Disclaimer: The 'Magnificent Seven' and other characters from the series are the property of MGM, Trilogy and the Mirisch Company. I just borrowed them, played with them for a while and then very regretfully gave them back! The original characters within this story are mine and should not be used without permission. No infringement of copyright is intended to whoever holds any legal right to the works of Robert Burns. Sadly, no money will be made from this work of fan fiction — I just wrote it purely for my own pleasure and entertainment!
Genre: Old West - H/C/angst/action. This story contains graphic, ADULT material.
Main characters: Vin, Chris and Ezra.
Rating: NC17 — Mainly for language, violence, elements of torture/physical abuse and a descriptive sexual scene. If you are not comfortable reading about Ezra being involved intimately with a woman, then this story is definitely not for you. There are several references to my story Under the Aegis of Seven and, although it isn't necessary to read that to understand this storyline, it was a stand alone piece that I specifically wrote in order to lay certain foundations and set-up characters for Sins of the Father. Also, I'm a Brit and, as my storyline involves a Scottish family, I have used phrases and words relative to their background and the Victorian era.
I want to take this opportunity to assure everyone that the convoluted plot, OMCs/OFCs, the conceptual ideas and writing for Sins of the Father are, in their entirety, all of my own work. Apart from hundreds of grammatical corrections by my super-beta, Jean B, no one else has had any input into my story.
Heartfelt thanks to my husband, Mike, for being such a supportive fella, during the highs and the way too many lows of writing this epic. I think he was joking when he threatened divorce, naming the 'Seven' as the reason for our marriage break-up! Huge, huge thank you to Jean B for doing such a great job in beta'ing this for me — Jean, you deserve a medal for so ably dealing with my comma fixation! You're one of the Best! Aside from Jean's many corrections, any other grammatical boo-boo's or plot flaws are mine and mine alone! An extra special thank you is due to Elizabeth, one of the tireless helpers on Lady Angel's website, for all of the hard work that she put in making my story look so good on the website. Elizabeth, you are a true professional — thank you for being so understanding, and graciously making all those pernickety amendments that I kept sending through to you.
If you enjoy this story, please let me know at susieburton999@yahoo.co.uk — I just love feedback!
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The late afternoon sun was just starting to set as the decimated party of Cummings' workers slowly approached the fenced perimeter of the Scottish landowner's property. Buck Wilmington held the reins of the front wagon, his low voice continually crooning words of encouragement to the tired team of horses as he urged them onwards down the winding track.
Nathan Jackson had been sitting with the still unconscious Ezra Standish, who was in the room so recently vacated by Vin Tanner, when he heard the horses and slow moving wagons. A quick peek out of the window confirmed the new arrivals' identities and, with a relieved sigh, he hastened down the stairs. The healer had spent the last few hours constantly worrying about the fate of the men at Coyote Pass but with the gambler seriously injured and the two women distraught over Fiona's death, the peacekeeper had felt obliged to stay at the ranch and help Andrew MacIntyre.
Events that afternoon had escalated beyond comprehension and, as Nathan reached the front entrance, he bleakly wondered how he was going to break his own dreadful news to his three friends — particularly Buck Wilmington. Icy fear clutched at the healer as he studied the approaching men and, seeing the state of those loaded on the back of the two open wagons, he resolutely pushed his own troubles aside as he prepared to deal with another emergency.
Something disastrous must have occurred, as the majority of the Cummings' workers looked in need of immediate medical attention, whilst those few riders who appeared to be unharmed had the demeanour of beaten and defeated men. Another fact that alarmed Nathan was the sight of four horses; two fastened to the back of each wagon, carrying what could only be blanket wrapped bodies. The healer's apprehension increased as he recognised one of the packhorses. The animal belonged to Josiah Sanchez, but there was no sign of the ex-preacher.
Ben Fielding had been sitting at the end of the porch but, after spotting the slumped form of his father in the back of the second wagon, the boy leapt to his feet with an anguished groan.
Nathan saw the look of horror on Ben's face and immediately snapped out some orders. "Son, go an' fetch Doc MacIntyre! He's wit' yer ma in Miz Abigail's bedroom. Keep this quiet though, 'cos I don't want the ladies upset ag'in. Oh — an' could ya bring me m'medical bag from Ezra's room, please?"
Buck brought the wagon to a stop close to the house and, after gesturing for JD Dunne to do the same with the rig that he drove, the ladies' man dropped his head dejectedly into his hands, sitting for a few seconds whilst he regained his composure.
"Buck?"
The moustached peacekeeper took a deep breath before jumping from the wagon, relieved to be able to pass responsibility for the injured men into the healer's capable hands.
"Good Lord! What the hell happened? Where's Josiah?" Nathan asked, glancing at the exhausted ladies' man. Getting no response from his friend, the healer began checking the three recumbent figures lined up in the back of the wagon. Robert Cummings was lying face up and securely strapped to a long board alongside Davey Mason, whose left leg was splinted and bound from thigh to ankle. Another ranch hand, who Nathan didn't recognise, was propped on his left side next to the ghillie. This casualty had part of a blood-soaked and torn shirt wrapped around his head covering his eyes, and his right arm was firmly immobilised in a sling. All three men were soaking wet — and unconscious.
Crossing to the second wagon, the healer breathed out a heartfelt curse when he saw the motionless figure of Josiah Sanchez lying next to a dazed-looking Jim Fielding. As Nathan hastily reached out to feel the ex-preacher's pulse, his eyes were drawn to the roughly bandaged form bundled into the corner of the wagon.
This man looked to be very young; there was a light brown smudge above his lip where a fuzzy moustache was trying to appear, although in reality it was little more than adolescent down. The healer estimated him to be about sixteen or seventeen years of age. Copious amounts of blood had soaked through the makeshift bandages wrapped around his torso and shoulders and he, like Josiah, was unconscious. But it wasn't this that held Nathan's appalled gaze. The healer shuddered as he realised that the injured youth was missing his right arm. Staring at the youngster's smoke-blackened and cut face, the peacekeeper suddenly recognised the ranch hand.
"What the...? Buck, this is Bryce Kehoe's oldest boy! Uh... Danny — well I think that's his name. I recall fixin' his leg a few years back."
Buck and JD had heard Nathan's stunned comment and came around to join their friend at the rear of the wagon.
"Well, there's a whole pile of fixin' up t'be done on the bastard now!" Buck spat out savagely. "He and some of his cronies were responsible for that explosion. They got caught in the blast too, by the look of it, but there wasn't enough left of the others to make a positive identification. And I certainly ain't going back with a bucket to scrape up the body bits, just so their folks can know what happened to 'em. Fucking murderers can rot in Hell!"
The normally placid ladies' man was trembling with barely controlled fury and, as he spoke, he kicked the wheel of the wagon to release some of the pent-up tension.
Nathan had never seen Buck so angry and upset and, putting a restraining hand on his friend's arm, he was suddenly thankful that Danny Kehoe was unconscious. It was clear that the ladies' man had been badly affected by the terrible act of violence that he'd witnessed, and the healer wasn't sure that his colleague would have been able to hold his temper in check if the youngster had been awake. But it wasn't the right of anyone at the ranch to dispense justice today, as the fate of the one remaining offender would rest with Judge Travis — if the teenager survived his horrendous injuries.
"We don't have time fer anger, Buck! Ya need t'push yer emotions aside fer now an' concentrate, 'cos I gotta know what I'm dealing wit'. All these injured men are gonna need t'be taken care of. Jes' tell me what the hell happened down there. An' how did Josiah get hurt?"
The ladies' man shook his head mutely at the healer's question. Now that he'd vented his anger, the horror of the day's devastating events suddenly caught up with him, and for a moment he was unable to describe what had gone on.
Glancing across to JD, Buck saw the man's shoulders shaking with delayed reaction and he automatically pulled the youngster into a rough, but comforting embrace. "It's okay, kid. There ain't any shame in being upset. You just let your grief all come out," he murmured, stroking his friend's hair in a soothing gesture.
"Lord, Nate! I hope I never see summat like that again! I dunno how much dynamite those bastards used, but half the damned mountainside was brought down. It was total carnage when we got there," Buck said in a choking voice, as he finally released the sheriff.
"There was a landslide and the men got caught in it? Did Josiah get injured durin' the rescue attempts?" Nathan had managed to bestir Jim Fielding and was helping the man get out of the rig as he continued to quiz his friend. Buck nodded miserably, swallowing hard as he closed his eyes to shut out the heart-rending memory of that afternoon.
Water everywhere... uprooted trees and rocky debris being swept along the valley... crashing into cattle and horses... bodies bobbing up and down in the swirling, muddy deluge... Robert Cummings wedged between a huge boulder and a broken tree, gasping to breathe as the water rushed over him... Josiah's and Soames' heroic efforts to free the trapped rancher... then Buck risking life and limb to rescue the ex-preacher as the flailing body of a drowning cow smashed into the big peacekeeper... so many dead and injured men pulled from the raging waters of the flooded Chaipas River, dammed after the destruction of the rocky bluff above the narrowest neck of the waterway... anger and shock on finding the only survivor of those who had set the dynamite... the ladies' man retching when he saw the grisly remains of three or maybe four men — it was difficult to be sure how many had actually been involved as the explosives had done a thorough job... utter weariness as the few able-bodied men tended to the wounded... and finally the slow and sombre journey back to the ranch.
Sucking in a juddering breath, the moustached peacekeeper surveyed the Cummings' workers, noting the bewildered expressions on the faces of the men as they helped JD and Fraser tend to the leg-weary horses. "They look like whipped men, Nathan," Buck muttered.
The healer had climbed into the wagon and was feeling Josiah's skull and neck for bumps or lacerations, but Nathan glanced up as his friend spoke, his dark eyes sweeping around the front yard. "Waal, they're jes' gonna have t'pull themselves together. We've got a helluva lotta doctorin' to do, an' Andrew an' me has only got the one pair of hands each!"
"Yeah. Everyone will have to pitch in and..." Buck frowned, staring at the former slave in total horror as he suddenly realised who was missing from the ensemble. "Nate, where the hell are Chris and Vin? Didn't you meet up with 'em?"
The healer had been dreading this question but, on seeing the state of the returning Cummings' men, he'd almost forgotten his own shocking news. Taking a deep breath, he ran his hands over his short cropped hair in a nervous gesture. "Buck, I never passed 'em on the trail comin' in — hell, I didn't see anyone! An' when I got back here, Andrew said he thought he heard 'em ride out shortly after we left ourselves. Unfortunately, he had to see to Miz Abigail, 'cos she was goin' frantic wit' worry 'bout Fiona an'... God! A woman who's jes' a few months away from giving birth shouldn't have t'cope wit' all this." Nathan paused as he peered at the motionless form of Robert Cummings in the other wagon.
Shaking his head sorrowfully, the healer continued telling his friend all he knew about the whereabouts of their colleagues. "Thing is, Chris' horse is gone, but Vin's black is still in the stall — unsaddled. I had a real good look 'round the stables, ranch an' the immediate area, but I found nuthin', 'ceptin' the boy's mare's leg tossed in a pile of hay. Now ya know as much as I do, Buck."
"Shit! What's happening around here? We saw no sign of 'em at Coyote Pass, 'cos they'd've heard the explosion the same as we did if they were on the trail. An' y'say that Vin ain't on that bad-tempered mule he calls a horse? They wouldn't've doubled up. Hell, Nate, I know how Chris thinks. If he really were that worried 'bout the boy ridin', he'd've done the same to Vin that you did t'Ezra. Jeez! Ezra!" The ladies' man smacked the heel of his hand on his forehead in utter dismay. "Dammit! With all this other crap going on, I'd not even thought of him! Is he alright, Nathan?"
"Physically, he'll be fine. Andrew got the bullet out cleanly, and there warn't any break to the collarbone — thank the Lord! The shoulder muscles are badly shredded though — damned rifle shot tears up flesh summat fierce! Barring any complications, Ezra should recover full use of his arm. He was still sleeping when I came down, which is prob'ly the kindest thing fer him, what with Fiona..." Nathan's quiet voice trailed off as he realised the men around him probably had no idea of the tragedy that had taken place earlier. And it certainly wasn't his place to make any announcement about the woman's death.
"Here's Andrew now," Nathan continued, "an' Buck, he'll want t'hear how Robert an' the others that're hurt real bad got their injuries."
Andrew MacIntyre hurriedly clambered into the other wagon and he, like Nathan, began assessing the condition of the unconscious men, although both physicians listened carefully as the ladies' man started to give a more detailed account of what had occurred. Within a few minutes, the two medical practitioners were relaying instructions to the physically able men, coordinating the transfer of those with relatively minor wounds into the bunkhouse, whilst the remainder were initially taken into the large sitting room of the main house.
Buck and Nathan gently carried their unconscious colleague into the crowded but eerily silent room, nodding in thanks to Colin Fielding as the youngster spread out two blankets for use as a makeshift bed. With such a high number of injured men to take care of, space would at a premium in the house, and it was likely that every room would soon be occupied with wounded workers.
"Lord, I ain't seen this many injured men in one place since the war!" Nathan muttered as he knelt down beside Josiah and began checking his friend more thoroughly.
Pulling his stethoscope from his medical bag, the healer briefly listened to the unconscious man's heart rate, relieved to hear an even, steady beat. Lifting up each slack eyelid, Nathan grunted in satisfaction. "I cain't feel any broken bones or sign of internal injury, but he's pretty battered an' bruised. He could have a concussion though, so I'll need t'keep a close eye on him. Fer now, all we can do is keep 'im warm an' quiet — an' get 'im outta these wet clothes. Buck, can ya see to that while I check on the others? An' ya an' the kid should get yer damp things off, 'n' all."
The ladies' man nodded absently, looking up momentarily as Bruce Soames and John Cummings came into the room carrying blankets, pillows and towels; both men were white-faced and shocked-looking and the peacekeeper guessed that they'd just been told of Fiona's violent death. Three more ranch hands suddenly appeared carrying jugs of hot water and basins and, taking control of the situation, the steward began readying equipment for dealing with the various injuries. The medical care of those in this room would fall mainly to Nathan and the experienced Soames, as Andrew MacIntyre was occupied upstairs with Robert Cummings and Davey Mason, the two with the most serious injuries.
"Nathan, I'm gonna get the kid and make a start looking for Chris and Vin."
There was gritty determination in Buck's statement but, although Nathan understood exactly how his friend felt, the healer leapt to his feet and put a firmly restraining hand on the ladies' man's shoulder. "No Buck! It's 'most pitch black now an' we'd have no chance of picking up tracks in the dark! 'Sides, we need every man here to help these folks git through this mess."
"I'll use torches if need be, Nate! I ain't gonna abandon Chris an' Vin when they could be lying out there badly hurt."
"Don't ya reckon I ain't thought that too? It's all I bin ponderin' on this afternoon. All I'm sayin' is we need to wait 'til daylight, 'cos we don't stand a hope in hells chance o' findin' 'em tonight. Mebbe tomorrow Howard or Will can follow..." Nathan suddenly stopped, his head swivelling around the room as he sought out the security boss. "Buck, have ya seen Will today?"
"Nope — he wasn't at Coyote Pass. I thought he'd be here when we got back or would've met us out on the trail. Howard's still stabling the hosses, but he may be the only one who can tell us what the man was working on today."
"Yeah." Nathan rubbed his chin thoughtfully, but his eyes suddenly clouded as a horrible thought crept unbidden into his mind. "Good Lord! Buck... Ya don't reckon Will had summat t'do wit' Chris an' Vin's disappearance, do ya?"
The two peacekeepers stared at one another as they weighed up the very real possibility and the consequences of such an act.
"I'll kill that bastard and tear him apart piece by piece if he has had a hand in all this!" Buck swore heatedly as he punched his right fist into his other palm.
"Hang on, pard! I was jes' thinkin' out loud really. We can't condemn a man afore we know fer sure. Mebbe he's on his way back in right now... or mebbe he got bushwhacked like Ezra an' Fiona. Mebbe..."
"That's a whole pile of mebbe's. Dammit! Chris was certain Tanner was working for Kehoe. And I just hate coincidences but, with that" — Buck stabbed an accusatory finger at the still unconscious Danny Kehoe who was being expertly bandaged by Bruce Soames — "sonofabitch being involved in today's shit, it don't take a genius to work out who organised this assault!"
"Waal... yeah, I agree, it looks like Kehoe's responsible fer part o' this, but 'less we get proof to the contrary we have t'believe that Tanner's in the clear. We jes' can't make assumptions yet, Buck. After all — he could be an innocent victim too!"
"He doesn't strike me as an innocent anythin', Nate! The man's been clashing with Chris from the day he arrived, and I wouldn't put it past him to try and get even."
"With Chris — yeah, ya could be right. But what of Vin? Tanner ain't expended all that effort on helping the boy get back on his feet, only t'do summat that could put Vin in danger."
"Ya think then that Vin may have gone somewhere willingly with Tanner? And Chris followed 'em to make sure the boy wasn't being coerced?"
Nathan could hear the blatant incredulity in his friend's voice, and shook his head vigorously. "I don't believe that any more than ya do. But we ain't in any position t'make a reasonable guess 'bout what Tanner's future plans might've bin. I've a feeling that Josiah knows more than he's lettin' on, 'cos he's spent a fair 'mount of time talkin' an' listenin' t'both Vin an' Will these past weeks."
Nathan gave a heavy sigh, staring down at the unconscious man. "Lord, if only he'd wake up! I... I jes' feel so damned useless when I'm dealin' wit' head wounds. An' from a purely selfish point of view, I ain't sure that I've got Josiah's patience fer helpin' someone cope wit' the loss of a loved one. Buck, how the hell am I gonna deal wit' Ezra's grief when he eventually comes round?" the healer asked fearfully.
Buck placed a reassuring hand on Nathan's back, feeling the tension in the other man. The moustached peacekeeper knew that his compassionate friend would shoulder the majority of the responsibility for the injured, and the man also had a tendency to blame himself for any fatal losses. The healer keenly felt his lack of formal medical training at times like this, although with the ex-preacher usually around to bolster his confidence and offer practical support, Nathan generally managed to prevail. Buck and his friends had on many occasions been grateful for the former slave's skilful perseverance and healing capabilities, and it disturbed the ladies' man to hear his companion so despondent and uncertain.
"You ain't on your own, Nate. We'll get through this together — we have to! Ezra... waal, I ain't sure what we can do for him aside from catching the stinking bastards who murdered his gal. But Josiah's as tough as they come. He'll be sitting up, bellowing for whiskey instead of that skunk's piss you call medicine, an' trying to escape your clutches afore you know it!"
Despite the strained atmosphere, Nathan chuckled. "Yeah, yer prob'ly spot on there! M'sorry fer soundin' off like that, Buck. We gotta keep our wits 'bout us — now more than ever! 'Though knowin' it an' sayin' th' same don't stop me worryin' none! Help me get these men patched up an' comfortable, and then tomorrow you an' JD can begin searching fer Chris an' Vin. Right now, there ain't any of us in a fit state — physically or mentally — to start a hard, dangerous ride in the dark. More so if there's a rifle totin' bastard waitin' out there t'pick off his next victim."
"As much as I hate the idea of doin' nothing tonight, I know you're right. I just hope we find some tracks to follow. Otherwise, where the hell do we begin?" Buck asked worriedly, as he knelt down next to Josiah Sanchez and started to peel off the older man's soggy clothing.
"Dunno. We can only pray that God's wit' us, an' that He'll give us a helpful break at first light," Nathan replied optimistically.
"Dammit! I ain't got the same faith in Divine Intervention that you an' the preacher man have, Nate. I prefer to rely on m'own abilities to get me through a predicament."
"A prayer to the Lord never hurt anybody, Buck. An' I've got a horrible feeling that we're gonna need every scrap of help to bring us through this."
The two peacekeepers fell silent as they continued tending to the wounded men. There would be little sleep for the ranch occupants this night, as the dozen or so men that had escaped injury that day would be stretched to the limit either defending the house or caring for their fallen comrades. With Robert Cummings unconscious and badly injured, John had astonished everyone by the way he had pushed his grief and worry aside and taken matters in hand concerning the security of the ranch. He had already deployed four men to the perimeter fences as lookouts, in case of another overnight assault, and every available rifle was loaded and standing ready by each window of the main building. Rest would be a commodity in very short supply during the coming days.
Chris Larabee carefully stretched out on his back, wincing at the strain on his bruised ribs, but determined to reach the wooden bucket that had been left in the corner of the dark room. The gagging moans that came from the semi-conscious man lying on the floor beside him, confirmed what the gunslinger had already guessed — he and Vin Tanner had been attacked, drugged and then abducted. His own return to consciousness a short while ago had been difficult, although the queasiness in his thankfully empty stomach had subsided after a few sips of water. However, Chris knew that his friend's recent illness coupled with his usual intolerance to drugs would make things rough on the awakening tracker. Sitting up once again, the peacekeeper fumbled for the canteen of water that had been left for them, wedging it between his knees as he sat patiently waiting for Vin to fully come round.
"Urgh! Aw... hell! No!"
Vin's panicked gasp followed by the sound of painful heaving galvanised the gunslinger into action and he hastily pulled the younger man towards him, sitting him up whilst bracing the trembling body against his chest. Chris was just in time with the bucket, holding it under the tracker's chin as the man suddenly threw up.
"Easy, Vin. I've got ya!"
"Chr...ris?" Vin's raspy voice wavered slightly and he leaned his head on the gunslinger's supportive shoulder, as he tried to get his bearings in the dimly lit room. "Feel like... crap, cowboy," he mumbled woozily.
Chris lowered the pail, leaving it balanced on Vin's lap in case the queasy man needed it again. "That's 'cos you've been drugged with chloroform or ether, Vin," he supplied softly. "Just rest a minute, while I look for a way outta here."
"Drugged? Huh...? Chris, where's 'here'? What happ...?" Vin's body tensed and the tousled head bobbed a few times as he straightened himself up.
The older peacekeeper heard the jangle of metal as his friend made his own discovery about the handcuffs around his wrists.
"What the...? Fucking hell!" the tracker swore, as he tried to piece together what had occurred.
"Yep — I've got me a matching set of bracelets too. We're cuffed together at our left ankles as well, pard. 'Less you can fly, we ain't gonna be walking or riding far tonight!"
"Bounty hunter?" There was a note of resignation in the tracker's tired-sounding voice.
"Don't think so. Why go to all this trouble, when a bullet's easier?"
"Hmm. Who've ya pissed off lately, Chris?"
"No one... well, that's not including Buck of course!"
"Dammit! How many men are we talkin' 'bout?"
"Seen at least three, but I didn't recognise any of 'em. And no one's been in here — not since I woke up anyhow." Chris smiled wryly as he felt the man next to him shiver. "Yup! They caught me the same way they got you. We're in... looks like a store room of an old cabin somewhere. I dunno how long we were out, but there's a lamp on in the other room, so it must be evening. Here, rinse an' spit, and then drink some water," Chris coaxed as he lifted the canteen to his dazed friend's mouth.
Vin meekly obeyed the instructions and, as he took the full bottle from the gunslinger, he wondered why they'd been captured in such an unorthodox manner. And perhaps more importantly, who was behind their abduction? Grimacing as the cold liquid hit his unsettled stomach, the tracker made himself take another good swallow of the water, knowing that his and Chris' jailors could take away the canteen at any moment.
The gunslinger peered through the gloom at his friend's face, trying to see if the tracker was injured in any way. They were both caught in a potentially dangerous situation, but he was more worried about Vin than he cared to admit. The younger man was nowhere near to being fully fit and, if they were forced on a long ride by whoever had taken them hostage, then Chris wasn't sure if the tracker would be able to stand the pace.
Vin lowered the canteen, sensing rather than seeing the concern in the other man's critical gaze. "M'fine, Chris. It's jes' m'stomach that's makin' like a frog!"
"I'll keep this close then," Chris said dryly as he took the bucket away from the Texan. Twisting around a little to place the now sour smelling vessel at arms distance, the gunslinger hissed out a shaky breath as a fiery spasm drove through his tender ribs.
"Yer hurt! Godammit, Chris! Why didn't ya say?"
"Forgot 'bout it. Bastard had a mean boot."
"He's a dead man when I get m'hands on 'im," Vin growled. His quiet voice was lethal as he swore retribution against those who had harmed his friend.
"Bin there, said that already."
"Got any idea where we might be?" the tracker asked hopefully.
"Nope. Last thing I recall is trying to find you in Robert's stable, and then getting jumped. They got us away without much fuss so whoever 'they' are, I reckon we're more use t'them alive."
"Shit!"
"You need the bucket?"
"No! Someone must've bin plannin' this fer a while, 'cos Andrew lost a bottle of ether a few days back. D'ya think one of these bastards broke into the ranch an' stole it t'use on us?"
"That's a distinct possibility. They've probably been holed up close to Cummings place, keeping watch as well."
Chris and Vin fell silent as they surveyed their dark and dirty prison. Their gun belts and knives had been taken off of them, and apart from the wooden pail, water canteen and a blanket that the duo were sitting on, there didn't appear to be anything that could be used to overpower their kidnappers.
The room — which had once been a storage and food cupboard — measured about eight by six feet and was completely devoid of furniture or any other fittings. There was no window, so a clandestine escape would be impossible — even if they could work out a way of travelling whilst manacled to each other. An internal door led to what they assumed to be the main room of the building and the occasional snatch of conversation, rattle of crockery and creak on a floorboard told the peacekeepers that several men were in the front part of the cabin.
"How're we gonna break out?"
Chris was nearest to the door and, mindful of the two foot length of chain binding him to the tracker, he managed to crawl to the opening, peering through the small crack to look at his and Vin's attackers. Three shadowy figures sat at a table playing poker, and the gunslinger jerked back as one of the men tossed down his cards and climbed to his feet before disappearing from Chris' field of vision.
"I don't know that we are, pard," Chris replied to the question, as he quickly shuffled back to sit beside the Texan.
Light flooded into their prison as the heavy door was pushed open, and a man appeared, holding a plate of food in his left hand and a revolver in his right.
"I thought I heard ya talkin'. Chows up," he informed the two peacekeepers, in a casual almost friendly voice. Crouching down, but keeping his eyes and the weapon firmly fixed on the prisoners, the man slid the laden platter across the dusty floor.
Chris ignored the food that came to a halt by his leg. Glaring coldly at the outlaw, he decided to get straight to the crux of the matter. "Let us go now, and we'll forget about this big mistake that you've made."
Ian Martin sniggered nervously, shaking his head in false bravado at the man's icy command. Despite the handcuffs and the iron shackle on his leg, there was an air of authority surrounding the black dressed peacekeeper that was hard to resist. The younger man could sense the strength of will and also feel the latent power in the gunslinger, and the image of a black panther being held by its tail suddenly sprang into Martin's mind. Catching such a wild and ruthless animal was tricky enough, but what happened if you released your hold on the infuriated beast? The man gave an involuntary shiver and hoped he never found out what the renowned killer was capable of if he did manage to get free. Martin and his long-time partner were involved in a highly risky undertaking, their biggest and most financially rewarding chore so far, but the outlaw felt relieved that Chris Larabee and his equally dangerous companion were securely fettered in iron chains.
A second man carrying a rifle suddenly pushed past Martin, and taking the few strides over to the where the two peacekeepers were now standing side by side, he whipped up the Winchester and smashed the heavy butt into Chris' stomach. "Sit down 'n' shut up, fuckface!" Jeb Randall snarled viciously.
Chris was catapulted backwards, his bound hands clawing out as he desperately tried to break his fall. The force of the sudden blow caused a new wave of agony to ripple through his aching ribs and, as his back collided with the wall, the gunslinger couldn't bite back the hissing groan. Sliding down the roughly hewn logs of the cabin's wall, he doubled over as he began coughing and retching up the small amount of water that he'd drunk earlier.
"Y'bastard!" Vin's furious yell rang out and, without any thought for his own safety, he launched himself at his friend's attacker.
Randall nimbly sidestepped the reckless charge, and as the Texan careered past him, the outlaw put his rifle to use again, clubbing Vin several times in the neck and between the shoulder blades.
The tracker sprawled headlong to the floor, letting out a breathless grunt as all the air was driven out of his lungs. His left leg was stretched taut by the restraining chain around his ankle, and for a moment Vin thought that the tortured limb would be torn from his hip socket. The peacekeeper then gasped as a boot heel was ground into the small of his back and, as the man transferred the majority of his weight onto the tracker's supine body, Vin screamed from the excruciating pressure that was being exerted on his immobilised leg and the healing operation scar.
"What th' hell's goin' on?"
Samuel Joseph stormed into the crowded room after hearing the tracker's pain-filled cry and, seeing Jeb Randall balancing virtually one-legged on the back of the Texan peacekeeper, he barked out a curt order. "Get offa him! I told ya not t'talk to 'em! An' that included touchin' 'em too!"
Randall quickly did as he was told. He'd already experienced the brunt of Joseph's savage temper after failing to obey the older man's instructions and had no desire to endure a second tongue lashing — or perhaps another kind of lashing, courtesy of the bullwhip! Glancing around as the other two outlaws backed out of the room, Randall couldn't resist giving his helpless victim a departing gift. Drawing back his right leg, he kicked with all his strength, launching his pointed toed boot into the tracker's thigh. "That's jes' a little summat t'r'member me by! Next time I won't be as forgivin'!" Randall sneered, as he also left the room.
Vin curled into a protective ball, his handcuffed hands clutching at the top of his throbbing leg as he fought to catch his breath.
"Vin? Vin! Are you alright?"
Concerned by his friend's lack of response, Chris struggled into a sitting position, coughing a couple of times, before spitting out the last remnants of bile and mucus. The door had been left ajar, but there was enough light coming through to enable the gunslinger to see his companion and, as his questing hands touched the other man's back, Chris felt Vin shudder.
"Bin better! L.. Lord! Figure... ya got 'em ... right where they want us, cowboy!"
Carefully pulling the Texan up to sit beside him, Chris couldn't help but chuckle at Vin's quietly ironic comment. Trust his friend to find room for humour — albeit sarcastic humour!
"Yeah," the gunslinger agreed ruefully. "'Though we did find out something."
"We did?"
"The two young 'uns are scared of the boss man."
"An' he's from Texas — or I'm no son of the Lone Star State."
"But he definitely wants us in one piece, so that could work in our favour. Perhaps they'll slip-up, an' then we can get the hell outta here."
Chris' quiet remark sounded optimistic, but both men knew any escape attempt would be difficult whilst they were so securely shackled. Although, if they were going to be transported somewhere on horseback, then the chain joining them would need to be taken off and that could then give them the opportunity to break free.
Vin nodded, sighing in frustration as he tried to massage the painful kinks from his neck and shoulders. The closely fastened handcuffs cut into the tracker's wrists, pinching and biting the thin, inner flesh, so he soon gave up on his attempts to relieve the soreness of his upper back. Reaching sideways, Vin retrieved the scattered contents of the forgotten plate of food and, after offering Chris a chunk of dry bread with jerky on it, he then started to gnaw on his own piece. If they were to escape, they would need to keep up their strength and, seeing that their jailors had deigned to feed them, it made sense to eat as much as possible.
Chris rubbed at his sore ribcage and stomach, nodding in thanks as Vin passed him the canteen. Taking a long swallow of water, the gunslinger watched the Texan out of the corner of his eye. The other man was silent as he ate, his blue eyes fixed intently on the outer room and its occupants, whilst he continually assessed their dire situation. Vin's handsome, chiselled profile was similar to drawings of warriors that Chris had seen in the books on Greek and Roman history that Josiah Sanchez liked to read, and the tracker's vigilant pose suddenly reminded the gunslinger of a sentinel from one of those ancient civilisations.
The older man smiled to himself, wondering what had sparked the comparison, as he'd never thought that he could be that sensitive to such a highly romanticised idea. Pushing aside the useless analogy, Chris winced in sympathy as the other man carefully flexed and stretched his bruised leg. Leaning his head against the wall and closing his eyes, the gunslinger's mind was buzzing with the small amount of information that he'd garnered from their jailors. The three men didn't act like lawmen or bounty hunters, and the peacekeeper had already rejected the idea that their capture was linked to Robert Cummings and the local ranchers.
However, the fact that the leader hailed from Texas sent a clear message to Chris; he was positive that the older man was something to do with Will Tanner. Was Vin's father involved in their abduction? And if so, what had motivated him to kidnap them both? The gunslinger could almost understand if the older Texan had gone to such forceful lengths to get his son away from Four Corners, but Chris couldn't find any logical reason to explain why he himself had been deliberately taken along with Vin. Or was someone else using them as bait to lure the Cummings' security boss into a trap?
'He ain't got anythin' t'do wit' this, cowboy!'
The gunslinger's head swivelled around to face his friend, although Chris knew that the tracker hadn't spoken aloud. The unusually strong connection between the two men was generally heightened during times of extreme danger, but even the gunslinger was occasionally caught unawares when he seemed to pick up his friend's thoughts.
"The fellas'll be lookin' fer us."
Vin's soft drawl interrupted the gunslinger's stunned contemplations and the older man ducked his head to hide his confusion. "Prob'ly," Chris eventually replied.
"Will's a better than fair tracker."
"I never thought any different."
"He's got my trust, Chris. Thought that'd be enough t'convince ya."
"Trust has to be earned."
"What 'bout a son's love? Does that have t'be earned 'n' all?"
"Sometimes."
"This ain't his doing," Vin stated confidently. "Figure we're the cheese," he drawled.
"Mebbe. Whatever's going on, I want to try and get away come morning."
"That I've gotta agree wit'!"
Chris shoved the untouched jerky into his jacket pocket, and then pushed the last morsel of hard bread into his mouth. "We'd best try an' sleep, pard. Tomorrow won't be easy so we need t'be rested," the gunslinger commented, as he nudged the younger man.
"Yeah. I hope the fellas found Ezra an' Fiona."
Chris sighed heavily, pursing his lips, before nodding slowly. There wasn't much that Vin Tanner missed, and the gunslinger knew that he was being foolish if he thought he could conceal his increasing worry from his astute friend. The fate of the gambler and the Scotswoman had been preying on Chris' mind from the moment he'd woken up, and he fervently hoped that the betrothed couple hadn't unwittingly ridden into a perilous situation involving the three men in the outer room.
"Ya think they might'a bin attacked by those sons of bitches?" Vin asked, jutting his chin to the door.
"Dunno." The older man shrugged, desperately trying to fight off the feeling of impending doom that the tracker's concerned question had re-ignited.
"Lord, I wish we knew what the hell was goin' on!"
"We'll get free, Vin. Shit, we've wriggled out of worse."
"Yeah. I jes' cain't seem to r'member when that was."
The tracker shifted away from the wall, and hugging his buckskin jacket closer into his body he rolled onto his side, curling up as he prepared to sleep. There wasn't much else to do. It was obvious that they were staying at the cabin for the night and the outlaws clearly had no intention of imparting any information to them just yet. Their options were limited for now; the two peacekeepers would just have to bide their time and wait for the right opportunity to escape.
The sound of light footfalls on the carpet roused Ezra Standish from restless slumber but, just as he'd done the last time someone had entered the room, the wounded peacekeeper kept perfectly still in the bed and feigned sleep. Cracking open one eye fractionally, the gambler silently watched as Nathan Jackson crouched down to examine a blanket wrapped form sleeping on a makeshift bed in front of the hearth. There was a small sliver of light coming through a gap in the heavy curtains and, although a lamp was still alight on the dresser, the gambler guessed that dawn was just breaking. Not that Ezra cared. It was a new day heralding the start of a dark and lonely existence for him, for his light had been extinguished in the volley of rifle fire the previous morning.
Ezra had first woken from the morphine-induced sleep during the evening following the fatal attack and, hearing hushed voices outside the partially open bedroom door, the man had stayed quiet while he listened to a conversation between Andrew MacIntyre and Bruce Soames. He'd heard the men talking about the two missing peacekeepers and the destructive explosion at Coyote Pass in which four Cummings ranch hands had lost their lives. The gambler had also learned of the horrific wounds sustained by Robert Cummings and Davey Mason.
The older ghillie's leg was broken in two places, although the physician was hopeful that the man would eventually be able to walk again, albeit with a limp. The rancher hadn't been so lucky. Cummings had suffered a serious back injury and as a result was paralysed — and MacIntyre had admitted to the steward that he didn't know if the damage was permanent. However, Robert Cummings was conscious and had been updated on the condition of the rest of his men, and had also been informed about the state of his prize breeding stock. With the exception of several cows, all of the Galloway cattle had either drowned, or had been swept downriver in the evil act of violence. John Cummings had also told his older brother about Fiona.
Fiona. Even thinking his beloved's name caused Ezra's heart to squeeze in sorrow and anguish, and a single tear tracked down his cheek as he thought of all that he'd lost. The pulsating agony in his shoulder was nothing in comparison to the pain that tore relentlessly at his heart, soul and mind. He wished that he'd died too, as he had no desire to carry on. There was nothing left for him now. Ezra was totally numb, lassitude creeping through him as he cut himself off from the world. He didn't even feel the need to get revenge for Fiona's murder. Grief and despondency overwhelmed him in a never ending deluge, and he blocked everything and everyone out, as he willingly slipped into the sucking whirlpool leading to self-pity and despair. Turning his head to the side and wiping away the salty wetness, the man tried to bury his face in the pillow as he caught a movement from the healer.
Nathan had finished checking the bandages on the Cummings ranch hand and, straightening up once again, he turned to gaze at his friend, convinced that he'd seen the younger man stir slightly.
"Ezra?"
The healer's concerned inquiry was little more than a whisper and as Nathan crossed the room, he saw the man's right hand clench into a fist. With a weary sigh, the healer perched on the side of the bed and studied his patient for several minutes. Ezra had said nothing since his angry and near hysterical scream at Buck Wilmington the day before, although the dark-skinned peacekeeper knew that the other had been awake at various times during the evening and night. The disconsolate man had accepted the water and herbal tea that had been forced into him, but the gambler's eyes had remained stubbornly closed, and there had been no reaction of any kind as either Nathan or MacIntyre periodically checked his injury.
"I'm jes' gonna have a quick listen, Ezra," Nathan informed his friend, although he didn't really expect an answer. Hooking his stethoscope into his ears for what felt like the millionth time in the past twelve hours or so, the healer then held the metal plate to the other's chest.
Ezra's face was turned away from the former slave, but as Nathan continued with his examination he began to talk quietly to the unresponsive man. The healer didn't honestly believe that he would be able to break through the impenetrable barricade that the grief-wracked gambler had erected, but he flatly refused to give up on the man.
"Now then, yer arm's gonna heal jes' fine, y'hear? Andrew did a helluva job gittin' that bullet outta yer collarbone. I ain't ever seen such delicate surgery performed before, an' the doc's bin an inspiration to us all since..." Nathan's hushed voice trailed off momentarily, and he checked the injured man's bandaged shoulder to cover his own sorrow.
"Ezra, we had a good scout 'round where ya an'... where ya got ambushed, but we didn't discover much that 'ud help to find the killers. Did ya see anything at all afore ya got shot? Was there anybody else in the vicinity? Or did ya pass any strangers on the trail?"
The healer's gently insistent inquiries hit a solid wall of apathy. It was as if Nathan hadn't spoken. Ezra's face remained blankly impassive and the dark-skinned peacekeeper wasn't even sure if his questions had registered with the other man.
Shaking his head sadly, Nathan decided to try a different tack to get his friend to open up.
"Josiah woke up briefly a coupla hours ago," the healer said brightly, "an' it looks like he's outta the woods, 'though he needs t'rest fer a few days. I allus fret when I gotta deal wit' head injuries, but Buck was right on the nail with his prognosis — that orn'ry preacher sat up, an' straightaway demanded a whiskey! An' he was mighty particular 'bout the liquor he wanted 'n' all! Damned stubborn mule asked fer a shot of Robert's fancy malt! Reckon ya can guess what m'reply to that was. An' Ezra, ya should'a heard what the hard-headed jackass called me afore he passed out ag'in! It's a good thing I don't pay no never mind to the cussin' that ya bunch o' fools throw my way!"
Silence.
"It ain't all good news though," the healer continued. "We still don't know what happened to Chris an' Vin. Buck's got his suspicions, of course, an' wit' Will Tanner still missing, it's only adding fuel to the Wilmington fire that's steadily building! Our resident skirt chaser has nigh on chewed his moustache off wit' anger an' worry! Him an' the kid are gonna ride out in a few hours t'see if they can get a lead. They won't stop looking fer 'em," Nathan said emphatically.
Silence.
Nathan puffed out his breath in frustration. After the tragic events of the previous day, the healer was drained — physically, mentally and emotionally — but he was determined to try and get the other man talking. Placing a gentle hand on Ezra's forehead, the peacekeeper was pleased that his friend showed no sign of a fever. If the man didn't succumb to an infection and his physical condition kept improving, then he would certainly be fit enough to attend Fiona's funeral. And whilst that sad ceremony would undoubtedly be a personal trial for the grieving man, it could also be the first step towards mending Ezra's broken heart. Nathan fervently hoped that was the case. Something had to happen to shake the gambler out of his listless state.
"Ezra..." Nathan hesitated, his dark eyes scanning the gambler's face for any spark of interest. It wouldn't be easy, but he had to tell his friend about the woman's forthcoming burial. "Ezra, I know yer awake an' listenin', which is good 'cos ya need to hear this. Robert has asked Bruce to make the arrangements fer... Fiona's... waal... ya have t'pay yer last respects." The healer's tone was quietly solicitous and, picking up the other's slack right hand, he began to massage the fingers therapeutically.
"I know this is gonna be hard fer ya to bear, but ya must do this last thing fer yer woman. She deserves yer honour," Nathan murmured persistently, "and ya must have the opportunity to say... say yer goodbyes. It's important that ya do this or ya won't ever forgive yerself. Ezra, did ya hear me?"
The gambler swallowed hard, his chest constricting as the familiar sensation of tears welled up once again. Sucking in a deep, shuddering breath, Ezra slowly opened his eyes although he didn't turn to face the man sitting at his side. He knew that if he looked at the healer's concerned visage, then he wouldn't be able to keep his emotions under control.
"I... heard," the gambler eventually replied.
It wasn't much of a victory, but Nathan felt relieved that Ezra had at last spoken — even if it was only two words. Reaching over for the water flagon on the bedside table, the former slave gently supported his friend's head and placed the drinking spout to the man's lips. "C'mon now, have some water," he coaxed. "Ya bled out quite badly, so ya need to drink plenty o' fluids. That's good." Nathan nodded in approval as Ezra emptied the vessel.
"Seein' as how yer awake, I'll go an' get ya some broth," the healer declared as he rose from the bed.
"Nathan... When...? Who is going to...?"
The gambler's halting queries broke off, but Nathan understood what his colleague was asking and he smiled sympathetically to cushion the pain of his answer. "Funeral's gonna be the day after t'morrow. Bruce is reading part of the lesson, wit' Josiah presiding over the..." The healer stopped, clearing his throat and glancing down at his boots as he thought of the cruel twist of fate.
The ceremony that the ex-preacher should have been conducting for the woman would now never happen, and the intended wedding guests had suddenly, in one bitter blow, become mourners. With a heartfelt sigh, Nathan pushed away the memory of watching the happy couple ride out from the Cummings' ranch on the day that Ezra had proposed to Fiona.
There was one final question that the healer needed to ask his wounded friend, although he had no idea what the other's reaction would be. "Ezra, d'ya want me to send a wire to Maude, tellin' her...?"
"No!" Ezra's choking cry interrupted Nathan's enquiry.
"Alright, try an' keep calm now! Andrew an' me have got enough on our plates without having to re-stitch yer shoulder if ya start getting agitated. If that's how ya want t'play it, then I'll leave things as they are. Ezra..." The healer moved closer to the bed, his dark eyes brimming with compassion and pity as he gazed at the man. "Ez... ya know that we'll do all we can to help ya get over yer loss, don't ya? Anytime ya want t'talk — day or night — me an' Josiah will be only too glad t'listen. An' I'm sure the same goes fer the rest o' the fellas, 'cos despite what ya prob'ly think, ya ain't alone in all this. We share yer grief, but we can draw strength from each other."
Stony silence greeted Nathan's words. With a loud sigh, he gently patted the younger man's blanket covered leg. "I'll be back shortly with some food," the healer whispered. Glancing down once again at the still slumbering ranch hand, the dark-skinned peacekeeper quietly slipped from the room.
It was going to be an uphill struggle, but Nathan was hopeful that Ezra would begin to come to terms with his loss, once Fiona's funeral was over and the man was back in Four Corners. Being at the Cummings' ranch was probably not the best environment for the distraught gambler to reconcile his own feelings; the man needed to detach himself from the grief-stricken family and try to pick up the pieces of his shattered life. With that thought in mind, the healer decided to speak to Josiah regarding their return to town. He knew that Buck and JD would soon be riding out to search for their missing friends and the pair wouldn't come back until they had discovered what had become of Chris and Vin. Nathan just prayed that he and his colleagues were not being unrealistic and chasing an impossible dream; it was a vast country to look for two missing men.
It seemed like even the weather matched the darkly depressed mood in Robert Cummings' house. A constant drizzle of rain fell from oppressive skies and, although dawn had broken nearly half an hour ago, the black clouds added to the general murkiness of the new day. The front yard of the Scotsman's property was deserted, but there was much activity in the main house, and several men had already been sent out on errands, leaving the ranch in the early hours of the morning. Howard Fraser and one of the older ranch hands, a veteran of the Indian wars and experienced at reading sign, had been the first to leave, riding out to check the area around Coyote Pass. The pair had been told to look for any surviving horses or cattle, and they had also been given the unpleasant task of bringing back any remains or personal effects from the site of the explosion.
Another worker had been dispatched into Four Corners to send telegrams on the family's behalf, and Andrew MacIntyre had given the man some urgent messages to be sent to a number of prominent surgeons in Philadelphia and Boston. The doctor was only too aware of his professional limitations; the paralysis and spine injury to Robert Cummings would require the skills of a specialist. The ranch hand had also been told to order five coffins from the undertaker in town. John Cummings had decided that the four workers killed in the landslide at Coyote Pass would be buried in a communal ceremony the following morning, whilst the service for Fiona would take place the day after that. It was doubtful that the incapacitated rancher would be able to attend his sister's funeral and this caused a greater air of gloom and sadness amongst the demoralised workforce.
After a brief but heated discussion between John Cummings, the now composed Jim Fielding and Bruce Soames, it had been agreed that one of them should ride to Bryce Kehoe's property and confront the man about the attack. The rancher would also need to be told about the physical state of his son. The youngster had been installed in the Fieldings' cottage and was being cared for by Lizzie and her two sons — no-one wanted the teenager under the same roof as those who'd been injured by the boy's awful deeds. Although still unconscious, Danny Kehoe's condition had neither worsened nor improved, and after cauterising the stump of the dismembered limb, MacIntyre had finally managed to stop the bleeding. Nathan Jackson would continue to supervise the prisoner's medical treatment once they returned to Four Corners; a chore that Buck Wilmington had frankly declared to be a complete waste of the healer's time and energy. There was no question that the youth would hang for his crime of murder.
The ladies' man had spent an extremely unpleasant night, constantly wrestling with his conscience and wondering whether he'd done the right thing by waiting until morning to search for his missing friends. The only positive thing that had happened was at around midnight, when Josiah Sanchez regained consciousness. After informing the ex-preacher about the disappearance of Chris, Vin and Will Tanner, the older man had told his friends' everything that he knew about the security boss and the location of the family's homestead at Grendon. At last they had something to work on, and Buck immediately went into the rancher's study, poring over maps as he worked out the best route into Texas.
Despite finally getting some information that could help locate his friends, the restless ladies' man still couldn't relax or sleep. By the time Bruce Soames rode out to speak to Bryce Kehoe, the tense and sombre atmosphere in the house had got too much for Buck; he needed to make a start with the search. Rousing JD from slumber, the tall peacekeeper instructed the youngster to organise supplies for their journey, and had then gone to ready the pair's horses. As Buck finished saddling his and JD's mounts, he heard the distant clatter of hooves of a horse approaching the Cummings' ranch at speed. Drawing his revolver, the man darted out of his mare's stall, pausing at the stable's main entrance while he made a quick assessment of the unexpected arrival.
The rain was coming down harder now, but the ladies' man immediately recognised the Scottish steward's seventeen hand gelding cantering along the narrow track and, holstering his gun, Buck went to find out what had caused Soames sudden return.
"Sonofabitch!"
The astonishing sight that greeted the moustached man, made the peacekeeper's blood boil, and all hell suddenly broke loose. Buck's furious bellow filled the air and, surprised by the verbal onslaught directed his way, the big steward slid from his horse, the reins falling from slack fingers as the flying figure barged past him.
"I'll kill you! Where are they? Tell me, you fucking no good piece of shit!"
Without waiting for an answer, Buck unceremoniously hauled the object of his wrath from the gelding's back, his right fist accurately connecting with the other's unprotected face, as the man sprawled onto his back in the cold mud.
JD had been in the ranch house kitchen packing food into saddlebags, but heard the commotion and his friend's angry shout. Pulling out his guns, the Bostonian raced out to the front yard alert for any danger.
"Buck? Oh my God! Will! Buck, stop it!"
The dark-haired youngster skidded to a halt at the top of the porch steps, shock and horror written over his features as he witnessed the savage onslaught by his best friend. JD watched in open-mouthed disbelief as Buck Wilmington straddled the legs of the Cummings' security boss and threw punch after punch at the dazed Texan's head. Visibly pulling himself together, JD re-holstered his weapons and ran over to the two men, gesturing to the equally stunned Bruce Soames as he attempted to drag Buck away from the unresisting Will Tanner.
"Buck! Leave him alone! Buck! No! Please don't do this!" JD pleaded as he gripped his friend's shoulder. Glancing around, he saw Nathan Jackson come out of the house carrying a rifle. "Nate! Help me! Will's hurt!" the sheriff shouted to the healer by way of explanation.
Buck paid no attention to the men frantically yelling at him, as nothing was going to stop him from getting his hands on the person he believed responsible for the present crisis. Leaning forward, he grasped the Texan's vest pulling the man into a sitting position as he began violently shaking the other. "Tell... me... where... they... are... you... lying... bastard!"
At each snarled out word, Buck shook his victim back and forth. Tanner's unsupported head jerked forwards from the strength of the motion, causing the man to bite down on his lower lip several times until blood began to drip from the pierced skin.
"You have to let him go, Buck!" JD roared, glancing sideways as Soames also closed in on the irate peacekeeper.
A vice-like hand on each bicep finally made the enraged man release the Texan. With a disgusted scowl, Buck threw the man to the ground, holding his hands up in reluctant submission as JD and the Scot pulled him away from his victim. Realising that he was outnumbered, Buck backed away, breathing heavily as he glowered at the older man lying on his back in the mud. Nathan quickly moved in, crouching down to check the semi-conscious security boss.
"Are you alright, Buck?" JD asked apprehensively. He wasn't sure whether he should be frightened or worried by Buck's blatant aggression. It was so uncharacteristic of his usually even-tempered friend, and the sheriff was shaken to the core by the vicious display.
"I will be when I get my hands around that stinking bastard's throat!"
"And how d'you think that'll help us find Chris and Vin?" JD demanded heatedly.
"It won't. But it'll make me feel a whole lot better!"
"It ain't the answer, Buck! Will's hurt too. This changes things now, 'cos we're back to square one regarding Chris and Vin's whereabouts. He may not be directly involved, but maybe he knows who's behind some of this. We need to hear Will's story. Or we may never find out what happened to them!"
"Ye'd be smart t'heed this braw laddie, Buck! He's got a wise head on those young shoulders." Soames' features were lined with worry and fatigue but, as he came to stand beside JD, there was an open look of respect on his face. The younger man had shown great presence of mind by keeping his emotions in check.
With a loud sigh, the steward carried on telling the peacekeepers all that he knew. "I never made it to Kehoe's land. I found Will staggering along the track, about an hour's ride from here. The only thing he said that I could understand was that he'd been walking all night. He was verra confused — hurt — an' kept mumbling over an' over that he needed t'get back to Vin... had t'warn his boy. I tried to question him, ask what he meant, but he was exhausted, all mixed up and not making any sense. I bandaged his side, even though it had stopped bleeding by then, and I got him t'drink some water too. And then I rode back here as fast as I could," the steward explained to the three Americans. "He didna say aught 'bout how he got shot, nor where it happened. Oh...and I hav'na told him anything 'bout yesterday's woes," Soames added in a quiet voice.
"We can sort all that out later," Nathan said brusquely, looking up from where he was examining the Texan. "JD, can ya go an' speak t'Andrew? Tell him that Will's got a bullet hole in his side, an' prob'ly a concussion 'n' all. Keep this t'yerself though. I don't want t'alarm Josiah, or anyone else. Bruce, let's get him inside," the healer instructed.
"No! Lemme... up! B... Bruce...! Where's Vin...? Get off!" Tanner had roused a little and he struggled into a sitting position, angrily flicking away the healer's hand. "I need...I must... sp... speak to...Vin," the blond gasped, his eyes darting fearfully between the two men as they started to pull him upright.
"Let's get out o' the rain an' see to yer hurts first, man," Soames murmured, looping a strong arm around his swaying friend's waist.
"Br... Bruce, tell me Vin's... inside... safe... please, I gotta hear ya tell me he's... alright!" Tanner begged, as he allowed the Scot and Nathan to drape an arm over each of their shoulders.
Buck Wilmington looked away, guilt gnawing at him as he heard the shaky entreaty from the wounded man. This was no act. The emotional plea came from the heart and there was no disguising Tanner's fearful concern for his son's safety.
Nathan shifted his grip on the Texan as they slowly led the man up the porch steps. The healer didn't know what to say to the worried security boss but, as he glanced over at the perturbed-looking steward, the peacekeeper felt Tanner's body shudder.
"He's gone, ain't he? Aw, hell! I'll... kill that... bastard! Lemme go! I need a horse!"
Soames was taken by surprise as his colleague desperately tried to twist away from him, but he quickly recovered and snagged out a firm hand, holding tightly onto the teetering man's shoulder. "Will! Ye canna ride, man! I doubt that ye'd get two miles, the state yer in!"
The Texan shook his head, his red-rimmed eyes filled with sorrow as he stared at his friend. "No... choice, Bruce. It's all... my fault... Joseph took Vin. That... murdering... bastard won't be happy 'til he's spilt more... Tanner blood. I gotta break the cycle. Kill 'im, afore Vin pays fer my sins!"
Soames frowned in puzzlement. "Sins? What're ye talkin' 'bout? Who're ye gonna kill?"
Tanner leaned heavily on the side handrail, his strength nearly gone after his last struggle. "I... knew that... mother fucker wuz out there. Waitin' t'strike, like a... a poisonous viper! I should'a warned Vin," — the Texan closed his eyes briefly as he choked out the name — "told 'im the danger. But I thought m'boy 'ud... wash his hands o' me... I should've had more faith. I was... coward... scared. Couldn't... risk losing him too. Now Joseph wants to finish... Lord! He'll kill Vin once he's found out where... Shit!" The security boss' eyes rolled upwards, his head lolling slackly as he crumpled against the steward.
"Whoa! Buck, help us!" Nathan cried, as he and Soames tried to break the collapsing Texan's fall.
It was awkward on the wooden steps, but the three men were finally able to carry the unconscious Will Tanner into the house.
Andrew MacIntyre had heard the scuffle outside and was about to investigate as Buck flung open the front door.
"Take him into my office!" the physician snapped out as he saw the limp, bedraggled form between the three men.
"JD, there's plenty of hot water and towels in the kitchen. Could ye organise that for the doctors, please? I need to speak to his Lordsh... Lord John, before I go an' see Mr Kehoe," Soames instructed the youngest peacekeeper. The steward had spotted the apprehensive-looking sheriff hovering in the hallway, uncertainty clearly showing in his dark eyes, and the Scot knew he needed to provide some sort of distraction for the worried man.
"Is he...? Oh God, he ain't...? Did Buck...?" JD bit at his lower lip, fearing the worst.
"Och, no! Dinna be frettin' yerself, laddie. He jes' passed out from exhaustion."
Relief washed over the dark-haired peacekeeper as he headed for the kitchen. For one horrible moment, particularly on hearing more commotion outside, JD thought that Buck had actually finished what he'd started.
Quickly gathering the items he needed, JD then made his way back to MacIntyre's office, placing the jug of boiled water on the bedside table and handing the pile of clean linens to the grim-faced and silent healer. The room was a scene of quiet activity with MacIntyre examining the injured man as Nathan organised medical equipment and, not wanting to get in the way, the worried-looking youngster quietly left the room.
Wandering out to the front, JD made his way over to where Buck lounged nonchalantly against one of the porch uprights, his deep blue eyes hooded as he watched the rain lash down.
"Did Nate say anything?" Buck wanted to know.
"No. Are we still gonna head for Texas, Buck?"
"I dunno, kid. I just never expected this! I thought we had everything worked out, but now..."
"But now we might get the break we needed," JD finished in a firm tone.
"Maybe. He definitely knew about an outside threat to Vin though, but he kept that hidden from everyone — including his own son. What does that say about the type of man he is?"
"It ain't our place to judge him, Buck. He must've had his reasons."
"You're far too trusting, kid! Tanner's had summat rotten cooking from the minute he slithered into Vin's life; Chris knew, and I laughed it off. Dammit! Why didn't I believe him?"
"We were all fooled, Buck!"
"Now that ain't rightly true, JD. We know that Josiah had his doubts."
The two peacekeepers whirled around in surprise, at the sound of Nathan Jackson's quiet voice.
"Nathan! Is Will awake? Has he said anything? Have you told him what happened? Will he be able to...?"
"JD, slow down!" the healer appealed, shaking his head in mild annoyance as he sunk down onto a wooden bench.
"Sorry," JD mumbled in apology.
"He's still out of it and Andrew thinks it'll be several hours before he comes round. The bullet wound ain't that serious, but he's exhausted from blood loss and from the look of his head, shoulders and torso, we think Will either had a fall or summat fell on him. Whether that was before or after he got shot... waal, only he can tell us that." Nathan had kept his gaze pinned on the ladies' man's features as he spoke, and saw the effort it took for the other to hold his anger in check.
"That and plenty more too! This 'Joseph' is obviously connected to that lying bastard's past, but if he was responsible for taking Tanner down, why the hell has he then gone after Vin?" Buck asked furiously.
"We can't even begin to make a guess, Buck. Until he wakes up, we're just clutching at the wind!"
"I know, Nathan, you don't have to say it," the moustached peacekeeper sighed heavily. "Waiting is the only choice we're left with for now."
The healer blew out a long held breath. It was a frustrating situation. He didn't like it any more than his two friends, but Nathan was a little more pragmatic than Buck and JD and, with Josiah still incapacitated, he felt that he had to become the voice of reason for the group.
"I'm gonna check in on Josiah and Ezra. And then I'd best go an' see how the Kehoe boy is."
Buck rubbed his chin as he looked at the healer. There was a heavy note of resignation in the last part of Nathan's statement and the tall peacekeeper knew that his friend was fighting a losing battle with the sorely wounded teen.
"That bad, huh?" the ladies' man asked softly. The hostility that he'd directed at Danny Kehoe the previous day had disappeared once he'd been told that the youngster was in a coma, and that he would probably never wake up.
"We didn't really expect him to survive the night, but he's clung on. As much as I detest the man, I hope that Bryce Kehoe gets here before..." Nathan climbed to his feet as the words trailed off.
There wasn't much they could do for now and, as the healer went back into the ranch house, Buck slapped JD on the back. "Well, we ain't going anywhere just yet, kid. Nathan'll come and find us when Tanner recovers, but I can't stomach all this idle hanging around. These folk need as many hands as they can get at the moment, so let's go an' see if Jim needs any help with the remaining stock," he suggested to his friend.
JD nodded and, with a wistful glance at the distant mist covered hills, he followed the older man as he headed for the bunkhouse.
Josiah Sanchez placed his Bible on the table, rubbing at his eyes before his gaze wandered around Andrew MacIntyre's office. Following a night's uninterrupted sleep and continued rest that morning, the ex-preacher had managed to shake off the main effects of his injury, although his head still ached and any body movement he made was slow and not without effort. But the big peacekeeper knew that he'd escaped lightly and was lucky not to have been seriously hurt or killed in the tragedy at Coyote Pass. Perhaps God had spared him for a special purpose. And after hearing the final catalogue of injuries and the fatalities sustained by the Cummings' family and their workers, Josiah was convinced that a higher presence had decreed that he was still needed amongst the living.
A low groan broke through the ex-preacher's musings and he looked over at the man lying in the bed in the corner of the room. Crossing to the small bedside table, the peacekeeper poured water into a cup, although his main attention was on the slowly awakening Will Tanner. The Texan had already stirred several times, groaning a little as he shifted in the bed, but his eyelids had now started to flicker and Josiah knew that the other would soon be conscious.
"D...damn!" Tanner's features twisted in pain, after he tried to push himself into an upright position.
"Yep, I imagine that must've hurt!" Josiah remarked unsympathetically as he adjusted the pillows and helped the other man sit up. "Have some water," the peacekeeper ordered as he put the cup to Tanner's lips.
The security boss could see the hard, uncompromising set to the other's face, but he said nothing and gratefully gulped down most of the liquid. "Thanks," he muttered as he turned his head away from the ex-preacher.
"We need explanations and some answers from you, Tanner. I'll go and get the others; it'll be easier then going through everything twice," Josiah stated as he made his way to the office door.
"There's bin some bad trouble, ain't there?"
Josiah halted, his hand resting on the brass doorknob as he considered Tanner's question. "The worst kind," he replied grimly. "Dynamite was used down at Coyote Pass. Four hands are dead, Robert has a spine injury — he's paralysed — quite a few others were badly hurt in the blast, you know about Vin, but Chris also went missing from here and..." Josiah paused when he saw the increasing look of horror in the other's eyes.
"Shit! There's more?" Tanner couldn't quite believe his ears.
"Ezra and Fiona were ambushed yesterday morning. We think someone mistook the girl for Chris, but quickly realised he'd shot the wrong person. So we reckon he came back here to..."
"Oh, Lord!" the security boss interrupted. "Don't tell me... is that lovely li'l gal...?"
Josiah nodded briefly. "Funeral's tomorrow. Ezra's badly wounded, but at least he's still alive. I suggest you start thinking about what you have to tell us, Tanner. 'Cos, as God is my witness, if you don't tell us the truth — all of it — then I can't guarantee any of my future actions. And if our friends don't make it home, there are four more men queuing up close behind me, who would just love to take you apart inch by inch," the peacekeeper vowed in a cold tone.
Will Tanner rubbed a hand over his forehead as Josiah left the room. He guessed that it was only due to his friends and colleagues at the Cummings' ranch, that he wasn't currently being held in a jail cell back in town. Not that he blamed the peacekeepers for their hostile attitude, as they had every right to be angry. Pushing away the thought, the Texan leaned back against his pillows, wondering what he could either say or do that might make amends. There was probably nothing; he had failed his family one final time and Vin would end up paying the highest penalty. The men from Four Corners were baying for his blood and Tanner knew that he deserved everything that came his way.
The office door suddenly opened to admit the peacekeepers, and the security boss bowed his head as he saw the glacial malevolence on the faces of the four men as they filed into the room.
"Tell us what you know, Tanner," Buck growled in a dangerous voice. It was all he could do to stop himself from leaping onto the Texan, and smashing his fists into the man.
Tanner nodded slowly, his anguished eyes meeting Nathan's as the healer crossed to the bed and handed him a large mug of beef tea. "Thanks, Nathan," the security boss murmured as he took the nourishing broth. "Before I start, I jes' want t'say that I ain't had anythin' t'do wit' Robert's troubles. If yer lookin' fer someone t'blame fer that business, then Kehoe was top of my list o' suspects, 'though James an' Royal were a close joint second."
"We have our own ideas about all of that. And Bryce Kehoe's here at the moment talking to John, Jim and Bruce. All we need from you is information about our friends' disappearance."
"I'll tell ya everything I can, Josiah, but jes' so's ya know... when ya leave to find 'em, I'm coming with ya. This is my fight, my doin' — an' I've got a score to settle. An old score from years back."
"We don't care about your vendettas from the past!" the ex-preacher barked. "All we're interested in is finding Chris and Vin — alive."
Tanner flashed an angry glare at the man and made a concerted effort to hold his temper in check. "Ya may not believe me, but that's all I want 'n'all. But this is all to do with stuff that went down more than twenty years ago. Everything's connected."
"Well, we want to hear it. Every little detail, up to and including how you got shot yesterday," Josiah demanded harshly.
The room was quiet as Tanner sipped at the broth and began telling the peacekeepers about the robbery and his capture by the Texas Rangers, more than twenty years previously. He left nothing out as he detailed the remaining gang members' flight back to Grendon and their acrimonious break-up after hiding the main bulk of the gold in an abandoned tin mine close to the Tanner homestead. The security boss gave a heavy sigh as he explained his father's participation in discovering the hidden booty, and the old man's far-reaching, but ultimately tragic, actions in moving the gold to another location. He went on to say what he'd learned from his son when the younger man had been delirious, and also imparted his own theories on how much Vin may have witnessed of his grandfather's murder.
There was bitterness in the Texan's voice as he admitted that he suspected his former accomplice, Samuel Joseph, had orchestrated George Tanner's death after the old man had refused to say where he'd stashed the gold. That assumption carried extra weight when he told the peacekeepers that the man had interrogated him about the hidden hoard and was also responsible for shooting him the previous day. The security boss paused in his narration when he saw Josiah tap the ladies' man on the arm.
"I did some checking," Josiah informed his colleagues, giving a thin smile when he saw the surprised look on Tanner's features, "and I believe he's actually telling us the truth about most of this. With additional help from the Judge and Miz Travis, I was able to trace some of the Texan Army records and a local newspaper article from the time of the robbery, which confirms his story. I'm still waiting for a reply from the judge who presided over the case, but it fills in a few of the gaps from what I told you all last night. But tell me one thing, Tanner. If you were in prison, how did you find out what happened to the rest of the gang and the gold?"
"I met up with one of my old friends jes' after m'release an' he laid it all out fer me. At that time, he thought we were the only two left, 'cos as far as he knew, the rest o' the gang had died in the war while Joseph stayed put in Mexico. It was rumoured that the yella, double crossing bastard had been killed down there in some kinda local uprising — which was good riddance as far as we were concerned! Neither of us knew where the gold finished up and, with pa dead, there seemed little point in searching the hills 'round Grendon to try an' find it. Mos' o' those abandoned mines had caved-in or flooded over the years, so any attempt t'look fer it would'a bin mighty dangerous. An' it would've bin like looking fer a needle in a haystack! I jes' wanted to forget the past, start afresh an' try t'find m'boy. M'old partner Kincaid had got hisself a real nice family, an' he'd built up a prosperous an' legal business in..."
"Kincaid?"
Both Buck and Nathan immediately pounced on the name. All four peacekeepers exchanged looks of concern, although it was clear that none of them were prepared just yet to elaborate to the man in the bed.
"Yeah," Tanner replied uneasily, watching the unexpected and puzzling reaction of the other men as he placed the empty mug on the bedside table. "Jess Kincaid. We hung 'round together as kids — Joseph 'n' all. It wuz us three who planned the hit on the Army payroll wagon, an'... an' we roped... a couple o' others in on... the deal as...as... Why... why do I get the feelin' that ya'll know of Kincaid?" the Texan asked suspiciously.
Buck took a deep breath, glancing at his three friends meaningfully. "Vin was framed for the murder of a Jess Kincaid down in Tascosa. It's just too much of a coincidence not to believe that there're one and the same person," the ladies' man stated.
"Oh, Jesus! I swear — I didn't know the man was dead! It must've happened not long after I saw him," the security boss exclaimed in a shocked voice. "Aw, damn! Why didn't Vin tell me who's murder he'd bin set-up fer? Shit! This is worse than I thought it 'ud be. What the hell are we doin', sitting here gabbling on, while that murderin' bastard has his paws on m'boy!"
Tanner threw the blanket off, swinging his legs down to the floor as he scanned the room looking for his clothing. "I need m'pants, Nathan," the security boss demanded.
"We don't want you riding with us, Tanner. And if you think that you're gonna follow us... well, you can think again. The only place left for you is a locked cell."
At Buck's chilly comment, the Texan's eyes narrowed in anger and his right hand slipped down to his bare hip as he instinctively went for his gun. "Ya got nuthin' to justify holding me in jail, Wilmington. Aside from not bein' totally honest wit' m'own kinsman, I ain't broken the law. But Joseph has. There's no doubt he's headin' fer home, but I know that bastard's habits, his methods when he's on a job. And he's mine! He killed m'pa, he tried t'kill me and he'll not stop 'til he's finished Vin off. There's more, though — an' if ya want t'see both of yer friends again — then I suggest ya'll listen while I get dressed. 'Cos like it or not, ya need me to point ya in the right direction."
"So you knew all along where the gold was hidden?" Josiah wanted to know.
"D'ya reckon I'd be bustin' m'ass off workin' fer Robert, if I'd had an inkling where it ended up?" Tanner shot back. "Nope, I ain't got a clue where it's hid — but I think Vin knows. Problem is, th'boy don't realise it, 'cos it's buried somewhere deep in his memory. He lived wit' pa fer several years and the old man was allus wanderin' off into the hills, pokin' 'round the old abandoned mines and caves, so it follows..."
"Hellsfire!"
Nathan's astonished and heartfelt curse suddenly cut off the other's speech. He'd been listening to the conversation as he rummaged for the Texan's personal belongings in a storage chest but, as he heard this last part, his head shot up and he glared at the security boss.
"Ya could be right, Tanner. I'm not goin' into the full details, but last year Vin spoke to me 'bout the time he lived wit' his grandpa. He recalled heading into the hills fer days at a time, hunting and" — Nathan gave a crooked grin — "'looking fer a pot o' gold that the pixies left behind' is how Vin put it. Course, he was jes' a kid an' he thought it was summat the old man said to amuse him. Jeez! He'd no idea how close to the truth it was. An' that truth could seal Vin an' Chris' fates. Dear Lord, why the hell didn't ya tell him what ya suspected?" the healer spat out heatedly, glancing at Buck and JD as they muttered the same angry question.
"'Cos I thought he'd turn his back on me! Dammit, I was scared shitless! I thought he'd believe that the gold was the only reason I came lookin' fer him. But I was more frightened that he'd blame me fer what happened to pa. So I was gonna wait 'til he'd got to know me better — y'know, well enough fer him t'realise it warn't my fault that the only person who'd loved 'im after his ma died, had bin killed 'cos of my mistakes!"
"Brothers, these recriminations are not helping," Josiah said in a calming tone. "It's obvious that we need to catch up with Joseph as quickly as possible. Although, if he thinks that most of us are out of the frame — and that's making a guess by saying he'd a hand in yesterday's troubles — then we may still have time on our side. I think he'll head for Texas as fast as he can, and then try and get the information out of Vin once he's there. And I think we all know what means he'll use to get the boy to talk. That's probably the reason he took Chris as well, so the danger for both men is very real."
"More real than ya can imagine, Josiah."
"And just what the hell is that supposed to mean, Tanner?" Buck barked, moving towards the Texan in a threatening manner.
"Let him finish, Buck," the ex-preacher warned.
"I did tell ya that there was more, but ya ain't gonna like what ya hear. Joseph has a separate motive for wanting Larabee dead. His sister's only son was killed by yer friend and he wants revenge for his kinsman's death. The old Texian clans stick together, so if ya cut one, they all bleed. An' yeah, I agree — it's likely he'll use Larabee first to get t'Vin — but he allus intended to kill 'im anyways."
"What was this man's name? Why the hell didn't you warn Chris? And how do you know all this?"
The Texan had been pulling his pants on and, as Buck rattled out his angry questions, the security boss got to his feet to fasten his fly buttons. "'Cos I'd known Larabee's victim since he was knee-high to a grasshopper and I wanted justice to be served for his cold-blooded murder. Like Joseph, he lived wit' his ma near Grendon an' he knew m'pa — an' Vin too, when m'boy was little more than a babe. His name was Elijah, but folks allus called him Eli Joe," Tanner replied in a quiet voice.
"What! You're scum, Tanner! It's a small target, but I'm gonna rip your fucking heart...!"
"Buck!"
The other three peacekeepers made a grab for their enraged colleague, just managing to catch hold of the ladies' man before his fists found their mark.
"Don't blame me fer Larabee's murderin' ways!" Tanner snarled defensively. "Yer friend's got hisself a rep fer shooting first an' asking questions later. He gunned Eli down — an unarmed man — and then threw the rest of his pards in t'jail. I heard 'bout it jes' afore I took on wit' Robert an' it's how I found out where Vin was living. I met up with Ralf Yates, the cousin of one of Eli's men, and he told me of the killing so... I reckon he must've told Joseph 'n' all."
"You only know part of it, Tanner. And half a truth is sometimes worse than a lie!" Josiah breathed, looking at the stunned expressions on his friends' faces.
"So let me tell you what really happened," the ex-preacher continued, with a sad shake of his head. "Eli Joe framed Vin for Kincaid's murder in Tascosa and then came looking for the boy with the intention of lynching him. He didn't want to take Vin back into Texas to stand trial and, strangely enough, he wasn't interested in the bounty either; his main objective was to eliminate the one person who was a threat to his freedom. Although, on reflection, I personally think he wanted to watch our friend die a painful and horrible death. Chris shot Eli Joe when the bastard pulled a knife on Vin, even though your son was trying to save his worthless neck. The last thing Vin needed was the man dead, but Chris had no choice. We all saw what happened that day, and any one of us would have done exactly the same."
Tanner was silent as he shrugged into a clean vest and shirt, but the four peacekeepers could sense the torment and self-flagellation in the man as he thought over all he'd been told.
Buck adjusted his hat as he watched the security boss hastily dress. The anger he'd felt towards the other had been released somewhat and, although it would be difficult to fully trust or forgive Will Tanner, the ladies' man was enough of a realist to recognise that they needed the Texan's help.
The peacekeeper was now filled with a purposeful urgency to resolve the problem and he was impatient to be on the move. "There's less than six hours of light left, but if you're riding with us, Tanner, then I suggest you get organised straightaway. The kid an' me intend to eat up as many miles as we can today and if you ain't fit enough to keep up with us, then we'll just leave you where you fall," Buck said flatly.
"A li'l bitty bullet scratch ain't never stopped a Tanner yet! An' I'd ride t'Hell an' back if I had to fer Vin. The sins of the father shouldn't be visited on the son. That boy's m'own flesh — I love 'im — an' I owe him quite a few explanations," the security boss replied, nodding in thanks as Nathan handed him his gun belt and knife.
JD scrubbed at his jaw as he watched Tanner leave. "Buck, I'll go and collect the provisions Miz Lizzie made up, and then make a start on getting our horses ready. I'll meet you outside when you're done. Nate, Josiah, we'll do our damnedest to find 'em," the youngest peacekeeper promised. After shaking hands with the two men remaining, he then left the office.
Nathan crossed to the large cupboard and began sorting through a drawer. "Hold on fer a minute, Buck. I'm gonna put together an extra medical satchel for ya. Let's jes' hope ya don't have t'use it," the healer said with a sigh.
The room was quiet for several minutes as Nathan methodically packed into a small leather bag, a needle with surgical thread, bandages, a block of carbolic soap and a cotton wrapped bottle of laudanum. "That should be plenty if ya include the stuff ya usually carry," he told the ladies' man, as he held out the supplies. "Me an' Josiah will see to things here an' back in town, but try an' send us a wire whenever ya can, so's we know how yer doin'. If things look... go bad... ya know...? Waal, we still want t'hear from ya."
"Thanks, Nate. We'll keep in touch, but you and Josiah'll take real good care of Ezra, won'tcha?"
"That we will, brother. Just bring 'em home, Buck."
"You've got my word on it, Josiah." As he spoke, Buck gripped each offered hand.
"The Wilmington word — it's as good as done then!" Josiah's face lit up with a smile and he touched his right temple in salute as his friend headed out of the door.
The open area in front of the Cummings' house was deserted, and Buck frowned in puzzlement as he made his way to the main stables. He'd thought that JD would have been waiting for him with their saddled horses. Letting out an impatient huff for yet another delay, the ladies' man entered the building, his eyes scanning each occupied stall.
"Hey, girl. Ain't the kid got you...?"
Buck's quiet comment to his mare came to an abrupt halt as the horse shifted around in her box, and fear coursed through the ladies' man as he spotted the motionless body sprawled in the straw.
"JD!"
The peacekeeper rushed into the stall, slapping his mare's rump to move her out of the way, whilst his horrified gaze remained locked on JD's still form. Dropping to his knees, Buck carefully rolled the younger man onto his back, a relieved sigh escaping his lips as he saw his friend's eyelids flutter a few times.
"Thank God! What happened, kid? JD, can you hear me?" the older man asked worriedly as he began checking the other for injury.
JD blinked in confusion as a blurry figure hovered above him. His neck and head were sore but, as the other man's exploratory fingers started to gently feel his torso, memory surged back to the young sheriff with an almost painful rush.
Pushing the ladies' man away, JD hissed in a shaky breath as he struggled into a sitting position. "Buck... he... Will hit me!" he exclaimed in an aggrieved voice. "I'd just finished saddling... his horse, when he...Ow! That hurts, Buck!"
The older man had discovered a lump on the back of his friend's skull, but when he looked at his hand, he saw no sign of blood. It appeared that the younger man hadn't been badly injured. Not that this made any difference to Buck Wilmington. The anger that he'd had for the Texan security boss had been banked following the earlier forthright discussion, but this incident involving JD had once again inflamed and intensified his hatred for Will Tanner.
"I reckon it does, kid. But trust me — that deceitful, lying sonofabitch has just dug his own grave," Buck replied tersely.
JD allowed his colleague to help him stand and, as his eyes swivelled around the stable, the Bostonian gave a dismayed groan. "Dammit, Buck! He took one of Robert's thoroughbred mares as well as his own horse. And... Oh, Hell...! How could I let him sneak up on me like that? He's got the saddlebag with our food" — JD walked a little unsteadily over to the saddle burro — "and he stole our rifles too! What's he playing at, Buck?"
"I dunno, but it ain't a game I like. He may be Vin's pa, but he's pushed me too far with this. C'mon, we'd better go tell the others what's happened and replace our weapons and supplies before we go after him. At least we know exactly where he's heading, although it won't be easy catching up with him."
"Why do you think he took off alone? Surely he realises the odds are better with three of us hunting for Chris and Vin."
"That's a damned good question, kid, and I just can't wait to hear Tanner's answer," Buck responded in a grim voice, as the pair started to make their way out of the stable.
Nearly thirty minutes had passed following the two peacekeepers' first abortive attempt to leave the Cummings' ranch. Rain was falling heavily once again and, leaning against the porch railing, Josiah Sanchez and Nathan Jackson watched in melancholy silence as their friends finally disappeared from sight. The number of problems seemed to be mounting with every hour that passed and it was becoming harder to remain optimistic.
"Lord, what a way for this to end," Josiah murmured almost to himself.
The ex-preacher's craggy face was solemn as he stared into the distance, and he suddenly wondered whether he and his companion were witnessing the break up of the seven's brotherhood. "May God provide guidance and help you in your search. Our prayers and thoughts ride with you, brothers."
"Amen to that." Nathan shook his head sadly and, with nothing left to say, he patted the older man on the shoulder and went back into the house.
This story will continue and conclude in 'Sins of the Father II: Restitution'.
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AUTHOR'S FOOTNOTE — EXTREMELY IMPORTANT, PLEASE READ THIS: When I drafted the complex synopsis and characters for this story in December 2002, I felt that, on my own, I could not do justice to the piece. So I invited two established co-writers to collaborate with me. Work started from my existing plot, but there were two specific chapters that we all wanted to tackle. We decided to write these sections as solo authors, intending to amalgamate the best from the separate pieces, which would then become the finished product. One of the other writer's took on the job of merging these chapters but, following a content and editorial dispute, we dissolved the three-way authorship, deciding to go forward with our own versions of the story. We also collectively agreed not to use any of each others written work. The merged story disappeared and we all walked away from the abandoned project with our own individually written material.
The other two authors then went into partnership writing their own adaptation. As so much time and effort had been put into their two chapters, I agreed that elements of my basic premise and several (fairly major) plot bunnies could be used by them in their new piece, providing they credited me in their title header. Quite a number of the themes and ideas which I'd originally laid out on the joint-venture 'plotting table' went into their story and, as a result, their fiction, which was posted in stages from September 2003 to the BlacknBucskin and BiehnClose2Heaven group lists, bears some similarities to 'Sins of the Father'. The three of us knew and accepted this. Also, I was constantly assured by the pair that their new plotline had deviated sufficiently from mine and that the two stories would ultimately be very different.
However, things did not end there. Due to an 'unfortunate mistake' on the part of these co-authors, they included within their story, large segments — verbatim — of my descriptive text, continuous paras', some of my dialogue, plus a one-page, stand alone scene. They used my written work in their fiction without my knowledge or permission. I'd no idea that they'd retained everything that I'd presented for the subsequently abandoned fiction, and I only made the shocking discovery shortly after they'd archived their finished piece on their website in March 2004.
I immediately demanded that all of my written material be extracted from theirs. However, although they have admitted to me in email that they acted wrongly, even going so far as offering me retrospective co-authorship of their piece (which I declined), they have also stated that — 'as the lines of division (in the abandoned merged chapters) became blurred' — they could not comply with my request. The sections they stole and used actually went on to form part of 'Sins of the Father', because they, like the original synopsis, were mine to begin with and, naturally, I wanted to include the thirty plus pages of work that I'd written as a solo author. They did, eventually, (after I'd pointed out their omission) give me credit on the two group lists and in their title header for my plot ideas but, to date, have failed to openly acknowledge my (albeit unknowing) written contribution to their fiction.
I would just like to re-iterate that the storyline, characters and writing for 'Sins of the Father' are, in entirety, all of my own work. I scrupulously kept to our agreement not to use each others written material — I even discarded small plot ideas that were discussed by the three of us — and I trusted them and believed that they would also uphold their side of our arrangement.
These co-authors plagiarised my written work for over five months on the open forum of two group lists, at a time when I wasn't even a member, but I've been denied the chance to publicly defend my story's integrity on the same platform. Whether it was accidental or not, I feel that the unprincipled actions of the pair has cast doubts about my own credibility as a writer, so I want to quash any misconceptions about my story. I'm a relatively new fanfic author, and I don't want to be the one unjustly accused or scandalised behind my back for utilising others' ideas.
I've been working for more than a year on this epic project, but feel that I've been forced to clarify my personal position, and also defend the originality and honesty of 'Sins of the Father'.
Hindsight is a truly wonderful thing, but I bitterly regret the choices I made at the beginning — I should have had more confidence in my own writing abilities. It's been an extremely upsetting and painful lesson to learn, but I won't make the same mistake again. Deceit and betrayal by those closest to us makes us very wary and my motto now is — 'Trust No-one and Share Nothing.'
I'm grateful to all of those who suggested I make this author's statement, and I sincerely hope everyone else understands my reasons for writing this down. Thank you for reading this rather lengthy (sorry!) footnote — Susie Burton, May 2004.
If you enjoyed reading 'Sins of the Father', please let me know at susieburton999@yahoo.co.uk — feedback would be greatly appreciated.
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