Chris Larabee smiled contentedly as he mounted Pony. Home was still a day’s ride to the north, yet he could feel the pull of his friends already. Somehow, over the last two years he’d come to think of the town as home and the six men he rode with as family. The little piece of heaven he owned an hour’s ride from town was something he’d grown fond of. Putting a little of himself into each new addition. He sighed contentedly as he rode out of the canyon and into the open expanse of desert. He breathed deeply of the strong scent of desert wildflowers and began the journey home.
The hot sun continued it’s trek across the clear blue skies and Chris reached for his canteen. He pulled the lid from it and tilted upwards, closing his eyes to ward off the blinding rays emanating from the brilliant orb overhead. He pulled the canteen away from his mouth and swiped at the mixture of sweat and dust on his forehead. His hat hung low over his eyes as Pony slowly put one hoof in front of the other. He replaced the canteen in his saddle and patted the beautiful animal on the right side of his sweaty neck.
“It’s a hot one, Boy,” he said as they continued to make their way towards home. Chris had no idea how long they were riding when gunfire erupted from behind him. He glanced over his head as he spurred Pony forward. He counted four men riding directly towards him, clouds of dust spraying up from the thundering hooves of their steeds.
Chris turned his head and guided Pony forward, knowing the men following him were not of the friendly variety. A bullet whizzed by his ear and he pulled his Colt from the holster. He turned in the saddle, firing off a shot as he felt Pony stagger. His heart lurched as he thought they’d go down, but Pony righted himself and they continued their mad trek through the desert. The sporadic sound of gunfire continued to reach his ears and he felt something tug at the right sleeve of his duster. He knew it took a sizable piece of flesh with it, but couldn’t take the time to see how bad he'd been hit.
He glanced over his shoulder once more, noting that the riders were spreading out and gaining distance. The three days ride with Pony was taking a toll on the animal and he knew the beautiful animal would run itself into the ground before giving into exhaustion. Chris Larabee knew he wasn’t going to outrun these men, but he’d be damned if he gave in without a fight. They didn’t seem to want him dead, evidenced by the men circling around him. Two seemed to be running parallel to him, a hundred feet back, but gaining ground rapidly. The other two were closing the distance behind him. He pointed his gun at the man on the right and fired a shot. He smiled as the man cried out and fell from the galloping horse. The smile was short lived as a shot was fired from behind and Chris bent his lean body into the ride. The sound of the wind in his ears was thunderous and his hat was whipped off his head, allowing the long strands of blond hair to blow haphazardly around his dusty face.
The man on the left continued to gain ground on him and he could hear the hoof beats of the two men behind him. He swung his gun to the left, but something landed over his shoulders and he was unceremoniously dropped to the ground, the air driven from his lungs. He didn’t have time to check on Pony as he concentrated on getting free of the constricting rope. He tried pulling on it but the man holding it kept it taut. He struggled to his knees and tried to get to his feet, but was pulled back to the ground by the man sitting on a large Bay stallion.
“Don’t gimme an excuse to put a slug in ya!” snarled a tall man hurrying towards the downed gunslinger.
Larabee didn’t recognize the heavily whiskered face or the hatred filled dark eyes. The man’s body was well muscled and in spite of the heat his upper body was covered in red flannel. Green eyes glared at the dark barrel of the pistol the man held in front of him. “Who the hell are you?” the blond growled angrily, the air finally returning to his heated lungs.
“Don’t matter none who we are! What matters is we know who you are! You’re a lowlife scum suckin’ animal that kills women!” he hissed. “Yer gonna fin’ out what we do ta animals like you!”
“I didn’t kill...” his words were cut off as a second rope landed on his shoulders and tightened around his neck. Larabee gasped against the constriction, using his fingers to try and pry some breathing room. Sparkling lights flashed before his eyes as lack of oxygen brought on the darkness of unconsciousness. As if from a distance he felt his body lifted and dropped back to the ground on his stomach. Something was fastened to his wrist and tightened until it cut into his wrist. The pressure on his throat released slightly and he gulped the much-needed air into his starving lungs. He felt hands clasp his ankles and something was forced around them. The sound of chains told him he was tethered in a pair of iron manacles. He tried to speak, but the rope was tightened once more as he was dragged to his feet.
“Since yer horse took off ya’ll ‘ave some walkin’ ta do! I aim ta git back ta my town ‘fore dinner so ya’d best be ready to move fast, murderer.” He spoke slowly, his face moving closer to Larabee’s until the two men were nose to nose.
Chris could smell stale tobacco and whiskey on the man even as he wondered whom he’d supposedly murdered. “I didn’t murder...” A fist came out of nowhere and rocked his head back. The force of the blow sent him spinning towards the ground, but the rope pulled tight around his neck forced him to stand his ground.
“Now you best jest shut up. Ya’ll git yer chance ta plead yer case when the circuit judge arrives.”
‘Circuit judge, Orrin Travis,’ he thought as he regained his balance and the rope was loosened once more. He sucked in a breath before a knotted piece of cloth was forced past his lips and into his already arid throat. The smell of the rag reminded him of the stench of outhouses and he forced himself to think of other things. ‘Orrin will know I didn’t murder anyone,’ he thought as the man moved to his horse and mounted the tall animal. He watched as one of the men lifted the man he’d shot onto his horse and tied him down.
“Now ya make sure ya keep up, Mister, cause I don’t aim ta stop until we reach town!’ the leader of the group snapped angrily.
Larabee started forward, keeping pace with the horses as they started back the way they’d come. He glanced over his head, but saw no sign of Pony. He prayed the gelding would find it’s way back to Four Corners, but had little hope of the others being able to find him. He didn’t know how long they walked. His legs ached and the muscles in his calves cramped and throbbed as he forced one leg in front of the other. The hot sun continued to beat down and added more heat to the sand underfoot. He could feel the leather boots he wore melting with each step. They stopped twice and gave him small sips of water, but each time the dirty rag was shoved back in his mouth and the cloth quickly soaked up all moisture. He felt the sun burning the skin of his face and swore on the dark skinned man seated on the third horse. He’d smiled as he pulled Larabee’s hat from his head saying he wouldn’t need to worry about sunburn, as he’d be frying in hell before long.
The sun was slowly losing its heat as it sank below the horizon, but Chris knew this would do him no good. His clothes were soaked with sweat and the desert would quickly lose the heat of the day, leaving him to suffer the chill of the night. Walking, struggling to keep on his feet, his legs numb, his feet blistered beyond imagination, still his captors marched on. His eyes were closed and he stumbled before finally losing his footing. A muffled grunt was the only sound to escape the gag in his mouth.
The leader of the three men called a halt as he heard the prisoner’s body hit the ground. He climbed off his horse and walked to the prone figure. “Git on yer feet ya bastard or I’ll gut ya where yer lyin’!” he warned as he pulled a knife from his belt.
Larabee’s temper often got him in trouble, but this time it saved his life. From the green fiery depths of his eyes and the blistering heat of his feet newfound strength was born of that anger. It was slow going with his arms cuffed behind his back, but he succeeded in getting his knees under him and then finally stood on his own two feet. Without looking at the hated man beside him he pointed his body in the direction they were headed and took one step after another.
A hand clamped down on the gunslinger’s shoulder and he cried out as he was forced to his knees. “Don’t get cocky with me, Mister. I’m on two minds ta kill ya where ya are, but I figure that’ll make me jest as bad as you are. I aim ta let Judge Wilcox ‘ave ya when ‘e gets ‘ere,” the voice taunted.
‘Wilcox died three years ago,’ Larabee thought. He’d had his own run ins with the older man, yet was always treated fairly.
“Ain’t got no idea ‘ow long ya’ll be spendin’ in the jail, but the judge has been long overdue. There was two other fellas there waitin’ trial, but we won’t be keepin’ ya there near’s long as they were ‘eld. Finally strung ‘em up las’ week. If’n the judge don’t show up in two weeks we’ll ‘ave us a fine ‘anging wit’out im,” the hated voice promised as the torturous journey began again.
Larabee let his mind wander, as thirst became another thing he was forced to endure. The men made a show of lifting their canteens, but refused to give him anymore. He hated the rag in his mouth and tried to control breathing through his nose. Finally he saw a sparkle of light in the distance. ‘Just keep putting one foot in front of the other! You can get them to send a telegram to Four Corners and get this mess straightened out,’ he thought as he staggered along behind the big horse.
Chris breathed a sigh of relief as they pulled to a stop in front of a stone building with one door and a bar crossed window. He stood his ground, eyeing his captors in spite of his body’s screams for rest. Once again the whiskered man stood before him, hatred seething in the dark eyes. The flames from the street were soon joined by torches as members of the small neglected town made their way to the center of the street.
“Looks like Sheriff Burke done caught him!” a female voice cried out.
“Where’d ya find ‘im, Sheriff?” another called.
“Did ya fin’ the missin’ money an’ jewellery he done stole off Eliza?”
Chris stood his ground as a group of poorly dressed people surrounded him on the street. Most seemed excited about seeing him; while others just stared with hate filled eyes.
“Ain’t had a chance ta search ‘im fer the money yet. Figured it’d be best if’n I did it back ‘ere in front of the lot of ya.”
“Search the murderin’ son of a bitch, Sheriff,” came a shout, that soon turned into a mantra among the towns people.
“I’m gonna,” Burke moved to stand in front of his prisoner and smiled maliciously. “Harvey is gonna release your hands, Mister. Mike’s gonna keep his gun trained on ya and I’d advise ya not to do anythin’ stupid. Un’erstood?” He smiled as the sunburnt face bobbed once. “That’s real good, Mister. Alright, Harvey, take off the cuffs,” he ordered and the dark skinned man moved in to do as the sheriff ordered.
Chris felt his hands released and pulled them to the front. He slowly rubbed the numbed wrists until the sheriff struck him open handed across the face. The gunslinger seethed in spite of the exhaustion and thirst. His hatred fed green eyes met and held the man who was sheriff of this excuse for a town.
“Now I want yer ‘ands placed on yer ‘ead and I don’t want ya ta move a muscle, Mister. I’m gonna see where yer hidin’ that money and then I’m gonna put ya in a cell ‘til Judge Wilcox gits ‘ere. Keep yer gun on ‘im, Mike.”
“Sure thing, Sheriff.”
Larabee held himself tense as grimy hands made their way over his lean body, stopping on the right pocket of his jeans. The upturned mouth of the sheriff told him he was in deeper trouble than he was before as the hand came out and showed a small cameo broach.
“I done tole ya we’d fin’ the murderin thief!” Burke held the broach high above his head as he turned back to his prisoner. “So where’s the rest of it?” he asked as he tore the gag from Larabee’s mouth.
“You put that in there, you son of a bitch,” the gunslinger rasped through the dryness of his throat and mouth. His head snapped back and hands grabbed him before he fell to the ground. He was held tightly as the sheriff stood directly in front of him. Before he could say another word the gag was replaced and he felt the duster being removed from his body.
“Git his boots off ‘im. They ain’t gonna do ‘im much good in jail. Mike, keep yer gun on ‘im. Ladies, ya’ go on ‘ome now cause there ain’t no needa ya seein’ this. Harvey, strip him down to his drawers and we’ll see ta makin’ ‘im feel at ‘ome in ‘is cell.”
Chris tried to fight the hands holding him but for each blow he delivered two impacted on his torso or head. The black shirt and jeans were peeled from his body and he was dragged towards the darkened jailhouse. He heard keys in the door and was soon dropped heavily to the dirt floor. He coughed against the gag as layers of dust billowed up around him. He dragged his aching body to the dirty mattress and dropped onto it as laughter and jeering reached his ears. He reached up and removed the gag and took in a deep gulp of the dust-coated air. Again he coughed, his eyes slid closed and he lost the fight to remain awake.
The sun shining in through the open window turned the stone structure into an oven and Larabee groaned as he turned onto his back. His green eyes shot open and snapped closed again as the throbbing behind his eyes intensified. His body felt stiff and unyielding as he struggled to turn onto his stomach. He briefly noted that his clothes were gone, leaving him clad in only his drawers. His upper torso was covered in a multitude of colors, but the burning sensation in his right arm grabbed and held his attention. He flexed the fingers of his right arm, grimacing at the pain that traveled from the fingertips up into his shoulder. Flashes of his trek through the desert played across his closed lids as he once more tried to get to his feet. Finally, he stood on shaky legs and looked around the sunlit interior. He groaned as his eyes lit on a dirty pail in one corner. He knew there was little choice but to use it. He staggered to the corner and relieved himself before turning his attention back to his prison. The door was directly in front of him and he stepped towards it. There were no handles with which to open it and he tried shoving up against it. He cried out in rage and pain as his sore arm throbbed incessantly.
He turned his attention to the window and tested the bars. His frustration mounted as the bars didn’t have any give to them. His clothes were missing and he had nothing to dig through the base of the window. There was no way he could remove the bars and make good his escape. He took a deep breath, the sound of his breathing harsh in the enclosed structure. Half an hour later he sank to the mattress and closed his eyes against the painful headache and the queasiness in his stomach.
Chris heard someone at the door and tensed his body. He knew it was midday because of the position of the sun. He opened his eyes to mere slits and watched as the so-called Sheriff and his men entered the cell.
“On yer feet, Mister!” Burke ordered.
Larabee knew to resist would just garner him more pain. He couldn’t afford anything else if he was to escape this town and these people. Something was definitely wrong with the whole place. He turned on his side and forced himself to a sitting position.
“Get him on his feet,” the sheriff ordered as he lost patience with his prisoner.
The gunslinger glared angrily at the hated man standing before him. His arms were pulled behind him and one of the men re-attached the handcuffs to his wrists. They pulled him towards the door and stopped before Burke.
Larabee lifted his eyes and sent a warning the other man easily read. The Sheriff’s eyebrows rose and a thin smile covered his face. “I don’t know your name, Mister and I don’t give a damn what it is. Right now we got all the evidence we need fer a judge ta convict ya, but we’re not gonna wait fer ‘im ta git ‘ere. There’s a little tree known as the hangman’s tree about a mile outside of town and that’s where we’re gonna go right now.”
“What about a trial?” Larabee hissed as he was forced towards the door.
“We done had us a trial while you was sleepin’. Seems the whole town is tired of havin’ ta feed men like you,” Burke explained.
Larabee turned to the dark skinned man on his right. He remembered Burke calling him Mike and Chris tried talking to him. “Look, my name is Chris Larabee. Send a telegram to Four Corners. They’ll tell you who I am.”
“I done tol’ ya I don’t give a damn who ya say ya are. ‘Side we ain’t got no telegram. Git ‘im out there and put ‘im on a horse,” he hissed as he placed his face directly in front of the gunslinger. “’Sides we both know yer a murderer and a thief. Yer gonna hang no matter whatcha say.”
“You bastards! You’re setting me up!” Larabee spat as he struggled against the vice like grip on his arms.
Mike and Harvey tightened their grip, smiling as the muscles in Larabee’s arms strained to the breaking point. He soon found himself dragged out into the sunlight. The people were once again gathered outside the jailhouse, men, women, and children alike came to gawk at the newly convicted murderer. Human nature was to be morbid and the thoughts of a hanging brought people out in droves. He knew there was no point in begging for his life; it was something he’d never done and never would do. He gazed at the faces staring at him, searching, hoping, and praying he’d find a sympathetic gaze. His only hope was to save someone else’s life and maybe let his friends know where he was and what happened to him. He was still being dragged, but pulled his legs up under himself and glared out over the crowd, hoping, praying someone would do as he asked.
“Telegram Four Corners and tell them Chris Larabee was murdered! They’ll tell you I’m not a murderer!” he shouted as he struggled against the men holding him.
“Shut ‘im up, Dammit!” Burke hissed, not wanting this man to garner any sympathy. The town was his, but the people sometimes had their suspicions of his not so stellar activities. He stepped in front of the near naked man and struck out with his fist.
The air was driven from his lungs as Larabee went limp in the two sets of arms. He tried to scream at the people watching, but again a rag was stuffed into his mouth. He fought to drag air into his lungs as he was pulled towards a saddle horse and thrown on it. Stars flashed before his eyes as darkness threatened to blot out the light. He could hear Burke issuing orders, but couldn’t understand most of what was being said. A few words struck him as strange.
“Thunder... Storm”
“Gonna...rain”
“Better get...this done!”
He didn’t recognize the voices, but he knew who was speaking. It wasn’t long before the four horses were racing away from the small town. Larabee had no idea how long they rode, but even trussed up and in pain his mind worked to form a plan. He knew there’d be no rescue in the form of Vin Tanner or any of the other men he called friends. This was something he’d have to get out of himself, if only to show this piece of garbage and his cohorts what happened if you went against an innocent Larabee.
Chris knew he’d have to move quickly once they came to a halt. He’d need to surprise these men in order to get free. His body was hot and he wasn’t so sure it was from the sun anymore. His arm throbbed and he knew it was probably infected, but right now that was the least of his worries. What did it matter if his arm was infected when his neck was about to be stretched? Ignoring the pain once more he planned. The only chance he could possibly have was to pretend he was unconscious when they finally came to a stop. If he could get his horse moving and stay in the saddle he’d have a slim chance of escaping.
Fat drops of rain hit his bare back and he knew the storm he’d heard them talking about was almost upon them. The unfamiliar horse he rode seemed skittish and he knew it wouldn’t take much for the animal to bolt.
“Hurry up!” Burke shouted above the mounting wind and rain.
“There’s the tree!” Mike shouted.
Larabee remained motionless as the horse drew to a halt; his body leaned forward against the neck of the animal he rode. He listened to the others talk and waited for them to dismount.
“Mike, you get that rope up. Harvey you take the horses. Hey, looks like...” he thought for a few second and used the gunslinger’s name. “Larabee’s out cold.” Burke told them.
“Why don’tcha leave ‘im that way till we get this set up. We’ll wake ‘im up when we’re ready ta put the noose ‘round ‘is neck. That’s the best part when they try ta fight us puttin’ the rope on ‘im.”
Chris could almost hear Burke’s smile as the man answered.
“Yeah. That last one damn near shit himself!”
“Think this one’ll do the same?” Harvey asked.
“Maybe, but som’ow I think this one is different. He don’t seem ta ‘ave none of the fears the others had,” Burke observed as he dismounted and handed the reins to Harvey.
“Sure he is. I heared him pleadin’ with the folks back in town.”
“I don’t think he was pleadin’. It was more like tryin’ ta see if anyone would do as he asked.” He lifted the blond head and stared into the pale, bruised face. “I tol’ ya ta shut ‘im up ‘cause I didn’t want no one knowing who he was or where he came from. We got us a nice little deal goin’ on ‘ere and I aim ta see that it stays that way. Are you ready, Mike?” he asked.
“The branches are kinda slip’ry. I need help gettin’ the damn thing ta stay put long ‘nuff ta tie it off.”
“Harvey, watch ‘im,” he said, releasing his hold on the reins and moving to help the man with the hangman’s noose.
Larabee gazed at the others through slitted eyes. With all his strength he sat tall in the saddle and dug his heels into the horse. “Yah!” he shouted scaring the jittery animal beneath him and sending him into the man holding the remaining three horses. He didn’t take the time to see if the man fell or the horses scattered. He was in a race for his life and he wasn’t sure if what he heard was gunshots or thunder. He prayed it was thunder and soon dashed into the trees, using the thick branches to cover his escape.
Chris had no idea how long he rode, but suddenly the skies opened up and hell rained down on him from above. Thunder rolled in a cacophony of drumbeats as lightening slashed across the sky. His legs were slowly losing purchase as the animal’s skin became slick with the rain. He held on for dear life as man and horse rode as if the demons of Hades were on their heels.
The backdrop of dark skies and flashing lightning framed horse and rider in an open display that proved how good a rider Chris Larabee really was. His body bounced in the saddle and he knew he couldn’t hold on much longer. He knew himself to be a professional horse breaker, yet he knew he couldn’t hold out much longer. His luck gave out as the horse stepped in a hole and the two went down in a jumble of human and animal, a puzzle any normal person would be hard fit to complete.
“Any idea when Brother Chris will be back?” Sanchez asked as he sat next to the sharpshooter.
“Said he’d be gone ‘bout a week. That gives ‘im two more days. He knows Billy’s comin’ back on Thursday’s stage and he promised the boy he’d be there ta meet ‘im. Ya know how Chris feels ‘bout that boy,” Tanner smiled at the older man as Wilmington and Dunne joined them on the landing to Jackson’s clinic.
Nathan had just returned from the Seminole village where Rain lived and he was exhausted. He’d gone there to help look after the villagers who’d been struck with a bad case of the flu that swept through the village like wildfire through dry grass and brush. Six people died during the week he’d been there, but a lot more lived because Nathan Jackson cared about what he did and made sure people got the best care he could possibly give. The five men were making sure no one disturbed the sleeping healer unless it was a dire emergency.
“You boys shoulda seen Chris when Sarah and Adam were a...alive,” Wilmington stammered as memories assaulted his mind.
“What was he like, Buck?” Dunne asked.
The scoundrel sat back in his chair and laced his hands behind his head. He sighed heavily and stared at each of his friends before speaking. “Chris loved Sarah more than life itself. I knew when I saw them together the first time he was ready to settle down. The change seemed ta come overnight. One minute we were out carousin’ and drinkin’. Next thing ya know Chris is staring into these beautiful brown eyes set in one of the most gorgeous women I’ve ever had the pleasure ta lay eyes on. I’m tellin’ ya boys if Chris hadn’t made a move I just mighta ended up married ta her myself.”
“You, Buck, no way you’d settle down with one woman.” Dunne stated.
“You’re right, JD, but this one woulda made me think twice about being single. Anyway, Chris took one look into her eyes and his life changed. He courted her as if she’d disappear from his life as suddenly as she came into it. Chris had a hard life, Boys, I won’t go into it, but he deserved something good for a change and Sarah was that and more. She changed Chris. Made him into a man instead of a boy, cause that’s what we were back then. Boys with too much time on our hands,” Buck looked at each of his friends, knowing they’d keep this to themselves. They all knew Chris Larabee was a private man, but they enjoyed hearing about his life as a husband and father. “They’d been married about a year or so when Sarah found out she was gonna be a mother,” the scoundrel smiled as he thought of his friends face when Chris told him he was gonna be a papa. “Chris came into the yard with two glasses of whiskey in his hands. He handed one ta me and plastered that cocky grin of his on his face. You know the shit-eater’s grin. The one that says I got somethin’ good and no one’s gonna ruin it.”
“Yeah, I know the one you’re talkin’ ‘bout, Buck,” Tanner answered, knowing he was getting to see a new side of Chris Larabee.
“We all know that grin, Brother,” Sanchez smiled as Wilmington continued.
“Well, ol’ Chris just looks me in the eye and says, ‘Ya know, Buck, you’re gonna have to give up some of that carousing if you’re gonna be my son’s Godfather.’ I damn near choked on the whiskey. He said it with this glint in his eyes and I knew Sarah was gonna have a baby. He wasn’t just askin’ me for when it happened, he was askin’ me ‘cause it already had. The night little Adam was born Chris cried. He cried with joy, but he also cried ‘cause of the pain Sarah went through. He figured she’d done it for him and he was probably right. Anyway, him and Sarah let me know how much I was a part of their family and I got to watch Chris play with that little boy. He’d lift Adam in his arms and he’d sing in that off key voice of his and that little boy would just smile. Talk about a mirror image pf his pa. If Adam l...lived long enough to grow up he’d been the spit image of Chris. His hair mighta been darker, but that look, those eyes and that grin were all there. We took Adam fishin’ and ridin’ and Chris and Sarah’s love seemed ta grow every day. That all changed when that bitch came back,” Wilmington stood up and walked to the stairs. “Sorry, Boys, I just can’t talk about it anymore. I’ll be at the saloon if ya want me.”
Tanner watched the ladies man walk away and knew he was feeling the same loss Chris felt when he thought about his wife and child. The difference was Buck’s love was more that of a brother and uncle rather than husband and father. He wished he’d been around to see that side of Chris Larabee, yet he was glad he’d been given the chance to know the quiet gunslinger now. He looked up as Jackson came out of the clinic. Vin nodded, stood up and the five of them moved to join the sixth member of the Magnificent Seven in the saloon. Each man thought about the missing leader and wondered what he was doing at that moment.
Chris opened his eyes, blinking rapidly as the rain continued to pour down on him. He shivered and moaned as he tried to move. His body trembled as a fever began to gain momentum. He lifted his head and looked around for the horse he’d been riding. The animal was nowhere to be seen and he was glad the creature wasn’t lying there suffering as he was. The cold rain stripped the dirt from his body and cleansed the wounds he’d garnered as a result of the race for his life.
Larabee knew his only chance was to stay ahead of the men chasing him. He knew they were still on his trail. There was no way they’d leave him alive. He knew what they were up to and he needed to get the information to Orrin Travis and make sure the Sheriff and his men stood trial. He turned onto his side and drew his legs up. Using every ounce of strength he could muster he pushed against the ground with enough momentum to push himself up on his knees. He stayed in that position until the stormy world righted itself and his breathing came easier. ‘Move dammit!’ he thought as he struggled to get his legs under him.
“Think, dammit, Which way?” he spoke aloud, his words drowned out by the slashing rain and the echoing thunder. He started forward, one step at a time, his knees threatening to give out, but his mind not willing to let it happen. A streak of lightening cut a gash across the sky, striking and igniting a tall Pine a few yards to the right of him. He ducked away from the shifting branches, and continued to run through the glade.
He had no idea how long he ran or how far. He stumbled and went down, stood up, ran, stumbled, struggled to his feet and ran again. He ached from head to toe, pain jarred his arms each time he stumbled and fell. He tried to stop his forward momentum as a flash of lightening showed him how close he was to the edge of a cliff. He lost his footing in the mud and slime, his body rolling across the ground and coming to rest on his back at the edge of the sharp drop. He breathed deeply, coughing to rid his throat of the mud that was forced into his mouth.
He struggled to get up, but found his body was stronger than his mind at the moment. His mind knew he needed to find shelter, his body knew there was no strength left to move. He lay on his back, breathing deeply as he fought to catch his breath. He didn’t know if he was hot or cold, but he continued to tremble uncontrollably. Exhaustion sank into every pore of his body as the rain persisted in its assault on him as well as the world about him. He shifted away from the edge of the cliff and lay on his back in the soft, sucking mud.
His fingers were numb, his arms and shoulders screamed for relief from the uncomfortable position they’d been in since the sheriff took him from the cell. He turned on his side and brought his knees up to his bare chest. He cried out as he slid his hands down towards his butt.
He’d done this many times as a kid. He smiled as a picture of Buck Wilmington came to mind. They were carousing in one of the many town they’d visited as young men. A playful young saloon girl wanted to see the trick Buck told her about. She pulled his hands behind his back and placed a set of cuffs on his wrists. It took less than a minute for him to bring the cuffs around to the front of his body.
He lost track of time as he struggled to pull his hands down over his lean form. His long legs were another obstacle, but he was slowly advancing the right one through. He ignored his aching body, knowing his only chance was to get his arms around in front of him. He hoped his fingers and hands weren’t swollen to the point he couldn’t slide the cuffs off.
Chris had no idea how much time passed but his two legs were finally through the circle of his arms and he lay back against the ground. He felt himself sinking into the folds of a warm blanket and knew he was losing consciousness. Somewhere in his mind he knew this was a bad idea, but he couldn’t for the life of him remember why.
He didn’t know what woke him, but he moved on instincts alone. He rolled onto his right side and raised his head. The storm was over, the sun far above the horizon and the sound of rushing water met his ears. He knew this wasn’t what woke him. A strange sound in the unnatural quiet was the only explanation. He waited for it to come again and heard shouting. He fought his way to his feet and searched the area around him. He spotted the three familiar forms in the distance and swore on his own weakness.
He looked to his left and right. A steep embankment lay to his right. He knew he didn’t have the energy to climb it and turned to the downward slope to the left. He raced down the hill, stumbling and falling, rolling towards the bottom. His tethered hands were of little use as he came to an abrupt halt up against a thick bush. He silently thanked God for the minor miracle and stood up once more.
“There he is!”
Chris looked up the hill and knew he’d been spotted. “Shit!” he cried as he once more ran for his life. The thunder he heard now was not from the sky, but from the pounding hoofs of the horses running him to the ground. ‘Wonder if this was how escaped slaves felt?’ The strange thought came and went as he searched for a way out.
They were closer now, he could almost feel the earth shaking from the pounding hoofs. He couldn’t chance a glance over his head, but he was sure he felt the breath of a steed on his neck. He ran, knowing that his only chance of survival was to outdistance his pursuers, yet he knew it was impossible. His body was running on pure stubbornness alone now and he felt even that was slowly running out. The edge of the cliff lay on his left and he glanced over the edge. He spotted a small pool and prayed it was deep enough.
“Stop or I’ll shoot ya where ya stand!”
The gunslinger heard the voice and turned towards the edge of the cliff. Out of the corner of his eyes he spotted Burke and the man called Mike. He smiled weakly, knowing he’d cheat them out of the joy of killing him. He took a deep breath as he neared the edge and jumped. ‘God help me,’ he thought as he leaped out into thin air.
It felt as if he stayed suspended for a fraction of a second as his legs did a macabre dance of their own. A cry tore from his throat as he felt his body dropping towards the murky pool below him. ‘Please...,’ he thought, but got no further as he hit the cold water and sank far below the surface. His body rolled in the water and he was hard pressed to know up from down. He finally spotted the lighter shade and headed towards what he prayed was the surface. His bound arms were a hindrance, but after an indeterminate amount of time, with no air left in his lungs, his head bobbed above the surface. He gulped in a deep breath of fresh air and water as the ripples forced the liquid into his open mouth.
Chris coughed, sputtered, choked, spit out the murky water and drew in his second breath of air. He had no idea how long he stayed in one spot, but he knew he needed to get to shore before his strength gave out. Summoning the last of his depleted energy he swam towards the shore, praying that the rocky overhang would hide him from the prying eyes above him. Cramps assaulted his arms and legs, but he forced himself to go on. There was no way he’d come this far to drown in some river he didn’t even know the name of.
Using his two hands he swam in the same way he’d seen dogs and other animals do and finally made it to shore. He pulled his now aching, breathless, pain laden body ashore and lay half in, half out of the water. His eyes closed and he wondered if Burke and his men would give him up as dead. He prayed they would as he had no strength left for another race for his life. He knew if it happened he’d lose. Of that there was no doubt for he didn’t have the energy to open his eyes. Unconsciousness dragged him under much the same way the water in the river had moments before, only this time there was no fighting back.
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