TRAGIC MISTAKE

by doc

Part 1

The last piercing notes of the horrifying scream were still drifting away on the cold night breeze when the first of many townspeople entered the streets. They were a rag-tag lot, most having thrown whatever was at hand on over their nightclothes to keep out the chill. All, given the very nature of the scream and its shattering intrusion into their peaceful sleep, were scared of what they would find. But no one could remain inside. Like lemmings they were led to the alley behind the wood building that housed the Newspaper Office, from where the terrible sound had emanated.
Seemingly, the first to arrive was Chris Larabee. The quiet unchallenged leader of the peacekeepers was a man who few would cross. Following the horrible deaths of his wife and young son, the gunslinger developed a hard, brutal edge and was determined that never again would he care for anyone. Never chance that soul-shattering pain again. But somehow this town had broken through the steel surrounding his heart and his very being. With just a look, he'd formed an instant bond with the scruffy former buffalo hunter and amazing tracker, Vin Tanner. He found camaraderie in the company of Nathan Jackson and Josiah Sanchez, and reconnected with Buck Wilmington, an old friend who he'd severed ties with after his family was murdered because he was unable to bear the ladies man's boundless good humor. Suddenly he found that his friend's frivolous nature amused rather than irritated him.
Larabee had instantly recognized the scream as the voice, if voice you could call it, of Mary Travis, the editor of the town's newspaper. Though unwilling to admit, even to himself, Larabee was developing a fondness for the beautiful, strong-willed woman. He recognized the stirring of emotions he thought long-since burnt to a black ash. But now, hearing the terror and pain combined in that horrible scream, icy fingers clutched his fragile soul.
The cold night sky was cloudless and the new moon shown brightly, softening the darkness. As Larabee rounded the corner of the building, he quickly scanned the shadows, searching for Mary, unwittingly praying to a God he'd thought he no longer believed in for her safety.
Making out movement in the distance, the gunslinger raced onward. A man not easily shocked he was horrified to see Mary Travis laying unmoving on the ground, a darkness spreading over her white nightdress. Crouched over her was a man Chris new all too well, the knife in his hand glinting in the moonlight.
A blind rage took over Chris Larabee as he raced forward. Somewhere outside of the white fury that possessed his mind, he heard the sounds of the townspeople, but his brain drove him forward, screaming in anguish. Trust was shattered.
"Damn you! You BASTARD!" the gunslinger roared. Reaching his arms out, locking his hands together, he swung with all the power his rage could provide. The impact of his fury caught the man just turning from Mary's prone form in the side, just below his ribs, throwing him violently to the ground.
Larabee flew at him, pummeling him, not hearing the surprised protest or exclamations of pain and shock. Larabee's rage was fueled by years of hatred and bitterness. Once released, it took on a life of its own. He couldn't have stopped beating this man even if he'd wanted to. And he had no desire to stop. His concern for Mary was but a small portion of his reaction. The betrayal was the greater motivation.
After what felt like an eternity to the townspeople gathering, watching the impact of Chris Larabee's ferocious wrath, the remainder of the seven peacekeepers arrived.
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Nathan Jackson went directly to the unconscious Mary Travis. Kneeling at her side, he quickly placed his fingers along her throat and finding her pulse beating strong and regular he released a breath he hadn't even realized he was holding. The moonlight didn't offer enough light for him to assess her injuries, he had to get her to his clinic as soon as possible. Thinking quickly, he remembered that Nettie Wells was spending the night at the hotel in town. Looking around, he couldn't see her in the crush of people milling around but he knew that he might need her help. Spotting J.D. Dunne, he quickly intercepted the young man.
"J.D. you find Miss Nettie and send her to my clinic." he commanded as he scooped up the unconscious woman.
A quick glance at J.D. showed him that the boy was hesitating. "G'on now. I need her. FAST!" he insisted.
For his part, J.D. was more interested in getting into the tangle of arms and legs attempting to pull Chris off his defenseless victim, but he knew that his help was needed, so, with a frustrated "Aww, Nate..." he started searching the anxious, milling crowd for the elderly woman.
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Most people had little opinion of the gambler, Ezra Standish. His mercenary ways had won him few friends but a lot of enemies. Even he was confused by his bond with these men and his need for their respect and friendship. Contrary to all he had been taught, he found that their cautious acceptance meant a great deal to him. Seeing one of them in so much emotional pain was almost as unsettling as the realization that the man being so severely beaten was also one of their own. Standish knew almost instantly that he would have little effect on the demon Larabee but jumped in anyway. Not having been a party to the earlier events, he had no idea why Chris was acting as he was; he just knew someone had to intervene before his friend met an untimely demise.
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Josiah Sanchez lived his life trying to understand the workings of "God". The son of a preacher, he'd strayed from the path of his father's teachings and was now, perhaps unconsciously, attempting to serve penance for his own real and imagined sins. Joining with the men going to protect the Indian village from evil seemed like a step in that direction. His certainty that he would die there, and then his failure to do so, only confused him more. His work at establishing a church in this town of sinners seemed right too. Now, he was faced with the horror of the likely brutal murder of one of God's creatures by a crazed man. He also had arrived too late to see the events leading up to this rage but his heart told him it was wrong. So he too attempted to intervene, but even his great strength had little effect on the obsessed man.
The last of the peacekeepers' to arrive, having given up a warm bed and soft female, was Buck Wilmington. Of all the regulators, he knew Chris Larabee the best. Or had thought he did. But that was before the terrible fire that burnt the soul out of the man. Then Chris Larabee had changed. Become hard. Cold. But again, that was before he came to this town. Faint glimmers of the warmer Chris Larabee of old had begun to show in this most recent incarnation. Suddenly, the realization struck Buck Wilmington that in a heartbeat all the good that this town and these men had wrought on the gunslinger's barren soul had been undone. By one of their own. The Chris he saw now was a brutal killer. Not the distant cold of a gunslinger, but the hot, impassioned determination of a man capable of beating another into hell with his fists alone. And Buck Wilmington felt the same rage at the loss of his friend. Again.

Part 2

J.D. finally spotted Nettie Wells pushing close to the center of the action. With another regretful glance at the struggling men, he grabbed her by the arm. "Miss Nettie, Nathan needs you at the clinic right away."
The older woman turned scared, anguished eyes on the young man. "J.D., you gotta stop this. Chris is gonna kill him."
"I'll do what I can, gonna take a lot when Chris gets like this. I never saw nothin' like it. But now you better get to the clinic. Looks like Mrs. Travis is hurt bad! She's unconscious and there's blood all over her!" the youth exclaimed excitedly.
"Alright son, I'll go," Nettie said as she turned, and with one last horrified glance at the struggling bodies and a moan of dismay, she hurried toward the clinic. Worry was clearly written on her time and work weathered features, dread of what additional horror she might find there tearing at her heart.
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Nathan Jackson lay Mary Travis carefully on the cot in his clinic. The blood covering the front of her nightdress was ominous to his experienced eyes. He knew it would be easy to become overwhelmed with concern for the woman he had come to consider a friend. So he stepped back and took a deep breath to clear his head. Of all the people he'd ever treated, he knew this time, with this patient, he needed to maintain his professionalism. He couldn't allow his feelings to cloud his judgment.
Alright, now. Think on your learnin'. The first step is to assess the patient, don't git caught up in all the blood. He looked carefully at Mary in the lamplight. She's breathin, heart's beatin strong, color looks real healthy. That's all good.
He turned at the sound of the door opening and looked with grateful eyes at Nettie Wells. "Thanks fer comin' Miz. Wells. Might need some help here treatin' Miz Travis. Think the boys are all gonna be tied up there fer a while."
"I understand, Nathan. How is she?"
"Well, she's unconscious, but otherwise she looks real good. Strange with all that blood on her..." Nathan began only to be interrupted by Nettie.
"Nathan, I've done my share of doctorin', let me take care of her. You go outside and see if you can help break up that horrible fight..." seeing the gentle man's hesitation, Nettie captured his arm with her hand and turned pleading eyes to him, "Please Nathan.. I'm scared of what's going to happen.
"If you're sure?" said Nathan, uncertainly, turning toward the door.
"I'm sure." replied Nettie Wells firmly, moving to the unconscious woman's side, praying that her shaky reassurance was based on reality and not false optimism.
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Vin Tanner was only barely aware of what had hit him. His shock at Chris's first strike immobilized him, preventing him from striking back in defense or even escaping. However, the physical viciousness of the assault was insignificant compared to the hurt each blow inflicted on his heart. The young tracker had been orphaned as a child and, through necessity, had learned to keep a safe physical and emotional distance from the many people he came in contact with through his travels. The only real trust he'd previously allowed was with the members of the Indian tribes he encountered. He accepted that theirs was a world of necessity and survival, much like his own, and that understanding developed into a mutual respect.
Then came that fateful day in Four Corners. He'd stopped in this dirt town to try and catch his breath from the constant roaming made necessary by the price on his head. Vin Tanner thought just maybe he could lay low for a while here, where no one seemed connected and strangers were commonplace.
So, he took a job as a helper in the General Store. The work was steady and unobtrusive; after all, nobody much noticed a floor sweeper.
But of course, his reprieve was short lived.
As he watched a spiteful lynching party drag a struggling negro down the stairs and into a rickety wagon, saw the brave woman stand up to the drunken animals only to be kicked to the ground, he knew with a terrible certainty that he couldn't just stand by and allow this to happen. He knew he was a good shot, hell, without any vanity, knew he was one of the best, but as good a shot as he was, he also knew he couldn't take on all those men and survive.
But he had been, still was, too close to being that man himself to watch the hanging.
The decision made, he took the rifle from Mr. Potter's store. Mr. Potter. The tracker still didn't know if Mr. Potter's admonition that if he took the rifle he'd be fired was as straight forward as it sounded. He suspected that that was the kind man's way of warning him off gettin' involved. Awww... hell, he'd thought, gonna die someday... might as well go out in a blaze a'glory...
Then he had glanced up and caught the eye of the formidable man in black. He was momentarily stunned by the instant connection he felt with the ominous looking man. A sudden melding of their souls. Then a nod and they joined in the street. Never a word was spoken. None was needed. Each knew what the other was thinking and feeling.
And now that man - the only person since his mother he'd ever allowed close, a man who shared his soul - was trying his damndest to kill him. And Vin Tanner didn't know why.

Part 3

Three powerful men were putting all of their combined strength into separating their friend from his murderous intent. Buck Wilmington, Josiah Sanchez and Ezra Standish would each have agreed that they'd never struggled harder. Three voices joined in pleading, ordering and coaxing the man from his single-minded purpose.
"C'mon Chris, you're done, you made yer point." urged Buck
"Chris! Stop this! He's had enough..." Josiah roared
"Mr. Larabee! Please! Unhand him! This ongoing assault is pointless as he is no longer cognizant of the blows you are raining upon him!!" reasoned Ezra.
Finally exhausted, his energy spent, Chris's drive slowed enough for his friends to pull him away from the dazed, bloodied tracker who lay curled in the fetal position he had assumed to protect himself from the horrific onslaught.
"J.D., get him outta here 'for this one gets his second wind!" Buck ordered the youngest.
"C'mon Vin, let's get you somewhere safe." urged J.D. Dunne, half carrying the confused, barely conscious man down the alley.
With a final look of disgust at the dazed tracker being helped away, Chris pulled free of the men still clinging to his arms. Glancing down, he saw Mary Travis's shawl where it lay trampled in the dirt. The image of Mary's bloodied nightdress sparked the fire still burning in his breast, urging him to follow after the sharpshooter and finish the job he'd started. Only Josiah's quiet, "Chris, Mary might need you right now." kept him from pursuing the injured man.
Pinning his burning gaze on the preacher, Larabee snarled "Where is she?"
"Calm down now slick, Nate took her to his clinic." soothed Buck Wilmington. "Don't you go chargin' in there in a lather!"
Without a word, the glaring man scooped up the ruined shawl, turned on his heel and stormed toward the healer's small clinic.
Buck. Josiah and Ezra looked at each other uneasily, trying to understand all that had happened. Finally, Josiah shrugged, "Well brothers, we best follow him. No tellin what he'll do."
"Gentlemen, I think it is our best interests that I continue Mr. Tanner's patrol of our charming hamlet. I shall confirm that everything is secure in this delightful burg and that its citizenry are safe, then I shall resume patrolling the surrounding region." With a two-fingered salute, Ezra Standish strolled off toward the town's main street.
"Okay J'siah, looks like its just us." said the ladies man. "Let's get to it!"
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J.D. wasn't sure where he should take Vin. The clinic seemed the right place but certainly wasn't the best place! Chris was bound to show up there, probably sooner than later. Okay, he thought, Don't think he'll make it up the steps, so the hotel's out, hmmm... livery should be safe. Plenty of straw to lay down on 'til Nate can look to him.
"C'mon Vin, you can make it, we're goin’ to the livery. Just a little further..." J.D. encouraged, dragging the semi-conscious man through the cold night.

Part 4

Nettie Wells had finished examining Mary Travis and was terribly disturbed by her findings. She had just covered the still unconscious widow with a warm blanket, when Nathan came back into the room.
"Chris and the boys are headed this way, saw 'em soon as I started down the steps. We best be ready for 'em. What'cha find, Miz Wells?" Questioned the healer, seeing the concern all too evident in her face.
"Well Nathan, she's got a pretty good size lump on her head, looks like she hit the ground pretty hard. Bruise on her cheek like maybe she got hit there." replied the older woman. "She probably has a mild concussion, explains why she's still out cold. I expect she'll be coming around soon.
"That don't explain all that blood..." quizzed the healer, confused at her failure to mention the obvious.
Nathan's question was interrupted by the entrance of a still seething Chris Larabee,
"How is she? How bad did that bastard hurt her?"
"Calm down now, Chris." Soothed Nathan, " Just a mild concussion, she's gonna be just fine. She just needs some quiet." he said, the meaning clear in his voice.
"Don't feed me no bullshit, Nathan!" snarled the gunfighter, his tone ominously calm, "You tryin' to protect that sonofabitch? Don't bother... he's a dead man..." Larabee's eyes were flashing green hatred as he held up the defiled shawl still clutched in his fist, "I saw the blood on her nightdress..."
A soft moan from the blonde woman in the bed interrupted the gunslinger as Nettie Wells and Nathan Jackson rushed to her side. Mary's eyes began to move beneath her lids, indicating a return to consciousness.
"Mary, honey, you're safe now," reassured Nettie, "You just take your time waking up, we'll wait 'til you're ready to join us."
Nathan turned to the men crowding into the room behind Chris Larabee, "Y'all better get outta here. She's gonna need quiet when she wakes up. " he ordered. "You too Chris, she don't need to wake up to that scowling face. I'll get you as soon as she's able to talk. G'on now, I mean it, git!"
The gunfighter looked like he was going to ignore the healer until Josiah took him by the arm, "C'mon Chris, you can't help her if those glitterin' eyes of yours put the fear of God in her."
Larabee turned his glare on the preacher, giving the man a start at the demonic light radiating from the green depths. Shaking his arm free of the big man's grasp, Larabee turned back to the black healer "I expect you to get me the minute she rouses. Do you understand?
"Yea Chris, I understand. You need to calm down now, Me'be you misunderstood what you saw..." Nathan began, only to be interrupted by the gunfighter's controlled growl, his voice made all the more threatening by the quiet tone.
"I know exactly what I saw. I should have known that savage wasn't to be trusted. Well, I won't make that mistake again." Chris Larabee's face hardened further as he looked down at the clenched fist wrapped around the dirty fabric. He looked Nathan Jackson in the eyes, causing the healer to flinch from the raw emotion he saw there, "You just make sure you get me as soon as she wakes." With that Larabee flung the crumpled shawl on the foot of the cot as if it had burned his hand. Turning on his heel, he brushed past the men gathered in the doorway and headed down the wooden stairs, directly for the saloon.
Buck, Josiah, Nathan and Nettie stared in dismay at Mary Travis's favorite shawl where it lay on her feet, the dirt ground into it in awful contrast against the white of the coverlets. After a moment, which seemed like an eternity, Buck Wilmington shook himself free of the terrible spell the shawl had put on them. "Josiah..?" he began questioningly.
With a nod, Josiah Sanchez turned with the ladies man to follow their leader. Neither knew what they were going to say or do when they caught up with the angry, suffering man, but both knew they had to be with him, to protect him from himself.
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J.D. laid the stuporous tracker in an unused back stall of the livery. Fortunately the stall had been freshly bedded and the soft straw made as comfortable a place as possible for the dazed man. Giving Vin an encouraging pat on the shoulder, he turned to the door of the livery. J.D. was trying to decide how to proceed, his desire to get in on the excitement at war with duty to his injured friend when he spotted Yosemite walking toward the building, probably coming back from all the excitement. "Good," thought the young man, "Yosemite'l look out for Vin while I find Buck and see what's goin' on, then I'll go get Nate."
"Yosemite!" he yelled to the farrier, still some distance away, "Can you look out for Vin?" At the blacksmith's nod, J.D. rushed off to locate the other peacekeepers.

Part 5

The more stalwart men of Four Corners had found their way to the saloon to hash and re-hash the events of the night. Theories on what caused the formidable gunslinger to attack the tracker were widespread. Each had an opinion and those who'd taken exception to the way the seven peacekeepers regulated the town used the events as fodder for destroying the soft-spoken sharpshooter's character. The words 'savage' and 'wild indian' were thrown about angrily. Small men who had allowed the criminal element to take over prior to the arrival of the seven now made themselves feel bigger at the expense of Vin Tanner.
The saloon owner was thrilled to be open for business at the unexpectedly early hour, seeing this as an opportunity to fill his coffers. He poured whiskey and beer freely, encouraging the damaging speculation, knowing that the wilder the theories, the thirstier the men would become.
The sound of the batwing doors slamming open brought an instant quiet to the room. Cautious eyes turned to the black clad gunslinger as he moved without a word to his customary table against the wall. From this vantage point, the dangerous man could watch everyone that entered the saloon. Almost by magic, a whiskey bottle and glass appeared in front of him. In one fluid motion, and ignoring the shot glass, he pulled the stopper and upended the bottle into his mouth. He drank a substantial amount before setting the bottle on the table with a decided thump. The sound of the bottle hitting the table acted as a catalyst to the townspeople in the saloon. They began talking in hushed, insistent whispers, eyes darting warily toward the ominous man.
Buck and Josiah entered the saloon and pulled chairs up to the table where Larabee sat. Buck nodded to the barkeep who brought a beer for each of the men. J.D. arrived and joined the table almost immediately. Buck lifted his head to J.D. in an unspoken question, Vin? the kid read his look and nodded Taken care of. then both turned their attention to the suffering gunfighter.
"Yo slick. You might wanna go easy on that!" exclaimed the ladies man as another unhealthy portion of whiskey disappeared from the gunman's bottle.
"Didn't you learn from the last time I told you to mind your own business, Buck? You might want to think on that." came as a low growl from the man in black. Buck Wilmington gulped at the memory of the cold blade of a knife against his throat after he had told the newspaper woman about Chris's past. He knew what the gunslinger was capable of and he hesitated.
"Uh Chris, I think Buck's just saying' you don't wanta be drunk when Mrs. Travis wakes up." soothed the youngest of the group.
"'You think', do ya kid? You don't know anything about this so you best just stay out of it." said the gunman, turning smoldering green eyes on the dark haired youth. Larabee was satisfied when he saw the young man's eyes drop and, with a sneer touching his lips, he raised the bottle for another long drink.
With uneasy glances at each other, the three men settled in for what promised to be a long, ugly night.
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Nathan Jackson and Nettie Wells continued in their vigil at Mary's bedside. The unconscious woman continued to moan and, in her delirious state, sporadically cried out. Each time, the elderly woman soothed her with calming words and bathed her face with cool water.
The black healer's concern increased as the blonde woman remained unconscious. He knew how dangerous a head injury could be and was going through the medical information catalogued in his mind, trying to anticipate every eventuality when a memory suddenly surfaced. "Nettie!" He exclaimed "I forgot all about it, what with you gettin' her cleaned up and Chris stormin' in and all. You never told me where all that blood was comin' from?"
"Oh Nathan..." Nettie turned wide, frightened eyes on the black healer, "It wasn't her blood..."

Part 6

Aubrey Savitch's widowed pa died when Aubrey was 14, which left him to raise his little brother Albert. Alby, as his older brother called him, was 10 and an impetuous young'un, always trying to keep up with Aubrey and prove he was a man. Aubrey spent 10 years bailing Alby out of one scrape and another; seemed the more he tried to protect his brother, the greater Alby's resentment grew and the worse his behavior became. It was troubling enough while they were young and living on the small homestead their pa had settled, but when Alby got older he started going into town. That's when the real trouble had started.
Women.
Alby was obsessed with them, not just watching them but touching too. And he was mean. Seemed he liked nothin' more than to hire a woman and then beat her near senseless. Aubrey'd been able to pay off the working girls so far but each incident became a little bigger and meaner than the last.
Until that fateful day in Gibstown.
Alby'd hired a working girl and followed her into her tent where his animal passions had taken over. In most of these bordello towns, the patrons were there to mind their own business and the girls' screams were ignored or received with knowing grins. But this girl hadn't just screamed from the pain - she'd screamed in terror, begging for help. Aubrey arrived as the man in black pulled his struggling, cursing brother from the tent and threatened to beat him "within an inch of his life". Looked like he would do it too. Aubrey drew on the angry man who was dragging his brother by his collar, just intended to get Alby free and move on but the gunslinger saw the draw and responded in kind.
Everyone lucky enough to witness the man's lightening-fast movement would talk about it for years. Awe growing with each telling. Aubrey'd dropped where he stood, his colt clutched in his hand, dead eyes staring in shock at his brother. Alby swore revenge but nobody had taken him seriously. They all went about their business, excitedly discussing the remarkable gun draw they'd just seen, knowing they would enjoy the telling for years to come. And they left Alby to cart his dead brother's body away.
Albert Savitch had meant his vow to avenge his brother's death. Shooting the black-clad gunslinger would be too easy. He wanted him to suffer. Like Alby had suffered the loss of his brother. And he spent 2 years planning his revenge, learning as much as he could about his prey.
He learned the man's name was Chris Larabee, that he'd let no one close to him since the death's of his wife and son. That he'd traveled from place-to-place, apparently without a goal or purpose. Until he'd arrived in Four Corners.
That's when things had changed and Alby Savitch began to form a plan.
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Vin Tanner woke with a start. At first his confused brain refused to function and he couldn't remember where he was.
He moved around slightly, testing his limbs, his head throbbing. Trying to stand, he was nearly overwhelmed by dizziness and nausea, and sank back into the straw with a gasp. Straw...? He was in the livery, J.D.'d brought him here.. Why? Where's J.D.? He knew by instinct that he was alone, that he'd been left here.... alone...
Then the memories began flooding back... ...out on patrol, ...somethin' wrong in the alley backa' the newspaper... rushin' back to find Mary Travis strugglin' with a stranger... Couldn't pull his hog's leg, man was too close to Mary, he might hit her... anxiety and fear returned as he relived the desperate struggle to save Mary Travis, each scene flashing vividly in his mind ...throwing himself at the man as the stranger turned, his arm arcing out... feeling a burning pain below his ribs and hearing Mary utter a gawd-awful scream... falling to his knees, stunned, gasping for breath, then throwing himself at the attacker again only to be pushed forcefully into Mary, knocking her to the ground as the attacker disappeared into the shadows, dropping the knife as he ran.
Vin remembered picking up the knife and crouching over the lovely widow's unmoving form, remembered shouts throughout the town and footsteps running up behind him, relief flooding through him with the knowledge that his friends were on their way. The young tracker remembered half-turning to tell the approaching men the direction the attacker had run, re-lived the shock of the first blow connecting... the blinding pain as he was hit and confusion over why it should hurt so much. He felt again blow after blow connecting with his face and body as his mind worked in slow motion. Chris is hitting me... What's wrong Chris? What'd I do...? Please Chris..." After that, his mind shut down, refusing to accept what was happening. Certain that if Chris Larabee was beating him, he must have done something terrible to deserve it... Had he let Mary Travis die?

Part 7

"WHAT?!" exclaimed Nathan Jackson, the healer's eyes widening in shock. "Not her blood? But she was the onl..." he broke off in mid-word, his eyes widening in horror as he looked deep into Nettie Wells' sad, frightened face. "Oh my lord! 'Cept Vin... It's Vin's blood? But he was attackin' Mrs. Travis... Chris saw him... Mrs. Nettie, somethin ain't right here." he stopped in confusion, then suddenly, comprehension snatched his breath away. "Oh no! Chris was wrong. An' that boy's out there someplace, hurt bad by the looks of it. The healer's attention was abruptly drawn to the older woman as she swayed on her feet.
"Now, Mrs. Nettie, you sit down, you look likely to faint. We'll find him." Nathan assured her.
As Nathan had put into words the fears the older woman had been harboring, she could feel the blood drain from face. She did indeed feel like she wouldn't be able to keep her feet. "Lord Nate," she breathed "that poor boy... what must he be thinkin'?" Nettie Wells drew herself up and with a nod of her head she affirmed "You best go find him and bring him back here for me to tend to. "
"Now Nettie, I don't think that's such a good idea," Nathan began, thinking of the menacing man in black, "When Chris comes back here..."
"Nathan!" the wizened older woman interrupted, "that boy's already got my dander up, I'll handle him! You just go find my young'un and bring him here for me to care for."
Faced with Nettie's grim determination, Nathan decided it was in his best interest to obey. He had little doubt that the formidable little woman could handle Chris Larabee! "Awright, Ma'am, I'm goin'. You just keep an eye on Mrs. Travis for me." Nathan said as he headed out the clinic door. At the foot of the steps the black healer came to an abrupt halt - he had no idea where to look for the injured tracker.
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Buck, Josiah and J.D. watched in increasing dismay as Chris Larabee finished the bottle of whiskey and signaled the bartender for another. They all knew that there would be no talking reason to the man in black and that his already dark mood would only get fouler.
No one had spoken since they sat down at the table with the seething gunfighter. They were playing a waiting game with three of the four men fervently praying that word would come from Nathan that Mary Travis had woken before Chris was too lost to the bottle and his dark thoughts. Each excruciating minute that passed deepened the fear in the hearts of the Four Corners' peacekeepers.
Finally, J.D. slid closer to Buck "How's Mrs. Travis?" he whispered to his best friend as he kept a watchful eye on the increasingly sullen gunslinger.
"No word yet, kid. I just hope Nate comes to get us soon. This waitin' ain't gettin' any easier." replied the ladies man, his voice hushed. "What'd you do with Vin?" he asked, careful that the vengeful blonde across the table didn't hear him.
"Left him in the livery, Yosemite's lookin' after him. He's got lotsa bruises, didn't seem like nothin' was broke... figured he just needed to lay low for a while."
"Damn right about that, kid. He's safer stayin' outta this one's way," muttered Buck, with a nod in the direction of the man in black, "leastways 'til we figure out what was goin' on in that alley.
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Albert Savitch knew he'd had a close call. Aubrey woulda called me stupit for tryin' to grab that newspaper woman. But hell, Aubrey was dead and the blonde woman had looked so nice... He could have accomplished his scheme and had her too if it hadn't been for that damn do-goodin' tracker. He hoped he'd cut him good, wished he'd had more time to slice him up, but no, blondie had to go screamin' and wake the whole damn town.
At least he'd got away. Managed to walk into the saloon bold as ya please with all the other townsfolk. Hell, nobody even knew he was involved. All they kept talking about was what the damn tracker tried to do to the woman. Ha! These high and mighty people! He's a lawman but they're all right quick to believe he done wrong. thought Alby Well, that's fine, if they think it'as him, they won't be lookin' fer me!
He still might get a chance at that blonde woman but for now he was gonna have himself another beer and think on his plan. A plan to which he had added revenge on the mangy tracker that had temporarily cost him his prize...

Part 8

Chris Larabee knew his friends were watching him, knew they were worried and appreciated their concern but right now he needed to drown the sound pounding in his brain - the sound of his fists striking his best friend's unresisting body.
When he'd entered that alley and recognized Mary's form lying unmoving on the ground, a terrible, blinding rage had overtaken him. His judgment distorted by fear - the horror of losing yet another who, against his will, he'd come to care for. In his rage, the identity of the recipient of his fury didn't register, didn't even matter; animal instinct had taken over and he'd attacked. Even when he'd finally realized that it was the tracker he was pummeling, his rage had been so great that it transferred to the man he had so recently befriended but still knew so little about. All reason was vanquished and Chris Larabee had felt his soul burn with an overwhelming thirst for retaliation. He was compelled beyond the desire to exact punishment for Mary's injury; this terrible fury had been bottled up, unvented since the deaths of Sarah and Adam.
But now that he'd had time to think things through, something deep in his soul was telling him that he may have been terribly wrong. Something's not right... Chris Larabee's conscience now screamed, unknowingly echoing the words Nathan had spoken to Nettie Wells.
Taking another hearty swig from the bottle, Larabee beat down the voice in his brain. He wanted to maintain his anger, protect his emotions from concern for Mary; concern for Vin.... To let go and listen to that voice was more than he could endure.
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The more Albert Savitch drank, the more pissed-off he became. That goddamn tracker'd not only ruined his evening's fun but he'd destroyed Alby's careful plan of revenge. He'd put a lot of time into planning his vengeance, made it a point to find out that Larabee was interested in the blonde woman, or so everyone had said, so he'd planned on getting at him there... but now, thanks to that goddamn tracker, she was locked up nice and tight in the black man's clinic. So, Alby found himself in need of new bait.
Alby stood at the saloon bar, sipping his beer and listening to the speculation on the night's events. He'd been very interested to hear that his prey was tight with that damn tracker. From the whispers, folks'd thought they was some kinda partners until the events of this night. Alby silently thanked the gossiping townspeople; he would put this information to good use. Me'be he wouldn't have such a hard time findin' bait after all....Long-haired bait...?
As he leaned on the bar sippin' his beer and listening to the kid tell the mustachioed man where the buck-skinned tracker was, a slow, evil smile touched his lips. ike takin' candy from a baby...he thought, a shiver of evil anticipation running through his body, onna be fun to teach you a lesson tracker... and jus' me'be put a few burs under Larabee's saddle in the process!
Albert Savitch finished off the last of his beer and wiped the foam from his mouth with the sleeve of his dirty coat. He threw a coin on the bar and turned, allowing his malevolent gaze to rest momentarily on the man in black. A sneer touched his lips as he walked out the batwing doors into the cold Four Corners' night.
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Vin Tanner was nearly overwhelmed with horror as vivid images of Mary Travis's bloodied body lay before him. Nooo.... I let Mary die, I failed Chris... 's supposed to protect the town... protect Mary... Instead, 's failed them all, everybody who'd trusted me. The quiet tracker valued the trust these people placed in him, held it to his heart, allowed it to give him a sense of belonging that he hadn't felt since he was a small child. But more than the people of Four Corners, Vin valued the trust of one man, a man who didn't give his trust easily. And now he'd violated that trust. I'm sorry Chris, his heart cried, You're right to hate me...
Vin knew it was cowardly but he just couldn't face the man he had been proud to call "Pard". Couldn't face the townspeople as they buried the beautiful blonde woman who had always treated him with kindness and respect... ...have to get away... With his soul engulfed in a terrible despair and his body wracked with pain, the tracker began to drag himself toward Peso's stall, his right arm clutched to his throbbing, bloody side.

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