Wolf Dreams
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Chapter Four
(continued)
~~ Deadlock ~~
Buck was having the strangest dream. He dreamt he was a wolf running with a pack of wolves. He felt no sorrow or worries, there was just a feeling of freedom and he followed the pack through the desert as it closed in on a small town not far from the foot of a mountain.
"Buck Wilmington," a voice cut through his dream, effectively disrupting it. He was forced to open his eyes as a hand impatiently shook his shoulder.
"Huh?" he asked before he identified the man who had woken him up. "Dancer."
"The same," Dancer acknowledged. "That looked terribly uncomfortable."
"Ah, yeah," Buck answered as he stretched and immediately regretted it when nearly every muscle along his spine protested all at once. Sleeping propped up against some crates had done his back no good at all. Still, he felt a million times better than before. The street was bathing in daylight now, he must have slept for more than an hour, but how much more was impossible to tell.
He looked around to find that most of the signs of battle had already been obliterated. The bodies were gone and the barricades had been dismantled. They must have been real quiet doing that. Or maybe his sleep had been much deeper than he'd thought.
Well, no matter. It was time to do what needed to be done.
"Just wanted you to know that I've sent a wire to the army and requested their aid. Help should arrive before the end of the day."
Dancer held out his hand towards Buck who accepted it to get back on his feet again.
"How did you get the wire fixed so soon?" Buck asked and Dancer looked embarrassed.
"The wire wasn't ever down. We just took Jackson's word for it."
"Jackson ran out on us in the fight," Buck said as they started to walk towards the Jail.
"That wasn't all he did," Dancer said. "He was in on the whole thing."
Buck stopped cold. "What?" he said, hardly believing his ears.
"It's true. If Mr Sanchez hadn't turned up when he did I wouldn't be here talking to you today."
"Where is Jackson now?"
"Oh, he's dead. But to get back to the matter of the telegraph wire. It seems the outlaws spared it for purposes unknown. All it required to get it operational again was to find someone to operate the telegraph. I found someone with rudimentary skills and was able to send some messages."
"Wait a minute, you sure he's dead?"
"Quite sure," Dancer said and they resumed their walk. "His name wasn't Jackson, by the way. It was Jack Gray."
"Gray?" Buck said and a coldness spread in his belly as he instantly remembered where he had heard that name before. Caleb Gray and his father, the ones that had attacked Vin in Ghost Country a year back. Elijah Gray - the youngster he'd seen dead on the trail as they tried to get out of that hidden valley. It had been a sight so gruesome that Buck still shied away from the memory.
Name had to be a coincidence, Buck told himself. Had to be. Anyway, it didn't matter. What mattered was that Jackson had betrayed them and Buck had been completely fooled by that snake. Had trusted him. The man had only been in town for a few weeks, working at the telegraph office. Buck should have been more suspicious. Things could have ended so badly. He felt like he had failed.
"Think they'll cause us any more trouble?" Buck asked Dancer. He spotted Josiah and Ezra outside the saloon and changed his course slightly to meet up with them.
"Hard to say, but I doubt it. Caulder got away, of course, but I think it's safe to say that the Backer gang died with Lyndon Backer. Jack Gray was an articulate man and very sharp. This whole thing was quite a sophisticated scheme that required a great amount of planning. I wouldn't be surprised to find that he was behind most of it but the whole truth might never be known."
Dancer paused for a short while before continuing in a sincere tone. "When I came here I had only heard about you all from Judge Travis. I must say that what he told me doesn't do you justice at all. This is a grand thing you've done and I'm proud to have been part of it. And with both Backer and Gray gone I do believe that we've effectively cut off the Hydra's head."
"Huh," was the only thing Buck could say since he had no idea what this Hydra was that Dancer was referring to. He nodded a greeting to Josiah and Ezra instead, since they were now within speaking-distance.
"You're looking better," Josiah said and gave him a grin.
"What are you talking about?" Buck replied testily.
"Saw you earlier. Sleeping like the dead, while the rest of us toiled."
"How long was I out?"
"Four hours. Nathan told us just to let you sleep, even though it looked mighty uncomfortable."
"It was, believe me. Was I the only one to get any sleep?"
"Nope," Josiah said. "We've all had an hour or two, in shifts. Just enough to tide you over. So far we've had one burial this morning. Theo Mortimer. He was a good man. Didn't know him well but he came through for us, didn't he?"
Theo Mortimer. Buck was relieved to finally remember the man's last name but he also felt ashamed for having forgotten it in the first place.
"Any more dead on our side?" he asked with dread in his heart.
"No, we got lucky," Josiah answered. "Looks like we got five of the outlaws, counting in Backer and Gray. They're being measured for caskets as we speak and brother Ezra here realized that we've got some serious money coming into out hands."
Ezra looked decidedly pleased with himself. "I've found wanted posters for all of them. Backer alone was worth $2000. The rest of them are worth about that much put together."
"What about Caulder and them that got away?"
"JD and I went out earlier to look for tracks," Josiah said. "We found tracks from what looked like five horses outside town, leading away up into the mountains. It's up to the army to hunt them down now."
"So the only thing left to do is to bring in Chris and Vin," Buck said. Josiah nodded.
"Just need to get some supplies, then we can pick up Pony and Peso and be on our way."
But even with the army on the way Buck felt hesitant to leave Four Corners and it showed on his face.
"I can keep an eye on the town," Ezra unexpectedly volunteered.
"And since the details of my mission are no longer secret I've asked to be replaced. The army will take it from here and they hardly need my help so I can stay and keep and eye on him if you want," Dancer offered.
"I find that suggestion extremely offensive, Mr Dancer," Ezra said without sounding very offended at all. He grabbed hold of Dancer's elbow and started herding him towards the saloon. "Now, there's something I've been meaning to ask you, about the making of coins.... How much gold exactly goes into each coin?"
Josiah and Buck stared after the two men but they had already moved out of earshot so they never heard Dancer's answer.
"I almost wish I could stay in town," Josiah commented. "Just to see what's going to happen. Should prove very interesting with Ezra and Dancer as the law in this town."
"Yeah," Buck agreed but it didn't sound as if his heart was in it. Josiah looked at him closely and saw how his eyes were full of regret. JD's words had come back to haunt Buck with full force now. What if Vin and Chris had been alive that night and just laid there waiting, like JD had said?
"You made the right decision to stay and defend the town," Josiah said.
Buck sighed. "I hope so," was his only answer.
A grand thing, Dancer had called it. Buck sighed and tried to shake his unease. It didn't feel like that to him.
________
Late that afternoon Josiah looked down on the ground where they'd thought they'd find Vin and Chris and stated the obvious. "Well, they ain't here."
He looked up to find Nathan, Buck and JD all staring at him.
"We've got the wrong place," Buck said, looking very tense.
"I don't think so, Buck," Josiah said.
"We've just got the wrong place!" Buck said heatedly. "C'mon, we have to search some more."
"All right," Josiah said, knowing better than to argue with a stubborn and angry man. He knew that Buck found the whole situation nearly unbearable and wasn't about to add to his troubles.
But searching up and down the mountain track and the road leading to it showed them nothing more than they already knew. They ended up once again in the same place and staring at the dark spots of day old blood that covered the ground.
"This is the place," Nathan said. "It has to be, Buck."
"Then why ain't they here?" Buck said.
"Maybe they weren't as badly hurt as we thought," JD offered only to receive a withering glance from Buck.
"See all that blood on the ground?" Buck said. "You don't just walk away from something like that. At least one of them was badly hurt."
"So," JD tried again. "Maybe the other one wasn't and maybe he got them some help."
"Then why haven't they contacted us?" Buck said, looking like he was about to explode.
"Maybe they couldn't," JD trailed off. Nathan stepped in and gave him support.
"JD's right, Buck. Could be a thousand reasons why they ain't here."
"Backer ain't gonna win! I won't let him," Buck said heatedly and the others stared at him. "Backer's dead, Buck," Nathan said.
Buck just shook his head.
"I asked Backer about Vin and Chris, where they were, but he wouldn't tell me," he said in a hoarse voice. "He can't be right. He can't. We've gotta find them," he pleaded.
"Buck," Josiah said and gripped his shoulder tightly until he looked up. "We will find them," he said with absolute assurance. Buck gave him a troubled look then he took a deep shaky breath and let it out slowly.
"Thanks," he whispered as he regained his composure. "But how?"
"We just gotta look where we haven't looked before and then we'll find something."
"What?" Buck asked.
"Just ... something," Josiah replied as he studied the landscape stretching out beneath them towards a mountain range on the horizon. A silvery shape caught his eye and he squinted against the sun as he spotted a large silverfurred wolf that stood majestically alone on a rise far away. Even at that distance he could see that the wolf looked right back at him and made a motion with its head as if it wanted him to follow. A crow called out from somewhere above them and Josiah knew it was a message meant from him. Follow, it said to him. The wolf motioned him once again before it leapt down from its perch and started to trot out into the wild. Josiah blinked and turned towards the others.
"I think I know which way to go," he said.
_______
For days they searched, going from one small town to the other, always towards the same mountain range on Josiah's insistence. He was the only one among them that never seemed to falter and his conviction held the others up too. They had no idea what it was he saw but they put their faith in Josiah. As long as he was certain they were on the right track they would follow him.
Stopping in a small town on the edge of nowhere Buck walked into a hotel. He reserved a couple of rooms and then asked the clerk if he'd seen any strangers in town. He described Vin and Chris to the man but only got a negative reply. No one like that had come into town in the past week.
Five days since Vin and Chris had been lost and they hadn't come up with anything. He wasn't about to give up on them, not until he'd searched through every inch of ground from San Francisco to Washington, but he had to admit that it was looking more and more unlikely that they'd ever be found. Not a trace of Vin or Chris had been found other than the blood on the ground at the place where they'd been shot.
Feeling dusty and defeated Buck asked, "Is there anywhere else around here they could be?"
"Well," the man thought it over for a long while before he said, "there's Gila Flats, of course. It's a bit out of the way, surrounded by the desert, almost. They're somewhat isolated, no wire or stage coach line. Get mail and supplies going through to there sometimes but that's about it. Near two days ride east of here over towards them mountains there. If you start out bright and early tomorrow you can be there around noon the day after."
"Sounds good," Buck said as he gathered up their keys.
"Have to tell you, though," the man cautioned him, "if them you're searching for ain't there, it's most likely that they've been lost to the desert. It's a mighty harsh place, that desert. Taken many a soul it has."
"Yeah," Buck said and let the matter rest. Inside he was feeling that small tug of defeat again.
Gila Flats. One last chance. Maybe they'd get lucky this time.
__________
In the days since Stranger had come to Sarah McKay's place he'd grown steadily stronger but his memory still hadn't returned. He had nightmares about a fire several times but there were gentler dreams also. Most of them were gone soon after he woke but snatches of them stayed with him during the day.
Most of the time he dreamt about a woman. In the dream he spoke to her and called her Sarah and she looked a bit like Sarah McKay but it wasn't her. He knew that because now when he looked at Sarah McKay he kept comparing her to the woman in his dreams, noticing more and more what similarities there were and also what differences.
All he really knew was that he missed her. With all that he was he missed her and he thought that she must be dead. Otherwise, how could he ever have left her? If she had been still alive he'd have been by her side this moment. Holding her. Loving her. Never letting go.
Stranger put all thoughts of his dream Sarah out of his head, it hurt too much to think about it for very long. Instead he tried once again to figure out what drove Sarah McKay. She was quite a mystery to him. He knew she supported herself as a seamstress but that was about it. She didn't talk about herself, didn't say much of anything. But instead of feeling frustrated he found her silence very restful and it somehow reminded him of someone else he knew, but like always he couldn't say who. He just knew he trusted her and that was enough for him.
Still, Stranger knew she hid things from him. It had taken him some time but he'd finally caught on to the fact that she really didn't want him to see her hands and carefully hid them whenever he was watching her. That had made him curious enough to study them when he was sure she didn't know. He'd seen that they were covered with scars, ugly burn marks that were years old. Stranger never let on that he knew her secret, not wanting to add to her pain.
It was strange this connection they seemed to have, there wasn't any words to describe it and it didn't need any words. It just was. He was attracted to her without feeling real desire. There was within him a need just to be in her company for reasons he didn't understand.
Five days after Sarah McKay had rescued him Stranger felt whole again and his wounds were healed. He knew his recovery had gone remarkably well and he attributed it to the good care he'd been given, although Sarah herself seemed to regard it as nothing short of a miracle.
Looking out at Sarah's land he wondered how there could be such a difference between this green land and the desert just a few miles away. It was like a peaceful little island of lush green grass nearly lost in a sea of wild and harsh territory. Stranger thought once again that there probably wasn't a better piece of land for miles around.
It was a beautiful day and he decided to take a long walk along the river. The desert heat battled with a cool wind coming down the mountain and they blended so the air was comfortably warm and yet cool enough to keep you alert.
He followed a path down to the water and it led him to the large stone he'd sat on to watch the sunset some days before. This time, however, Stranger found that he had company. A small brown-haired boy, no more than five or six years old, already occupied the stone and he was holding a fishing pole out over the water. He looked up when he heard Stranger step out of the grass but he didn't look scared.
"Hi there," Stranger said and sat down by the side of the boy.
"Hello," the boy said politely and nodded to Stranger as if they were old companions.
"Who might you be then?" Stranger said and tried not to smile at the child's grown-up manners.
"I'm Ben."
"Hello, Ben. Mind if I sit here a while?"
"Not my stone," the boy said and then added very seriously, "Ma told me not to speak to strangers."
"That's good advice but ... what if you talk to someone who's name is Stranger, what then?" Stranger asked just to see what the boy would answer. The child looked up at him and frowned with confusion in his hazel eyes. "Stranger isn't a name."
"It can be. My name is Stranger."
"Really? Is your name really Stranger?"
"Sure is," Stranger answered. "Fish here often, do you?"
"Lady up at the house won't mind. She lets me come here whenever I like."
"Play with her son a lot?" Stranger asked and the child frowned again.
"She don't have one, she's all alone," he said, confirming what Stranger had suspected all along. Sarah hadn't said a word about her son since the first day and there were no toys or other things that could belong to a child at her house.
He looked closely at the child. Wasn't he far to young to be out here alone like this?
"Where do you live, Ben?" Stranger asked.
The boy shrugged. "In town."
"Alone?" That question earned him a toothy grin in reply.
"With my pa," the child said and giggled and Stranger couldn't help but smile in return. This child reminded him of .... his heart twisted in his chest. He felt cold sweat on his forehead.
"Does your pa know you're out here?" he asked to distract himself from what he was remembering. The slightly guilty look on the boy's face told him all he needed to know.
"Go on home now," he told the boy gently. "Don't want your pa to worry, do you?"
The boy shook his head and then he picked up his fishing pole and ran off into the tall grass. It swallowed him up completely and Stranger instantly lost sight of him. It was almost as if he'd never existed.
Stranger sat on the stone and tried to relax for a while but it was no good. There were too many thoughts in his head. He needed to talk to Sarah McKay. Needed her calming presence.
He walked back to the house and found her in his room, just about to put his old clothes on to the bed.
"There you are," she said when she saw him. "I've got your clothes here."
He picked up his black shirt and ran his hand over the near invisible stitches where she had mended it. It was skillfully done. She had been nothing but kind to him and he was about to hurt her. He almost hated himself for it but there there was no way he could stop himself from asking.
"Your husband - he's not coming back, is he?"
He could see her mouth open and close silently a few times before she finally said, "No."
"And your son?"
She looked up at him and her eyes were suddenly bright with unshed tears. When Stranger saw her eyes he recognized the look in them. Pain. Despair. He had seen it enough times in his own eyes, usually in a saloon when he'd drunk too much whiskey and caught a glance of himself in the mirror behind the bar. Now, in his mind's eye he could see a small boy running up to him and he could almost feel the weight of that boy in his arms as he imagined picking him up. His body knew that memory and it felt the loss.
Adam, his son. The longing for his son was like a thorn in his soul, always present, never healing. How could it? Adam was gone forever. He remembered that now.
"I'm sorry," Stranger offered awkwardly. When he spoke again it was with great difficulty. "I know who Adam is ... was now. He was my son."
"You've got your memory back?" she said as she turned away from him slightly to wipe at the corners of her eyes with her hand.
"Only that bit, not much else. I know that I've lost the two people that mattered most to me, my wife and my son."
"I think we'd better get into town and see Doc Webster then," she said and her voice sounded bleak. "Now that you're well enough to travel."
"Sarah, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you."
"I know," she said. "You didn't. It's just...." her voice trailed off. "I can't talk about this right now. I have some things that need to be done in town while you see the doc. I'll be waiting outside if you want to change your clothes."
And then she practically fled from the room. Stranger sighed heavily, looked at his clothes and decided that he'd better change. Putting on the black shirt felt like slipping into a second skin. He felt at home immediately, almost as if the clothes themselves held a part of his personality. Last of all he put on his gunbelt and then his black hat. He felt his hand come to rest easily against the holster.
Stranger looked into the mirror and adjusted the brim of his hat a fraction.
Was this who he was? More importantly, was this who he really wanted to be?He didn't know the answer to that.
When Stranger came out of the house Sarah was already waiting by the wagon. A straw bonnet covered her hair and it partly obscured her face so he couldn't see if she was still upset.
Neither of them tried to speak to each other for the first miles of road. Stranger looked at the landscape for a while but there wasn't much of interest there so he turned to study her instead and wondered how he could undo the damage he'd caused. He looked at her hands holding the reins. They were covered now by white lace gloves so you couldn't see the scars any longer.
Suddenly she turned her head and caught him looking and frowned a little but she didn't say anything about it. Instead she asked if he could take the reins for a while and he did.
"I'm sorry for the way I behaved earlier," she suddenly said.
"No, it was my fault," Stranger replied.
"No, it was just ...." She sighed. "It's been on my mind a lot lately. It was a long time ago but right when you asked me, it felt like it was just yesterday."
"I know that feeling," Stranger said.
They travelled the rest of the way in silence again but it was a comfortable silence this time. Finally they drove up a small rise and when they reached the top they could see the town. When they got closer he could see something like a dozen houses around the widest street he'd ever seen, it was more like a city square. Separated from the ramshackle buildings of the town was a big white house situated on a small hill just outside town. It looked freshly painted and well kept. On the road in to town they passed close by a small cemetery and Sarah slowed down the pace as they passed and looked down on the tombstones. Stranger heard her take a deep breath when they were just past it.
"Tell me about the town," Stranger said. "What is it called?"
"Gila Flats. Don't waste time wondering if you've heard that name before, no one has except for those living here. We don't get many strangers passing by, mostly trappers coming down from the mountains. Every other week or so we get supplies and mail. Should be in next week."
"Is there a livery stable here?"
"Yes. Can't say if there's any good horses to choose from. Why?"
"Might need it," Stranger said.
"Thinking about leaving?"
"No. Unless you want me to?" He suddenly felt a bit uncertain again.
"No," Sarah said. "You can stay a while. It gets lonely out there at times," she admitted quietly.
The livery stable was just on the edge of town and they stopped there on the way in. Most of the horses were old and looked as if they had seen better days but Stranger managed to find a black horse with a temperament to suit him and hired him for a week to start with.
It was a lucky thing that the one who shot him hadn't also robbed him. Stranger had found that he'd carried at least fifty dollars in gold coins, and some silver dollars as well, in his pockets when he'd been shot. He'd tried to give Sarah some of the money early on to repay her for her care but she had refused to accept it. She seemed to possess a stubborn streak to rival his own so he knew that he'd have to come up with something else to repay her.
Right next to the livery stable, up on the second floor, lived Doc Webster. It sparked a memory in Stranger as he walked up the stairs. For a second before the door was opened he was almost certain what and who he was gonna see but as soon as the door opened it was gone again.
Webster turned out to be a small white-haired man, more than old enough to be Stranger's father. He walked with a slightly bent back and his hands trembled noticeably but his mind was still sharp as a tack.
He smiled with genuine warmth when he saw Sarah and stepped aside so they could enter. It was a small clinic, just two rooms with very little furniture. Stranger wondered how anyone could make a living at all in this town. There couldn't possibly be enough people around to make it worthwhile to stay.
Webster gave Stranger a searching look before ignoring him and turning to Sarah.
"How are your hands?" he asked her. "Still hurting?"
"Sometimes," she admitted. She removed her gloves and he took her hands and pulled her towards the window so he could study them in better light. Stranger tried to give them some privacy but he couldn't stop himself from throwing a glance in their direction and he saw that the skin on Sarah's hands looked cracked and red. It had to be hurting her.
"You've been out in desert again?" Webster didn't seem to approve of what he saw either.
"Just the other day," Sarah said and nodded towards Stranger. "That's when I found him." Webster gave him another searching look before concentrating fully on Sarah's hands.
"You're working too hard with your hands again."
"I can't afford not to," Sarah defended herself and the old man's gaze softened.
"Well, I've made up a new batch of salve for you. That should make it feel better. Here you are." He held out a small jar towards her.
"I can't pay you right now," she said and hesitated to accept it but he took her hand and put the jar in it, closing her fingers around it.
"I wouldn't take your money anyway, Sarah."
"You're too good to me, Doc." Stranger heard a catch in Sarah's voice as she spoke. It sounded as if she was almost close to tears.
"No, dear girl," the old man told her gently. "I'm not. Friends look out for each other. You and me, we're old friends, aren't we?"
"Forever and ever," she replied and they both smiled. It looked to Stranger as if it wasn't the first time they'd had this particular conversation. She wiped at the corners of her eyes with an embarrassed laugh. "It's the second time today I've started to cry. Being around menfolk must have a bad influence on me."
"Especially this one?" Doc said and pinned Stranger down with his eyes.
"No, he's not been much trouble at all," Sarah said as she put the jar in her purse and pulled on her gloves again. "He was shot in the head and the ribs and the wounds have healed nicely, but he's lost most of his memory. I thought I might as well do some errands and I have to deliver a dress to Elaine Adams. You don't need me here, do you?"
She looked at the two men who both shook their heads. "Bye, Doc. Take care of Stranger here. I hope you can help him. "
"Stranger?" Doc Webster asked as soon as she was gone.
"I'm not sure what my name is. Sarah started calling me that," Stranger answered and felt a bit awkward but the old man didn't call him on it.
"Well," Doc said after a pause. "I've heard worse names."
He listened to Stranger's heart and lungs and then examined the healed wounds closely by touch and with a magnifying glass.
"How long ago did this happen?" he asked.
"Five days ago," Stranger replied. "I think," he added.
"Remarkable," Doc said and shook his head in wonder. "I never would have expected it to heal to that extent in just a few days. I'd be surprised if that head wound even leaves much of a scar. It's fading already. You must have lost a lot of blood with that gash over your ribs."
"I guess," Stranger said neutrally. "I don't really remember."
"And Sarah found you out in the desert?"
"Yes."
"Huh, that is most extraordinary. That gash couldn't have healed better if I'd stitched it up myself. Shouldn't give you any trouble. God must be looking after you, son. Now, come over to the window so I can have a look at your eyes."
He tested Stranger's eyesight and studied the way he reacted to movement and light.
"You don't remember anything?"
"Some things. Not my name. Nothing from my childhood or recent years."
"But you do remember things?"
"Not the things that I want to remember," Stranger said stiffly.
"I wouldn't worry about it," Doc said consolingly. "If you remember some things there's a good chance that it'll all come back to you. Could take some time or it could happen tomorrow. The brain is a wonderful thing that we don't know much about at all. I've seen a lot of things happen to people who've got a knock on the head. Some of it you'd hardly believe. Just try to take it easy and it'll work out all right. I've found that is often the best advice."
Doc Webster disappeared into the other room and Stranger could hear him rummage around a bit in there. When he came back it was with two glasses in one hand and a whiskey bottle in the other.
"Drink?" he asked.
"Won't say no to that," Stranger said as he accepted the glass. "Why wouldn't you take her money?"
Doc took a thirsty swallow from his drink before answering.
"Sometimes you meet a good person," he said wistfully. "If that person is hurting - then what manner of man are you if you don't try to ease that hurt, any way you can?"
"How long have you known each other?" Stranger asked.
"Close on fifteen years. She was nothing but a slip of a girl then. But don't ask me more about her." He glared at Stranger. "Sarah's story is hers to tell."
Stranger could accept that. "You've lived here for that long?" It was hard to imagine anyone staying in this town for that amount of time.
"Yes. Even longer. Close on twenty years."
"You must like this town then?"
"It's as close to hell as I'd ever like to come," Doc said dryly. "It was different when I first came here. There's a few good people still here, people like Sarah. The rest are scum."
"Why don't you leave and settle down in another town?" Stranger asked, surprised by his bald statement.
"I'm too old to start over again," Doc said. "Besides, anywhere else they might take me in but I think they would object to my old friend here." He laid his hand heavily on the whiskey bottle. The look he gave Stranger was a mixture of shame and acceptance. Doc Webster was fully aware of what he'd become but he had long since given up the fight.
Stranger downed what was left of his drink. "Well, Doc," he said. "You have my thanks. What do I owe you?"
"It's on the house," Doc said and smiled. He looked at Stranger's side where the wound was now hidden from sight and muttered, "Remarkable," under his breath once more. Then he poured himself another drink.
__________
When Stranger got back out on the street again there was no sign of Sarah. Rather than walk around trying to find her he checked on the black horse tied to the rear of the wagon and then settled down to wait on the wagon seat. There was a fresh breeze blowing through town and he watched as it pushed the tumbleweeds along the street.
A small boy ran out in front of Stranger to reach a man who was holding out his hand towards him on the other side of the street. It wasn't hard to recognize Ben, the child he'd met that morning, and the man had to be Ben's father. The boy hadn't seen Stranger, intent as he was on reaching his father. When he finally did he was was picked up by strong arms and tickled.
Stranger could clearly hear the child's happy laughter and he couldn't help but smile a little. But then the old sorrow washed over him and he could bear to watch them no longer. He looked down on his hands instead and didn't look up again until they were well and truly gone.
The world seemed easier to look at when he didn't have that reminder of what he'd lost right there in front of his eyes. Adam. He hadn't really thought about him in a long time. Every time he tried all he could see was the ashes and among them-
He still couldn't face it, he couldn't think about it.
The more he knew the less sure he was that he really wanted his memory to return. The first thing he had remembered was sorrow and loss. What if there wasn't anything else in his life now?
Maybe he shouldn't even try to remember. Maybe he should just make a new life for himself, starting here and now. He thought a bit about Doc Webster, stuck forever in a town he loathed. Stranger wondered what it was that had driven him to drink. Had it been something sudden and terrible or was it the lesser hurts, one thing added to another until it had all been too much?
It didn't really matter. Doc couldn't turn back on the road he'd started on. Stranger knew that road, he was heading down it too. He frowned suddenly. No, that wasn't quite right. Not anymore. Something had happened to him in the past year or so. He was almost sure about it. But what?
Something flashed in his eyes and he blinked. In front of the saloon there was a group of men, all of them looked to be a few years younger than Stranger. Far too old to be playing around with guns the way they did. One of them was standing apart from the rest and practicing a fast draw. Wasn't half bad, Stranger thought. The sun glistened in the metal as the man spun the gun around on the trigger guard before slipping it back in the holster. The other four men on the street looked on in admiration and one of them said something to the lone gunman and pointed at Stranger.
The man looked at him and even at that distance Stranger could see him grin before he started walking towards him.
"Well, now," the man said when he was close enough to be heard without shouting. "We don't get many strangers around here. What's your business in town?"
"Who wants to know?" Stranger said calmly.
"Name's Reese and I'm the law in this town," the man said.
Stranger looked him up and down, from his sideburns and the toothpick he was chewing on to his silk waistcoat and polished black boots.
"Don't see a badge," Stranger said.
Reese got an ugly look in his eyes and his temper flared.
"How long have you been in town?" he asked sharply."A while."
"Maybe you should think about moving on," Reese suggested as his hand drifted towards his gun.
Stranger looked at Reese and something in his mind he hadn't been consciously aware of before snapped into action, automatically sizing the man up to see if he posed any real danger or if he was all talk. Stranger recognized the situation, he even felt comfortable with it. A few more pieces of his old life fell into place.
He had done this before. He knew he could do it again.
Before he could say anything another man approached them and Reese fell back a step like a faithful dog giving way for its master.
Reese dressed to be noticed but this man dressed to display his power. His clothes looked to be of the finest quality and he walked with all the assurance of someone who owned the world. A man of importance in this town. Stranger disliked him on sight.
Reese didn't look like he had the smarts to carve out his own fortune, at least not in a legal way, but the clothes he had on must have cost him a fair amount of money. He had to be working for someone and it was most likely this man. Stranger doubted that there could be two people in this town rich enough to employ a hired gun.
Stranger knew a bully when he saw one, and Reese was a prime example. And this man had hired him. What Stranger hated even more than a bully was someone who'd hire a bully to do his fighting for him.
"We don't get many strangers out here," the man began.
"So I've been told," Stranger said.
"My name's Parker. What's yours?"
"Call me Stranger."
"Stranger?" Reese shot in. "You can't have a name like Stranger!"
"I think I can," Stranger said as he gave Reese a cold look. "In fact, I'm rather partial to it."
He ignored the two men and switched back to staring disinterestedly at the tumbleweeds blowing down the street.
Parker was a bit taken back by Stranger's blatant disregard of his importance.
"Very well, Mr ... Stranger," Parker said, still trying to sound polite and even a bit friendly. "You look like a smart man. I hear you came in with Mrs McKay."
He paused to wait for a reply but Stranger said nothing. The word had certainly spread fast enough. In a town this size, starved for any kind of news, it had probably taken all of five minutes until the very last person had been told.
"Maybe you can remind her that I've still got some papers for her to sign. Maybe you can even convince her it would be in her interest to do it as soon as possible. That house-" Parker pointed towards the big white house on the hill. "That's my house. Why don't you come on over... say... tomorrow at noon and we can discuss it. You'd be well rewarded."
Stranger stared at Parker silently as he thought over the offer and he could see the man become impatient. Down the street Stranger spotted Sarah coming out of a building and start walking towards him.
He gathered up the reins and said with finality, "No, I don't think we've got anything to discuss, Parker."
"You're making a mistake," Parker warned him.
Stranger gave him another bone chilling glare and then a slow smile spread over his face. "Won't be the first time," he replied and drove off to pick up Sarah McKay.