"We need to make a camp for the night."

"Likely those fellers ahead are gonna have to do the same," Buck nodded in agreement, nonetheless casting a look over toward the horizon. The dust cloud that had betrayed the raiders' party on the trail ahead of them had slowly dissipated as the two groups left the drier ground for lower, soil rich lands.

Chris stood up in his stirrups, finally gesturing to a rise up on the right. "We can make a cold camp up there, keep watch tonight."

Ezra bowed his head. He'd known, they'd all known, that the ride back from Bell City was going to be at least two days on the trail. The delay, with the attack at Gardner's ranch, meant part of a third day on the trail. And meant rising early with the dawn. He slapped at the dust that had accumulated on his trail jacket. Thank goodness he'd had the good sense to pack away his red one earlier. Then his eyes widened. Oh, dear. Another night on the trail and only Buck between him and Chris Larabee's persistent attentions. And last night Buck hadn't been very helpful. Jaw jutting in irritation at the night ahead, Ezra gigged Chaucer up the small rise.

Chris stared after Ezra in surprise, then saw the grin cracking on Buck's face as his old friend held back on Gray's reins. "What are you grinning at?"

Buck laughed quietly. "Old Ez ain't too happy with you, Pard. What'd you do this time?"

Chris shook his head and glared at Buck, then kicked his big black into motion, following Ezra up the rise, hearing Buck behind him, still chuckling.

Marcus Yarrow watched as his men set up camp for the night. He had already decided to send some scouts ahead to check out the town. He figured that Larabee and his men might not be far behind, so this raid would have to be done quickly but he couldn't risk the horses being ridden in the dark. He was sending his cousin Calvin with O'Rourke, a steady man. The two would slide into town and get the layout of the place, locate the bank and any other likely targets.

Jacob, his other cousin, was supervising the set up of the remuda line and the men were dropping bedrolls near where a campfire was already lit. Jacob, short and swarthy, appeared suddenly at Yarrow's elbow. "Horses are all set, thought I'd go hunting. Mebbe head back trail, see if your Larabee feller is there."

Marcus frowned and scratched his chin, looking like a vulture with his thin neck rising above his collar. He nodded slowly. "Make sure you're not spotted."

His cousin grinned, yellow teeth exposed as his thin lips drew back. "Won't even smell me." He slunk away, settling his hunting gear on his shoulder.

Yarrow watched him leave and wondered what had ever possessed his uncle, Clem, to marry into the local Indian tribe back in Tennessee. Now he was stuck with breed cousins that were only ever any good on the trail. He cast a thought on Calvin who was slightly less aggressively native, looking more like a Mexican cowpoke. At least Cal would be able to fit in with Terrence O'Rourke, when they rode into Four Corners. Might not speak too well, but he fit the part.

Seeking a cup of coffee from a pot that someone had put up at the campfire, Marcus sank down on his heels and sipped. They'd ride before dawn, trusting to their scouts to lead them until daybreak. By then, they should be hitting the bank in that little town. He wiped one hand across his face, smearing grease and coffee grinds from his teeth across one unshaven cheek. Spat into the fire and stood up. He gazed blindly out into the dark. Somewhere out there, Chris Larabee was hunkered down. Probably a cold camp. Marcus grinned. His boys outnumbered the gunfighter's small team. His boys would sleep warm tonight. And tomorrow, some of Larabee's boys ... would die.

Ezra sat sideways on the saddle hull, perched on his rump, feet on the ground. He had not removed his tan work coat. With the prospect of a chill night, no fire to ward off the cold, he had no intention of removing any layers. He had not spread out his bedroll yet, having no intention of doing that until after Chris Larabee was situated. I shall avoid any confrontations --- or temptations. He watched Chris, from the corner of his eyes, as Larabee stood poised at the edge of camp, staring out into the gloom of night. Even he could see the spark of a not too distant campfire. Ezra chewed on his lip. Whatever Chris' game, he suspected it would not be played tonight.

Buck dropped down on his open bedroll, shoulders back against his saddle. The high rack, of curved, smooth, rich warm leather, supported him comfortably. He tried to point his toes in his boots without too much success. Not taking them off tonight, he thought. Too much chance we run up against some of those outlaws drifting back our way. He spun the cartridge once on his pistol, making sure all the chambers were loaded with good bullets. Then, he dropped his head back, letting his eyes wander among the stars, while listening attentively for any strange sounds. None of them would get much sleep tonight.

Chris Larabee rested one hand on the butt of his six-gun, standing hip-shot on the perimeter of their camp. He tried to pierce the darkness with his gaze, having spotted the campfire less than a mile ahead. They'd been closer than he expected. Might be sending out scouts. His fingers hooked, like claws, in anticipation. Behind him, he heard Buck checking his weapon. Ezra was silent. Ezra was always silent before action. It was one of the more interesting characteristics of his friend. Chris smiled. I will convince him of my friendship and more. He's gonna learn that I don't go away. He shifted his weight bearing from one leg to the other, the movement subtle.

I do wish he'd left on his duster, Ezra thought, gritting his teeth and pressing his knees together with a silent hiss. Damn and blast. He could not remove his eyes from Larabee's slim silhouette. When the man moved slightly, Ezra felt a definite throb between his legs, the rounded buttocks of the gunman looked ripe and ready to his hungry eyes, clearly outlined by tight black pants and cut-away black jacket. Does he have any idea of what he is doing to me? Ezra pushed a fist down his stomach and below, applying unkind pressure between his thighs to try to discourage his too active member.

Lord. He looked aside only with great effort. The starry heavens ran down to the earth, the stunted bushy growths sticking out in hard relief against the twinkling lights on black velvet. There. Ezra's eyes narrowed and his momentary lapse dissolved in a heart-stopping flick of awareness. Someone was out there. Low, hard to see, but there and moving closer. He stared, muscles tensing as he tipped forwards onto the balls of his feet. No! He dove forward and directly into the backs of Larabee's knees where the gunman stood some distance across the simple camp.

Whoosh.

Ezra and Chris crashed down onto the rocky ground, Chris instinctively twisting to tackle his unknown attacker. He grabbed at the assailant and shoved hard, forcing the man onto his back, covering him and pressing a forearm tight against an exposed neck. The THUNK of a Bowie knife and sing of vibration caught his attention - right in front of his nose in the dirt. Point deep in the ground, handle shaking with the impact. And he looked down at his unmoving opponent. Ezra. With a deep, much put-upon, sigh, Chris started to roll off the southerner. Shit. What the hell! Chris rolled back on top and grinned tightly down into the pale, wide-eyed face below his own. With a quick motion, he pecked a kiss on those sweet lips, barely tasting before throwing himself to the side to face the knife-thrower.

Buck heard the scuffle of Ezra's boots and the crash as the man barreled into Chris. He heard the sound of the thrown knife whistling softly through the air to hit and sink into the ground. Someone was out there. His gun filled his hand as he crouched and duck-walked out to the side, into the brush and away from his friends. There! He could see the figure already crab-walking backwards away from them. Two could play this game. He yanked his boot knife free and threw it in one fluid motion. A grunt told him he'd had luck and he half-crawled, half-ran to the collapsing figure.

Ezra lay staring up at the stars again. He licked his lips and closed his eyes. Chris had kissed him. On the lips. Dazed, he quite lost track of current events and simply existed.

Chris, a tight grin still plastered on his face, despite the danger, flicked his head back, and cautiously looked around the edge of the camp. He spotted Buck speeding from the circle of bedrolls and saddles, saw him pull and throw a knife and heard the blade hit home. Earns his keep now and then, he thought with a nod of satisfaction and good humor. Very good humor. He'd finally gotten to kiss Ezra. Somehow that seemed much more important than some damn sneak getting snuffed. Have to share that thought with Ezra, he looked over his shoulder to where Ezra lay spread-eagle in the camp, facing the night sky with a rather stunned look. Hum. Chris' grin widened in a flash of white teeth before he turned away. With great self-will, Chris forced himself from Ezra and crept out into the brush to Buck. Gotta watch his back in case the shit out there wasn't alone.

He found Wilmington wiping his knife blade on the carcass of the outlaw that had tried to take a lucky throw at Chris. Buck nodded at him. With hand signals, they agreed to circle wide to make sure the man was alone.

By the time they'd decided their dead attacker had been acting alone, Buck and Chris had decided they needed to move on and away from their position. If one man found them, others could. It was still several hours 'til dawn, but they could walk and lead their horses, move south a bit and then parallel the trail. Ezra must have had the same thoughts for by the time they'd returned to him, he had all three horses re-saddled and was tying bedrolls on them. This would be their second night with almost no sleep.

His stomach went up and down. His thoughts went round and round. His body swayed back and forth. Ezra was beginning to feel unwell as he guided Chaucer, following in the wake of Chris and Buck. Buck was leading them back along a faint game trail that seemed to be running toward town, near to the main trail. The lightening of the sky to the east had finally let them climb into their saddles. They'd been leading their mounts for hours in the starlit darkness, the silence broken only by the faint chinks of rowels, the clicks of bridle bits, the pings of iron horse shoes hitting rocks, and shushing sounds of cloth rubbing cloth. He'd been glad enough to be horseback again, but the lack of conversation and the sameness of the terrain were beginning to wear on him. He bit back bile that seemed to wash up and down his throat. He knew he was tense, upset. His body was reacting to it all. Too much time to think, to feel.

Chris resisted turning in his saddle to check on Ezra. He could hear just enough from Chaucer to know that the southerner was following. Chris was in a comfortable spot in his life and he knew it. He was surrounded by men who had grown into good friends. He was in love with a wonderful man. He arched his back a bit to stretch. A smart man, too, most of the time, though he sure was being dumb about them right now. Chris knew a bit of Ezra's past from the tiny pieces that had been shared with the seven, many of the bits unintentional. Still, he figured he'd have a lifetime to learn Ezra once they finally stopped dancing around each other. One hand went to his lips, fingertip touching the curve of his small smile. More kissing would be a good place to start.

Buck kept sharp eyes on the breaking ground ahead of him, the light was still tricky and they needed to keep their mounts whole. A misstep now could make it difficult to get back to town in time and he was beginning to think ahead to their town now. Town and their friends. JD, Josiah and Nathan were back there without the rest of them. Vin holed up out at Gardner's ranch, hurt but healing. He felt out of balance. Come to depend on everyone too much, can't find my middle anymore. He shrugged slightly, didn't matter. Having good friends was better than being on your own. He knew he could always have a good time, even with someone who'd been a stranger only minutes before. But the growing sense of family he got from these six men was something he'd only had twice before. Once with his ma and the other ladies, when he was a tadpole. Once with Chris, Sarah, and Adam.

Thinking of Chris, Buck felt only relief that the man was finally looking outward again. It was about time. The grim, black-clad gunslinger image wasn't the Chris he'd first known or become best friends with. That Chris was coming back to him now, he was sure of it, as he watched his friend wooing Ezra Standish. Not a bad choice, all things considered. He knew that Chris would probably shoot him for even thinking that, but he had to suppress a chuckle anyway. Life sure was going to be different once those two sparks got together. Be a mighty big bonfire, for sure.

Yarrow was irritated when Jacob didn't return, then anxious and finally grim. Rather than send more men after him, he had the gang of riders break camp even though dawn was hours away. Just as they'd kicked over the campfire and mounted, Calvin and O'Rourke rode into the clearing. Both men looked pleased with themselves.

Yarrow pushed his sorrel through the milling riders and faced his cousin and the Irishman. "So what did you find out?"

"The bank is fat and ready," O'Rourke smiled easily, his face well covered in brown freckles. "We had some drinks at the saloon nearest the jail. Figured we'd hear more there about the lawmen too. Even saw one, some old man the bartender said was a preacher."

"Didn't look to be a problem." Calvin grunted his words, still hiding his surprise to see the gang on the move already. He looked around. "Where's Jacob?"

"He went scouting our back trail. Never came back." Marcus hadn't ever been that fond of his cousins but they were damn close to each other. He knew there'd be trouble now.

"Ain't back?" Calvin's look darkened. "You send anyone after him."

Yarrow shook his narrow head, sitting up taller in the saddle. "He was the one was trail savvy. Ain't like I got anyone else to send after him." He met the dark, smoldering eyes of his breed cousin. "You want to go after him, do it. Likely too late." He kicked his horse's flanks lightly, causing the animal to break forward between the scouts' horses. Over his shoulder he added, "Probably be better to just kill a few more up ahead, to remember him by." With that, he tugged down the brim of his big brown Stetson and waved a long arm, signaling his men to follow. Breaking out into a quick trot behind O'Rourke who'd spun his own mount around, the outlaws headed out of the low hills towards what they were sure was an unsuspecting town below.

Cal Yarrow sat still, horse held in check, watching his stuck up cousin lead off the rest of the gang. Jake was back up the trail, maybe in trouble. Cal wasn't about to desert his brother. He turned his mount around and headed in the opposite direction from the camp, eyes narrowed as he stared at the ground, looking for sign. Light was starting, he knew he'd probably spot something soon. One hand held tight to his Sharps.

Buck pulled up and waited for Chris and Ezra to ride up to him. As the horses gathered, blowing softly, he tipped his head toward the town ahead and waited. After a moment, Chris nodded.

"I hear 'em." He shifted in the saddle, unconsciously leaning towards their third.

Ezra cocked his head to the side, listening as well. Now he too heard the sounds of many riders somewhere ahead and to the side of them. "Riding hard." He didn't bother to expand upon the comment.

Buck pulled back a bit, letting Gray find better footing in the uneven clearing. "Don't think we've got time to play this on the sly, Chris."

Larabee nodded. "Break over to the main trail?"

Before Ezra could object, Buck was shaking his head and answering, "Naw, don't think that'd be too wise." He waved down their faint trail ahead. "This opens up ahead, you can see the brush thinning. We know where we are now, what I figure is just ride hell for leather and beat'em to town."

Chris flashed his high wattage, devil-take-hindmost grin at his oldest friend. He nodded once. It was like shedding years to see the answering wild smile broaden on Buck's face. Both men turned their reckless grins on Ezra Standish who sat staring at them in confusion. This only seemed to hike up their morbid humor and both men laughed aloud, almost gaily. Buck spoke first. "Let's do it."

Reining over, the three men kicked deeply into their horses' flanks and flew down the trail and spread out to ride side by side as the land opened up for them below. The race for Four Corners was on!

Ezra easily guided Chaucer over the rough ground, keeping pace with his fellow lawmen. The crazy smiles and laughter of the other two had first confused him, then amused him. His associates could be foolishly brave and carefree in the face of deadly danger, this being no exception. He could feel the thrill of riding with them now, the ground flashing beneath him, the staccato beats of Chaucer's hooves striking the ground in a rhythmic stride. He sat straight up and then leaned forward from his hips, savoring the oneness with Chris and Buck's wildness and the thrill of their mission to stop those outlaws from hurting their friends or pillaging their town. Their home. His home. His smile grew until he knew it matched his taller friends' - savage and intent, hungry for the kill. Heart beating wildly now, Ezra pulled his rifle free of the saddle scabbard, as they thundered up towards the south side of town, behind the main street buildings, behind the bank.

Somewhere up ahead, the outlaws were also reaching town, driving down the main street on their charging horses, and already firing off rounds in front of the bank. It was time to put a stop to them. They dropped from their saddles and ground tied the horses. Buck and Chris swiftly split and ran up the sides of the bank. Ezra hesitated for just a moment, realizing nothing had been said to him. It was as if he hadn't existed. There had been something almost juvenile about the way Wilmington and Larabee had reacted to each other there when they started their wild ride into town. Something old and familiar between the two men, like a lapsed friendship renewed. Ezra hadn't been a part of that and now it seemed in their spirited charge, he'd been forgotten once again. He worked the action on his rifle and decided that if he had to choose, he'd follow Chris.

Calvin Yarrow, half Cherokee, pulled up behind the three riders he'd finally caught up with, his face set in grim lines of retribution. He'd found his brother Jake's body, knifed and abandoned at their cold camp and then tracked them back to this same town he'd just rode from very early this morning. His brother was dead. Jacob Yarrow would know revenge. Cal's fingers whitened their grip on the reins as he kept position in some trees near the top of a low hill overlooking the town. He could hear shots being fired now. Must be Marcus and the rest hitting the bank. More shots. The lawmen - fighting back. He scowled. They had to pay for Jake. He raised his Sharps, taking aim at the only one still in sight, the shortest of the three, who was creeping up along the near side of the bank, rifle in hand. He peered down the sights of his Sharps. It would only take one well-aimed shot to smudge the life out of the man down there. He inhaled slowly, held his breath and let his finger caress the trigger.

Ezra slowed as he sidled up to the entrance to the alley beside the bank. Chris had charged blindly up ahead there and he felt he had to be more cautious, so he could watch his friend's back. A look around the empty back lots, nothing. He looked up and into the smiling eyes of Josiah, who waved to him briefly before turning away and taking up firing down at the miscreants on the main street. Josiah was positioned on the roof of the neighboring building, off to the side of the bank, and far enough from the edge of the shingles to see both Ezra's back lot and a wide angle of the main street in front of the bank. So, it seems that our friends are not unprepared. Ezra smiled tightly in turn and flattened himself against the bank wall, preparatory to edging along it's rough siding to the alley and Chris beyond.

Yarrow grinned, sucking on his teeth. Whoever that was, the man had just turned and now was spread out like a Sunday dinner for him on the side of the building. He began to squeeze the Sharps' trigger.

Ezra could hear the quick, loud firecracker quality of the shooting ahead and now that he was against the bank, the rising sun was no longer a factor and he could see Chris Larabee's shape crouched ahead of him at the far end of the alley, where it opened to the street. Chris was leaning forward, arm and gun hand extended in a straight line, firing and re-setting as his hand would kick up slightly with each shot. His flat brim black hat was like a slice of darker night against the dry white dust of the street beyond him. There, Ezra could see milling horses, their coats shiny and bright, chestnut, black, buckskin, gray, brown, sorrel. Riders in nondescript clothing, hats low, guns firing, smoke rising from the deadly barrage. As he watched, a rider pitched up and back off the rear of his horse, a dark splotch already forming on his chest.

Ezra swung his rifle up.

Yarrow began to press on the trigger, a smile of hate on his face.

Click.

In his ear. A sound right there. Calvin Yarrow jerked as he pressed home the trigger, the Sharps' barrel rising slightly in reflex to the nervous reaction. A blast of noise, so close that it was like an explosion, was the last sound he heard.

Ezra jerked back in shock. The split wood shingle siding of the bank exploded outward in a spray of splinters just beside his head. With a cry he couldn't suppress, he dropped his rifle and grabbed at his face. Oh god! White pain deadened all sound as he sank to his knees.

Vin wiped his hand on his face, complexion paling as he saw his friend falter, then fall. Had he been too late? He kicked viciously at the body of the outlaw on the ground, then grabbed up the Sharps that lay beside the man and climbed to his feet slowly. The pull at his bruised ribs and the bandages over the tears of his earlier wound all clamored for his attention. He ignored them and walked stiffly back to where Peso was waiting, near a ground-tied mustang. He'd have to send someone back for the other horse later. His friend was in trouble, likely his other friends as well, but first he'd have to get to Ezra.

Ezra rolled onto his back, hands cupped over his face, the pain excruciating. He could hear the gunfight continuing just beyond him but he had left that for a private world of pain. His skin, hell, his eyes, it all hurt. It hurt! He'd been silent after that first cry of surprise and now little moans leaked out. Oh, please, someone, stop the pain!

Vin neck reined Peso over to follow a zigzag course down the hillside, riding recklessly fast, hunched over the saddle horn in his hurry to get to the downed gambler. My fault! I should'a just shot that bastard without givin' him warning. Damn, damn, damn. Guilt was sucking up his body's pain, so his misery was all emotional at the moment. The pain of abused flesh might surface later, but for now all he could feel was crushing guilt. My fault!

Chris picked off another rider, the damn fools didn't even have enough sense to seek cover. He could see Buck's arm extended from the far side of the bank. Now where's Ezra? Another ping at his side had him ducking and shooting again. He'd spotted JD firing from the front of the jail, down behind a water trough. He was popping up with both pistols blazing, then dropping back down, a grin plastered across his face. Despite the danger, Chris couldn't suppress an answering grin. Nathan was there at the end of the dry goods store, behind a couple of barrels.

Not a bad plan, Chris reflected. If we hadn't made it back, our boys would have had them in a crossfire anyway. He flicked a look up at where he could just make out Josiah taking aim with a long rifle up on the roof of the chemist's. Made sense, he thought as he aimed and shot another would-be robber. Josiah was a good shot with a long gun and their best choice without Vin or Buck around. The boys had known this was coming, of course, since Josiah had sent that telegraph several days ago, likely they'd been alert all this time. He looked over his shoulder into the darker alley behind him. Where was Ezra?

Buck risked a look out into the street, leaning his long body around the corner of the bank, down low to the ground. He could see Chris barely, could see JD and Nate. Somewhere a high gun was taking out some of the riders. Must be Josiah. He sat back in and down on his heels, reloading his six-gun rapidly, one eye cocked at the action on the street. Only four men still sat on horses.

Marcus Yarrow was furious! His men had dropped around him, so fast that he'd had no time to get them to cover. Sitting well into the center of the pack, he'd not been hurt yet, but his gang had dwindled to a handful of men. He did not intend to die today. With a strained yell, he called to the riders still up. "Go! Now!" And then heeled his horse over, driving the sharp metal of his gun sight into the animal's side. The horse grunted and leapt ahead, leading the dash out of town, only three men at his back. Only three, he had time to think grimly, as he led them out of the ambush. For that's what it was. Somehow, the town had been warned.

As the last of the outlaws took flight, the lawmen rose slowly and cautiously to their feet. JD moved around the water trough and began to check the bodies closest to him. Nathan stepped down into the street from the boardwalk, patting one of the barrels that had been his cover as he came out into the street too. Buck kicked aside two of the dead men and strode over to JD. Buck's blood was still singing and he needed to scream, dance, shout, something. He knocked Dunne's hat off.

Chris stood up. Felt like every joint was creaking. He rubbed at his back with one hand, the other still full of gun as he surveyed the bloody street. With a swift move, his gun was up and firing, the single shot loud in the street as a wounded outlaw, aiming at Buck's back, became another dead outlaw.

Buck spun and saw what had happened. His grin faded but he nodded to Chris and then turned to look more closely at the remaining bodies, hearing Chris's, "Buck, you're smarter than that! Watch yourself!" in his ears.

Josiah raised up from where he'd been lying on the roof and brought his rifle up with him, still aimed and held to his cheek and shoulder. He hadn't seen the one move that Chris had shot just then. He should have. He watched closely for any more sign of movement.

Chris twisted around to look down the alley at his back as he heard the thunder of a hard ridden horse. In the early morning gloom, he couldn't see much but he caught sight of a big horse with rider pull to a rough stop at the end of the alley. Then as the rider jumped off his horse and half stumbled on knees that weren't working too well, Chris recognized the shape of that capote and slouch hat. Vin! Dammit, didn't he think they could handle this without him? Dammit! Tanner could be making his injuries worse. Larabee walked quickly back up the alley.

Vin jumped from the saddle, unwisely. His knees gave out and he had to stumble to catch his balance, one hand going to his ribs and the wound at his side that he could now feel was wet again. Must have pulled the bandages loose. The thought was fleeting because his bright blue eyes, anxious and narrowed, were locked on the rocking body in the dirt. Ezra was there, hands to his face, unable to keep still. Close now, Vin could hear the tiny moans coming from the man. Ezra tried to be silent when injured, seemed to be a matter of stupid pride, Vin had always figured. So if he was sounding like this, things must be bad.

The shooting further in town had stopped. Hoping that everyone else was alright, Vin went to his knees beside Ezra, grabbing on to the man's forearms. "Ez! Take it easy! Let me see where you're hurt." He pulled back as Standish sagged to the ground and groaned.

Chris reached Vin just as the tracker dropped down beside someone. Beside Ezra. Oh, god, Ezra! Larabee circled the men and crouched down by Ezra's head. No, no, no, no, no! Heard Vin's words and nodded, grabbing the gambler's shoulders. "Ezra! Let us see."

Vin yanked back, pulling the gambler's hands from his face.

Chris and Vin stared at the mass of blood, it was impossible to see where it was all coming from, Ezra's face was awash in it. As one voice, the two men yelled, "NATHAN!"

JD took a swing at his best friend and mentor. Missed as the rascal danced away. Dang blast it! Come out of nowhere, shoot a bunch of outlaws and he thinks he's got the right to knock off my hat again! "Buck, darn it!"

Wilmington grinned expansively and then ducked and shivered as a shot sounded behind him. Spinning, grin vanished, he saw smoke rise from Chris' gun, a scowl on his friend's face. Heard Chris yell, "Buck, you're smarter than that! Watch yourself!" With a nod, ignoring JD now, Buck began to walk back across the street, checking the bodies, pushing away at the few rider-less horses still wandering loose. Most of those had taken off after the fleeing outlaws, the ones that hadn't been shot.

JD half-skipped over to Wilmington's side, giving him a broad shove against one arm. "Yeah, Buck! You watch yourself!" Before Buck could retaliate, Dunne had taken a wide step to the side, an upward curl to his lips as he started in another direction, also checking bodies. It was good to have Buck and Chris back. He wondered where Ezra was and if Vin had ended up with them. Figure I'll hear it all soon enough. He carefully squatted next to another body, turning it over cautiously, one hand still gripping one of his six-guns just in case.

Nathan saw Buck and Chris during the shoot out and had been mighty grateful that they'd showed when they had. Not that he and Josiah and young JD couldn't have managed, but it was easier with more guns. They'd been in position since before dawn. Josiah had reported what he'd seen and what Sam, the bartender, had told him after those two rough looking strangers had left the saloon. Looked like scouts for trouble. They had made a plan late that night and gotten ready early.

Jackson wiped at his face with a pocket-handkerchief. Was still early but he'd taken last watch before the dawn preparations and he was tired. Drained by the fight and the lack of sleep. Nathan began catching at the reins of the loose horses. Once he had a couple sets of leathers in his hands, the rest seemed to herd to him, were easier to catch. Chris' shot had spooked the few he'd caught but they settled down fast and he kept his gun handy and eyes open as he continued gathering the horses.

Josiah, staring down at the disarray in the street, shook his head minutely. He kept his rifle steady and eyed the slow progress of JD, Nathan, and Buck with care. He didn't want Chris to have to save the day again, not when he was here to do the job. Where was Ezra? If Buck and Chris were here, why hadn't Ezra come out of the alley? He'd seen him earlier, just as things were hotting up. He itched to turn and look but until Buck and JD gave an all clear, he dasn't. A bead of sweat worked its way down between his shoulder blades and he shrugged it away. He heard the sound of a fast pony coming up behind him somewhere but left that to Chris, who he knew was just below him.

Jackson had just caught the final horse still wandering the main street when he froze at the cry of his name.

"NATHAN!"

That was Chris and --- Vin?

Nate dragged his bunch of horses to JD and threw the leathers into the boy's hands. "Here!" Then he dug in and ran, following Buck Wilmington, who'd also stopped suddenly at the cry, in the very act of turning over a final corpse. Buck seemed to know where to go and was diving into the alley beside the bank. Jackson veered around the fallen and headed into the darker shade of the alley.

Josiah's blood ran cold at that cry. He half-rose and looked back and down, still clutching his rifle. He could make out Vin and Chris kneeling beside someone writhing on the ground. Could only be Ezra! He swung around to look out at the main street. JD was standing there holding the reins on at least six horses, and looking worriedly back toward the bank and beyond. Josiah scanned the bodies on the street. Damn. Can't go down yet, not until I know that JD is safe too. He resumed his watch to the front, but listened for more sounds from his rear. Worry held him in an aching grasp.

Vin held on to Ezra's forearms, straining to keep the man from returning claw-like hands to his bloody face. He looked up to meet Chris Larabee's eyes, eyes full of fear. "Hold'em, Cowboy, don't want him to hurt himself no worse." His voice sounded hoarse to his own ears.

Chris held on tight to Ezra's shoulders as Ezra twisted and rocked beneath his hands, gasping out tiny moans of pain, muttering in a tight voice, "Make it stop, please, just make it stop!"

"Ezra! Listen to me," Chris leaned in close and spoke into the man's ear, "You gotta be still, Nathan's coming, he'll help. I got you, now, I got you, I won't let you go."

"Chris?" Ezra's body sagged slightly, then tensed again as fresh waves of agony kept him from seeing anything except white pain. He felt hands on his person but all he could do was struggle to escape the shocking pain, writhe and turn. He arched off the ground and his head knocked against something firm. "Chris?"

"Yeah, Ez, I'm here. Easy there, Ez, easy."

Chris was crying now and didn't even know it, Vin realized, looking up and taking in the sight of one bloody friend held tightly in the arms of another. He held on to Ezra's wrists, fighting to keep fingers from touching the mess of the man's face. He cricked his neck over to see Buck, then Nathan running pell-mell down the alley towards them. "Nate! Here!" He realized even as he yelled that it was pointless, Jackson could see them just fine.

Buck cringed back against the side of the bank, staring at his friends in horror. How had Ezra been hurt like this? What happened?

"Holy mother of god!" Jackson skidded to a stop and sank down on his haunches beside them, craning to see Standish's face as the man rolled his head back and forth across one of Larabee's thighs where the kneeling man held and supported him. He saw the tear tracks on Chris' face but had no time to figure that out.

Buck wanted to help but stayed back, seeing that Vin and Chris already had a good hold on Ezra and that Nathan was here now as well and needed room to look, maybe, please god, to fix their friend. Oh, god, no, oh, not Ezra! His heart hurt knowing how Chris must be feeling too. He waited helplessly.

Nathan paused. Taking in the nature of the injury, the clear pain and panic of his friend, and the way Vin was struggling to hold Ezra's hands back from the injuries, Nathan's mind raced. He climbed part way to his feet and whipped his brown leather belt off, dragging the buckle open and pulling the strap out through the loops quickly. "Here." He held on to the belt while placing one firm hand on Ezra's belly and pushing. Standish bent over the new pressure, causing Chris to loosen his grip a bit. "Vin, push his arms back behind him." Nathan's firm tones were an order and the tracker obeyed with a startled look at the healer.

Jackson didn't have time for explanations; he could hear Ezra's panting moans and breathless chant. The minute the gambler's hands were behind him, Nathan had his belt over and around the wrists and wrapped the leather strap fast and tight, pulling it through the buckle and half knotting it into itself. "There."

Buck watched, heart breaking.

Breathing hard, Nathan sat back on his heels, one hand again on Standish's stomach. Before anyone could protest, he said, "That will stop him from hurting himself until we can get him up to my place and I can see what's wrong."

Vin dropped his hands to his knees and stared in awful guilt and sorrow as his friend was tied up. Oh god, all my fault.

"Ezra, I'm still here. You just let me hold you. Trust me, Ezra. Trust me. I'll keep you safe." Chris kept up the murmurs, unable to stop himself from shooting a look of anger at Jackson when the man tied off Ezra's hands. Makes sense, don't be stupid, he told himself, while slipping his hands down from the tops of Ezra's shoulders to under them. He wiped at his face by rubbing it against one of his own shoulders, then looked down at his gambler again. "I got you, Ez."

Nathan nodded as Chris moved to a new grip, ready to lift Standish. "Vin? Can you take his legs?" Jackson stood up, watching Ezra carefully, not seeing the grimace on Vin's face as he maneuvered to lift Ezra. "Bring him up to the clinic, I'll go ahead, get ready."

The other two men nodded silently now. Ezra was still fighting them, gasping now like a landed fish, body jumping about like one too, Vin thought as he turned and grabbed the man's booted ankles tightly and lifted. He staggered slightly to one side as Ezra tried to kick out, damn this's gonna hurt some, Vin thought as he stifled a cry of his own as his bruised ribs reacted to this new mistreatment. No time to bother, got to get Ezra to help. Behind him, he could hear Chris' continuous stream of soft murmurs, no longer able to make out the words, but clearly hearing the worry and love in that voice. Ezra better make it through this or Chris will be in a bad way.

"Pard, put him down." Buck stood in front of Vin, blocking his forward movement.

Vin realized he hadn't even noticed Buck's arrival. "Ain't got the time, Ez's hurt."

"Make the time, Vin. Put him down now. I'll get him." Wilmington didn't budge. He spoke clearly and firmly despite the horror he faced. He'd seen as bad and worse during the Great War, but this still made his skin crawl.

Tanner listed to the side and dropped Standish's legs. "Have it your own way." He didn't try to hide his anger, but felt Buck's large hand momentarily on his shoulder.

"You aren't healed yet, Pard, Ezra would never forgive himself if you got hurt worse helping him." Buck was hastily stepping in between Standish's legs, facing the clinic and grabbing, lifting, as he spoke. With a quick nod to Vin, "Go help JD on the street," Buck then glanced over his shoulder at Chris who was waiting anxiously behind Ezra's shoulders. He nodded to Chris, silently cursing as he saw the drying tear tracks and fresh tears still dripping down his friend's face. "Don't you go giving up on old Ez, here, Chris! We'll get him up to Nate and he'll do him up just fine."

Then they were off at a quick dogtrot out the alley and across the street. They didn't even pause at the steps up to the clinic. Chris only had eyes for Ezra, trusting Buck to get them to help. He nearly tripped on the first step up, then adjusted and was climbing them two at a time. Ezra's head and shoulder's rested heavily on his chest, he took the balance of the smaller man's weight as they carried him up the stairs.

All Ezra could see was white light, all he could do was relive the bombardment of those cutting shards into his face, his eyes burned, his hands were somehow cut off and he wrenched wretchedly at his bonds. His shoulders strained with panicked jerks and then he was lifted up into the air. He fought it, twisted, tried to kick out, stop the new pain. That was all he could think. Stop the pain! Then the hands on him became hot, the only warm spots on his body and he felt icy shivers of shock rip through him. Warm air brushed against one ear, Chris' voice rattled tightly into him, he could sense a roil of emotions from Chris but his own agony precluded his deciphering of them. Oh, god, make it stop!

Buck nearly tripped over the door rise as he rushed into Nathan's small clinic, shuffling his feet to try to keep Ezra's body from any unnecessary bumping. Chris, coming up behind him and holding Ezra by the shoulders was also hurrying and his forward motion was propelling Wilmington into the tiny room. "Where do you want him, Nate?" Buck had to rush the words out as well, his air mostly expended with the dash up the steep stairs to the clinic.

Jackson stood just inside his clinic, holding the door wide. "Set him on that straight back chair in the middle of the room." He pointed to a chair he'd specially set out. On his run ahead, he had been rapidly thinking over what he needed to do and how he'd do it. During the war, he'd often seen similar injuries from soldiers hurt in enemy bombardments. Shrapnel and debris were dangerous, exploding from buildings and buttress works. They cut unprotected flesh to bloody ribbons. He needed to flush the injured area to see exactly what he was dealing with.

Chris eyed the simple chair and his anger rose another notch. Not even on the bed? What was Nathan thinking? "Nate!" Seeing the healer look up at him, he demanded, "What about on the bed?"

"Chris, I need to work on his face, can't do that well if he's lying down." Nathan had a hand on Buck's shoulder now, guiding Wilmington in a short circle so that Ezra's legs could be placed astride the chair seat, seating him backwards, chest against the chair back.

Larabee's anger subsided again, seeing the reason in Jackson's edict. But all he really wanted to do was hold Ezra, comfort him. Ezra was whimpering now, non-stop. No longer making sensible words, just soft noises of pain. He was trembling so badly that it felt like Chris was holding onto a vibrating railroad train carriage. "Easy, Ezra, it'll be alright." He continued his soft encouragements as he guided Ezra's upper body into position with Nathan's help. Unable to leave Ezra so vulnerable, arms tied behind and legs splayed open against the chair, Chris slid onto the seat behind the smaller man and wrapped his arms around Ezra to grip the top rung of the chair back.

Jackson ignored Larabee's positioning, instead watching as Ezra kicked out again now that Buck had released his ankles and retreated. "We got to do something about his legs too." He looked up at Buck and saw the reluctant comprehension there. Wilmington nodded and picked up some long strips of bandaging.

Nathan, seeing that Buck understood, turned back to his stove and removed a now steaming kettle. It had been warming earlier and hadn't taken long to reheat. Despite his urgency, he worked methodically, carefully pouring some off into a bowl, putting more in a cup with some herbs. Then he dragged up another chair to face his injured friend, before returning with the cup in one hand and the bowl in the circle of his other arm. Buck pulled over a small table and set it up beside Nathan who nodded his thanks, placing the bowl and cup there.

"We have to clean his face now. It's going to hurt plenty." He didn't bother looking at Ezra who was still making small noises, instead Nathan met Chris Larabee's wide hazel eyes. He could see the fear and anger there. "I'm going to give him some tea that may help some with the pain, but someone has to hold his head."

Chris began to shake his own, no, damn it, this was torture, not treatment. Then Buck was leaning up against his back, hands warm and secure on his shoulders, rubbing them lightly. "Take it easy, Big Dog, you jest hold on to our Ez. I'll keep his head still for Nate." Somehow, the soft, kind tones in his old friend's voice melted his resistance and with a sigh, Larabee nodded.

Buck looked up at Jackson who sat waiting, one hand dipping a bit of flannel into the clear warm water of the bowl at his elbow. "Go ahead, Nathan." Then he had a thought. "Think we should give him something first, some laudanum maybe?"

Nate shook his head. "He's in shock, Buck, I don't want to make it worse. I used up the last of my laudanum on Old Jeb Bryers, got some on order but it ain't here yet. Best I can do is some herbs in this tea." With that, Nathan dropped the wet cloth and picked up the small cup of steeping herbs. He leaned forward and tipped the cup against Ezra's lower lip, careful of a splinter he could see even there.

Standish drank down most of the dark mixture with a bit of coaxing from Chris and Nathan, though some did dribble down his chin. Nathan carefully wiped that away with gentle pats of a clean cloth.

"Now I got to start," Nathan stated to the others, regret in his tone. "Can't wait too long, infection sets in mighty quick." He dampened another cloth with warm clean water from the bowl by his side and drizzled the water over Ezra's face, starting at the hairline. Ezra jerked back against Chris, crying out again. The sound was like the helpless mewling of a tiny kitten, Chris thought in despair, holding on and continuing to soothe his Ezra with soft-spoken words of comfort, "I'm here, Ezra, just hold on. I got you. Won't ever let you go. Never let you go."

The water, turning reddish, dripped down from Standish's face to form a puddle on the floor. Jackson looked down in surprise, realizing he'd been so anxious about his patient that he hadn't even taken simple precautions. With a soft curse, he rose and snatched up a wide pan from under the stove and set it on the floor beneath the chair so that it would catch run-off.

Set now, Nathan repeated his gentle bathing of Ezra's face. The man's eyes were closed, lids fluttering. His jaw was so tense, teeth gritted, that his face was distorted with the strained muscles. Ezra gave a tiny cry with each repeat of the fall of water over his face. Chris was speaking softly into one of Ezra's ears, so quietly that although Nathan could hear the sound, he couldn't make out the words.

Buck was cursing. A monotone string of profanity that repeated endlessly, not too loud, just another background sound as Nathan concentrated on looking closely at Ezra's skin. He'd discovered splinters of wood piercing the face in an irregular pattern mostly on the right side. None had actually struck the eyes, from what he could see, but some were large as needles, others, small as flecks. There was a rash forming on the skin, like it had been peppered and was reddening around the tiny dark spots. Nothing life threatening, but painful as hell, Jackson decided.

Nathan sat back once he'd cleaned up the skin surface; he kept one large, gentle hand on one of Ezra's thighs. Touching a patient, he'd discovered, often was enough to ease pain. He looked up at Buck and Chris. "He's gonna be fine, just in a lot of pain right now." Nathan wiped his face with a wet hand, then continued, "I'm going to have to pick out all those splinters. Then check his eyes. Since he can close his lids, ain't no big pieces there, but probably some grit."

Chris, voice hard, despite tears that refused to stop sliding down his grim face, ordered, "Nathan, talk to Ezra."

With a sense of shock, Jackson realized he'd been ignoring Standish as a person, just treating him as a thing, living maybe, but a thing, even if he had been trying the healing touch on him. He frowned an apology at Larabee and refocused his attention to their gambler directly in front of him. "Ezra?"

Ezra had given up trying to suppress the noises that seemed to independently make their way out of his body. He could hear himself whimpering, crying out in small sounds of pain as Mr. Jackson treated his face. The white pain of earlier had given way to generalized nerve twisting agony, but of more natural proportions. He'd felt this pain before when shot. Just more localized. Having Chris wrapped around him, tight up against his back, feeling Buck's large hands gently but firmly supporting his head, he felt an overwhelming sense of safety, despite the pain. There was even the touch of another hand on his leg, a hand that he decided must be Nathan's, and it too felt reassuring. Chris was speaking to him, saying that he would stay with him, keep him safe and make sure all was well. The litany was healing him in places he hadn't realized he was hurt. He was actually beginning to think again.

When Chris' gentle voice turned into a louder growl at the healer, Ezra would have smiled if he hadn't figured out it would have hurt far too much. Trust Chris. Yes, he could do that - he'd always been able to do that, and now it was as comfortable as breathing to think that trusting Chris was part of his life. He even understood both Nathan and Chris in this instance, understood what Chris was demanding and Nathan giving. Carefully, because his lip had been pierced at least once, Ezra answered.

"Yes, Mr. Jackson. I hear you."

That produced a moment of stunned silence.

Buck stopped cursing and looked down in shock. He'd figured Ezra was out of his mind in pain.

Chris hugged tighter, a smile stealing across his face. That was his Ezra coming back!

Nathan jerked his chin back in surprise. He really hadn't expected Ezra to answer, had just addressed him to appease Larabee. Adjusting quickly, he smiled at the trembling form in front of him. "Ezra, I have to pull out the splinters in your face. It's gonna hurt powerfully."

"I see. I assume, since you offer nothing more for the pain, that I am to endure this without any additional medicinal help?" Ezra was proud of himself for pushing down the groan that wanted to escape. He couldn't regulate his voice though, it sounded raspy and dry.

"Sorry, Ezra. That tea's all I got. I'll do this as fast as I can." Taking up tweezers that he'd gotten ready as soon as he'd made it to the clinic earlier, Nathan began to work.

The next hour did not really go very fast at all.

Josiah stood on the balcony of the clinic, staring out at the midday activities of the small town below. He leaned heavily on the rail on his forearms, shirtsleeves rolled up and brawny arms tanned and muscular in the sunshine. The street was bare of the dead from that early morning fight. The abandoned and orphaned horses were now stripped of gear and calm in a corral behind the livery. Usual procedure was to sell them and use the proceeds to repair any damages to the town caused by animals' prior owners.

He'd been inside the clinic earlier, nothing could have kept him away. When he'd arrived, Nathan was painstakingly removing splinters from Ezra's face. Josiah shuddered and closed his eyes. That had not been pretty. He had wanted to stay to lend support, once he knew that Ezra wasn't facing a death-threatening wound, but he sensed he would simply be an extra voice.

Ezra's eyes were going to be fine according to Nathan who'd looked closely after flushing them. But for now Nathan had bound them to let them rest. When Nathan poured the water into those blood red eyes, Josiah had nearly passed out, just watching. He paled at the memory of Ezra's hitching breath, Chris' white face just behind Ezra's, Buck's fierce hold on Ezra's head, the tall man hunched over the doubled bodies of Larabee and Standish, sandwiched into that straight-backed chair.

But even all of that he could have stood and stayed for - all but what his discriminating ears had finally heard. Chris Larabee's stream of soft comments meant for Ezra's ears alone. Josiah frowned in remembrance. Just hadn't sounded quite right.

Not that Chris had said anything wrong, just something about the tone, the desperation and, dare he say it? Love, in the words. Buck had been standing right there over them, must have heard it all and didn't turn a hair. Nathan was so close against Ezra's face, picking at those splinters that he had to have heard too. Of course, he'd been intent on what he was doing, might not have really heard it all, or understood, if he had. Josiah lowered his head and shoulders to rest his chin meditatively on his crossed forearms. Street was clear, everything looked normal for a noon in Four Corners. His back muscles twitched. Well, except for the town's lawmen.

Vin Tanner came out of the livery with JD Dunne, the two immediately looking up and waving to Josiah. He nodded moodily in return. Vin was another matter, too. The boy had shown up right on Josiah's heels. Claimed to be his fault that Ezra was hurt. Took some sharp words from Chris and Buck to settle him down. Nate had given Ezra a rest part way through the splinter removals so he could check on Vin's injuries. Josiah chuckled involuntarily in memory of Vin's look of betrayal when Larabee told Nate about the bullet hole and banged up ribs. Fortunately, Nathan pronounced Vin healing nicely, said that Mrs. Gardner did a fine job closing the wounds and binding the ribs. All Vin had to do was take it easy for a bit. Nathan had dismissed the man with a wave, and turned back to Ezra.

Josiah had watched the shadowed look on Tanner's face as the man backed out of the clinic. Not all settled there yet. He watched now as Vin and JD moved on. JD had a hand on Vin's shoulder, and was talking to him with a look of concentration. Neither seemed to be paying much attention to the rest of the world around them, but they continued over to the undertakers. Likely going to look over those bodies, see if any faces look familiar. Sanchez paused in his ruminations. Some had got away. Four. Four had ridden out of town, and none had been hurt from what he'd been able to see from his perch on the roof. One had been the leader, too. They'd have to be careful now. Man had been turned away in his greed and bloodlust. Might be back.

Sanchez glanced over to the darkened doorway to the saloon. Then there were the Garson brothers. Those two had ridden into town nearly a week ago, taken up a room at the boarding house, and were loitering around the saloon most days and nights. Everyone knew they were carrying family feelings against Larabee who'd shot down their daddy in a street shootout. It happened when Garson went crazy one night on too much bad booze down at Digger Dan's and begun trying to shoot out the lights of folk's bedrooms. Chris had tried to subdue him but Frank Garson on a tear was not someone who went anywhere quietly. He'd called out Larabee and drew before Chris had even turned to face the man. Only a first misfire had saved Larabee from a shot in the back. Garson's second shot was met by Larabee's lead. Chris had shot straight. Garson missed. And died.

JD knew about Lemuel and Boll, had seen the brothers and told Josiah the story behind their scowling faces. He and JD had kept an eye on the men but those two had been perfect citizens. Just mouthy, with bitter eyes. Death stalked Four Corners while they stayed in town. Josiah felt goose bumps on his arms as he contemplated how differently things could have turned out if those two had jumped into the firefight this morning. As it was, he wasn't too sure why they hadn't. Watching JD and Vin disappear into the funeral parlor, Josiah realized he'd stopped brooding about Chris Larabee's actions in the clinic.

Buck crouched down at Ezra's feet, unbinding the strips of white cloth that had tied the gambler's legs to the chair legs. Chris waited, hands holding onto Ezra's upper arms as the man swayed in the chair where he'd been held so tightly. Nathan was stretching and arching his back, grunting at the stiffness of having hunched over for more than an hour, picking at those bits of wood stuck all over Ezra Standish's face like pins in a cushion.

"Alright, Chris, he's free." Buck's voice was subdued, tired. He just wanted to go off somewhere and sleep, only he wanted to make sure that his friends were all set first. He glanced over at Nathan, man looked wiped out. "Nate? Why don't you bunk out now. Chris can take Ezra over to his room, stay with him there."

Chris' head came up in surprise and then appreciation. Buck surely knew that he wanted Ezra to himself for a while. Not like we're going to be doing anything just yet, but I'd like him to rest, with me. Maybe we can finally do some talking. Or not, he thought as he caught again at Ezra as the man once more swayed to the side. Shit. He's off balance cause of his hands. Larabee carefully slid back and off the chair, maintaining his hold on his southerner as he guided the man up and off the chair as well. "That's right, Ezra, just slow and easy." He steadied Ezra and called to Nathan, "Nathan, can you get this belt off him now?" He really wasn't ready for Jackson's reply.

"Not sure that's wise. He's still hurting. Might dig at his face, get it all infected when I just got it cleaned out." Nathan knew sometimes you had to be hard to be kind.

Chris felt his anger rise again but before he could speak, Buck was leaning in with busy fingers between him and Ezra, and then pulling free Nathan's belt. "Chris'll make sure he don't do himself anymore harm, Nate." Buck's voice left no room for argument.

Nathan frowned and then shrugged. He might not say anything, but he'd heard enough from Larabee's comments to Ezra to know that they had something going on between them. Chris wouldn't be leaving Ezra alone anytime soon and he, Nathan, was damn tired. "Fine. Chris you watch him close." Nathan didn't let the humor he felt at that superfluous order surface. Huh. Ezra'd be amazed at the words Nathan could use when he so wished. Eyes blurring with fatigue, he waved them out. "I'll just lie down for a spell."

Buck patted the man on the shoulder as the healer crossed the room and sank onto the still pristine bed. Wilmington followed, letting Chris handle Ezra, while he made sure Nathan was gonna be alright. He'd done some mighty fancy work just now, treating Ezra right delicately. Man had talent, healing talent, for sure. Buck nodded to himself as Nathan Jackson dropped onto his back, legs sagging off the edge of the bed. Even as Buck lifted them up, Jackson was already snoring softly. Buck took an extra moment to shake out a folded blanket from the foot of the bed and lay it across Nathan's chest. "Sleep well, Pard, you earned it." He gave the sleeping healer a light pat on the shoulder and then turned to see how Chris and Ezra were managing.

Ezra just wanted to go home, home to his very own room. Lie down and let the world go on without him. His entire face throbbed, burned. His eyes were dry and searing. His body ached from fighting against the restraints as he was treated to Mr. Jackson's tender mercies. He licked at his lower lip, tasting blood there. Nathan had talked once in a while as he worked, saying at one point, that he really couldn't do any stitches since it was mostly holes, not tears in Ezra's skin. Instead he'd patted on some obnoxious mixture of herbs, calling it a tincture of something or other. Stung like the very devil, leaving some numbness in its wake.

If it weren't for Chris' presence, Ezra might just curl up and cry. But Chris was here, holding him, hugging him, whispering to him promises of forever. That had such a nice sound, forever. Ezra let himself be guided slowly, in a cautious shuffle, across the floor and outside. Even with the blindfold, he could tell from the way they'd moved and the change in the air that they'd left the clinic. Chris was telling him where to place his feet with each step. Then Buck was talking there beside them, resting one warm hand on Ezra's neck, which had managed to remain free of the flack.

"Ezra? Any better yet?" Buck's concern was easy to read, his friendship secure.

"Yes. Thank you, Mr. Wilmington." Ezra spoke through stiffened lips, his words slurred with his caution, afraid to tear open again the cut in his lip, one of the spots that a splinter had managed to tear rather than simply puncture. He felt Buck's hand tighten for a moment then leave. Instantly, Ezra missed his friend but feeling Chris' continuing and comforting presence, said nothing.

Larabee spoke with his eyes, warm gratitude shining there for Wilmington. I owe Buck more now than ever. Man is as wise as they come and as good a friend as god ever made. He eased Ezra forward, nodded to Buck, and began to carefully describe to Ezra the steps he should take so that they'd have no mishaps going over to Ezra's room. For a moment, his eyes lidded in heat. Damn, keep a cork in it, Larabee. Ezra isn't ready for anything yet. We got to get him well first. "Slowly, Ez, just edge on over to your right now." He waved with his chin as Buck gave him a nod and slipped out down the stairs ahead of them.

"You need any help there, Brother?" Josiah's rich, soft voice was normally a balm to Ezra's ears but when it came unexpectedly out of the void, it startled him badly.

Chris caught hold tighter on Ezra's arms as he jerked in surprise, apparently at the sound of Josiah's voice. Damn, forgot he can't see. Should have warned him. Larabee spoke easily, hands doing the calming now. "We're fine Josiah, and Nathan's gone to sleep. Ezra's just going over to his own bed to sleep for a while."

"Chris? When you can, we need to talk." Josiah's voice deepened, hesitation clear. Chris detected something else. Discomfort maybe, unhappiness? Josiah was continuing though. "The Garson brothers-"

"Yeah. What's that all about? Buck told me you mentioned them in the telegraph you sent him." Chris slowed their progress so he could question Josiah. Ezra stopped and waited, clearly listening too.

Josiah folded his arms on his chest. Chris seems to be suffering from a short memory. "You shot their father."

"Frank?" Chris nodded, feeling Ezra tense up. He flexed his fingers, squeezing Ezra's arms reassuringly. "He tried to kill me, didn't have any choice."

"I know it." Josiah nodded. "Seems like, from what they been saying, they don't."

"I'm not gonna go borrow trouble, Josiah." Chris shifted his weight and grimaced. "If they want to talk to me, I'll listen. Right now, I got better things to do." Nodding to show he was finished talking on this, Larabee slid one arm around Ezra's shoulders. "Think this might be easier for going down the stairs, Ez." He twisted his head back to throw over his shoulder to Sanchez, "Keep on eye on things, Josiah."

"That I will, Brother Chris." Josiah studied the departing men. "You get better, Ezra."

"Thank you, Mr. Sanchez," wavered back up from the top step to his ears. Josiah sighed. If Chris hurts that boy, there will be trouble.

Ezra inhaled sharply as his boot toe struck the first step going up to the boardwalk in front of the saloon. Chris had been very good about guiding him, warning him, but apparently he either forgot or got distracted. "Chris?"

Larabee, one foot on the first step up, had felt the jar to Ezra's frame and cursed internally. He had only glanced over to check on Buck who was heading out on patrol. It had been long enough to miss what he should be watching for. "Sorry, Ezra." He shook his head. "We're at the boardwalk in front of the saloon."

"So I gathered." Ezra hated being dependent on anyone and that it was Chris seemed a thousand times worse. Silently he waited.

Chris' lips drew down automatically, but only to chasten himself. "Was watching Buck leave on patrol. Step up, ah, two more." He slipped his hand down from arm to elbow to help boost Ezra upwards.

With the unexpected push, Ezra nearly took flight up the step and had to gulp as his foot came down with a thump on a step. How could he ever have assumed that climbing steps was an easy undertaking? With dismay, he contemplated the full staircase within that awaited him before he could escape to his room. Balustrade! Of course! With a firmer tread, and a bit of resistance to Chris' forceful lift, Ezra managed the rest of the steps up to the boardwalk. He bit his tongue to keep from snapping at his 'helper', if Chris was any more helpful, he would not need stairs to get to the second floor. "Thank you, sir." Nodding in Larabee's direction, Ezra tried to break free. He knew this turf well, surely he could manage on his own.

"Ezra." Chris dragged the man to a stop. What got into him now? He peered down into Ezra's bland face. Oh, oh. Got his hidin' face on. "Ezra, I'm just helping you get to your room."

"And you have done a marvelous, no, dare I say it? Magnificent job, Mr. Larabee. Yes, truly." Ezra turned toward his invisible assistant and sketched a bow. "Once again, thank you. And now, if you will excuse me?" He tugged his lapels into to proper alignment or at least what he hoped was so and raised one hand to his hat. He'd have to remember to thank Buck later, for recovering it from the alley.

"Ezra, what the hell do you think you're doing?" At this point, Chris was losing patience. Ezra might be his heart's delight, but he could still try his soul.

"I am bidding you adieu and heading into the saloon, from whence I shall mount those pleasant stairs to my private domicile." Ezra smiled, having spoken firmly and with what he hoped was a certain level of inevitability.

Chris stared, opened his mouth to speak, closed it again, then finally spit out, "Like hell!" He reached out and grabbed hold of the wily gamester's arm and whirled the smaller man around toward the door, stepping up beside him and tightening his grip. "WE are going into the saloon together, and I am going to walk you to your room."

"Mr. Larabee," Ezra caught himself in a mid-stride stumble and had to pull himself up to keep up with the mad man dragging him through the swing doors. He knew they'd broached the doors because one pushed against his chest as he was nearly dragged along at what seemed, in his darkened state, breakneck speed. Planting his feet and leaning back on his boot heels, Ezra managed to stop their procession at what he estimated was about half-way through the big room. "MISTER Larabee."

"Hell, Ezra, what is it now?" Chris contemplated breaking Ezra's neck, just a little bit. Not so it would interfere with anything important, just enough to shut him up and move him along. He flexed his hand on Standish's coat sleeve causing the man to flinch and grimace for just a moment, enough for Chris to loosen his grasp again shamefacedly.

"I can manage the stairs, Chris." Ezra tried reason. "There's a rail," he pointed out with as placid a tone as he could manage.

"I know there's a damn rail, Ezra," Chris squinted down at the frowning lips wishing he could see Ezra's eyes, not that it would make that much difference. When Ezra wanted to hide, his eyes were closed doors. He leaned in, nose to nose with the obstinate man. "I want to do this." He took a deep breath. "Please?" There, that should settle it. He turned toward the stairs and pulled. It was like trying to move a tree.

"No." Ezra was shaking his head negatively now. "No, sir." He refused to budge until this was settled. "Mr. Larabee, I shall make you an offer."

"An offer?" Chris was suspicious. What was the little weasel up to now? Hell, one kiss was NOT going to be enough to see him through until tomorrow. How could Ezra act this way? Chris replayed that bedroom scene in Bell City. He wants me. Hell, he even admitted he loves me. Well, said he cares, that counts. So what is happening here?

"Yes, an offer. You may escort me to the foot of the stairs," Ezra felt he was being quite generous here. He nodded, mouth straightening and easing into what he hoped would look like a friendly smile. "Once my hand is on the rail, you may relinquish any obligation you may have felt you-"

"Obligation?" Chris' voice went down an octave, sounding decidedly dangerous to Ezra.

He added more power to his smile. "Yes. I shall be fine from there."

"Ezra, it isn't an obligation that has me here beside you."

"No?"

"No." Chris leaned closer, ignoring the scattering of cowboys eating lunch at saloon tables around the room. He leaned into Ezra so that their chests met. He tipped his head down enough to push against Ezra's forehead with his own. "No. I want to be with you." Though god only knows why at the moment, you contrary mule.

"Oh." Ezra considered this. And Chris' proximity. He could feel a burn along his nerves transmitting itself from their skin-to-skin touch at heads all the way to where his toes were starting to curl up. He shivered and pulled his head back. This would never do, and who knew who all was witnessing this little scene. "Enough. Chris," he hissed in a whisper, "Stop this foolery. I need some time alone." Time to put some pressure on the blond. "Please?" He let his desperation bleed into that final word.

Chris melted. Shit. God-damned heartbreaker! With a deep, windy sigh, Larabee bowed to the self-possessed man in front of him. "Alright, Ezra, if that's what you want." Where the hell was the quiescent man he'd cuddled and comforted over at the clinic?

Ezra didn't answer, simply turned and offered his arm. Chris shook his head in reluctant admiration and slid his hand into place to guide the southerner to the foot of the stairs at the back of the room. A distance they covered in complete silence.

"Alright, Ezra. One more step and you'll feel the first stair-step with your toe. Rail's on your right." Chris stepped back.

Ezra nodded and with concentration slid one foot forward. Tap. He reached out, only to find a calloused hand capture his and guide it gently to the rail. "You have been most helpful, sir, once more I thank you."

Chris slowly released his hold on that delicate, long fingered hand. Feel like cursing or weeping. He watched closely as Ezra began to slowly climb the stairs. "Rest easy, Ezra. We'll be by to check on you later."

"By all means, Mr. Larabee." Ezra stopped after another step. "Chris?" he called softly, in case the man had already departed.

"Right here, Ez." Chris had every intention of following Ezra up the stairs. Might not be holding on, but I'm not letting go either.

"Nathan, did say this bandage could come off tomorrow morning?"

"Yeah. Just wants you to let those eyes rest for a day, that's all."

"Very well." Ezra nodded. He tried to hide his relief, but suspected that if Chris was looking he could see it. Ah well.

Chris saw the easing of tension in Ezra's body. Sometimes the man just plain hides too much. Glad he asked. We're making some progress, I guess. He waited at the foot of the stairs until Ezra had climbed five steps, then he started in below, being careful not to make the steps creak.

They continued that way until Ezra reached the top step and hesitated, moving his foot forward to tap for another step. No step. Very well, just turn, reach out for the wall, and walk down the hall, to my room. Third door on the left.

Larabee knew that Inez had silently watched their fight on the floor and his own capitulation to that stubborn Reb. She was probably laughing up her sleeve right now, he thought, as he slowly reached the top step himself and peered around the corner and down the hall. He risked a quick look downstairs. Nope. She was serving some ranch hand at the bar, her back to him. With relief, he stepped into the hall and out of sight from the floor below. Ezra was nearly to his door now, hand lightly gliding along the wall. He's counting doors. Chris walked down the hall until he was behind Ezra and watched as the man produced a key from a trouser pocket and unlocked the door in front of them.

"Mr. Larabee." Ezra turned, pocketing his key, back to his still closed door. "You will come no further this day."

"Ezra, look, I-" Chris was getting irritated, even if he felt a bit embarrassed for being found out following Ezra.

"Chris." Ezra actually looked upset. "I want to meet you on equal footing when we next share time." He cleared his throat. "Tomorrow. When I can see again, Chris." He dropped his head for a moment, then raised it to face Larabee blindly. "I want to see your eyes when we ---" he slowed to a halt, unsure and therefore, unable to finish.

Chris smiled, how could he not? He carefully cupped the badly bruised and perforated face in front of him. "I can wait. Long as I know that you care." He let his thumb rub lightly over the pouty lower lip, avoiding the single stitched tear there. "Know that I care, Ez."

Ezra nodded without speaking, puckering his lips to place a feather-light kiss on Chris' thumb before stepping back and into his room, having quietly twisted the knob behind his back as they stood there.

"Tomorrow, Chris." Ezra smiled at the space in front of him and then closed the door.

"Tomorrow." Larabee whispered as he stood in the hallway, staring at the closed room door. He should feel frustrated, angry. Instead, he felt ten feet tall.

Vin fled to the horses. Something he knew confidently and right now he needed that comfort. Everyone else thought he was being foolish, feeling guilty for Ezra getting hurt. But they hadn't been there. He'd crept up behind that outlaw hidden at the tree line, seen him aiming for the town below. Was right behind him. Vin shuddered as the scene came back clear as day, he slowed to a stop and leaned against the big doorframe of the livery, closed his eyes. He could see down into Four Corners over the shooter's shoulders. Could see Ezra down there, edging along the side of the bank, saw him turn with his back to the bank, like he was dodging a bullet or something, then look up and nod to someone on the roof.

Vin had brought his mare's leg up, right behind the man's ear just as the outlaw took aim at Ezra below. I should have shot him, clubbed him, something. Before he shot. Vin swallowed, remembering his sense of power over the other man, letting the trigger on his cut-off sound loud in the man's ear. Supposed to be a warning. We don't shoot folks in the back. But the feller had pulled his own trigger, only jerking up a bit. Only reason Ezra was still breathing. Vin had reacted instantly, killing the bastard. But Ezra was down. Vin opened his eyes and stared out at the main street, dusty and sunlit, folks moving about like it was a regular day. He swallowed bile now, remembering the look of Ezra's face when he and Chris had him turned over and he'd pulled Ezra's hands away from his face. With a gagging sound, Vin twisted to the side of the livery and lost everything in his stomach. Again. Not much left now, he'd already done this twice. He spat viciously at the small puddle of stomach spew. Yanked an already dirty bandana from his coat and wiped at his mouth.

Deeper in the livery, he heard JD's voice, talking with Yosemite. He turned away from the sunlight and went inside.

JD saw Vin Tanner walk in to the livery, from where he'd just shook hands with Yosemite. They'd worked out the regular deal on selling off the horses and gear to pay for town damages. The blacksmith would get a small percentage. Ezra'd coached him well on that, JD thought with a small smile as the big man retreated to his forge. Dunne turned his thoughts to Tanner. By now, he'd heard enough from Vin and Josiah to know that somehow Vin was involved in Ezra getting hurt. Wouldn't have been anything Tanner did, JD knew, just the man's way of carrying things on his shoulders.

"Hey Vin!" He forced his cheerful tone, something that took all his will at times in this little backwater town. The others all thought he was dumb probably, the way he'd prattle on, tell stupid jokes, grin when others were down and angry. Not stupid, just smarter than they know, he thought with a push to get those feelings away. I am what they need, even if they don't know it most of the time. I can play the innocent and crack open my hard case friends. He loved them all, dearly. Thought of them as his big brothers, but they were all tough, sad men, too worldly and hardened by life. He owed it to them to make things look a bit brighter. Often, he felt like he was dragging them kicking and screaming into the daylight. Good thing Buck still has some foolish left in him, he thought with a grin as he walked up to Vin Tanner who was standing there looking forlorn. He shook his head, playing the clown with Buck was easy. Eased his big, knowledgeable friend when the man was down or too serious. Helped the rest, just to smile at them when they 'played.' JD came to a stop in front of Vin. Now, Vin was another matter altogether. He could play too, but when he hurt, it showed and he got angry. Was smart enough and stubborn enough to stay that way.

"How about checking the horses with me, see if we need to keep any out of the lot." JD came to a stop right in front of Vin, knowing that an appeal to his knowledge wouldn't be easily turned down. Man had a sense of duty, most of the time. He was right, Vin was nodding slowly and they turned and heading out through the back of the livery. When the reached the corral of loose horses, both came to a stop. JD put his boot on the bottom rail of the board fencing and leaned on the top one. Studied the animals slowly moving about inside. He waited until Vin had joined him. "What happened out there, Vin?"

Vin slid a look over at their young sheriff, saw the boy was staring out at the horses. He shrugged, intending only to say that Ezra'd got hurt. But his eyes were drawn to the animals in front of him and he felt some measure of peace. He opened his mouth to say what he'd intended and surprised himself, telling JD everything he saw, over and over, every time he paused for breath, all morning. His friend never even looked his way, just stood still and quiet, listening. When Vin finished, he waited. Figure he'll either tell me it wasn't my fault, or curse me out for getting Ezra hurt.

JD turned away from the fence and leaned back, propping his elbows on the rail. He swiveled his head so that he could look directly at Tanner there at his side. "So, what you thinking now, Vin?"

Vin looked up, met dark brown eyes full of confidence and friendship. No anger or blame shone out at him. He pushed his hat back so the sun could warm his face. "Figure I could have saved Ezra, if I acted quicker."

"Maybe." JD nodded, then broke eye contact and stared at the sky. "So, how you going to go back and change things?"

"I cain't, JD, you know that." Vin sounded disgusted, angry even. He knew what JD meant but that didn't change anything either.

"Nope, guess not." JD looked over again. "Just have to live with it. Bad stuff happens. None of us are so great that it don't sometimes happen to us." He looked back up at the clear blue sky. "Live with it, Vin, and be glad that Ezra will be okay."

Tanner straightened and gripped the rail. "It's just that I-"

JD reached over and patted one shoulder. "You're a good man, Vin, I look up to you. That hasn't changed any. Don't worship you, though. That'd be downright foolish."

Vin blinked in surprise. "Ya don't, huh?"

JD grinned. "Nope." He pushed away from the corral rail. "Come on. Someone's got to check out them dead men, guess that would be me. I could use the company." He grimaced in distaste.

Feeling a lot lighter somehow, like the heaviness of guilt had slid right off his shoulders, Vin stood away from the rail, too. "Reckon I can look at dead men."

Together, they walked back through the livery, nodding to Yosemite and moving out into the street. Both looked up to see Josiah standing on the clinic balcony. They waved and he nodded, looking moody. JD decided he'd have to find time to speak to Josiah later. He and Vin walked toward the undertakers.

JD put a hand on Vin's shoulder, figuring the worst was over and the tracker might let him closer now. He spoke seriously, "Ezra won't blame you, he'll thank you. We all know he'd be dead if you hadn't been there." He pulled back enough to look the man up and down, "And from what I hear, you got hurt out at Granger's ranch. Shouldn't have even come back yet. So, Ezra's owes you for that too."

Tanner shrugged but listened. JD decided he'd done enough for now. They continued on and just as they reached the porch, Vin said, "After this, think I'll do a swing out on patrol."

JD was about to protest when another voice interrupted. "Vin, you ain't going out no where, Pard, so jest set your hat on that." Buck was suddenly there, bigger than life as always, one hand on each of the younger men's shoulders, pushing them on up the steps to the undertakers. "I'll do it." He squeezed JD's shoulder hard, let the boy know that he'd heard enough. Let him know he'd done good again. Like he always did. Smart boy. Buck smiled and leaned in close to Vin's ear. "After you check out those bad guys, go sit a spell with Chris. I got a feeling that he won't get the time he wants with Ezra right now and he'll need someone to sit with him." Now Buck squeezed Vin's shoulder, telling him silently that Vin was the best one for that job.

The two young men turned to face Wilmington. JD shook his head in mock despair, "Buck, you are so full of it. Chris don't need nobody."

But Vin was nodding. JD didn't know about Chris and Ezra yet. "Yeah, kid, he does." He tipped his hat back on his head and gave Buck a look of gratitude. "Thanks, Buck, you ride smart."

Buck's genial look smoothed away, and the dangerous lawman beneath it surfaced, fangs exposed. His smile was feral. "You bet, Pard. Aim to take a look-see what direction those murderin' raiders took off in, the ones that got away." He turned to eye JD. "Understand the Garson brothers are out from under their rock somewheres."

"They were at the saloon yesterday, haven't seen 'em yet today," JD said, one foot resting on the step up to the board walk in front of the undertakers. "That's where they been sitting for the past few days."

"Then maybe you and Vin ought to git over there when you finish up. Chris is taking Ez back to his room there." Buck knew they'd read the order in the suggestion. He nodded once more and turned back toward the livery. He'd stopped in for a second to ask one of the stable boys to saddle up another horse for him; his gray was tired from the ride in this morning. He'd just make sure them few outlaws weren't sitting outside town. Keep on going, boys, best thing for all concerned.

Chris and Ezra had just reached the bottom of the clinic steps when Buck nodded his goodbye to Vin and JD. He decided to let Chris know his intentions and stepped smartly across the street on his long legs. Mostly he didn't stretch himself out, most folks didn't realize just how big Buck Wilmington was. He shook his head and called out softy, "Hey there, Ez, Chris." No point in scarin' their skiddish gambler while he couldn't see, them bandages keeping him blind for the day.

The men stopped, Chris watching, Ezra simply standing there, lines of exhaustion on his face, Buck saw. He didn't try to touch Ezra again, something he'd normally do. To touch a blind man without warning was not a good idea. "Jest talked with JD and Vin, they're going to check out the dead bodies." He nodded toward the undertakers. "See if they can find out anything." He looked back and met Larabee's silent appraisal. "Thought I'd take a ride around town, out a bit, make sure the rest of those scallywags are really gone." He flashed a smile, wide as the world at Chris. Weren't asking permission, Chris'd know that. He looked down at Ezra solicitously, "Feeling any better there, Ez?"

Standish lifted his face toward Buck's voice, "Yes, thank you, Mr. Wilmington, now that our good Mr. Jackson has finished removing the side of the bank from my face, I feel decidedly improved." Ezra raised his unencumbered hand to delicately finger the bandage over his eyes. "Once this is removed, I shall be better yet."

"Not yet, Ezra." Chris held tight to Ezra's closest arm. "Nate said to let those eyes rest and heal." He didn't wait for the southerner to answer, instead speaking directly to Buck. "Watch your back. Don't try to take them alone if you find them."

Wilmington nodded, this was old ground between them. "I ain't the fool in this outfit, don't you worry, Old Dog." He set his hat back on his dark hair and turned away. He could see young Eddy waiting at the livery door with a saddle horse, one of their regular remounts.

He smiled to himself as he heard a quiet Ezra say querulously, "Shouldn't you go with him, Mr. Larabee?"

And Chris answer, "If there's one man out here I trust to do right and keep smart out there alone, it's Buck. Now let's get you across the street."

Buck couldn't help it, he felt his chest expand some and shoulders lift, shedding his tiredness with a pleased, grateful smile. Yep.

Boll threw the shot of whiskey back down his throat, then hissed at the burn. His brother Lemuel hadn't stopped staring at the empty top of the stairs yet. But then Lemuel needed more time to ride out his temper than Boll. Boll smirked, his gray eyes near closing up behind the unnaturally puffy cheeks, both swollen some from where he'd been slapped by that sassy Mex barmaid. He rolled his eyes now, so he could look over at her. She wasn't much, size-wise, but sure packed a wallop. She slapped him hard when he tried to fondle her ass. When he didn't give up soon enough she'd whacked him a second time on the other side of the face. So now he had matching handprints. Bitch would get some back soon as he and Lemuel finished their business with Larabee, the daddy killer.

Lemuel chewed on his tobacco wad, filling one cheek as he waited. Still no sign of Larabee since he'd disappeared up the stairs with that pretty boy gambler. Way the man had been fondling that feller, Larabee must like boys. Lemuel spat in disgust on the floor.

He didn't see Inez curl a lip at him and his brother. She would have done something about those two scum before now, but there'd always been at least one of the lawmen in here, and the Garsons had behaved around them. She smacked her newly polished glass on the table and took up another one, working it viciously. When Senor Larabee and Senor Standish had come in earlier, she'd held her breath, certain those foul cretinish brothers would call out Senor Larabee, but they hadn't. Instead they'd just stared, mesmerized, at her friends.

She had to admit, Senor Standish had looked rough, his face reddened and cut, that white bandage, tinged pink at the edges with blood from the tiny wounds all over his face, had covered his beautiful green eyes. What had her marveling though, had been how Senor Chris had been treating him. She'd seen that possessive look in a man's eyes before. This time it was softened with affection, but still. It wasn't often she saw a man give it to another man. She thought regretfully about those soft green eyes with their dark fringes of lash, not to be. Inez looked up sharply at the sound of two chairs scraping loudly across the floor. The Garsons were getting to their feet, both men fingering their pistols. She looked toward the top of the stairs. Chris Larabee stood there, staring back over his shoulder down the hall beyond him. Then he turned and began to slowly come down the stairs, not really noticing anything, she thought in a panic.

"Not today, boys." Vin's hoarse growl had Boll and Lemuel lifting their hands quickly to waist height and Inez sighing in relief. The brothers had heard the sound of a big gun's trigger being drawn back with a loud click. "Think maybe you've finished yore meal?"

Both men nodded and snatched up their hats. They froze again and eyed each other sideways. "Out." Tanner's order got immediate results. The two men scuttled from the room.

Vin cast a glance up at Chris and sighed. Larabee appeared not to have even seen, he was still walking down the stairs at a slow glide, eyes seemingly lost in a middle distance. "Cowboy, you might want to wake up a bit there," Vin raised his voice, knowing Chris would recognize it and respond.

Chris smothered a smile that wanted to break out. He was enjoying the sensation he was creating. Inez was openly staring, mouth ready to catch flies. Vin had driven off the Garson boys and was looking a bit better. Don't think he knows I saw it all. Chris nearly laughed but that would have been like pulling Tanner's tail and he wouldn't do that. He hit the floor and strolled over to where Vin was now subsiding slowly into a chair at their regular table. None of the others were around. "I'm awake," he finally answered, once he'd dropped into a chair and leaned back, waving a hand at Inez.

Chris pushed his hat back off, letting the chinstrap catch it on to his back. He smiled up at Inez when she brought him a bottle and two glasses, "Thanks, Inez."

She hesitated. Then plunged in, "Senor, how is Senor Ezra? He did not look well."

Chris' smile softened. "He's going to be fine, just needs to rest up a bit, let things heal." He added, to head off more questions, "His eyes are okay, just took some grit that Nathan cleaned out, and Nate has them covered until tomorrow so they heal up properly."

Inez nodded. She'd seen enough. Senor Chris and Senor Ezra. Ah well.

Vin watched their friend walk away, her skirts flaring. His mind was on Chris and the Garson brothers - and his promise to Buck. "Them boys are a couple of rattlesnakes fresh outta the bag."

Chris' lips quirked in acknowledgement and he raised the now filled glass to his lips. Vin realized there wasn't going to be any more said on it and settled in. Long as he kept his back to the wall and his mare's leg ready, he could see to it that his friend made it through the day. Hell, it was only just past noon now.

Out in the street, Lemuel spun around and stared daggers at the doors to the saloon. Boll, though, was unhitching his horse. Lem turned to stare at his younger brother. "What the hell you doing, Boll?"

"Riding out." Boll had climbed on and now sat back in the saddle and folded his hands on the horn.

"Our daddy's killer is in there. Don't that mean nothing to you no more?" Lemuel's anger was tightening his voice now.

Boll dipped his head, then spoke to his brother, gray eyes meeting gray eyes. "Figure he's got help. We need to get us some."

Lemuel stared at his brother, then smiled wickedly as he realized what Boll was talking about. He went to his own horse and untied it, swinging into the saddle quickly. "Let's go."

They'd heard enough to know that the would-be robbers had ridden out heading east down the end of the main street. Lemuel, liking Boll's reasoning, led the way out of town at a nice, ground eating canter.

Buck had headed due east on leaving town. The fools from this morning, those left, had run out in a hurry, their horses churning up a pretty trail, easy to follow the four men. Buck kept back and rode slowly. No telling if any of them had gotten a good look at him. He rocked easily in the saddle, eyes shifting from the ground to his surroundings and back again. He kept one hand on the butt of his pistol, the other on his mount's leathers.

Where the trail split, one direction toward a stage station way up the rough track, the other toward Parson's Gulch, Buck stopped. He smoothed his mustache as he leaned over the saddle to look closer at the torn up earth. The men had headed toward the stage depot. Damn, that meant he'd have to follow. The Gulch had a telegraph and a peacekeeper, but the depot was a lonely horse-team changing way station, only a wrangler and his wife to run it. These men might do them harm and that Buck could not allow. He hi-yupped his horse and headed down the trail at a quickstep, choosing to pull out his rifle now and hold it at the ready.

Lemuel pulled his mount to a halt and looked down the trail into the dry lands. He could see the tracks heading that way, with another set showing a lone rider who must have come after. Might mean nothing, might mean trouble, like his daddy always used to say. He bit back a choke of pain at the thought of his loss. Boll looked over at him and he cursed and stared back at Boll until his baby brother looked away.

Near an hour later, the Garsons slowed down and scrutinized the single man in front of them. He hadn't yet seen them. Boll whispered loudly, "That's one of Larabee's men. Name of Buck Wilmington, I heard it around town."

Lemuel frowned. Looked like Wilmington had beat them to the outlaw camp. Lemuel brightened. Wilmington was all alone.

JD wandered into the saloon in the late afternoon. Josiah had shooed him out of the jail, saying he needed a quiet place to think. JD was going to try to get him to talk, but it was pretty clear that the big man wasn't ready for that yet. So Dunne had tipped his hat and headed for the saloon where he figured some of his friends were likely to be.

Crossing the hot street, Dunne looked up to see that the sun had crested and was sliding down now behind the feed store. Long shadows were reaching across the hot dusty street. Buck had been gone since noon. He usually stopped at the jail after a patrol. He'd looked pretty tired today, maybe he just went to bed when he got back. JD decided to stop in at the livery and check on the horses, see if the one Buck went out on was back.

What he didn't find worried him.

He ran up the street to the saloon, heart pounding. If anything had happened, he and Vin would never forgive themselves. And Vin was already feeling bad enough over Ezra. He shoved back the doors and skidded to a stop next to the team's regular table. Both Vin and Chris were there, silent and looking at him, eyes lidded, hands on guns. He took a deep breath to control his panting and managed to say, "Buck ain't back yet. He rode out at noon and was going to look for those outlaws." He grabbed his bowler off with both hands and held it over his stomach, staring deeply now into hard hazel eyes. "He ain't back yet," JD Dunne whispered again.

Nathan yawned and stretched, his spine curving up off the bed as he arched on heels and shoulders. He and the bed both groaned and that struck him as rather funny. He laughed softly and rolled over on to his stomach, blinking lazily. He could see fading sunlight through the thin curtains in his back room. He fisted his eyes to remove sleep from them and curled up on his side, wanting to return to sleep yet knowing he shouldn't. Vin and Ezra'd been hurt.

His eyes opened again and he cursed. It felt like he hadn't slept in a long time and he knew that however long he'd just had for rest, it wasn't really enough. But, he did feel better. Best get up, go check on those boys. Vin was pretty much healing but never hurt to keep an eye on a bullet wound, those things could turn on you without much warning. Especially if you didn't rest and let them heal. And Vin? He didn't know how to rest, that was a certainty.

Nathan swung his long, muscular legs over the side of the bed and sat up, staring around vaguely, still waking, even though his mind was running already at a goodly speed. Then there was Ezra. Man got hurt in that shoot out. Come home only to get all bloody like that. Nathan shook his head. 'course, he had Chris Larabee leaning on him. Nathan's smile flickered into a grin. Whoa, now that had been a surprise. He rubbed at his face, deciding he didn't need to shave yet. Thought back to the way Chris had held on to Ezra. That wasn't so strange, someone was always having to hold down his patients whilst he treated them. Momentarily distracted, he wished there was a better way to do it. Weren't right, like he was hurting them too. Face it, you are. But, just so's they can get better.

He grimaced and looked down at his large hands. He hoped they were healing hands, but sometimes he wasn't so sure. That got him to thinking about Ezra again, the man knows how to poke me just right and get me all riled up. Make me second-guess myself. Don't like to do that. Need to be sure of myself before I can face anyone else. Just the way I am. With sudden insight, he leaned back against the wall that the bed sided on.

Ezra, now, he ain't sure of himself at all.

Nathan wondered where this thought came from and then remembered what Chris Larabee had been saying to Ezra, real low, just in his ear, while Nate had worked on the man's face, pulling those splinters out. I was so busy doing that that I didn't really listen. But now, it was all playing back in his mind's ear. The coaxing, loving, yep, loving words, promising devotion and trust. Why hadn't he ever seen it before? Face it, Chris don't exactly share his feelings with us, except when he's pissed off, or, Nathan grinned, liquor-pissed. He chuckled and stood up with another huge yawn. Ezra's about to get eaten by a tiger. He grinned. Wonder if the tiger knows about all the indigestion he's gonna have.

Ezra yawned and stretched, his spine curving up off the bed as he arched on heels and shoulders. It was dark. He knew he hadn't slept long, he could feel his body's need to continue his repose, but he fought it off. His face felt stiff, sore. He reached up and gently touched his cheek. With a tiny jerk, he pulled his hand up, then carefully touched the cloth wrapping over his eyes. It kept them pressed shut. Then he remembered. The pain was muted now, just soreness and twitches of needle-like irritation as he flexed his facial muscles experimentally. His eyes didn't seem to be bothering him now, but he remembered the pain of the lids scraping against the eyes when he'd opened and closed them while Nathan was treating him. He would follow the good healer's advice and leave that cloth in place. That pain had been intense.

Remembering the treatment, Nathan plucking bits of bank-siding from his face, had Ezra remembering Chris Larabee. Chris, tightly wrapped around him in that straight-back chair, holding him close, giving him the strength to sit through that slow torture. Telling him how much he was treasured. Treasured. Ezra's heart warmed and he felt a glow building and radiating outward from his middle. Chris had made promises. Said he'd be here, that he'll always be here for me.

A shadow darkened Ezra's face as he remembered sending Chris away, needing time alone. Chris could be overpowering and was well on his way to becoming very possessive. Ezra sat up slowly, pulling himself backward on the bed, pressing at the down-stuffed mattress to push into a seated position. How do I feel about that? Ezra waited silently to see what thoughts would surface. Instead, a sense of happiness, so intense that it seemed to be bubbling out of his skin, welled up inside. His lips quirked in a tiny smile. No deep thoughts on the matter, then, just a feeling. But, a very, very good feeling. He could live with that.

Having never undressed, Ezra simply straightened his clothing tidily, smoothing down any wrinkles he could feel or imagine. Then, he slowly rose to his feet, prepared to move away from his bed cautiously. By extending his arms and envisioning his room, he could navigate the currently unseen interior. He bravely braced his calves against the sideboard of the bed, to better set his course, then ventured out into empty space. He took two careful, shuffling steps and his stretched out hands came in contact with wall. Wide, probing circles brought him to the knob of his closet door. Turning toward where he knew the window was, he guided himself with one had resting against the wall, the other reaching out ahead of him. With care, he eventually found his rocker and came around the front of it to sit down. The air was a bit cooler from his open window. He was grateful for the fresh air, Inez must have been airing the room earlier because he hadn't been in it for days. He rocked slowly and listened to the noises of the street below.

When someone turned the doorknob on his room door, without knocking, he turned his head to listen. "Chris?"

There was no answer, just the sound of rushing, heavy feet, more than one person. Ezra shoved himself up from the chair but had no chance to do more before rough hands were on him. He opened his mouth to cry out and a cloth was forced inside. Gagging, he tried to fight the hands that held on to him, and then someone's fist plowed into his unprotected stomach. Bending over double, trying to get his breath without his mouth to help, Ezra wasn't able to fight off the powerful hands that yanked his own behind his back. He felt rope tying his wrists together tightly, painfully, on top of the chafing already there from fighting Nathan's belt leather earlier. How had he forgotten that? It was his last thought as pain crashed against his head and even thought fled.

Chris and Vin both stood up fast, facing JD. As if they'd practiced it forever, the two men re-holstered their weapons and then pulled their hats up and set them.

"JD, tell Josiah, he stays, watches the town. Vin, get Nathan, then we ride." Chris looked toward the second floor of the saloon, toward the empty balcony there. "I'll go tell Ezra what's happening and I'll meet you at the livery."

JD dashed from the room. He felt better already. They'd find Buck, rescue him if need be. He called out for Josiah as he hopped up the boardwalk to the jail.

Vin looked up at the clinic balcony, Nathan was just coming outside, wiping his hands on a rag. "Nate!" Getting the healer's attention, he yelled, "Buck's gone missing. Get what you need, I'll get your horse saddled, we ride soon as you're ready."

Nathan came to the rail and hung over, looking down at Vin. "I can do that, but Vin, you shouldn't come. Your ribs ain't all the way healed yet, not your wound either."

Vin shook his head impatiently. They would need his tracking skills and he knew it. Besides, no one could keep him from helping out. He should have been the one out on that patrol. "I'm fine, Nate. See you at the livery!"

Vin trotted off, moving easily to Nathan's discerning eye. Guess he's okay, but I'll keep watch. Nathan strode back into his little clinic, already thinking about what he'd pack.

Chris climbed the stairs two at a time, mind leaping ahead to Buck and his foolish bravery. Man could charge into a mob alone and never turn a hair. He'd seen Buck do that very thing during the war and some few times since then. Chris had often been the reluctant hero simply by following his impetuous old friend. What's he gone and done this time? Chris reached the landing and strode down the hall, thoughts switching to Ezra. Best not scare him, he can't see right now, do this carefully. Those thoughts fled when he reached the third door on the left and found it wide open. "Ezra?" He stepped inside. He could see Ezra's rocking chair tipped over on its side by the window. The room was empty.

The first thing that Buck felt was his head that felt like someone split it open, back to front, with a wood axe. He wanted to cry out in pain but was afraid that would only make it hurt worse. Instead, he held his breath and counted slowly until he'd distanced himself some from the pain. Cautiously, he opened his eyes. If it was still the same day as when last he looked, he hadn't been out for long. The sun was lower in the sky but not setting yet.

He shifted slightly. He was seated on the ground, back a ways from a slow burning campfire. He could see several men seated around it, hunkered down on their heels or sitting directly on the ground. Temporary camp then. No bedrolls. Beyond them, he saw a remuda of horses still saddled, tied on a line run between some trees. He raised his head and looked up, to see a leafy sky. So he was sitting up against a tree. His wrists were tied in front of him crossed over each other and snugged with a piece of old rope. And someone was leaning against him heavily.

Moving slowly so that he didn't garner attention, he looked down to his left. Damn. Looked like Ezra. He recognized those pinstripe trousers and the tousled reddish-brown hair. No jacket, but still blindfolded. The gambler was probably unconscious from the way he lay there unmoving, breathing shallowly. What happened?

Buck strained to remember. He'd been on the trail of what was left of that gang of outlaw raiders. Only four riders. He slid his eyes back over toward the campfire without moving his head. More than four men around that fire. He had to concentrate to count them, since he was seeing things waveringly in doubles. If old Nate asked him how many fingers right now, he'd probably have said six to Nate's three. By squinting, things came into focus a bit. Six, there were six men. Damn, wish I could see better right now. He watched and waited. One of the men stood up and stretched, grinning and saying something that caused most of the others to laugh. That sure looked like one of the Garson boys. Oh, hell.

"Nope, didn't ride out on his own." Vin stood in front of a frantic Chris Larabee. He'd never seen Chris look so lost before. Course both Buck and Ezra are missin' right now. Vin ducked his head when Larabee kicked at one of the roof support posts in front of the saloon.

"He's gone, Vin! If he didn't ride out of here on his own power, then what happened?" Chris had to grit his teeth not to scream his question, so instead it came out as a hiss.

"How 'bout I scout out the alley behind the saloon?" Vin offered, edging away now as Josiah and Nathan strode up. He took Larabee's nod as an affirmative and scooted around the side of the saloon. They already knew Ezra hadn't gone out the front. Hell, the two of them had been in the saloon the whole time since Chris left Ezra upstairs in his room. Vin made his way around the back.

Bent over, Tanner began a careful survey of the mucked up dirt. It hadn't rained in a spell and the dusty ground was almost silky to the touch. Silk on iron. Dust on rock hard ground. He was glad there'd been no wind today. Over top of a muddle of prints, the most recent ones stood clear. Two horses. Horses didn't usually get rid behind the saloon. Two biggish men, walked over to the back stairs. Dusty, smudged overstepped prints trickled up the board stairs on the outside of the building, heading for the second floor. Dust wore off before they reached the landing. He went back down. Looking carefully at the direction of pointed toe tips, Vin could see where they'd stepped, going back to the horses. Heels deeper in the dirt, scraping dust clear down to the hard ground. When the horses moved away, one stepped deeper, too. He checked their prints. The deep treading horse had a distinctive bent nail mark on one hoof. They took Ezra. Whoever they were. Not likely he went willingly, since he'd a have to have doubled up with one of them and Ezra didn't like doing that. Would have objected mightily. Yep, they took him. He squatted down near where they'd stepped back off the stairs. A dark spot caught his attention. Nope, Ezra didn't go with them willingly. Vin rocked back on his heels and scrubbed at the back of his neck. Damn.

Yarrow watched from where he sat hunched over his coffee as Boll Garson stood up again. The man was a talker. Marcus frowned. He didn't much care for talkers. Just lost two cousins could talk the shine off a new pair of shoes, don't need to have some new man doing the same. The other men laughed at Boll's description of the capture of Ezra Standish, the fancy man he and Lemuel brought in as part of their deal to join up with Yarrow's gang.

With a grunt of irritation, Marcus stood up to his full, lanky height and stared at Boll. "Couldn't have been all that hard, man was blind-folded and alone." He dumped his coffee near Boll's feet and stomped over to their captives. Behind him, he could hear the men mumbling a bit. He needed to make sure they all knew he was in charge here. He ignored the men at his back and stood looking down at their two prisoners. According to the Garson brothers, the big guy with the mustache was named Buck Wilmington and was a right hand man for Larabee. Looked like he was playing possum, from the way he was breathing and lying so still. The little man next to him was still out cold. Damn fools hit him too hard. He was still bleeding like a stuck pig from a gash at the back of his skull when those two hyenas brought him in across a saddle, laughing and boasting how they snuck him out from under Larabee's nose.

They called him fancy pants. Marcus studied him. He was dressed pretty good there. Yarrow recognized the quality to the trousers and boots. The ruffled shirt and tidy suspenders signaled a gambler to his way of thinking. Fit with what the mean one, Lemuel, had said. Those boys said this Standish was also part of the Larabee gang. Boll had winked broadly and said he thought that Larabee had mighty 'special' feelings for that one. Yarrow could see a handsome young face beneath a barrage of tiny cuts and puncture marks all over the man's face. Not sure what's wrong with his eyes, no one seemed to know, but he was wearing the blindfold of his own free will, according to Boll. The marks on his face, the possible eye injury, it all made him think of a canon blast and the shrapnel marks on wounded from the war. Not sure how this Standish got that way, but looks recent. If I had anything to do with it, good. He kicked the sole of Wilmington's boot.

"Might as well look at me, I can tell you're awake."

For a moment nothing happened, then the big one turned his head and looked up at Yarrow. Dark blue, angry eyes stared into his. Marcus Yarrow suddenly felt cold. We don't let this one loose, no matter what.

Once they knew Ezra had been taken, and that Vin confirmed the kidnappers' trail went out in the same direction as Buck had ridden after the outlaws, it was decided that all the rest of them were going. Actually, Chris privately admitted to himself, he couldn't have stopped them if he wanted to, and he did not want to. He'd dropped in by Mary Travis' newspaper office and told her they were heading out and why. She'd nodded and wiped hands on her apron.

"Who will protect the town while you're gone?"

"I'll leave that to you to organize," Chris had not been patient. By now, there were several men in town who'd spelled them on duty at the jail, or pitched in during festivals and the like. She'd get one or two of them to man the jail, keep a presence on the street. "We'll be back."

He tipped his wide black hat brim at her and turned back, going out into the street where the others were already on horseback and waiting, JD trailing Larabee's black, saddled and ready. Larabee strode straight to his horse and mounted, swinging the beast around in a tight circle before touching his hat brim again to Mary and digging in to his horse's flanks. The big animal moved out smartly, JD, Josiah and Nathan following. Vin rode up beside Chris Larabee for a short time, then something was said and he moved out ahead of the others, leading the way. Mary leaned back against the doorjamb to her office. She hoped Buck and Ezra would be found, but was strangely uncomfortable with the Chris Larabee who'd spoken to her. The sexual tension that she'd sensed in the past was gone as if it had never been. She could tell that his total attention was on the missing men. They'd had troubles before, had to rescue some of their own, but this was the first time she'd felt this sense of --- well, of something different. Frustrated, she pulled off her apron and headed for the undertaker's. She could start by recruiting that man, Phillip Connors. He had helped out before.

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