The Reckoner: Highwaymen, Part 3

The difference that morning, he didn’t want to throw the quilt off of him.  Almost indifferent to how bad the dream was, Aiken enjoyed the relaxation that came from laying in the bed.  And with the realization of that thought he was wide awake.  For him, it was uncomfortable being that comfortable.  He hurried out of the bed, put his clothes on, tightened the holster around his hip and tied it around his thigh, grabbed his coat and hat, and left the saloon.
In the early morning light, there weren’t many people that crossed his path.  The few that did though, they didn’t have that look in their eyes that he was expecting, that he had seen for so many years.  Most had a careless indifference, some though, took the time to tip their hat to him as they passed by, none had that fearful admiration that caused them to take an extra step or two around him.  Aiken naturally slowed down the pace he was taking down the road.  The discomfort from the bed slowly faded away with each step down the dusty road. 
As the morning sun slowly climbed its way higher the streets slowly filled with more and more people.  Aiken, for the first time in his life, just let the flow of people take him.  He watched every person that he could.  Some still had that look, reminding him that he would always be an outcast and a wanderer.  But they were far and few between.  The vast majority didn’t give him another look, except for maybe one or two that he caught taking another look at the iron on his hip.  And there were the few that nodded to him, those he remembered from the Oriental.
He followed the flow and found himself in front of the bank branch, looking up at his partner who’s smile made him smile.
Every morning for the next couple of weeks or so was the same.  The only difference, the discomfort from the bed slowly faded to a small knot that couldn’t be worked out. 
Aiken found himself smiling more when he was around Virgil, Martin, and Mary.  The three had welcomed Aiken into their family circle with open arms.  The three that never looked at Aiken differently for who he was, and had stretched forth their arms because of who he was, it was as close to a family that Aiken had for too many years to remember.  Most of the time he spent the evenings with them at Martin and Mary’s, but there were the occasional nights when they would go together to The Oriental. 
Those were the nights that Aiken was most afraid to return to his room.  When he was with his friends he lost some bets at the faro table but he also won a few.  The loses didn’t seem to hurt as much as they did before and the wins felt so much better.  And then they would have to leave and he would return to his room.  It was those nights that the dream would play itself out to completion.  Those mornings he shook his head and thought to himself how he needed to get moving.  But those mornings he still found himself following the flow that carried him to the bank and the stagecoach.
The rides along the coach line were uneventful.  People came and went from town to town and all made it to their destination without any trouble.  Aiken would sit and watch the dusty road disappear time and time again, he had learned every turn and dip that the road made and too often he found himself staring out at the sagebrush that they passed lost in his own thoughts.  Virgil would ask questions and Aiken answered more than he wanted.  Sometimes Aiken found himself participating more and more, even asking his own questions to keep the conversation going.
“What do you think about redemption?”  Aiken nervously asked on one of those occasions.
Virgil watched the road for a minute before answering, the smile on his face slightly shrinking as he thought about his answer, “I….”
Aiken didn’t hear the rest of the answer.   Suddenly he felt it.  It had snuck up on him and caught him unaware.  Every fear he had came flooding on him at that moment as he tried to separate everything that the unspoken world tried to scream at him at that particular moment.  The world slowed down for an instant.  He felt the cold air wrap its fingers around him, he smelt the dry dust of the road as the stagecoach drove over it, and from the corner of his eye he saw a rider following the stage from the over the crest of a hill in the distance.
“Damn.”  He snarled through gritted teeth.  How could he have allowed it to happen?
His hand fell to his holster and like an old lover, everything came rushing back to him.  Every sign that had told him to hold back, every tell along the road that hinted that there was going to be trouble.  And all Aiken could do was shake his head and hope as he pulled the rifle from off his hip.
“Run them!”  He yelled, he saw fear take over his partner.  He didn’t know if his face hinted at the danger that laid ahead, but in the few gunfights that they had been in, Virgil never had that look in his eyes, and he never would again.
Hooves beat upon the dusty road, kicking up dust and creating a cloud around the coach.  He had used it before to get the upper hand against would be bandits.  But this time, they had the upper hand and he knew it, he only hoped that they would make a mistake.  There was a curve in the road ahead that led into a dried out wash along the bank of which grew cedars.  If he could only get the coach there he’d have the upper hand.  Everything that screamed death came rushing upon him, how had he missed their signs before.
Cold air stole his breath as he watched through the dust at the shadows that kept pace with the coach.  Mixed with the dust, it choked him, he had to cough and cover his mouth with an arm to watch everything unfold before him.  Even through the dust he could see that the shadows had grown longer in the few seconds that his senses returned, as if they wanted to hide their own corruption from view.  He felt the darkness of death flood through his veins, leaving him cold and yet every nerve felt ablaze, ready to fire when the time would come.
He counted eight shadows in total.  He could also see the road begin to follow the wash and line of cedars, the bend in the road wasn’t too far ahead.  “Keep on!”  He yelled to Virgil through his shirt sleeve.  Virgil whipped at the reins and the horses continued their rush down the road.
Aiken watched as the shadows outside the dust slowed down as the horses took the bend too fast.  He fired a shot and one shadow fell from his horse.  He levered the action of the rifle and chambered a new round.  The sound of returned fire echoed through the desert, it wasn’t one shot returned, it more and more.
The lead horse was hit in the leg by one shot and immediately stumbled.  Every horse hitched to her stumbled and caught themselves in the rigging that tied them altogether.  The stagecoach didn’t want to stop in the turn though.  It first lurched to two wheels and then lost the unstable foundation that they even offered.  The coach crashed to its side, throwing Aiken and Virgil from the driver’s box and boot.  It slid through the dirt and sand, smashing itself into one of the cedars along the wash.
Aiken got to his feet, thankful that nothing was broken and he’d just have another bruise or two when all was said and done.  Virgil was doing the same, Aiken could see, but only slower.  He ran to shattered pile of wood that somewhat still resembled the coach.  He pounded at the wood and yelled, “Get down and stay down!”  From the front boot he grabbed the double barrel shotgun that he was now glad that Virgil had kept on the coach.  Grabbing Virgil, who had just made it to his feet, by the arm, he forced him to run to the other side of the wash and hide as best as he could amid the cedars.
“Take this, the first good chance you get, you fill him with shot.”  He said as he forced the shotgun into his partner’s hands.
“I’ve never even thought of shooting a man before.”  Virgil tried to make sense of what was happening.
Aiken grabbed Virgil by his shirt and yelled, “Stop thinking about it and when you get the chance, do it.”
Aiken turned around just in time to see the dust settle and the first highwayman make the turn.  He held his gun tight against his hip, the cool metal trigger wanting to fall under his fingers.  He waited, knowing that the bandits didn’t know what had happened in the accident and he wanted to get the best chance that he could.  There was the second rider and the chance he had waited for.
The trigger fell, along with the second rider that had come into view.  In the blink of an eye, Aiken cocked the lever of his rifle and fired again.  The first rider also fell from his horse, his hand releasing the pistol that he had just drawn from his own holster.  Aiken knew that they were given away with those two shots, but it was probably the best opportunity he was going to have that day.  He ran to the other side of the cedars and ran back up the wash a bit, hopefully doubling back on the remaining brigands.
Cautiously scuttling through the cedars, he looked down the wash.  There was the heaped stagecoach, another bandit being as cautious as he was as he made his way around the broken coach.  The renegade fell back in a crash of blood as the sound of the fired shotgun echoed up the wash.  Aiken knew he had to hurry, Virgil only had one shot left in the scattergun. 
Not seeing anyone, he scurried to the other side of the wash and peered through the cedars.  There were three bandits that he could see, where was the fourth?  He knew that he had counted eight in total.  The worst feeling that he had ever had was losing track of someone.
He felt the cedar explode next to his body, small pieces of wood pelting his body, at the same time he heard the shot.  There was the fourth!  Aiken retreated behind the cedars.  Never turning around he made his way back across the wash.  The fourth highwayman slowly made his way up to the cedars but waited.  He peered through, Aiken thought, making eye contact with him.  Another two were quickly at his side.  It could have only been a moment, but it felt like a small eternity as the three waited on the other side of the wash and cedars, never giving Aiken a good shot.
He had taken worse shots however.  It was awkward but he knew what he would have to do to get the shot off.  He lifted the gun from his hip and held it in front of his face, far enough that with any kick it wouldn’t hit his face.  He lined up the rear sight with the front, and found where he knew that a body stood on the other side of the cedar branches.  Pulling the trigger, he saw through the thicket a shadow fall to the ground.
Three, he thought.
The original set of boots ran from his sight.  He hid behind the cedars, trying to think like his prey.  Peering back, around the cedar, he saw the highwayman that was still pursuing him peering through the branches of the cedars, trying to make his way into the wash but afraid to be that exposed.
From the direction of the coach he heard the shotgun again.  “NO!” he yelled as he scrambled out of the cedars and into the wash.  He was right, he saw one bandit fall to the ground but there was another with his pistol raised.  Aiken fired his rifle at the one still trying to figure out how to hide in the cedars.  Not even caring to watch the shot hit he turned just in time to see the shot fired from the pistol.
Aiken fell to his knees in the sand of the wash.  His rifle falling from his grasp, he felt as each finger lost control and could no longer hold onto the iron.  Time slowed down as he watched the renegade fire another shot, and then another, and then another.  All three fired into the coach.  The fire in his belly had been quenched and he felt hollow yet again.