“Don’t even think about moving that trigger finger or you’re dead.”

Ezra’s entire body tensed at the threat. His instinct was to drop his weapon and cower on the floor in a defensive posture, but he resisted the urge with his entire being. Could he give up so easily after all he’d done? The fiery determination that had led him to overcome such impossible odds burned brighter within him now more than ever.

He had made it. Every obstacle, every challenge, had threatened to stop him. Threatened to crush his spirit and leave him dead. Whether it be physically, psychologically, or spiritually. He had every opportunity to surrender, to take the easy way out, to give up. And he refused every single time. But maybe this time was different. Maybe his decisions had finally caught up with him. Maybe this was the end of the long road. Maybe this time he would die.

In fact, he had no doubt that if he even dared to make any sudden movement, he would be killed in an instant. John Wexler -- one of the greatest gunslingers in the West -- was aiming down his sights, directly into Ezra’s exposed back. There was no way he could turn and fire before he was gunned down. The pain of surrendering now, was excruciating, but he saw no other way. Despite this knowledge, he couldn’t bring himself to give up. He had to at least try. Ezra considered his options for a moment. He thought – as insane as it might sound—that perhaps he could reason with the man.

Sure, he was a stone-cold, emotionless killer, but at least he wasn’t sadistic like Callais.

“I don’t want any trouble.” Ezra said, his voice trembling. “I’m here to help my friend.” If Ezra’s plea had any effect on the bounty hunter, his tone did not reflect it.

“You’ve been charged with the crime of theft and a bounty has been placed on your head. You’re coming with me.”

Ezra sighed in frustration. “Like I said, I don’t want any trouble. I don’t take issue in coming with you… sir. I just need to help my friend first.”

Ezra waited with bated breath for the bounty hunter’s response.

“By your “friend” I assume you mean the dead man inside that shoddy tomb? We don’t have time for a burial service. This is as good a burial as he’s gonna get. Now drop your weapon.”

Ezra turned his head to look back at the bounty hunter. “De—Dead?” he said, attempting to swallow, his dry throat making it nearly impossible. “Did… did you see him?”

Wexler leveled the pistol at Ezra to emphasize he meant business. “I saw enough.”

Ezra was silent for a moment. Attempting to process his words. “Are you sure, did you check his pulse?”

Wexler scoffed. “I’ve been in this business a long time, son. I know a dead man when I see one.”

Ezra couldn’t accept this. He wouldn’t believe it until he saw it with his own eyes. “Please, he said, his voice trembling. “Please just let me check him. I have to know… I have to.” His voice was barely above a whisper now and had become even more unstable than before. He sounded as if he were on the verge of tears.

“I’m sorry, but you have to see this from my perspective. I’ve been here before. I’ve seen every trick in the trick bag and heard every sob story in the book. I’m not sure what you’ve got up your sleeve, but I’m not about to let you pull one over on me. This is not a negotiation. I’ve got you under my gun. Do yourself I favor and surrender while you’re still breathing.”

Ezra knew Wexler was right. He was playing with fire. He was incredibly fortunate that the man didn’t simply gun him down where he stood. More than likely, the bounty hunter would receive the same pay whether Ezra came back dead or alive. And Ezra knew deep down that it was impossible for him to overpower someone who did this kind of work professionally and still lived to tell the tale. It was over. Wexler had him dead to rights.

But none of that seemed to matter. Not now. The hardship, the danger, and even the impossibility of victory, meant nothing compared to the bond of brotherhood and loyalty to his friend. He wouldn’t just abandon him if there was even the slightest chance of hope. He had to distract Wexler, he had to get him to let his guard down. He knew he was on dangerous ground, but he decided to change the subject. He turned his head to catch a glimpse of him over his shoulder.

“How did you find me? How did you know I would be here?”

Wexler made a strange sound as if he were stifling a laugh. “This ain’t my first rodeo cowboy, and it won’t be my last.” His tone was usually unreadable, but this time he seemed almost insulted by the question.

Ezra put his hands out wide, gesturing with his head. “I don’t doubt your skill my friend. Not for a second. You have quite the reputation in fact.” Wexler seemed to relax ever so slightly at the remark. Or at least from what Ezra could see out of the corner of one eye. Though he may have only imagined it out of sheer desperation or delusion.

“So I’ve heard,” Wexler responded dryly. “You’re smart to be afraid, but for someone so smart, you sure are acting pretty dumb right now. I don’t know how much you’ve heard about me, but I can almost guarantee you haven’t heard me to be a man of infinite patience. Now, have you?”

Ezra gulped, a shockwave of fear rippling through his body. He stared down at the dirt and exhaled slowly, fighting to gain control of his nerves. “No sir. That I have not heard.”

The bounty hunter nodded as if that was exactly what he expected to hear. “Look son, I’ve entertained your silly games long enough. I’m a man of duty. And I don’t typically get personally involved. But I’m not a soulless hired hand either. I have my code.”

Wexler let the statement hang in the air, giving it time to sink in. Then he shifted in his saddle, looking pensive.

“What you done… I can’t say it was wrong. Of course, I can’t say it was right neither. I know why you done it. And though most men in my position think it of little value, I know that the why, matters. You’re lucky I got to you first. I won’t murder you in cold blood, but I have to uphold the law. A jury will decide your fate. Justice is in God’s hands now. May he have mercy on your soul.”

Ezra gave a weak nod. “I understand… and I appreciate your kindness. All I’m asking for is the dignity one offers any human being who’s lost a loved one. At least let me say my goodbyes.”

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

Wexler leveled the gun again, shaking his head. “I’m sorry son, that I cannot allow. You’re welcome to say a silent prayer for his soul, but you will drop your weapon and surrender to me. I’m not a heartless man, but I will kill you if I have to… If you force my hand. This is your final warning.”

Ezra struggled to gain control of his body. The sheer terror of confronting his mortality, causing him to visibly shake. But it wasn’t that fact alone that had this effect. It was the mental battle before him. The choice to flee or to fight. He slowly lifted his hands high above his head and paused. He stood as the barrage of thoughts swirled in a blistering torrent inside his mind. He fought to calm the storm. Ezra’s next move would determine if he lived or died. He finally let go, allowing the gun to slip from his fingers.

Time slowed to a crawl as he inhaled sharply, and he seemed to be watching it fall from his hand in slow motion. This gave him time to think, time to realize what he was giving up and time to reignite the fire of determination within him. His decision not only affected his own life, but also potentially determined Vincent’s fate. He had an insane thought… then he acted on it.

As the gun was in midair -- his hands extended in a posture of surrender -- he spun, his shooting hand still extended in surrender, while simultaneously reaching out and snatching the revolver rapidly with his offhand as it fell. His offhand was hidden against his body until he completed his spin and before Wexler had time to see the gun in his hand, Ezra pulled back the hammer, aimed it at Wexler, and fired.

###

Ezra waited expectantly for Wexler to fall off his horse. Then he would get the man’s gun and tend to his wound. He hadn’t gone for a kill shot, just a shoulder shot to disarm him. Unfortunately for Ezra, the victory he awaited, never came. The next thing he knew, he was on the ground screaming in agony. Excruciating pain throbbing in his hand.

“I’ll kill you,” Ezra screamed. Clutching his wound.

Suddenly, they heard a low growl, and Buster burst from the barricade, sprinting toward Ezra. Buster stopped, taking a defensive posture between Ezra and Wexler. Then he growled at the hunter, baring his teeth. Ezra could sense that Buster was on the verge of attack.

“Call off your hound or I’ll have to put him down.” Wexler said, his tone businesslike.

Ezra knew he wasn’t bluffing. He rushed to calm Buster down. “It’s okay boy. Down, boy. Down.”

Ezra shifted to pet Buster, which sent a fresh shock of pain coursing through his hand and down his arm. “I’ll kill you.” He shouted again. “You blew a hole in my hand!”

Wexler cocked the pistol again. Wary of both Ezra and the hound. “When it’s all said and done, you’ll thank me in yer prayers. I could have blown a hole in your head.”

Still rolling on the ground in pain, Ezra took a moment to glower up at Wexler, pure hatred in his eyes. “I’m feeling mighty lucky.” he spat, through gritted teeth.

Wexler shook his head. “Again, my kindness goes unrecognized. You know, there was a time when people had manners. Now it’s ingrates all around.”

Ezra managed a pained laugh. “I’m so sorry for the injury I have caused your precious heart.” he said, his voice dripping with both irony and disdain.

Wexler smiled. “You know, Ezra. You remind me of myself when I was younger. If we weren’t at such odds, I might actually like you. Too bad you’re nothing but a thorn in my side.”

Ezra nodded. “Likewise.”

Ezra put his head down in the dirt, still clutching his bloodied hand. Wexler took the opportunity to dismount. Still training his gun periodically on Ezra, then Buster.

“I’m serious about killing your mutt, understand me?”

Ezra lifted his head momentarily, nodding.

“Don’t get any funny ideas now. I know you’re in pain but you’re still alive. Remember that. Your status could change in a heartbeat. See that gun there?” He asked, pointing to Ezra’s revolver that lay on the ground nearby.

"I need you to kick that toward me and back away." Ezra did as he was instructed. Though the task was rather difficult in his awkward position, a situation that was only exacerbated by his wound. Wexler stepped forward cautiously, his gun still trained on Buster. He bared his teeth again, his growling becoming more intense as Wexler drew near.

“It’s okay,” Ezra said. Petting Buster again. “Just stay calm.” Wexler retrieved the weapon, adding it to his gun belt. Then made his way back to his horse. He dug around in his pack for something, then he returned, a leather satchel in hand, and stood before Ezra.

“Let me see your hand,” he said.

Ezra stared back at him suspiciously. Wexler waited; his expression unreadable. Ezra slowly lifted his hand, showing it to Wexler.

“Hmmm. I know it doesn’t feel like it, but you got lucky. The bullet went clean through. Looks like it missed any major arteries. No shrapnel, and you won’t bleed to death. No need for amputation. You might even have the use of your hand once it heals.”

Ezra simply laughed. It was a stifled, cynical, sound. One cut short by the pain. Ezra didn’t say anything else, but Wexler was pretty sure he had a good idea what he might be thinking.

“Here,” he said. Pulling a bandage from his satchel and tossing it at Ezra’s feet.

“Wrap it up with this.” Ezra took the bandage with his good hand, moving to wrap up his wound.

“Wait.” Wexler said. He dug in his satchel again and produced a bottle of whiskey.

"Clean it with this first."

Ezra, reached up and took the bottle. Then he popped the cork and took a long drink. Wexler smiled. After Ezra had his fill, he poured the whiskey on his open wound. The pain shot through his hand like a bolt of lightning. The sting lingering long after. His hand felt like he was holding it in the heart of a burning flame. Ezra let out an agonizing scream. Buster whimpered at his side.

“It’s okay boy,” Ezra said, his voice low and raspy. “I’m still alive.”

Wexler took off his duster and inspected the wound on his shoulder. There was a fair amount of blood, but the bullet never actually entered him.

“You nicked me.” He said to Ezra.

Ezra looked up from his suffering, relieved to have a distraction. “Does it hurt?” Ezra asked earnestly.

Wexler nodded. “It stings something fierce.”

This time it was Ezra who smiled.

“I’m only sorry I didn’t do worse.”

Unexpectedly, Wexler let out a low chuckle in response. A smile flashed briefly across his face, lingering only for a moment, then the mirth vanished as quickly as it had appeared. His expression returning to the blank, unreadable, slate that was Wexler’s typical demeanor.

“I have to give it to you Ezra, that was one of the slickest moves I’ve ever seen. If it had been anybody else, it probably would have worked.”

Ezra gave him a forced smile. “Well, thanks for the consolation.”

Wexler looked back at him; his expression serious.

“No, I mean it. That was no small feat. You’re the only man who has ever shot me and lived to tell it.”

Ezra’s looked back at him in disbelief. Waiting for Wexler to elaborate. He never did.

“Hurry up and finish wrapping up your hand. We’re heading back right now.”

Ezra studied him. Mentally battling with whether to risk bringing up Vincent again. Wexler seemed to anticipate his thoughts.

“I’m only going to say this once Ezra. Don’t make the mistake of thinking we’re friends. I’m the law, and you’re the criminal. I’m the captor and you’re the captive. Now get that hand bandaged or we’ll be leaving with your wound just the way it is.”

Ezra nodded slowly. Continuing to wrap his hand. Wexler mounted his horse again and rode off. Ezra stood there confused, wondering if he would return. Wrapping up his hand had taken all of twenty seconds. Wexler returned a moment later with Duke.

“Hop on.” he said. Ezra mounted without argument. “You ride in front.” He said, his hand resting on his gun for emphasis. Ezra complied, pulling out in front of Wexler and falling into a slow trot.

“You’re hound coming?” Wexler asked.

Ezra looked back bewildered; searching for Buster. He saw the hound waiting outside Vincent’s tomb, with his head down and his tail between his legs. Whimpering softly.

Ezra whistled. “C’mon boy.”

Buster hesitated, whimpering more loudly this time. Ezra called again, this time with clear agitation in his voice.

“Buster, let’s go!” Buster whined again, but reluctantly obeyed. Loping up to Ezra’s side. Ezra looked back, staring at Vincent’s tomb with a deep sense of loss and regret.

“I’m sorry brother,” he whispered.

Wexler motioned him forward, his expression impatient. Ezra met his gaze with a curious expression.

“Why did you let me live?” he asked. Genuinely baffled. Wexler opened his mouth as if to speak but said nothing. Then motioned for Ezra to move again.

They rode off into the night, leaving Vincent behind.