were directly behind. As the blond-haired gunslinger entered the hallway leading to the rented rooms it became apparent where to head. Six lawmen piled up behind him when he abruptly came to a standstill.

Sitting in the open doorway, shaking, with her knees drawn up to her chest was the young cleaning maid, Susan Murphy. The woman had taken the job in desperation after arriving in Four Corners three months ago, missing her valise and all its money that had been secreted in its false bottom. Finding herself penniless and with no means of support, she had reluctantly accepted McGee’s offer of cleaning maid of the hotel.

Chris took a step toward the frightened girl, but seeing the wide-eyed teary expression and her heightened fear at his approach, he stopped. Quietly calling over his shoulder, he motioned the healer forward. “Nathan.”

The dark-skinned man edged his way past the other lawmen and slowly neared the distraught woman. Crouching low, Nathan held out his hand, nodding his head as he watched the girl’s gaze drop to his outstretched palm. “Ain’t gonna hurt you none,” Jackson softly coaxed, offering a white handkerchief for her to wipe her tears on.

“H…h…he’s… he’s…” she stuttered, wringing her hands painfully together.

“Shhhhhh…gonna be all right,” Nathan consoled. Gently taking her elbow, Jackson helped Susan stand. “Ma’am…How about we get you over to the clinic…” He spoke as though he were addressing a child. She could hardly be more than twenty, little more than a child, he mused. “Josiah you wanna help me?”

“Sure, Nate.”

Once the girl left with Nathan and Josiah, Chris swooped into the room, his face a mask of controlled indifference. The blood-splattered linen and the corpse staring vacantly at the ceiling came as no surprise. He’d suspected all along that they’d be finding a body at the end of their search. The remaining four joined him in the room, seeing for the first time the young woman’s grim discovery.

“Seems like we have found the unfortunate victim of this morning’s untimely events,” Ezra drawled.

“Yep,” Larabee agreed with the Southerner. Chris dispassionately catalogued the man’s features. Not recognising the deceased, he rubbed his thumb over his chin thoughtfully. “Anyone know who he is?”

Buck edged closer to the bed, deliberately placing himself in front of JD to shield the naive youth from the grisly sight. “Nope, I ain’t seen ‘im around before.”

“Get outta my way, Buck!” the young gunslinger whined, pushing against the solid barrier of the larger man’s back. “How am I s’posed to know if I’ve seen him if yer in my way?” JD complained.

“Ain’t nothin’ here for you to see,” Wilmington stated, roughly propelling JD towards the door to prevent him from witnessing the gruesome sight. Buck tended to treat JD like his kid brother, one that he’d never had. But, if he did have one, then Buck would not want him to view the scene in the room. So in a vain effort to shield the young gunslinger, Wilmington inadvertently mothered the boy, much to JD’s disapproval.

“Ah geez, Buck. I’ve seen lots of dead people.” Dunne sidestepped past the ladies’ man to get his first glimpse of the deceased. Gasping in shock he sucked in a shaky breath and turned a shade paler. Dunne swallowed past the lump that had lodged in his throat “He’s missing an ear,” Dunne gulped, pointing at the bloodied disfigurement, with a trembling hand.

“Now ya see why ya didn’t need ta see him?” Buck admonished.

“I ain’t a kid, Buck,” Dunne protested weakly. The young gunslinger turned toward the leader of their group, gulping down the rising bile. “I think I saw him arrive on the stage a couple of days ago.”

Larabee nodded his head, but addressed his oldest friend; “Buck, you take JD over to Nathan’s…”

Before the black-clad gunslinger had finished, JD interrupted. “I’m alright! Don’t needa go see Nathan!” the younger man defiantly announced, both angry and embarrassed at his reaction, and Larabee’s response to it.

“JD, I want you to talk to that woman, find out whatever she knows while it’s fresh in her mind. You know, find out who he was, and what he was doing here, that sort of thing,” Chris tried to placate the kid.

“Oh yeah, well I can do that,” Dunne confidently boasted; proud that Chris trusted him enough to get the information he wanted.

Chris bestowed the boy a rare smile, encouraged by his youthful enthusiasm. “Buck, why don’t you find something more ta wear, before you start a commotion of your own.”

Wilmington grinned widely. “What, you saying you don’t like what I’m wearing, pard?” Buck started spinning in a circle, holding his arms outstretched. “Reckon I could start a new fashion trend,” he flaunted.

Ezra Standish stood just inside the room, leaning against the wall with his right leg crossed over his left at the ankles. Raising both eyebrows in awe at Buck’s display of conceitedness the Southerner shook his head. “Mr, Wilmington, parading around in only your undergarments could hardly be described as a fashion trend, and I dare say that it won’t easily catch on.”

Looking from Larabee to Vin for affirmation, Buck chortled, “He just say he didn’t like my underwear?”

“Reckon that’d be my guess, Buck,” the quiet tracker drawled. Picking up the edge of the sheet, Tanner dragged it up to cover the victim’s head; they’d all had long enough to view the body.

“Just get outta here Buck, and take JD with you,” Chris groaned in exasperation at the tall man.

“Fashion critics, the lot of ya’s,” Wilmington grumbled, dragging Dunne from the room and down the stairs. “Not like I even try ta dress like Ezra does. Geez! With the hard time everybody’s been giving me, ya’d reckon I had nothin’ on!” Wilmington protested. “Not that that ain’t such a bad thing,” Buck added with a mischievous grin, “given the right company.”

Buck’s complaints could be heard as the two friends descended the stairs. The three remaining men in the room heard JD say something to the ladies’ man, but couldn’t determine what was said. But Buck’s raucous reply bounced off the walls, and they had no trouble hearing his loud response. “Hell kid, what cha expect me to wear to bed?”

Part 4

“Vin, Ezra, you know ‘im?” Larabee queried the two remaining men.

“Nah.” The tracker shrugged, shaking his head. He hunkered down and looked under the bed for any clues.

Standish inwardly winced when Chris Larabee’s infamous glare focused solely on him, waiting for him to respond. “I concur with Mr. Dunne’s revelation. I too, observed the deceased’s arrival on the stage a few days post hence.”

The wind flicked something up hitting it against the windowpane and distracting the gunslinger from any further contemplation. Rubbing his tired eyes with the back of his hand, Larabee challenged the gambler, “Think you can get a name for this guy?” .

Ezra nodded once and departed the room, glancing back at the door to ascertain the room number. Standish stepped closer to the door and fingered the brass metal number, swinging on only one screw. He flipped the number, and sent it spinning loosely on the one holding screw. When it completed the journey it finished back in its pervious position - hanging upside down. Checking the adjoining rooms to the left and right, Standish confirmed that it was indeed a number 9. Satisfied, the Southerner sauntered down the hallway, endeavouring to complete the task expected of him and rubbing at the nape of his neck.

Sighing audibly, Chris ran his fingers through his tousled hair, looking up into the gaze of Tanner. “Guess you ain’t gonna be able to track ‘im, huh?”

Vin shrugged his shoulders, confirming what Chris already suspected; “More’n likely won’t be able to. With all that wind gustin’ around out there, woulda blowed all his tracks away.”

“Figured as much, reckon we round up the guys, and start askin’ around. See if anyone seen or heard anything.” Chris thinned his lips, turning back to take one last look about the otherwise undisturbed room before heading to the door. “Ya know of anyone who hacks off ears?”

“Can’t say that I do,” Tanner grimaced in disgust.

Chris shrugged. What did he expect? “This was a hit!”

“Reckon so,” Vin agreed. “Poor bastard didn’t stand a chance.”

Part 5

Ezra marched down the stairs and approached the counter where the manager still cowered behind. “Mr. McGee…” the gambler called out, announcing his arrival. When all remained quiet, Ezra tapped the bell impatiently on top of the solid oak bench. “Mr. McGee?” When he still received no acknowledgement from Vernon McGee, Ezra leaned bodily over the bench top, and again called for the manager’s attention. “Mr. McGee, I need to review the register to ascertain the gentleman’s name.” McGee remained hunched in the corner, sitting on the floor shaking, chewing on his fingernail and lost in a world of his own. The Southerner couldn’t resist rolling his eyes heavenward.

Without waiting for further consent from the frightened man, Standish whisked the registry book around and thumbed back a few pages until he reached the date he sought. He ran his finger down the column of names, coming to a stop at the scrawled signature of Clarence Hogan. Tapping his index finger on the page, he briefly perused the other names in the leather bound book.

*******

Chris followed on the heels of Vin down the wood stained polished stairs. He slid his hand down the aged banister rail that travelled the length of the stairs, feeling the knots in worn timber. The staircase was once the focal point of the Hotel; its fine imported mahogany timber was the purchase of an over-exuberant owner. Now it was due repairs, and at the very least a coat of varnish.

They strolled over to where the Southerner had stretched out in one of the comfortable sitting room chairs. His eyes closed and head tilted backward resting on the high back. Standish had positioned another chair directly in front of him and had his feet propped up on that.

Vin flashed a wicked grin in Chris’ direction, which basically said, ‘Watch this!’ Tanner grabbed hold of the chair and whipped it out from under the gambler’s feet, dropping them to the floor with a thud. Tanner then returned the seat and slouched into the chair himself.

The Southerner’s boots thumped noisily on the floor waking the semi-recumbent gambler and the tracker grinned sheepishly, attempting an expression of innocence, but not quite succeeding. Ezra opened his tired eyes and glared his ire at the sharpshooter. Vin stared in return at the gambler for almost a full minute, while the gambler maintained eye contact with him, but the tracker finally dropped his gaze, unable to stare down the conman. Chris inwardly smiled to himself at the mind games these two men were playing.

“What happened to the manager?” Vin asked in curiosity. He had expected to see the manager with Ezra. Tanner had a few questions he wanted to discuss with the manager himself.

“He seems to be somewhat, indisposed,” the gambler rolled his eyes and flicked his head in the direction of the still cowering man. Standish directed his next statement to Larabee. “But I did ascertain the information that you required. The man’s name is… rather was,” he corrected, “Clarence Hogan.”

“He tell you anything at all?” Chris stood between the two seated men, and scowled in the direction of manager.

Ezra shook his head, but then realised the gunslinger was not watching him to see the negative response, so he voiced it. “No, he seems to be having some difficulty accepting a murder has occurred in his hostelry. Far be it for me to assume, but how he even became aware of the transgression is beyond me. I don’t think he’s moved from that position since the young lady’s vocal outburst.”

“So, this Clarence Hogan,” Chris arched an eyebrow, questioning Standish whether he had the correct name, “he someone important?” Chris queried; reasoning that if he was indeed a prominent member of the community then that, in itself, could be a motive for his murder.

“I have never heard of him prior to his demise. Perhaps Mrs. Travis could possibly enlighten us further,” Ezra suggested, but instantly wished he’d kept his mouth shut as the gunslinger glared contemptuously at him. The gambler couldn’t understand the gunslinger’s open hostility towards him. All he suggested was that Mary check her files for Clarence Hogan, to discover if he was someone of recognition. It could help to possibly discover who was involved in his assassination. Perhaps save some of their valuable time, by not having to cover the same groundwork that may already be known.

Cursing under his breath, Chris didn’t want to bring Mary into this mess. She seemed to find a way to involve herself in enough dramas as it was. He scowled at the Southerner for bringing her name into the conversation. Chris hunkered down next to Vin and changed the subject. “Reckon we oughta have Nathan check him over,” the dark-clad gunman indicated the manager.

“Guess so,” the former bounty hunter agreed, but made no move to leave.

The Southerner stretched his arms out and then brought them high above his head, trying to release some of the tension that had bunched up his muscles across the top of his shoulders, letting his jacket fall open and expose more of his firm torso. Feeling the effects of the sleepless night and early morning, he couldn’t stifle the yawn that escaped his mouth. He was tired, and needed a decent night’s sleep. He brought his arms back down by his side, using one to cover that yawn. Sighing audibly, reluctantly he volunteered. “I will endeavour to attain the services of Mr. Jackson for our…friend over there.”

“Nah, he can wait. Get everyone to meet up in the saloon,” Chris gruffly ordered. Ezra stood up from the comfortable chair and wearily exited the hotel, heading for Nathan’s clinic where he’d find the rest of his fellow lawmen.

Part 6

The sleepy town lethargically stirred to life. At six in the morning the exhausted and fatigued townsfolk began their chores for the day, battling against the wind that still threatened to demolish their town. The seven lawmen had gathered together in the saloon, quietly discussing the events of the morning.

The undertaker had removed the deceased from the room and Susan Murphy now slept peacefully in Nathan’s clinic, once he’d given her something to settle her. Josiah and Nathan took the opportunity to visit with the undertaker and view the body.

Buck Wilmington shovelled his breakfast urgently into his mouth with vigour and JD watched with distaste. “Don’t know how you can eat after what we saw this morning,” the younger man grimaced in abhorrence. He’d yet to touch the breakfast that had been placed on the table in front of him.

Unconcerned by Dunne’s outburst, Buck shrugged and between mouthfuls stated with calm indifference, “Gotta eat sometime, kid. May as well be now.”

The Southerner relaxed against the bar, nursing a mug of steaming hot coffee. Amused at the comical bantering of Buck and JD, he refrained from commenting, content to watch the byplay between the two men. Downing a sip, he hoped the noxious brew was strong enough to keep him awake. Ezra looked up when he heard the blond gunslinger question the kid about what the young woman had told him. He was curious to hear the answers also.

“She said his name was, Clarence Hogan,” JD eagerly informed. Chris nodded his head, he knew this already. “And he was a travelling salesman.” JD lowered his head to hide the red flush that coloured his cheeks and mumbled his next words under his breath.

Buck slapped him on the back. “Speak up kid, ain’t nobody heard what cha said.”

Scooting his chair out of the reach of the jovial ladies’ man, Dunne, in heated embarrassment, repeated his unheard words for the six men. “I said…” the young gunslinger paused, “…he sold lady’s, um…underthings.”

“Huh?” Wilmington’s jaw dropped. In reality, it wasn’t that he’d misheard the sheriff’s announcement, but more the absurdity of it that stunned the normally voracious man into a stupor.

“Dammit, Buck! Don’t cha listen?” JD groused. Taking Wilmington’s incomprehension at face value, he attempted to explain further. “The guy sells lady’s corsets and petticoats… and stuff!” Dunne practically yelled.

Wilmington started to snicker and immediately covered his mouth with his hand, but when a snort came from Tanner, Buck roared loudly with laughter. He laughed so hard tears ran down his cheeks. And when Vin fell out of his chair, clutching his sides and continuing to laugh rolling on the floor, laughter erupted around the table, lightening the tense mood that had settled over the sombre group.

Chris still had a smile on his face when he prompted JD further. “She tell you anything else?”

“Um, yeah. She was s’posed to wake him up early this morning, so he could get an early start. You know… to sell his stuff…”

“Just who was he planning on showing his wares to?” Jackson queried. “Ain’t like we got anywhere in town that’d sell that kinda stuff.”

“Reckon, he mighta been gonna hit the working girls over at Digger Daves,” the tracker grinned innocently.

Buck chuckled, and toed his boot on a nail that had deemed to shimmy its way out of the floorboard. “Didn’t realise you’d know about them girls, Vin?”

“Hey, I’m only human,” Tanner objected. Between the sniggering, Vin drawled, attempting to set the course of the conversation back on track. “Why would anyone wanna kill a salesman? It don’t make sense.”

“Perhaps he wasn’t the intended victim?” the Southerner opined from the bar.

“What, you think it was just a mistake? He had two bullets in him and his ear sliced off,” Jackson reminded. “No!” Nathan dismissed Standish’s claims as absurd. “Somebody wanted him real dead!”

Part 7

The killer easily slipped away from town undetected. He was even grateful to the horrid swirling winds that stirred up the red desert soil and concealed his exit from town. Once he was beyond the town limits, the killer increased his horse’s pace.

He didn’t concern himself with covering his tracks because the wind swept them away as quickly as they were made. The stranger dropped his head, and pulled his hat lower, trying to protect his wind-burned eyes against the sting of the blinding surges. He guided his mount with erratic leg movements, forcing his mount to plough on through the gales.

The horse was jittery and not familiar with travelling in such extremes of weather. The mount sensed its owner’s lack of control and that confused the animal. The sorrel snorted, pulling against the reins that were held loosely in narrow fingers and baulked at continuing on.

The stranger’s horse was on the verge of refusing to go any further when a sizeable branch from a tree hurled in their direction. The rider was unceremoniously deposited on the desert floor, unconscious with a newly formed lump to his head as a result of the branch hitting him. The horse lowered its head and nudged his rider, but the killer didn’t move. Then a loud crack splintered and another massive branch was thrown at the horse. The terrified horse reared; eyes black with fright, it squealed in terror. When the nervous animal came back down on all four legs he bolted back the way it had come, abandoning its owner.

Part 8

The seven regulators stepped from the saloon. Prepared to turn the town upside down in search of the killer when the riderless horse galloped back into town. The animal snorted hard and its side’s heaved with exhaustion; it had obviously been running hard.

JD and Vin circled the frantic and winded horse, easily gathering the reins that dangled on the ground. Tanner soothed it with reassuring words and gently rubbed his hands over the skittish animal. “Reckon this could be his horse.” Who else would be stupid enough to be out in this weather? “Guess he didn’t plan on hanging around for us to find him.”

The man in black nodded in agreement. “JD, take the horse to the livery, then get back here. We’re going after a murderer!” Larabee ordered.

*******

They’d been riding the better part of an hour and the wind still wreaked its havoc. Eyes stung from the biting wind and from lack of sleep. The seven lawmen searched the surrounding areas of Four Corners for the murderer of Clarence Hogan. They held little hope of actually finding him, but they were required to at least try.

Chris pulled on his black duster in an attempt to keep out the bitter cold. Debris swirled around them and decreased what little vision they had to almost nought. Larabee glanced back, seeking the tracker. Vin was behind and to his left, fighting his own battle with the demonic wind. Chris yelled to be heard over the deafening roar. “Do ya think we should keep going?”

Vin strained to even hear the words that Larabee spoke and most were swept away on the wind, but he managed to pick up a few words to get the gist of the question. “He ain’t got a horse, could be hurt, and in this…” he waved his hand skyward. “He can’t be too much further.”

Larabee nodded in agreement, but thought that he should at least get some of his friends out of this weather. “Buck…” he shouted hoarsely over his shoulder, and he waited until the ladies’ man nudged the grey level with his black. “Buck… I want you, JD and Nathan to head on back. Vin, Josiah and Ezra will stay with me and keep looking.”

“No argument from me, pard.” Wheeling Brutus around to the direction they’d come, Buck roared over the wind to the bundled up youngster. “JD, let’s go home.” And then to Jackson. “Nate, you come too.”

JD’s fingers were almost frozen with numbness, and the reins in his hands began to slip. When Wilmington hollered over the roar, Dunne snapped the reins back tightly and pulled back his horse’s head. He shivered in the billowy coat and glanced down to find his knuckles had turned white. His whole body ached with stiffness that the cold biting wind had chilled, and his face had reddened with windburn. A brightly coloured scarf adorned his neck and throat, a gift from Casey the Christmas before, never before was he more grateful to the girl’s needlework. He never felt more relieved when he heard Wilmington demand that they head home. He was beyond speech and could only manage half a smile in response, but with a driven determination led Padget to follow Buck and Nathan.

*******

Standish shivered in his own coat while watching the exchange between the black-clad gunslinger and the ladies’ man. He rubbed a hand up the length of his thigh trying to stroke some warmth back into his frozen leg. The heat that was generated only took off the initial chill, but as soon as the movement stopped, the leg felt all the more sensitive to the biting cold. “Perhaps I might be permitted to accompany the others back to town…” he jumped at the chance. He really didn’t enjoy being frozen.

“Ya staying here, Standish,” Chris snapped ominously over his shoulder. Not expecting any objections from the gambler, he dismissed Ezra without further thought, turning his attention to Josiah and Vin. “Let’s keep moving.”

The Southerner watched, staring longingly at the departing backs of the three men Larabee dismissed, returning home and escaping further exposure to the weather. He sighed deeply when another shiver racked the length of his body. What on earth possessed him to be out here? If this was what was involved in being a protector of the town, then they could have it. Who in their right mind would be out in this hellacious weather? What was to stop him from turning around and leaving right now? At least he’d be warm back in town.

He felt no loyalty to the blond-headed leader. None what so ever!

Or did he?

Standish felt a large gloved hand cover his arm squeezing it. He’d not heard the approach of the man or horse, but that was highly unlikely over the raging windstorm. Ezra redirected his gaze and looked into the blue eyes of the fatherly man. Was that concern for him? The gambler dropped his gaze to where Josiah’s hand gripped his forearm. Dazed, Ezra followed the rhythmic movements of the gloved hand that rubbed his own arm, as though he was mesmerised by the action. He’d swear that the preacher was about to hug him. This scared Ezra more than he’d admit, so he abruptly pulled his arm out of the grip the preacher had on him.

Josiah Sanchez silently watched the Southerner, left stationary as the wind buffeted about him. He could see the indecision etched in his handsome face and worried that Ezra would throw it all in and leave. Chris and Vin had gone on together, they wouldn’t be too hard to follow. What Josiah needed to do now was offer some comfort to the gambler who was hurting, not only from the cold, but the cold that wrapped around his heart. Sanchez guided his mount back to the Southerner, and stopped within a hair’s breath. Still the man didn’t acknowledge his presence. The older man reached out and touched the gambler’s arm, squeezing it to gain Ezra’s focus. The gambler appeared startled by the contact, and his hazy gaze sought out his own. Sanchez smiled and rubbed the arm clasped within his grip. He thought for a moment that the Southerner accepted the touch of concern, but when Standish abruptly pulled away, disappointment filled Josiah.

“Come on son, we best catch up with Chris and Vin.” Josiah saw the scowl cover the gambler’s face at the mention of the word son. Why did he say it? He wasn’t sure. Did he want Ezra for a son? Or was it the age old yearning to have offspring by the time your reach a certain age? Whatever it was, the Southerner seemed to fit Josiah’s need. That the man didn’t have a father, as far as Josiah knew he didn’t, or that Standish seemed to need that guiding hand that a father could provide, Sanchez didn’t care. All he knew was he had this hole in his heart that ached to be filled, and if allowed, Ezra could do that for him.

“Josiah unless you know something that I don’t, than its highly unlikely that you are indeed my father,” Standish admonished a little lamely, but this weather was playing havoc with his emotions. Wheeling Chaucer around he reluctantly followed his fellow lawmen. Sanchez smiled warmly at the gambler’s retreating back, happy with the Southerner’s decision.

*******

Another hour flew by with very little conversation passing between the four lawmen. This lapse was broken by the gambler’s heavy accented voice lilting through the howling wind. “Of all the accursed luck…” Ezra complained, as the first droplets of rain started to fall. “Oh, this is just marvellous,” he groused. Behind him he could hear the roar of laughter that Sanchez erupted into. Standish contemplated ignoring the outburst, but his frustration and fatigue overpowered his good senses, and he shot a look of contempt at the preacher. Unfortunately this only caused Josiah to burst into further hysterics.

Within minutes of Ezra’s declaration, the sky opened its heaven and the rain fell in torrents. Sheets of rain quickly soaked the four lawmen and still the wind kept its pace. Now the frigid air was not only depressing, but now, also wet. Droplets ran down Ezra’s face and he futilely wiped them away. The driving rain made their progress more difficult, and even the stoic gunslinger was on the verge of halting the search and returning to town.

The horses’ hooves splattered in the ever-increasing puddles, and snorted shaking the water from their eyes.

Part 24

The Southerner pushed through the swinging doors of the saloon. He glanced about the near empty room and seeing Josiah at one of the tables headed toward the older man. “I see you found Mr. Wilmington.” Standish had passed the ladies’ man on his way to Nathan’s to visit with Vin.

Sanchez chuckled. “He was at the boarding house.”

“Not in his own room I’ll wager,” Ezra smirked, but the expression was forced.

Josiah barked with laughter. “Nope, that he weren’t.” The older man’s smile left his face as he took in the haggard appearance of the Southerner. He wondered if Jackson had kicked the gambler out of the clinic. “Come for breakfast?”

Standish sank into the offered chair and didn’t contradict Sanchez when he ordered for the younger man.

“Wind’s still whippin’ about.”

“Indeed,” Ezra nodded.

“Ya saw Manning last evening.” It was a statement of fact, not a question. “JD and Vin too,” he added.

“You’ll have to confirm with them as to whether they can identify him. I don’t think Mr. Dunne had a very good view while they were grappling on the floor, he may have gotten a better look when they were outside, but it was dark. And as to Mr. Tanner, he may not even remember his own name. I doubt whether he’ll be of much help.”

Sanchez leaned back in his chair and rubbed at the stubble on his chin. The waitress balanced a plate on her hand and weaved her way through the tables and set it down in front of the gambler. He heard Standish mumble a thank-you and the swish of the woman’s skirts as she waltzed away.

Ezra regarded the breakfast with little appetite. He picked up the fork and broke the egg up into smaller pieces, but couldn’t bring himself to deliver it to his mouth.

“You gonna eat that, or just mangle it?”

Standish glanced up and pushed the plate across the table. “I’m not hungry,” he announced.

A hand reached over the table and picked up the plate and returned it in front of Ezra. “Best if ya eat it, Ezra,” Larabee ordered, taking up a seat next to the Southerner.

Josiah covered the smile and watched as Standish reluctantly did as he was told. “Vin wake?”

“Nope,” Chris shook his head and wiped a hand over his tired face. “Been talking with Buck. Should probably organise a roster to protect Miss Murphy.”

“That how Buck explained what he was doin’ last night?”

Larabee grinned. “We all know that wasn’t his first intention, Josiah, but it does make sense that she might need protection since she can identify Manning.”

“You gonna give that job to Buck?” Sanchez queried, with a smirk.

The gunslinger snorted. “Put Buck in the same room with a pretty lady and all his sense goes flying out the window. Might be safer if you take first watch.”

The older man agreed. “What about JD and Vin? You think they can identify Manning?”

“Already asked. The kid didn’t get a good look at him, and we can’t ask Vin at the moment.” Chris turned in his seat to face the gambler, who by all accounts was not paying any attention to the conversation that occurred about him, but Larabee would be a fool if he thought that. “Ezra,” he paused, waiting until the conman looked from his plate. “Manning recognised you, didn’t he?”

“If you are inferring what I think you are, then the answer is no.” Ezra sat straighter in his chair and glared defiantly at the gunman.

Larabee glanced up at the older man then back to the obstinate Southerner. “You got no choice in the matter, Standish. I want you over at the clinic. You can help Nathan with Vin and Nathan can keep an eye on you at the same time.”

It was worse than he’d suspected. “No!” Ezra emphatically refused.

“I don’t have time to argue with you…”

“Good, then don’t. I’m not…”

Chris interrupted, slamming his fist onto the table, shaking the crockery and bouncing it to a new position. “I don’t give a damn what you want!” he shouted. “I don’t have enough men to guard you and Susan Murphy at the same time. With Vin and Nathan already out of the equation, and you for that matter, that only leaves Josiah, Buck, JD and myself.”

Ezra’s emerald green eyes simmered with indignation. “I am quite capable of fending for myself, and refuse to have a sentry watching over me.” Particularly Nathan, he silently added. “And there is no plausible reason that I should be secluded away in the clinic when I can take a shift guarding the lovely Miss Murphy.”

“NO!” Larabee scowled. “Josiah, take Miss Susan over to the church.”

The larger man took his leave and patted the gunslinger on the shoulder in understanding as he passed by the back of his chair. Chris had a mammoth job ahead of him to convince Standish that he was a contender as a possible next victim.

The man in black pointed his index finger at the stubborn man, shaking the digit irately. “I want you over at the clinic, now!”

Standish pushed back the chair in a rush and it clattered to the floor. “This is getting monotonous. I’m going to my room.”

“Ezra,” Chris growled.

Answering without facing the gunman, Standish continued to head for the stairs. “No, I refuse.”

“Guess we do this the hard way,” Larabee muttered quietly, stalking after the retreating Southerner. He followed behind and they were a foot apart when Ezra turned to face him. His mouth opened to continue the protest, but the gunslinger slugged him across the jaw. Ezra crumpled under the blow and sagged to the floor.

Part 25

The door shuttered open, under the massive kick it received from the outside. Nathan jumped to his feet, reaching for the knives at his back; he halted the action when Larabee crossed the threshold with the Southerner slung over his shoulder. “What happened to him this time?” Nathan groaned impatiently.

“I did,” Chris snapped. “Where do you want him?”

“Down,” the gambler moaned.

The gunslinger lowered Standish back to his feet and stepped back so Jackson could assess the conman.

Glancing at the double bed, Chris walked to the side and lifted Tanner’s limp hand and turned it over and squeezed it. “He wake up?”

“Not yet,” the healer’s concern for the former bounty hunter was evident in his tone. Jackson led Standish to a chair and pushed him down. He bent at the waist and looked invasively into the gambler’s green eyes. Satisfied that the pupils weren’t enlarged, he gripped Ezra’s chin and turned his head to the side so he could re-examine the day old wound.

Standish swung his head out of Jackson’s hold and curled his lips defiantly. “Now that you’ve manhandled me, may I leave?”

“Nope,” Larabee answered with vigour. “Nathan you’re gonna make sure he stays here.”

“What?” he exclaimed in abject horror. “I got a sick man to tend. I don’t have time to baby-sit him as well,” he protested.

“Wasn’t a request, Nathan. ‘Sides Ezra can help ya with Vin.”

“Why here?” Jackson whined.

“‘Cause everyone else is gonna be busy elsewhere. I need to know I can depend on you to put your problems with him aside, and if it comes to it, protect him. Can I?”

Jackson glanced at the gambler with distaste and curled his lips showing his pearly white teeth. “Sure,” he replied curtly.

“Good,” Chris smiled. “Get some rest while you’re here, Ezra.”

Standish saluted the gunman with the customary two fingers, but the snarling expression with the gesture let Larabee know full well that Standish was less than happy with the arrangements. He was certain the only reason that the gambler hadn’t escaped already was his growing concern for Vin. Chris left, and the animosity between the two remaining lawmen continued to thicken.

Jackson handed the gambler a wet cloth. “Here, make yourself useful.”

“By all means, Mr. Jackson,” Ezra drawled. He heaved a heavy sigh and sat on the edge of the bed.

Part 26

Larabee returned to the saloon. Josiah was absent, but Buck and JD had their heads bowed to the centre of the table deep in concentration. Chris joined them in a few strides and remained standing at the side of their table.

“Chris,” Wilmington greeted. “You been to see Vin?”

The gunslinger nodded. “He’s still the same. Took Ezra up there to stay with Nathan ‘til this is all over.”

The ladies’ man smirked. “Bet he wasn’t too enthusiastic ‘bout that idea?” Either of them, for that matter.

“Yeah. Nathan’s really got a grudge against him,” the gunslinger admitted, finally realising the depth of the resentment that the former slave held against their Southern lawman.

“He ain’t never got past the fact that Ezra’s a Southerner,” Buck sighed. “Reckon he blames Ezra for every atrocity that has ever been done against him. Like it was Ezra that done ‘em all.”

Chris shrugged; he didn’t have time to dwell on that at the moment. Hooking the leg of the chair, he dragged it out from under the table and dropped into it heavily. Rubbing his whiskered jaw in thought he barely registered the shot glass that was set down in front of him. The bartender slipped away and Wilmington filled the glass from the bottle on the table. Automatically reaching for the glass, he swirled the amber liquid close to the rim before bringing it to his mouth and downing the fiery substance. It burned a path down his throat, but that didn’t stop him from refilling the glass and swallowing a second.

Buck watched with curiosity as his oldest friend drank in silence. This was nothing new; he’d seen Chris do it a thousand times before. But this time he pondered what thoughts were behind the dark hooded eyes. He knew that Vin and Chris had an affinity, a friendship that overshadowed his with the black-clad gunman. That had to be some of the reason Larabee was so pensive. Did he even consider the gambler in his distant mood? Chris didn’t attempt to hide his irritation for the Southerner at the best of times and with everything that had been happening in the past few days Buck wondered where the two men stood with each other. It hadn’t surprised him to hear that Chris had punched Standish, but what did surprise him was Larabee’s reason behind it. It seemed like something the old Chris would do. He missed the way Chris used to be, before Sarah and Adam’s deaths. He was a different man then. One that Buck found hard to find in the sombre and brooding man that now claimed to be Chris Larabee. “You got any idea how we’re gonna catch this bastard?”

Larabee glanced up from his introspection. He stilled the glass in his hand, dazed blue eyes lifted to the ladies’ man. He’d forgotten for a moment that he wasn’t alone. As much as he didn’t want to involve Mary Travis, he thought it was the best solution to the immediate problem. And for that, he’d need Ezra’s cooperation. He frowned at the thought and considered not even mentioning it to him, but that would be unfair to the gambler, especially if the plan backfired and he was hurt. Or worse. “Need to talk to Mary,” was the obtuse answer the ladies’ man received.

Wilmington dimpled, elbowing his friend in the ribs suggestively. “Go and talk to the lady, Chris. When ya finished, come back and we’ll work somethin’ out.”

Chris felt the heat rise to his cheeks and looked self-conscious at JD, quietly absorbing the conversation. Swallowing the sudden lump that bobbed in his throat, he glanced with irritation at Wilmington. With a snort of disgust he clarified the ladies’ man’s misinterpretation of his previous statement. “Gonna get Mary ta put an article in her paper. A story about Clarence Hogan, his killer and Manning. Get her to make it real obvious that Ezra got a good look at him and is the only one who can clearly identify him. Should bring him out of whatever hole he’s crawled into.”

Part 27

A slow smile creased the gambler’s cheeks. He lifted the damp rag off the tracker’s forehead and leaned over in line with Tanner’s unfocused line of vision. “Welcome back,” Ezra greeted.

Vin blinked his eyes and frowned as a wave of pain ripped through his head. A muffled moan left his lips, which turned into a cry of agony when he attempted to sit up.

Standish pushed Vin back down to the bed. “You best remain still. You’ve injured your shoulder and some ribs.”

“Ezra?”

“You need something?”

Tanner groaned, and frowned at the white bandages that covered a good portion of his upper body. “What happened?” Everything was foggy, and the pounding in his skull overrode everything else.

“You saved JD the misery of being in your predicament,” Standish grinned.

“Huh?”

“Manning’s horse barrelled into you, last evening. Don’t you remember?”

“Yeah. Seems ta be coming back. Last night?”

“How you feeling, Vin?” Nathan stepped up to the edge of the bed and sat on the corner. He’d been surprised to find himself asleep at the table. Doing that a lot lately, he mused. That’s the trouble when someone else is sleeping in your bed. And someone had draped a blanket over his shoulders. Surely Standish wouldn’t have bothered? Dismissing the idea as ludicrous he questioned the injured tracker further. “You got a headache, feeling dizzy or gonna be sick?”

“Yeah,” he drawled, leaving the healer in quandary as to what exactly Tanner was agreeing with. “Damn, shoulder hurts somethin’ fierce,” he groaned.

“Yer got a broken collarbone and shoulder blade, it’s gonna be mighty sore ‘til it heals. You’re gonna have ta wear your arm in a sling for a while too. Them ribs are gonna keep you in bed for at least a number of days, but now that you’ve woken up I can start givin’ you something for the pain. It’ll help you get some more sleep.”

“I don’t want none of your creek water, Nathan.” Seeing the smile drop from the healer’s dark face Vin added, “No offence, but I reckon I can manage without.”

“Quite a noble gesture, Mr. Tanner, but perhaps one of Mr. Jackson’s concoctions is in order, at least until you can hold a conversation without scowling the entire time,” Ezra interrupted, trying to make Vin see reason.

“Ain’t scowling,” Tanner protested weakly, and struggled to sit upright only collapsing into the pillows with a sharp hiss and muttered curse.

Jackson slapped Vin on the leg and moved off the bed to mix some herbs at his bench. Standish supported him in convincing the stubborn tracker to down some of his mixtures. That alone was amazing. Especially, as the Southerner was just as reticent to take his advice as Tanner was. Nathan returned to the bed and held out the tin mug. When Vin didn’t take it, Ezra removed it from the healer’s hands.

The gambler brought the mug to Vin’s lips and raised his brows drolly. “You are going to drink this.”

Vin shook his head and obstinately clamped his lips closed.

Standish lowered the mug a fraction. “Can you identify Manning?” Once more Tanner shook his head negatively. “And the horse?”

Vin closed his eyes and remembered back to the previous night. “Dark brown, or a black, hard to tell. Had white socks, but I can’t recall if they were on all of the legs. At least two of them,” he confirmed.

Ezra nodded. “Anything else?”

“Stirrups were hung low, reckon he’s kinda tall, huh?” Vin glanced at the Southerner to back up his thoughts.

“About six two or three.”

“We already knew that from Miss Susan,” the former slave interrupted.

“Can’t hurt to have a few more witnesses,” Larabee announced from the open doorway.

Part 28

“Hey cowboy!” Tanner welcomed.

“Hey yourself. How ya feeling?”

“Like shit,” Tanner confessed.

“Reckon that drink’ll help ya to feel better,” Chris eyed the mug held by Standish.

With a sigh of defeat the tracker agreed and downed the bitter liquid in one long swallow and shuddered dramatically after finishing.

“Now that weren’t so bad, was it?” the healer asked, returning the empty mug to the bench.

Vin glanced at the Southerner, who returned his incredulous expression with one of wicked satisfaction. He yawned and blinked owlishly attempting to fight the medicine. Damn! Jackson put somethin’ in it to make him go to sleep. Tanner hated sleeping in the middle of the day, even if he was hurt. His eyes closed, unable to hold them open any longer.

When Tanner’s breathing changed from a raspy ragged breath to a steady rhythm, the man in black drew a chair off the back wall and motioned both Standish and Jackson to join him at the table. “He gonna be all right?”

“Plenty sore for a time, but now that he’s woke, that’s a good sign.”

Chris thinned his lips and rested his elbow on the tabletop. It’d been hell the last few days. “I’ll send JD up first opportunity. He’s pretty anxious to see Vin.” Chris lowered his head and stared at a spot on the table. Without looking up, Larabee posed his question to the Southerner. “Got a plan to flush out Manning.”

Ezra arched an inquiring brow. “And what is my part?”

Jackson interrupted. “What makes ya think that Chris needs your help?” he sarcastically sneered.

Larabee ignored the former slave’s outburst and smiled warily at the conman. “If you’re willing, I’m gonna get Mary ta write a story…”

“…Ultimately mentioning that I am the only witness that can identify our killer,” Standish finished.

Chris shrugged. “Yeah. You agree?”

“Whatever it takes,” Ezra sighed in resignation.

Part 29

The sun edged high into the sky and slowly turned its head back down to the earth, barely making an impression on the wintry conditions that haunted the western town. The cold nip in the wind gusted, flipping up the hems of skirts and tugging at the tails of long coats. A lone hawk glided on the wind currents drifting high above, searching and seeking the ground for its next meal. A shrill call broke through the whistling wind and the bird dove skilfully toward the earth in a flurry of feathers, disappearing from view behind the backdrop of the town’s structures. Landing beyond the town limits to capture a hare that hadn’t found its burrow in time to prevent capture.

Buck Wilmington stood watching the graceful bird’s flight, until he lost sight of it behind the buildings. He continued on his path, casually strolling past Potter’s Mercantile. A gregarious grin lit his face as Gloria’s little girl, Amelia, stepped out from the store onto the sidewalk with a large piece of boiled candy in her mouth. The ball of candy bulged out her cheeks in a fat mound. Buck saluted mischievously at the youngster and backed away, chuckling at the shy smile the girl bestowed on him.

Lost in thought, the tall gunman wasn’t paying particular attention to the shadow that crept along behind him. The ladies’ man jogged down the narrow path between the Bucklin’s groceries and the undertakers, determined to reach the church incongruously as possible and relieve JD the task of watching over Susan. What a woman, he smiled. Once the kid had gone, Susan and he could take up where they left off the other night.

The bullet that buried a blazing trail of hot fire threw the ladies’ man off his feet and to the soft ground. With tremendous effort, Buck rolled on his side and drew himself to the protection of the wall. Sweat streamed into his eyes and he gasped, searching the laneway for the obvious threat, but the direction from which the gun fired was empty. All that remained was a diffuse cloud of smoke that was lessening even as he watched it.

He threw his head back against the wooden planks and reached around his back to feel the sticky blood that seeped through his coat. “Geez, that hurts,” he winced. The rapid approach of pounding steps drew a relieved breath from Wilmington.

“Buck?” Josiah called down the passageway with concern in his voice.

Chris knelt by his friend. “You get shot?” He drew his fingers out from under the brown coat and frowned at the fresh blood that coated the digits.

“Looks that way,” Buck agreed, wincing as Sanchez helped lift him to his feet.

“Come on. Nathan’s gonna want ta have a look at that,” Josiah steadied him.

“You see or hear anyone, Buck?” Larabee glanced up the length of the narrow path.

Wilmington groaned and shook his head.

Part 30

“Gettin’ mighty crowded in here,” the preacher mentioned squeezing past the healer and sitting down on the end of the bed Tanner occupied. Vin slept through the invasion on the clinic.

“Well, as Buck was Manning’s victim, I don’t see the necessity to stay here any longer,” Standish crept toward the door, but Chris barricaded it with his body and glared at the Southerner. “Or perhaps I’ll just wait over here,” he conceded, stepping out of the way.

Jackson tugged the bloodied garments off the ladies’ man and dropped them in a heap on the floor. Nathan rolled up a wad of white cloth and pressed it to the wound. “Think you can hold that in place, while I get organised?”

Buck hugged the folded cloth to his back and watched with trepidation as Jackson methodically washed his hands and returned to his side to clean the wound.

“Ain’t so bad, just grazed really.” The healer looked over to Larabee by the door. “He’ll need a few stitches, and to rest up for a bit.” Facing back to Buck, Jackson wagged his finger in stern warning, “That means by yerself, too. Ya can’t be resting if your…um…you know…wrestling with the genteel folk.”

Wilmington barked with laughter and clutched his side as a bout of pain seared through his side. “Hell, Nathan, those lovely ladies you’re talkin’ about, will take it as a personal affront if I don’t show up. And I’ll still be in bed,” he grinned broadly.

Standish snorted and shook his head. “I don’t think doing the horizontal twostep is Mr. Jackson’s interpretation of rest.”

Chris ducked his head, letting the brim of his Stetson cover the smile that spread over his face. Horizontal twostep??? He’d have to remember that one.

“Reckon I might mosey on over to the church. Imagine JD’s got himself tied up in a lather not knowing what’s going on.” Wilmington gathered his shirt off the floor and made to leave.

“You ain’t going anywhere,” Jackson ordered. “You’ve just been shot.”

Josiah held his large hand up and pushed the scoundrel back into the chair. “I’ll go tell JD.”

“Thanks, Josiah,” Wilmington sighed.

Part 31

With so little room in the clinic, Nathan and Chris decided to move Buck to the church, where both Josiah and JD could protect him and Susan.

“As I am uninjured, perhaps it would be more appropriate if I went the church instead of Buck?” Standish appealed.

Larabee shook his head. “That’d leave Nathan to look after Vin and Buck. And with both of them hurt, that’d practically leave him on his own.” He hoped this argument satisfied the Southerner, because in reality, the gambler was in need of decent nights’ rest himself and was still recovering from various injuries. A small grin surfaced when Standish reluctantly complied with the arrangements.

“And what pray tell are you planning to do?” Standish inquired.

“Well after I help Buck over to the church,” the gunslinger held up his hand to forestall any complaints from the ladies’ man, “I’ll be keepin’ an eye on there, here and the town in general. Now that I’ve been left so shorthanded, guess I’ll be watchin’ as best as I can,” he admitted.

Part 32

Standish rolled his shoulders for the umpteenth time and wriggled restlessly on the narrow width of the seat. He sighed deeply and closed his eyes. A minute later he had to shift his weight again and unfold his crossed legs. Quietly, he stood and stretched his arms to the ceiling, straightening tired and stiffened muscles. What he’d give for a stiff drink of bourbon, and as if on cue, he licked his dry lips in appreciation. Ezra stole softly across the floor and gently laid his palm across Tanner’s brow, finding it cool to touch he edged closer to the door.

The room was stifling and well in need of ventilation, but he could hear Jackson’s opinion on that idea, even as it pushed its way through his mind. And if he did open the door and let in some fresh air it would chill the room and then he would be blamed for that. Glancing wistfully at the closed window, the Southerner slipped quietly over and pressed his face against the cool glass. Ezra stared blankly out the window and pushed it up a fraction to allow some of the midnight air to enter the room. He dropped his face to breathe in the fresh flow of air and immediately smiled as it entered his lungs. The gambler startled at the deep-throated words that broke the silence.

“I can give ya something to help you sleep,” Jackson offered. He’d woken with Standish fidgeting in his seat and with hooded eyes followed the man’s tormented incarceration with bewildered concern. He knew that Standish had barely slept in the past couple of days, and now with the time well past midnight, he was still awake. Nathan looked at the dark smudges under the conman’s eyes and the haunted expression that played across his face when he thought that he was alone. He felt an increasing guilt that perhaps he had been the cause of at least some of that distress.

Ezra’s eyes widened for a fraction of a second and belatedly brought up the walls, hiding behind a mask of indifference. The gambler smiled, but the gesture was forced and didn’t reach his eyes. “That is not necessary. Thank you for the offer, Mr. Jackson. I apologise for having woken you.” He turned and faced the healer, although he was uncomfortable under Jackson’s scrutinising gaze.

Nathan’s mouth twitched while he waited for the Southerner to finish with the expected refusal. “How’s Vin?”

“Sleeping.”

Jackson nodded and turned back to the table and glanced up at the bottles and jars of potions and herbs that lined the shelf. “Won’t take much to fix somethin’ up,” Nathan smiled at the gambler. “You could maybe get more comfortable if ya laid down too,” he encouraged. “We could make up a bed of sorts for ya.”

Standish rubbed at his tired face; he wasn’t up to having a discussion at this hour of night, but he could see the effort that the healer was making and he wasn’t about to dismiss the tentative opening so easily. “Mr. Jackson…” but the sentence remained unfinished as a flaming bottle smashed through the window and showered the room in shards of glass. Ezra instinctively ducked and the bottle only missed him by inches.

“Hell!” the healer shouted and shielded his eyes from the spraying glass. The heavy calico curtain had quickly ignited in flames and the hungry fire started to eat its way up the wall. Nathan pulled the Southerner out of the spreading flames and roughly pushed him to the door. “Get Vin outta here,” he ordered.

“What are you planning to do?”

Ripping his coat off his back Nathan dove into the circle of flames and beat at them. “I got my life’s work invested in this place, I ain’t about to just let it go up in flames.” Even though he only rented the room, he had his treasured medical books and his medicines that had been painstakingly sought. “Now get Vin the hell outta here,” he demanded.

Standish stepped back uncertain what to do. He didn’t want to leave Nathan to fend the fire alone, but he couldn’t let Vin stay in the burning clinic while he had a chance to survive the blaze. The fire was moderately small at the present; if he stayed and helped it would easily be extinguished. Ezra growled and pulled Tanner from the bed; rolling the tracker up in the quilt he dragged him out and left him on the landing. Standish removed his jacket and rolled it into a bundle and deposited it under Tanner’s head. The tracker blinked owlishly at the gambler. “Just redecorating. Don’t go anywhere,” Ezra quipped and raced back through the open door.

Spying a wooden crutch in the corner he snatched it up and wielded it at the burning mass of curtaining. Ezra knocked the pole off the rung and with a neat twist sent the blazing remanets out the broken window to land on the road below, where the flames eventually died.

“What are you doing back? Where’s Vin?” Nathan’s dark brown eyes bored into Standish.

“He’s safe. And I could be of more use in here.” Ezra whipped up a bucket of sawdust and threw the contents in the middle of the fire, then joined Nathan at beating the remaining flames into oblivion. With the two dissimilar men working side-by-side, the flames were brought quickly under control.

With a crocked smile Standish grinned, panting as he gulped in precious air. He stepped back and with a discerning glance, surveyed the damage.

Nathan bent over at the waist and rested his hands on his knees. Without the Southerner’s help the clinic would surely have been destroyed. He lifted his head and scowled at the blackened walls. The broken window drew in the frigid night air and smoke gathering in clouds at the ceiling. They would not be able to stay here for the remainder of the night. They’d have to go elsewhere. He briefly wondered where Chris was, and who threw that flaming bottle. “Thanks, Ezra,” the sincerity in his voice surprised the enigmatic conman. “But we’re gonna have to find somewhere else to go, ‘cause we can’t stay here.”

Standish arched his eyebrows, he’d not expected any gratitude from the former slave, but he felt a small amount of pleasure that he’d finally done something that met with Jackson’s approval. He nodded his head in appreciation and in agreement. “We could use my room at the saloon,” Ezra suggested even as he walked out the door and knelt by Tanner’s side. The injured tracker had succumbed to the effects of the laudanum that Jackson had given him and remained asleep in the same position where Standish had left him.

Jackson took up on the opposite side and checked over Vin. “Nah,” he rejected, “that’d be the first place Manning would look.”

“Then the hotel. We can’t leave Mr. Tanner out here all night while we discuss it.”

“Good as place as any,” Nathan shrugged. “I’ll take his legs, can you manage at that end?”

“Quite.”

Part 22