ONE
Vin Tanner was strolling along Four Corners’ main street. Not many people were about as the late afternoon weather was cold, with a blustery wind tossing the tracker’s dusty-brown locks. Clearly an early winter was approaching.“Need any help, Mrs Martin?” Vin asked, as he observed the middle-aged woman struggling against the wind to affix a poster to the front of the general store.
“Why thank you, Mr Tanner,” Mrs Martin replied smiling gratefully. “My son Toby was supposed to do this, but he’s taken off with his friends somewhere.”
In a matter of moments, Vin had the poster up. “Have ya got more to do?”
“Three more, but I can’t impose on your time,” she added reluctantly, manners overriding her desire to get back to her comfortable, warm home.
“No trouble. Just tell me where to put them.”
“Well, if you don’t mind, could you put one on the telegraph office window, one on the bank and one up in the saloon. I’ve got permission to put them up, but to tell you the truth I’d prefer not to go into the saloon.”
“It’s no place for a lady, Mrs Martin, but I’m happy to help.”
In no time at all, Vin had the one up outside the bank and he was putting up the one outside the telegraph office, when Buck and JD sauntered past. “What are ya doin’?” Buck asked.
“Helpin’ Mrs Martin.”
“What a good little boy!” Buck mocked, lightly patting Vin’s hair. If Mrs Martin had been some twenty years younger and forty pounds lighter he could have understood it. It always amused him how Vin seemed to volunteer to help people with the most boring of jobs.
“I’ll give ya ‘good boy’,” Vin retorted and flicked some paste at him.
Buck ducked behind JD and it splattered on the young lawman’s shirt. “Yuk! Damn you, Vin, this shirt was clean on today,” JD complained.
“Sorry, JD, I was aimin’ at Buck,” Vin apologised.
“And he’s a notoriously bad shot as we all know,” Buck laughed.
“Yeah, couldn’t hit the side of a barn from inside it,” JD added, his good humour restored.
“Anyway we’ve got better things to do than stand around chattin’ and Vin here’s probably got lots more chores to do for other old ladies. Let’s go, JD.”
They took off and Vin headed into the bar, which was virtually empty at that time of the morning. He checked with the barman as to where the sign was to go and was about to hang it up when a voice demanded, “What have ya got there, Tanner?”
Recognizing the voice as belonging to a local troublemaker, Jim Hudson, the tracker sighed inwardly and steadfastly ignored the question.
The hulking rancher and his friends took a delight in baiting him, but were always careful to do this when the rest of the seven were absent. Hudson especially revelled in the kind of sexual comment that embarrassed the hell out of Vin. He never told Chris or the others about their taunts as he was too ashamed to repeat them, and truth to tell, in his innocence frequently did not know exactly what they were talking about. He was tempted at times to ask Ezra, who always seemed to know everything, but was fearful that the gambler might think it funny enough to tell the others and Buck, in particular, would have given him hell over his ignorance.
A large hand descended onto his shoulder and squeezed hard, the fingers digging in painfully. “Hey, pretty boy, I’m talking to you. Can’t you hear through this mop?” Hudson asked, caressing Vin’s curls with his other hand. He gave one strand a tug. “Hey, feel this, boys, it’s lovely and soft.”
Tom Matthews and Dan Martin, Hudson’s two cronies, got up and joined him, closing in close to Vin and jostling him so that he had difficulty hanging the poster straight.
“What’s that poster about, Tanner?” Tom asked.
“Read it yourself,” Vin retorted, trying unsuccessfully to shrug Hudson’s hand from his shoulder.
“No, you read it to me.”
“I don’t think he can, Tom,” Martin said. “Why someone told me poor Mr Tanner here can’t even write his own name.”
Determined not to give the three the satisfaction of seeing how their taunts hurt him, Tanner said nothing, concentrating on getting the poster adjusted to his satisfaction. Then, task completed, Vin swung around and went to push between them, but they blocked his way.
“Is that true, Tanner?” Matthews asked innocently, his eyes gleaming at Vin’s discomfiture.
“No, it fuckin' isn’t!” Vin replied. It was not a lie. He could write his name. Ezra had shown him how a couple of months before.
“Read the poster then!”
“NO!”
“Leave him alone, boys,” Hudson said. “A pretty boy like this doesn’t need to read or write. There are lots of other uses people can put him to.” As he spoke, he snaked a hand behind Vin and patted his backside.
That was it. Vin hit out at him, but the bigger men had him hedged in too close to allow for a decent swing and so his punch lacked force.
Matthews and Martin grabbed him and shoved him hard back into the wall, each pinning an arm. Then, to Vin’s horror, Hudson, moved in and squeezed his crotch, while the other two laughed uproariously.
The three men’s bodies effectively screened the couple of other customers from seeing exactly what was going on and the two were not interested anyway. However, the barman, anticipating a fight, with resultant property damage, moved to the street door and then called out, “Leave him be, boys, or I’ll call the law in.”
“No, trouble, Dave,” Hudson replied easily. “Just a bit of fun between friends. C’mon, boys.”
“Sure, Jim,” Matthews said and the two released Vin and followed their leader as though nothing had happened.
Vin’s face was burning. He was angry and embarrassed and completely at a loss as to what to do. Sure he could go after them and pick a fight, but Hudson, standing more than six inches taller and being twice as broad as the lithe tracker, could cream him even without the help of the other two and anyway how could he explain his actions to Chris and the others? They would be sure to ask why he did it and he would be far too shamed to tell them.
He moved slowly towards the door, hoping the three would be gone by the time he got outside. As he went to push through the batwings, Ezra entered.
The gambler, who had encountered Buck and JD on the street, greeted him cheerfully. “Good morning, Mr Tanner, I understand you have been undertaking a menial task in the service of one of the local ladies.”
“Huh?”
“I believe you have been hanging posters.”
“Yeah. Um Ezra, could ya … could ya …”
“Could I what?”
Vin took his arm and steered him towards the poster and away from the possibly prying ears of the barman.
“Please do not touch my coat, Mr Tanner,” Ezra protested. “It is a recent purchase and I do not require it to be adorned with adhesive.”
“Adhesive?”
“Paste,” the gambler elucidated.
“I haven’t got paste on my hands,” Vin protested.
“I wished to avoid unpleasant bluntness, but if you insist upon it, I will speak honestly. I do not desire dirt on my coat.”
Vin withdrew his hand as if burnt and peered at it. It did not look any grubbier than usual, but he knew the gambler was incredibly fastidious. “’M sorry, Ez,” he muttered contritely.
“’Ezra’ please, if we must be subjected to first name familiarities.”
Vin stared at him, clearly not comprehending. Ezra’s heart softened at the look of honest confusion. He never failed to marvel how ashamed Vin could make him feel. Not that the tracker had any intention of doing that. It was kind of like kicking a faithful dog because Ezra knew no matter how scathing he was, Vin would be right there for him if he was in trouble. “Never mind, he said. “Please be so kind as to enlighten me as to what it was you wanted.”
“Could ya read that poster for me please, Ezra?”
“Is that all?” He failed to notice the tracker wince at his choice of words. How Vin wished he could read. Ezra seemed to find all the squiggles so simple, that it made him feel more stupid than ever.
“It announces that there is to be a dance at the church hall this Saturday night.”
“Oh.”
“’Oh’ indeed and may I inquire as to whether you will be favouring us with your attendance?”
“If ya mean will I be goin’ I guess not.”
“And may I be so bold as to inquire why we are not to be blessed with your presence?”
“Ya can ask, but I ain’t obliged to tell.” In truth, Vin had no idea how to dance and knew he would never pluck up the courage to ask one of the ladies to do him the honour anyway. They scared him enough on a normal basis, and when done up in their finery, they were all too formidable. “Anyway I’d best get this gear back to Mrs Martin.”
He walked out hurriedly to forestall further questions.
Ezra watched him go. He had not actually needed Vin to explain his aversion to the dance, but had not been able to resist baiting him by asking. He knew quite well how flustered Vin became when forced to converse with any woman. He had never known anyone so shy. Why even Nettie Wells could get him tongue-tied and he knew the tracker liked the elderly woman a lot. Still he had better things to do with his time than to ponder the tracker’s lack of social graces.
+ + + + + + +
Saturday rolled around and Vin volunteered to watch the town so the other six would be free to attend the dance. He did not anticipate any trouble as most folks were going as well. The vast majority of buildings were in darkness. Even the saloon had closed, the owner deciding the little custom he would get was not worth it, especially since his wife was dead set on attending the dance.
It was just after 11pm and the dance was in full swing. Standing at the far end of the main street, Vin shivered, hunched his shoulders and blew on his cold hands. An icy rain was just starting to add to his discomfort. He could hear the music from the dance and see the brightly lit church hall, but neither drew him. He knew he would be more alone at the dance than where he was. Crowds did not agree with him and he lacked the ability to make the small talk such occasions demanded. No, he was better off where he was in spite of the biting cold.
Deciding to check behind the buildings, he cat-footed down an alley, but came to a abrupt halt when he heard hushed voices. Easing himself around the building, he saw two figures and several horses by the open backdoor of the saloon. He dropped to a crouch and listened.
“Johnny’s got the safe open,” one hissed. “They’ll be out in a moment. Let’s get the horses ready.” The speaker swung astride his mount, while the man he had addressed held the reins of the other horses.
Vin hesitated wondering his best course of action. He knew he should go for reinforcements as he had no idea how many he was up against, but by the time he got to the far end of the street, the robbers would be gone and tracking would be hopeless on the moonless night.
Accordingly, he decided to try a bluff, pulling his gun and waiting silently. Three figures emerged, and as they went to mount, he stepped out and said, “Drop yer guns. We’ve got ya covered.”
The men obeyed, but the one on horseback eased a knife out and waited. He had only heard one man, and with the price he had on his head, he was willing to take the chance that Vin was alone. After all, they knew that virtually everyone was at the dance.
“Get down,” Vin ordered.
“Okay, mister.” As he started to dismount, one of the others started to back into the shadows, preparatory to making a run for it.
The movement distracted Vin, and as he turned, the knifeman took his chance. He threw his sheath knife and it buried itself deeply in Vin’s right shoulder. He staggered backwards into the building, but managed to bring his gun up and shot his assailant in the head.
The man fell dead and his horse reared in fright. Hard up against the saloon wall, with no way of evading the animal, Vin flung up his arm to protect his head as hooves flashed in front of him. A kick broke his right forearm. He cried out in agony and dropped his gun.
Survival instincts overriding pain, the tracker flung himself to the ground and grabbed the gun with his left hand.
Aware that the shots would have alerted the town, the robbers were more intent on fleeing than fighting. They were hurriedly mounting as Vin brought his gun to bear. Not aware that the man on the ground was the renowned sharpshooter, they put spurs to their mounts rather than stopping to finish him. Two paid for that collective error of judgement as Vin’s slugs smashed them from their saddles before they had ridden more than a dozen yards.
The tracker staggered to his feet, cradling his arm, and peered after the surviving two riders, one of whom was clutching the bag of money they had purloined. Then, realizing that the well-trained horse of one of the two men he had just killed had stopped when its rider fell, he hurried towards it.
Stopping briefly, he clenched his teeth and wrenched the knife from his shoulder and tossed it aside. Blood began to spurt from the deep wound. He tugged the colourful bandana from around his neck, folded it over and shoved it under his shirt to form a rather ineffectual pad for the injury. That done, he grasped the saddle-horn with his good hand.
Mounting was difficult, but somehow he dragged himself into the saddle and took off in pursuit. He knew he was in no condition for that and that Chris would give him hell for doing it, but he had been responsible for the town’s security and he had failed. Vin prided himself on keeping his word and doing what he promised. Not to follow would be to lose the men, as the increasingly heavy rain would have obliterated all tracks by morning.
Meantime, the rest of the seven had hurriedly grabbed their guns, which had all been surrendered on entry to the dance, and were racing up the street in the direction of the shots. However, everything had happened so fast that Vin was out of sight by the time a puffing JD, the fastest on his feet, reached the back of the saloon.
The open door and the three bodies told the story. Worse was the footnote added by the bloody knife that Nathan found lying on the ground. Since the item did not belong to the tracker it was likely to be his blood dripping from the sharp blade.
Pushing aside the fear that the sight engendered, Chris yelled to JD and Josiah to deal with the bodies, while he and the other three headed for the livery.
However, they were back in the town a couple of hours later, tired and wet through, having failed to find a trace of Vin or his quarry.
Ezra was vocally disgruntled at the state of his best clothes, while Chris and Buck were cursing Vin’s stupidity in going after the bandits alone and probably hurt. However, all knew that their complaints merely served as an ineffective cover for their anxiety over Vin.
Meanwhile the object of their concern was still doggedly following the other robbers. He was swaying dizzily in the saddle and could feel blood sliding down his lean body, but there was no way he was giving up.
The two men were all too aware of the pursuit, but were concentrating on escape rather than seeking to fight. Having seen their three associates fall to Vin’s gun, they had no desire to confront him if they could avoid it. In any case, they knew the man was injured and hoped he would soon reach the end of his endurance.
For his part, an increasingly desperate Vin, fighting waves of nausea as well as the pain of his injuries, was determined to force the issue as soon as he could because he knew he was nearing collapse.
About 4am, the rain ceased temporarily. Knowing that any tracks would not now be washed out and also not wanting to be too close when dawn came in case the men chose to prepare an ambush, Vin slowed his pace.
As dawn broke, he spotted them about half a mile ahead of him, clearly intending to keep riding. Indeed, now that they had reasonable vision, they were picking up the pace, spurring on their tired mounts. Vin smiled grimly. As long as he managed to stave off the sickening dizziness, he would have them. He knew the country like the back of his hand and was certain he could get ahead of them.
In the event, it took nearly two hours to do this and weak from loss of blood, he felt absolutely done in. He hoped like hell they would choose to make a fight of it, rather than surrender when challenged, as he had no idea how he was going to get himself back to Four Corners, let alone keep an eye on a couple of prisoners.
He crouched behind some rocks watching their approach. Hoping his voice sounded steady, he called, “I’ve got ya covered! Get down off those horses and put yer hands up.”
Both men immediately grabbed for their guns. Two shots rang out and both bandits fell. Vin moved warily forward keeping his gun trained, but there was no movement. ‘Not bad for left-handed,’ he congratulated himself, as he realized both were dead. ‘Pity Ez isn’t here, I mighta won some cash on that.’
He did not like to just leave the bodies, but knew he would never be able to get them over their horses and he had not the strength to bury them either so he had no choice. He checked them for identification, but not surprisingly did not find any.
One man had saddlebags containing a near-dry shirt. Vin took that and awkwardly removed his own sodden jacket and shirt, gritting his teeth against the agony of his arm and shoulder. At least the knife wound seemed to have finally stopped bleeding. Somehow he managed to don his newly acquired garment, buttoning his useless arm inside it. Then he picked up the moneybag and his wet garments and slowly moved back to his waiting horse to deposit the items in the saddlebags.
He attempted to mount, but sucked in his breath sharply as a wave of pain caught him, threatening him with oblivion. He leaned against the horse, head spinning and gasping until he had gathered his resources sufficiently to make another attempt to get into the saddle.
All he wanted to do was lie down and sleep. It would be so easy just to let the darkness claim him. But in his head he could hear Chris’ voice, “What the hell do ya think yer doin’, cowboy? Lying down in the middle of a job! Get up!”
“Sorry, Chris,” he mumbled.
He tried again. Somehow he ignored the white-hot shafts of pain shooting down his injured limb and pulling himself into the saddle, he set off for home. He was moving on will power alone, and although he had more than his fair share of that, he feared that it was not going to be enough. Dark clouds were announcing more rain was on the way, he was totally exhausted and he was in agony from his injuries. Pain was starting to numb his brain and it was taking all his concentration and strength to stay in the saddle. However, what particularly frightened him was the fact that he was starting to feel quite hot and he knew he should be anything but that.
His fears proved well justified, and an hour or so later, his strength finally gave out and he slid from the saddle unconscious. With immaculate timing, the first drops of icy rain followed moments afterwards.
Meanwhile, the rest of the six had been up before dawn preparing a search party. Other men from the community joined them and a sizeable group set out, but two days were to pass before an increasingly despairing Ezra and JD spotted circling buzzards.
Fearing the worst, they hastened towards them and spotted that well-trained horse standing over a huddled shape.
To their relief, Ezra detected a pulse. They carefully raised Vin and Ezra got some water into him. Then they stripped off his shirt to check his injuries. The knife-wound did not surprise them, but the broken forearm was unexpected. “ How do ya think that happened, Ezra?” the kid asked.
“Perhaps when Mr Tanner fell from his horse,” the gambler opined.
They bandaged Vin as best they could and then Ezra took him up before him and they set off for home. Vin had not moved a muscle the whole time they were tending him, but not long after they started off, he began to moan quietly and then started to try to extricate himself from Ezra’s arms. “No … let g-go … don’t …”
“Sssh,” Ezra soothed, whispering into Vin’s hair.
“No, where are … robbers … I sh-shot ….”
Having investigated the contents of Vin’s saddlebags, they were aware that he had recovered the money and so presumably had dispatched the thieves. “It’s okay, Vin,” JD said reassuringly. “It’s JD and Ezra. We’re just takin’ ya home.”
“Home?” the tracker queried vaguely, obviously not really with it.
“Yeah, back to Four Corners.”
That settled the sharpshooter for a while, but then he murmured, “Ch-Chris?”
“He’s not here, Vin, but we’ll see him soon,” JD promised.
“Is he … Is he m-mad with me?”
“I imagine so, Mr Tanner,” the gambler said.
Vin nodded and subsided again, slipping deeper into unconsciousness, failing to hear the gambler add, ”but I am certain that he will nevertheless rejoice at your return.”
Standish turned to JD. “There we see a perfect demonstration of Mr Tanner’s priorities,” Ezra commented drily.
“Huh?”
“The state of his world seems to depend totally on the current health and temper of Mr Larabee.”
“D’ya think he’s scared of Chris? … I know I am … a bit … at times,” JD admitted.
“Yes, but not in the way you and we others are,” Ezra replied.
“What do you mean?”
Ezra hesitated. He had never voiced his opinion on the relationship of Vin and Chris to anyone and doubted the wisdom of doing so. Certainly he had no intention of talking to the kid about his suspicions. “Oh, but surely you have noticed Mr Tanner is prepared to stand up to Mr Larabee when the rest of us are quivering like veritable jellies before that thunderous glare,” he said airily and then hurriedly turned the conversation. “I have to confess our tracker is somewhat heavier than I had anticipated. Could I prevail upon you to take him for a few minutes?”
Of course, JD readily agreed and, once the transfer had been effected, Ezra followed behind the pair, leading Vin’s horse, and thinking about Tanner and Larabee. He had said he thought Vin was scared of Chris, but what he really thought was that Vin was afraid of was losing the gunslinger’s regard.
For some time Ezra had had been wondering about the relationship between those two. Chris had been married and was apparently courting Mary Travis, albeit in a less than passionate manner, at least in public. Not that Larabee was given to open displays of any emotion except for temper.
By contrast, Vin never courted anyone. Indeed, Miss Nettie Wells was the only woman he seemed to be friendly with and, of course, she was elderly. Ezra knew that the ladies liked the look of the tracker, but the subject of their interest seemed oblivious to their attraction and became completely tongue-tied if any ventured to draw him into conversation. It was really quite laughable, how he blushed and hastened to excuse himself on such occasions. By comparison, the innocent JD was a virtual Casanova.
Of course, that did not necessarily mean anything apart from demonstrating that the sharpshooter was painfully shy with females. However, as part of his profession, Ezra had always studied people. A successful gambler was an able reader of other people’s thoughts, emotions and body language. Admittedly the intensely private and reserved tracker was a major challenge even for one as skilled as Ezra was, but the gambler had strong suspicions that love was a powerful factor in the relationship of the two gunmen.
Certainly any one of the others of the seven could attest to the strength of the bonds of friendship between the pair, even to the extent of an uncanny ability to apparently read each other’s thoughts at times. However, Ezra thought this went beyond the ties of friendship, as strong as these could be, at least on Vin’s part.
The tracker had, on several occasions, demonstrated that he was prepared to take a bullet on behalf of any man in the group, but when Chris was threatened or hurt the intensity of his concern was incredible. Ezra had no doubt that if a fatal bullet were ever to come Chris’ way, Vin’s life would end as well. No matter the odds, he would kill whoever was responsible and then he would kill himself.
However, the gambler did not think that Chris would react in the same way to Vin’s death. He would definitely seek retribution and would be very upset at the loss of his closest friend, but not devastated … not shattered.
For Ezra strongly suspected that Vin was in love with Chris, but that the latter did not know this. Possibly Tanner himself did not know. He seemed innocent enough not to. Ezra just hoped, if that was the case, that he never would realize as he feared Chris’ reaction would not be favourable. So he prayed he had been the only one perspicacious enough to have observed a yearning sadness in the tracker’s beautiful, blue eyes on more than one occasion when Chris had passed by with Mrs Travis on his arm.
Another groan from Vin interrupted his thoughts and he looked up to see that JD was starting to have difficulties holding the tracker, who was beginning to thrash about. “He is so hot,” JD said. “We had better try to get some more water into him.”