The sun was up, and Ezra was back on Duke, riding quickly toward camp – and toward his judgment. He tried to walk through the series of events that had led him to this terrible place, but his growing sense of trepidation and fear was too overwhelming. He ceased to reason and entered a primal, unthinking, state of survival. More than anything, his mind – seemingly without his permission – homed in on the burgeoning sense of mortal dread now welling up inside him.
As they crested the final hill, Ezra knew that his hope had all but evaporated and his fate was all but sealed. The anticipation was palpable and the slow trot toward his final destination seemed to stretch on until it became excruciating. They reached the entry to camp and the men were up, preparing breakfast. Ezra felt as if all eyes were on him but whenever he cast his gaze toward someone they seemed to duck out of sight.
Men who had been outside their tents moments earlier quickly retreated indoors as if by placing a wall between themselves and whatever was outside – however thin that wall might be – would somehow make that outside event cease to exist. Ezra found himself disappointed at the reception once again and just when he thought that the situation couldn’t make him feel any worse, he caught sight of the gallows in the distance.
The slow crawl up to the gallows seemed to collapse on itself in his memory. He was staring down at the hair on the back of Duke’s neck when he suddenly stopped. Ezra looked up and found the gallows right in front of him. The sudden flood of dread that hit him in that moment was indescribable. Someone grabbed him from his horse. Throwing him to the ground, then he was swiftly picked up and dragged on to the platform.
Before he could speak or think, the noose was placed around his neck and tightened with a single stroke. He heard the sound of the trap door giving out under his feet before he felt a wave of vertigo, then he heard a snap. Everything went black. He heard a voice in the darkness, but it wasn’t like a voice nearby. It was not an exterior voice. It was almost as if it were coming from inside of him. “Move now,” it said. “Wake up!”
###
Ezra snapped awake, instinctively taking in his environment. He was completely bewildered, unsure of where he was. As if that weren’t enough, he also felt incredibly disoriented. Sweat clung to his body and he found himself panting. There was a painful crick in his neck, and he sensed that the pressure there was unnatural. He attempted to move, but discovered he was bound.
Then everything started slowly coming back to him. He was still hogtied, which meant that Wexler hadn’t brought him back to camp yet. With considerable effort, he was able to shift enough to move his neck, which was pressed against a stone at an awkward angle. Then he turned his head and found that the campfire was still crackling.
It had taken a moment for his thoughts to clear and catch up with everything going on around him, but he realized now that it was still dark. He sighed softly with relief. He lay there staring at the night sky. Unable to do anything for several minutes. The sickening sense of dread he’d felt before slowing ebbing as he began to relax and breath normally again.
“It’s okay, I’m still alive. There’s still hope.” He said in his mind, attempting to reassure himself. Then he remembered. Just because he wasn’t dead yet, didn’t mean he was safe. He turned carefully, daring to glance at Wexler, and to his relief, he found the man bundled up and sleeping. His hat covering his face. Ezra let out another soft sigh of relief.
“Thank you thank you, thank you!” He thought passionately. Counting his incredible luck. There was still time to enact his plan. Though he didn’t know how much. He hoped desperately that he’d only been sleeping for a short time, though he had no way of knowing. He just had to do the best he could with the time he had. First, he looked around for anything that might help him in his task. But first he needed to know what that task was.
Of course, he knew that he wanted to escape, but that was the end goal, he needed to quickly brainstorm on what steps that would take. In surveying his surroundings, he decided that his first line of action should be to get himself free from the tree. It would take an incredible amount of physical exertion and expenditure of energy, but if he could do it, he would be able to move much more freely.
He struggled futilely for a time, trying everything he could think of to make progress toward his target, but nothing seemed to work. At this rate, not only would he tire himself out for no good reason, but he would also probably end up waking Wexler. Something he knew he had to avoid at all costs. He lay there for a time, reformulating his strategy.
If he could find a way to unbind his hands first, that would give him true freedom. At that point he could stand and even walk, which would allow him to reach the anchor rope higher up on the stump and make his journey a thousand times easier. Not to mention faster. Satisfied that his second line of action was far superior to his first, he set to work. Scouting the area again, for anything that might turn the tide, in his battle for freedom.
Unfortunately, nothing seemed forthcoming. “If only I had a knife.” he thought with frustration. Then a suddenly realization hit him. “A knife… A knife, my knife!” He remembered something that his father had taught him years ago. “Always have a means of self-defense. No matter.” Is what he had always said. And that was something Ezra took to heart, if nothing else. Admittedly, he hadn’t always headed his father’s advice, but he had never been happier that in this case, he had. He didn’t have a firearm small enough to practically conceal, but he did have a small knife.
An incredibly sharp, small knife, that he kept safely tucked away in one of his boots at all times. It was a little know fact for most folks that one foot is slightly larger than the other and with Ezra’s left foot being smaller than his right, there was a little extra room in which to hide the knife. He felt the sudden urge to shout with glee -- and he might’ve -- if not for his absolute need for silence and secrecy in the current situation.
Making do with a grin instead, he set to work on retrieving the knife. He tried reaching it from several angles, but nothing seemed to be working. All of his effort had really begun to take its toll so he stared up at the sky panting again. He took the time to think through what he would do during his next attempt. Once he’d recovered enough to try again, he pushed trying to get enough wiggle room with his left hand that he could stretch out and reach down his left boot.
After a while he managed to create just enough space to squeeze his and arm through, though he suffered a mean rope burn as a result. He felt as if he had flayed his own arm. He didn’t have time to inspect or nurse his wound, but he hoped that it wasn’t nearly as bad as it felt. Next, he strained as hard as he could to curling into a ball, bringing himself that much closer to his boots.
It was an incredibly awkward and unnatural position that strained his muscled in strange ways and compressed his chest and abdomen enough to steal his breath. He was sweating like a pig, which he thought was fitting, considering he was tied up like one. A sudden urge to laugh struck him, but he managed to suppress it before it escaped his lips. That’s all he needed right now, was to go through this kind of pain only to foil his own plans before the moment of victory. His tongue touched the corner of his mouth as he pushed for the final stretch reaching into his boot.
“I’ve done, it. I’ve done it!” He thought, feeling ecstatic, then his stomach dropped. He felt around frantically in his boot. In the little space where it should have been, there was nothing but empty space. He continued his search. Feeling around frantically, hoping that it had just been displaced and was still sequestered inside somewhere. He even made the effort as difficult as it was, to reach around to the other side and check there as well. Nothing. Nada. He was up a creek without a paddle.
"Where is it?" He screamed internally. His frustration mounting. "Where else could it be?" There was no way he dropped it somewhere along the way. It had to be there. But it wasn’t. Then suddenly it struck him. He eyed the man sleeping not twenty feet from him. Wexler. He must have checked him; he must have taken it. But when? Ezra sighed a knowing sigh. Feeling it deep in his bones. Wexler had taken it while he was sleeping. He felt a deep indescribable sense of regret. "That explains the drinking. It was all a ruse." Maybe not all a ruse. He couldn’t imagine anyone drinking alcohol that strong and not being affected by it, but maybe Wexler knew just how much he could handle and still be functional.
Ezra had underestimated the bounty hunter yet again. He’d probably practiced the trick many times over the years. Using it to outwit even the slipperiest of foes. John Wexler truly was a legend. A reputation well earned. But as Ezra thought about it, he wondered why Wexler didn’t just simply take it from him when he had him hog tied? That would have been easy enough. There wasn’t much Ezra could do to defend himself at that point.
He did seem pretty tired before setting up camp. Maybe he just hadn’t thought of it until later. Then a crazier thought entered his mind. What if he did it just to prove to himself that he could. He’d been doing this for a long time and he strangely seemed that type that liked to play games at times. He’d also expressed that he didn’t really enjoy the job. He did say that sometimes a man needed a reason to laugh. Maybe this was his way of keeping from being bored? Or maybe he set small challenges for himself just to make sure he kept all his skills honed to a sharp edge. That made sense. If a hunter didn’t stay sharp, one false move could kill him. Whatever the reason, Ezra recognized that he had a newfound respect for Wexler.
Even though it would be great for him if he were up against a less skilled opponent. He thought he had victory in sight. It was perfect, but it had been taken from him. Cruelly ripped away just as his hope had begun to soar. “Of course, the knife wasn’t there. That would be too easy. Why can’t things ever be easy?” Ezra lamented for a time. Feeling hopeless. His situation was impossible. He’d had one perfect chance. But that was gone now. Maybe his fate was meant to be. When the cards were stacked against him like this, he couldn’t help but feel like the world was conspiring against him despite his best efforts.
“Maybe sometimes, it’s okay to give up.” He hoped this would bring him peace, but the thought didn’t sit well with him. “Vincent wouldn’t give up," he thought. "He wouldn’t let anything dampen his spirits. He wouldn’t let this defeat get him down." This ignited a spark in him anew. This isn’t who he was. He wouldn’t give up that easy. Digging deep and tapping into a new reservoir of determination Ezra once again, set himself to searching the area.
There had to be something he could use to break free. He saw Buster lying there, sleeping soundly without a care in the world. Maybe Buster could help him. But how? It wasn’t as if he could bite the ropes for him. He imagined it for a moment, then decided it was a delusional fantasy. Watching Buster and remembering his earlier betrayal irked him. Not to mention the fact that the dog had received much better treatment than he had, which only added to the resentment. “Useless dog,” he thought with frustration. Disdainfully eyeing the bone that should have been his dinner.
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How he longed for a nice juicy haunch of meat. Buster had stripped it down to the bone and even chewed down the bone itself. It was now in two pieces, with jagged ends jutting out. As he stared at it, an idea hit Ezra like a tidal wave. "Jagged edges!” If he could get to the piece of bone, he could potentially use it as a makeshift saw. “Yes, Ezra you mad genius! This is your ticket.” Time was of the essence. Still unsure of how much time he would have left Ezra had to carefully consider his approach. He’d already tried moving before and the task was nigh impossible.
He thoughtfully considered his options and came to the conclusion that he had but one choice. He would have to get Buster to bring it to him. “Just my luck that my only hope for escape hinges on that darn dog.” Oh well, there’s nothing for it. I just have to do the best I can with what I’ve got. With that he set to work on a method to wake the dog. He called out of a few times with a whisper, but he dared not raise his voice. He soon realized that this simply would not work. He was just as liable to wake Wexler as he was Buster. He had to find another way.
He had the urge to whistle as he knew Buster responded to this, but this presented the same problem as before. After mulling it over a minute Ezra decided that the best thing to do would be to toss something at him, to nudge him awake. He searched nearby for some small rocks and managed to get one in hand. “Now all I have to do his throw it. No problem. I’ll just throw it nice and neat without the use of either of my hands.” Yet another impossible task lay before him. How could he throw a rock with no leverage? He didn’t know, but he had to try. His first attempt was rather sad.
He “threw” it, but it barely escaped his hand essentially rolling down the back of it and plodding into the dirt. He tried a few more times, but his best attempt traveled maybe a foot at best. There was nothing he could do. He had come so close, yet he was so far away. The ten feet between Ezra and Buster may as well have been ten miles. He fell into despair once more. Unable to keep his hope alive any longer. He’d done his best. He’d tried everything in his power to escape, but there was just no way. He lay staring at the stars again, calling silently softly out in desperation.
“Please, please, help me find a way.” He said to the empty night sky. Then he closed his eyes. Not much time had passed, but he began to fall asleep again and after a few minutes, his thoughts began to drift. He was slowly slipping into the senselessness of sleep, when suddenly a thought flashed across his mind. Seemingly independent from his own thought. He knew the answer.
“Pebbles.” He felt around in the dirt again, this time skipping over the rocks until he found a pebble. Tiny, itty, bitty, little rocks. Then he pressed it between his thumb and middle finger. “If I can’t get leverage with my hand, I’ll do it with my fingers.” He flicked it launching it at the dog. It fell short, striking the dirt in front of Buster. The first attempt had failed but a new sense of hope had begun to stir inside him. "I might not get it right the first, time or even the tenth, but it was possible." He found another pebble, carefully pressing it between thumb and middle finger. Then launched it again. Another miss, but this time it landed closer. He found a third pebble and launched it with more force than the previous two. It clocked Buster right on the head. “Third times the charm.” he thought with satisfaction.
Buster stirred. He realized then the risk he’d taken. If he’d hit Buster too hard Buster might have instinctively called out. Yelping and waking Wexler. To Ezra’s relief Buster didn’t call out. He yawned, stretching. Then looked about for a moment. Ezra did his best to move. Trying to gain Buster’s attention. The hound perked up. His tongue protruded instantly and he began to wag his tail. He made his way happily over to Ezra and began to lick his face. Ezra was disgusted by the amount of saliva being plaster on his face, but in his position, there was little he could do about it. “No, you dumb dog I don’t want your slobber all over me!” He endured the torture stoically until it finally stopped. “Get the bone Buster. Get the bone.” Buster tilted his head. Studying Ezra in confusion. “The bone. The bone!” He whispered, his frustration reaching a breaking point.
Ezra did everything he could think of to get the dog to fetch the bone, but it was useless. He simply didn’t understand. A part of Ezra loved the dog, but that was only a fraction of him right now. Mostly he hated Buster. He’d begun to develop a real love, hate, relationship with the hound recently and he wasn’t sure how he felt about it. He tried to tell himself it wasn’t Buster’s fault but it was difficult to think rationally when his life was in jeopardy. He just needed Buster to help him out. As excruciating as it was, he decided that all he could do at this point was wait.
If he ignored Buster and the dog returned to his place by the fire, he would inevitably return to his bone at some point. Or at least that was the hope. It was a long shot, but he couldn’t see any other option. It took only a matter of minutes for Buster to become disinterested and return to his sleeping place. He circled around in the spot for a moment before settling in. He yawned again, looking as if he were ready to go back to sleep. He laid his head on his paws and closed his eyes. Ezra gritted his teeth in anger and searched for another pebble. He launched it and again it hit its intended target.
Buster stirred again looking at Ezra with a wounded expression. He whined softly. Ezra simply shook his head. “I’m sorry boy, I can’t afford to wait all night.” Buster attempted to sleep a few more times and Ezra rudely awakened him. Finally becoming restless, Buster began to gnaw on the bone again. “Yes!” Ezra thought with excitement. “Now I just need to find a way to get him over here. This is the final stretch, then I’ll be home free!” Ezra began to twist and turn and move wildly. Attempting as much motion as possible in an effort to draw Buster in. It took longer than he would have liked, but eventually it worked.
The dog approached him with a chunk of the bone in his mouth and Ezra reached out and snatched it with his nearest hand. But Buster wasn’t about to give it up without a fight. Mistaking Ezra’s actions as play, they began a tugging match. “I don’t have time for this Buster.” He pulled harder and the dog began to growl, becoming more excited at the game. This sent Ezra into a fury, the noise Buster was making was going to get him killed! He eyed Wexler praying that the growling would not wake him up. Wexler snorted, then shifted on his bedroll. A shot of adrenaline surged through Ezra’s body. If Wexler woke up, Ezra was gonna kill that dog.
“Sit, boy!” he whispered harshly. Buster reluctantly obeyed. “Drop it,” he said. Buster refused. “Drop it,” he said again, this time more forcefully. Buster let go of the bone. Ezra took it in hand and a surge of pure joy came over him. “I have it. It’s mine!” Suddenly all the pain, all the struggle was worth it. Now all he had to do was cut himself free. He slowly began to saw away at the ropes. Still watching Wexler. Luckily, he seemed to be settling back into his sleep and Ezra exhaled softly in relief. His journey to cut the rope started out with vigor and determination. He hoped the task would take minutes. As he sliced away at the ropes, continually watching Wexler, Ezra was quite certain that hours had passed. He still didn’t know what time it was, but he feared if it took any longer, the sun might rise.
Becoming increasingly desperate, he began to saw with all his might until finally one of the threads snapped. The sense of relief and sense of accomplishment was so overwhelming that Ezra couldn’t help but laugh. Ever wary of waking his captor, Ezra managed to repress it. His abdomen moved as he laughed, but no sound escaped his lips. With his free hand, he untied the rope and finally sprawled out on his back. Sweet relief. He stretched out as far as his limbs would allow. Savoring the free air once again. He only took a matter of seconds to indulge, knowing that timing was crucial. With Buster safely back asleep, he was in no hurry to wake him. He was grateful for the hound’s help, but at this point he was much better off not increasing his risk.
Wexler would take care of the dog and return him back to camp. Ezra had to worry about his own hide right now. He paused to consider his escape. Could he just run? He could take Duke and high tail it out of there. Then go pick up Vincent like he originally planned. But then he would face the same problem he’d faced earlier. Wexler would know exactly where Ezra was going and even if he managed to get to Vincent long before Wexler had awakened, he would still run the risk of running into him on the way back. It was likely that even with a head start, with a wounded passenger, Wexler would catch up to him and capture him again. He held the jagged bone like a dagger in his hand. “All I have to do, is sneak up to him and jam it right into his throat. Then my troubles will be solved.”
Ezra took a deep breath, preparing himself for the killing blow. He pumped himself up. Trying to ignore the fact that he was killing a human being. He tried to imagine Wexler as a pig at the slaughterhouse or a chicken. He just needed to plunge the knife in and wait until his was dead. It would take less than a minute. He knew it was his best chance. He wrestled with the thought a moment longer, but he knew deep down he didn’t have it in him. As soon as he decided not to go through with the killing a sense of relief washed over him and his mind seemed to clear. Making room for a much better idea. He felt naked without his gun or knife, and he seriously considered retrieving them while Wexler was sleeping. Wexler had done it to him, so how hard could it be?
Having a weapon could be the difference between life and death as he’d clearly experienced. He moved toward Wexler slowly. As softly as he could. He’d never moved so slowly in his life. Then he stood over him a moment. Trying to think of the best angle to approach him to create the least amount of disturbance. He knew his gun was on Wexler’s gun belt. And if he could manage to take Wexler’s gun too, the threat would be neutralized. At that point all he would have to do is used the same rope he’d been bound up with earlier to have Wexler tie himself up and then he could ride away Scot-free without fear of being pursued.
He reached ever so carefully toward Wexler’s belt, when suddenly he awoke. Out of sheer survival instinct and greatly honed instinct, Wexler drew his weapon and fired. Shooting Ezra in the head. His ragged body plummeting to the ground. Ezra shivered. As the scenario played out in his mind, he decided that as much as he wanted to get his weapons back, the risk was too great. He had to get out of there, and fast. There was no telling when Wexler would wake up and catching him unawares could easily backfire.
He began to sneak. Quietly making his way toward Duke. As he approached, he saw Wexler’s horse too. This sparked an idea in his mind. His best idea yet. If he wanted to make sure Wexler couldn’t follow him, all he had to do was take his horse. With both horses, Wexler would have no other option but to follow Ezra on foot. If that were the case, there’s no way he’d catch up. Not in a million years. It was perfect. With a smile Ezra approached, speaking softly so as not to spook him. When Duke didn’t react defensively Ezra saddled him, unhitched him, and mounted.
Then he slowly rode beside Wexler’s horse, reach over and unhitched him as well. Taking the reins. As he’d done with Duke, he spoke softly. Petting the horse and speaking reassuring words. The horse didn’t spook and Ezra was happy to find that at least once on this terrible day, things had gone over smoothly. A part of him had an overwhelming urge to gallop away into the night and put the nightmare behind him, but he suppressed the urge, knowing that his best bet would be to leave camp quietly and ensure a promising head start. If he got far enough away before Wexler even realized what had happened there was no way he’d be able to catch up at that point.
He trotted slowly away from the camp on Duke, with Wexler’s horse in tow, when suddenly the horse whinnied loudly, fighting his hold on the reins. Ezra’s first instinct was to let go of the struggling horse and gallop away as fast as possible, but with great effort he reminded himself that this would seal his fate. If Wexler were allowed to keep his horse, Ezra was doomed. He held on for dear life. Struggling mighty to get the horse in check. He was trying to ride away with the horse, but their progress was slow as it fought every attempt.
Ezra found himself hating the horse. He wished now more than ever that he had his gun. If he did, he could have simply killed the horse, which would leave him unburdened and prevent pursuit from Wexler, but he had nothing. So, he fought on, trying desperately to get the horse to obey. It was slowly losing the will to fight and Ezra began to hope that they would get away. Then his heart sank as he saw Wexler running toward them. He pressed harder, pushing with all his might to put distance between himself and the bounty hunter. Finally, the horse broke, and he began to gallop away.
Just as Wexler was lining up his shot. Ezra continued to gallop hoping that he was far enough away. Wexler had a stead beat on him. Ezra rode as hard as he could. Wexler fired. He heard the gunshot and cringed waiting for the inevitable impact. He felt a blast at the top of his head. His hat flew from his head along with some of his hair. The bullet had grazed him, but he was still alive.
Ezra veered for the covering of some nearby brush and trees, he heard more shots ring out but none of the others hit their target. Ezra whooped loudly with glee. “We did it Duke. We made it out alive!” Ezra couldn’t even begin to describe how he felt, riding away a free man after being subjected to such treatment at after the nightmare he’d been through to escape. The more he thought about it, the more he realized just how much he’d risked, just how much he’d sacrificed for Vincent’s sake.
“That’s the second time I’ve stolen a horse for him. Vincent better be alive when I get there. Or I’m going to kill him myself.”