DAY 5
"There." Buck pointed, low-voiced, and Josiah nodded when he saw the dark flicker of blue uniforms between the cottonwood leaves on the road below. He rose in his stirrups to wave his hat as he sent a low whistle sliding through the still, late-morning air. The two horsemen below sat up from the relaxed postures they had been draped in, and one of them looked back up the slope, his face flashing white briefly as he watched Josiah pointing back down the broad road. At that gesture, this man gathered his reins and spoke to his companion.
"Looks like it's time, JD," he said.
"I'm ready, Chris."
The older man smiled slightly. "Yeah, I think you are."
The two spurred their horses into a slow jog that dropped down through a thin line of cottonwood trees whose leaves rattled dully in the hot breeze, and across the dry creekbed they lined. The pale round stones clattered beneath their horses' hooves as they left the creekbed and climbed the far bank to emerge onto the roadway. Already the lead riders in a long column of cavalry could be seen coming into view around the nearest bend, and Chris threw a cautionary look at JD as he reined in to wait for them to be spotted. It took only a moment.
The lead rider raised a hand to the rest of the group as all the horses raised their heads and turned their ears towards the two that were unexpectedly meeting them on the way. Several of them shied and backed, blowing loudly. Chris sat patiently and as calm as if he faced only a picnic group on an outing, his hands loose on the reins and his wrists resting crossed over the saddle horn. JD eyed the older man surreptitiously and consciously tried to affect a more nonchalant sag to his seat. He was certain he had succeeded, until he saw the near side of Chris's lips curl at the end in a way that suggested he was more aware of JD's efforts than the youth would have wished. He sighed, and relaxed more honestly into the sag of a vexed youth, and Chris chuckled. The lead rider of the troop of soldiers, meanwhile, having spoken briefly to those near him, separated himself from the rest of the men he led and approached Chris and JD with cautious eyes that scanned the low-lying hills flanking the road.
"Mornin', Captain Richards." Chris's voice was as pleasant as if both men were standing on a street corner.
"Do I know you?" The captain drew his horse to a halt and eyed Chris steadily.
"Name's Chris Larabee. Judge Travis wired us you were coming through with 'special cargo.' I have men on the hills here, to make sure this transfer happens without any trouble."
"Here?" The captain frowned. "I was led to believe--"
Chris straightened in his saddle, and his eyes were suddenly dark as stone. "I don't think we need $50,000 in gold changing hands in a little town like Four Corners," he said flatly. "At least if anything happens out here, there's no innocent people around to get hurt."
The captain eyed Larabee thoughtfully for a long moment, his head steady even as his horse fidgeted in place and stamped a foot to dislodge flies. "Do you have any papers to prove your identity?"
"Only the judge's telegram."
"May I see it?"
Chris reached slowly into an inside pocket of his shirt and drew out a folded sheet of yellow wire paper. The captain stretched his arm out for it a good deal farther than would have been necessary, had he brought his horse closer to that of the man in black. Chris chuckled and legged his own animal close enough to bridge the gap, handed the paper to the officer, and then backed his horse away again quickly. The officer unfolded the wire, eyed it briefly, and then refolded it with a satisfied air.
"You understand we can't be too careful with this sort of shipment, Mr. Larabee. If--" He was interrupted by another low whistle that caused all the men on the road to raise their eyes to the hill again, where Josiah could be seen gesturing in the opposite direction.
"Well," said Chris, "here comes your relief now."
"But how--?" The captain's voice trailed off in confusion at the smirk on the gunman's face, and Chris's smile only widened at it. "I had one of my men meet them on the other side of town and bring them cross-country this far to meet up with you." His eyes narrowed as he looked the officer up and down almost scornfully. "Like I said, a little town like Four Corners is no place for the army to pull this kind of stunt." At that, he wheeled his black and spurred it away towards the newly-arriving group, JD at his heels. The officer sputtered a moment, then turned his own tall bay to gesture to his troops to come up and join him. By the time his men had caught up with the two self-styled protectors of the nearby town, the younger of them was off his horse and holding the reins of several other animals, whose riders had dismounted and were walking out stiff legs. Richards drew up to the group and dismounted as he heard his second in command give the order to fall out to the troop behind him. He approached the tall officer wearing First Lieutenant's insignia, and saluted.
"Lieutenant Mims?"
"Yessir." The other man snapped into a sharp salute and then reached into his coat pocket to withdraw a thick sheaf of papers that he held out to Richards respectfully. The captain took them carefully, and began to inspect them. He glanced up to see the man, Larabee, eyeing the surrounding hills with a look that sent chills up his spine.
"What seems to be the problem, Mr. Larabee? Are you expecting trouble?"
"As a matter of fact, yes." Chris brought his eyes around to the captain's and his lips pursed as though he'd tasted something sour. "One of my men has been tracking some strangers around here the last week, and he was ambushed and left for dead. That says to me there's someone who doesn't want us to know they're around. Doesn't that sound like 'trouble' to you?" He ended so softly that it sounded almost like he was talking to a child. The captain shook himself and frowned.
"So what information did he learn?"
"Don't know." Chris's gaze returned to the surrounding hills. "He's still unconscious."
"I see." The captain sighed in decision as he returned the sheaf of orders to Mims. "Lieutenant, let me show you your cargo."
Chris exchanged glances with Ezra, who had led the new unit to the rendezvous place they'd established. The gambler was sitting his little chestnut with a look of pure disgust on his features, and Chris grinned to himself. A man with a poker face like Ezra's allowed his emotions to show so blatantly only when he chose to do so. No doubt his southern sensibilities were offended by so much blue serge. A sudden jingling of tack from both groups of soldiers interrupted his musings and he turned around to see the two officers approaching him again.
"Mr. Larabee, we seem to be fine here." The captain stuck out his hand to shake Chris's and the latter obliged.
"I'll get my drivers up now." The lieutenant called to two of his men, who dismounted and climbed up onto the wagon as the troops that had escorted the gold thus far dropped back and dismounted to rest. The lieutenant turned a serious look to Chris. "I am concerned about this group in the area you spoke of, however, Mr. Larabee."
"I can send some of my men with--"
"No." The officer shook his head forcefully. "That will not be necessary. Instead, I would like to send one of my men to question yours, when he regains his senses. We may be able to learn something that will help us stem the problems we've been having with these shipments."
Chris eyed both officers for a long moment, then nodded. "All right."
"Sergeant Smith!" Called the lieutenant.
A short, older man reined his horse close to the group of men standing on the ground, and nodded. "Yes, sir?"
"Go with this gentleman," said Mims, inclining his head towards Chris, "and wait for one of his men who has been injured to regain consciousness. When he does, I want you to question him about what happened. If he has any information that will help the army stem this series of robberies, wire me at once."
"Yessir." The sergeant eyed Larabee thoughtfully, and then nodded once more to his officer. "How long should I wait, sir?"
"As long as it takes. Sergeant." Chris's gaze jerked towards the lieutenant in surprise at the sound of his voice when he said the words, and then he looked at Captain Richards only to see that the man was already talking to his own second in command and clearly getting ready to lead his troops away from the scene.
*Hell,* thought Chris irritably to himself, *the man didn't mean it that way. He can't know how close Vin came to dying.*
But he looked back up at the lieutenant with narrowed eyes, disliking him anyway.
"How's he doing, Nathan?" Chris slid his hat off as he entered the darkened room, his voice dropping to the low tones of one who does not wish to disturb the ill or sleeping.
"He should be comin' out of it pretty soon, now." The tall man stood up from the chair he'd been sitting in to come towards Chris, his eyes on the sergeant in blue. "He's woke up a little bit twice already, for only a moment, and I've gotten some water in 'im. I been spongin' 'im off right along, too, an' the fever's pretty much gone." His eyes drifted back to Chris's and the gunman nodded.
"This is Sergeant Smith. He's with the troops who picked up the shipment."
"Sergeant." Nathan's voice was respectful, but guarded, and the sound made Chris look at him with surprise.
"This is Nathan Jackson," said Chris, completing introductions. "The man on the bed is the one I told you about. Vin Tanner."
The sergeant stepped closer to the bed to regard the still form lying there, one hand slapping his hat impatiently against his thigh as he did so. Nathan shot a questioning look at Chris, and the other inclined his head towards the trooper. "He's been told to question Vin about what happened, after he comes to."
"Beggin' your pardon, but ain't NObody gonna' question this man for a while, after he comes to." Chris narrowed his eyes. This was twice Nathan had surprised him in the space of a few moments. The healer's instincts were such that it made Chris rein himself in and remember the way he'd felt himself, earlier, about the lieutenant that had given the orders. The sergeant chuckled under his breath and turned to face Nathan and Chris in the dim light.
"We'll see," he said.
"This man needs rest," said Nathan evenly. He was starting to get the outraged sound to his voice that Chris recognized all too well from run-ins the healer'd had with Ezra. "You can talk to 'im tomorrow. Or the day after."
The sergeant regarded the other two men steadily for a long moment, then smiled. "All right." He gestured to a chair that was against one corner of the room. "Got any problem with me just hangin' around here, though, in case he says anything on his own?"
Nathan hesitated, and Chris saw that he was breathing more heavily than usual. After a moment, he licked his lips and nodded. "Suit yo'self," he said. "But leave 'im alone 'til I say otherwise. This ain't the army. Understand?"
"Yessir!" The sergeant snapped off a salute that made Nathan frown slightly, and threw himself down in the chair he'd indicated, tossing his hat over the back of it. He tipped the chair onto its two back legs and closed his eyes with an audible sight. Chris touched Nathan's elbow lightly and inclined his head towards the door. The black man regarded the sergeant for a long moment, then let his eyes drift to Vin's still form before he nodded very slightly and led the way into the heavy heat of late afternoon. The moment the door was shut behind them, Chris turned to face the healer squarely.
"What's going on, Nathan?"
"Like I said, Vin's--"
"I mean with the sergeant in there."
Nathan shifted his weight and ran his eyes along the street below before he brought them back to meet Chris's gaze. He shrugged. "I dunno'," he admitted. "Man jus' rubs me wrong. Comes into a sick room an' acts like . . . " His voice trailed off as he ran one hand suddenly through his short hair and then raised his voice more firmly. "You c'n just tell, he ain't got no respec' for folks. I never have trusted that in a feller."
"Yeah." Chris looked at his own hat, held in his hands in front of him. "You're right."
A sudden sound from inside the room behind them caused both men to start. Impossible to place, it hadn't been loud -- but it wasn't right, either. Nathan beat Chris back through the door, and Chris knew immediately from the electrified way that Nathan reacted to what he saw that both of them should have been paying more attention to their instincts. He cleared the doorway just as Nathan grabbed the sergeant by both shoulders with a scream of fury and hurled him away from the bed he'd been bent over. The sergeant slammed against the wall nearest the foot of the bed and drew his sidearm at the same moment, raising it towards Nathan as the healer drew back his right arm to drive the sergeant even farther away from Vin. Chris's icy voice broke over the fight like a bucket of cold water.
"Hold it."
The sergeant looked at Chris to see that the man's eyes had gone as dark and brittle as those of a rattlesnake, and that the Colt in his hand was as steady as a rock. He swallowed.
"Or you could always," Chris said softly, "try it."
The sergeant threw down his sidearm with an oath, and it clattered against the wood floor in a series of thumps as Chris leaped to slam him against the wall. His face only inches from that of the other man, he spoke to Nathan behind him.
"Is Vin all right?"
When Nathan didn't answer, Chris smashed his forearm against the sergeant's throat and gritted his teeth as he chanced throwing a quick glance over his shoulder to see what was going on. The healer was bent low over the prone man doing something, and Chris couldn't even see what it was. He turned back to the man he held pinned to the wall and slammed his head against it, hard. His voice rang like steel on stone.
"Tell me what's going on."
The sergeant grimaced, but then shook his head wordlessly. Chris grabbed the man's hair and banged his head into the wall again. "TALK!"
"Chris! Chris!" Nathan laid a calming hand on the gunman's shoulder. "Vin's ok! He's comin' 'roun'."
The gunman released the sergeant in a gesture that threw him to the floor, where he remained in a sneering heap with his eyes on Chris's face. Nathan turned back to the bed and poured water from a white pitcher into a small cup, and raised Vin's head slowly to help him sip of the liquid. The tracker coughed slightly, sighed. Chris let his eyes leave the sergeant's face long enough to look at Vin's. The paleness he saw there reignited his fury and he jumped as if struck. "It's ok now, Vin," Nathan was saying reassuringly, "It's ok, now. Jus' take it easy."
The injured man coughed again, and groaned very softly as Nathan laid him back on the pillows behind him. The healer looked up at Chris grimly and then nodded to the sergeant. "He was smotherin' 'im with a pillow," he said simply.
Chris looked back at the sergeant, his eyes cold. "You wanna'--"
He was interrupted by a light tap on the door to Nathan's room, which was still standing opened, and Buck stepped into the dimness with his pistol in his hand. Josiah was at his heels.
"What the hell's goin' on here?" he asked softly.
Chris took another step back from the sergeant and holstered his Colt. "That's what I'd like to know," he replied. "'Sergeant Smith' here just tried to suffocate Vin." He looked at the tracker, who was dragging himself into a propped-up position on the bed with Nathan's help even then. "Get him to the jail, and I'll be down in a minute to see what he's got to say for himself."
Buck and Josiah stepped in to stand on either side of the man who still sat on the floor where Chris had thrown him down, and Josiah leaned over to jerk him none too gently to his feet. "C'mon," he said roughly.
"I ain't gotta' go NO where with you," snarled the sergeant.
"That's so," said Josiah thoughtfully. "Then again, you might just fall down them three flights a' stairs outside an' bust somethin' on the way to the jail."
"Which would be a real shame," added Buck softly, "seein' as how the town's only doc is busy takin' care of someone else right now."
"You might have to sit around with a broken leg or arm for -- oh, hours and hours," said Josiah. "Might even have to get to the jail all by yourself that way. You know. Hurt an' with no help."
The sergeant looked from one to the other of the men, shook his coat back onto his shoulders more squarely with a bitter expression, and left the room with Josiah and Buck flanking him.
Chris turned to Vin and Nathan, drawing up a chair and sitting down in it as he did so. He laid a hand over his friend's and was pleased that it was no longer dark with banked heat of fever. Vin turned a clouded and tired gaze to Chris, and swallowed painfully. Nathan immediately offered him another sip of water when he saw the fleeting grimace of discomfort, and Vin sipped at the liquid with obvious gratitude, then lay his head back against the headboard behind him and closed his eyes a long moment before he opened them again. Chris hadn't moved.
"Sol--" Vin's voice broke off in a fit of coughing, and Nathan helped him sit forward so he could get his breath. Chris leaned back out of the way, his face tight. Vin waved his hand at Nathan, then, and sighed. He tried again, his face determined and his voice husky from the rawness of a parched throat. "Soldiers," he said softly. "Dead."
Chris frowned. "Where?"
Vin swallowed painfully, but shook his head at the water that Nathan held out to him again. "Cedar . . . Springs."
Chris knit his brows. Cedar Springs was a good distance north of there, and about the place where the troops would have been yesterday on their way in to pick up the shipment. Vin broke into his thoughts by grasping Chris's wrist.
"Men," he rasped out, "I been trailin' . . . Tucker . . . killed th' soldiers . . . took uniforms."
Chris felt a lightning bolt rip through him as it all fell into place with Vin's final words. He looked up to see Nathan looking at him with alarm, and then shifted his gaze back to Vin. The tracker's breathing was growing labored again, and Chris patted his hand reassuringly as he pulled it from his wrist and laid it back on the damp sheets. "Got it, Vin," he said. "We'll take it from here. You rest now."
Chris rose as Nathan propped an additional pillow behind Vin's head and placed the cup of water into his hands with an admonition to sip it, but to finish what was in the cup. He shook his head, regarding the healer, as Nathan straightened from the task and turned his dark eyes on Chris. The gunman bit his lips on the inside and turned without a word to leave the room. He paused in the doorway, one hand on the latch, to let his eyes linger a final time on Vin, who was setting the cup on a nearby table with a pale shaking hand, and Nathan approached close enough to Chris to make the older man look at him.
"He'll be ok now, Chris," the healer said softly. "Jus' a matter a' rest. I'll get some soup sent up; he'll get his stren'th back in a day or two."
Chris's hard expression set more firmly as he looked at Nathan in the silence, and then he was gone. The healer turned to look at Vin and sighed. "I sure as hell wouldn't wanna' be in that 'sergeant's' boots," he murmured under his breath, to himself. "Not for nuthin' in this world."
Even Buck jumped at the fury with which Chris exploded into the sheriff's office. The door banged against the wall so hard the glass in it shook like it would break, and he had opened the jail cell and was inside it, the fingers of his right hand wound into the "sergeant's" shirtcollar like a vise, before anyone could move. The men eyed each other uncertainly as Chris slammed the heavy-set man against the brick wall and then drew his long Colt and shoved the barrel close to the man's jaw.
"Hold on, Brother. That's not the--"
"Back off, Josiah." Chris's voice brooked no opposition, and Josiah raised his hands palm-out to the gunman calmingly.
"Dead man can't talk, is all, Chris."
"I know that." He spat the words in something like a growl, but his eyes bored into the "sergeant's" unrelentingly. He lowered his voice to a thready hiss and shook the man again once, menace in every inch of his frame. "But a dying one can."
"Look, I swear I--" Sweat suddenly beaded on the heavy man's florid face as he realized the extent of the trouble he'd fallen into. No one had said there was a crazy man here, but not only was this man clearly out of his mind with rage, it was evident that the others intended to stay out of his way.
"WHO!" Chris slammed the man against the brick again, so hard that it knocked the air out of his lungs in a heavy gasp. "You tell me right now who's behind this or so help me--"
"Grady Ward." The words began to tumble out, fear raising a bile in the "sergeant's" mouth that could almost be tasted by the men in the office. Ezra swore at the name; he'd heard it. They all had. The man had left a trail of brutal robberies through Kansas, Texas, and Missouri. "Grady Ward, I swear. I'm just a--"
Chris interrupted by pressing his face even closer to that of the frightened man. "Yeah, I've heard of him. Was he that "lieutenant" who told you to find Vin and kill him?"
"Mister! I swear he'll--"
"ANSWER ME!" Chris's scream struck the man like a fist, and he began to shake like a man palsied.
"Yes. Yes." He was shaking so badly that his voice rattled.
Chris pressed on. "Is he the one who shot Vin and left him out there, to begin with? With no horse or water, to die? IS HE?!"
The "sergeant" squeezed his eyes shut and his face worked as he began to shed tears of fright. "Jones," he choked out. "Tucker said it was Jones."
Chris and Buck eyed one another in surprise, as Josiah frowned. "Would that be Barry Jones, Brother?"
The "sergeant" nodded miserably as Chris released him. He slid down to the floor and laid his face on his arms.
"Good God almighty," breathed Josiah.
"This is gonna' 'bout kill Miz Opal," breathed JD.
"It may have already." Everyone turned surprised eyes to Josiah, who was shaking his big head slowly. "When all this started, I was on my way to tell you Cardiff had asked me to ride out to her place, to check on 'er. She an' Miz Carson went out to the farm early this mornin', an' they ain't come back."
Buck groaned, and squeezed his eyes shut. He knew what they all knew: the Jones' farm was on the road they'd seen the false soldiers take as they left with the stolen shipment of gold.
Hours ago.
Buck opened his eyes and looked at Chris with an expression filled with pain. "If Tucker's in on this, too, BOTH those ladies . . ."
"Josiah, take up watch in the church tower," said Chris briskly. His eyes were on Buck, though, and he was pulling a rifle from the rack behind the desk as he spoke. "Ezra, get up to Nathan's and stay with Vin no matter what; stay alert." He broke opened the breech of the rifle and nodded shortly to Buck. "You an' me, or you an' JD?"
"If it's all the same to you, Chris, I'll take JD." The gunslinger grinned sadly. "Miz Opal always has been scared to death a' you. She's liable to shoot you on sight if she's had a run-in with that no-'count husband a' hers."
Chris nodded shortly, accepting what he knew was true. It was too late for an extra gun to make a difference out there anyway, by now. He exchanged a long, sad look with his old friend, and began to angrily shove shells into the breech of the rifle.
"C'mon, JD," said Buck.
The younger man looked from Buck to Chris, and then to Josiah. He swallowed and followed Buck out the door without saying another word.
"Well, I have to say that's the best meal I've eaten in a long while." Opal threw herself back in the long grass that was growing lushly where she'd run the irrigation ditches into the orchard. "I'm so full I may not be able to walk back now!"
Julianna laughed and looked down at the older woman next to her. "Maybe it just tastes good after so much hard work."
"Oh my, no," said Opal, shaking her head. "Fried chicken. I haven't had anything like that in over -- well, I don't know how long." She smiled, her eyes still closed against the spots of sunlight that found their way through the heavy green leaves overhead.
"Well." Julianna stretched out her legs on the grass and sighed happily. "I can see why you love this place."
"It is very good here."
"But . . ."
"But we have to get back." Opal chuckled and sat up, picking bits of grass out of her hair and off her shirtcollar. "I did tell Mr. Cardiff I would be back before 2 o'clock."
"Yeah, well Mrs. Lansing will be breathing down my neck if I don't get the hotel's linens over to them before long." She sighed, and then began to giggle. "Wouldn't I love to see her out here, digging trenches and pulling weeds."
"It would do her heart good," said Opal. She stood up and reached a hand to her friend to help her rise to her own feet. "You cannot work in the land and stay so--" Her voice broke off and her features knotted as her eyes focused on something behind Julianna. The younger woman turned around quickly to see that a long plume of dust was rising off the town road that ran past the farm. The distant sound of many horses and their jangling hardware flitted through the hot, still air of afternoon, and the two women regarded one another, perplexed.
Julianna pointed as the lead riders came into view, and nodded. "Cavalry," she said.
Opal was picking up her shotgun with her eyes still on the road. "I see."
"Oh, Opal. Surely you can't think that--"
The small woman laid a dark hand on Julianna's arm warningly, and pulled back the trigger on one of the barrels of the old gun to cock it. Julianna looked back out at the approaching column of soldiers, her heart suddenly hammering in her throat. Try as she might to tell herself there was nothing to fear, she could feel it, too. Both women stood stock still in the shade of the orchard at the edge of the road, hoping that the troopers would pass on by. There was no reason they shouldn't, after all.
But they didn't.
Without even an order called, the group of men shuffled to a halt near the women, and a long dusty silence fell that was pregnant with threat. Then a rider loped up to the front, from near the rear. He was not in uniform, nor were the several men flanking him. Julianna saw Opal's face drain of color moments before the man spoke.
"Well," he said, grinning, "if it ain't my better half."
"Go away, Barry."
The small woman's voice was low but distinct. Julianna startled when she realized that one of the men just behind Barry Jones and bit to one side was Tucker. Her shaking hand plucked at Opal's sleeve, and the darker woman nodded silently that she saw and understood. Jones legged his roan closer to the two women and looked down into Opal's face.
"Now is that any way to talk to your husband, who you ain't seen in all this long while?"
Opal silently raised the barrel of the shotgun so that it pointed squarely at Barry's chest. "Get out," she breathed softly.
Barry Jones sat staring at his wife for several long moments, grinning in a way that could only be described as greasy. When he finally spoke, it was to Tucker, behind him. "You want that one?" He inclined his head towards Julianna, who took half a step back at the query.
The leader of the group suddenly flicked the reins of his horse. "Enough!" he barked. "Do whatever you've a mind to do and let's go. They're not worth all this hold-up." He spurred his horse, which half-reared and then led off again down the road, the rest of the false troopers at his heels. Jones' face darkened, and Tucker urged his bay towards Julianna suddenly.
The younger woman blanched as the man reached for her, and Opal immediately swung the shotgun barrel from Barry to Tucker, pulling the trigger as she did so. The roar boomed simultaneously with the crash of Barry driving his horse into Opal to knock her down, and her shot went wild as her head struck ground baked hard as a rock by the sun. Tucker jerked Julianna over the pommel of his saddle with one hand, and she screamed. She saw a dark gash appear on her friend's temple when her head hit the ground, and then bright red of sudden blood immediately afterwards. She struggled against Tucker, kicking and flailing to get loose as he wrapped filthy fingers into her hair painfully and jerked her head back to make her be still.
Opal put both palms against the ground and tried to push herself up, shaking her head against confusion and fear. Her shotgun lay only a few feet away, and she grabbed the barrel and pulled it towards her as she found her feet. She could hear Julianna screaming and Tucker swearing and laughing, both. "We gonna' have us some FUN," he was crowing. Opal managed to stand up, her head spinning, and raised the shotgun a second time, its barrel wavering. She tried to swallow over the terror in her throat, and blinked again against the ragged curtain of darkness that kept trailing down over her sight. The other barrel, she thought, the other barrel's still loaded. A crack rang out then, and the shotgun flew from her hands as she felt a sharp pain explode in her upper right arm. She heard Julianna's scream, much more shrill this time, as she fell again.
"NO!" Julianna's voice sounded farther and farther away, and Opal blinked hard, trying to see her friend in the tilting landscape and sudden darkness. "NO! You can't leave her like this! NO! PLEASE!! Oh GOD! OPAL!!!"
And then it was all black.
By the time Buck and JD reined in sweating mounts to eye the Jones farm with apprehension, the sun had dropped into the dust haze low above the western horizon and fired it like a metal forge. Buck's eyes scanned the groves quickly, the house yard and gateway, and out into the road. JD laid a steadying hand on his horse's neck and leaned forward in an alert posture.
"See anything, Buck?"
Buck shook his head, but his eyes still slid quickly back and forth. He frowned, then, and nodded. "You see that?"
"That sort of a flash?"
"Yeah. Like sun on metal." Buck gathered his reins, his face grim. "C'mon."
They were nearly to the gate of the farm itself before they were able to clearly make out what it was they were seeing: the tiny form of Opal Jones staggering towards them on the town road. Even as they watched, though, she suddenly sat down hard and remained sitting in a heap, head down, her hair blowing on the hot evening wind. Her shotgun lay in the dirt of the road next to her, where it had fallen as she collapsed, gleaming dully in the flaming light. Buck laid a cautionary hand on JD's forearm and reined in while still a good 30 yards off. The youth looked at his friend in surprise.
"Somethin's wrong here." Buck's voice was low.
"Hell, even I can see that, Buck." JD jerked his arm away and gestured towards the woman with it. "But Miz Opal--"
At the sound of her name on the hot wind, the woman looked up. JD gasped at the sight, for even at a distance the blood that covered half her face was shockingly bright. He leaped to the ground before Buck could stop him and began to hurry towards her, but as he did so the woman moved far more rapidly than he would have thought possible. Dragging the shotgun to her lap awkwardly with one hand, Opal trained the barrel on JD and held it there. The youth froze, for his steps had carried him well within range of the old gun. He heard Buck's voice behind him, but a bit off to one side now.
"Don't move a muscle, JD. She's half out of her head with scared an' hurt."
JD nodded very slightly, and licked suddenly dry lips.
"Talk real easy to her, ok?" Buck continued, "But don't move."
JD swallowed. Talk real easy, huh? He couldn't take his eyes off the woman's terrified and terrifying face, and Buck wanted him to talk *easy* to her?
Well. OK.
"It's JD Dunne, Miz Opal. From town?"
The only movement on the small woman's part was the whipping of long strands of black hair across her face. She acted like she didn't even know it was there. JD could feel her eyes boring into him. He swallowed, thought of what Buck had said, and tried again.
"You don't -- you don't need to be afraid of me. I know you." JD was nodding now, as if she'd responded to him, and he began to relax more when at least she didn't take any more threatening steps. "You know me, too. Sometimes you bring food to the prisoners in the jail. Remember?" He paused, and the woman remained still. "You know my friends, too. Buck an' Ezra an' Vin an'--" He broke off when he saw Opal jerk at Vin's name, then realized she was the one who'd found the tracker in the street. He saw her mouth open, wordlessly, and then he jumped, startled, as Buck leaped into his field of view to grab the woman with one arm as he wrenched the shotgun from her grasp with the other.
Opal screamed, a shrill sound of pure terror that made JD's hair stand up even as he ran the rest of the way to her. Buck had pulled her far enough from the shotgun that she could not reach it, but she was struggling in his grasp and hitting him with one hand, trying to get away. She landed a blow on the man's ear that made him duck his head, and he yelled for JD to grab her arm. The moment the young man did so, Opal began to scream again, only this time she did not stop. Again and again she cried out, pulling against the arms that held her, until finally she broke off into hysterical sobbing and then sagged so suddenly that Buck had to react quickly to keep her from falling to the ground.
"Get a canteen, JD." He knelt, lowering the woman to the road while still supporting her on one arm. Her eyes were closed, her pale face streaked with blood and dirt and tears. She was breathing rapidly and in ragged gulps that were still half sobs, occasionally murmuring: "No" and then again: "Julianna." Buck looked up as JD held out the canteen, and his eyes were dark. "Pull my kerchief off an' help me tie up her arm," he said, "I think the bone's broken."
Working together, the two men bound the woman's bleeding arm to her side, and then carefully washed the very worst of the blood and dirt from her face. From time to time a deep sob spilled out of her and seemed to run onto their hands as they worked silently. It was a sob filled with unutterable grief, and the two men were glad when she was ready to take back to town.
JD had helped Buck secure the small woman in his arms once he was mounted up, and gathered the reins of his own mare in his hands before he could bring himself to ask the older man the question that lay like a cold stone in the pit of his stomach.
"Buck?"
"Yeah, Kid?" The gunman's voice was soft, and JD looked up to see that his eyes were equally so.
"Where's . . . where do you think Miz Julianna is?"
Buck sighed and looked down at the pale and bloody face he held pressed against his chest. He looked back at JD. "I don't know," he said. "Could be they took 'er. Could be they killed 'er. They sure meant to kill this one." He sighed. "Maybe Nathan can help Opal tell us what happened." He clucked to his gray as JD mounted up, and they turned towards town.
It was a long ride. Twice the woman started up out of her semi-conscious state to fight against Buck, screaming and crying hysterically, and struggling so hard that he was pressed to hang on without harming her further. Both times she called wildly for Julianna at the end, which made Buck and JD exchange somber looks. Josiah spotted the pair riding in from his perch in the bell tower, with the result that Chris strode out to meet them even before they reached Nathan's. He took one look and told JD to go for Mary, then drew the woman into his own arms as Buck bent to release her. The tall gunman still astride shook his head.
"Careful, Chris," he warned, "She's beside herself from time to time."
The lean man nodded silently, and carried the woman up the stairs to Nathan's, Buck following close on his heels. He kicked the door of the clinic opened so suddenly that Ezra leaped up with his derringer already in his hand before he knew what was happening. The gambler sighed and then frowned.
"Good God," he breathed.
"Nathan." Chris was walking towards the healer, who was even at the moment rising from the chair where he had been reading. Vin rolled to the edge of the bed he'd been laying on and stood up, his face pale, and sat on the chair Nathan had vacated.
"Lay 'er there, Chris." He pointed to the bed, and Nathan nodded.
Chris sighed, and laid the woman down upon the rumpled sheets. As her head touched the pillow, her dark eyes flew opened. And it was Chris, close and filling her field of sight, that she saw. Before any man present could move, she was off the bed and huddled on the floor behind it, pressed into the corner of the wall, weeping raggedly in a hoarse voice that was more animal than human. Chris bit his lips and stood up, sorrow cording his face. He looked at Buck.
"It ain't you, Chris," said the other man sadly. Nathan got on his knees and started to reach out to Opal, but she screamed and then screamed again even more loudly. The door opened at that moment and Mary came in with JD behind her. The men turned to her with a collective sigh of relief, but when she saw the situation, she shook her head.
"She doesn't know me, any more than she knows Chris or Buck," said Mary. "I can't--"
"Let me try."
The group turned as one to see that Vin had slid from the chair to the floor and was holding out his opened hand towards Opal. He was still pale, his skin as white as the bandages across his shoulder and chest, and his hair fell forward to hide his face as he leaned towards the small woman, his voice very soft.
"Opal?" He waited.
Chris nodded to himself. Of course. What it needed was patience, and Vin would know that. Such a long time passed, though, that Chris began to wonder if the tracker had misjudged the situation. Then finally, very slowly, the woman's small dark hand reached out for Vin's. He remained perfectly still until her trembling fingers touched his own, and then drew her hand into his and closed his fingers gently around it. She looked up into his face with confusion, her eyes still half-wild, and he spoke to her again, as softly as he would speak to a frightened child.
"I wanna' get you up on this bed here, so Nathan can tend to ya'. OK?" He bent to look into the woman's face more directly. "Ya' with me, Opal?"
Opal nodded silently, and began to try to struggle to her feet. Vin moved to help her, and threw a staying glance at his friends as he did so. Chris bit back a curse and curled his hands into fists, watching the two people climb awkwardly to their feet together, the injured man finally half-lifting the woman back onto the bed. He dropped to the edge of the mattress himself, beside her, his back and chest heaving from the exertion he really wasn't up to, but somehow managed to smile at her reassuringly.
"Y'all right?"
The woman nodded very slightly, and her worried eyes slid over to Nathan with apprehension. The healer looked at Vin, who nodded, and Nathan lowered himself into a squat so that his face was at Opal's eye level.
"I jus' wanna' wash off your head, there, ma'am. You c'n talk t' Vin while I do. All right?"
Opal nodded again, then looked back at Vin and swallowed. She tried to speak twice before the words came out, her voice trembling so much that it was difficult to understand at first.
"Help her," she said.
Vin reached his hand out to lay it over Opal's, who seemed to catch onto his eyes with her own and hang on to them for support. His voice was very low.
"Where is she? Where is Julianna, Opal?"
A long sigh shook its way out of the woman as Nathan very quietly wrung out a cloth in a basin of water, and gently began to wash the accumulated dirt and blood from the gash on her temple. She winced, suddenly.
"They took her." The woman paused. "The soldiers."
"Do you know where they went?"
The sound of water falling into the basin as Nathan wrung out the cloth again trickled into the silence as Opal shook her head very slightly, and pressed her lips together. "I was too afraid," she said, her voice shaking even more. "I don't -- remember."
Nathan's voice eased into the conversation, low and deep and gentle. "Miz Opal, I'm guessin' you don' remember 'cause you were knocked out. Not scared."
The woman looked at Nathan, then back to Vin. The tracker nodded at her. "I think Nathan's right," he said, "Don't worry. We'll find 'er. We can track 'em."
Opal sighed and leaned her head back against the headboard, her eyes opened and staring dully at nothing in a way that sent a long shiver down Chris's spine as he looked at her. Vin squeezed her hand gently, and took a deep breath. "Opal," he said, his voice serious, "I wanna' know who hurt you."
The woman's chest heaved in a sudden sob, and a tear slid out of one eye to run down the side of her face. Mary put her hand to her mouth and turned away, knowing. Vin's face grew hard a moment, then softened. He leaned more closely to the small woman as Nathan continued to clean the wound on her head.
"Who hurt you Opal?"
The small woman squeezed her eyes shut, and began crying again, and then spoke through lips that trembled with shame. "Barry," she said softly. "My - -- my own -- *husband*." She pulled her hand from Vin's and covered her face with it, deep sobs racking her thin form. Vin closed his eyes and sagged in a way that made Chris think for a moment he was going to fall to the floor himself, but then he looked up with a glint to his eye that was nothing less than deadly.
"I'll be spendin' the night in my wagon," he said to Chris, "an' lookin' to trail that bunch out from her farm at first light."
"Vin, you--" Nathan looked in alarm from one of his patients to the other as Vin shook his head angrily and stood up. He grabbed his gunbelt from the back of the chair where Nathan had hung it, and looked at Opal. Then he looked at Chris, nodded to Buck, and raised his gunbelt to put it over his good shoulder. The movement knocked him off-balance, and he tottered suddenly on still-unsteady legs and shook his head with some embarrassment as Chris caught him. The two men exchanged a long look, and Chris nodded very slightly to his friend as he got a better grip on him.
Vin looked back to where Nathan was beginning to untie the bandanna that bound up Opal's arm, Mary bending low with him and speaking in soothing tones to the woman on the bed. He looked at Ezra, JD, and Buck with a darker expression, and then eyed Chris again. "Opal needs fewer scary-lookin' men in here, an' Miz Julianna needs a plan," he said.
"Let's go plan," Buck said very softly. He opened the door, and the men filed out.
"Since when did you become a teetotaller?" Buck stared down into his empty glass, his voice heavy. Chris slid into the chair opposite him. His pale eyes fell on the drops of dried blood on the front of Buck's shirt -- blood that belonged to the false sergeant laying in the jail cell.
After they'd helped Vin down to his wagon, Chris and Buck had decided to see what else their prisoner knew about Grady's plans. Buck had flown into the jail cell before Chris could say or do anything, and broken the man's nose
with one punch. The heavy man had howled in pain as the blood squirted onto Buck and the floor. Given that the man was still terrified from his earlier meeting with Chris, Buck's rage was all the extra encouragment he'd needed to tell them everything he knew about Grady's plans.
Chris had seen Buck angry many times but in all the years they'd known each other he'd never seen this kind of fury from Buck before. He slid a chair back from the table suddenly and sat down, rubbed his face with one hand,
then leaned back to eye his old friend intently.
"Tell me about it, Buck."
Buck looked up at the question, his eyes dark with sorrow. "Tell ya what?"
"You said you knew Julianna from before. Before we go charging out of here I'd like to know where and how she fits into all of this." Buck took his time in answering. He slowly poured himself another drink and looked at
Chris through the amber colored liquid.
"Remember when I was in Atchison?" Chris nodded, recalling Buck talking about his days as a deputy in the Kansas town. "One time a man beat a 'working girl' -- to death, as it turned out. I tried to do something about
it but nobody cared. Julianna, she . . . she worked in that house. But I didn't remember that at first." Chris waited, patiently letting Buck continue the story.
"When she showed up here I knew I'd seen her before. It didn't hit me 'till after she said that blessing thing for Vin. I heard her saying the same thing for the girl that'd been beat up back there."
"And Tucker?" Chris knew that he was the missing piece.
"He was the one who beat the girl up in Atchison. He threatened to kill Julianna back then if she said anything to me about him being the one who did it. She was scared to death of him then, and when he showed up here . . ."
Buck's voice trailed off. His shoulders sagged under the weight of his guilt. "I told her she didn't have to worry about him. I told her that he'd never hurt her again. I gave her my word."
"It's not your fau--" His words stopped short as Buck hurled his glass against the wall behind Chris. The glass shards rained down over the table.
"I gave her my word, Chris!"
An unspoken understanding hung in the air between the two men. They both knew that Julianna might be laying out in the desert dead. Or worse, she could still be alive and with Grady and his gang. Chris stood.
"Come on, let's go check on Vin and then get some sleep," he said softly. "You're gonna' need to be rested to do what needs doing tomorrow."
***This is the part with the rape scene in it; caution advised.***
"So you're the one who caused us so much trouble?" Julianna looked up at the man's voice. He squatted down to get a closer look. She turned away from his piercing gaze. His fingers grasped her chin roughly and turned her face
towards him. "Look at me when I'm talkin' to you."
With her hands tied Julianna did the only thing she could to show her disgust. She gathered as much saliva as she could in her dry mouth and spit in his face. As soon as she'd done it she knew it was a mistake. The evil crept over his face slowly.
"Now that wasn't too smart, was it?" In the firelight she didn't see his hand before she felt it hard against her cheek. She let out a whimper of pain that only elicited amusement from Grady.
"She givin' ya trouble Grady?" Julianna didn't have to see the his face to recognize that voice. Tucker.
"No woman ever gave me enough trouble to cause concern. Especially no whore."
"You want her first?" Julianna could just make out Tucker in the dim light. He was licking his lips like an animal waiting to pounce on fresh meat. Grady looked at her for several seconds before turning away.
"Naw, I don't feel like wasting any energy on some whore. Go ahead." The words were a death sentence in Julianna's ears. She knew if Tucker had his way she'd never see the light of day. She tried to struggle against Tucker as he grabbed arm and pulled her to her feet.
Struggling only garnered her another smack from Grady. He walked in front of the pair leading them to a tent. A wicked smile crossed his face as he held the flap open for them to enter. Julianna surveyed the interior and saw only a lamp and a few blankets on the ground.
"This here is the tent that the real lieutenant for them army fellas used as his. But tonight its gonna serve real well as our own personal whore house." The two men laughed heartily. Grady slapped Tucker on the back before
returning to the campfire.
Tucker released his grasp on Julianna's arm and shoved her down onto the hard ground. He laughed at the terror in her eyes. She fought back the tears as she watched him undo his pants. "Aw come on now darlin' don't cry, you and
me gonna have some fun."
He laid down on top of her. The weight of his body almost suffocating her. She felt his hands pulling up her skirt and tearing at her undergarments. Julianna tried to struggle against him but his weight kept her from moving
more than a few inches. Tucker's callused fingers grasped her tightly around her neck threatening to cut off the oxygen.
"Listen here, we can do this the nice way or the rough way. Either way it's gonna happen. Now you play nice and nothin' bad's gonna happen to ya. At least not yet. You see, you're only good for one thing and sooner or later
we're gonna get tired of draggin' ya along with us. You play nice till then and maybe I'll make sure it happens quick and painless. You get difficult and I'll make sure that it takes a long time. So long that you'll be begging
for us to finish ya off. Git it?"
Julianna nodded in understanding. Closing her eyes, she bit her lip in pain as she felt him entering her. She tried to escape what was happening by letting her mind leave her body. It was trick she'd learned working in the
brothel. Whenever she'd had to be with a man that repulsed her, she'd close her eyes and let her mind fill with pictures of happier times. Memories washed over her . . . her mother, her sister Claire, Laura, Amy, Opal. She had failed them all. They had all died and she hadn't stopped it.
Images of each one flooded into her head. Her mother lying in a pool of blood in the kitchen. Her sister's feverish body being carried away. Laura's bloodied and beaten body crumpled in the corner of her room. Blood soaked bed sheets they'd used to wrap Amy's body when they took it away. And Opal. Julianna felt her stomach turn over as an image of Opal's body laying on the ground, blood flowing over the ground, entered her mind.
Oh Opal, she cried inwardly for her new friend. She tried to protect me and all I could do was just stand there. As Julianna's mind played the scene over and over again in her head, she was vaguely aware that Tucker had climbed off of her and had been replaced by another man.
Julianna knew it was her fault. If she'd never come to Four Corners, Vin Tanner wouldn't be laying close to death in town and Opal wouldn't have died alone out at her farm. That was what tore at her soul most of all. Opal
died alone.
Julianna gasped for breath as the waves of guilt and remorse swelled over her threatening to drown her. Her breath grew ragged and she swallowed hard trying to draw in more air. Her chest rose and flew erratically under the
weight of the stranger of top of her. Her eyes flew open wild with terror and fear. The man on top of her climbed off quickly scared by what he saw in the pale orbs. He ran out of the tent calling for help.
She flailed frantically on the floor. Her eyes scanned the tent looking for something sharp. Anything would do. She'd make this horror end now, just like her mother had done. On her hands and knees she scoured the floor for
anything that would cut. A piece of broken glass, a rock with a sharp edge, anything that would cut the skin. If she could do it before anyone came back there'd be nothing they could do to save her. They wouldn't even bother
trying.
Falling footsteps and yelling voices pulled Julianna out of the well of guilt that surrounded her. Two pairs of hands harshly grabbed her arms pulling her up from the floor. The voices were fuzzy and far away at first but slowly the voices and men started to take shape in front of her.
"What the hell happened?" Grady asked the question but it was unclear who it was directed at. The man who'd been with Julianna took a hesitant step forward.
"I don't know. All of a sudden she started breathing funny and I thought maybe she was dying or something." Grady fixed Julianna with a sharp gaze.
"You dying on us?" Julianna hesitated a moment before shaking her head.
"No." Her voice was just above a whisper.
"Good. Glad to hear it." Grady's gaze swept around the tent at the men standing there. "Okay, that's it for the night. Let the girl sleep." A chorus of groans and protest came from the men. "You all will get a chance with her. Just look at it this way . . . anticipation is half the fun." He shot a wicked smile in Julianna's direction before pushing his way out of the tent.
Once she was alone, Julianna curled up in a ball on the cold ground wrapping herself in one of the blankets. Her mind wandered back to what she had been doing before the men had come in. A calmness entered her body as she
realized that killing herself wasn't the answer. NO. I won't let them win. I won't let them have the satisfaction, she vowed silently in her head. She'd make them pay for what they'd done to her. But even more resolutely she vowed to make them pay for what they'd done to Opal.