Chris focused more tightly on that broad chest...holding his own breath...watching for the slightest lift. A brave approached with a bucket and tossed the contents in Josiah's face. Even Chris jumped at the scream that broke from Josiah's lips. It wasn't water in the bucket. He heard five more gasps from around him. Buck and J.D. had returned from the bushes. The gunman lowered the glass and turned to the men."Vin was right," he said. Nathan stepped forward and took the glass, putting it up to his eye. When he brought it down, tears threatened but he looked solemnly at Chris.
"I'm with you, Chris!" he said firmly, indicating that he, for one, didn't give up hope for Josiah yet. Their leader looked at each of the men in turn. J.D. still shook, but he spoke up gamely.
"You know I am too," he said. Buck squeezed the kid's shoulder. Vin had only to nod in agreement.
"We've handled forty before," Buck said, a shadow of his usual cocky grin on his face. "We'll get him outta there!" Chris looked at Ezra, white as a sheet and chewing on his lip, but his eyes sure and firm. He nodded, too.
"I don't believe you Larabee," said Lt. Burns, angrily. "You'd let one of your own men suffer like that?! Do you have any idea what they're going to do to him, now." Chris had his lips pressed together so tightly a white line appeared around them. His eyes flashed green fire. "This isn't it, you know... it only gets worse from here on in. When we ride in to take them.... they'll only kill him anyway and much more painfully than a single shot to the head! What's the matter? Don't you have the courage to do what's right?" Burns turned and walked over to the Cavalryman who had risen from the dirt along with Vin. He grabbed the rifle. "Well, I do!" Chris was on him in an instant. He had one hand around the Lieutenant's throat, the other holding a pistol to his head.
"I told you it was my choice, didn't I!" he said. Then his expression changed as though he saw something in Burns' eyes. "You've had to make that choice before, haven't you?" he asked, his eyes narrowing.
"Yes," gasped the Lieutenant.
"For one of your own men." It wasn't a question.
"Yes," he gasped again, "and I waited too long. He suffered...a long time...and he died anyway." Chris dropped his hand and returned his pistol to its holster.
"I'll make that choice...if I have to...but for now, we still have other options."
"What?" asked the Sergeant, who had drawn his own weapon but feared hitting his superior officer.
"You're plum loco," said the Corporal, his eyes wide. "There ain't no choices here!" Lt. Burns looked at the determination in Larabee's face.
"What's your idea?" he asked.
"They've got whiskey down there," said Vin. "Saw 'em passin' it around." He'd seen the familiar bottles moving from hand to hand. Chris nodded. Vin had picked up on the same thing he had.
"Which means after a while they'll be less watchful," said Chris.
"Dusk'll be comin' on by then," added Vin.
"And we just slip in there and cut Josiah loose," said Buck, his eyes brightening.
"It's a chance," said Chris. The Lieutenant considered it for a long moment.
"All right," he said. "I'll agree...for now."
"But, Lieutenant..." whined Corporal Barker. "You cain't..." Lt. Burns held up a hand.
"For now," he said and walked away to confer with Sgt. Callarman.
"Fool notions!" muttered Barker, loud enough for the six men to hear. "Gonna get us kilt!"
Ezra glared at the man. He had been a constant burr to them. Besides the comments he'd made about Vin and Nathan, Cpl. Barker had gotten Buck's hackles up by making suggestions about J.D. being too young and green to be wearing a badge. Though the gambler had refused to rise to his bait he intended to keep a close eye on him, not trusting him to follow his commander's orders.
They settled in to wait. Vin checked on the camp through his glass frequently. Chris took a turn once in a while. The others were near, eyes glued to their leader and his second...alert to any change in their posture. Every time one of them peered at the camp they would swallow carefully, trying to keep the contents of their stomachs in place. J.D. closed his eyes, trying to fight off the images that haunted him. It tore at them all that they must wait but each knew where their best chance to save Josiah lay; in the black-clad man who led them and held them together with his will. They all longed to rush down the hill to stop the torture they knew continued below. Each held back waiting for a word from the man they trusted.
Out of the waves of heat a blood-chilling scream rent the air. It went on and on. At last, when they thought they could bear it no longer, it trailed off to a sobbing cry. Chris grabbed the glass and put it to his eye. What he saw had him breathing rapidly to still the rising nausea. One young brave stood before Josiah holding aloft a bloody trophy in triumph. Chris focused on the preacher. His head rolled back and forth in anguish. He still lived.
Vin took the glass from him, peered through it and turned to look into Chris' eyes. "It's started," he rasped.
Chris closed his eyes, struggling with the choices. Too much attention focused on Josiah now. He had been hoping for a lull with the warriors less wary to get them close. It had been a bet...a gamble... and he'd lost. Now his friend, their friend would pay the cost. He opened his eyes again and saw Vin had his Winchester ready...waiting for him to come to grips with the decision before him. The gunslinger reached for the rifle. "It's my responsibility," he said grimly. "I'll do it."
The tracker slowly shook his head. "Ya cain't do it clean as I can," he replied in a choked voice. "'Sides, he's my friend too."
There was a sniffle from J.D. Chris turned to look at the others. Nathan openly had tears running down his face. He nodded his agreement with their leader. Buck's face was anguished but he nodded, also. J.D. sniffed again and looking at Buck, drew himself up, adding his assent to the others.
Another scream froze them. The men couldn't breathe, couldn't move as time stood still while that sound of pure agony ripped their hearts to shreds. It seemed to hover in the heated desert air for an eternity. Finally, it wavered and fell to a sobbing cry as before. Chris took a deep shuddering breath and turned to Vin. He laid a hand on the arm that cradled the rifle and nodded his head just once.
Vin raised the rifle to his shoulder and squinted through the sight. He took his time, moving his Winchester slowly into the best position. Then he began methodically tuning out the sounds around him to focus on his task. The tracker could hear the rising beat of the drums below him, then it faded. Chants and bellows of the braves dancing around the fire followed. Next, the wind whistling through the sagebrush, the shuffling sounds and muffled voices of the soldiers-all died away as he mentally commanded them to. He concentrated on blanking out the sounds of all the small animals around them. Now, he could clearly hear the muffled sobs from J.D., Buck's strained breathing, Nathan's sniffles. Much more difficult to convince himself not to hear these sounds. He was too aware of the grieving already beginning around him. The young man firmed his resolve and concentrated on satisfying himself with the precise aim, blocking out who he was targeting. Vin, at last, placed his finger on the trigger and began to squeeze.
A muffled yell behind him and to the right broke his concentration. He heard a short scuffle and the sound of hooves galloping away. The tracker dropped the rifle and turned to look as Cpl. Barker burst through the brush, holding a bandana to a bloody nose. Lt. Burns appeared also.
"It was one of them," the Corporal said angrily. "He took off...the lily-livered coward!" Vin trained his spyglass on the retreating horse.
"Ezra," he said to Chris quietly. "He's cuttin' around to come in from the East."
"Lieutenant," said Chris, mind racing, "We've got a diversion! Get your men into position!" He rose and walked over to Burns, continuing in a low voice. "If any of your men jump the gun...I'll shoot you personally," he growled. "You better make sure they wait for the signal."
"They will," Burns growled back.
Chris nodded to Buck and Nathan. They hurried to their mounts and he returned to Vin's side.
"What's he think he's doing?" snarled Chris.
"Givin' Josiah a chance," said Vin, still peering through the glass. There was a sudden chuckle. "Ezra's got talents he never let on to." Chris reached for the spyglass and trained it to his eye. "Never mentioned he knew Indian sign language," said Vin, grinning.
"I can't imagine Ezra not being able to talk one way or another," said Chris, one corner of his mouth turning up in a ghost of a smile. Both struggled not to break out into relieved laughter. Their gambler had once more placed a bet and even though the odds ran high against them...at least they were in the game again. The black-garbed gunslinger watched through the glass as Ezra dismounted and was led to an older brave with grey braids.
"We better get on our way," said Chris and handed the spyglass back to Vin who tucked it away.
When he'd heard that bone-chilling cry, Ezra hadn't been able to contain himself any longer. He'd made his way quietly to the horses, leapt on Chaucer and ridden off. It had been a bonus that the irksome Corporal had discovered him and made an attempt to prevent his departure. The southerner smiled and flexed his tender hand, recalling how satisfying it had felt when his knuckles crunched into the man's nose.
His first instinct had been to do anything to stop the scream. It cut through him like a dull knife. His second thought had been that if he could create a diversion, perhaps it wouldn't be necessary for any one of them to end Josiah's agony. Third, Chris wouldn't allow Lt. Burns to rush the camp with another one of his men there. He was buying time...time for some miracle to occur that would enable them to free Josiah. Ezra didn't even want to think about what kind of miracle might be needed after that for the big preacher to recover. The gambler hadn't looked through the glass but the looks on the faces of those who had as well as the cries of pain he'd heard were enough for him to steel himself for the first sight of their friend. Now, plans ran frantically through his mind. He considered and discarded several. Oh well, perhaps best to just play it by ear. The simpler plans oftimes had been the more successful way to go. It gave him more room to maneuver.
Ezra knew he had the advantage. The Indians would be expecting him to be trying to leave intact while his main goal would be to stall them, redirect their attention. The sun settled lower on the horizon. Their camp on the Eastern side of the granite face already stood in deep shadows. Dusk closed in upon them. If he could just delay for a short while... every moment he bought was another for Josiah to live, another card in the deck...and he planned on stacking that deck heavily in the preacher's favor.
Ezra avoided looking at the figure tied to the stake near the fire. He smiled cordially at the Indians surrounding him, keeping both hands in plain sight. One of the braves passed in front of him carrying a bucket. The gambler dismounted and patting Chaucer allowed them to lead him away muttering, "Don't worry my friend. I assure you I will not be leaving the immediate vicinity without your conveying me hither." Roughly shoved along by one of the warriors he looked up and saw a grey-headed brave standing near the fire.
Once again, a scream of anguish rose over the flames of the bonfire. Ezra couldn't stop himself. His eyes flew to the origin of that cry. Somewhere his mind registered that some kind of liquid coursed down Josiah's face and chest as his head tossed back and forth in pain. Ezra would not have recognized him at all had he not known who was lashed to the pole. Only his gut feeling made the gambler sure the preacher hung there. The younger man's eyes froze on the vision before him. Slowly... unwillingly, Ezra assimilated all the details of Josiah's extended torture. It took every ounce of self-control the southerner had cultivated in his irregular lifestyle not to rush for the nearest bushes as J.D. had earlier. 'Never thought I'd have this reason to be grateful to Mother,' Ezra thought to himself. Those harsh lessons in maintaining a poker face were all that kept him from breaking down.
As he stood there watching the pain in the preacher's face and struggling to tear his gaze away, a young brave dashed past him. He could only watch in horror as his friend and companion convulsed in agony when the young warrior carved a piece of flesh out of Josiah's outstretched arm. The Indian held it aloft and screeched unintelligible words before tossing the bloody trophy into the waiting flames. Ezra Standish had not found it so difficult to maintain his composure in many years. His head swam at the ferocity and savagery of these people around him. Another scream rose from the preacher's parched lips like the one that hovered over the rocks and dried bushes earlier. It assaulted Ezra's senses for an eternity. When he thought he couldn't bear it another second but must rush forward and tear Josiah from their torturing grasp, it fell to harsh sobs of pain. He could hear the hoarseness now in that once velvet voice and wondered just how many screams had been wrenched from the big man.
The braves had taken his guns, even found the derringer, but Ezra found himself contemplating the knife secreted in his boot. He vowed that he would end his brother's pain if things went bad...no matter what the cost. The southerner felt lightheaded and realized he had been holding his breath. He drug in a lungful of fresh air and forcibly turned his gaze back to the elder Indian. Seeing a discerning look in the dark eyes he realized assessment had been made by how he reacted to the sight before them. Ezra gathered his dignity about him and approached. He had to pull this one off... for Josiah...for all of them. Never had he played a game with such high stakes. The spirit of competitiveness rose within him. Either this would be his finest hour or he would pay with his own life. He would not leave here without his friend. Ezra doffed his hat, bowing before the grey-haired brave.
"Ezra Standish, at your service, my good sir..." The gambler began to weave a tale with his words and surprised a flicker of amusement in the older man's eyes. This assured him that he was at least partially understood and he began to elaborate on his search for water in the surrounding area. Drawing his story out, he flashed his smile at all those surrounding him maintaining his cool air of unconcern at his predicament. Some of the younger braves pressed close to him, fingering his clothing. One of them snatched his hat from his hand.
"I protest!" said Ezra, reaching for the hat. He noticed it was the young man who had carved on Josiah a little earlier. About his neck flashed a familiar silver medal on a beaded necklace. The gambler's heart clenched. He knew that particular emblem was kept carefully tucked beneath the preacher's clothing along with his medicine pouch. He had glimpsed it occasionally and knew it to be a French religious medallion. It had attracted his notice since it was incongruously attached to an intricately beaded necklace obviously of Indian manufacture. "On the other hand," said Ezra, smiling slyly, "perhaps we can effect a trade." He gestured to the medal. The young man's face twisted in anger. Jamming Ezra's hat on his head he stalked off. "Or perhaps not..." The gambler sighed.
The shadows deepened as Ezra spun his tale for the warriors surrounding him. The fire was fed and brightened in the falling darkness. The older warrior seemed content for the moment to sit and listen to the gambler ramble on about his deprivations in the desert and adventures to be had in the surrounding towns. Standish felt the dark eyes on him constantly... measuring him, reading between the words he used as his weapons.
When the change occurred it happened so suddenly not even Ezra was forewarned. A brave shoved through the others near him shouting words the southerner didn't recognize. He grabbed Ezra by the hair and drug him to the fire. The gambler thought at first it might have been something he said and began casting about in his mind, recalling his most recent words. The warrior yelled at him again. He shook his head, still not understanding what was being demanded.
"Enough!" the Indian said, changing to English. "Enough of your white man's talk! You talk much of nothing!"
"I assure you..." Ezra began to soothe the agitated brave. He was cut off when the Indian plunged a knife into his shoulder just below the collarbone. White-hot pain flared through his body and a scream broke from him. As he gasped for breath against the agony, Ezra fumbled in his boot for the hidden knife.
"No more talk!" raged the warrior. He shifted his hold on Ezra, pinning him to his chest with an arm around his throat. The knife moved to just over Ezra's left ear. The gambler felt the sharp blade penetrate his scalp. 'I would have infinitely preferred to have left this world with my scalp intact,' flitted though his dazed mind. 'Mother will be terribly upset at my appearance at the funeral.' Ezra struggled wildly in the grip of his captor, shouting, "No! No!" He frantically looked about him for some means of staving off the inevitable. Terrified green eyes met hazy pain-filled blue ones.
Josiah drifted in a world full of excruciating pain and red-gold flames. When he would begin to sink into the darkness of oblivion someone would toss a bucket of liquid over him. He was unsure what it was but it stung and burned like a thousand fires. 'How appropriate,' he found himself thinking. 'The flames of Hell for a sinner.' Once the pain subsided to a dull roar one of the warriors would dance by carving out a piece of his exposed flesh, and the pain would flare again. The preacher hadn't realized for a while that the screams he kept hearing were his own. When had he become incapable of holding back the cries? He couldn't remember clearly. Was it when the younger warriors began counting coup using their knives to cut him away bit by bit... or earlier when they had first roused him from a welcome stupor by dousing him with the fiery liquid?
Another scream clawed its way upward into the night sky. Josiah jerked. This time it wasn't his. He knew that voice. Moaning, he forced his eyes to open and struggled to see through the smoke and flames. An all too familiar red-coated form struggled in the grip of a warrior. Time itself slowed as Josiah watched a warrior jerk Ezra to his chest, a brawny arm around his throat. His knife rose just above Ezra's ear as he began the long slice that would separate his captive's scalp from his head. The gambler's green eyes rose to meet Josiah's, all his terror exposed in them, as he verbally protested this end to his life. The big man's heart thudded heavily against the walls of his chest. He couldn't allow one of his family to pay for his actions!
"NNNNNOOOOOOO!!" he roared, his back arching, corded muscles standing out on his chest and arms as he strained towards his friend whose lifeblood poured down his face and neck.
Ezra heard the roar at almost the same instant a rushing sound filled his head. The knife he had finally managed to slip from his boot dropped from nerveless fingers. Then, the arm about his throat disappeared. One moment he had been pinned to the Indian's chest, the next he was clasped to a bloody shoulder. A large arm held him close and secure. As Ezra tried to focus on his surroundings another large crimson covered hand came up to draw him closer and stroke his hair. Bodies rushed around them, gunshots and war cries exploded in the air. Ezra sighed and tried to peer upward. A pair of blue tear-dimmed eyes met his and the southerner allowed the darkness and pain to claim him. He was safe...held securely in the bloody arms of his friend. The blue eyes closed and the massive body slumped, still clutching the smaller, pale form in its arms.
Pain intruded on the blessed oblivion. Ezra tried to push it away and regain the blackness but it persisted. At last, he gave up and cracked an eye open. Nathan was bending over him, checking his head closely. The gambler remembered and raised a hand quickly.
"So, you're back with us," commented Nathan. "No, keep your hand outta there!" He batted at the southerner's hand. "Don't fret, Ezra," he continued. "You'll be glad to know it's up above your hairline....won't be messin' with your good looks."
"That is an inexpressible relief to me, Mr. Jackson," croaked Ezra. His throat was parched.
"Here, Nathan," huffed J.D., hustling up with a bucket. "I found this for ya to clean up Josiah."
"Good," replied Nathan. "Set it over by him...Vin can start. I'll be there in just a minute."
Ezra turned his eyes to follow J.D. and saw Josiah supported by both Chris and Buck. His eyes glimmered slightly through the swollen lids but he didn't seem to be conscious of what was going on around him. Vin, who knelt by Josiah, dipped a cloth in the bucket J.D. had sat by him.
"He's still with us?" gasped Ezra. The significance of the bucket finally made it's way into his pain-fogged brain. "NO!" he yelled struggling to sit up. "NO!"
"Now, Ezra," said Nathan, trying to calm him and hold him down. "Lie still, I have to clean this wound out."
"Stop him," cried Ezra, "You don't understand! It's not water!" Nathan's eyes widened and he turned and leapt across the intervening distance, grabbing the cloth out of Vin's hand just as he was about to apply it to Josiah. Nathan bent and scooped up a handful of the liquid in the bucket.
"Looks like water," he commented, sniffing. "Smells...." He gingerly sipped a little from his dripping hand and immediately spat it out. "Salt!" he exclaimed. "Tastes like minerals too...but it's salted!" He looked at Ezra. Vin's eyes widened.
"God!" he exclaimed. "I was gonna...." He gulped.
"It's all right, Vin," said Nathan, patting his shoulder. "You didn't know." The healer turned to grin at Ezra. "Second time today, Ezra..." A long shudder ran through the gambler as he thought of how salt would feel in the multitude of wounds on the preacher's body. His gorge rose and he rolled to his side to retch. Nathan was instantly at his side, holding a cool wet cloth to his head.
"Easy there, easy..." the healer soothed. "Bound to happen with a head injury like that." Ezra looked up at the dark man, gratitude in his eyes for the excuse he had given his weakness. His stomach continued to roil but he was reduced to dry heaves now. Nathan gave him a sip of water to rinse his mouth and helped him ease himself to a location closer to the others.
"You gonna... make... a habit... of this... brother..." said a hoarse, but rumbling voice. Ezra found tears in his eyes. The preacher was back with them.
"I was simply exercising my versatility," he managed to say, through a suddenly closed throat. "I can 'save' members of our eclectic little band as well..." Josiah chuckled at that, but broke into a spasm of coughing.
"Ya need to be still now, Josiah," said Nathan. "Lift him a bit more there, Buck, Chris. You'll be lucky if you haven't punctured a lung with those broken ribs. Just take nice easy breaths till I can get you bandaged up."
"I'm sorry, Nathan," said J.D., tears standing in his eyes. "I'm so sorry! I didn't think to check the water. I should have known when that Corporal told me where there was some buckets of water."
"It's all right, kid," said Vin, looking up at the young sheriff. "I didn't either."
"Now both of you just hush up," said the healer. "You didn't do anything wrong, either of you...
"But..." began J.D.
"It's... all... ri..." Josiah tried to gasp out, but was wracked by a coughing spasm. Nathan turned to look at their two youngest sternly.
"Now, I said no harm done...but there will be if you two don't stop your jabbering and let him rest..." J.D. opened his mouth to apologize again but caught Buck's eyes and shake of the head. He shut his mouth and bent to take the bucket away.
Lt. Burns, Sgt. Callarman and the Corporal approached, the older Indian between them, hands tied together. Josiah looked up at the old man.
"Let 'im... go," he grated out.
"He's right," said Vin. "No need to tie 'im. Not after they surrendered to ya. Ain't their way to run when they done agreed. Grey Eagle here done tole ya he'd go peaceable." The tracker stood up and pulling out his knife cut the ropes.
"You idjit!" yelled the Corporal. "He's a prisoner! They ain't to be trusted. Soon's scalp us as look at us! Ain't it enough what they did to your friend?"
Vin looked at the Corporal through narrowed eyes, but it was Chris who spoke. "Leave it!" he snapped out. "I'll deal with you later, Corporal! You knew what was in those buckets, didn't you?"
"Don't know what yer talkin' 'bout," retorted Barker. Chris glared at the Corporal. Later, he would make sure the man paid for misleading J.D. The young sheriff returned from dumping the bucket of salted water. Josiah didn't seem to be aware of the other things going on around him. He focused on Grey Eagle. The two men eyed each other for a long minute.
"He had... reason... for... what... he did..." croaked Josiah his eyes on the brave. Nathan turned and knelt by the preacher to offer him a drink from a canteen.
"Here," he said, "this'll help some." Josiah took a long gulp and sighed. "Better?" The big man nodded slightly, grimacing at the added pain the movement brought him.
The tracker now turned to the Indian. He spoke to him in the sign language he had learned in his own time amongst the tribes. "You took this one from his people. You punished him. Will you tell him why now?"
"I speak the white man's language," said Grey Eagle.
"Then tell him now why you did this," said Vin.
"There's... no need, Vin," came a weak voice from behind him. The tracker turned, looking down into the slitted eyes. "I... knew." He looked into the eyes of the warrior still standing proudly before him. "Lone Wolf."
The older man nodded, looking at the usually powerful body and into deep blue eyes, still hazy with pain.
"You could have broken free any time," he stated.
"Where...would I...have...gone?" Josiah attempted a shrug and the pain from that movement caused his head to loll on Chris' shoulder. He gasped and tried to steady his breathing, push back the red mists that threatened to consume him again. "'Sides... I reckoned...was... your brother. Ya had...the right...to... come... lookin' for... one who... took 'im... from ya." The big preacher was struggling to talk when he barely had air for breathing.
"Easy, Josiah," urged Nathan. "He really don't need to be talkin' right now," the healer said to Chris, somehow hoping their leader could influence the big man.
"Gotta...set it...right..." gasped Josiah, heaving for air.
"Easy, Josiah," intervened Chris, "take a few slow breaths now. We'll let you talk but you gotta take your time. You ain't been having the easiest day here, you know." The preacher smiled a little at that and tried to slow his gasps. Vin squatted on his haunches and peered at the big man.
"Maybe you could explain ta us what ya know...while he rests a spell," said Vin looking up at the brave above them. "Then he can say his piece."
The Indian nodded. The young brave who had looked at Josiah with such hatred lunged forward. J.D. and Nathan grabbed his arms and held him still. Grey Eagle held up a hand and the young man subsided in their hold.
"He killed my brother," he snarled. "I saw."