Title: The Blind Man and the Elephant Author: PBS Pairings: Ezra/Chris, pre-slash Ezra/Buck Universe: OW Disclaimer: Don't own them, enough said. Archive: EBoS RJD Writer s Bible Summary: One of the Seven rides into a town where, on the surface, everything seems normal. When he is cornered and captured, we soon realize that a heavily armed group has taken over and is waiting for a large shipment of gold that is due there. And if anyone does anything to reveal what's truly going on, they'll kill everyone. /////////////////////// There were once four blind men who came across an elephant. The first man, the bravest of the group felt the elephant's leg and said it was as sturdy as a tree. The second felt the trunk. "It's like a snake!" he cried. "You're wrong," said the third as he touched the tail. "It's nothing more than a rope." The fourth was afraid. He couldn't feel the elephant at all. /////////////////// It was pure chance that Buck looked up at that moment and saw them through the batwing doors. Ezra and Chris, they were too far away for him to hear what was being said but it was obvious from their body language that it wasn't pleasant. Ezra was angrily pulling Chaucer along by his reins; the gelding danced unsteadily beside him. That in and of itself was odd. Ezra never jerked Chaucer. Never. Beside him, dancing almost as much was Chris, he was stepping backwards, his hands waving and cutting through the air and his face was pinched into harsh lines. Something he said must have hit a nerve for at that moment, Ezra pulled Chaucer to a stop and with pursed lips; he looked Chris up and down. Slowly, speculatively, every ounce of his expression and stance suggesting that what he was looking at was nothing more than dirt on his shoe. He said something, one or two words that Buck imagined were uttered too quietly for even Chris to hear and then he was on Chaucer's back. The horse stepped around Chris, its hooves kicking at the dirt but obediently waiting for the command. Chris said something, shouted it and Ezra gave a disbelieving nod. He looked away from Chris, gathered the reins tight within his hands and with one short kick of his heels, Chaucer was away. Chris stepped out into the lingering dust, hands on his hips and watching the retreating back. Inside the saloon, Buck dropped his beer on the table, rolled his neck and sighed a world-weary sigh. "God damnit, Chris." He muttered to himself. "What have you done now?" ///////////////////// It was well into late evening when Ezra arrived at the small town of Landon. He'd ridden all day without rest, something he'd never done before. Beneath him Chaucer snorted and pawed at the ground in irritation. His sides heaved and Ezra could feel a light foam gathering beneath the stirrups and beneath his calves. He patted at the horse's unruly mane in silent apology. It wasn't often that his anger caused him to overlook such things and now, as it quietly ebbed away to a more subdued emotion, he was beginning to feel more than a little guilty. Beside him, Chaucer snorted a thoroughly exhausted puff of air and his head lulled to the ground, lashes drooping over his eyes. Ezra ducked neatly backwards and walked down Chaucer's side, running his hand along the damp fur as he did so, soothing the animal. He reached the saddlebags, the brown leather cracked and weathered by the sun with its golden clasps buckled and dented. He lifted the smallest flap and fished his hand in, rooting amongst the contents until his hands closed around a bundle of papers. Smiling, he pulled them out and unfolded the topmost one, revealing a neatly printed receipt. Beneath it sat a hand printed letter, neat and formal and mentioning no names save for a curved M in the bottom right corner. Ezra recognised the signature, always would he remember that signature. Maude. His eyes scanned the letter momentarily, picked out one small word, Landon, and then he alternated his gaze to the receipt 'Landon' and finally, he looked up to the sign swinging above a nearby saloon. Landon. Whether he wanted it to be or not, this was the place. Almost subconsciously, anger began to resurface within him but he quickly swallowed it. With a flicker of his tongue over dry lips, he put on a dapper grin, and strolled along the empty boardwalk to the sheriff's office. ////////////////////// Buck and Chris were the only ones left in the saloon. It was close to closing time. Technically it was past closing time, but guidelines were a forgotten commodity and Inez had all but resigned herself to late nights of waiting out the last of her patrons. The two men were still nursing their last beers, the same beers they had been sipping from for the past few hours. By now they had gone flat, their head no more than a patchy skin of white foam. "You keep looking at me. What?" Chris asked and though he never looked up from his beer, he knew Buck had sat forward in his seat. "Nothing," Buck said, and after a moment he added, "Just thinking." "About?" Buck shrugged. He lifted his glass and grimaced as he took a drink. Behind them at the bar Inez dropped an empty glass down on the counter with a little more force than necessary and looked pointedly from them to the door. "Jesus, Buck." Chris snapped. "If you've got something to say then say it." "See now that's the thing. What makes you think I wanna' say anything?" Chris looked at him. Slowly, with a purposeful methodical nature, Buck toyed at his glass, pushing it around in a circle with his index finger, creating small rings of condensation on the tabletop. "You okay?" he finally said. "Of course," Was Chris's short answer and Buck studied him from beneath lowered brows. "Ezra okay?" "Why wouldn't he be?" Buck shrugged and he lifted his glass again but paused before drinking. "He lit out of here awful quick." He said from behind the glass's rim. Chris sighed; he nodded his head and scratched his chin. "You saw," he said, tone deadbeat. "Yup," Buck said unnecessarily. "So... gonna' tell me?" "Nope." Chris said and picked up his own glass. "Figured as much." Buck nodded. He palmed the glass, glanced once over his shoulder to Inez, tilted his head at her in acknowledgment and then looked back to Chris. "Reckon you don't want my advice either?" "Nope." "Alright." Again Buck nodded. With a slow movement that was almost a stretch he patted Chris on the shoulder and rose to his feet, his chair scraping back behind him. "But I'll tell you one thing. You're onto something good. Don't mess it up." And with that, he picked up both his and Chris's glass, handed them over to Inez and walked out of the saloon. Chris remained seated in his place until long after Buck had left, his expression sour. /////////////////////////////// It was obvious from the moment Ezra stepped into the sheriff's office that he was less than welcome. The sheriff, the first person he had seen since entering the suspiciously quiet town was short and squat. The skin on his face was red and pock marked, having seen one too many hot summers and far too little of water and soap. He looked up at Ezra with brown eyes that were by no means beady, but appeared smaller than they actually were due to the excessively bushy brows. "Yes?" he demanded in a brusque, croaking voice. He didn't put down the gun he was carelessly cleaning and Ezra made sure to keep out of the line of the barrel, just in case. "There was a delivery here a few days ago," Ezra said as he placed the receipt down on the table next to the gun canister and tattered cloths. "I'm here to collect." The sheriff squinted down at the receipt, pausing barely long enough to read a single word before he looked back to his guns. "Ain't been one." he said. Ezra wasn't sure if it was just his imagination, but the sheriff's hands seemed to quicken, polishing almost feverishly. "Excuse me?" "I said," the Sheriff looked up from beneath his bushy eyes, though he couldn't have seen very far past them. "There ain't been a delivery. You musta' gotten the wrong town." "Is this Landon?" The sheriff paused, his eyes darted to the sign visible past the door and it appeared as if for a moment, he were tempted to bluff outright. His shoulders bowed a little. "Yes." "Then I'm not mistaken." "I didn't say you were mistaken. I said there was a mistake." The sheriff spun the paper around on the desk and frowned down at it. "Probably a typing error." Ezra took a deep breath. "How is that possible? There is no other town with a name remotely similar to this one." The sheriff chewed on his lip and dropped his gun to the desk. Ezra involuntarily skipped out of the barrel's path again. Almost sheepishly, the Sheriff ventured a small shrug and glanced at Ezra. "Coulda' been London." "Of course," Ezra muttered sarcastically. "How foolish of me." "Look mister-" "Standish," Ezra supplied. The Sheriff just frowned at him. "Look mister," he repeated. "I'm sorry. We haven't had any deliveries here for months; best thing I can suggest is you head up to Ridge city and ask about it there, maybe they just put the wrong town." Ezra nodded and smiled as if he were actually listening to the man. There was no way on earth that Maude would ever make such a mistake, not when it involved something of hers. "Thank you," he said, purely because conduct called of it. "But if you don't mind, I think I'll be staying here for the night. Perhaps it's just delayed." Everything about the sheriff's posture said that it was the furthest thing from 'okay' but he smiled his own fake smile, baring gnarled teeth. "Whatever you say." He ground out. "Delaney's the only place still open, there's rooms available." He glanced up, almost hopefully. "Unless of course you have alternate lodgings?" "The hotel will be fine." Ezra nodded and turned before the sheriff could say anymore. As he stepped back out onto the deserted street, he restrained a shiver. ////////////////////////////// Chris could feel Buck watching him. All morning he'd felt him watching him. As he was eating breakfast, he felt Buck's eyes from across the table. Sitting at the jail, he knew Buck was in the saloon, peering out through the window. Finally, when he'd been nicked for the third time whilst trying to fix the heel of his boot, he dropped his knife by his chair and stormed across the street to where Buck sat nonchalantly. "How long are you gonna' keep this up?" he demanded as he stood hip shot before Buck, the sun behind his back. Buck shaded his eyes and peered up at him quizzically, a twist to his mouth. "Couldn't answer that," Buck said almost jovially, his eyes were serious. Chris let out an exasperated hiss. He glanced up and down the boardwalk, as if he were ensuring their privacy, then he glared back down at Buck. "Figure you should know the facts before you judge." "And what are those facts, Chris?" Buck asked patiently. Chris opened his mouth and he was so close to answering, before he suddenly snapped it shut again and his eyes grew stormy. "It's none of your business," he snapped and stormed back to his seat. He snatched up his knife, cast one more glare in Buck's direction then disappeared into the saloon. Buck remained seated, bemused. ////////////////////////// Although he knew it was foolish, Ezra had secretly hoped that when he woke up the next day, everything would be normal. He'd hoped that his package would be there ready for collecting, he'd hoped that Landon would actually feel like a living town, and most of all, he'd hoped that he'd be able to think about his trip back to Four Corners without feeling sick to the stomach. Sadly, that wasn't to be the case. He was the only guest to make it down to breakfast; part of him suspected he was the only guest full stop. After a moment, a young girl came out to take his order; she acted as nervous as a mouse in a cat's bed and didn't once meet Ezra's eyes. When he tried to make conversation with her, asking about the weather, her health, just what the hell was going on, she uttered a small excuse and hurried back into the kitchen. Ezra occupied himself whilst waiting for his breakfast by attempting to balance his knife on its handle. He'd almost succeeded when the door leading to the street slammed open and the sheriff stormed in. "Mr. Standish," he greeted briskly and took a seat without waiting for invitation. At least he had the manners to remove his hat, Ezra supposed. Ezra nodded his own greeting and the sheriff supplied him with a gruff name 'Fawkes'. "You need to leave," Fawkes said. He seemed casual, so casual that it wouldn't have been too hard to mistake it as a comment on the weather. "May I ask why?" "The package ain't here and it won't ever get here." Both men looked up as the young girl returned with Ezra's meal and an extra mug of coffee for Fawkes. Ezra didn't miss the look the girl gave Fawkes as she passed, nor did he miss the sheriff's own nod of aknowledgement. "Thank you, Valerie," he muttered quietly then returned to Ezra. "Once you've finished your meal, you need to head out. I've saddled your horse and supplied you with provisions already." As Fawkes continued to discuss Ezra's being run out of town in a conversational manner, Ezra's countenance grew more and more agitated as his frustration increased. Finally, he snapped. The cutlery jumped as he slammed his palm against the tabletop. "Please!" Ezra hissed. "Would you please wait one moment? Contrary to what you may wish, I am not leaving this town until I get what I came for." Fawkes looked as though he were about to argue but Ezra silence him with a glare. "Now I'm not sure what is going on exactly and quite frankly, I don't care to but this package is important and I won't allow you to mess me around." He indicated his plate. "Now if you don't mind, my breakfast is growing cold and my horse irritated I imagine, so would you please leave me in peace and return him where you found him?" Much to Ezra's chagrin, Fawkes didn't leave although, thanks to small mercies, he did look decidedly ruffled. With each passing moment his cheeks deepened in colour and his eyebrows danced so animatedly across his brow that they looked like two bulbous caterpillars. "Okay," he relented. "Okay, fine. I didn't want to tell you this but since it's so important... your package is gone." "Gone." Ezra repeated, it wasn't a question. Fawkes nodded. "The mail stage was held up on the way here, everything was taken." Ezra frowned at Fawkes dubiously. "Why didn't you just tell me that?" "We ah... I just didn't want to trouble you I suppose. Plus you know, enough people take their complaints to Ridge City, we're more likely to be reimbursed." "Do you have any witnesses?" Ezra asked and Fawkes suddenly look nervous again. "Why?" "I'm a lawman of Four Corners. I could contact my fellow peacekeepers and-" At the time, Ezra wasn't sure what it was he'd said but one moment, Fawkes was seated before him and the next, he was on his feet with his newly polished gun aimed straight for Ezra's head, a desperate shine to his eyes. "Mr. Standish, I'm sorry but I have no choice but to arrest you." "What?" Ezra sputtered. Fawkes continued as if he had never spoken. "It's best to do what I say and accompany me to the jail. If you resist, I will shoot you." ///////////////////////////// Later that evening and Chris, Buck, Vin and Josiah were seated at their usual table. They had their usual meal, steak and potatoes with gravy and a mug of beer, with, of course, the odd vegetable thrown onto the side of the plate for 'vitamins', Nathan's request of course. They looked up when Jake, the young assistant hired in the telegraph office stepped in through the batwing doors. It was obvious he was looking for somebody and as his eyes trailed from their table, to the poker tables on the raised platform, it soon became apparent just who he was looking for. Chris waved him over with a careless hand. "You looking for Ezra?" Chris asked. Jake nodded. "He ain't here," Vin said helpfully and Jake screwed his freckled face up uncertainly. "Do you know when he'll be back?" All four men shrugged. "Hand it over, I'll see he gets it." Chris held out a hand expectantly but Jake stepped away from it, clutching the note close to his chest. "I ah... confidentiality. He needs to get it in person." "Give it here," Chris repeated slowly, his voice like subtle steel. After a brief hesitation, Jake slumped his shoulders and thrust the note into Larabee's awaiting grip. He was paid too little to care. Chris unfolded the note, keeping it cupped to his chest and his eyes skimmed over the scant few words. Josiah frowned disapprovingly even as he shifted in his chair in an attempt for a better view. "Gonna' clue us all in to Ezra's private affairs?" Buck asked, the bite in his tone evident. "Nope," Chris said simply. "Should you be doing that?" Josiah said once it was a given that the only way he'd be in the know was through Ezra himself. "Nope," Chris grinned. "Who's it from at least?" Vin asked. "Maude." "Ah," the three men chorused, and to be honest, that was all that was called for. "So..." Buck began again. "You going to get him?" Chris pondered this for a moment, his eyes drifted to the ceiling and he sucked in on his cheek. He let it out with a snap of his tongue. "I might." "Great," Buck sat forward in his chair. "I'm coming too." "You are?" Chris eyed him speculatively. "Yup." "I ain't talking." Chris warned. "Good. I ain't staying." The two men left separately and Vin and Josiah shared a look. "Humouring them works best most times." Josiah advised. ///////////////////////////////// "This is insane!" Ezra shouted out to the empty room. His voice echoed off the four walls, bouncing back to him tenfold and only enhancing his frustration, He shook at the bars and they rattled on their imbedded hinges, surprisingly strong for such a small rundown town. In front of him, on the law-abiding side of the office sat the cell keys, large and shiny and connected to an oversized ring. So obviously taunting him. He'd already tried reaching through the bars for them, he'd tried so hard that he had very nearly wedged himself between them and had more than likely managed to strain something. Now he chose instead to make as much noise as possible, he had to be annoying at least one person hidden away and maybe, if he did it enough, that one person would come out and set him free. He'd been shouting for hours and the concept that perhaps this mystery person was just very patient was wearing thin. Fawkes had refused to give him any more of an explanation as to just what he had done, though Ezra was fairly certain that it had a lot to do with him being a lawman. Perhaps the man had set up a black market for packages. Any that happened to be sent through Landon were delivered on to the Chinese railroad. The price depended on the colour of the wrapping. He wondered absently what price Maude's package would have gone for. "Fawkes!" Ezra slapped a hand against the bars and stormed over to the small window. He had to climb onto the frame of his bed to reach it but soon enough, he had managed to comfortably wedge himself against the wall and using his hands to steady him, he was able to look out onto the empty main street. Still no sign of life anywhere, though he could just make out Fawkes' silhouetted figure through the curtained window of Delaney's hotel. "Fawkes, god damnit you son of a bitch!" The figure jerked and quickly disappeared, presumably into the hotel's kitchen. Ezra let himself slide down onto the dirt mattress stained with god knows what and for god knows how long. "Well hell," he sighed to himself in defeat. This was not what he had expected. //////////////////////////// "What is this?" an angry demand, hands splayed and challenging. "What do you want from me?" Fierce, icy eye. A flash of fury. "The truth would be nice." A sombre smile, eyes mocking in their sympathy. "There are many truths, Chris." Late that night, when most people were fast asleep, Chris lay awake in his bed. The telegram sat on his beside table, its corners creased and smudged from continued handling and the words almost seemed to glow like a beacon, continually drawing his gaze. ES ARE YOU SURE YOU WANT THIS PLAN STILL VIABLE PLEASE RECONSIDER ALL MY LOVE MS He worried at his cuticles, picking at them with calloused fingers as he frowned up at the ceiling. An old cobweb hung from the far corner, tattered and covered in dust. He really needed to clean that. Outside his window something fell to the ground with a crash and someone laughed in a high, piercing cackle. Presumably one of the saloon girls, he wondered idly if perhaps it was Buck she was with. A gruff voice snapped out a curse, silencing the girl and Chris was proven wrong. No, Buck was probably fast asleep and getting as much rest as possible for their journey tomorrow. Landon was about a day's ride away, if they moved fast, with breaks they'd probably arrive there early the following morning. They'd have to sleep out on the trail. He smiled grimly to himself, even less sleep; that would be fun... In the silence, with nothing else to distract him, Chris found his thoughts drifting more and more forcibly towards Ezra. Thoughts on where he was at that moment, what he was doing, who he was doing it with? Some part of his mind shrunk away at that moment, scolding him for such thoughts whilst also slipping away from the part that sombrely agreed that yes, as pessimistic as the thoughts were, they were probably more likely to be true than false. The part of his mind that remembered their last conversation- argument really. "What do you want from me?" "The truth." Chris turned onto his side and glared at the telegram, it was folded away from him, but he could see the words clear as day in his mind. "There are many truths." And the question was clear. Set out on the table as it had been for the past few days. Which one did he want? And just like the past few days, he couldn't answer. ///////////////////////////////// It wasn't until the next morning that someone came for Ezra. He didn't recognise the man that stepped through the jail doors but that wasn't surprising. Anyone outside of the Sheriff and the hotel staff were new to him. The man was too old to be called youthful, but not old enough to have claimed any of life's wisdom. His eyes were large and brown and his hair a mess of frizz peeking out from beneath the rim of a beaten old hat. He had a tray of food propped in his arms and a gun at his hip. It looked suspiciously like the sheriff's and the gun belt didn't fit. A novice, Ezra decided with some distaste. If they insisted on arresting him, surely they could have at least pretended to have someone competent watch over him. The young man laid the tray out by the bars and with a quick nudge, pushed it beneath the gap and to the foot of the bed. Ezra leaned down from his ginger crouch on the mattress and picked the tray up, noticing the food wasn't much different to that he had ordered the previous morning. "Courtesy of Fawkes," the young man said as he claimed a seat at the sheriff's desk. Ezra arched a brow at him. "He was incapable of delivering it himself?" "He's busy," the young man said with a shrug. Ezra spared a short glance to the door left hanging open and the empty street beyond sceptically. He refrained from commenting and instead satisfied himself with picking at the meal which although looked appetising, didn't bode well for his tension tightened stomach. "So tell me," Ezra said as he gnawed at a slice of bread, breaking the uncomfortable silence. "Do you often arrest strangers for no apparent reason? And if so, is that perhaps why the head count is so, for lack of a better word, low?" The young man frowned at him. "We don't kill nobody." He said defensively and Ezra sighed. "Good for you." He uttered scathingly and decided on a new approach. "Just who does this 'we' consist of?" The young man looked at Ezra with wide eyes. "The town," he said, voice loud and clear for better understanding. "And where is 'the town'?" The young man looked to the jail door. "The residents!" Ezra snapped quickly. "Where are the town's residents?" "They're around," was the evasive reply. Tapping his heel against the floor in an obvious show of discomfort, the young man tilted his head towards the tray of food propped on Ezra's crossed knees. "Are you done?" Ezra nodded. The young man stood, walked to the bars and waited patiently for Ezra to slide it back to him. "My name's Ezra." He said as he bent and idly nudged the tray across the floor with his right index finger. He glanced up, meeting the young man's eyes as he too knelt down. "Tim," the young man replied. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Tim." Ezra smiled, the sarcasm was entirely lost on Tim however. /////////////////////////////// They'd gotten up early that morning, when the sun had barely just risen and the dew hadn't yet formed. All morning they'd ridden, alternating between a gentle walk and a trot, until they'd finally reined in for a break at noon. Buck tethered the horses to a sturdy branch whilst Chris worked on a small fire for coffee and food and then the two of them sat together on their bedrolls. They huddled close together, needing it for companionship as opposed to warmth since the day was relatively cool, but not bitingly so. Buck tore a strip of jerky off in his hands and idly ran his fingers over its surface. It felt strange, both dry and greasy. Soft and brittle. "Did he run?" Buck asked and Chris looked up with a start. Behind them a bird rustled through the bushes, its call loud and shrill. They both ignored it. "No," Chris said as if the very thought were offensive to him. "So then what is it?" Muttering low under his breath, Chris reached into his front pocket and tossed Buck the tattered telegram. Buck read it quickly, eyes scanning back and forth as his lips mouthed the words. "That's it?" Buck asked quizzically. "We're headin' all the way out to Landon to give Ezra this?" "'S more than just that, Buck." "Well then tell me!" Buck cried impatiently. He folded the telegram, running his finger over the creased edge. "Two of you were fine just a few days ago. What the hell happened?" "Leave it, Buck." And Buck went quiet. He sat so silently, so still that it looked as though he had just stopped living. Then he let out a sharp exhale and tossed the telegram into Chris's lap. "Right, shut up, of course. We don't talk about things like that." He shredded at the jerky with an almost savage vigour and angled himself away from Chris as he glared into the fire. ////////////////////// Ezra wasn't sure what time it was exactly, but one moment he'd managed to coerce Tim into getting him a blanket, and the next the doors were flung open and Fawkes ran in yelling at Tim to retrieve the keys. Ezra clambered to his feet watching with bemused owlish eyes as Tim nervously pranced from the desk to Ezra's cell. In his haste, it took him a moment to get the key into the lock and another moment to turn it the right way. In the meantime, Ezra glanced over Tim's shoulder to where Fawkes was nervously standing. "You came to visit," Ezra drawled acidly, because he really didn't want to think about the implications of this sudden activity. "How gracious." Tim opened the door with a triumphant shout and Fawkes rushed in, clasping strong hands on Ezra and half pulling, half pushing him out of the cell and to the door. "Get his stuff, leave no trace!" He snapped over his shoulder to Tim and as Ezra was guided down the boardwalk, he noticed with some remorse that Tim hadn't bothered to account for creases when he threw his dress coat over his arm. "May I ask where we're going?" Ezra asked. Fawkes leaned in close to Ezra's back and squeezed down onto his shoulders. "Shut up," he hissed, a hint of desperation to his voice. "Just... don't say anything. Promise me." The plea was so odd, so unexpected, that Ezra forgot to struggle or even complain when he found himself being pushed down into the storage cellar below Delaney's hotel. His feet stumbled on the stone steps and he tripped down them, landing with a painful thud at the bottom. "Don't move from here no matter what and... try not to breath." Fawkes voice hissed down to him and then with a clash of metal on wood, the trap doors were slammed shut and the cellar became pitch- black. It was strange in darkness, no matter how loud it had been beforehand, when it became pitch-black, everything seemed to go entirely silent. Ezra rolled onto his back and he reached out before him with hands he couldn't see, his palms hit wood before they had even fully extended and slowly, with exaggerated care, he began to inch along on his back, using his hands and feet as leverage, he stopped when his head touched the bottom most step and there he lay until he could eventually make out the dim grey outline of the trapdoors. Gradually, almost as if it too had to adjust to the darkness, sound returned to him and he lay listening to whatever was happening above. He heard running feet, voices of strangers fading and growing louder as they sped past the doors. Fawkes' voice ordering people with names he didn't recognise. It was strange, a kind of organised chaos, as if the people were terrified, but also well versed. They knew where they had to be and what they had to do, even if they didn't know how. And then he heard another voice, it was clear, the owner probably standing only a few feet from the cellar and it was cool. A stark contrast to the chaos that had silenced around it. A horse snorted, Fawkes voice meekly spoke and Ezra knew that this voice, this cold voice was the reason for the chaos. The reason for why he was hidden down beneath the earth and surrounded by wood as if he were lying in his own coffin. ////////////////////////////// Gregory Cooper was a tall man, strong and fair, a second-generation Dutch immigrant. His voice had a soft inflection to it, an accent born of listening to his parent's battle with the American tone and phrases. He had hazel eyes that would have been called serene if it weren't for the grey flashes of something else in them, something that made them icy and sometimes even murderous. He sat tall in an expensive saddle on a steel grey gelding. Behind him at some distance stood three men, none of which looked even the slightest bit as refined as their leader but all just as strong, even stronger in some cases. They all looked relatively intelligent, but with an extra edge of borderline sociopathy, a requirement of the Cooper Gang. Slowly, with a slight smile, Cooper looked from Fawkes to the small groups of villagers scattered along the boardwalks. "It's good to see you again," he said with false sincerity. "And with a welcome committee, how grand." Fawkes, his brow pulled so low that his eyes were obscured wrung his hands together and shifted his gaze continually. "You're early," he muttered low. "Stage doesn't arrive until tomorrow." "I know that," Cooper scoffed lightly and hefted himself down from his saddle. The large grey snorted beside him and adjusted its footing. "But Hal," he indicated one of the three men, "Believes it'll rain soon, we don't want to catch chill and surely you couldn't expect us to camp out in the cold?" Never once meeting Cooper's eyes, Fawkes muttered an almost inaudible 'no'. Cooper nodded his head primly and took his horse's reins. "Smart man," he grinned as he stepped past Fawkes. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have things to attend to." Fawkes glanced nervously at the horse and quickly jumped in front of the two before they could reach the livery. "Let me do that," he rushed and grappled for the reins. Cooper pulled away, batting Fawke's hands away elegantly. "Let you handle my mount?" he snapped in disgust. "You know only know about mules and even then you couldn't make one see more than one winter." "Well then let our blacksmith tend to him," Fawkes waved a hand to where the town's blacksmith stood and Cooper looked at him suspiciously. "Why?" he asked. Fawkes eyes widened beneath his brows and his face flushed red. "Because... well, ah..." Cooper laughed, amused. "You don't trust me," he grinned ironically. "Tell me, do you treat all your visitors this way?" Unbeknownst to Cooper, Fawkes flushed a deeper red and he glanced to the cellar doors. He remained silent, allowing Cooper to believe what he wanted. After a moment of gleefully playing up to his gang who laughed appropriately and obediently, Cooper thrust the grey's reins into Fawkes hands and shooed him away impatiently. Fawkes scurried to where the blacksmith stood. "Hide the lawman's horse," he whispered as he handed the grey over. The blacksmith nodded grimly. //////////////////////////////////// Ezra had been trapped in the cellar for at least a couple of hours before the trapdoors swung open and Fawkes came staggering down the steps. He had a large water canister and numerous blankets balanced in his arms. Ezra propped himself up on one elbow and watched with eyes squinted against the sun as Fawkes bent double when he reached the low ceiling and laid the items down. "What's going on?" he demanded. "You have to stay here until nightfall," Fawkes said. He unfolded one blanket, the action awkward in the small space. "It's safer that way." "Who was that man?" Fawkes gave Ezra a look, he rocked back on his knees, neck stooped. "I woulda' brought a lantern but they might see." He gestured above, fingers tracing over the small slithering gaps between the floorboards. "Fawkes-" "Tonight, alright?" Fawkes snapped. He backed away on his hands and knees until he reached the stairs where he began to take them one at a time. "I'll tell you tonight. Just... stay quiet." A small guilty pause. "I'm sorry." And then the doors swung closed and it was once again dark. ////////////////////////////// "Okay." It was one word. One simple word from the unfamiliar voice of a silhouetted figure peering at him from above. Ezra hadn't the faintest idea who he was, whether the man was trustworthy or would shoot him the minute he climbed the stairs. He had no idea but he followed. His limbs were stiff from lying down for so long and his joints popped painfully as he walked. The figure kept to the side of the street, in the shadows away from the flickering street fires and due only to the instinct of survival, Ezra matched his footsteps doggedly. He didn't try to talk to the figure, knew he'd get no response if he did and so the only sounds were the night crickets. In the silence between them, it seemed amplified tenfold, as if the crickets would reveal their position. Unconsciously, Ezra quickened his steps. They reached a small alleyway lined with crates and barrels. It smelt sweet, like mouldering apples and cider. At the bottom of the alley was a small door tucked away within a shallow alcove in the wall. The figure stopped, he rapped his knuckles once against the wood and thrust his hands into his front pockets. There was a brief moment, a series of shuffling and scratches and the door opened revealing the same young girl who had served Ezra at Delaney's. She looked from the figure to Ezra with wide, doe eyes then stepped aside. The figure looked at Ezra from over his shoulder, in the light coming from the doorway Ezra could see his features. They were grimy, a shade of young Tim's but a little more wizened. He said nothing, just gave Ezra a wide, wolfish grin that caused his teeth to flash in the candlelight then he disappeared inside. And again, Ezra followed. ////////////////////////////// Somewhere, out in the middle distance a coyote howled. It wasn't close to them and proved no threat whatsoever but even still, Buck startled awake. They were half an hour or so away from Landon, nearly on top of it but both men had agreed that it would be best to camp out for the night and arrive as the town was waking up. He looked across the fire and saw that Chris was still seated on his bedroll, hands propped on his bent knees. "No matter how many times I hear them I always think it's a child." Buck gave Chris a small grin. Chris's eyebrows arched, his lips quirked but he continued to glare at the dying flames. Buck groaned and clambered out from his bedding, tucking his feet up and away from the dirty ground. "Chris you're obviously not gonna quit moping about this anytime soon." He waited for Chris to react. "Just have out with it, be good practice for when you talk to Ezra." "Buck..." Chris began, it was a warning but one that fell through quickly. With a sigh, he rubbed at the base of his neck and grumbled beneath his breath. "Suppose I found something out about Ezra." "Like...?" Buck coaxed. "He's a conman. You know that, I know that, we all do. We all know Maude is too." "Not making things any clearer, buddy." "Okay," Chris looked up, met Buck's eyes. He took a deep, strengthening breath and continued. "Okay. Buck, Ezra's been conning us." Buck blinked. "That's it? Hell Chris, he does that all the time. Remember that time with my horse? And my sword fight? And... come to mention it, most times he's conning me." Buck's lips quirked with amusement. "That son of a bitch." "No, Buck," Chris interrupted. "He's been conning us." Chris stressed the word as if continued repetition would help Buck to understand. "The town, everyone. He and his mother have been conning us from the beginning." Buck's smile faded a little and he looked confused. "What do you mean?" And with a sombre, weighted tone, Chris told the story; every last bit of it that he knew. ////////////////////////////// When Chris stepped into Ezra's room he hadn't meant to do anything other than wait. It wasn't much of a surprise that Ezra wasn't there yet. He was often held up by someone or other and Chris knew that he'd show up sooner or later. There were papers scattered on Ezra's bed, a small mess but notably out of place in the otherwise impeccable room. He hadn't meant to read them when he picked them up, he hadn't intended to anything other than be helpful by tidying everything to the sideboard. He hadn't meant to but he couldn't help catching sight of the top sheet. The two words, 'Chris Larabee'. At first it had been innocent, a guess that perhaps it was a letter to him. Perhaps an excuse to call off the arrangement. It hadn't been. Instead of words scrawled in Ezra's hand, he'd found information, facts and figures, everything from his land to his current boarding and rent. He flicked through the papers and found much the same for each of the seven. Buck, Josiah, even JD, Nathan and Vin. But it didn't stop there; it went on beyond the men to the town, detailing everything of the important members of the society. Judge Travis, Mary and her widowed inheritance. There were lists of the residents and every store, their successes, their failures. Everything. And beneath it all, at the very bottom of the pile was a small, neatly scrawled letter from Maude to Ezra. It was more a passing footnote and Chris knew that it was just a chip of what was probably dozens of letters with much the same content hidden away somewhere within Ezra's belongings. "E Focus is Larabee. Continue as agreed. M." Chris barely understood most of it, he didn't need to. He felt sick all the same. No matter how many angles he tried to look at it, he could come up with one thing and one thing only. Ezra had been conspiring with his mother on what had to be their greatest con of all time. They were working on the entire town, and like every criminal mastermind, they were starting first with him, and later, their world better known as Four Corners. Chris's jaw tensed as his anger grew; His hands tightened around the sheets of paper so tightly that they crumpled within his fists. By the time Ezra got back to his room later that night, Chris was gone. And so was the 'evidence'. //////////////////////////////// "Shit, Chris." Buck's cheeks expanded as he whistled in morbid awe and shook his head. "Just... shit." "Yeah," Chris nodded. "I know." "So what's with all that?" Buck gestured to the telegram that sat by Chris's side and Chris lifted it distastefully. "I confronted him the next day, figure you saw most of it. He kept repeating it was only in the beginning. That he'd told Maude no months ago and the only reason the papers were out was because he was going to ask her for everything she had on us. Insurance he claimed." "You believe him?" "At first? No. Then this came," Chris tossed the telegram back to the ground and smiled grimly at Buck. "Reckon he was telling the truth but still..." "Yeah," Buck agreed serenely. He frowned at the fire, worrying at his bottom lip. "I just don't know what to do." Chris said with a frustrated groan. "I mean we all keep saying he's changed but Jesus... why should he have to change? Why did he change? We arrest guys like him everyday and he's just..." Chris searched the air for a suitable description, "just a god damned anomaly!" "Reckon he is." Buck agreed. "Reckon there's also a reason why he is." Chris frowned at Buck. "I'm just saying that we're all kind of like that. JD's an idiot, was when we found him, still is now. But there was some reason you didn't shoot him. You're a bastard, there's still something to you that keeps you from being a 'raving bastard'. Josiah's crazy but still..." Buck made a so-so motion with his hand, humour in his eyes. "Nathan's this weird fresh kind of bitter and Vin's a smart fool." "And you?" Buck shrugged lightly. "Reckon you'd do well as a lewd Wiseman." Buck threw a twig across the fire at him and Chris ducked it with a grin. ////////////////////////////// "He came into town on a horse as black as night." "I thought he had a grey horse." "...Different horse. He had at least twenty men with him." "No, no. There were thirty and each one had a gun the size of a small cannon-no two. They all had two guns." "I saw ten men." "Can you carry cannons?" "Small ones, yes." "And he called for the sheriff, shooting at the sky with a golden gun." "But two of them?" "They took all of our women and children, threatened to kill them and god knows what." "Except me." "Except her, they didn't take her... And her..." "Took my husband too." "They took lots of people." "Well if they're very strong men, which these men were." "But still..." "...Said they wanted the gold." "Golden guns?" "...No, on the stage." "But it wasn't coming until tomorrow, well back then it was next week but today it's..." "No today, look. It's one in the morning." Ezra sat in the middle of the small crowd of people, a Zen of silence in the sea of bickering. He rapped his fingers against the tabletop beating out a small tune. Thocka-thocka-thocka. Thock... Fawkes stood next to him, trying very much to look like the figure of authority he was whilst also trying to win an argument with Tim's older counterpart about whether or not it was possible to carry a cannon. He said yes, Counter-Tim said no, Ezra drummed his fingers. He was waiting for the arguments to phase out on their own, for everyone to realise his patience was only limited, so far it wasn't happening. One more 'thocka' of his nails against the table and he'd had enough. "Silence!" he bellowed as he sprung to his feet. The chair he'd been sitting on screeched back and the crowd silenced, all eyes on him. "Wasn't this gathering supposed to be discreet?" he asked, meeting the eyes of those nearest him, they shifted amongst themselves sheepishly. "I brought you here, remember," Fawkes reminded from his side. Ezra arched a brow. So far, through each and every conversation he had caught, he'd managed to piece together the gist of the town's predicament. Cooper had arrived at the town sometime last week with ten to fifty strong men each carrying one, maybe two menacing looking guns and had taken half the town hostage releasing them only for the exchange of a considerable sized gold shipment due at Landon. It was common practice for banks and other businesses to never give a set date for due shipments on the belief that never having a particular day would put off any would-be stagecoach robberies. The East really underestimated the stubbornness of the West. However, one tiny thing was niggling at him... "Why didn't you just ask for outside help?" he held up a hand when Fawkes looked about to answer. "I've already guessed that they'd kill the hostages should you go for help but why didn't you just do it quietly? I managed to arrive unnoticed." "Not that easy," Fawkes frowned sorrowfully. "We could kill Cooper and his men anytime we wanted," he gestured to the crowd around him. "We're not helpless and a lot of us have killed before. Cooper's got the hostages hidden away in the mountains with more of his men. They hear anything, see anything or even if they don't, they're ordered to kill everyone." "Where in the mountains?" "Don't know and we can't know. Anyone misses roll call morning or evening and the hostages die." "He could go," someone at the back of the room said. The crowd separated to reveal Tim. "They don't know he's here." Ezra mentally imagined splatting Tim's dear little frizzy head against the far wall. However Tim's counterpart stepped forward nodding his agreement. He looked wolfish and feral and not the kind of person Ezra would want to cross. Perhaps squashing his younger brother wasn't the best of ideas. "Would you?" Fawkes spoke up from his side and Ezra realised that he, along with the rest of the crowd were all looking at him with, god forbid, hope in their eyes. "Wouldn't it be better to...?" "No time," Fawkes correctly predicted and interceded his suggestion. "The gold would be here by the time you get your partners and I doubt Cooper would just let the hostages go like that." "You keep saying 'hostages'. Just how many are we talking about?" "Twenty-five." Fawkes said decisively. "That many?" "Cooper's got a lot of men." Fawkes shrugged. "Thirty at least." "Fifty," came a voice to the side, followed by a quiet echo of 'ten'. Somebody muttered something about cannons low under their breath and Ezra sighed. "Okay," he said. "Alright, I'll find them, though if you can, try and get word to Four Corners. I don't think I can do this on my own." //////////////////////////// The next morning, at around seven to be precise, Buck and Chris rode into Landon. Neither looked refreshed despite their rest beforehand. "Livery," Chris ordered even as he was dismounting from Solon. "Saloon," Buck ordered in turn. The two men went their separate ways, Buck with the horses and Chris with the cash. It wasn't until a moments later, when Chris had settled down after buying two mugs of beer from the nervous serving girl that Buck came in looking worried. "Chris," he said as he neared the table. "Think you'd better come out here and see this." Chris glanced at the serving girl who quickly bowed her head and busied herself with scrubbing at the bar top. Buck lead Chris out of the saloon and into the livery where they came to a stop at the very far wall. There, hidden away amongst the tack boxes and pitchforks stood Chaucer, happily munching on a bag of oats. "So Ezra's here, we know that." Buck frowned at Chris. "You don't find it a little bit odd that he's hidden away in the back?" Chris looked back to the livery doors; he bent to pick up one of the communal brushes. When he stood again, he too was frowning. /////////////////////////////// A small pebble skittered out from beneath his footing and Ezra stumbled. He caught himself on his knees and waited. The scattering of rocks and dirt down the steep slope seemed amplified tenfold and his shoulders tensed with each passing second. Finally they reached the bottom and... Nothing happened. He let out an explosive sigh. Slowly, still on his knees Ezra crept up further along the rise until he was just below its lip. Below him, he could hear the voices of men, loud and slurred by lingering echoes. The hostages were kept in a miniature valley at the foot of the mountains, it was no more than half an hour's walk from the town, but sheltered enough that it was easy to see why Fawkes had presumed it to be further. There was a small but deep mine at one end of the valley, the results of a foolhardy miner who had refused to believe every voice of wisdom that told him there was no gold to be found in the mountains. Using the shade of a nearby bush to his advantage, Ezra peeked out from over the rim of the rise and watched the activity below. There were eighteen men seated before the mouth of the mine, they had a small fire going, brewing a pot full of what could either be very inedible stew or just as inedible coffee. As he watched, two men emerged from inside and sat down in the spaces cleared by two of the men who had risen grudgingly to replace the hostage watch. As far as he could see, there were no other men around. Silently, he rested a hand on the butt of his Remington and waited. ///////////////////////////// "Mr. Fawkes?" young Valerie called through her smile. Outside she could see the two newcomers storming across the street from the livery. "I really think you ought to come out here." Fawkes poked a curious head out from the back storeroom just as the two men slammed through the batwing doors. Neither of them looked as though they were about to ask for another drink, and so Valerie tossed her rag to the side and quickly hurried past Fawkes into the back. "Who the hell are you?" One of the two men demanded. "I'm the sheriff of this here town." Fawkes grimaced a little, eyeing the two men. "Can I help you with something? "Could start by telling us where he is," The moustached man said in an almost friendly tone, his moustache quirked in an odd little smile. It was almost as disconcerting as the obvious temper of the man beside him. Almost. "Uh... what?" Fawkes smiled, eyes shifting nervously across the street. He hoped beyond hope that Cooper hadn't seen the two newcomers. A movement behind the lace curtains of one of Delaney's rooms shifted and he knew his hopes were in vain. Damnit. "Don't even..." the bad-tempered one growled, an unfinished threat that was perhaps a shade on Cooper's gang. Sweat began to gather between Fawkes' shoulder blades. "Where is he? Where the hell is Ezra?" "Ezra?" Fawkes laughed nervously. He looked again to the hotel window. Nothing yet, but there would be, unless... "No one been through here named that." "Small guy," Moustache said. He held a hand up to around his nose level. "Green eyes, dark hair, kinda' good at going unnoticed when he wants to." "Oh yes," Fawkes stammered. "He passed through here yesterday, used a different name though... uh... Bob, that's it. Went by Bob." Valerie gasped behind him and he glanced across the street. His heart lurched, Cooper was on the far boardwalk and he was heading towards them. Even from a distance he could see the man's eyes, cold, clinical, terrifying. "Funny how 'Bob's' horse is still here." the man with the temper snorted scornfully. "Really?" Fawkes tried weakly. "Oh my... must've... uh, used someone else's? Look, could we maybe continue this elsewhere?" Cooper was on the street now. Ten more steps and he'd be at the door. Nine... Eight... "We'd rather you just told us where he is," Moustache leaned conversationally against the bar and beckoned for Fawkes to lean in closer. "See, we're a might worried about him." "He is... was in fine condition when he left." Fawkes squeaked, Cooper was almost onto of them and he was antsy for the men to leave. "Oh no," Moustache dismissed. He nodded at Temper. "It's him we're worried about. Gets a bit... unpredictable when he's mad." And, almost for show, Temper emitted a low, animalistic growl and snatched up the rag Valerie had discarded, ripping it in half with fisted hands. Moustache snorted and looked at his feet. "Is there something the matter?" Cooper asked. All three men turned to the batwing doors. Cooper had propped himself up against the doorframe, one arm draped carefully over the artfully curved wood and looking very much like some model back East. "Don't say anything," Fawkes pleaded beneath his breath even as Temper snapped a 'damn right'. Moustache looked at Fawkes curiously. "No trouble," Moustache interrupted his partner, laying an arm over Temper's shoulder as he looked to argue the point. "Damnit, Buck!" Temper hissed. Moustache-Buck, just pulled him back to the bar. Cooper eyed the both of them, taking in their dusty trail clothes with something akin to distaste. He drifted away from the door towards the group; he was trailed by a group of three men. "I suppose introductions are in order," Cooper remarked breezily. "I am Gregory Cooper and these," he gestured behind him, "Are my fellow companions. I trust you've already been introduced to sheriff Fawkes." "Buck Wilmington, Chris Larabee and no, not exactly." Cooper pursed his lips, his eyes flickered from Fawkes back to Buck and Chris. "Larabee..." he said absently, as if verbally searching his memory. "I've heard that name... we haven't run into each other before have we?" "No," Chris snapped, too busy glaring at the side of Buck's head to look at Cooper. "No, no, we haven't met," Cooper confirmed with a bob of his head, but he continued to look quizzical. "It's something else..." "Well," Fawkes clapped his hands to dispel the moment and with his arms stretched over the bar, he began to guide Larabee and Wilmington to the server's door. "These fella's were fixin' to head on out now anyway so, better not keep them." "Hang on-" Chris snapped his head to Fawkes. "Later," Fawkes hissed. "It was Four Corners... yes that's it. You're the law, aren't you?" Oh... crap. Fawkes' head dropped as Chris and Buck turned back to Cooper. Cooper was no longer smiling and behind him the three men stepped forwards, hands on the butts of their guns. ///////////////////////// One gunshot. It was one gunshot that echoed out over the land. It was one gunshot that caused nearby birds to take off with an indignant squawk. One gunshot that caused the horses in the livery to lift their heads. One gunshot that echoed over and over, rolling through the air and travelling up the mountain with the ease of a mudslide. One gunshot, and in minutes the men outside the mine jumped to attention. One gunshot and Ezra's heart lurched in his chest. ////////////////////////////////// "No!" Fawkes all but screamed. He leapt over the bar and skidded to a halt by the lifeless body of the downed men. "Get back, god damnit!" Chris snapped. He and Buck had their guns trained on Cooper and the remaining two. Larabee's own barrel was still smoking. "Why did you do that?" Fawkes demanded, turning desperate eyes up to Chris. "Why in god's name did you have to shoot him?" "He drew his gun," Chris growled. He spared Fawkes a quick glance. "It was either him or me." "But... jesus did you have to shoot him so loud?" "Mind telling us what the hell is going on here?" Buck asked from Larabee's side. Something flashed behind Fawkes' eyes and he scrambled over the bloodied corpse to the door. For a moment he just stood there, poised, not even breathing. He slumped against the doorframe. "No shots. Thank god, no more shots." He suddenly turned around and though he was facing the group in general, it was obvious he only saw Cooper. "Why aren't there any shots?" Worry was thick in his tone. Cooper shrugged, ever the epitome of graceful relaxation, even when in the line of fire. "Fawkes," Buck said. "Explanation, now." "Your friend..." "Ezra?" "Yes, yes, the short one." Fawkes took a deep breath. "He's up in the mountains trying to stop his men" he glared at Cooper, "from killing half our town." "Wait, what?" Buck asked as Cooper tutted low under his breath. "Fawkes," he exclaimed with dismay. "Have you been misbehaving?" "Where?" Chris said suddenly, nudging his gun closer to Cooper. His barrel no longer smoked but its heat was still tangible, whether imaginary or not. "Where is he?" "Heaven knows," Cooper yawned and he would have looked bored, if it weren't for the minute but continual glances he cast the gun in Chris's hand. Another gunshot rung out over the land and everyone in the room flinched. Cooper gave a slow, lazy grin. "I suppose that could be taken literally now." ////////////////////////////// Ezra had watched as the group of men lingered in the valley, none appearing certain as to what they should be doing at that moment. He crouched on the valley's lip, his gun drawn and waiting. He breathed low and shallow, the air dry in his throat and the sun, though not raging, an uncomfortable presence in his eyes. He watched with narrowed eyes as one of the men disappeared into the mouth of the mine, returning shortly with an elderly man in tow. The man's footing stumbled and he shivered under the fierce grip, obviously terrified. Ezra watched as the old man was lined up and the captor's gun was drawn. Finally, he couldn't wait any longer and he raised his gun. The man dropped like a fly. He barely even had time to cry out when the bullet sliced through his skull as if it were no more than warmed butter. With a yelp, the old man fell away from the fallen body as the rest of the group spun to face the direction of Ezra's bullets. They all drew their weapons, eyes intense and focused. "Who's there?" One of the front men shouted out. His eyes darted along the lip of the valley and on more than one occasion Ezra thought that he had been spotted, but the man's eyes just continued on past him, oblivious. "I suggest you all put down your weapons if you want to live," Ezra called back. He deliberately avoided answering the question on the grounds that stalling was his best option. "Yeah?" the front man spat on the ground. "How do you figure that?" "I'd say the ten guns currently drawn on you and your friends figures, wouldn't you?" "Ten?" Spitter smirked, neither impressed nor believing it. "Ten," Ezra confirmed, "and more guns are on their way." Ezra watched with a careful eye as the group began to fan out in the valley, none of them looked close to identifying his position so he saved his bullets for now. "Don't believe you." Spitter shouted. "Well then," Ezra sighed and examined his nails, as if acting out his supercilious front would somehow make it real. "I suppose it's a chance you'll have to take." Spitter seemed to grow a little anxious as he spun in a small circle, squinting up along the edges of the valley. "Prove it," he called out a little hesitantly. "And use up our ammo? Do you honestly believe we're that foolish?" Ezra snorted. "Well then..." "Get someone else to call out!" one of the men next to Spitter called out. It took Ezra a moment, but he had just thought of a good excuse for just why only he could speak-- being the translator for a group of mute but very talented gunslingers was plausible at a stretch-- when he was interrupted by an alien voice behind him. "He's lying, Jay, there ain't no one but him here!" Ezra swallowed. This was not good... //////////////////// Chris and Buck raced out of Landon on the road leading to the mountains. Beneath them, their horses snorted and tossed their heads, excited by the fast pace. They raced each other over the dirt ground and although Solon was leading, Beavis was putting up a good fight, considering the fact that he carried both Buck and a very indignant looking Cooper. "Chris!" Buck shouted out against the wind. "Go left." Chris didn't answer but Solon veered to the side in a sharp angle and Beavis followed close behind. "Where now?" Buck asked, leaning over his captive's shoulder. Cooper didn't answer immediately and Buck dug into his ribs with his gun. "Right-right! Turn right." "Chris!" "I heard," Chris called over his shoulder and Buck grinned. ////////////////////// Ezra stood with his hands locked behind his head and a gun pointed directly between his eyes. It was strange, but all he could think about was how tired his arms were getting and how stiff they would be later on. Beside him stood a growing line of people, it alternated between man, woman, and child and just seemed to go no and on. A new line began behind him; from the quiet sniffling he presumed the first person in the second line to be a child. A young one at that. "Quiet." One of the men grunted as he passed the child. The child sniffed again and the man came to a stop. Ezra couldn't see the man but he knew what he was doing. Had experienced it many a time himself. People who happened to be a little larger in size, girth, or just older than their victim always believed that they could instil intimidation just by being there. Sadly, on this occasion, it worked perfectly and the child let out a pitiful whimper. The man shifted and Ezra knew that if he didn't step in, the outcome could only be disastrous. "You might want to keep an eye out," he said as he felt a slight waft of air on the back of his neck from the man's hand. It paused, the child whimpered again but the man ignored it. "What?" He stepped around into Ezra's vision and Ezra saw that it was the very man who had crept up on him before. "You see something?" he glanced over his shoulder to the lip of the valley before them. Ezra snorted mentally but outside he tilted his head, as if he were seriously considering aiding his captors. "I might have." He focused on one spot in particular and the man followed his gaze. He looked back at Ezra uncertainly, then gradually made his way towards the slope. "'Ey, Roy." Spitter neared Ezra from further down the line. "Where you headed?" "Just checking out the area." Roy answered. He scaled the slope as pebbles rained down onto the valley floor. Once he reached the top he shielded his eyes with one hand and peered out over the land below. And promptly let out a shriek of alarm. "We got company!" he bellowed as he half skipped half tumbled to the ground. Chaos erupted immediately, the captives screamed as they were pushed with aggressive hands back into the mouth of the mine. Many fell to the ground but were violently pulled to their feet and thrown forwards into the backs of those around them. Amongst the chaos stood a wide-eyed, very quiet Ezra. That, he hadn't expected. /////////////////////// They were reaching the rise; Buck could see it now, cutting out through the sparse mountainside. He tightened his grip on both the reins and the gun at Cooper's side and smiled. ////////////////////// Gradually, the sound of approaching hooves became audible to the group. They hadn't managed to push all of the hostages back into the mine but still they froze and turned to where the sound came from. Ezra turned also; he stepped around a young woman, gently guiding her to the side with his hands as he frowned at the rim. They came closer and closer, galloping until they were very nearly riding up the slope and over and then suddenly, they stopped. There was a lone snort of one of the horses, then nothing. Beside Ezra, Spitter uttered a foul oath and hastily drew his gun. He fumbled at the holster, eyes continually flashing from one spot to another, paranoid that he saw movement. Finally, he glared at Ezra. "You brought this on us," he hissed, venom in his tone. //////////////////////// "How many are there?" Chris asked as Buck latched Cooper to the base of a small tree with Fawkes' cuffs. Cooper snorted and Buck made the wrists just that little bit too tight. "You gonna' tell us or are we just gonna' have to shoot you?" Cooper glared at Buck. "You shoot me and they'll know you're here." Chris and Buck shared a look. "We can take 'em?" Buck ventured and Chris nodded. "We can." They began to scale the rise. /////////////////////// "What's keeping them?" Spitter snapped. He jogged on his feet and had now taken to spinning in small circles, aiming his gun at anything that just so happened to shift in the wind. ///////////////// "Shit!" Buck barely managed to contain his shout as his footing gave way beneath him. He hit the rise with a dull 'whumpf'. Beneath him a steady stream of pebbles and dirt skittered back down to the ground and into Cooper's indignant face. "You okay?" Chris mouthed. Buck nodded as he crawled back to his hands and knees, one hand rubbing at his elbow. "Yeah, got my funny bone, god damnit." ////////////////////////////// "There." Spitter had stopped his circling. He looked at the spot on the rise, as did the rest of the group. A cocky smile grew on his face as he aimed his gun and waited. //////////////////// They crouched on the ground just beneath the rim. There had been no sound from below for some time and although neither mentioned it, the fact disconcerted them. Chris glanced at Buck, met his gaze for just a moment and bobbed his head, his bottom lip caught between his teeth. "Count of three?" One. ///////////////////////// A slow, lazy click and Spitter cocked his gun... /////////////////////////// Two. ////////////////////////// He stepped forward, calm, confident.... ////////////////////////// Three. ////////////////////////////// A killer. //////////////////////////////// "Chris!" Ezra yelped the moment he recognised the blond head. His eyes only widened as Buck joined Chris a moment later and he leapt forward. "No!" /////////////////////////////////// The third gunshot of that day and another man fell. He hit the ground with a gasp of air, twisted once onto his back, then relaxed so suddenly it looked as though a knife had just sliced through the strings of a puppet. ////////////////////////////////// No one spoke. There were no words to be said as all eyes looked at the fallen man. Slowly, with a deadly detachment, the two men on the rise looked up, murder in their eyes. "You best put down your weapons." Spitter called out. He stepped over Ezra's body, waving his gun as he did so and glaring up at the two men. "We got you outnumbered ten to one." "What makes you think we haven't got more men holed up back here?" Buck called and Spitter sneered. "We've already fallen for that once today. Reckon you'd better come down here if you want your friend to live." Spitter kicked at Ezra's side. Both Chris and Buck realised with some returning warmth that Ezra wasn't dead. Yet. "We go down there and you'll kill us." "You stay up there and we still kill you." "He's got a point," Buck murmured to Chris with a grim smile, Chris just frowned at him. "Ezra!" he tried, wanting to make sure that Ezra was okay for himself. "Ezra, you think you can get up?" Ezra uttered a low, pained groan and rolled over onto his side until he could better see Chris. "I could try," he winced. "Where you hit?" Ezra looked down himself and a hand snaked up to his left arm. "Lord," he uttered, though Chris and Buck could still see him. "Why is it always there?" "Think he'll do okay." Buck chuckled. Chris grunted. "Let him come up to us!" Spitter barked a harsh laugh. "Unless you didn't notice, you aren't in any condition to bargain with us." "You let him go and we let your leader live." Again Spitter laughed. "You got Cooper? Like hell." "Buck," Chris said and nodded down the rise to where Cooper was crouched. "Chris..." "Buck," Chris repeated pointedly. With an irritated sigh, Buck slid down the rise and began to remove Cooper's cuffs. He returned shortly, pulling Cooper up roughly behind him. Spitter's cocky grin faded a littler when he caught sight of his leader and he snorted low in his throat, spitting foul phlegm to the side. "Coop?" "Cooper," Cooper corrected with an irritated huff. "And what are you doing standing around?" At Spitter's dumbfounded expression he gestured to the mine. "The hostages, you moron!" It took a moment for Spitter to catch on, but when he did, he pushed one of his fellow men towards the mine with a hissed order. The man returned with the same frightened young child who had been threatened before, a hand twisted firmly in the collar of the boy's shirt. "My men are willing to let your friend go, Mr. Larabee," Cooper said for his men. "But if they do, the child, and in turn all of his fellow villagers, die in his place." "If you touch one hair on that child's head or any of the others, so help me god..." Came the reply. Strangely enough, it wasn't from Chris, or Buck. It wasn't even from Ezra who was much too busy remembering to breathe to speak again. It came from the other side of the valley, where bit-by-bit, the villagers were forming in a unified line. In the middle stood Fawkes and he crossed his arms over his chest, bolstering his threat. It seemed that the entire village had come. Tim, Counter-Tim, even Valerie showed her support beside Fawkes with a glare and rifle of her own. "Fawkes?" Both Chris and Cooper asked almost simultaneously. They glanced at each other, then back at the still growing group. Fawkes winked across the valley. "Damn straight," he replied. "Took us a bit of time to get on over here, but," he looked down to where Ezra lay, "figure we arrived at the nick of time." "Your timing really is impeccable," Ezra wheezed sarcastically. "Shut up, Ez." Chris reiterated automatically. "So," Fawkes interrupted the two of them, looking now to Spitter. "You boys gonna' behave whilst we take you in?" Spitter bowed his head and looked ready to withdraw when Cooper all but shrieked a negative. "If any of you hand over your guns you're out! No-better than out, you're dead!" he bellowed. Spitter looked from him to Fawkes and the angry villagers behind him and snorted. "Gotta' be crazy to go against that number." He threw down his gun. Behind him came the sound of more guns being dropped. And just like that, the tables had turned. //////////////////////////////// Two Weeks Later Chris couldn't help but smile when he saw Ezra sitting out on the clinic balcony. He tucked the package he held closer to his side and scaled the stairs, secretly relieved when Ezra's countenance genuinely brightened upon seeing him. "How you doing?" Chris asked as he sat down on the bench beside Ezra. Ezra shrugged with one shoulder. "Nathan seems intent on treating me as if I were on death's door but otherwise I'm fine." He cradled his hands on his lap with just that much care that Chris found his eyes drifting down to Ezra's chest. To the bandages he knew were hidden away beneath the shirt and blankets. He looked away quickly. "I brought you something," he said quickly and placed the parcel lightly between him and Ezra. Ezra picked it up and looked down at it. He ran his fingers lightly over the hand printed address on the front and turned it over to the seal on the back. "Thank you," he said, the slight quake in his voice said otherwise. After a moment's hesitation, Ezra exhaled a steeling breath and ripped the seal open, the papers inside dropped onto his lap and he scooped them up, sorting them until one in particular was on top. "I suppose I should give them to you," Ezra said softly. Chris closed a hand over Ezra's and pushed the papers away. "You don't have to..." There was an awkward pause, Chris took his hand away. "What I said before... that I don't trust you. It's not... I do, Ez. I trust you." Ezra kept his eyes set on the papers, he attempted a light snort. "I appreciate that." He glanced up at Chris. "I do, but even still..." he pushed the papers onto Chris's lap and left them there. "Better safe than sorry." "Ez..." Chris reached out a hand, it lingered on Ezra's shoulder, hesitant for a moment, and then he pulled Ezra over and draped his arm around his shoulder. Ezra went easily. He looked out over the street to the saloon. Inside he could see the silhouettes of his friends. All of them, Josiah, JD, Vin, even Nathan. And Buck. Ezra closed his eyes. The fourth was afraid. He couldn't feel the elephant at all. ////////////////////////////////////// Fin. Home