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James Welch lay spread eagle just inside the mouth of the alley. His sightless eyes were frozen upward. Blood darkened a small patch of his shirt and jacket right below his heart.
Vin Tanner was slumped between the hotel wall and some beer kegs.
Chris and Ezra immediately moved into the small street to check on the slack form of their friend lying in the dirt.
Buck kicked the gun away from Welch's motionless hand out of habit and knelt down to make sure the man was no longer a threat. Then he turned to watch the others examine the tracker.
The unconscious Tanner, his body propped against the wall, looked as if he were asleep. There were no bullet wounds. In fact, he showed no obvious wounds until Chris, checking him over, pulled his hand away from the back of the long hair. Even in the dim flickering light of the street fires Buck could see it was covered with blood.
"Tanner." Buck whispered in a shaky voice. "I said his name outloud."
Chris's head snapped up as he replayed their argument. The words hit him. Whatever he was thinking, he didn't let it show. Instead, he turned to Ezra, "Get Nathan."
Standish took off on his assignment to deliver the former stretcher bearer.
Chris stood and tried to read the signs; to figure out what had happened here. But too much didn't add up. His mind was busy on other matters, namely protecting their friend while he couldn't protect himself.
He moved over to Buck, "We can't let 'em find Vin here."
Wilmington, with a quick nod, started over to help move their smaller friend. Guilt was still clearly etched on his face. And after he had just vowed that he wouldn't be the cause of another person Larabee cared about getting hurt.
A warm hand in the center of his chest stopped him. "If we just move him, there'll be questions. They'll be looking for a suspect. Coltrain will have him locked up and find out who he is and about the bounty."
Buck waited. His expression asked the question. What do you want to do, Chris? Do you have a plan?
"I need the others," The natural leadership instincts took over, but Chris kept his voice gentle. This man had been ready to bolt mere minutes ago, "Nathan to tend Vin, Ezra's snaky mind to figure out what happened. J -"
Buck held up a hand to stop him. The word expendable - he'd heard it enough in the war - sprung to mind and he pushed it down, "Go."
"It's just until Vin wakes up and can tell us what happened." Larabee promised.
"Go." Buck pointed toward the back of the alley with both hands in that way he had when he was trying hard to make a point. He cocked his head. The sounds of men running in response to the shot were louder.
Their eyes met, but there were no words. There was no time.
Buck helped the blonde quickly maneuver the unconscious form over a shoulder and manhandle him toward escape in the back shadows. Then he, himself, moved back toward the front of the alley.
Coltrain led the crowd that turned in from the street. Only Wilmington, who had so recently fought with the dead man at his feet, was in the alley.
JD, standing beside the Marshal, gun drawn, took in the scene with wide eyes. Then he turned to Buck for answers.
Wilmington dropped his gun and raised his hands. "I didn't kill him," he stated for the record…
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MINERAL WELLS
Remembering back, Ezra had to admit that he had been surprised when he arrived with Nathan, to discover Buck in the Four Corners jail as a murder suspect and Vin nowhere to be seen.
" 'No good deed goes unpunished.' Isn't that what you always say?" Buck asked with an unconvincing laugh. And the words brought Ezra back out of his thoughts and into the present.
He had to wonder for a moment what old, cloistered thoughts had brought to mind the question. The southerner had his doubts whether it had anything at all to do with Tanner. But it removed any lingering doubts. His friend's uncharacteristic, poorly concealed moodiness was just as debilitating as any wounds.
"Not this time." The gambler barely moved one arm across the forearm of the other. Ezra had never had to give away the fact that he wore a sleeve gun. The lawmen didn't know to ask for it. He was still armed.
"You keep that peashooter where it is." Buck took a breath, as if fighting the pain from his scarred back, then added, "The last thing I need is to go to my Maker - you swinging beside me 'cuz you tried to help."
Ezra fought down the panic he felt at the resignation in the other man's voice, "We are getting you out of here. We only need to get to Judge Travis. He'll assure you a fair trial."
"You ain't thinkin' clear. I appreciate it, but you ain't thought it through."
That brought a laugh, "I have escaped from many towns and several jails." There was a hint of indignation, as if the conman thought his criminal abilities were being questioned.
"They wouldn't let you send telegraphs to Chris or the judge. You said it yourself, this beatin'…" he had to take a moment to breathe around the pain, "… was to make sure I weren't in no condition to move that far that fast. How do you think you can saddle the two horses we'd need to ride out on and the Marshal not know about it?"
Ezra acknowledged the truth of the statement by his very silence. He also acknowledged that something else was going on, something sinister. The desire to lynch a man without a trial was all too present first in Four Corners and now here. Ezra didn't know what was going on, but wasn't willing to wait and see if Buck Wilmington would survive to get a fair trial.
Wilmington thought the younger man was on the verge of conceding the situation. But the next words from the agile tongue were the opposite of what he expected. "Humor me. If I devise an acceptable scheme to get you out, will you participate?"
Buck seemed to think about something and then come to a decision, "I'm not hurt as bad as I'm makin' out. Figure I'll have a better chance of makin' a move if they think I'm not able. You come up with somethin', I'll hold up my end."
Standish studied the other man. Was the one trying to con the other? Could the rowdy gunhand be trying to hide the severity of his injuries so that Ezra would be more willing to leave him? There was no doubt that the whip marks had to be debilitating. The southerner studied his friend with a hard gaze. Buck never looked away; he showed no guilt or deception.
Well damn, Ezra's face brightened and the smile was returned by the dark-haired man. It had finally all fallen into place. Ezra had just figured out Buck Wilmington. And, if you knew where to look, it was predictable.
While young Mr. Dunne seemed to have a split personality, Standish wrote it off to his embracing manhood. One day JD would act like a child, the next he was mature beyond his years and experience. Only later would the conman's insight let him see the dichotomy as the alternating influences of Larabee and Wilmington and, to a lesser degree, the other peacekeepers the youngster looked up to and admired.
Nathan Jackson he saw as a mixture of survivor's guilt and ambition to be something the status quo would never allow him to be. But the ex-slave was very much a doctor in everything but title. How the man must stumble, questioning himself as to how much the word, the title, really meant.
Josiah Sanchez was easy as well. Or so Standish believed from their few days of acquaintance. He presupposed the preacher's son was conflicted by being raised in the belief that religion and a man of the cloth were inexorably good; while alcohol and "sins of the flesh" would damn you to hell. But life hadn't proven the theory. He was only now understanding that it is often mankind's interpretation of religion and not religion, that fails and that religion and God are not one in the same. Ezra suspected that Sanchez regretted the years he spent lost, confused and wandering; looking for answers. But for the most part, he believed the big man had come out on the other side whole and better than most for the journey.
Vin Tanner? He kept to himself. But Standish sensed that one was trying to tame his violent side - not his wild, untamed side - he thrived on that. But whatever had made him a killer of man and beast somewhere, somehow, seemed to have been burned out of him. The tracker seemed to like the man he was now, better than the one he had been. And that six men he admired accepted this man, made it easier. He was a work in progress.
Larabee? Ezra didn't understand the man. He was an enigma. He was distant and violent, but, damn, such a leader, and his very presence demanded respect. There had to be something more. Because Ezra couldn't help but see Larabee through the eyes of the man with him now. There had to be so much more to the brooding shootist, or he could not demand that kind of friendship; that kind of loyalty. And he would not be able to offer that same friendship and loyalty, in his own way, in return. No, Chris Larabee would take more study.
But the paradox that had been Buck Wilmington had finally come into focus. Usually a clown, never serious, he often acted younger than JD Dunne. He could be irritating and boorish and sometimes seemed stupid. But then the man could speak eloquently in defense of a friend, lay out strategy and tactics, read and write, forgive almost any slight and be loyal without being cloying and charm almost anyone. How was it that this man could be such an exceptional teacher to JD? Why would Larabee so value the friendship, even if he didn't want to admit it? And Ezra was sure that Larabee did value the friendship.
And why did Standish himself seek the good-hearted man out as a friend and not as a mark?
Because Buck Wilmington reminded Ezra of his mother.
No doubt the boy that would become the man had learned most of his behavior in the brothels where his mother worked. And those women would no doubt hide their intelligence because it would be seen as a threat to most of their customers. And in hiding their intelligence, by acting stupid or silly, they allowed themselves to be underestimated time and again.
How many times had Maude Standish "played dumb" or "played weak" until it suited her? Ezra might even acknowledge that he had learned that same lesson well from his mother.
Not to take away from his sincere, boisterous love of life, Wilmington, in fact, reveled in it, and let people interpret it as they might - until it was too late, or until he trusted them enough to give them a peek that there might be something more.
And that was what was happening now. Buck was pretending to be seriously injured until he could once again take advantage of being underestimated. And he was trusting Ezra Standish with that truth.
Well, Buck was sneaky, but Ezra had been raised by Maude Standish. His mind had already devised a plan to exploit the scenario Wilmington had established.
He had been quiet too long, lost in his thoughts. Buck was speaking again, questioning his judgment in trusting the gambler. After all, they had known each other a very short time, "I need you to leave, Ezra, so I don't have to worry about you when I make my move."
"We have already established that it will be easier with both of us working on your escape …" He held up a hand as the other man started to protest, "If there is a way to get the horses saddled?"
"We'll both be wanted then. For jail break." Buck sought to be sure Ezra knew what he was getting in to.
"We would need only travel as far as to get out of this circuit judge's venue and back to Travis. You'll be cleared in a fair trial."
"Why, Ezra? It don't make sense you taking a chance like that for someone you practically just met."
Ezra couldn't agree more. This protective streak went against everything Maude Standish raised her son to believe. Truth be known, he didn't understand it himself. He only knew he would manipulate, control or rearrange what fate seemed determined to dole out. Buck was waiting for an answer. Why?
"Mr. Wilmington, the world would be a darker place without you in it. It is more than worth the risk." Egad, Ezra blanched. Did sincerity always have to sound so maudlin?
But the look on the gentle maverick's face had the gambler re-evaluating the value of the words.
"Thanks, Ezra." It seemed he didn't know what else to say. It was almost like no one had ever said anything like that before. To Ezra's surprise, he understood. How would he feel for someone to say something like that, feel like that, about him?
Then as if embarrassed by the moment, Buck was speaking again, strategizing again, clearly, to Ezra's trained ear, he was changing the subject, "We still don't know what happened. I still look guilty."
Ezra was taking a frustrated breath to continue his argument when Buck added, "But I'll take my chances. If you're sure."
Ezra's smile, wide enough to display his gold tooth, was answer enough.
Buck's mind was immediately working out the details, convincing Ezra that his recent evaluation of the man's intelligence was correct. "That deputy, Halpin, he lets you stay in here way too much. Almost like he wants us to try something."
"I agree," Ezra said as his expression changed to a contemplative frown, "He's up to no good …"
All too soon, the door to the jail opened and a voice cut through the room, "What the hell … this isn't a social club. Why is that man still in that cell?" Coltrain demanded as he entered carrying a basket covered with a red and white checkered napkin.
Halpin all but ignored his boss's anger as he got up from the desk and took his own sweet time sauntering over to the cells.
The marshal, fastidious to a fault, ran his finger across the corner of the desk looking for imaginary dust before he put the food basket down. He had already dismissed the order he had given as well as the men in the room.
Ezra hissed quickly to Buck as the deputy approached, "Play along, please. But believe this, I will be back."
"If something happens before then …" Buck began, and unconsciously rubbed his throat.
"I am not running out on you! Do you understand that? I'll be back." Ezra hissed quickly. The deputy was almost to the inner cell itself with the keys. They didn't have time to second guess each other now.
Damning himself for his reputation and the opinion he had given these men of his trustworthiness, Ezra knew he didn't have time to convince Buck of his plan. He was surprised by the next words.
"Hell, Ezra, I never doubted that. You can't run out when you want to. A man like that sure as hell can't turn tail just because it's the smart thing to do."
The "Buck logic" slapped the gambler in the face. He didn't understand it, but felt a warm tingle down his spine at the concept behind the words, "2:30 tonight, my friend …"
He was interrupted by Halpin's bullying voice, "Hey, boy," He snarled, finally making his slothful way to the inner door, "Get out now or stay in there."
"Showtime." Ezra whispered to himself. He straightened his jacket as he stood. Halpin moved back for Ezra to leave the cell.
"This man still requires bandages and medical attention." Ezra said, rising to remove himself from the cell.
"What?" Halpin barked with amusement, "You want to keep him alive for the hangin'?"
"Ezra, don't poke a rattlesnake." Buck demanded helplessly from in the cell.
"No one hangs without a trial." Coltrain glared at his deputy with a finality that he thought would close the discussion.
"Vato, that mob ain't gonna wait for a judge to tell them what they already know. And I ain't gettin' killed keepin' your friend from stretchin' a rope." Halpin whispered into Standish's ear as he had to pass the deputy to get through the cell door. He said it low enough for the disinterested marshal to miss, but for the accused to hear well enough, "You better get while the gettin's good," It was clearly a threat.
The conman took a deep breath and let Halpin read the message he wanted him to see on his face -- that Ezra believed they would let him hang alongside Wilmington, "Perhaps you are correct. It is the law's responsibility to see that this man get a fair trial. As the good marshal so often points out, I don't wear a badge." It sounded like he was rationalizing what he was about to do.
"Ezra?" Buck's incredulous voice came from inside the cell. The sense of loss in that one name had the gambler hoping it was, indeed, an act. But he held firm, he had to for the con to work.
"It is the law's responsibility to see you get a fair trial. I fear, perhaps, my presence complicates matters."
"That yeller streak don't go so good with that fancy purple coat," Halpin laughed accusingly, "Better run, gambler. 'Cuz if I can stick you in that cell I will. And if that lynch mob wants two for the price of one …"
"Deputy." Coltrain reprimanded unemotionally. There'll be no lynching on his watch. The marshal handed Standish his guns and rigging to put on before he left. It was a tacit order to get out.
"I'll hold you responsible for his safety, sir," Ezra confronted Coltrain with just the right amount of blustery bravado.
"Ezra? Ezra are you leavin' me here?"
"Mr. Wilmington, what did you expect of me?" Ezra quickly fumbled with the holster and putting his second gun back in its shoulder sheath.
"Nothin'. Too much I guess."
He started to look back toward the cell, didn't and stumbled over his words as he moved toward the door, "Gentlemen … I need a drink." And he was out the door before he lost his nerve.
"I understand, Ezra." Buck's voice wafted from the cell and chased him out the door, "I don't blame you," After the briefest of pauses, he continued, "Take care of my horse … give the kid my guns …" It sounded like a last will and testament. For a second time, Ezra almost lost his resolve. But he knew they were timing it close as it was.
By now Ezra had forced himself out the door and was walking quickly past the alley that the cell window faced, "Standish! To hell with you then," Buck called from the window, as if he could no longer conceal the hurt and realization of this betrayal by a friend, "Get out of town. Save your own hide. I thought we were friends …" Buck, his burst of energy apparently spent, sank back to the cot. He sagged against the wall and, through half slit eyes, watched the office.
The midnight blue eyes fell on Halpin. That one was enjoying himself immensely watching the drama unfold. Damn the man. It was like he fed on the suffering of others. How'd he ever get a badge? Well, unfortunately, Buck knew the answer to that one. A man like him was the reason the chivalrous gunfighter no longer wore a Ranger's star. 'Be careful, Ezra.' The tall cowboy said under his breath.