Setting: Old West
Rating: PF — Profanity and AC — Adult Content
This is the second story set in the Hope Ranch AU (the first is A Shining Place Called Hope) Winnie, dear, I hope you salivate...
IMPORTANT AUTHOR"S NOTE: This was written in a bit of a hurry for a specific reason, no time for beta work or many edits, so read with kind eyes!.
Buck eased his skiddish horse through the swollen river, using a gentle tone. But when he wasn't halfway across yet and the water was up to his thighs, he turned back, shaking his head to Josiah on the bank. The man of the cloth was waiting there with the four horses. A storm earlier in the week had caused the river to rise in this area. They lost time finding the first two horses and now couldn't cross the river.
"Sorry, big guy." Wilmington shook his head as he rode back onto dry ground. He shoved his hat back and eyed the riverbank stretching out before them.
"Not your fault, Buck," Sanchez replied, eyeing the dark sky. "The Lord loves a good challenge."
"Yeah, I would to if I wasn't the one stuck in the middle of it," Wilmington commiserated. "It's getting dark, you want to make camp here?"
"Yeah, we'll start again at first light. With any luck, we'll be home by supper."
"Don't say that!" Buck warned, riding further up the hill to a better camping spot. "You said that last night and look where we are!"
"Home is where the heart is?" Josiah flashed his teeth.
"Nothing personal, Josiah, but my heart ain't the body part that's gonna spend another night sleeping on the dirt, instead of a bed."
"At least JD and Vin will get the benefit of those beds Ezra... uh..."
"Pilfered," Buck supplied, tying his horse up and taking the saddlebags off first.
"I was thinking of something a bit softer."
"I was thinking of the truth," Buck laughed. "He not only got those beds from the salesmen, he had them upgrade them. That poor guy never knew what hit him."
"Brother Standish does have a silver tongue," Josiah said, preparing the fire.
"Between the silver tongue and gold tooth, all's he needs is a diamond in his nuts."
"Speakin' from experience, Buck?"
"Just stick to cookin' and leave your humor behind," Buck suggested, putting his saddle down and a blanket on top of it. He thought of Vin and JD again. "Hell, I bet those two'll eat right through the supply room."
"Well," Josiah said, taking one of the rabbits they'd caught and cleaned earlier and skewering it. "Vin don't cook unless he has to and JD can't cook to save his soul." He paused, shaking his head. 'Hope they don't burn the place down."
"Dammit, it's cold tonight," Buck shivered, thinking on the large hearth at the ranch. "Friday night... hmmm. I'll bet them two pups stopped at the Boarding House. It don't take much for them to sweet talk Mae into giving them a basket of chicken."
"They do have a talent for beguiling," Josiah agreed. "Vin don't even have to talk."
"Goddammit JD!"
"I said I was sorry, Vin!" Dunne hollered back. "What do you want me to do?"
"I want ya t'git yer sorry ass up the road and git them horses. Don't come back without 'em!"
"Dammit t'hell," Tanner swore as the youth rode off. He eyed his wet, muddy clothes which were quickly turning in to plaster and swore again. "Hey, Vin, how 'bout we cut through Marshall Pass?" He mimicked Dunne's voice and begin to peel his mud-encased clothes off. It seemed to be everywhere. The only good thing was that his coat was not on when he slipped down the hill. By the time he got to the bottom, the only showing through the thick muck was his eyes. "Ya look like a racoon, Vin!" He echoed the sheriff's comment. "Some Goddamn tracker ya are, Tanner. Ya shouldda knowed better."
He cursed JD the entire time he walked a quarter mile back to the creek to wash his clothes. He was making a mental list of payback as he rung the clothes and pounded them with rocks. Finally, as he shivered in the night air all the way back to camp to hang his pants, shirt and socks from tree branches, he was ready to kill the kid. But there he was, looking guilty and wide-eyed by the fire. JD'd let go of the horses when Vin took his tumble to try to catch up to him. Now they were back and safe. He had to give the kid credit, he was a good rider. Just when his ire was in full force, the kid looked right at him with those doe eyes.
"Aw, hell..."
JD felt the night air go right through him and he had a heavy shirt and coat on. He eyed Vin's lean frame in the worn long johns and winced. He jumped up quickly and ran over, taking the sodden clothes that were held out.
"I take care of it, VIn, just get by the fire. I'll get the food out, Vin, you don't have to do anything. I left some blankets..."
"It's okay, kid," Vin managed, completely undone by the large hazel eyes.
"...cause if you get sick, Nathan'll kill me. Here." JD finished hanging the clothes on several tree branches, close to the fire. "...I hope they don't freeze overnight..."
"JD? Quit yammerin', I ain't sore," Vin tried, sitting as close to the fire as he could without getting burned. He sat crosslegged with his blanket wrapped around him.
"...coffee but we don't got a lot of sugar. You drink up and I'll get the food."
"Look, kid," Vin started, but a mug was shoved in his hand. It was hot and he wrapped his frozen fingers around it and then took a sip, savoring the warmth that ran through him.
"...so if your clothes do freeze, I'll boil some water and hold them over the steam and..."
"JD."
"...should dry but the sun will help going home and we'll be in before dark. So..."
"JD."
"...warm enough? Buck says your half lizard. Here, take this blanket, it's small but if you..."
"JD!" Vin bellowed, stopping the velocity of speech. "Quit flappin' yer jaws. I'm fine, the clothes'll dry fine and if ya don't quit firin' words at me, I'm gonna shoot ya! Quit sayin' yer sorry, I ain't sore, okay? Jest hungry."
"I'm sor..." JD shut his mouth when the soggy tracker stood up and his hand went to his hip. He put his own hand up and nodded, indicating he'd comply. He unpacked the food they bought at the Trading Post they passed midday. There were sandwiches, fruit and cake, along with the coffee. JD saved some ham, cheese and biscuits for a quick breakfast in the morning.
They ate quietly. It was good and Vin ate both sandwiches, most of the coffee, a piece of spice cake and a peach. Finally, he curled up, still shivering but warmer and glad for the protection of his hide coat. He had that on top of his upper body and the blanket wrapped around the lower half. He was dozing off and felt something warm laid on him. He peeled and eye open and saw the brown of JD's coat. He waited until the younger man was settled down on his bedroll. The kid's eyes met his over the fire. Damn, they look bigger when he's upset.
"Thanks, kid," Vin sent over.
"Your welcome, Vin." JD paused, thinking on when Vin fell down the hill. He waited until the tracker's eyes closed. "You did make a cute racoon, though." He was glad when he heard a good laugh from the other side of the fire.
Time ceased to have any bearing. The mine was so dark that after a while, you lost the sense of being. Day or night? Three hours or ten? The work was backbreaking and for the injured gunslinger, he wondered if he was in Hell. The sweat that ran freely hit every one of the fresh lashes on his backside. His shoulder was throbbing, he'd not had any of the burn cream applied since he left Grovers Pass. That seemed like a long time ago. He'd long past hunger and would have sold his soul for a canteen of water. He'd even licked the cave wall to gain a bit of the moisture there.
He had no idea how long he'd been working but his cart was nearly full. The first few hours he'd put his back into it, hacking at the walls with a purposeful vigor. That was a good thing because now he was barely able to stand. He put the tools down and laid his throbbing body against the wall. There were eight other men in the tunnel with him each in varying stages of wear.
Some looked like prisoners he'd seen liberated after the war. They'd been here awhile and the loss of soul in their eyes was frightening. Then there were a few like him, still fueled by rage. He looked up and saw a lean young man with dark hair and eyes looking at him. He was American and by the full frame and the way he was working, Chris judged that he'd not been here very long. As soon as he looked at him, the other man turned away. It wasn't the first time Chris caught him looking.
A few moments later, the other man caught his eye again, nodded to the cart and jerked his head sideways. Chris didn't know the reason but reacted, hauling his body up, biting back the urge to cry out in pain and picking up his axe. Sure enough, a few moments later the guards appeared. When they passed by, he nodded to the stranger, giving his thanks. The other man nodded back. He felt a bit of relief, he had one friend on Hell.
He was pushed so far beyond the realm of endurance, he was looking forward to vermin infested, urine stained bed. Six hours of sleep sounded like sixteen at this point. He wasn't sure how long he'd been here, but he knew that the others would come. As desperate as his plight seemed, those blue eyes and that drawl were his rock. Vin wouldn't give up, no matter what it took.
"Ride hard, cowboy," he croaked, holding onto the mental image of Vin as long as he could.
Vin didn't think it was possible to be any more tired that he was at this moment. When he and JD crossed under the sign for the ranch, he wanted to kiss the ground. He'd never admit it, but the concussion was taking it's time leaving. Although the headaches had diminished every day, he was still more tired than usual.
"Hey," JD called back, waiting for Vin to catch up. "The house is dark."
"Well, it's late JD, maybe they're sleepin'"
"I don't see any horses in the corral." JD picked up his pace and quickly headed into the yard. "Vin? They're not here."
"I hope they didn't run inta trouble, " Vin replied, easing off his horse and holding onto the pommel a moment longer. "If they ain't here by mornin', I'll go lookin'."
"You look beat, Vin, I'll take care of the horses."
"Thanks, kid, but I'm okay."
They worked well together, quickly tending to their own horses and the three new ones. Finally, they horses were cleaned and fed and the two men when in the house. Vin hung his gunbelt and hat up, took his boots off and collapsed on the sofa. He wasn't aware he'd been sleeping until the front door opened and a loud voice sounded.
"See!" Buck waved his arm towards the sofa and stepped inside as Josiah entered the room. "Flat on his back. I told you. We damn near drowned and these two are livin' the good life."
"We only got home a couple hours ago, Buck." JD argued and watched Vin yawning and blinking. "And quit shoutin', Vin's got a headache."
"JD, is that my pan?" Josiah asked, eyeing something burning in a large black frying pan.
"Your pan?" JD eyed the pan and then the preacher, who suddenly seemed much taller. "Well, I... I... uh... I guess... I mean I didn't know it was your pan. It was for Vin..."
"Nice try, JD!" Vin chuckled, peeling a single eye open.
"Is that pancake syrup?" Josiah frowned at the charred sticky mess clinging to his prize pan.
"Pancake syrup?" Buck winced, shaking his head. He ruffled Dunne's hair as he passed by. "Boy, you messed up good. You'll never get that mess out of Josiah's good pan."
"Shut up Buck!" JD snapped. "Look, Josiah, I'm sorry. The ham was sort of dry and it needed help.:"
"It's not the only thing that needs help." Sanchez took the pan off the heat and to the sink. As the water came out of the pump and hit the cast iron cooking pan a burst of steam rose.
"I'll do that," Dunne offered along with a silent prayer.
"Damn right you will," Josiah stated.
"Chris ain't here?" Buck asked.
"No," Vin yawned, settling back into the warmth of the cozy sofa. "No reason fer him t'stay here, nobody was home.
"Yeah, he's probably in town," Buck agreed, easing his worn frame into the large leather chair by the fire. "Damn, I'm beat."
"I hear that," VIn agreed.
The quartet compared stories and outlined their duties for the near future. They would examine the horses in the morning and determine the best course of action. Vin felt one of their three wouldn't require much work, she was more in need of food and rest than treatment. Josiah thought the same of two of theirs. So that would ease the workload. By midnight, they'd eaten and retired, dreaming of a relaxing Sunday at home.
When the whistle blew, Chris was slumped against the damp wall. He was five miles beyond the point of exhaustion. There wasn't one inch of him that didn't burn, ache, throb or scream pain. He couldn't figure out if he was too tired to be sick or too sick to be tired. He felt a hand tap his back and took the help to stand. It was the dark haired young man who'd warned him silently when the guards were coming. He gave a nod of appreciation and shuffled with the others towards the end of the tunnel. Six armed guards lined either side of the narrow entry, shoving, pummeling and using the hard wooden batons on each of them as they stumbled past. Chris hissed when the wooden stick hit the lower part of his still healing back. He went to his knees and his temper flashed. One hand curled into a fist.
"Don't."
The whisper came as the same man helped him up. He shrugged off the arm and staggered up the incline. It seemed to take forever, but finally they were outside. It was dark out, he groaned and inhaled the cool night air. His eyes combed the sky, drinking in every star he saw. Never again would he take his freedom for granted. No wonder Vin embraced the gifts of Mother Nature.
Vin.
He followed the others towards the end of the main building and his thoughts went to his best friend. He knew VIn and the others would miss him by tomorrow.
If he was expected by Friday and didn't wire home, they might wire the hotel to check on him. Then they'd know he left. But how would they find him? If you weren't looking for it, you wouldn't find that tent city. He felt the enormity of the problem settle on his worn frame.
"Thirty minutes, Gringo Dogs!"
Larabee cried out softly and squinted, covering his eyes as the bright light of the inside of the building hit him. He'd been in the darkness of the cave for hours. Hours? Days? How much time had passed? He didn't know how long he'd been here. Time had no bearing in this hell on earth. Inside the room were three tables with benches on either side. Some of the men paired up, leaving others alone. Some were so exhausted, as soon as they sat down, they put their heads on their arms on the table.
Chris sat at the end of the remaining table. It was a wonder that he was still conscious. He never recalled being so exhausted in all his life. He hurt in too many places to count and the burn on his chest was throbbing. He saw some of the others regarding him with cautious eyes. He knew enough about prisons to know that the inmates were just as dangerous as the guards. He understood their resistance to trust him. In the situation they were forced into, living like caged animals, they reacted that way. Most were thin to the point of being emancipated. How they were alive, able to walk and work amazed him. Beneath the grime on their faces, he thought most looked American or European but two of the younger ones were Mexican. One was a huge, hulking figure who appeared to intimadate the others. He could tell by the fear in their eyes when the brute eyed them all as if to give a silent warning.
Four guards appeared with trays of food. Chris was shocked to see chicken, beans and rice in ample portions along with rolls. Each table was given a clay pitcher of cold water. Chris guzzled his first mug too quickly and regretted it as soon as he swallowed. The shock of the cold water hitting his stomach caused a fireball of pain. He grunted, hunched over and clutched his tender gut. Through the haze of pain, he saw a large arm reach to take his plate. The guards laughed, and it would appear they would not interfere. Tanner's drawl cut through his red curtain of pain and he acted on it.
Show 'im yer balls, Lar'bee."
Chris shoved off the bench and grabbed the beefy wrist.
"Take your hand off my plate or I'll break it."
"Break it? I think not. You will soon learn about Miguel and that what Miguel wants, he gets. Your food, your water and anything else I like on you." The large Mexican man laughed at him, put the plate down and the shoved him.
Chris lost his balance and fell backwards, stumbled over the bench and landing on his backside. The pain from the lashes erupted, the bleeding wounds had scabbed, sticking to the rough fabric and his skin. But he pushed past that and got to his feet. He waited until his plate had been put down on the other table and hit the other man hard. The bear was caught off guard and fell to his knees. He kicked him hard between the legs and then again in the side. When his opponent went down, Larabee knelt on his throat, applying just enough pressure to choke him out.
"Listen up you fat, Mexican cockroach. You fuck with me again and I'll find you tomorrow in that rathole and use the pick to take your balls off, comprehende?" When the man glared at him, choking and struggling, he ground his knee harder. It seemed to take forever and his body was just about to collapse when the man consented. It took all the waning strength he had to shove off and stagger back to his table. He saw his plate appear before him and his friend from the mine sit across from him. He appeared to be about twenty-five, just a shot over six foot and lean.
"Thank God somebody stood up to him."
"Thanks," Chris said, taking his spoon and a mouthful of rice and chicken. "For earlier."
"Name's Greg Wilson. I got here a few days ago. You get drugged in that tent city?"
"Yeah." Chris held his mug out when the man poured for him. "Chris Larabee."
"I'm not sure of how, but that son-of-a-bitch that runs that place is partners with Santiago. From the little I've heard from a few of the others, he's careful who he picks. Usually loners without family nearby. You're so busy being wined and dined, you don't see the snake." He eyed one thin older man across the room. "I heard that poor bastard's been here for a couple years."
"Yeah, well, I'm not plannin' on stayin' that long." Larabee's fury rose when he thought on the slimy cretin in Tent City who'd sold him into slavery. "That bastard fucked with the wrong Gringo. I'm not a loner, I got six friends who'll come hunting for me."
"Then you had to be a mistake," Greg replied, eating his chicken. "You best eat up, they hustle out us of here whether you're done or not. It's a long time to the next meal."
"The mistakes gonna be his, when Vin Tanner cuts his balls off."
"Tanner?" He saw the green eyes change then, from hostility to pride. "He one of those six friends?" He saw the blond head dip. "So I guess you don't think we should plan a break?"
"No, not yet. Give it a few more days," Chris decided, eyeing the others. "You trust any of them?"
"Just you."
"Okay, then we keep it to ourselves."
"I hope you're right." Wilson thought on the sinister man in the tent city. "Gilbert won't talk." He was startled to see the blond man laugh. "That's funny?"
"Oh." Chris finished his meal and took a long drink. "I think he'll sing like a bird when Vin gets done with him." He saw the dark eyes confused. "Vin lived with the Indians, he's got a whole lot of ways to loosen a tongue."
"I'll drink to that," Greg agreed, finishing his own water as the guards blew a whistle. "In the meantime, Chris, I got your back."
"Appreciate it, Greg," Chris nodded, rose and shuffled out of the room.
So deep and bruising was his state of exhaustion, coupled with a slight fever that he was asleep before the bugs had time to skitter away. He didn't feel the mice roaming on his neck and nibbling on his scabs, he didn't see the roaches running a race down his face. He didn't even dream about his ranch, his friends or his freedom. He sank into darkness, craving the rest his battered body so desperately sought.
The dust from the flying hooves sent a cloud of dust around the rider. He didn't seem to mind and didn't have time to cough. His only goal was getting to the front door. He reined the horse in, jumped off and burst through the doors.
"Vin! Buck!" JD hollered, eyeing the empty main room. "Josiah!"
"Where's the fire, son?" Josiah asked, stumbling into the room and squinting at the flush-faced youth.
"Hell, JD, the sun hasn't been up that long," Wilmington grumbled as he staggered past Josiah and towards the door, seeking to relieve his bladder.
"Chris isn't in town!" Dunne blurted.
"What?" Vin's groggy state immediately disappeared. "He shoudda been back a couple days ago. He send word?"
"Ezra got a wire on Tuesday, Chris said he'd been back on Friday. When he didn't show up by Friday night, Ezra wired Grovers Pass."
"And!" Buck demanded, looming over the slight youth. "Come on JD, out with it!"
"The lines must have been down. They didn't reply until this morning." His large eyes went from Buck's face to Vin's. He felt guilty already and he hadn't even updated them yet. "He checked out of the hotel on Thursday afternoon."
"Aw, fuck," Vin swore, eyeing the new day through the window. He turned cold inside and a creeping fear took hold of his gut. "I'm headin' to Grovers Pass. Only one road inta town from there."
He didn't say it, but the shallow end of his sentence was colored with the thought. That their friend might be laying dead or hurt off the side of the road. A long stretch of road could have spelled trouble. Anyone who saw him leave could have followed and robbed him.
Vin turned to leave and his shoulder was grabbed.
"Now hold on, Vin, I want to find him too," Buck stated, "But we need a plan. He could be anywhere. What if he didn't take the same road? Maybe he travelled part of the way with that woman. Or maybe he decided to hit Mantino on the way back. The judge was due there last week. If those wires were down, he could have sent an update and we don't know about it."
"Alright," Vin agreed, there were other options. He didn't buy into any of them but he'd never win an argument against three of them. He knew Chris was in trouble. "But he wouldn't ditch us fer no woman."
"I've known him a little longer than you, Vin. He's gone off before, sometimes he just needs to be alone," Buck disagreed.
"I got a sense o'him!" Vin defended, getting in Buck's face. "Stronger than most and I'm tellin' ya he's in trouble."
"Enough, both of you!" Josiah moved between them. "Look, we have plenty of bodies, we can cover some of the other angles. " He gave Vin's downcast shoulder a tug. 'We'll find him, Vin."
"You didn't see this woman he was with right?" JD asked. 'What if she was after him? I mean he's killed a few people. Maybe..."
"I don't think so, kid. Hell, we didn't even know until Saturday that he'd ride with us. But we'll check that out."
"JD, you head back to town and check the wires again. Send a message to some of the outlying towns. He might have checked out Thursday but maybe he wasn't coming here. " Sanchez turned to Vin. "Buck and I will ride along the river, in case he headed to Mantino and didn't make it. Vin, you retrace the road to Grovers Pass. If either of us finds him, we wire JD and he'll ride for the others, okay?"
Vin mumbled and nodded, then turned away to get dressed and armed. He didn't want to wait another minute. A flashing image of a corpse left rotting in the sun for several days rose up. He shivered and shoved that away. Twenty minutes later, with food, gear and ammo, the trio left the ranch. They rode for about a half hour and then parted ways. Vin paused at the crest of the hill that led to the path to Grovers Pass. There were a lot of places on the long, narrow trail that a man could be left to die. His whispered fear went airborne, sailing on the morning breeze.
"Where are ya cowboy?"
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