To Prove a Worth

By KellyA

This story would never have been completed if not for the remarkable editing abilities of NotTasha.

Chris Larabee paused within the entrance to the saloon, allowing his eyes to adjust to the gloom. The dimly lit tavern offered a false sense of relief from the scorching heat of the mid-July day. The darkly clad lawman squeezed the hard wood of the bat-wing doors as his eyes scanned the open room, noting several men slouched over drinks, waiting for the coolness of night. Chris' suspicious gaze passed over the regulars and narrowed on three strangers crouched over a bottle of whiskey at a far table. He didn't like the look of them; unfortunately, he couldn't arrest someone because of a bad feeling. Spotting Buck and Vin at the bar, he stepped into the saloon, allowing the doors to flap shut. He shifted his gaze to the right to see Ezra sitting at his table playing a game of solitaire. The heat wave was stifling anyone's desire to play cards with the cardsharp.

A wave of quiet followed as Chris strode across the floor. He came alongside Buck who turned around and leaned his back against the bar. Vin turned to the side, picking up his beer. Buck took notice of his old friend's dour mood and didn't think it had anything to do with the prevailing heat wave.

"What's wrong, hoss?" Buck asked, grabbing his quickly warming beer and taking a healthy swallow.

Chris pulled a yellow piece of paper from his shirt pocket. He stared at the missive. "Got a message from Nate." Chris dropped the note on the bar and sighed heavily. Nathan, Josiah and JD had gone to a Kiowa village two days north to check out some of the children who had become ill. "It's Harker's Fever."

Buck's face fell and Vin bowed his head. Ezra halted his play at the mention of the serious and potentially deadly disease. His thoughts went immediately to the children. He had gone to the village a couple weeks ago, passing out his cache of candy, much to Chaucer's dismay. He thought of the young brave named Chanto, who acted much older than his nine years. He had lost both his parents and was taking care of himself and younger sister. Ezra had surreptitiously left the young man supplies, placing them in Chanto's makeshift abode.

"Aww, hell," Buck moaned. He knew all about Harker's Fever. It had killed more of his fellow compatriots during the war than any bullets. "Damn, how did they get that?"

"Nate thinks the Army gave the Indians some infected blankets," the blond leader explained. "No, he doesn't think it was on purpose," Chris continued, seeing Vin stiffen. "The Army didn't realize the blankets were infected. Several soldiers died at the fort where they came from after the blankets were distributed."

The long-haired tracker chewed the inside of his cheek not so sure the Army was innocent. There was no reason to harm the Kiowa tribe; they weren't on land that anybody would want, and they were peaceful, mostly old men, women, children and a few braves who hunted food for them.

"What's Nate gonna do?" Vin asked.

"The Army is sending medicine here first thing in the morning," Chris explained. "Nate wants someone to bring it out. The medicine ain't foolproof so he wants someone who's had the fever and survived."

"That's a pretty tall order, Chris," Vin replied. "I don't know anyone who survived." He had heard of whole tribes wiped out by the fever.

"There were a couple who did in my unit, but it messed up their brains," Buck added.

"We're going to have to scour the town and surrounding area and see if we can find someone," Chris exclaimed, not holding out much hope.

"That could take awhile," Buck added. "We don't have much time that fever kills pretty fast."

The three regulators turned at the sound of Ezra's chair scraping the floor. The fancy dressed gambler slowly stood as he pocketed his cards. "Gentlemen, there is no need to comb or inconvenience the town. I will take the medicine."

Buck's jaw dropped and Chris stared at the cardsharp suspiciously. Vin smirked and leaned back in his chair. The gambler never ceased to surprise them.

Ezra ignored the looks of disbelief and suspicion. He knew he deserved them. He had let them down, twice. Ezra bowed his head and felt the twinge of regret once more eat at him. Everyone had been grateful to him for saving Mrs. Travis from the assassin's bullet. He had unintentionally saved the day again, but the reason he was at the right spot at the right time had come to light. He had been about to steal the money left from another assassin. He had every intention of riding out of town, and leaving the others to rectify the political commotion that had taken over the small town. He had been running out on them again, just like he did at the Seminole village, almost getting them killed. The other lawmen had remained amiable enough, but Ezra sensed the underlying current of distrust, especially from Nathan and Chris.

"And why would I let you do that?" Larabee asked, not hiding his mistrust, but an underlay of curiosity was also evident. It was a hard two-day ride through some of the harshest territory. Why would the civilized southerner subject himself to that unless he had an ulterior motive?

Standish didn't know why he felt the need to do this. He'd never felt the desire or need to prove his reliability before. Since taking up service with the six other gunslingers he realized that he desperately wanted to be accepted and trusted. "My horse is the fastest," Ezra replied.

Vin and Buck both smirked in agreement.

Ezra grinned in knowing appreciation, and then cleared his throat to continue, "And I've had Harker's Fever and, as you can see, survived."

Buck's eyes widen at the declaration. Vin just thought it was one more thing they now knew about the guarded conman. Chris showed no outward sign of his astonishment. He was still trying to process the fact that the cultured conman was actually volunteering to be away from his feathered bed and the gaming tables.

The cardsharp straightened his jacket and remained outwardly composed, although inside his stomach was twisting in knots. Why was he putting himself in a position of trust? He allowed Chris' gaze to measure him.

The gunslinger's blue eyes darkened as he glared warily at the gambler, trying to detect an ulterior motive or any deceit under his placid demeanor and fancy clothes. Chris had been surprisingly grateful to the southerner for saving Mary Travis. Ezra had run out on them, twice, even though he did return on both occasions. Chris frowned. What if Ezra ran across a gold mine, or decided he could make a profit selling the medicine? How many Indians would die? He was not comfortable with this, but the cardsharp had made two good points, and they didn't have a lot of time. Ezra was good at hiding his true feelings, and his true self. Chris only hoped he was right in his recent thinking that the cardsharp was more than the arrogant charlatan he at times portrayed.

Chris pushed back his hat and released a long held breath, before reluctantly replying, "You leave as soon as the medicine arrives in the morning."

Standish nodded and picked up his hat. "I believe I'll go and prepare for tomorrow's sojourn."

Buck's eyes followed the red-clad back up the stairs. He was also still coming to grips that Ezra Standish had just volunteered. He liked the urbane gambler, he just wasn't sure he trusted him enough to risk a whole village.

"You think this is a good idea?" Buck quietly asked, turning around to face the bar.

"What choice do we got?" Chris replied, nodding at the bartender as a beer was placed in front of him. He downed the warm brew, hoping to wash away some of his doubt.

"Maybe one of us should go with him," Buck absently said, rolling his empty glass between his palms.

Chris chewed his bottom lip. "Nah, Nate doesn't want to risk anybody else and one man can travel faster and anyway..." Chris paused not sure what he wanted to say. "I think Ezra would take offense if we suggested it."

Vin nodded his agreement.

Buck peered over his shoulder at the top of the stairs then back at Chris. He hated what he was about to say, but the words needed to come out. "You know medicine can be worth a lot of money to some people. What if he runs out on us again?" Buck awkwardly exclaimed, chagrin flashing in his dark eyes as he bit his tongue.

"I'll hunt him down and kill him," Chris said matter-of-factly.

"Why is he doing this?" Buck asked.

"To prove something," Vin replied.

"What?" Buck asked.

Vin shrugged his shoulders. "I doubt even Ezra knows."

Vin had heard the talk around town; outwardly the townspeople thanked the gambler for saving Mrs. Travis, behind his back they condemned him for trying to steal the money and ride out. Ezra made it hard for anyone to trust him; it was easier to keep people at arms-length than to risk getting hurt. Ezra harbored a fragile heart that was crushed one too many times, and that he now fiercely protected. As much as the others didn't trust the southerner, Ezra didn't trust them either. Oh, he trusted the six lawmen to watch his back in a gunfight, but when it came to his heart, that was a whole 'nother matter.

Vin believed there was a man worth knowing hiding behind that protective façade and he was glad that Chris was giving Ezra another chance to prove himself.

The three lawmen shared another beer and discussed the change in duties with Ezra and the others gone, they then headed out.

The three strangers that Chris had taken an immediate dislike to watched as the regulators walked out of the saloon.

Jake Monroe grinned, and downed the last of his beer, wiping his mouth on his sleeve. He was a lanky, middle-aged man who had given up on his farm and now scratched out a living doing whatever came his way. "Did you hear that?" Jake whispered across the table.

"Yeah, so what?" Pete Unger replied, leaning his slight frame back in his chair. His mousy brown hair hung over his eyes. Unger was a drifter who had run into Jake on the road. The two had realized they had a lot in common.

Jake rolled his eyes at his partner's ignorance. "That medicine would be worth a fortune," he explained.

"Medicine? You're kiddin' me, right," Pete exclaimed, his outburst of disbelief garnering some unwanted attention from several patrons.

Jake glared at his cohort. "Why don't you just go and tell Larabee that we're wanted men."

Pete slumped down in his chair and lowered his voice, "Sorry, but shouldn't we be robbing a stagecoach or something? Ain't no money in medicine."

"You don't know nothing," Jake exclaimed. "We'll make a mint off of it. There's folks who'll pay big money for it."

A third man who sat across from Jake scratched at a scraggly black beard. He was heavyset, weighing more than both his associates. He went by the name Swan and had a cruel look and demeanor that Jake and Pete thought would come in handy.

Swan's dark hooded eyes seemed to sink deeper into their sockets as his brow furrowed. "How much you think?"

"Not sure," Jake replied, "but if Harker's Fever spreads any town will pay top dollar."

Swan's face glowed with malicious intent.

"It sounds like there's only going to be one lawman watching it," Pete added. "It'll be easy."

Swan smiled, showing a mouth full of rotten teeth. "I like easy."

"We could ambush him near Devil's rock," Jake said, as he began devising a plan. They could find a town close to the Fort that feared the disease or maybe even had the sickness that would help to raise the fee. People would pay anything to save their skins.

"What if'n that gambler fellow won't give up the medicine?" Pete abruptly asked.

Jake rolled his eyes at Pete's naiveté. "Don't matter. We'll take it from him, alive or dead," Jake chuckled.

"I like dead," Swan added with a smile.

tbc