The fever had raged in Chris for three long days. It had finally broken early Tuesday evening, much to the relief of the gunfighter’s friends. Nathan had successfully chased Mary and Vin out of the room at 4:00 am only to have Buck arrive on the doorstep at five.

Thankfully, Larabee appeared to gaining strength. After some nutritious broth and some more of Nathan’s herbal tea, the Seven’s leader dropped off to sleep again not stirring until well after nine.

"Well, good mornin, Chris," Buck boomed happily.

Larabee’s face contorted with sleepy annoyance. "Buck."

"Well I must say it is good to see you scowling again." A half grin leaked onto the weakened man’s face. "Arrr so you can smile. Damn. Means that I owe Ezra two dollars."

"Since when have you ever had a whole two dollars at one time?"

Buck’s grin matured into a huge smile that made his mustache dance. "Welcome back, ole buddy."

"Vin?"

"Finally got him and Mrs Travis out of here early this morning."

"How long was I out of it?"

"Bout three days."

"Miss anything?"

"Nawww. Vin’s pretty much kept an eye on things for ya. We had some fellas ride in intent on restocking their wagon from the goods at Potter’s. Course, they didn’t seem to want to pay, but Vin had me and Josiah convince them that that wouldn’t be right. The Hendersons and Michaels rode into town at the same time and things looked like they may get nasty. But the six of us kept their families’ age old feud from erupting in the middle of town. Kept ‘em separated until they had finished their business and left nice and peaceably. Ezra fleeced three new comers. One took offence but backed down when he came face to face with ole Ez’s derringer. J.D.’s still wearing that ridiculous hat and I’m seeing Miss Jody this afternoon for tea and light refreshments, if you get my meaning." Buck’s eyes sparkled as his eyebrows bounced suggestively.

"Yeah, I get your meanin, Buck," Chris stated attempting to pull himself up.

"Woooh there partner. Now Nathan didn’t say nothing about you getting up," Buck cried gently taking Chris by the shoulders and easing him back down.

"Just want to sit for a bit."

"Oh. Guess that would be alright." And so Buck set about propping his friend up on a mound of pillows.

"I feel as weak as a bloody kitten," Chris grumbled pushing Buck out of his face.

"Yeah, well you got pretty ill there pard. Had all of us mighty worried," Vin stated ambling into the room.

"Arrr if it isn’t nurse Tanner?" Buck asked grinning.

Vin glowered at the jovial scoundrel but unfortunately the gray circles under his eyes took the sting out of the withering look. For the first two days that Chris had been sick, the young man had refused to move from his side no matter how much Nathan complained about him being in the way. Outside of hourly walks around the town to ensure all stayed quiet, Vin had pretty much set up residence in the clinic. Then yesterday, the healer had successfully convinced the tracker that his leader was improving and so Josiah and Ezra had dragged his sorry carcass out of the room for several hours. Long enough to snatch a few minutes much needed sleep.

"Just came to ask, Chris somethin'. You know a man by the name of Simpson. Jake Simpson?"

"Why?"

"Just curious."

"Vin?"

"Hey wait a minute, Chris," Buck stated thoughtfully. "Simpson. He ain’t that fella from Tolville?" Chris’s pale face shadowed. "You remember. That gunfighter that you winged." A spark of recognition touched Larabee’s eyes.

"Yeah, I thought he looked like a gunfighter," Vin murmured, his troubled face creasing with real concern. "Rode into town two days ago."

"Been asking about me?" Chris inquired. Vin shrugged.

"He’s been listenin to the talk."

"What talk?"

At this, the young man grinned, his eyes twinkling with hidden mirth. "Hell, cowboy. You fallin' off your horse into the river has been the only topic of conversation in Four Corners for days," Vin claimed his face alive with youthful mischief.

"I ought to kill you for that," Chris muttered.

"For callin ya Cowboy or for laughing at ya?"

"Both." By now, Chris was smiling, his pale face illuminated with more life than it had had for days. "Who told everyone that I fell off my horse?"

"I do believe that that was J.D."

"Kid’s dead. Buck go tell him I want to talk to him." Buck grinned but recognized the silent request. Chris wanted to talk to Vin alone.

"Alright, but I warn ya, Chris. That boy is slipperya than an ole eel. May take me awhile to find him."

Watching Buck leave, Vin dropped down into the chair that had been his quarters for most of the past three days. For a good five minutes there was silence in the room. A comfortable silence that only the best of friends can share.

"You look tired."

Vin’s eyebrow arched with amusement. "Reckon that sounds like the pot callin the kettle black, Chris."

Again the two men fell into an easy silence. Chris remembered very little of the first day the fever had taken him. But he could remember bits and pieces of the second and third and while the memories were fuzzy, there were two constants. Nathan pestering him to swallow one thing or another. And Vin Tanner sittin there in that chair. Not sayin anything. Just sittin there. Being there.

"Simpson gonna be trouble?" Vin asked quietly.

"Maybe."

"You want me to deal with it?"

Chris read the serious expression on his partner’s face and understood the implied meaning. "This is one of them things a man has to deal with himself."

"No he don’t."

"Yes he does," Chris grilled.

Vin sighed. "You ain’t in any condition to deal with someone like Simpson."

"No one said I was gonna have to deal with anything.....unless there’s somethin you ain’t tellin me."

Vin shrugged. "Simpson’s been makin his presence known. Was real quiet when he first arrived in town. Especially when he found out you was here. But once he was told you was sick..."

"He’s been shootin his mouth off."

The tracker nodded and unconsciously tucked the blanket around his ill friend, just as he had done so many times in the past three days. "I could fill his mouth full of buck shot for you if you want. Wouldn’t be no bother. Be happy to do it."

Chris smiled at Vin’s solemn pout and then shook his head. "Like I said. This ain’t something that anyone else can deal with. Besides, Simpson’s real fast."

"Buck said you’ve beat him once."

"Reckon I did, but there weren’t much in it. So you keep your trigger finger in your pockets." When Vin snorted, Chris set his jaw. "That’s an order, Tanner." Vin climbed to his feet and tipped his hat.

"I never was one much for orders, Cowboy. You get some rest and leave everything to me and the boys."

"Vin I ain’t kiddin. He’s too fast for you."

"Reckon he’ll be too fast for you for at least a couple of weeks."

"Vin. Stay away from him."

"Will do. Just so long as he stays away from me." And you. But the last part remained locked in Vin’s nimble mind.

"Hell, Tanner, I want your word you won’t rile him."

At this, the tracker turned and grinned a huge boyish, lop-sided smile. "Me?" he asked, feigning innocence. Seeing the look of anguish on his older friend’s face, Vin sighed. "I ain’t gonna do nothing foolish, Chris. Then again, I ain’t gonna let you do anythin stupid either."

"Don’t be stupid, Chris! You can barely stand up."

"Get out of my way, Vin." Chris adjusted his gunbelt and once again tried to shoulder by his steadfast friend. It had been thirty two hours since his fever had broken. His head still pounded. His body was aching in places that he did know that he had. His hands refused to stop trembling after the effort of climbing the stairs to his room. But Jake Simpson had laid down the challenge.

"He’s called me out Vin. I have to go."

"Like hell you do. Damn it Chris, look at your hands." Larabee glared at his young friend and shoved him to the side. But Vin wasn’t about to be cast off. "Chris I ain’t gonna let you do this."

"I don’t remember having to ask for your permission."

"Chris," Vin appealed. Larabee paused, ready to really give the tracker a serve, but the look of utter soul wrenching anguish on the young man’s face stilled his rage.

"Vin. It’s something that I have to do."

"Why? Tell me why."

"Because its the way of things." It was the code.

"That’s bullshit! It’s nothing but pride. You gonna let your pride git you killed?"

"It ain’t a question of pride, pard. It’s..."

"Well?"

"Vin, ninety nine out of hundred men who meet me give me a wide berth. Why?" When Vin refused to be drawn into Chris’ attempt to validate his actions, Larabee continued. "Because I have a reputation. I’m fast, but more than that, I don’t back down. If I don’t go out there now, I’ll loose that. And then every two bit gunfighter from here to Texas is gonna want to stand toe to toe with me. I can’t afford to let that happen."

"Alright. I understand what ya saying, but you’re sick."

"I ain’t got no choice."

"A man’s always got a choice, Chris."

"Not with something like this."

"You don’t have to do this. Me and the boys could run Simpson out of town. Hell, we can bury him if you want so he doesn’t go off and tell anyone."

"It doesn’t work that way."

"Chris you can’t do this. You have got to let us help you. Damn it, you’re the one that keeps tellin me that I don’t have to face Tascosa alone. That I don’t have to sleep with my eyes open any more because I got six men who’ll mind my back. For Christ’s sake, you stubborn sonofabitch, take some of your own advice."

"You just don’t understand, Vin. Sometimes a man has to face things alone. Sometimes he doesn’t have a choice!"

"That’s the biggest load of codswhollop I’ve ever heard. Hell, Chris. If I wanted to, I could whip your ass right here, right now."

"Then I’d have to kill ya." The two men glared at each other in frustration and then Chris turned and headed for the street. As he left, he heard something large crash against the wall of his room followed by loud enraged cursing. He knew Vin understood part of it. But Vin could and would never understand all of it.

"Larabee!" Simpson yelled, his harsh voice bouncing off the walls of the small buildings that lined the empty town. The people of Four Corners were hiding in doors. Gun fights were not something they liked to get involved in. Besides, they had been instructed to keep their doors locked and their heads down.

"I’m here."

Jake Simpson smiled. He knew Chris Larabee would come. He had to. He’d been called out. The short stocky man watched his pitiful enemy stride out into the middle of the street. Larabee was a sickly gray colour. The tall strong man that Simpson remembered, looked thin and frail from three days fighting a fever he had developed after saving a settler from a swollen river. But his gaunt face, despite the pallor, was still as frightening as it had ever been. For a split second, Simpson wondered if this was such a good idea.

"Hey, now wait a minute, mister," Nathan appealed stepping out into the weathered street. The only people outdoors were the Seven. Frowning. Watching helplessly. Every one of them was present...except Vin Tanner.

"Nathan, this hasn’t got nothin to do with you," Chris growled.

The healer ignored the comment. Chris Larabee was his leader, his friend, but more importantly, at the moment he was Nathan’s patient. The part time physician and his comrades didn’t understand their leader’s stubborn insistence to deal with this on his own, but they respected his wishes...of course that didn’t mean that they had to like it.

"Mister. Chris has been real sick. I mean real sick. He shouldn’t even be out of bed." Damned if Nathan knew what was holding Chris upright in his weakened condition. Pride maybe. Hatred. Fear. Anger. Dogged determination. Maybe all of them.

"What’s your point, darkie?" Simpson laughed.

"His point, Sir, and I do use the term lightly, is that this is a farce. Mr Larabee is in no condition to be vertical, let alone participating in this ridiculous spectacle."

"I suggest you shut your mouth fancy man. Or I’ll kill you once I’m finished with Larabee."

Ezra’s fingers curled more tightly around the handle of his holstered gun. Hell, how he’d love to put a bullet in that obnoxious bastard’s head. But this wasn’t his fight. Not yet, anyway.

"Simpson, you cowardly sonofabitch. You couldn’t take Chris when he was well, so you wait until he’s so weak from fever that he can barely hold a gun," Buck blasted.

"Enough!" But it wasn’t Simpson. It was Chris. "The rest of you stand back. This isn’t your business. Come on Simpson. Let’s get this over with."

"You in a hurry to die, Larabee?" Even before Simpson got the retort out, Vin Tanner thundered through the boarding house door, his Mare’s Leg in his arms, his face set like stone. The single minded man didn’t stop on the porch where his comrades had collected, but kept walking until he was standing in the middle of the street directly between the two gunfighters.

"Simpson, this ain’t gonna happen."

"Vin, get out of the way!"

"Shut up, Chris. Simpson, Larabee is ill. And where I come from you don’t fight sick men."

"Where I come from boy, when you’re called out, you come out, ain’t that right, Larabee."

"Buck. Get Vin out of the street," Chris ordered.

"Simpson, you ain’t gonna prove anything by killing a sick man," Vin persisted.

"BUCK!" Chris roared.

Buck Wilmington swallowed. He understood the code. He’d been with Chris long enough to know that there was no getting around it. And so the big man stepped out into the middle of the battle field and placed his huge paw on Vin’s slim shoulder.

"Ain’t no use, Vin. Chris’ gotta fight."

"I ain’t gonna stand by and watch him get himself killed." The eyes that stared back at Buck were not angry any more. They were tormented. Desperate.

"Come on, son." Firmly Buck pushed the mare’s leg down and dragged Vin out of the line of fire.

Before the pair reached the safety of the porch, Josiah’s deep baritone filled the air.

"Now my understanding of the code is that if someone wants to, they can choose another man to stand in for them. That true, Simpson?"

Jake Simpson glanced at the preacher and grinned. "That’s right. Well how about it Larabee? You gonna chicken out and pick one of your men to fight your battle for ya?"

"There's no one standing out here now but you an me Simpson."

"You cowardly sonofabitch! If you kill him I’ll tear you apart with my bare hands!" Vin screamed leaping forward. But Buck and Josiah grabbed their enraged team mate and held him. "He’s sick. Can’t you see that he’s sick!!" Vin yelled, ripping free of his companions’ grasp and leveling his mare’s leg at Simpson with unflinching determination.

"It don’t matter if he’s sick. Just so long as he can hold a gun. That’s the law." An unwritten law. It was the code men like Larabee lived and died by.

"Put the gun down, Vin!" But Vin Tanner didn’t move a muscle. "THIS ISN’T YOUR FIGHT! Put the gun down!" Chris exploded. It was an order. A stinking bloody order. Vin would do anything Chris asked him to. He’d walk over hot coals, he’d shoot where he was told to... he’d follow his leader to hell and back if that was what was required. But damned if he was gonna stand here and watch him commit suicide. "Tanner, put the gun down. This isn’t your fight."

"You ain’t makin' sense, Chris. You’re sick. You don’t know what ya doin'." Vin’s mind zapped at the speed of light. He had to stop this. And stop it now.

"I know exactly what I’m doing. Put the rifle down!"

"It’s the code, Vin," Buck whispered with defeat. "As long as Chris can hold a gun he’s got to fight."

"I'm not asking, Tanner. I’M ORDERING YOU!" Chris thundered again.

Slowly Vin lowered his rifle and then without a word, he calmly drew his pistol, pivoted and shot Chris Larabee without even blinking. The Seven’s leader flew back and to the left. Five other guns snapped up with deadly accuracy, each one directed at the shooter. Stunned, the men gaped at Vin’s smoking gun. For a full three seconds no one moved.

"Jesus Christ!" Buck cried. Nathan and Ezra raced to the fallen Chris.

Vin Tanner resolutely marched up to where his friend was laying, but said nothing. Instead he turned around and faced Simpson. "He’s got a bullet in his arm. Ain’t no way that he can hold a gun now."

Behind Vin there was a roar of unadulterated fury. Chris Larabee couldn’t believe that Vin had shot him. His best friend had shot him. Howling like a bear, Larabee attempted to get to his feet. Nathan and Ezra fought to keep hold of him. Vin had only nicked their leader. They could see that the cleverly aimed bullet had done nothing more than graze his arm. Caused a lot of bleeding. Hadn’t actually done any damage. But hell it looked spectacularly serious.

"Get out of my way Tanner! I can still hold my gun!" Chris bellowed.

"Shut him up," Vin ordered firmly. "He’s sick and he’s hurt. Get him out of the street."

Ezra and Nathan instantly set about carrying out the mandate. Chris was down and that meant that Vin Tanner was automatically in command of the Seven. For the Seven, that was an unwritten law! Their very own code.

"Well, Simpson. It’s up to you. I’ll stand in Chris’ place if that’s what it takes, or you can wait until his arm heals." Jake Simpson was speechless. In all his years he’d never seen anything like this. Larabee had just been shot by one of his own men. This dusty pile of horse shit had ruined the his chance for revenge.

"You %$#! Drop the rifle and draw," Simpson yowled.

"NOOO," Chris screamed through Ezra’s fingers. Vin wouldn’t have a chance. But then, the stakes had changed. This was no longer Chris’ fight. It was the Seven’s fight.

Buck strode out into the middle of the street and stopped at Vin’s right shoulder.

"You shoot this boy, Simpson, and it will be murder. He ain’t gonna draw on ya."

"Now, I am a betting man," Ezra announced, sauntering out to join his friends. "And I am willing to bet that you are probably fast enough to drop both Mr Wilmington and Mr Tanner before either of them could get a shot off. But I’m not so sure of your chances against three of us." Ezra finished, taking up his position on the left side of Vin.

"Four!" J.D. shouted, jogging out to join his comrades.

"Five," Josiah announced, stepping up.

"Six!" Nathan called. The healer was sitting on Chris’ chest, effectively containing his weakened leader’s feeble attempts to rise. In the dark man’s steady fist was his revolver.

Simpson licked his lips.

"I called you out Larabee. And you send six men in your place."

"No he didn’t," Buck corrected. "You called him out, but he couldn’t hold a gun. It’s the one exception, Simpson. Once Chris’ arm has healed, he’ll answer your call. Unless of course you want to withdraw it."

"Sounds real sensible to me," Josiah commented. "Chris is gonna be almighty pissed next time."

"You do have a way with words, Mr Sanchez," Ezra chuckled. "I am willing to open the betting now. And being a prudent judge of ventures such as this, I would make the odds about... oh, let’s say a sporting one hundred to one. Any takers."

"Ten dollars on Chris," Buck snapped. Simpson’s face was progressively becoming paler. There was no way he wanted to face Chris Larabee under normal conditions. Only a mad man or a fool would even consider such a suicidal idea.

Tense seconds passed. And then, without a word, the nervous gunfighter spun away and headed for the side of the street deciding retreat was preferable to sure death.

"Withdraw your challenge!" Vin barked at him.

"Alright. I withdraw the call."

"Now mister, I suggest you get on your horse and ride. And don’t stop riding until you reach the sea!" J.D. suggested harshly. None of the five men standing with their hands on their holsters moved until Simpson heeded the sheriff’s warning and galloped out of town with a view to seeing the Pacific Ocean.

Vin Tanner released a very long, very tired, very relieved breath. Buck glanced at him and nodded his support. Josiah patted his shoulder with pride. J.D. just grinned his elation. Ezra dipped his hat in admiration. That had been one smooth piece of work. A con that even the gambler would admit to appreciating.

Vin turned and the others followed him over to where Nathan was wrapping his bandanna around Chris’ arm to stop the bleeding.

"Nathan?" Buck asked.

"Vin only nicked him. Broke the skin is all. You’re a damn good shot, Vin Tanner." The other men stood back smiling their relief and watched as Vin offered his hand to his wounded leader. Instead, of taking it, Chris uncoiled like a snake. From somewhere he seemed to have found a bank of strength to draw on. Charging like a bull, the gunfighter grabbed the startled tracker and slammed him into the wall of the general store.

"Chris. Chris let him go!" Buck yelled, trying to pry Larabee’s white knuckles from the front of Vin’s shirt. "Chris you’re hurting him! Let’m go!!" Finally, with one last bone shattering smash, Chris released the young man in his grip. Vin’s eyes were glazed with shock and hurt ... and more. Without a word he dropped his face, turned his back to the other stunned men and walked away.

"Mr Larabee what possessed you to..."

"Shut up! Just shut the hell up all of you and leave me alone!" Chris screamed. The other protectors glanced at each other and then retreated. All except Buck. "What? What’s your problem, Buck! You got somethin to say, well say it."

"Yeah, I got somethin to say, Chris. Vin saved your life. You hear me. He saved your life! More than that, he was ready stand in for you, even though he knew he didn’t have a chance. Are you listenin' to me?! He was ready to die for you, Chris." Buck glared into Chris’ pale face. "Do you have any idea what he was prepared to sacrifice for you? For your stupid &*%@ing code!!" Chris’ eyes filled with unheralded tears.

"I..."

Buck shook his head in sympathy. He could see the anger leave his oldest friend’s proud eyes. No it hadn’t been pride that had forced him out into the street, but it had been pride that seen him attack Vin.

"Come on. Let’s get you to Nathan’s clinic. You look like you’re about to keel over." Remnants of the fever and his recent loss of blood were combining to cause tremors in the gunfighter’s body. The strength he had found so unexpectedly had left just as abruptly.

"No, I better go after him."

"Don’t reckon you should. He’s mad and he’s confused at the moment. Better to let him cool off. Now come on. Before I have to carry ya."

Three hours later and Chris was confined to Nathan’s clinic exactly where he was supposed to be. The fever had returned, though it was little more than a discomfort. Five of the other protectors had visited their sick and some what ashamed team mate, but none could provide the comfort that Chris required. The only person that their leader wanted... needed to see, was Vin. But the tracker was painfully absent.

Another hour flew by. Chris lay staring up at the ceiling trying not to think about Vin’s confused blue eyes staring back at him so hauntingly as he had continually slammed the young man against the wall. Vin hadn’t even attempted to fight back. Hadn’t even tried to protect himself as Chris had mercilessly smashed his body against the hard rough boards of Potter’s store. He’d just hung there looking dazed and confused.

"Chris?" The voice was soft. Barely above a whisper. Larabee turned to see Josiah and Buck standing in the doorway. From the looks on their faces, something was wrong. Something was very wrong.

"What is it?"

Josiah stepped forward and sank down into the chair next to the bed. "It’s Vin."

"What? Has something happened to him? Is he alright?" Larabee cried, his body snapping bolt upright on the bed, his eyes wide with distress.

"He’s gone."

"Gone? What do you mean gone? Ridden out?" Josiah nodded. Chris couldn’t see what Josiah was so concerned about. Of course Vin had ridden out. It was exactly what Chris would expect him to do. Probably be out all night if Chris knew Vin.

Not receiving the reaction he expected, Buck elaborated. "No, Chris. He’s gone. Cleaned out his wagon. When Josiah says he’s gone. He means he’s gone. For good."

"What!" The weakened gunfighter shot out of bed, but was grabbed and eased back down by Nathan and Buck when his trembling legs refused to hold him. For several seconds his mouth opened and closed but words failed him. "What are you talking about!" He can’t be gone. He gave me his word that he wouldn’t leave without telling me. We’re going to Tascosa together to get everything sorted out. He wouldn’t just leave. I know he wouldn’t. "He gave me his word!"

"He came to see me," Josiah explained quietly. "Asked me to say good-bye to everyone and to... tell you that he’s sorry. Said he knows he gave his word but that sometimes a man has to do things on his own. And... he wanted you to know that he didn’t mean to interfere." Chris’s face contorted with disbelief. And then anger.

"And you let him go! What the hell were you thinking?"

"Weren’t my place to stop him."

"How long ago? How long since he left?"

"About two hours."

"Two hours! Why the hell didn’t you tell me straight away!"

"Cuz he made me promise not to. Asked me to wait til tomorrow... but... "

"I’ve got to find him," Chris muttered, throwing back the covers again.

"You get back in there and be sensible. You ain’t gonna be able to sit on a horse for more than five minutes." Chris glared at Nathan, but had to heed the truth in the healers words. He was so damn weak that just sitting up in bed was a struggle.

"Buck. Buck, go get him. Bring him back. You’ve got to bring him back. Do whatever it takes. Talk to him, beg him, reason with him, but bring him back. Even if you have to hog tie him to do it."

The mustached man stared into his friend’s pained eyes and a smile crossed his roguish face. "Come on Josiah. We got us a Tanner to find."

Go to part 2 of 2

---

Aussielass_site@outlook.com

Return to Home Page

Return to "Old West" index

This page is for fan enjoyment and review. I do not own any of the pictures. They remain the property of their original owners. No infringement of copyright is intended. I am making no money from this site... I wish! If you see anything on this page (or any other page on my site) that you believe belongs to you and you would like me to remove it, please just let me know and I will take it down immediately or, if you prefer, acknowledge you in full. (g)