Thirteen

Five horses galloped hard, their riders pushing them to the limits.  They had left the main road and forged their own trail overland knowing that time was against them.  The sun was well past its zenith and still they didn’t stop.  By late afternoon, the horses were on the verge of exhaustion. They would need to stop soon and rest the animals. 

Buck slowed his horse until he completely stopped.  It wasn’t long before the others followed his lead and reined their mounts back to face the immobile rider.  “It don’t feel right,” he voiced thoughtfully. He’d been pondering the information he’d been told and Standish’s reaction to it ever since they’d left Sovereign. 

Sanchez nodded grimly.  “Been thinkin’ the same thing myself.” 

Larabee glared at the ladies’ man.  “You were the one to set us on this road,” he ranted. 

“I know.  But what if Ezra’s right?  And we’re leaving Vin in town.” 

Dunne frowned at the older man.  “But you said that Herb fella told ya he saw Vin leavin’ with bounty hunters.”  He couldn’t understand why they were even discussing this.  Vin was on his way to be hanged and they were already days behind them.  They needed to make up for lost time.  If only some of them had gone directly to Tuscosa from Four Corners.  

“Yeah,” Wilmington drawled.  “Been givin’ that some more thought too.  He come and found me.  And if he was so worried about Tanner, as he claimed, then why hadn’t he told Ezra what he knew?” 

“Ezra had talked to quite a lot of folks before we showed up,” Sanchez interjected.  

Larabee raised a quizzical eyebrow.  That was news to him. 

Josiah lifted his shoulders and shrugged.  “Everyone I spoke to said they’d already spoken with Ezra.  And didn’t you see that note book of his, it was crammed full with notes and names.” 

“So he did actually look for Vin,” Nathan stated dubiously. 

Sanchez shook his head.  “That boy’s been losing sleep over Vin’s disappearance.  Reckon he blames himself.” 

“So he didn’t tell Ezra…” Chris mused, wondering what Herb had to gain by not informing Standish.   “Does that mean he didn’t know the two of them were together?” 

“He woulda had ta blind,” Buck added sarcastically.  Why hadn’t he thought of this earlier?  It would have saved them a whole day. 

“But what if Vin is half way to Tuscosa?  We just gonna ignore that?” Jackson spun his mount in a circle and asked angrily. 

Chris glanced at Jackson’s irate features and back to Wilmington.  

“We could split up,” JD suggested.  He didn’t like this any more than Nathan. 

Larabee sat straighter in his saddle, the leather creaked as he changed positions.  “You reckon this Herb was lying?”  Buck reluctantly nodded.  “And nobody else came forward with information.” It was more of a statement than a question.  They all shook their heads no.  “Reckon he wanted us to leave town for some reason. Or somebody did! That can only mean one thing.” 

“What?” Dunne asked. 

“Vin’s still in town,” Buck clarified for the younger man. 

“I wonder whether Ezra was supposed to leave with us?” Sanchez mused aloud. 

“Let’s ride,” Chris dug in his heels, spurring his horse back to town.  Damn, he hated being played like a puppet. 

Fourteen 

“Ezra,” Vin repeated the plea.  He was concerned by the still figure; he’d been waiting with growing impatience for over an hour. Standish hadn’t moved an inch since he’d fallen and even in the poor lighting Vin could ascertain his deathly pallor.  “Ezra, come on, pard.  Wake up.”  Damn, he felt useless pinned to the wall as he was.  He couldn’t even check on Standish.   What use was he?  He couldn’t help at all. 

Tanner stretched his leg out as far as he could reach, but it was nowhere near the downed Southerner.  He let the limb fall back and started talking to the unconscious man.  He probably wouldn’t have started the diatribe if Standish had been awake, but he wasn’t.   He rambled self-consciously to begin with, but as the time lengthened the words flowed more freely.  “I’m sorry to get you involved in this.  Didn’t mean for ya to get hurt.  Just wanted to spend some time with my ma…and wasn’t sure how to explain it.” 

The Southerner moaned, moving his arm a fraction.  

Tanner smiled, comforted by the slight movement.  “Ezra, you want to wake up?”  Another moan responded, and glazed eyes fluttered open.  “That’s it,” he encouraged.  “How you doin’?” 

Standish’s eyes sought out the leading voice.  He was certain it was less painful in the dark void, but for some reason his body insisted he woke up.  “Mr. Tanner?” 

“Welcome back.” 

The gambler lifted his head and screwed his face as a wave of pain erupted in his shoulder.  Through clenched teeth he asked in confusion; “Had I gone somewhere?” 

Tanner chuckled lightly; trust Standish to take the literal meaning.  “You hurt?”  The gambler lay perfectly still on the floor; other than lifting his head he’d not attempted to move anything else. 

Ezra dropped his head; it was too awkward to stare up at Tanner from his position on the floor.  His cheek rested on the cool earthen ground and he breathed in the strong smell of damp soil.  He closed his eyes; a heavy sigh parted his lips slightly.  The heavy draw to return to the world of oblivion reasserted itself and within minutes he was safely comforted in the realm of unconsciousness. 

“Ezra,” Vin groaned.  “You gotta get up.  Standish!” he shouted the gambler’s name, wincing at the sharp tone of voice he used.  “Ezra, I need yer help,” he implored, but Tanner could tell the Southerner was well past hearing him. 

Fifteen 

Vin glanced at his unresponsive friend on the ground.  Ezra had woken for short periods of time during the night, but he was barely lucid.  He wondered how badly the gambler was injured.  Once during his brief moment of consciousness, Standish had attempted to roll over; he’d cried out, a hoarse guttural sound, and slipped back into the deep void of unconsciousness.  Ezra had not resurfaced since. 

Tanner impatiently tugged on the restraints; he rolled his neck on his shoulders and slowly became aware of the movements on the floor above him.  “Ezra,” he hissed, attempting to keep his voice to a minimum, but wanting the Southerner to acknowledge his call.  Something heavy scraped across the wooden ceiling, and a light shower of dust and wood shavings filtered through the coarse joints between the timber planks. 

Vin chanced another look at Ezra, but his position was unchanged.  The trap door lifted and a surge of fresh air entered the stuffy quarters.  The ladder was lowered down and he watched as a pair of tan leather boots descended into the hole.  “You gotta help him,” Tanner implored. 

Vin watched in confusion as his persecutor cautiously stepped around the gambler’s form, nudging Ezra lightly with the toe of his boot.  When Standish did no more than moan softly, the intruder crept closer and sought a pulse at the gambler’s neck.  A kidnapper with a conscience, what next?  Standish was obviously not part of the intended equation.  

Using exaggerated care, he divested Ezra of his Remington and rolled him over onto his back.  Spying the shoulder holster he removed the second weapon and tucked it under his belt.  He patted down the coat sleeves and startled when he triggered the derringer and it shot out of the jacket’s sleeve.  “He’s got an armoury on him.” 

“Be careful,” Vin shouted, when Ezra flopped forward limply. 

“Shut up.”  What should have been an order came out almost like a plea. 

Vin struggled against the hold.  “He needs a doctor.”  Vin noticed the pained expression that crossed the man’s features before he bowed his head shamefaced and looked at his feet.  

“Reckon he’ll have to make do with your company.”  The thin man lifted Standish to a sitting position and stood behind him, snaking his hands under the gambler’s armpits.  Ezra’s head lolled to the side and he groaned an anguished cry.   The captor almost dropped Standish back to the floor; he was so surprised.  Instead, he dragged Standish alongside Vin and propped him upright.  

Vin stared in horror at the second pair of manacles above Ezra’s head.  “You can’t put him in those!” 

The captor lifted his gaze and panted.  “Why not?” he asked, waiting for a logical reason not to proceed. 

“His shoulder could be out…dislocated…he won’t be able to lift it above his head.” 

The kidnapper stared blankly at Tanner, undecidedly.  He crouched by the Southerner and lifted up his right arm. 

“It’s the other one.” 

Dropping Ezra’s right arm, he started to lift the left arm.  It only moved part way, when Ezra’s green eyes snapped open.  He screamed, and passed out. 

“God damn it!  Put it down!” 

The captor did as the tracker ordered and pulled a length of rope from under his coat. 

Tanner sighed.  “He’s hurt.  Where do you think he’s going to go down here?”  

“You promise he won’t escape…” 

Vin almost burst out laughing.   Hell he’d be out of this place in a flash if he could.  He wouldn’t be making any promises like that.  “Reckon he’ll be needing some help to get out of here.” 

The kidnapper seemed satisfied with that and left Ezra slumped against the wall.  He dipped a ladle into the barrel and brought it to Vin’s lips. 

Vin drank greedily.  It had been over a day since his last drink.  “Why are you doing this?” 

He ignored Vin and refilled the ladle.  “You want any more?” 

Vin nodded.  “You don’t seem the type to get into bounty hunting.”  He was almost tender in his ministrations of the gambler.  

“I’m not,” he admitted.  “Figured I could use the money though.” 

“You ain’t in any hurry to claim the reward.” 

“I got responsibilities in town…ain’t like I can up and leave, just like that,” he retorted. 

“What about Ezra?” 

The kidnapper scratched his mop of streaked blond hair and studied the gambler.  “He shouldn’t have been snooping.” 

“He’s a friend,” Vin admitted, pleased that Standish had stayed in town and come looking for him. 

“Yeah, well I ain’t decided yet.  He might have a reward on his head too?” he asked hopefully.  “You outlaws always travel in a bunch.” 

“You won’t find nothing on him,” Vin confidently predicted.  “You got a name?” 

“You can call me,” he paused a moment, “Bert.” 

“Bet that ain’t yer real name…Bert?” 

“It’ll do.  And it’s all you need to know.  Anything special I can bring you?” 

“How about some bolt cutters,” the Texan drawled sarcastically. 

Bert shook his head.  “Reckon I’ll be back again this evening.  Don’t be getting up to any mischief while I’m away.” 

Tanner watched as Bert climbed out the hole and removed the ladder after him.  The trap door closed, shutting out the muted early morning light.  He strained to hear the departing horse, but any sounds from above ground didn’t penetrate through to the room below. 

Sixteen 

The thundering hooves woke the sleepy town.  It was still early when the five lawmen returned to Sovereign, and the streets were acutely quiet.  A number of curtains at windows were swept partially aside so folks could see out, then after a moments curiosity they were drawn back into position.  A light shower of rain during the early hours of the morning had dampened the road and settled the dust, leaving a soft sticky texture on the top surface. 

“Josiah, go and wake Ezra,” Chris ordered, wanting to talk with the gambler immediately.  “Nathan, you and JD settle the horses, Buck you come with me.  We’ll meet at the restaurant.” 

Behind them Jenkins stepped from the jail.  He cleared his throat and wandered over to the man in black.  “You’re back.” 

“What’s it to you,” Chris challenged. 

“Figured you must have had a lead on Tanner.” 

Larabee stepped closer.  He glanced at the badge on the man’s chest and up into his pale green eyes.  “What do you know about it?” 

“Talked to Standish yesterday after you left.  He said you were Vin’s friends.” 

Buck pushed past Larabee.  “We are.  Do you know where he is?” 

“Can’t say as I do.” 

Sanchez jogged along the boardwalk from the hotel, his boots thumping rapidly on the wooden boards.  “Ezra’s not there, Chris.  His bed ain’t been slept in, but all his gear is still in the room.” 

“Check the stables, see if he’s still in town.”  The older man nodded and headed off toward the livery. 

“He was looking for Cyrus Hernandez after we finished talking yesterday,” the sheriff offered. 

“Why would he be wanting to see him?” Wilmington asked. 

“Actually, he was askin’ about Herb, and the only fella I knew who went by that moniker was Cyrus.  Wasn’t sure though, that was who Standish was looking for.” 

Buck and Larabee shared a concerned look.  “You seen Ezra since then?” 

The sheriff shrugged.  “I wasn’t keeping tabs on him,” he answered defensively. 

“Where can we find Hernandez?” 

“He works on and off for Barrett’s Mercantile,” he pointed in the direction of the store.  “And he’s got a cabin down by the river.”  He gave direction to Hernandez’s cabin and left the two lawmen to find breakfast. 

Josiah returned from the livery with Nathan and JD.  He’d told them about Standish’s absence.  “His horse ain’t there.” 

“Damn!” cursed Larabee.  Now he had two men to find.  “Let’s get some breakfast, then go and find Hernandez.” 

Seventeen 

“Corinne!” 

The petite woman smiled at the pleasant welcome.  She tugged Teddy from out behind her skirts.  “Verna.  How are you?  How is Jake?”  The sheriff’s wife had been like a mother to Corinne when she arrived in town newly married with a babe on the way, seven years before.  She’d been a confident and a mentor.  Corinne was very fond of the maternal woman.  

“I’m well.” She patted the blond headed child and winked at him.  Verna produced a long strap of liquorice from her basket and offered it to the boy.  She held it patiently as Teddy sought his mother’s approval of the treat.  His wide eyes shone when Corinne nodded.   “I just called past your rooms and the place was all closed up tight,” Verna curiously said. 

Corinne glanced down the street, a frown rapidly forming on her brow.  She swallowed awkwardly; she was not accustomed to lying, especially not to Verna Jenkins.  She could feel the colour rise to her cheeks and the butterflies flutter nervously in her belly.  “Albert said… he might start opening a little later, spend more time with Teddy.” 

“That’s sweet.  How is Madeline?” 

“The same.  Albert is coming with us next time we go.”  

“That’s wonderful news. Business must be good.” 

“I must go…” she nervously hurried down the sidewalk, dragging the toddler behind her.  Where was he?  And why had he slipped from their bed so early that morning?  Was he leaving her bed to crawl into the bed of another?  She desperately needed to know.  And where was the money they’d been saving towards Madeline’s hospital bills?  It was missing from the jar above the pantry shelf.  Had someone found the hiding place?  How were they going to replace the stolen money?  Corinne wondered if Albert had reported the theft to the sheriff. 

Eighteen 

“Are we certain this is the right place?”  Larabee rested his boot on the chopping block. 

“Only place here-abouts,” Wilmington waved his hand in a circular motion.  

Dunne bent to a crouch and examined a horseshoe print in the soil.  He lightly fingered the impression.  “This is from Ezra’s horse.” 

“What make’s you so sure?” Wilmington squatted beside Dunne and studied the print himself. 

“See this line? Well I just know that Ezra’s horse has that track.”  

The ladies’ man smirked at the young gunslinger.  “Vin been giving you lessons?” 

“Nope.  I’ve just been taking more notice of things like that.  Thought it might come in handy.” 

“Good work, JD,” Chris complimented.  “So Standish was here.  Did he meet up with this Hernandez?  And if so, where is he?” 

Sanchez stood in the doorway of the cabin.  “My guess is, Hernandez packed up and left.” The cabin stood naked in empty glory.  Stripped to the bare roots of the shell. 

“Before or after Standish was here?”  Chris muttered.  “JD can you tell which way Standish left?” 

Dunne studied the ground, walking in small circles, but with a disappointed shake of his head he looked up at Larabee.  “The ground’s all torn up from the wagon that left here.” 

“Now what are we gonna do?” Buck asked Larabee. 

“JD, do you think you can track Hernandez?” 

The young Easterner smiled broadly.  “Sure!” he almost whooped at the chance to prove himself. 

“Then I want you and Nathan to catch up to him.  Find out if Standish spoke with him and where Ezra is now.” 

Nineteen 

“You sure you’re following the right trail?” Jackson questioned. 

Dunne reined in his mount and wiped his sleeve across his sweaty brow.  “They’re wagon tracks, Nathan,” he exclaimed indignantly.  “Ain’t like we could get ‘em mixed up.” 

Jackson smiled indulgently.  “Guess yer right.  Just thought we’d have caught up with him by now.” 

“Won’t be too much longer.  The tracks are getting deeper, horse is tiring.” 

The healer studied the parallel ruts and scratched his chin thoughtfully.  He was only teasing Dunne about being able to follow Hernandez’s path, but was surprised at the depth of knowledge JD showed in interpreting the trail.  He heard the enthusiastic gunman stating that over the next rise they should be able to see him.  “Least then we can get back to finding, Vin.” 

“Still reckon some of us ought to have gone on to Tuscosa.  You know he’s gonna be hanged once he gets there!” 

“Chris seems to think that was all a lie.” 

“He didn’t at first,” JD argued. 

Jackson pointed, a broad grin widened, showing pearly white teeth.  “There he is!  About time we got some answers.”  The tall black man spurred his horse and surged down the rise, beating a path to the weary wagon. 

~~~~~~~ 

Nathan grinned widely at the younger man.  Aside from the seriousness of the situation he was actually enjoying himself.  It had been a simple manoeuvre to stop the fleeing Hernandez.  

“Look I told that Southerner everything I knew.” 

“I reckon my friend won’t hurt you too much if you tell us the same information,” JD growled, nodding in Jackson’s direction.  The healer was idly sharpening his knives against one another. 

Hernandez’s eyes bulged.  It wasn’t worth the measly sixty dollars he’d been paid, so he quickly relayed his part, admitting he’d lied to Wilmington about the bounty hunters.  What did it matter now?  He’d told the gambler, now these two.  

When Dunne and Jackson were satisfied, they dismissed the informant in disgust.  They’d wasted two entire days because of his interference.  And Standish was missing also, as a result.  Could things get any worse? 

Twenty 

Vin nudged gently at the crumpled figure with his foot.  “Quit yer sleeping, Ezra.  You can do that any ole time.” 

Standish lifted his head slightly and groaned; coloured dots swam in front of his eyes.  

“Ezra!” Vin excitedly repeated.  “Ezra, wake up!” 

“Mr. Tanner,” Standish replied, his accent thickened and slurred.  He thumped his head on the stonewall and gazed bleary eyed up at the chained man.  “Could you please lower you voice,” he whispered. 

A small smile tugged at the Texan’s mouth.  “Can you get these shackles off me?” 

Ezra gripped his left arm tightly to his chest, and pushed back on the wall behind him.  He screamed loudly and sank back to the floor. 

Vin winced at the mind-numbing scream; his ears were ringing with the overdose of noise.  “Ezra,” he called after a few moments.  “Hey, pard, you hurt?”  He was surprised by the uncharacteristic snort from the Southern gentleman. 

Standish glared irritably at the tracker.  Of course he was hurt!  Every bone in his body was making him aware of the trauma it had suffered.  He hugged his left arm closer to his chest.  Damn, he hated it when his shoulder dislocated.  “I don’t recommend falling down a flight of stairs,” he drawled sleepily. 

Tanner chuckled dryly.  “It’s more of a ladder, Ezra.” 

Standish glanced at the empty place where the steps should have been, and sighed.  “It is still over-rated.”  He slowly straightened his lower limbs, attempting to determine how painful it was to move them. 

Vin laughed outright, watching the gambler’s mechanical movements.  His brief moment of levity stopped abruptly when Standish hissed sharply.  “Maybe you oughta not move.” 

Ezra made a pointed look at the closed trapdoor.  “If you want to depart this establishment then I need to ascertain which parts I can depend upon.”  Having discovered his left knee was a casualty from his fall, Standish avoided putting any undue weight on it and clambered to his feet.  He shuffled to the hanging Texan and grinned.  His left arm hung uselessly at his side. 

“What are you gonna do now?” 

Standish inhaled deeply and wrinkled his nose.  “You, Mr. Tanner, are in dire need of a bath.” 

“You don’t look so good yerself,” Tanner retorted. 

Ezra rolled his eyes.  A feat that reminded him of a crushing headache, and that he should have resisted the temptation.  “Once out, I’ll remedy that.  Do tell, why we are incarcerated here?”  

“Hell, I don’t even know where here is.” 

Standish sagged, leaning into the tracker for support and attempted, one handed, to open the lock.  He closed his eyes and concentrated on the contraption above his head.  “Old sawmill…” 

“Figured we might be.  How’d ya find me?” 

“Gentleman by the name of Cyrus Hernandez was very forthcoming…” 

“Hernandez?  He the fella who put me down here?”  The name held no meaning to the tracker. 

“No.  He was compensated to divert our search.  He did however, divulge your benefactor was somehow connected to this mill through his wife.  Don’t ask me how.”  Standish panted after the long monologue.  His shoulder and knee were both aching to distraction and a fine bead of sweat broke out on his brow.  He was not going to be able to hold the position much longer.  Vin’s constant questioning was another irritant to contend with. After five minutes of frustration and failure, he cursed, stepping back awkwardly to reassess the situation.  “I can not hold the lock in place and open it with only one hand.” 

“I can help.” 

Standish waved off the suggestion and swayed.  Taking a deep breath, he charged the brick wall, hitting his injured shoulder square on.  He cried out, and doubled at the waist, tears streaming down his face.  He clutched his injured arm with his good one, and panted.  Damn, that hurt! 

“Shit!  What the hell are you doing?” Vin yelled at the Southerner.  “Ezra!  Damn it!  You all right?” 

Ezra straightened slowly and experimentally rolled his shoulder.   “Just putting it back in place,” he huffed, wriggling his fingers with satisfaction.  At least they were no longer numb. 

“You done that before?” Vin queried sceptically. 

“Once or twice,” Ezra admitted.  He limped back to Vin’s side and resumed the manipulation of the lock.  Second time around, it fell open within seconds.  A smirk quickly covered Ezra’s face. 

“Smart ass!”  Vin rubbed the circulation back into his hands and stepped away from the wall. 

“You’re welcome.” 

Twenty-One 

Sanchez sat in the restaurant alone at the round table.  He chewed the hardy beef into a tasteless mass and swallowed the remainder of his coffee, grimacing at the cold dregs, to wash the mass down. The evening crowd had slowly started to trickle through the doors, but he assumed it would be a few more hours before Chris and Buck showed up to eat.  The last rays of daylight splashed through the dining room windows, and the faded curtains only kept out a minimum of the sun’s strength. 

Josiah Sanchez was worried.  Two of his young associates were missing, and in a town that appeared less than forthcoming.  They had few leads and could only wait.  His meal sat mostly untouched on the plate, and he sighed deeply.  It was wearing on him to have ignored the young Southerner’s claims and to have abandoned him.  He felt dreadful.  The preacher scowled moodily at the waitress, who did no more than remove his uneaten meal.  His temper was starting to flare.  And if they didn’t find their lost brothers soon, he was going to impart his own brand of justice. 

Josiah muddled over the situation.  There had to be some reason for Ezra’s disappearance and it had to be related to that of Vin’s.  That was assuming Ezra didn’t just decide that he’d had enough of Chris and the others, himself included Josiah added glumly, ignoring and dismissing his theories and departed town of his own accord.  What then? Would the gambler simply head back to Four Corners?  Or would they never see or hear of the Southerner again? 

What if someone was after both of them?  A group of outlaws set on breaking up the seven.  But for that to be correct, why had it taken that much longer for Standish to be taken?  Why not take the pair of them at the same time?  Unless there were not enough members in the supposed gang to capture more than one of the lawmen at one time.  No that couldn’t be right, he ruminated, then all the rest of the seven could be at risk.  But if both lawmen were taken for the same purpose, then they certainly would have been a fool for allowing Ezra to contact the rest of the seven and to spend days conducting his own search.   Now there was a possibility, he grasped.  Ezra must have discovered either Vin’s whereabouts, or information regarding the tracker’s location.  That could mean his lost brothers were on their way back to town or that both of them were now in serious trouble.  Josiah glumly leaned toward the latter. 

Then there was still the unthinkable prospect that a bounty hunter had captured Vin and now threaded their way back to Tuscosa.  What of that possibility?  They had all returned to Sovereign.  Shouldn’t Chris have at least sent some of them on to Tuscosa just in case? 

The preacher idly glanced up.  He’d felt the intense sensation of being watched, and in a town this size initially he’d ignored it.  After all, their arrival had generated quite a glimmer of interest.  But whoever was watching him, had been doing so for more than an acceptable length of time.  Their curiosity was becoming intrusive.  Josiah snapped up his head and left his seat.  He caught the shadow of movement beyond the restaurant front windows and raced outside.  For a large man he moved quickly. 

He swung through the doorway in time to see the dark coated male slipping down the alley between the restaurant and the neighbouring bakery.  “Stop!”  Sanchez took two giant steps after him, his boots thumping heavily on the whitewashed boardwalk.  “I said, STOP!”  

When he didn’t obey, Josiah gave chase.  His powerful legs giving him the necessary speed to keep the fleeing man in sight.  He sprinted between the short alley and sighted him scrambling over barrels to reach the secluded back entrance to the boarding house.  Sanchez fired a warning shot into the brick rendered wall, just above his head and jogged over to join him when he turned and raised his hands above his head.  “Who are you?” 

“Robert Perez,” he swallowed nervously. 

“Why were you watching me?” 

Perez shuffled backwards, warily watching Josiah’s gun.  “I wasn’t.  I swear!” 

Sanchez stepped forward, not believing the shorter man.  “You were standing at those windows and staring through them,” he accused.  “You wouldn’t have something to do with our missing friends, would you?” 

“I didn’t do anything.  You gotta believe me.” 

“Drop the gun and step away from him!” 

Josiah heard the scuffle behind him and chanced a look.  The sheriff and three deputies were cordoned behind him.  Sanchez held out his gun, but didn’t release it.  “Reckon you’re all making a mistake.  Just trying to find my friends.” 

“Well shooting off yer gun and frightening bank-tellers ain’t gonna help you none,” Jenkins sneered.  “I run a clean and safe town and won’t have the likes of you taking it over.” 

“Turner, get his gun.”  The deputy held out his hand and was eventually rewarded for his patience.  “Mr. Sanchez, you’ll be staying the night in custody.”  He gestured for the preacher to precede him. 

“What’s going on?” Larabee stepped from the shadows of the buildings.  He’d heard the gunfire and like the gathering crowd came to investigate.  To say he was astounded to find Josiah in the centre of the dilemma was an understatement. 

“Your collaborator attacked, Mr. Perez.” 

Chris stared unbelievingly at the preacher.  There had to be more to this.  “Who’s Perez?” 

“I am,” the bank-teller greeted, holding out his hand prepared to shake the gunslinger’s.  After a pause he dropped it down by his side. 

“Josiah?” 

Sanchez shrugged.  “You ask him why he was watching me?” 

Chris redirected his gaze to the teller, expecting an answer. 

“I wasn’t!  Like I already said,” he explained to the sheriff as well as the deputies.  “I, I…” he stammered.  “I was just checking to see…” he swallowed and scanned the faces in the crowd nervously, “if Doris was serving in the restaurant tonight.”  He finished in a whisper, rushing his words and tugging at the collar that constricted his throat.  A flush of red crept up his cheeks.  A slight chuckle travelled through the gathering crowd, and a large bosomed woman cheekily pressed to the front.  Perez’s face flamed in embarrassment.  “Evenin’ Doris.”  He couldn’t escape her now.  The entire town knew of the waitress’s infatuation with the sinewy bank-teller.  And they were privy to the fact that Perez was more than reluctant about returning her feelings.  He cringed as she wrapped her pudgy fingers into the crook of his elbow and led him off to the diner, a ripple of laughter following their progress. 

The sheriff and his deputies escorted Sanchez to the jail.  The loud clang of the cell door closing echoed as Sanchez sank to the single cot along the wall.  He buried his face in his hands and sighed.  Lord he’d made a mess of things.