It Killed The Cat
By Brate
Chris Larabee watched his best friend enter the Saloon, glance around, and exit immediately. The blond gunslinger was sitting in the back corner, able to keep an eye on the place. He knew the tracker had seen him, but still retreated. Curious, but not concerned, the blond returned to his whiskey.
Within a few moments, he saw Tanner peek over the edge of the swinging doors, and then he was gone again. Now the leader was intrigued. It'd been quiet for a couple weeks, very little going on: Ezra was currently attempting, unsuccessfully, to engage townspeople in a game of chance at the center table in the Saloon; Nathan was spending most of his time at the village with Rain; Josiah was working on his church; and JD and Buck were driving each other crazy over at the sheriff's office. Vin Tanner had been out wandering the wilderness, coming in every few days to 'check in.'
Larabee could be a patient man, except when it came to mysteries. And at the moment, his sharpshooter was acting damn mysterious. When the tracker peeked again, the gunslinger rose, quickly crossing the bar, and started to head out the batwing doors. When he was flush against them, the man who had piqued his interest ran through them. Unfortunately he didn't look prior to his entrance, which resulted in the unofficial leader down on his official ass.
Vin's eyes grew huge with shock, and, for the first time since Chris had known him, fear. Then, looking down on his friend, sitting on his keister in a dust pile, the lean man erupted in laughter.
"It ain't funny, Tanner. Help me up," the gunslinger ordered, reaching up an arm. His friend grabbed it and yanked him up, still shaking with mirth.
"Knock it off," the dark clad man growled. One glare around the barroom made it certain that the tracker was the only man who found Larabee's fall amusing, or at least showed his amusement. Chris turned Vin around and shoved him out the Saloon's doors. Once through, he passed his friend and started to march toward the jailhouse.
Vin quickly followed, finally able to contain his laughter. "C'mon Chris, you weren't hurt." The leader kept walking. "The only thing bruised was yer ego." Again, no verbal reply, excepting the ringing of spurs on the wooden planks. "What the hell were ya doing anyway? I thought you was drinking in the corner."
This question garnered a response. "Hell, yes, I was," the blond practically shouted, turning to face his friend at last. "Until some scrawny, shaggy, ex-bounty hunter started his rendition of 'peek-a-boo'."
At this the tracker lowered his head, partially hiding his face with his long brown hair. "Oh, that."
"Yes, 'that.' What in the hell were you doing?" The two were drawing close to the jail, and Chris could see Peso, Vin's horse, tied up outside.
"Checking," the tracker responded softly.
"Checking?"
"Yep, checking."
"Checking what?"
"Huh?"
"I said, 'checking what'?"
"Checking to see if it was time." Tanner untied the horse from the hitching post.
At this the gunslinger sighed heavily. "Time for what?" he asked his friend, as Vin mounted Peso.
"Time for you to fall on yer ass," grinned Tanner as he spurred his horse to ride. "Reckon it was," he shouted over his shoulder.
Larabee watched his retreating friend, secure in the knowledge that the smartass tracker would return within a few days; he could wait.
He smiled in anticipation.
