Wexler hunkered down by the fire, sipping his homemade acid. While Ezra lay there wishing for more food and an extra blanket. He didn’t much care for the wind. It wasn’t bad, but it certainly didn’t help the situation. Though it was relatively mild, it was relentless. Slowly, the wind did its work, and Ezra soon found himself chattering. The one good thing about not being comfortable was that he wouldn’t have to worry about falling asleep. This time, darkness was his ally and falling asleep was probably his greatest pitfall. Knowing this made the chill far easier to bear.
“I just have to outlast him. Eventually he’ll fall asleep and then I’ll have my chance.” Ezra just had to stay quiet, not draw any attention and let Wexler’s fatigue do the work for him. “That whiskey isn’t doing him any favors either.” It seemed out of character for Wexler to be taking a risk with that much alcohol. Imbibing to such a degree and becoming inebriated could leave him vulnerable. Especially when he had a prisoner to keep an eye on.
Something about it didn’t sit right with Ezra, but then on the other hand, maybe it would work in his favor. He wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth. He decided it wouldn’t change anything. He would go about his plans with the utmost caution and if Wexler’s drinking happened to help him, so be it, but he wouldn’t be counting on it. Ezra’s dreams of escape gave him comfort, but his chattering seemed to be getting worse as time went on. It was beginning to agitate him. His growing frustration made it harder to think clearly, but he tried to tell himself it also prevented him from falling asleep.
The only problem was that it was getting louder as time passed. “Don’t draw attention.” He told himself as if he could prevent it with a simple command. He fought it as best he could, but it almost seemed as if fighting it was making it worse.
Eventually Wexler took notice. “Quit yer chattering,” he said. His words ever so slightly slurred. Ezra continued his battle with the chill night air, but nothing seemed to be working. “I said quit it,” Wexler grumbled. This time kicking a rock in Ezra’s direction. “I’m trying. I can’t help it. He said, his voice quivering from the cold. Wexler tried to ignore it, but became increasingly annoyed. “Don’t be tryin to pull the wool over my eyes. I’m up to your tricks. I’m not letting you get closer to the fire if that’s what you’re after.”
Ezra felt a stab of fear. He was well on his way to accomplishing exactly what he didn’t want. Wexler was becoming suspicious and would now be on higher alert. Expecting some kind of escape attempt. He thought about what he should say, but everything he could think of just sounded like an excuse or an attempt to cover up his nefarious plans. He opted to remain silent. Minus the chattering. Wexler complained about the chattering a few more times before he finally stood and walked toward Ezra. Ezra’s heart began to race as he approached. Unsure what he might do.
Sure enough, his fears were well founded as Wexler came up and kicked him. “I said, shut it!” he shouted. Then kicked him again. Ezra groaned at the pain in his side. The chattering continued. Ezra was beginning to worry that in his increasingly unhinged state, Wexler might just resort to shooting him. That would shut him up for good. “I have nothing to gain from this. If I could quit chattering, I would. Can’t you spare me an extra blanket?” Ezra asked.
Wexler considered it for a moment. “We don’t have any extra blankets.” “Well, then I’m not sure what you want me to do.” Ezra said, trailing off. Wexler grumbled, disappearing into the dark. Ezra tried to crane his neck to see where he was going or what he was doing, but when it proved too difficult, he gave up. Dropping his head back into the dirt. He was too tired to care. He wondered if Wexler had gone out to relieve himself. He hoped it was something so benign. Though he wasn’t going to hold his breath. Ezra heard a noise, and for a moment it sounded like Wexler was untying his rope. Ezra brushed the thought away. He must have imagined it. His mind conjuring up the sounds he so desperately wanted to hear.
But to Ezra’s shock, when he remerged from the darkness, Wexler was holding the other end of the rope. “Move up closer to the fire,” he said. Ezra stared at him in disbelief for a moment, wondering if what he thought he was seeing was real. “Go on.” Wexler said with a nod. Ezra did his best to move forward, but despite his struggle, he could hardly move an inch. He looked to Wexler. “I can’t move.” He said, out of breath.
Wexler smiled. Watching Ezra struggle, he knew anchoring him to a tree wasn’t necessary. It was more like an extra layer of security. Theoretically, if Ezra could gain some kind of leverage and use it to achieve movement, he could scoot over to the tree and untie his anchor. Except Wexler had tied it high enough on the trunk that Ezra wouldn’t be able to reach it, even if by some miracle he was able to make his way to the tree in the first place. Considering how little movement his bonds allowed, Ezra may as well have been hanging upside down.
Wexler moved quickly toward Ezra, and he braced himself for another kick to the ribs. Instead, Wexler held on to him and dragged him slowly toward the flame. When he crossed a certain threshold, Ezra felt as if he were suddenly struck by a towering wall of warmth that washed over his body, providing a deep sense of relief. He felt the urge to move even closer and absorb as much heat as humanly possible.
Instinctively, he attempted to shift to his side so he could roll closer, even though his previous attempts had failed miserably, but his efforts were cut short as the slack on the rope ended. “That’s far enough, stop right there.” Wexler said. Ezra was struck by a sudden stab of disappointment, but he couldn’t allow it to linger. Instead, he focused on the overwhelming sense of gratitude he felt for the heat that was already available to him. There were few things in life he cherished more than the pure bliss of an open flame, but he appreciated it now more than ever.
Wexler moved back beyond the light of the fire and tied off the rope again. Then moved past Ezra and took his seat at the fire once more. They sat in silence for a long while. Then, unexpectedly, Wexler interrupted the silence with a question. “How’s the fire?” he asked. “Couldn’t be better.” Ezra responded. Wexler gave a nod. “You warming up now?” Ezra turned his head to look at Wexler. “Getting there,” he said. “Good. A drink would help you warm up too.” he responded, holding out the bottle. Ezra inspected it with a grimace. Seriously considering whether or not he wanted to chance another encounter with the seemingly corrosive liquid again. “I think I’ll pass.” he said finally.
“Suit yerself.” Wexler responded, taking another sip. The silence stretched on as they lingered by the fire and Ezra was beginning to feel like he should say something. He couldn’t help wondering where he would be now if he hadn’t stolen the foreman’s horse and how different things would be if Wexler hadn’t caught him. Despite the fact that he’d lost to Wexler, and the fact that he was now shamefully tied up like a wild hog, he couldn’t help being intrigued by Wexler.
He’d often dreamed about being a bounty hunter. Rather than some poor defenseless dirt farmer. He, like so many others, had been swept up by the tales and legends of the West, the ruthless outlaws, and the legendary bounty hunters that kept them in check. What would it be like to answer to no one? To face the brutal, unforgiving terrain without fear. To stand defiantly against the worst criminal’s humanity had to offer and best every last one of them.
He would never have to grovel, never have to beg. Never worry that someone who was stronger, faster or better with a gun would threaten him, force their will upon him or take it all away, simply because he couldn’t defend himself. This led to a long train of thoughts and soon, Ezra’s mind was full to the brim with questions.
“I’ve heard a lot about you,” Ezra said. Or at least I’ve heard of you often.” Ezra let his words linger. Setting out feelers for how Wexler might respond. “Is that so?” Was all he said. Was that his way of biting? Some kind of response, no matter how dispassionate, was surely better than none by Ezra’s thinking. So, he decided to take the risk of continuing the direction of the conversation. “From what I hear you’re one of the best around. I’ve known a few bounty hunters in my time, but few come close to your reputation.” Ezra waited for a response from Wexler again. None came. “What’s it like?” he asked curiously, attempting to curb the excitement he felt bubbling in his chest.
Wexler stared into the fire for a moment then turned toward him. Ezra studied his face in the firelight. Unsure whether he was interested in the question, indifferent or if maybe he was annoyed at being asked a tedious question he’d heard a thousand times before. He shrugged. “It’s a living.” Ezra maintained a neutral expression. Not wanting to give away his growing sense of disappointment.
“Do you enjoy the work?” He asked tentatively. Wexler took another sip of his homemade corrosive concoction. “I don’t know that ‘enjoy’ is the right word.” Ezra waited for further explanation, but when the silence lingered longer than he'd expected he began to realize that Wexler didn’t plan on offering any further insight.
This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.
“I’m not sure I understand,” Ezra said. Trying to understand what Wexler was getting at. Wexler shuffled, looking impatient. Or at least that was Ezra’s best guess. “Do I enjoy tracking down, capturing, and dealing with low life criminals? Of course not.” he said, his tone implying that it was self-evident.
Ezra flushed at the comment. It had seemed like a good question a moment before, but now it seemed obviously stupid. He wasn’t sure how much of his sudden sense of shame stemmed from the fact that Ezra himself was the current low life criminal in question. “It ain’t about what you enjoy, so much as it’s about what yer good at.”
Ezra considered his words for a moment, feeling as if he was beginning to catch a glimpse of the complicated tapestry that was John Wexler. “The work itself is tough. Often times thankless. And one of the worst parts is the killing.” Ezra nodded slowly.
“You ever killed a man?” Wexler asked. Ezra shook his head. “One of the worst feelings there is.” he said, his tone leaving no room for doubt. Wexler’s words struck him, and Ezra could sense a measure of the pain hidden in them. The sudden weight of it almost seemed to make the air heavier. Again, they sat in silence and Ezra doubted whether the conversation could be revived.
But to his surprise, Wexler continued. “I’m good at what I do. And that brings a man a certain sense of satisfaction. There’s a certain dignity derived from developing a set of skills and honing them to the highest level. There’s an inherent sense of accomplishment when you truly master the skills of a trade and become one of the best in your profession. But if I had the choice. If I was talented in any other area. I would essentially choose anything over bounty hunting.”
The weight of John’s confession was even heavier than before and it almost felt wrong to Ezra to be hearing this as if he shouldn’t be there. The thoughts were too private for strangers’ ears, yet there was nowhere he could go. Even if he wanted to. Ezra wasn’t sure how to feel. He was experiencing a complex whirl of emotions, but one stood out more than the rest.
A deep sense of disappointment. It was like meeting one of your heroes only for them to let you down in the worst way possible. Suddenly, a measure of the myth and mystique of the legendary figure fell away, revealing in its place a venerable and flawed human being.
John had seemed like something more than a man. He almost seemed superhuman. But seeing that he was just as lost and broken as he was, as the rest of humanity, struck a chord within him. A core part of him struggled to accept it. His mind spiraled into denial, some sort of inherent defense mechanism that people experienced when their fundamental beliefs were challenged.
“But you’re John Wexler. A legend. The best there is. You have everything. Nothin and nobody can stand in your way.” Wexler scoffed, briefly sporting a cynical smile before taking another sip of his whiskey. “That’s exactly the kind of starry eyed thinkin that gets so many would be bounty hunters killed. I hate to burst your bubble, but it ain’t nothin like the stories. John Wexler is just a name. Nothing more.”
This hit Ezra the hardest. He regretted initiating the conversation and was ready to be done with it. “You’re right about one thing though. I can pretty much choose any job I want. And I can afford to pass on the ones I don’t.” Part of Ezra wanted to take a page from Wexler’s book and simply refuse to respond. But the greater part of him couldn’t help seeking answers. “Then why are you here? You could be anywhere, doing what you do best. You could be dealing with high profile targets for a lot more money than you’re getting now. Why come out here and go out of your way to hunt down petty criminals like me?”
Wexler exhaled audibly, stretching out his legs in front of the fire. “Just what I told you before.” Ezra looked at him in confusion, waiting for him to explain. Realizing much more quickly this time, that this was a futile pursuit. “Care to elaborate?” Ezra asked his tone edging on condescending. Wexler was more than up to the challenge, his expression easily matching Ezra’s verbal jab.
“What, you think I want to spend the rest of my life nursing low life scum like you? Hardly, I’m not here for the foreman’s paycheck. I’m here for the same reason you are. For the same reason everyone else is here. I’m looking for my big shot too. I’m looking to cash out.”
Ezra perked up at this. “You’re here for the gold?” Wexler nodded. Ezra began to connect the dots. “So, I’m assuming you have a deal worked out with the foreman then?”
“It goes higher than that. But yes.” John said. Ezra paused for a moment, considering his next words. “For how much?” he dared to ask. “Enough for me to hang up my hat – and my gun belt. Enough for me to live the rest of my days in peace. Isn’t that why you’re here?”
Ezra hesitated, “Well, yes.” he admitted. It seemed obvious now, but he hadn’t exactly had time to consider it earlier. It explained Callais' presence as well. “What if we don’t end up striking gold?” Ezra asked. Wexler studied him pointedly. “I could ask you the same question.” Ezra shuffled uncomfortably at the thought. It was always something in the back of his mind before he and Vincent had decided to set off on this journey, but he had always done his best to ignore the possibility as much as he could.
It was a potential reality too tragic to contemplate. But now that they had struck gold, he didn’t want to give himself away. He hoped that Wexler read his reaction as the uncomfortable realization that he might end up with nothing to show for all his effort. But there was no way to know for sure. There was, however, something he could do to steer Wexler in that direction.
“I guess I never thought of it that way.” Ezra said. Wexler snorted cynically. “Typical. No one ever thinks they’ll be the one to draw the short end. They somehow assume they're invincible. Until life proves otherwise. More of that starry eyed thinkin I mentioned earlier.” Ezra felt a small measure of relief. Based on Wexler’s response, he seemed to buy into Ezra’s ploy.
But now his mind spiraled into a new set of questions. He had to know how their involvement in obtaining gold affected his own goals. If at all. With this sudden shift in perspective there were certain implications. “So, if you’re not out here mainly for bounties what other sort of responsibilities does your contract entail?” Wexler looked at him for a time and Ezra couldn’t tell if he’d become suspicious.
“Why do you ask?” he responded. Ezra examined his tone, body language, and expression carefully. Struggling to glean any information that might help him in gauging Wexler’s response. Was there caution in his voice? “Just curious,” Ezra said. Doing his best to sound nonchalant. “Well, we act as bodyguards of a sort for the foreman. Kind of his own private security.”
“We?” Ezra asked. “Yeah, me and Callais.” “I see.” Ezra said, nodding. “Anyhow, the other part of the deal is supervising and such.” Ezra hoped this didn’t mean what he thought it meant. “What do you mean, supervising?” Wexler shrugged. “Well, just being present during digs and panning and such. Especially if we happen to think we’re on the trail of a gold strike. Once gold is found, it will be our job to make sure everyone plays nice and that the gold is properly distributed.”
Ezra let the implications sink in. This is precisely what he did not want to hear. He didn’t need trained killers snooping around while he and Vincent were trying to get away with the gold. The effort would be difficult already without adding the constant threat of discovery and the potential for a swift death along with it. Even if they were only caught in the act of attempting to smuggle the gold. Once their actions reached the higher levels of the chain of command, they would likely face a severe punishment. Knowing the foreman, he would probably insist on a hangin. “Speaking of hangin’ I’m probably already scheduled for one right now.” He shook his head at the thought. He couldn’t dwell on that now. He had more immediate threats to deal with first.
He wanted to pick Wexler’s brain further, but he didn’t want to press his luck. He didn’t know how he appeared to Wexler now, but he couldn’t give himself away. Anxious for a distraction, he eyed the bottle containing Wexler’s disgusting concoction. “Now that I think about it, I might like another sip of that… whatever that is you got there.”
Wexler smiled. “Couldn’t resist, eh? People always seem to hate it at first, but I tell ya, the stuff grows on ya after a while.” Ezra gave a forced smile, attempting to hide the sickening feeling rising in his stomach at the thought of drinking another drop. But he forced the feelings down. Preparing himself the pain he knew was coming.
Wexler sauntered over to Ezra, stumbling for a moment along the way. His state of drunkenness had progressed considerably, and Ezra crossed his fingers that it would end up to his benefit rather than to his detriment. Time would tell. When Wexler reached him, Ezra laid back and opened his mouth. Wexler proceeded to pour a small stream of liquid into his mouth and once again, Ezra’s mouth seemed to be set ablaze. The overpowering and unpleasant substance seemingly stabbing him from the inside on the way down.
He was more prepared than last time, but Ezra suspected that no matter how prepared he was, he would never truly be ready to swallow any amount without a certain level of pain to accompany it. Though he had no plans whatsoever to consume even the slightest drop ever again. Wexler chuckled to himself at Ezra’s reaction and then made his way back to his place at the fire.
Ezra expected a return to silence and this time he welcomed it. He lost any sense of the passage of time as it stretched on. Ezra lay biding his time. Waiting patiently for Wexler to fall asleep. But it seemed that Wexler was in no hurry. After a time, it occurred to Ezra that Wexler may have the very same idea. And he berated himself internally for underestimating the bounty hunter. “I guess it wouldn’t be very wise to fall asleep, if your prisoner is still wide awake.”
He decided that the best way to beat him at this game was to feign sleep first. He made a point of closing his eyes. And as he lay there pretending to sleep, he meticulously attempted to find the steady, methodic rhythm of breathing that one would adopt while unconscious. Eventually he came to a point where he had even impressed himself. He couldn’t imagine there was anyway that Wexler could determine if he were truly sleeping or not. This part of his plan having been so flawlessly executed, now he needed to think of his next steps. How would he get out of the ropes? If he did manage to shake his bonds, how could he prevent waking Wexler and how would he get away?
He would figure something out. It was only a matter of time. Though Ezra attempted to maintain focus, his mind drifted back to his conversation with Wexler. He’d caught a glimpse of something different. A peek behind the façade. A small window into the humanity of Wexler. Ezra hoped and prayed that he wouldn’t have to resort to taking his life, but if it came down to it, Ezra truly would regret killing him now. This was the final thought that passed through his mind before he fell asleep.