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Peso all out refused to go any farther right about the time Vin decided to do the same. He looked around at the little stand of scrub oak over toward the distant mountains and the whole lot of nothing everywhere else, and just stopped his horse there in front of God and everyone.
“Mr. Tanner?”
Ezra sounded tired and sure as hell should have been. Chaucer, looking fresher than a daisy, damn him, pranced back down the path and stood before Peso. The matching curious looks on mount and rider would have been funny if Vin weren’t so deep down tired. “We can still make several more miles before we lose the light.” Damn gambler'd had them riding hard all day, the sun had set, and Vin was right sick of all of it.
“We been on the move since before dawn,” Vin grumbled—and hadn’t that been something to see? Ezra Standish awake before the sparrows with no one gunning for him. Was downright unnatural. “I’m tired. Peso’s tired.” He moved to dismount, every muscle aching. “Don’t know what the hell the rest of you’re playing at, but me and him are making camp.”
Ezra looked around in surprise. “Right here?”
“Of course, right here,” Vin barked at him. He loosened Peso’s cinch, then had to grab at his suddenly sliding rifle in annoyance--had to move so fast he nearly got dizzy from it. Damn scabbard was falling apart. He’d have to trade for some proper leather—buffalo leather—and make a new one. For some reason, it seemed like the last straw today.
“Come on, now, Vin!” Buck called, Clyde trotting back to them from even farther up the road. Damn man had been equally eager this whole trip. It was like they was both trying desperately to fit four days’ riding into three. “Ain’t you the one who’s always pushing us to get as far as we can while the light lasts?”
Vin snorted, ignoring the headache that hadn’t quit since they left Hillton Bluffs two days ago. “I’m using the light to make camp, damn it.” He muttered. “Ride on if you want—I’ll meet you back home when I get there.”
He watched out of the corner of his eye as Ezra and Buck shared a look. Was a bit of concern, true—and he guessed he’d earned that with the way he’d been dragging since they headed out to escort that prisoner—but most of it was that kind of panicked look that only came from a con about to go horribly wrong.
Well, forget ‘em both. He didn't have the interest or the energy for figuring them out right now. He needed a good meal and a rest. And a drink.
First things first, then. He hefted his rifle and headed for the brush about two hundred yards south. His stomach was churning—must have been all the trail rations and the rushed atmosphere. “I’ll get dinner.”
By the time he’d shot two rabbits and a bull snake, got them all cleaned, and spitted them all over the fire Buck’d made while he was gone, Vin was just about done in. He slid down against the log Buck’d pulled up for sitting on, and sighed.
“You feeling okay, Vin?”
Vin ignored Buck’s question—weren’t like Buck couldn’t see for himself that Vin was miserable tired—and rotated his neck some, trying to ease his headache. The temperature was falling quick tonight and he was already shivering. Should probably dig out his blanket, but instead he closed his eyes, figuring he could sleep some while the food cooked...
He jerked upright and moaned at the spear that went through his skull when a cool hand touched his forehead. He looked up to find Ezra staring at him, his face all angles and shadows in the light of the fire.
“His fever is getting worse, I think.” Ezra was talking to Buck like Vin weren't even there, a look of concern and a little disappointment in his eyes.
“Ain’t got a fever.” He didn’t. Vin didn’t get sick. Much.
“Ah, hell, Vin,” Buck grumbled—like Vin was putting him out or something. “Why didn’t you tell us you were sick?”
“I ain’t sick,” he said. Weren’t nobody listening?
“What’s wrong, Vin?” Ezra asked seriously. Vin got the idea he was trying to sound like Nathan, and that was just pissing him right off. “Does your head hurt? How about your stomach?”
Both hurt like hell, but damned if he was gonna give Ezra the satisfaction. “I’m fine,” he grated angrily. “I was just trying to lay down a spell while I wait for the food to cook. So if you want to wake me when it’s…” Ezra and Buck stared at him with concern again. “What?” When’d it get so dark, anyway?
“Food’s been ready an hour, pard,” Buck said quietly. “You sort of passed out on us there for a while.”
Vin shook his head, feeling his stomach protest the movement. “I did not.”
He hardly ever got sick. Not even when he was a kid. Though there was that one time when he was four… and five.
“Vin?” Ezra sounded all… Josiah called it “long suffering,” though since Ezra was obviously feeling just fine, Vin didn’t know what the hell he had to suffer right now.
“What?”
“I said, ‘do you want to try to eat something?’”
His stomach crawled up his throat at the notion. Damn it. Couldn't they just leave him the hell alone for the night.
“Gonna get some sleep,” he grated, trying hard to ignore the two men now hovering over him—when’d Buck get over here? “You wake me before dawn and I’m gonna take a trick from Ezra and shoot you.”
He drifted off before either of them could say anything—which was just what he wanted.
It weren’t fair.
Vin'd had a great ramble out to Mrs. Jasper’s farm two days ago and had run home through the bluebonnets and paintbrush with his prize—a spring doll, dressed up like a soldier, with arms and legs that bounced around when you pulled the strings at the bottom. He’d run home to his ma, feeling like the trip was maybe longer than it should have been, but just breathing a little harder than usual when he burst into the kitchen and thrust the doll out for her to see.
“Vin, sweetie,” Ma had said, looking at him with that ‘Ma’ look. “Are you feeling okay? You look a mite flushed.”
“Run all the way here, Ma,” he said by way of explanation. He weren’t sick. He felt fine! “Mrs. Jasper said she done sewed the uniform and everything!”
“It’s right fine, Vin,” Ma’d told him. “Now you run and fetch me some water.”
The next morning, Vin wasn’t feeling fine at all. Ma had probably slipped out of the bed at her usual time, but the sun was halfway to dinner before her cool touch startled him awake, her skinny hand covering his forehead and then his belly. Never had figured out how she felt a fever from his belly, but ma was smarter than him, so he didn't feel a need to question. “Vin, honey,” she’d told him when he tried to get up and moaned a little at how much it hurt, “why don’t you stay abed today, my little man? Don’t know where it come from, but you got yourself a chill.”
Dumb chill was even worse by supper, and he hurled his whole bowl of soup up all over the bed. Ma had to change the sheets, of course, and he sat in the chair while she did it, shaking and miserable. He were so tired by the time she got done, he didn’t barely remember her sliding him under the extra set of sheets.
And today he felt even worse. Which were just not fair!
“I’m sorry, sweetie,” his ma murmured, resting her cool hand on his forehead, taking some of the heat away. “I know—it ain’t fair.” She ran her hands through his hair for a minute before pulling away, and he heard the tinkle of water for a minute before a cool cloth covered his eyes and forehead.
“You just get better, sweetie,” Ma whispered as he drifted off. “Today ain’t gotta be the special one.”
For a minute, Vin wasn’t sure whether he was still dreaming or not. The sun was starting to shine through his eyelids, and a cool hand covered his over heated forehead. But it weren’t his ma’s callused, roughed up hand. It was soft, with a few real specific calluses—the kind you got from guns and cards. Ezra.
He moaned as he tried to get up the gumption to open his eyes. Lord, he felt worse today than he had last night!
“Could you drink some water, Vin?”
Ezra sounded worried. Vin didn’t know why—so he was sick. He could admit that. It weren’t a normal thing, sure, but he wasn’t dying anytime soon. He didn’t think.
“Leave him be, Ezra,” Buck called out. There was a smell. A god awful smell that made Vin want to hurl what he didn’t eat last night. “Let him sleep and get this coffee you been whining for for the last hour.”
Coffee? Buck’s coffee was pretty horrible, no lie, but it shouldn’t smell like that, should it?
“I have not been whining, it has not been an hour, and this…“ Vin clearly heard a pot hitting the edge of a tin cup and the slosh of liquid. “Ugh. This is definitely not coffee. He needs water, Mr. Wilmington, as often as we can get it down him. Judging by his color, this is what Benny Potter had before we left Four Corners, and Nathan was saying that high fever and dehydration were the greatest concerns.”
Huh. Benny Potter had been awful sick when they left--Vin had been in Potter's store when the poor kid collapsed, and had carried him up to his ma's rooms upstairs while his sister fetched Nathan. Boy was all red and blotchy, too. He wasn’t red and blotchy, was he?
He could hear Ezra—lighter step, more like a fox and less like a bull than Buck—coming back toward him, and figured he’d try again to open his eyes. Some water really did sound like a fine idea.
At least until he got a whiff of the coffee Ezra must’ve been carrying for himself. With a sharp groan, he rolled as far away from the stench of it as he could get and brought up half his innards on the ground. Got his eyes open, though. Damn shame all he could see was the mess of sick on the ground in front of him.
“Vin?” Vin could feel a hand on his back, but he stayed where he was for a minute, hoping not to throw up anything else. Like his stomach, maybe. Lord, his head was pounding something fierce now!
“Get the coffee away!” he grated, acid ripping up his throat. He wished he knew where his gun was at when he heard Buck chuckling, but at least Erza cursed low and moved away quick. Vin held his breath until he heard the splash of coffee hitting the fire and a canteen being opened. He closed his eyes again, blocking out the sight of the puddle that still smelled better that than damn coffee.
“Apologies, Mr. Tanner,” Ezra said, touching his shoulder again. Vin rolled carefully onto his back, looking at the tin cup Ezra held out. “I was unaware your stomach was in such a delicate state.”
“I ain’t in no delicate state, Ezra,” he grumped, lifting himself up a bit to sip carefully at the water and spitting some of it out with the taste of bile. “Just ain’t up for none of Buck’s swill. Worse than Nathan’s horse piss.”
Buck sputtered by the fire, glaring at him. “Thought you liked my coffee!” he cried, acting hurt.
Vin didn’t bother to answer him, just sipped more at his water and looked around. The camp was flooded with morning glow, with not a tree closer than a hundred yards away. Lord, they were totally exposed—who the hell picked the camp site last night? Even JD had more brains. And damn, it was hot! “The hell are we doing out in the middle of God and everything?” he demanded, trying to push himself into a full seated position. His head didn’t take too kindly to that and his vision went gray for a minute.
“I believe that was—“ Ezra started kind of huffy, then just stopped cold and continued after a minute. “We should probably repair to a more advantageous position, of course.”
“Why bother? We’re heading home anyway.”
There was a long moment of silence, and Vin looked from Buck’s unsure frown to Ezra’s annoyed one. “What?”
“I’m certain you’re not up to another day—at least—on horseback, Mr. Tanner.”
Vin pushed himself up, struggling to get to his feet. “I’m fine.” His vision blacked out entirely as he stood and locked his knees, but he shook his head and just gave himself a minute. “Let’s get going.” His words might’ve been slurring. He wasn’t sure. “Rate y’all’ve been pushing us, we ain’t more’n a day out of town, anyway.”
He felt Ezra’s hand on his left, holding his elbow tight, and then a large paw that could only be Buck’s grabbed him on the right, firm enough that Vin instinctively tried to shake him off. He’d be able to see again any minute now.
Lord, it’d be nice if his head stopped spinning, though. He just wanted to be home. Where the hell was Peso?
“Mr. Tanner,” Ezra barked, annoyed and worried and loud. “You really should—“
Sound cut out too, as Vin tried to take a step forward and felt himself falling. He could feel the hands on his arms still and wondered why Buck and Ezra didn’t stop him. He just kept falling and falling.
Never did reach the ground, though.
“Vin?”
Ma sounded worried. He didn’t want her to worry. He could take care of himself.
But he was awful cold.
“Sweetie, you need to drink something.” He felt his head lifted, the china cup cool against his burning lips. “Please, baby.”
He let the water dribble in, tried real hard not to let it dribble out again.
“That’s good, little man,” she whispered. He shuddered through the cold. Spring was here—why was it so cold?
Ma slid under the covers with him, warming him and giving him comfort all at once. He felt real sick.
“Ma?”
“Yeah, baby?” Her hand carded through his hair. Should've made him feel sicker, but it didn't.
“I ain’t feeling so good.”
“I know, baby.”
Another thought came to him. “Am I five now?”
He felt her chuckle against him as he drifted off. Might’ve been tears there, too.
“Yes, baby. You’re five now.”
“Think I should go for Nathan and a wagon?”
“I fear so. Even if the fever were to break right now, he doesn’t seem as if he’ll be fit to mount his horse any time soon.”
“Damn. Hell of a way to spend your birthday, Vin.”
Vin drifted a little closer to the voices. Birthday?
“Well, can't do nothing about it now. I’m gonna catch a couple hours’ sleep—wake me before dawn.”
“I certainly will.”
Silence fell. Vin might’ve slept, but he didn't dream. He cracked his eyes open to find darkness, which his pounding head gave thanks for. A shadow between him and the low-banked fire could be Ezra. Figured it was worth a shot to find out.
“Ezra?”
The shadow leaned toward him and Ezra’s smile shone at him in the black silhouette. “How are you feeling, Vin?” A hand was on his forehead again, cooling him some.
“Half dead.” Was pretty much the truth.
“Well you aren’t,” Ezra stated firmly, like he was trying to reassure him. “Though I expect you may continue to feel as if you were for a few days yet. You’ve still got a fever.”
Vin didn’t nod—was sort of afraid his head would fall off if he did.
“Water?” Ezra asked. The feel of a tin cup on his lips had Vin reaching for a memory he couldn’t grasp. The water slid down easy and he sighed as the cup was taken away.
“It’s my birthday?” He didn’t know what caused him to blurt it out like that, but he blushed that he should even have to ask the question.
“Ah, yes… Um…” Ezra sounded downright embarrassed. “I apologize—I had meant to tell you yesterday, but then… And I’m afraid your gifts are all waiting at home. “
Vin did nod this time, reflexively, and was glad his head stayed attached. He knew it’d been spring for his birthday—the vision of a meadow dotted in bluebonnets and paintbrush flitted across his mind and was gone. “That why you wanted to get home so quick?”
Ezra sighed. “This trip, while undoubtedly necessary, was rather ill-timed. We had hoped, having made such good time getting there, that we might do the same coming back. Had we arrived last night, we could have celebrated today.” Vin could hear the smile in his voice, though his face was still hidden by the fire behind him. “After all, your birthday is your birthday.”
“Today ain’t gotta be the special one,” Vin murmured, the half-remembered feeling of his ma’s arms around him making him feel warm for the first time since waking. Something Ezra said prodded at him a minute.
“Wait. ‘Last night’? How long I been down?”
“You collapsed just after dawn yesterday,” Ezra told him, his voice thick with some memory. “The fever was high enough for a while that when you were awake, you were hardly yourself... This is the first time you’ve been truly cognizant of your surroundings.” A hand went to his forehead again, and Ezra made a pleased sound. “You seem cooler, though hardly back to normal. I believe more water would be beneficial.” He tipped the cup to Vin’s lips again, and the water was sweet and soothing going down.
“I have also boiled down some broth from the rabbits, if you think you can stomach it.”
“I don’t know, Ezra,” Vin said, not noticing how his words might sound. “Don’t know if I trust it to be fit to eat.”
Ezra huffed good naturedly. “I’ll have you know I can be an excellent cook, when necessary. My—“
“Let me guess,” Vin cut in, feeling good enough to try pulling himself to sitting. He stalled halfway there. “Another cousin. Lord, Ezra, how many relatives do you have?”
Ezra chuckled. “My father was Irish and my mother’s family… was active,” he admitted. “I have quite a few—and many of them are quite talented.” His shadow came forward again, carrying another cup that sloshed with something that smelled surprisingly good. “Including my cousin Jerusha, who taught my to render a carcass for broth. Waste not, want not.”
He helped Vin all the way up to sit against the log behind him and handed over the cup. It was tastier than plain rabbit broth had a right to be, though not necessarily something he'd've chosen on his own. Still, he hummed appreciatively and felt his stomach start to settle some.
“I am glad you approve. Her lessons saved at least my palate, if not my life, during the war.” His voice hardened just a little, like it always did when he spoke of his time in gray. “There were times when a soldier could find very little in the way of edible food stuffs.”
“Not just soldiers,” Vin murmured, remembering a march through a barren land by a beaten people who watched the soldiers eat what little there was. The reservations were no more bountiful than the deserts they’d marched through, and Vin remembered how a pot of snake broth had to feed a village.
“I knew a girl named Jerusha,” he whispered quietly, remembering blonde hair and laughing brown eyes. And the soldier who’d seen she was white right off and dragged her away—“saving” her. He shook his head and concentrated on the broth; blamed the maudlin thoughts on the fever.
“How’d you find out it was my birthday?” he asked into the darkness, more for something to take his mind off the memories than because he really cared. Were awful nice of Ezra to find it out for him, though.
“It was not easy, Mr. Tanner, I assure you.” He sighed in irritation. “The records office in Lubbock is positively antediluvian in its book keeping practices.” The shadow of his head bobbed up to face Vin. “And your name is not Vincent.”
Vin snorted. “Never thought it was. My name’s Devin. AIn't never been called that, though. Not even by Ma.”
“Well, it would have helped me to know that, Mr. Tanner.”
Vin grinned at the irritation. “You didn’t ask.” His fevered mind linked Ezra’s sentences together with new insight. “When’d you go to Lubbock?” His eyes narrowed. “Why’d you go to Lubbock?”
“Sheer unpleasant happenstance, I assure you. It was one of the many stopovers on the endless trip back from Kansas City this winter,” Ezra said testily, defending himself. “We were waylaid yet again by equipment failure, and I decided I could use the time quite profitably at the church.”
“What about the saloon?” Vin pushed, angered for a reason he couldn’t name. “Or hell, that whorehouse Buck was talking about?” His voice dropped to a hiss. “Why meddle in my business?”
Ezra took a long moment, and when he spoke, he sounded shocked. Maybe even a little hurt. The tone made Vin wish it was light enough to see his eyes. “I had noticed, as this year progressed, that you were… enjoying our many birthday celebrations. It was apparent last summer that you likely did not know your own—a not-uncommon occurrence for orphans separated from their families and hometowns at a young age.” He sighed like he was at a loss to explain it. “I thought you might wish to know.”
That he might want to join in—be celebrated like the rest of them. It was unsaid, but that was what Ezra really meant. The anger at the invasion into his personal business melted away, fast as it had come. Hell, that was what friends did, right? They meddled.
“Thank you, Ezra,” he said quietly, feeling the dawn coming in the increase of bird and bug sound around them. “Was right nice of you. Sneaky as hell, but right nice.”
“A fitting epitaph,” Ezra replied, a relieved smile in his voice. “Ezra Standish: Sneaky, but right nice.”
They sat in pleasant silence for a while, letting the world wake up around them. Vin grinned. It was his birthday. His birthday. Shouldn’t mean so much, but somehow, it did.
“By the way,” Ezra said gravely, “you owe Buck six dollars.”
Vin almost laughed, remembering the bet they'd made on Buck's birthday last year. Today was his birthday and he was twenty-eight years old. Huh.
“Ezra, why are you so keen on birthdays?” It was a question he’d never found the right time to ask. Looked like his twenty-eighth birthday was it. “Maude make much of you when you was a kid, like Buck’s ma?”
Ezra snorted bitterly. “I believe there may have been a few birthdays where she made much off of me—or at least my labor—but I doubt she remembered what day it was even then.”
“Seems like that’d put you off birthdays,” Vin observed, though Ezra’d pretty much confirmed what he thought about Maude’s mothering.
“A man’s birthday is the one day when he can make as much of himself as he cares to—and allow others to do the same.” Ezra sounded thoughtful about it. “Any other day, a man must earn what he’s given, but a birthday present is given simply for the fact that a man was born. There's a lack of guile there that I always enjoyed.” He smiled in the rising light. "That and the presents, or course."
“That’s a right mercenary thing to say, Ezra.” Buck’s voice called out as the pre-dawn took hold around them. He hauled himself to his feet and puttered around, tending to his trail chores the second he woke, just like always. Vin heard a pan settle into the coals to heat.
“Thank you, Mr. Wilmington,” Ezra replied with a grin, taking it as the sarcastic compliment it was surely intended to be.
“Don’t explain why you didn’t tell none of us it was your birthday this winter,” Vin put in. He was starting to get tired again. Damn fever. “Could’ve had a hell of a haul.”
“Due to a certain peacekeeper’s subterfuge,” Ezra pointed out, glaring good-naturedly at Buck, “I did.”
Vin was pretty sure Ezra hadn’t wanted to find out whether his greedy statement was true—probably worried he’d be celebrating on his own anyway, even if he came out and told them. Must’ve been a hell of a surprise to find out they was all happy to get him something just for being him.
“I got a question,” Buck said, dropping some salt pork into the heated pan. “How’d you find out all our birthdays anyway?”
“Miss Caroline—“
“She knew mine, right enough, and I expect Nathan could’ve told you Josiah’s. Hell, JD would’ve taken an ad out in the Clarion if he could’ve.” He pegged Ezra with a look. “Wasn't nobody but me who knew Chris’s birthday.”
“Not even me,” Vin added. He always did wonder about that one.
Ezra was silent a long, long time, but without the sly grin that meant he wasn’t going to give up his secret. It was like he was trying to figure whether it was safe to tell them the truth of it. After a very long pause, Ezra started speaking.
“I admit to a fair amount of subterfuge in that regard, gentlemen,” he began carefully. “As you know, I had had interactions with our honorable judge before we all arrived at our dusty little burg. As a result, I had little reason to trust him.” He paused here, and Vin wondered exactly what the story was with Ezra’s escape from Fort Laramie. “At any rate, his rather flippant offer of my amnesty and the employment of all of us led me to make a rather rash, though wise business decision.”
“Which was?” Buck asked, dropping some trail biscuits on a flat rock to warm and dumping potatoes in with the pork.
“I drew up contracts for us all,” Ezra admitted finally.
Vin was confused now by Ezra’s caution in telling his tale. “What does that have to do with birthdays?”
Ezra watched Buck carefully, like he thought he’d know the answer for his skittishness. “To write them up properly, I told the judge I required vital statistics on each of you.”
“Son of a bitch, Ezra!” Buck ground out. “What the hell were you thinking, sticking your nose in like that?”
Vin looked between them, not understanding what exactly they meant by vital statistics. Must be some government paperwork thing again. He never did understand that stuff. Indian way was much easier. Make a pact, keep to it, kill the other guy if he broke it. Contracts and such just gave him a headache.
“We all revealed a surprising amount of our lives on the trip back from the Seminole village—“
“We did,” Buck countered, his anger rising. “I don’t remember you saying much of interest.”
Ezra nodded his agreement there. Vin remembered that Ezra had mostly watched on that ride back. At the time, he’d just thought maybe Ezra was still feeling guilty about running out on ‘em.
“At any rate,” Ezra continued. “I did not feel that there was any harm in compiling the information.”
Buck's fists clenched at his sides. “If anyone had been looking for inquiries on Vin—“
Vin tensed. That was the problem. If a query about him had come out of Four Corners, it would’ve let people know pretty much exactly where he was.
Ezra snorted. “Mr. Wilmington, give me some credit, please.” He sighed. “Having already learned of Mr. Tanner’s history and his situation, I simply asked the judge to provide the information I needed on the rest of you and informed him that, being an orphan who had been raised by savages, Mr. Tanner’s information would no doubt be unavailable, and therefore unnecessary.”
“Was all unnecessary and you know it, Ezra,” Buck bit back at him. “You used that information to check up on us, didn’t you? To find out about us! Don’t need to know everything about a man to write up a God damned work contract!”
Ezra sat real still for a minute, like he was frozen under Buck’s angry glare.
He finally took a deep breath and said quietly, “But I did need to find out enough to feel I could trust the men I was going to be riding with in such undeniably perilous straits.”
Buck stood a minute, holding Ezra’s eyes and thinking on it. “We didn’t need that stuff to trust you,” he replied, almost like he was confused. “Even after you disappeared on us.”
Ezra’s chin dropped to his chest. Hell, why’d he bring that up again? Ezra’d paid his dues on that, and Buck knew it. Maybe Buck was just confused because he trusted so easy. Ezra weren’t never gonna be that way, and they all had to deal with it.
Vin reckoned Buck knew that too, though—just took him a minute to remember.
About the time Vin figured Ezra was gonna either let it go or saddle up Chaucer and take off, Buck chuckled ruefully.
“Hell, Ezra, must've found what you were looking for, since you stuck around. Guess if I had a ma like yours, I wouldn’t trust a damn thing I saw, either,” he said, as if that closed the matter.
“Thank you,” Ezra whispered.
Buck came over and clapped a hand on Ezra’s shoulder, dragging him toward the fire. “Come on, now, I gotta eat up and get in to town.”
Vin remembered the discussion he’d heard when he woke during the night. “I can ride.” They both looked at him like he was raving. “It ain’t gonna be fast, and I expect it won't be pretty, but I’d rather be in the saddle than lying here in the dirt.” He shrugged. "Hell, I'll be miserable either way, but at least I'll be getting closer to my bed."
"Is that what you call that ratty bedroll in your wagon?" Ezra came back over and laid a hand on his head. “He is much cooler,” he admitted.
“Nathan’s gonna kill us if he keels over on the way back, though,” Buck reminded them all. Nathan. Hell—he was gonna stick him in that sick room of his and pour that horse piss down his throat. Hurt was one thing, and Vin didn’t mind Nathan tending to him then, but being sick was something a man did in the privacy of his own wagon.
“Then we will endeavour to prevent that from happening,” Ezra said, seeing something in Vin’s eyes and grinning at it. The man understood what it was to want to get home. Funny, coming from a man who claimed he didn’t have one.
“Well all right, then,” Buck agreed easily. Vin figured he didn’t want to slog all the way back here with a wagon anyway. “Let’s eat up and strike camp.”
* * * *
Vin had to admit, the bed in Nathan’s clinic was softer than the bedroll in his wagon—even if he did have to suffer through the potions that were supposed to bring his fever down and clear out the ague in his stomach and such. Stuff was enough to make you get well in self defense.
It had taken them his whole birthday and near to dusk the day after to get back to town, and Vin was feeling purely awful by the time they got there. His fever had been riding him up and down the whole trip, so sometimes he was doing fine and others he was barely sitting his horse. Still, he never did get off his head like they said he was that first day, so he figured he wasn't too bad off. Nathan couldn't find anything horrible wrong, neither--the healer took him upstairs immediately and hemmed and hawed but finally just rolled him into the bed with a cup of feverfew tea for his headache and an order to sleep. Only reason he was in the clinic at all was because Nathan didn’t want him to catch a deeper chill in his wagon.
A full day of slumber, and Vin was actually feeling a good bit better, if not quite ready to head out to the saloon for the night. The guys had been in and out a bit, but had mostly left him to sleep, and as the sun went down, he found himself bored and hungry and wishing for company.
Like they’d heard the thoughts, Buck and Chris walked in quiet, Buck holding a tray of food. Chris grinned at him, seeing he was awake.
“You look like crap,” he offered, helping Vin sit up and setting up Nathan’s lap tray across his legs. A bowl of soup with chicken and carrots floating in it was put down, along with a fresh buttered biscuit.
“I figured by now, you’d’ve gnawed through the bedframe from hunger, so I got Mr. Yardley to hand over some of his chicken soup.” Buck fussed like the mother hen he was. “Thought your gut might be okay with that.”
Vin ignored the way his hand shook some as he brought the spoon to his lips. It was good—beat Ezra’s rabbit broth hands down. “Figure I won’t bring it all back up, anyway, so that’s something,” he offered with a grin.
“Reckon it's gonna be a couple of days before you’re up for a party,” Chris said quietly, holding out a large package. “Happy birthday, though. A little late.” The last was said with a twinkle in his eye. Vin figured Ezra must have caught Chris that first night he was back and told him about the date before Chris had a chance to tell everyone the one they'd picked the night of JD's party. At least he hoped so—though he could always use another birthday.
Vin took the package and opened it, nodding his thanks to Buck as he moved the tray out of danger. The rifle scabbard was buffalo, not cowhide, and broke in without being anywhere near to used up. It was bleached almost white and had a beaded design on it that Vin easily recognized as Kiowa.
It was beautiful.
“Where’d you get it?” he asked quietly, running his hands along it, allowing memories of the village women working their beads to wash over him soft and gentle.
“Chanu said they had a ‘big trade’ with some other Indians,” Chris admitted. “He thought of you when he saw it. Offered it up for a fair price.” Vin looked at him carefully, wondering what the trade was. Chris grinned to let him know he’d never know the answer. “If I had to see you jamming your rifle back into that piece of cowhide crap of yours one more time, I’d have to shoot you.”
Was damned annoying, that was for sure. Vin grinned his thanks.
He looked up at Buck, who was waiting about as patiently as he ever did. “What’d you get me?” he asked, sounding as greedy as Ezra could, though it was all in fun. “Better not be your coffee.” Chris looked confused by the comment, but Vin figured he owed him for the cryptic ‘fair price’ mystery.
Buck never did put much stock in ribbons and wrappings, 'less the present was for a lady friend. He just grinned and handed over a leather cylinder, about eight inches long, a couple around. Had a clasp on one end and a flat bottom on the other and the inside was lined in red velvet. Vin looked at it curiously, wondering. He’d see one of the army lookouts with a case like this.
“For your spyglass,” Buck confirmed, smiling proudly. “Sick of you whining about scratching the damn thing in your saddlebags all the time.”
“And you want to make sure he’s got a clear view to watch your ass when he needs to,” Chris added.
“Well, of course, that.” Buck chuckled.
Vin studied the glass case again. Were new, finely worked. Probably cost Buck a fair bit. Which reminded him. “Hey Buck—you grab me my coat?”
Buck did, and Vin dug through, pulling out his drawstring. He picked out a couple of coins and tossed them to Buck.
“Not that I ain’t gonna take it,” Buck assured him, pocketing the money, “but what the hell was that for?”
“You won a bet.” Vin smiled at his confusion and said nothing more.
Vin slept some after Chris and Buck left, but he’d been sleeping for a day and a half now, and he was bound to run out of tired eventually. Dead of night found him wide awake, staring at the moon through the curtains.
He looked over at the table, and the gifts piled there. Josiah had given him a dreamcatcher for his wagon and Nathan had given him a nice knife to keep there, too—not a fighting knife, but something for using at home. JD had bought him a new belt. Boy sure was queer about his presents.
Lord, he was gonna run out of room in his wagon soon—living in town seemed to mean collecting a lot of stuff. No, he corrected. Having friends was what got you to collecting.
Footfalls on the stairs outside had him tensing, ‘til he realized they were light and easy, like a fox. True to his instinct, Ezra poked his head in the door silently, smiling when he saw Vin wide awake on the bed.
“Mr. Tanner,” he greeted quietly, mindful of Nathan sleeping in the back room. “I thought perhaps I would check on you before I sought my own bed.” His grinned turned sympathetic. “I assumed you might have had enough of sleeping for the time being.”
“I done a fair amount of it, that’s for sure,” Vin agreed. Ezra looked right proud of himself. “Good night at the tables?”
“Deplorable,” Ezra moaned, taking his hat off and setting it on the table by the door. “I would give my eye teeth for one reasonable mark in this little burg.” He sighed. “There’s always tomorrow’s stage, I suppose.”
“So why’re you looking like the cat that ate the canary, then?”
Ezra pretended surprise—badly—which meant he was just having fun. If he’d done something wrong, he’d’ve covered it better. “Mr. Tanner, are you saying—“
“Course I am,” Vin interrupted. “What’re you up to?”
Ezra reached a hand into his coat and drew out a fine-made piece of paper. He unfolded it and handed it to Vin, who took it nervously, glad he could pass his shaking hands off on his still being sick. It looked right official, with the seal of Texas on it. Shit, he hoped he wasn't going to be expected to read it.
“I know you have little need for your birth certificate as a general rule,” Ezra said, saving him from humiliating himself. “I thought, however, that you might have a desire for it, anyway.”
Huh. His birth certificate. It would show his ma and his pa... This here paper told everyone who he was. Proved he was a Tanner.
“Was a right nice thing for you to do, Ezra,” he said finally, folding the paper up, wishing he could read it for himself. “Sorry I tore into you for it, right there at the beginning.”
Ezra showed his gold in a smile that rang a little false, though Vin figured it was just a leftover hurt from his own lashing out at the gambler. “It was understandable. A man’s business is his own.”
Vin shook his head. “Most times,” he agreed. A smile stole over him. “Sometimes he don’t even know what his business is ‘til he has a sneaky bastard to show it to him.”
“Sneaky, but right nice,” Ezra murmured, standing silently. “I must find my feather bed, my friend. Chris has insisted that someone take your early patrol, since the ranchers keep complaining about possible horse thieves." He sniffed. "Abominable horse thieves, they must be—None of the ranches has lost a horse yet." He shrugged, as if to say that was what they all got for becoming lawmen. He slipped his hat back on his head; tipped it with a smile. "Happy birthday, Vin.”
“Thanks, Ezra.”
He watched his friend sneak right back out, just as silent as he come in. A flash of memory hit him: his mother’s hand on his stomach, testing for fever in her own special way. A birthday he remembered not remembering. He’d recovered in time to be five years and one week old, and a couple of months after, his ma had started ill…
He guessed he’d sort of lost a truth about himself back then. He didn’t know his ma’s family—his pa had died when she was pregnant with him—so he was shoved off to an orphanage and his birthday, his vital statistics, were forgotten. He’d been too busy surviving to care, really. Almost nobody in the orphanage celebrated a birthday. It only reminded ‘em of what they didn’t have, so why bother?
But his friends bothered. Chris had tried to give him a birthday—any sort of birthday. Ezra had taken a chance trip and ferreted out the real one… Though Vin sort of wondered how chance the trip really was. That gambler was like damn Coyote when he wanted to be.
He opened the birth certificate again, studying the fine whorls and swoops of writing. His past, right there in ink.
Maybe when he was twenty-nine, he’d be able to read it proper.
* * *
The End