He tried moving his legs. Aside from the brief flare of incredible new pain in one leg, he couldn't really move them. His ankles were bound, and his legs as well. His face was covered with what felt like a blanket, in fact as he lay still, trying to extend his senses, it seemed like his whole body was wrapped in a blanket. At that thought, it all came back to him in a horrifying flash. The invaders at the clinic, Nathan hit, bound and dragged off. Then he was caught, tied up, gagged and rolled up in the bed's blanket. The blanket itself roped around him. He remembered being hoisted into the air, struggling against the hold and trying to make noise, attract help. Then, nothing.

Blinking back tears of fresh pain as he clenched in memory of the events just passed, he tried to relax. He wasn't moving, he seemed to be on the ground, judging by the hardness and unevenness of the surface below him. Outside. It was cold beneath him. Must be a shady spot. He couldn't hear anything clearly. Muffled sounds, like a town's life going on, came from a great distance. Gradually, the cold became more intense, numbing him to the bone. The only warm spot seemed to be the trickle on his ribs. He tried to shake the blanket from his face but it was pulled high over him and seemed to be stifling him now. The cotton gauze in his mouth made it feel dry, so dry. He let his head fall back with a tiny sigh. As dark as it was, it seemed to be getting darker, or grayer, or something. He decided he'd just rest. Just for a moment.

"No, no, I can walk." Sanchez shrugged off Tanner's assistance and started walking toward the clinic. Without looking back, he spoke. "You just start finding their tracks, Vin."

Tanner waited another moment, watching as the big preacher walked stolidly down the street, a trifle slow, but not unsteady. Yep, got a real hard head on that one. He looked back up the ally beside the jail consideringly, they got out the back way, best start looking there.

With his easy loping stride, the Texan was at the back end of the jail in moments, scanning the ground in front of him. He hadn't even made it all the way to the end of the sidewall of the jail when he spotted the hurried scuff marks of several booted feet heading away, in the direction of the livery. Moving fast, he trotted beside the tracks finding, as he expected a change from human boot prints to horse tracks came behind the livery stables, where several horses had evidently been tied up. Gone now, the tracks led directly away from town, toward the hills to the north. Naw, they couldn't really be stupid enough to be heading back to the old willow springs, could they? He shook his head and headed around to the front of the livery to locate the rest of the seven.

Chris met Josiah part way back to the jail, seeing that the man was navigating alright, though his face looked pale and he still held Vin's spare bandana to his head. "Josiah? You gonna be ok?"

"Yep. Too old and mean to be put down for long." The preacher gave a vulpine grin of great white teeth scraggling to yellow.

Larabee checked the street. "Vin?"

"Started trackin'," Sanchez patted at his head wound and inspected the cloth, not too much blood. "'Spect he'll show up soon, can't imagine they got far on foot, musta been horses somewhere around."

The gunslinger fingered his gunbelt and gestured toward the Nathan's clinic with his chin. "They knocked out Nathan too. JD and Buck are seeing to him now."

"Ezra?" Josiah squinted down at Larabee in concern.

"No sign of him." Chris kept his voice even. "Nate thinks he either followed them or was taken."

"Taken, then." Sanchez stared at his feet and then looked back up at Chris. "If he'd been following, he'd have helped. We'd a known he was there."

Before the blonde could answer, Vin appeared in front of the two men. "Looks like they had horses behind the livery. Gone now, headed north, northwest."

Hazel eyes opened wide and sandy eyebrows quirked up. "You think?"

"Well, they ain't been very bright so far. No reason to think they changed much." Tanner scratched at his chin thoughtfully. "If they did head for the spring, we kin get up and around them. Know some trails."

Chris flicked a look at Sanchez, knowing how the man cared about Ezra. "Josiah here thinks they took Ezra with them. Nate didn't see, but he's gone from the clinic."

Tanner nodded. "Likely recognized him."

Suddenly a cold pit centered in Larabee's stomach. Damn, he hadn't thought of that. They needed to get to Ez fast. He turned to face Sanchez, aware that what he was about to ask would be hard on the older man. "Josiah, I want you to stay here with Nathan. Make sure he's alright. Get some rest yourself and then be at the jail. Vin, get the horses ready. JD, Buck, you and me are heading out."

Tanner didn't bother answering, just took off. Sanchez hesitated a moment. "Brother Chris, I'd really like to go along."

"I know Josiah. But Nate didn't come off this as well as you from what I saw, he'll need tending. And, we can't just pullout and leave the town." He met the washed out blue eyes with his own. "If Ezra is out there, we're gonna get him back. I give you my word."

Sanchez put a hand on Larabee's shoulder. Chris could feel the weight of care in the heavy pressure. "Go with God, Brother."

Larabee nodded and led the way up to the clinic. They found Nathan sitting, leaning tiredly against his desk with a damp cloth to his own head wound. JD and Buck were picking up the room, piling Ezra's discarded clothing in a corner and straightening the bed. A pot on the stove was beginning to steam. "Buck, JD, come on. We're going out with Vin. Find Ez. Take care of these hombres." He turned to look at Jackson. "Josiah is staying, Nathan. He'll give you a hand, then watch over the town."

The healer nodded slowly. Chris was already leaving, JD and Buck crowding the door behind him, nodding to the others as they followed Larabee out.

Dusk came creeping into town slowly, spring days lasting longer than winter ones. Folks started closing up businesses and children, running free, were doing those last things children do before they know they'll be called home for chores and supper. Josiah sat hunched in a chair in front of the jail, watching the street, repeating prayers in his head.

Nathan Jackson lay back where he'd settled on the bed in his own clinic. He and Josiah decided that between the two of them, neither had a concussion, just sore heads. Right now his own was pounding mighty loud, felt like a smithy had taken over and was beating out new horse shoes in there. He'd insisted that Josiah have some of the willow bark tea before he left, they'd sipped some together, neither speaking. Now he just lay there, trying to get past the pain.

Ezra woke again. Nothing had changed except he felt colder. Numbed to any pain. Or so he thought until he tried to move. Oh, god. Won't be doing any moving soon. Where was everyone? Why was he alone? Suddenly terrified, he sucked in a breath and choked in pain, Chris! Had those miscreants gotten to Chris? Was he alright? And the others? Nathan? Were they hurt? Prisoners? Was that why he was alone wherever he was? A tear trickled down his face and he closed his eyes to the dark fabric of the blanket that shrouded him. What was happening?

"No, I got you!"

"No, I was safe!"

"Ok, then that old log by the jail, that's the next safe place, ready?"

"Yah, go!"

The patter of pelting feet came closer and closer, the high piping voices crying out their youthful challenges. There was a thump as one youngster rebounded off the jail wall, then the second dashed in, dodging around his tag-mate and touched the new safe.

Panting. A moment of silence. Then a child was screaming. "Ooh! Blood! I'm bloody! Mama!" The feet raced away.

Ezra was having trouble breathing now. With the gag, he had to be careful of how he breathed and pain made it doubly hard. That darting touch to his person had been like a branding iron. Even closed, white lights flashed in front of his eyes and he felt like he was spinning. Then what senses he had began to fade out again and he was grateful.

"Jeremiah, just show Mr. Sanchez where you found the bloody log. He'll take care of it after that, then you are coming home with me!"

"Yes, Mama." A small group of three moved up the side ally, Josiah Sanchez thoroughly mystified by the 'bloody log,' a trembling Jeremiah, a sprite of little more than 6 years old, and holding the child's hand, his mother, Mrs. Martinsgale, the new seamstress.

"There! There it is!"

Sanchez closed his eyes briefly in pain. Oh lord, no. Voice deep and dry, he said, "Mrs. Martinsgale, thank you, you best take Jeremiah home now. I'll handle things from here."

"But Mr. Sanchez, that's not a log --"

"I know. I know." He gently steered them around to face back toward the main street and gave the mother and her child small encouraging pushes with the flats of his hands. He waited until the woman, who still stole looks over her shoulder, suddenly decided curiosity was not as important as the security of her child, and hustled her boy back toward home.

Sanchez knelt beside the dark stained bundle and carefully pulled back the ends of the blanket. Ezra. Standish's lax face was waxy white, with a smear of blood over one ear. His mouth was torn at the corners where a gag of white gauze, now rusty looking, pulled at his face. It was hard to tell if he was even breathing.

The four horsemen ran their animals hard, the trail was surprisingly easy to follow. Tanner kept a marginal lead, keeping his eye on the tracks so that there would be no surprises. Several miles north, it was clear to him and Larabee that the outlaws were just as stupid as they'd thought -- they were heading for the spring. He began to slow. Somethin' wasn't right here. Even dumb as bricks, they had seen Larabee in town and had seen him at the spring. They had taken Ezra. They had to know that Larabee would know where their camp was. Vin pulled up his horse, skidding to a halt, drawing the other three men to a stop at his side.

"What's wrong?" Larabee reined in Solon with difficulty. The black was tossing his head, eager to continue his run.

"Don't make sense. Why's they heading back there? You been there and seen them there. They know that, saw you in town in front of the jail. Seems like they'd know we'd follow."

Larabee turned his mount in a tight circle, fighting the gelding's energetic dance. "Got a point."

JD's Toby and Buck's Gray were both crowding close now, the men listening, wondering. Buck interrupted. "They're the same ones, huh? Maybe they think they can lead us into an ambush. Or maybe they think having Ez as a hostage will protect 'em."

Hauling back on the reins firmly to settle Solon, Larabee looked up toward the hills ahead of them. "You said you knew some other trails?" He looked back at Vin.

"Yep."

"Let's do this smart." The other men nodded and fell into position behind Tanner as he turned his Indian pony and headed slightly away from the track, going further west. He set a quick paced, ground-eating canter. Chris settled himself into the saddle and tensed his legs, letting his mount know that he needed a controlled pace. The big gelding eased into the gait and moved like a rocking chair. The cold pit in Larabee's stomach kept on growing.

"NATHAN!" Josiah's bellow had Jackson jumping straight up off the clinic bed and running for the door before he even knew what was happening. Josiah never shouted like that -- unless something was really wrong.

Sagging against the opened door, he peered out into the dimming early evening light, "Josiah?" Then he heard the heavy sound of feet on the stairs and stepped further out onto the porch area.

"Nathan," Sanchez was panting heavily and carrying what looked like a rolled up carpet in his arms. "It's Ezra!"

Mouth opened in surprise, Jackson backed out of the way and then swung around to follow his friend into the clinic as the big man rushed by, doing a quick two-step sideways through the doorway. By the time the healer had entered and closed the door, Sanchez was lowering his burden to the bed very carefully.

"He's alive, Nathan, but I'm not sure --" Josiah's hesitation brought the professional healer to the forefront.

Moving up beside the big preacher, Nathan recognized his blanket and saw the dark stains on the lumpy shape, still roped in place. "Aw, shit." He reached over to his work counter and picked up a knife, then moved close to the form resting so still on the bed.

The two men worked rapidly, cutting away the ropes, unwrapping the dirty, messed blanket, revealing Ezra Standish's cold, stiff body. Cursing, both men cut through the inner ropes, releasing ankles, legs, arms, and wrists. Nathan carefully cut and picked free the gagging bandage. Fishing the inner, balled gag out of Ezra's dry mouth finally produced a reaction from the lifeless conman. Moaning weakly, he tried to turn his head away, but Josiah grasped it's sides in two large hands and nodded to Nathan who dripped some water onto the clump of gauze to soften it and then pulled it out. Dry, choking coughs followed. The two men's eyes met in relief. Ezra was still with them.

"Man's a fighter." Nathan swabbed the inside of the dry as dust mouth with a damp twist of fresh gauze, then dribbled a small bit of water in. Their patient swallowed convulsively, choking again, then lifting his head to follow the source of moisture, still without opening his eyes.

"Easy, son, easy," Josiah cautioned. "Take it slow. Let's let that much settle in you before you take any more." Wiping the flushed face with a damp cloth, he looked down to where Nathan was grimly assessing the two bullet wounds. "How bad?"

Jackson gestured toward the conman's right leg. "Well, the bullet's still in his leg and looks like infection is already setting in. Gotta get that out fast." He shook his head, lifting his eyes to meet Josiah's, "But the man is lucky, the other bullet musta clipped something else first slowin' it down some, maybe the ground, a rock, don't know, but hit him in the ribs at an angle, it's sitting there in plain sight between two ribs."

"The old hitching rail was out back of the jail," Josiah closed his eyes briefly. "They dumped him between the building and the rail. That bullet might have skimmed the wood first."

Nathan just touched the ribcage gently. "Something like that musta happened, likely we'll never know exactly what."

Sanchez peered down in wonder to see the end of the bullet's casing shining dully like a round grommet in the gambler's side. Jackson touched the area softly again. "Still leaking blood, may have cracked one or both o'those ribs there, and pushed 'em apart some, why it's still bleeding."

"Brother, the lord works in mysterious ways." Sanchez smiled, one hand stroking the damp hair on the gambler's head, and thought about small boys and games and bloody logs and the grace of God.

Larabee kept his friend in sight, but kept his horse back, knowing that JD and Buck were doing likewise for him. They all traveled in silence, the dull clop of hooves on the dry winter grasses not yet greened again in this shaded valley, sounding eerily hollow. He bit his lower lip and tried to keep focused. His temper had resurfaced as they rode. The anger finally overcoming the dread and panic. Anger was a tool he could use, he could make anger work for him. He let the rage fire through his veins and keep him concentrated. He was death riding to deliver his coup to those who'd take, those who'd hurt one of his. Who'd dare touch his.

Buck had edged JD to the back, more worried about what was ahead than what might be following. More worried about his older friend than what they might encounter ahead. Chris was going under -- they were losing him, he could tell from posture, from the few words spoken earlier, the tone, and when he turned briefly to look back on a rise, from the expression etched in deep lines of pain on his face. Buck wouldn't admit it even if he was pushed, but he was afraid. This was a Larabee he hadn't seen in a long time. This was the killer who'd risen from the ashes of a lonely burnt out ranch house, where two graves, one very small, were the crucible of his creation. Buck watched. He steeled himself for what might come. It would be bad.

Tanner brought the group to a halt just under the rise of yet another hill. The sameness of the terrain made it difficult to tell where they were, except for the white-edged silhouette of the tall northwestering mountains back lit against the evening sky. The sun had set some time ago, but no one had suggested stopping. Twilight and a full moon were making everything a ghostly blue-gray now.

Dismounting, Vin waited for the others to join him. Larabee came up next to him and just looked. Tanner eyed the other two, then explained. "Spring's just t'other side of this rise. Figure we leave the horses here, go in low." He waited for nods of agreement. "If you can wait a bit, I can scout it out first."

Despite an urgent need to keep going, to face their enemies and kill them, Larabee agreed with a stiff nod. "Do it." Without waiting for Tanner to leave, he squatted down and lowered himself to a seated position on the steep hillside. JD and Buck did the same as Tanner melted into the shadows.

Josiah clamped his hand on Nathan's shoulder. The two stood together, weaving slightly with fatigue and still-recovering headaches from their matching contusions. Jackson was tiredly wiping his hands on a wet, bloody cloth over a basin of equally reddish water. In the murky depths could be seen two misshapen lead slugs. All that remained of the bullets Nathan had wrested free of their friend's body only minutes ago. "You are a talented man, my friend." Josiah's sincerity was reassuring since the dark healer was feeling less than confident at the moment.

He stared down at the quiescent patient. The man was breathing easily now, would have a fever for some time to come and that would be their next battle. Only he felt so very tired. He lowered his chin to his chest as he stared owlishly at Standish's body.

"Brother Nathan, go and rest. I'll keep watch, keep him cool."

"He's gonna need lots of water. Keep changing the poultices too, to drain away the infections." Nathan looked closely, or as closely as slightly crossed eyes could still focus, at the carefully woven strapping that kept the torso wound clear but still supported and strapped the two cracked ribs in place. The incomplete breaks had been confirmed as he removed the bullet and inspected closer. "Ok, Josiah. He's all yours for now." Jackson looked up and back over his shoulder at the man he considered his closest friend, the man still offering strength and comfort with a hand to his shoulder. "Call me if he worsens or you see any signs that worry you."

"I will." There was strength but also further reassurance in the calm, almost humorous tone to Sanchez' voice. Josiah was feeling light-headed with relief that Ezra still lived and breathed. He'd known with utter and defeated certainty that the man was dead when he turned back that blanket sheath for the first time on the ground behind the jail. Now, hope was a narcotic and he was floating on the feeling of serene benediction this reprieve from his crows had produced. A miracle at the hands of his caring friend, Nathan Jackson. "Go, rest."

"Our prisoner is hunkered down on the far side of the spring, behind a real giant willer, keeping company with one other. The other two are each in a tree, set up in the branches. Good cover. Wouldn't have spotted 'em if I hadn't been looking.'" Tanner started speaking the moment he was over the rise and finished as he slithered to a stop, full length along the ground next to Chris Larabee and Buck Wilmington. JD, who had been staying back with the horses, came crawling up rapidly, after checking that the mounts were all tied to a scrubby Joshua tree.

Chris slid further down the slope, below the crest and stood. "I go in alone." He checked his borrowed pistol and then picked up his rifle.

Buck stood and put a hand on one tense arm. "Pard --"

"I'm going in. You all cover me, flank them when I have their attention." He tossed off his old friend's touch with an angry shrug.

"Helluva way to get their attention," Wilmington objected, not backing down. He looked over at Vin who had not yet commented.

Tanner was watching Larabee. The man in black was barely holding his rage in check. It needed an outlet or would become indiscriminate. He could almost feel the heat of it coming off in waves. "We got your back," he said by way of coming down on Chris' side.

Buck bit back another comment, eyes slitting in anger and fear for his friends. "Alright." He pulled his hat down tight and threw a short look at JD. The young sheriff seemed to know better than to say anything and was watching and listening with wide, worried eyes. "Kid, you stay on my left shoulder. We're on Larabee's right."

Tanner nodded. "Got his left, then."

The blonde pulled back his head and lifted his jaw, as if sniffing the wind, if Buck didn't know better, he'd swear the old war dog was smelling the odor of death already. Those men had loosed a killing machine. He almost felt sorry for them.

Larabee's hazel eyes were nearly white on white as he met the eyes of each of his partners. "We go in on three." He paused, took a deep, steadying breath, and grinned, with no humor in the rictus. "Three."

Larabee erupted over the crest of the hill on Solon's back, firing his rifle, pumping the shells free as the bullets flew. The black charger ran at full gallop, a weapon of destruction. The pair attracted the buzzing crossfire of the bandits' guns. Larabee didn't even flinch as one bullet scored his cheekbone, simply shifting his aim higher, seeing a man fall lifelessly from one of the trees.

Tanner pulled the other sniper out of his perch with sudden and unexpected ferociousness. The cry of fear was drowned in blood as he thrust upward with his skinning knife under the ribs in the man's side.

JD hove close to Buck, the two running on foot close to the ground to confuse. They made it to the tree line panting and hoarse but with no time to wait. The younger Dunne surged ahead with an alarmed Wilmington leaping to catch up, holding one side to press against a wind pain, even as he brought his long-barreled pistol to bear on the two men crouched behind an enormous old willow trunk. "Hold on --"

"Put yer hands up." JD's brashness was nearly his undoing as the men swung to face their new adversaries, already firing. His twin colts barked back as Buck's big gun boomed at his side. The exchange lasted only a fraction of a second or so it seemed. And then gun smoke blued the air and both men lay unmoving at the lawmen's feet.

"Shit!" Wilmington ran, half-limping, still panting harshly, past a stunned Dunne and kicked the dead redhead in frustration. Then the second man moaned and the tall gunman slowed and went down on one knee beside the man, picking up and tossing aside the man's gun, keeping his own aim steady. "JD, go check on Vin and Chris." When there was no answer, he looked up. The youngster was holstering one of his guns, and wiping his mouth with the back of the hand that held the other gun. "JD?"

"Ok," the brunette swallowed and nodded, "OK." He turned and was running as if breaking free of quicksand.

Tanner regretfully wiped his knife on the grassy ground. He hadn't meant to kill, but the damn man had fallen onto the knife as he fell out of the tree, pushing it in further than Vin had intended to go, piercing the man's heart. Ending his life.

Larabee stood over the man he had shot. Watched his life dim from his eyes, knowing secrets went with him. The man had refused to speak as the blonde snatched him to his feet and shook him, demanding to know where their hostage was. He'd simply smiled and then gone limp, slipping from Larabee's grip to lie on the ground. Now he'd never speak again. Chris looked up and around the empty willow spring. He could nearly see Ezra's lithe, light golden form rising from the water, a ghostly presence, a dry chuckle in his ear, a moist tongue touching his tender spot behind it, a breath warming the inside of it. "ezra--" he breathed it out in pain.

"Chris, Vin!" JD was running up to them from the other side of the spring, coming out of a thick stand of willows. "Buck's got one still alive." He swung to look around, eyes even wider. "Any sign of Ezra?"

Neither man answered, both taking off, running in the direction the young gunman had just come from.

"Buck?" Larabee slowed to a stop next to the kneeling lawman.

"He's alive," Wilmington spared a glace up at his friend but Larabee could read the bad news. The man wasn't going to last long.

Larabee squatted next to the wounded man's other side, Tanner standing behind him, keeping an eye out for any lurking unknowns. JD came trotting up and stood silent behind Buck. Chris stared down at the man lying on the ground. A gaping, bloody wound in his chest made it clear the man had little time left. "Where is the man you kidnapped from the clinic?"

Tice Shelby frowned, then hit by more pain, gasped, his frown dissolving into a grimace of agony. "Just shoot me now."

Chris grabbed Shelby's collar and twisted it, raising the man's head and shoulders off the ground. "Where is he?"

A sly, mean look filled the dark eyes squinting up into Larabee's. "You mean your catamite?" hissed the dying man.

The blonde was ready to shoot, his hand only stayed by his desperate need to know where Ezra was. "Yes," he gritted out, his free hand straying to the handle of his gun as he dropped forward on one knee.

"You killed my cousin Tern. You and yours killed my men and Tern's. Why should I--" Tice began to cough, blood streaming out of the corner of his mouth.

Larabee closed his eyes, fighting his rising fear and rage. Tanner hunkered down beside him, and pulled out a blade. The tip of the blade entered the outlaw's left nostril. "There are lots of ways to die." The quiet Texas drawl was whisper soft.

Snorting and throwing his head back, Shelby never let his eyes leave Larabee's, though Chris could see the new fear there now. "We -- I shot him, killed him, dumped him a ways back." He let a slow smile cross his pain-ridden face. "You ain't ever gonna see that boy again."

Tanner pulled his knife back on a soft sigh of sorrow. Chris reared up on his heels, dragging Shelby up with him, a howl of grief and rage roaring out of his throat as he drew his pistol and shoved it deep in the dying man's belly. With a scream of "You bastard!" he began firing, pumping the bullets directly into the jerking body in front of him, until the gun had clicked on an empty cylinder several times.

With stiff fingers, Larabee released the corpse and dropped his pistol to the ground, turned on his heel and walked away.

Ezra woke to the feel of a rough cloth being wiped across his brow. He instantly knew that he was at Nathan's clinic. Even without opening his eyes, he could identify the feel of the bed, the scent of herbs and brews, the sounds of the busy street just outside, and the creak of the floor boards as a big man stood beside him and the damp cloth was removed from his face. Blinking, he looked up into the smiling face of Josiah Sanchez.

"Ezra, good to see you awake." Sanchez sat back down in the chair beside the bed. He put a hand to the damp brow. "A bit of fever, but Nathan thinks you'll be fine."

Standish didn't try to speak, he was utterly tired. Knowing he was safe, in good hands, he relaxed and let go. Eyes drifting shut over a small, contented smile.

Sanchez looked up as Nathan entered from the back. "He was awake for a moment, didn't speak but he seemed lucid, eyes were clear, he smiled a bit." He couldn't help himself, he was grinning broadly at the healer.

Nathan smiled back, walking over to check the heat on Ezra's skin. "Good signs, Josiah. Still got some fever, but looks like he'll be ok."

He went to the stove and poured some of the heated, distilled herbal mix he'd made earlier into a cup. "If he wakes again, get him to drink some of this. It's for pain and he's gonna be feeling some for a while. The chest ain't too bad, 'cept for those ribs, but the hole in his leg is gonna throb. Stitches'll pull too iffn he don't be careful and stay still for a bit." He shook his head, "And, knowing Ezra, he won't want to stay still none."

The big preacher let his hand come to rest over one of Ezra's, covering the smaller hand easily, wrapping his big fingers quietly around the fine, slender digits. "I'll just stay here then."

Buck stood shakily, watching his old friend walk steadily away from him and the others. Tanner had risen to his feet as well but stood still and silent. JD touched Wilmington on one arm, more for consolation than physical support. There were tears running down the young sheriff's face. The older man sighed and drew back his shoulders. "I'll go."

The two younger men simply nodded, then Vin said, "We'll clean up here." His eyes were shadowed and he was blinking his eyes slowly as if he didn't realize it.

Wilmington nodded in gratitude and followed his long time partner out of the clearing. He found the blonde standing beside one of the big old willows, looking down into the pool of the spring. "We came here a few times. Shared a bedroll. This last time, Vin tracked him out of the lava fields. I came on alone. He was just climbing out of here, had taken a bath. You know how clean he likes to be." Larabee smiled. His hazel eyes, though were clouded. "He looked like something out of a Greek legend. He was beautiful." Chris let his eyes trace the bent branches back up toward their trunks and the sky beyond. "Beautiful. And he was mine. He loved me, Buck. He told me so."

Wilmington sat down on a fallen branch the size of a normal tree trunk. Took off his hat and rolled it between his hands, studying the dark, stained crown. "You have something to hold on to then."

"I loved him. Took me a while to figure it out. Told him here, this last time. He was beautiful on the inside too, you know?" Larabee closed his eyes and let the warm air of the daylight touch his face. "Buck, what am I supposed to do now?"

Wilmington's lips tightened and he looked up mournfully. "Time to grieve, Chris. You gotta take time to grieve. He's worth living for."

"And dying for?"

"We'd a'done it, Pard, you know that. All of us for each other." Buck waited and when there was nothing further, continued, "But he don't want you to die for him now."

Then the two simply stopped talking. Buck sat and watched a small wren hop down to the spring's edge to ruffle its feathers in the water, splashing about with abandon, ignoring the human invaders. Chris stood still and let the sounds of nature and memories pervade his being. They were comfortable with each other and Buck's presence was as much comfort as Chris could ever, had ever, taken from another living being.

"Vin?" JD lugged the legs of one of the dead as Tanner lifted and hauled the torso.

"Yeah?"

"Think you can find Ezra's body?"

Tanner froze for a moment, then nodded. "Yeah. If he was with them, all I got to do is back track. We split off to meet up with'em here. Ain't too much of their back trail we haven't already seen anyway."

JD stood still, thinking. Then as he helped hoist the corpse over the back of one of the outlaws' ponies, he asked, "Do you think that guy might have lied?"

Tanner looked up sharply, thinking back to the mean look, the sly smile, on the dying man's face. "Maybe," he drawled slowly.

This time when he woke, it was pain that brought him out of the darkness. "Here, Ezra, drink some of this." And a cup was pressed against his lips. He could smell the bitter herbs and drank deeply, knowing that despite the odor, this would help him conquer the pain. When the cup was removed, he stirred and opened his eyes.

Nathan sat beside him, smiling. "You didn't even fight that none."

"Know it will help," came the hoarse, dry-sounding reply. Casting an eye around the empty clinic, the southerner returned to the dark healer's face. "You alright?"

Nathan smiled wider. "Got a hard head myself. I'm alright."

"Chris?" There was a bit of tension in the voice now.

"He took Vin, Buck and JD to go after the outlaws and our prisoner." Nathan shrugged. "They got him out somehow." He decided against telling the gambler that their four friends all thought that Ezra had been taken along as a hostage as the outlaws fled town. There was nothing that could be done until their friends returned.

"I'm not going back." Larabee sat up tall in the saddle, facing his men.

"Chris, he mighta lied. I'm gonna follow their back trail. See if Ezra's really there." Vin leaned forward in his saddle, leather creaking, Peso for once staying rock still.

"You mean his body." Larabee neck reined Solon away from the others. "Do what you want."

Wilmington didn't try to stop his friend, despite the looks both Vin and JD were shooting him. He watched sadly. In a few days, he'd follow, he figured he knew where Chris was headed -- Purgatorio, to drown himself for a while. He'd be safe enough. Even drunk as a skunk, the man was absolutely deadly. He sighed. Tried not to think on what Chris had said because he'd be weeping if he did. Yeah, in a few days he'd try to pick up the pieces again. After he'd settled JD in at Four Corners. With Vin, Nate, and Josiah still there, JD would be fine. Buck was needed again and he'd follow, do what he could when Chris was ready. Right now was too soon.

The three men sat and watched as Chris turned away, Solon's walk moving quickly into a canter and then, just as he neared the dip in meadow and valley beyond, they could see the duo's speed increase to a dead run, as if chasing the very hounds of hell.

"How's he doing?" Josiah pushed a full glass of whiskey in front of Nathan who'd just come into the saloon and joined him at the seven's regular table.

"Sleepin' -- and before you worry, Mrs. Potter volunteered to sit with him for a spell." Jackson smiled at his friend. The big man did tend to hover when it was Ezra who was hurt, had a soft place for the little conman.

Sanchez took a sip of his own still nearly full shot glass. He let his eyes drift around the quiet, early hours emptiness of the saloon. Inez stood behind the bar, polishing glasses and looking out into space, a contemplative expression on her mobile face. The soft afternoon light made even the dust motes golden as they danced in the beams shooting through the batwing doors. The gentle clop of hooves made both men look toward the street. Sounded like several riders, coming in slow.

Sanchez and Jackson looked at each other and rose to their feet, pulled to the doorway with hope and curiosity. Hope that their friends had returned, curious as to whom else it might be.

It was a solemn procession that met their gazes. Vin Tanner led the way, looking very weary as he slumped on Peso whose hide was nearly gray with dust. Both hung their heads.

Behind the tracker came the kid. Dunne was ponying another two horses, with bodies strapped on their saddles. JD's face was dirty with tear tracks drying on it, half-heartedly smudged into smears. He stared straight ahead as if he'd been following Tanner forever.

Buck Wilmington came next, leading two more horses, each with another body tied to their backs. His shoulders were bent forward and he cast a look to the side from under his wide-brimmed hat as he came even with the men now on the boardwalk in front of the saloon. The tall mustached ladies man drew rein and hesitated, looking ahead to where Vin was continuing to the livery and JD was heading to the undertakers.

Nathan looked back down the street but saw no sign of Larabee. None of the dead men was their friend and leader, nor was Solon among the horses. Sanchez saw the same thing. Both looked the question to Buck who still sat his horse, facing them now.

"He's gone." Wilmington shrugged massively, as if trying to drop a weight from his shoulders. "We got all of them," he tilted his head back toward the two dead bodies behind him, then continued, "Found out about Ez." He looked down at the street and swallowed hard, fighting a return of grief for both his friends, missing from among them even though one still lived. Looking back up at the waiting Sanchez and Jackson, he said, "Chris took it bad. Headed out for a spell." He didn't elaborate. No need to tell them the rest, was Chris' business. And Ez's. Suddenly in pain from the deep sadness that gripped him, Buck coughed, a wretching sound and spit. Nodded to the two men and brought his Gray's head around to continue down, following JD to the undertaker's.

Deeply puzzled, Josiah and Nathan turned to watch Wilmington continue down the street. Something was very wrong but neither man could figure out what it was. If the men had found out about Ezra, then why were they acting so strangely. Unless --

"They think Ezra's dead." Nathan spoke the revelation aloud, moving even as he said it. He was running then, catching up with Buck in a few steps since the man's horse was merely plodding along.

Josiah, who'd remained standing, watching, saw the healer reach out to grab the gray's near rein and pull the horse to a stop. The tall dark man stood, holding the rein and a stirrup, hand on Buck's booted foot as he looked up into the downcast face. He spoke only a few words, but Buck's head shot up and he straightened in the saddle. A shouted huzzah broke the lazy afternoon stillness.

Down the street, Josiah could see JD and Vin both turn in their saddles to look back. To see Buck now standing in his stirrups waving his hat and yelling wordlessly, joyously. Wilmington dropped the leathers of the two horses he'd been ponying and said something, grinning down at Nate, then spurred his horse to leap forward and dash down the street to the other two team members staring now at him, both with horses reined about to face him. Vin was already gigging Peso to a trot back toward the others, a dust cloud half-enveloping him.

JD looked on in quiet confusion. Staring at a suddenly crazed Buck bearing down on him, whooping in delight.

Josiah stepped down into the street and met up with Nathan who'd bent down to pick up the reins of the abandoned outlaws' ponies. The two smiled as they saw Buck drag his horse to a skidding halt, nearly dropping it to its haunches as he came to JD. From their perspective and distance, the healer and preacher couldn't hear what was said but saw both men turn as Vin arrived at their knot. There was a moment's stillness, then all three were standing in their stirrups yelling and laughing, gripping at each other. JD nearly climbed off his horse and on to Vin's, hugging the slender tracker. Three grinning faces turned toward the other two friends standing watching them from near the saloon. Waving and smiling, all three started back down the street, even the horses bouncing now with lighter hearts, reflecting the new feel of their riders.

It didn't take long to coerce a couple of stray cowhands into delivering the bodies the rest of the way to the undertaker's. None of the three newly returned peacekeepers wanted to delay getting up to the clinic. Nathan hurried ahead, to get Mrs. Potter safely out and make sure that Ezra was ready for this invasion. He'd found his patient sleeping and shooed the kind shopkeeper out the door, having to help her make her way past the boisterous arrival of JD, Buck and Vin. Josiah tipped his hat to her before following the others inside, a benign smile on his face.

Ezra blinked slowly. The sudden sounds of floorboards stomped by multiple booted feet and much male laughter making him cringe and slit his eyes open fearfully. There, peering down at him, were three widely grinning faces. But instead of faces from his new nightmares, he saw three of his friends, all crying and laughing and grinning inanely at him. "What?" he asked hoarsely.

"Why, Pard, yer alive!" Buck sat down on the edge of the bed and despite his enthusiasm, touched the side of Ezra's face with infinite gentleness. Resting his fingers there, feeling the warm, living flesh beneath, Wilmington's lungs filled and his chest grew, too full of happiness to sustain him without outlet. His grin was almost painful it was so big. "Yer alive!" he repeated helplessly.

Tanner squatted down in front of the confused gambler. "We thought you was dead, kilt by them varmints."

JD pressed close, leaning on Buck's shoulder, a wide smile on his face as well. "We all did. One of them told us he shot you. Before he died."

Ezra was beginning to wake up more fully now, still slightly overwhelmed by this sudden drastic rejoicing. They really do seem inordinately pleased to see me still breathing. "Well, someone shot me. Doubtless he told the truth."

Three heads swiveled back to look up at Jackson who stood just behind them. "Nate?" Tanner's question didn't need further explanation.

"He's gonna be fine. Got shot twice, in the leg and side, already took out the bullets and stitched him up." He folded his arms. "Had some fever but it's coming down now." He quirked a smile at his concerned audience and repeated his reassurance, "He'll be fine."

Ezra, who by now was fully awake and feeling better, stared up at the circle of faces that smiled back down at him. Josiah stood beside Nathan, the two tall men towering over the others. Buck still sat on the bed, a hand laid against the side of Ezra's face, warm skin providing a caring touch he'd seldom felt in his life, warming his heart. Vin knelt now at his side and JD clung to Buck's broad shoulders, one arm slung across them as he hung down over Ezra as if he needed to feast his eyes on the sight of their gambler. Ezra let his eyes travel from face to face, all smiling, the care and affection clear in each set of eyes. He gazed back in wonderment. For me. They are happy because I am here. It was the strangest, most peculiar feeling. He smiled tentatively back at his most unusual friends. Only one was missing, the one who carried his heart.

"Where's Chris?"

"Buck, what's a catamite?"

Wilmington straightened in the saddle and turned his head slowly, disbelievingly to stare at JD Dunne. The boy was staring back blankly, clearly not understanding either the meaning of the word or the bad timing in asking that question just now. Buck could hear the closeness of the other's horses, Vin and Ezra right behind them, Josiah and Nate bringing up the rear. He took a deep breath.

When Ezra asked about Chris, everyone in the clinic stopped and no one spoke. Alarmed, Standish struggled to sit up, softly crying, "No!"

Instantly Buck was leaning forward to slide an arm around behind the wounded man, supporting him and holding him. "Easy, Ez. Chris is alright, not even hurt." He didn't add 'except for his heart and soul since he thinks you're dead.' No need, the gambler was quick, had already figured it out from Vin's and JD's comments.

Wet green eyes looked up and locked with tempered dark blue ones. "Where did he go?" Somehow Ezra knew that Buck would know where Chris was now. Would tell him.

"Figure Purgatorio." There was a subtle shifting behind them, but Buck didn't break eye contact with the smaller man, ignoring the others. He hadn't told anyone yet. Hell, he was guessing but his gut told him he was right. He hugged Ezra carefully, grabbing and holding onto one of the man's free hands. "We'll go get him. Tell him the good news." Buck watched determination grow in those emerald chips. He should have known, especially after what Chris had told him by the spring.

"I'm going with you." It was said steadily, with no room for argument. That didn't stop Nathan though.

Stepping closer, the healer spoke firmly, "No, you're not, Ezra. You ain't anywhere near ready to be on horseback yet."

Standish ignored Jackson's words, eyes still locked on Wilmington. "I'll need some clothes."

Feeling hypnotized, as if caught in the mesmerizing gaze of a snake, Buck nodded slowly and spoke. "JD? Go get Ez his clothes. Inez can help you."

"Now wait a minute!" Nathan's voice was angry. This was his patient and the man might pull his stitches, he'd be in pain from those ribs. This was not a good idea.

"Brother," Sanchez interrupted, "It might be best if we all went." He wasn't sure why Buck had agreed so readily but somehow he sensed that Wilmington was agreeing for a hidden reason. An important one. If Ezra had need to go, then he, Josiah, would support him.

Vin stood up and touched Ezra's knee. "I'll get the horses ready, we brought back Chaucer's saddle with us."

Nathan bit back any further comment, if Josiah was agreeing to this insanity, he knew he had no allies. So he'd best make sure he had with him what Ezra would need before this foolish journey was over. Coming to stand over his patient, he nudged Wilmington with his knee. "Move over, Buck. If Ezra's gonna go do this, I need to change his bandages and tighten that wrap on his ribs some."

Buck grinned down at Ezra, winking slyly and hugging him once more, glad to feel the return pressure lightly given and the answering flare in those telling green eyes. He had a feeling that Ezra had figured out more than just that Chris had gone off, he'd figured out that Buck knew about them some how. Just to make sure the man wouldn't worry none, he leaned forward and spoke softly to Ezra's ear alone. "Chris told me 'bout you two, when he thought -- well, he told me. I'm mighty happy for both of you, Ez."

Buck backed away from the bed to give Nathan room, then nodded to Josiah, saying, "Guess I'll go help Vin. We'll need remounts for this."

Sanchez smiled and made way for the tall lanky ladies man, then moved forward to assist Nathan with rewrapping Ezra's ribs. He made no comment about the slight film of moisture that Ezra was blinking away, eyes still on the door that Wilmington had just left through.

Damn, traitorous eyes tearing at such a time. Ezra closed his eyes and swallowed, giving his body over to Nathan and Josiah, letting his mind travel. Oh, Chris, be alright. Please, don't do anything foolish.

Larabee sat slumped in the porch chair in front of the dirty saloon, one of several in Purgatorio, lawless town of lawless men. He was left alone, except when the barmaid came out to sell him a new bottle. The man in black exuded danger and was avoided. He didn't move much. Just drank from the shot glass he refilled periodically and stared out blindly at the sunny street.

Occasionally, his eyes would drop to the saddlebags on the table at his elbow. He'd been through them earlier before he'd gotten to town. When he'd stopped to give Solon a rest. They were Ezra's bags. They'd found his saddle, gear, clothes, and saddlebags at the outlaws' camp, pretty much as Ezra had left them only short days before. He'd taken the bags and Ezra's flask, along with reclaiming his own pistol from one of the dead men. It was when he'd seen Ezra's things that he knew he wasn't going back. At least, not right away. Maybe never. He didn't know.

He'd carefully emptied both bags, sorted through the neatly stashed items. Ezra hadn't packed much inside them, hadn't gone off on a trip just had his short-ration pack, some extra shirts and underwear. Soap, some playing cards. A book, "Tale of Two Cities" by Dickens. Chris turned it over in his hands, he didn't know this one, but from the worn patina on the leather, he figured Ezra enjoyed it. Holding the book to his chest, he'd bowed his head and hugged the slim volume close, tears falling unexpectedly. It had been some time before he'd cried for Sarah and Adam. Since then, he'd learned. Now, he cried quietly in a lonely glade, only Solon for company, and Ezra's spirit, in the few cherished things he'd salvaged.

When he'd reached Purgatorio, he was empty inside, the tears had cleaned him out. The pack of cards was in his shirt pocket, over his heart. The flask was in the side pocket of his long duster, weighing it down slightly, feeling right as it balanced the weight of his gun on his other hip. The book hadn't left his hands.

Sitting now, in the shade, unaware of the curious and fearful glances going his way from pedestrians and riders alike, unknowing that bar patrons stepped wide around his table to enter the hovel behind, he sat and held the book in one hand, the other wrapped around the shot glass of whiskey. He'd already consumed one bottle of the stuff but hadn't managed to fog his memories or darken his thoughts yet. It wasn't working. In sudden anger, he threw the glass into the street, watching the thick glass bounce on the dirt. Leaning back, he tipped his hat forward and opened the book. Inside, on the flyleaf, Ezra had written his name, Ezra P. Standish, in a controlled copperplate flourish. Chris placed one finger on the large scrawl and traced the letters, feeling his throat tighten again. He scowled and his hand tightened into a fist before he forced it open again and gently turned the page. And began to read.

"Buck, what's a catamite?"

Vin pulled back on his ride, hoping Ezra would follow suit. The green-eyed conman shot him a quick, understanding look but didn't slow Chaucer's pace. So Vin kicked the livery hack he was riding to catch back up to Ezra's side. He didn't look back to see whether or not the men following had heard JD's question.

"I might be able to answer that better than our lothario, JD." Ezra's clear voice was even, carrying. Buck's shoulder's slumped in defeat and he shook his head. This really wasn't the place to do this.

Hauling in at his mount, Wilmington turned it to face the rest of his friends who were following. JD reined in as well, his face a picture of confusion.

"Ez?" Wilmington's voice was gentle with reproof.

"It's alright, Buck. I assume that one of the miscreants used that term in front of JD, most probably in reference to me." Ezra sat straight in his saddle, looking relaxed, hiding the pain in his leg and ribs. While he would really rather do this with Chris at his side, it seemed that it was not to be. The question had been posed. The answering would reveal their alliance. Chris had already told him that he intended to tell the rest of the seven, so now it had fallen to Ezra to do it.

"Brothers?" Sanchez and Jackson were now even with their friends. "It seems we have a discussion in the makings? This might be a good time for Nathan to check Ezra's bandages and I for one could use some coffee. These old bones need rest once and a while."

No one laughed at the preacher, though he was tougher than any of them when it came to absorbing work and strain. Vin's and Buck's eyes met, held. Yep, was a good idea if Ezra was gonna talk on this.

Without further word, Vin led the way off the trail into the rough semiarid growth of the dry flat land. He rode a short way until a clearing large enough for them to set up camp appeared. Dismounting he began setting stones into a circle. JD, silent and feeling guilty though he wasn't sure why, immediately started gathering firewood. The rest of the men set the horses to a tether on a line and then Nathan walked into the clearing with Ezra, carrying his medical bag in one hand. The gambler didn't protest, simply waited as Sanchez dropped a couple of their bedrolls down for seating.

No one spoke again until after Nathan tied off the newly bound leg wound and Ezra pulled his trousers back up unselfconsciously. They'd all seen each other under similar circumstances. Josiah was already pouring mugs of coffee for everyone. The men settled back and there was a relaxed air to the group.

Then, Ezra spoke. "A catamite, JD, is a boy who is loved by a man."

Dunne stared at him, dumbfounded. "You mean, like a man loves a woman?"

"Yes, Mr. Dunne. Including," Ezra sighed, then met the young man's eyes with understanding, "the exchange of sexual favors."

"They go to bed? Together?" JD looked pale and shocked. Vin had made sure to seat himself to one side of Ezra and Wilmington had managed to slip in on the other side when Nathan stood up after finishing with the conman's injuries, going to put away his bag of healing things.

Buck spoke now, before Ezra had to answer. "JD, love don't care what the package comes in, what it looks like."

Dunne sat quietly, absorbing this. Still confused though, he asked again, "But, I don't understand why that guy called Ezra one."

Nathan and Josiah had been silent, listening. A growing understanding had made Sanchez inhale sharply. So, his boy and Chris were -- they'd had -- he closed his eyes. Nathan realized the implications at the same time as Sanchez. His immediate thought was -- shit, no wonder Chris was so damn mad at me, back in the saloon the other day. Ezra and Larabee? Well, in a weird way it made sense. Them two were the most ornery of the bunch, the ones most likely to tangle. He'd seen that happen before, two folks at each other's throats one minute, in the blankets, the next, like they started a fire that only they could put out. 'Course, usually it was a man and a woman, but his years of slavery had led him to see many things. Including men loving men.

Ezra let his face smooth out, tugged his collar open and let the tie gape loosely, leaving his face and neck free. He turned to look again at JD, the others seeing too what those outlaws had seen. He looked suddenly like a mere child, younger even than their young sheriff. The transformation was remarkable. All the men present felt unsure of the gambler's age now. He could be a youth of less than twenty, much less.

"Ezra, how old are you?" It was Sanchez who asked.

As fast as it had happened, the child was gone and the wise and witty conman was back, pulling his collar and tie back into place, a wry twist to his features, creasing his cheeks with dimples and giving him age lines. "Old enough, Mr. Sanchez. Older than young JD here, too, if that's what you mean."

JD had finally finished thinking through these new revelations and the shock of seeing Ezra looking like a young boy. "You and Chris?" he asked in a whisper.

Ezra nodded. "Yes." There was no fear in the voice, no pride either, just a warm tone of affection and caring. He felt Vin's hand come up to rest on one of his shoulders. A moment later, Buck's did the same on the other one.

JD backed away from the camp, then stood, staring at the ring of friends. His hero and the gambler were -- he couldn't finish the thought. He didn't notice the preacher rise from the other side of the camp and step back also.

Josiah needed to put some distance between himself and his friends, between himself and Ezra. To his great surprise, what he felt was not shock or rage or even disappointment, it was jealousy. Insidious and mean. He needed to deal with it before he faced his friend, his friends again.

JD wasn't sure he wanted to be with these men anymore. If Chris took Ezra that way, what was to stop one of the others from taking him? He panicked, plain and simple and backed further away, flinching slightly when Buck called to him, "JD?"

Ezra watched sadly as Josiah went to his horse and mounted, tugging the horse back out of the remuda line and turning away, heading back toward Four Corners. JD was standing out in the brush, looking around wildly. Then he, too, walked stiffly over to the horses and mounted his, turning it slowly away and following Josiah back toward town.

Ezra and the others watched until the two riders were lost to sight. He was vaguely surprised that Buck had remained and not gone after JD. The man's hand was still firmly pressed on his shoulder. He looked across the campfire at where Nathan now sat alone, still sipping coffee as if nothing at all had just happened. Now that was the biggest surprise of all. "Nathan?"

Dark brown eyes came up. "Seen a lot in my time. Reckon if you and Chris want each other, long as you don't hurt no one, it's fine with me."

"Thank you, Nathan." Ezra's whispered reply was the last thing said for a while. The men all needed time to deal with the emotional toll that this short talk had taken, the retreat of two of their friends.

It was Vin who stood up first. "Still gotta go get Chris." The others stood then, all helping put out the fire and pick up the temporary camp. Nathan put JD's and Josiah's tin cups in his bag without comment.

Chris sat in the warm sunshine, the shade having shifted in the late afternoon, drowsing. His hat was still pulled low and he'd been reading on and off for some time, oddly comforted by Ezra's book in his hands. The story was of a man whose love was not returned, who was a good for nothing, but who loved nonetheless. Chris felt as if he could identify with at least part of Sidney's plight. Though, Ezra had loved him. He was a good for nothing, that was for sure, especially now, without Ezra to make him feel whole. He licked his lips and looked thoughtfully over at the nearly full bottle of whiskey. No. No more. His tolerance was so high, the first bottle was only making him feel slightly sleepy. God, he missed Ezra. He wasn't sure what made him look up then, but as he did, the book fell from his hands.

Riding up the street, four abreast, were some of his friends. Nathan, Buck, Vin, and -- Ezra? "Ezra?" He whispered the last in despair. Shutting his betraying eyes, seeing what his heart wanted so desperately, he turned away, opening them to see his enemy, the whisky bottle. "Damn drink!" He grabbed the bottle and flung it against the wall behind him, watching it smash and drip down with satisfaction.

Josiah drew rein and waited for JD to come up beside him. Nodded his welcome but didn't speak. The young man returned his silent greeting with a strange look and then both moved their horses on toward the town they'd been calling home.

The return ride was restful and both men were introspective. Dunne had finally calmed down enough to realize that his fears had been groundless and actually quite stupid. If anyone had wanted to take him that way, they'd had plenty of opportunities. No one had. Buck, who had become so close to him, treated him like a little brother. Had even tried to 'help' him with women, taking him to Wickes Town, coaching him with Casey. Teasing him about Inez. Nope, he'd been foolish. Just scared and surprised and uncomfortable. Now, no longer feeling fearful, he could think on this new thing. This Chris and Ezra thing. He tried to imagine them together, tried to picture them kissing or worse. He shook his head, it just wasn't something that made sense to him. But, he thought suddenly enlightened, maybe THAT wasn't so important. It really didn't have to make sense to John Dunne. They were both his friends. They treated him with respect and care. Shouldn't he do the same?

Josiah faced his demon. Jealousy. Now where had that come from? He'd never had those kinds of feelings for Ezra. And, this was about Ezra, he knew that. Ezra was the son he'd never seen grow up. He was the sensitive, intelligent, gentle, and defensive young man who needed a father figure if not a father. Josiah had moved comfortably into the role with barely a ripple on the surface of their friendship. He'd been there when Ezra needed someone to talk with privately. He'd been protective and a staunch friend. So, now, when Ezra truly needed his friends, why was he riding out on him. Riding away. He shut his eyes and tried to grapple with the anger that had risen unbidden. Erza had turned to Chris, loved Chris. What he felt was rejection, yet Ezra had not really done that. Was this how fathers felt when their children finally found mates, left the nest? As the realization struck him, he actually chuckled aloud. Damn.

"Josiah?" JD's quiet question followed the soft chuckle.

"Just realized something JD." Sanchez leaned back in the saddle and stretched grandly. "I'm not losing a son, I'm gaining another one." He grinned at the confused young man at his side. "Don't worry, boy, it's gonna be alright."

Dunne nodded. "Yeah. Guess I acted kinda crazy back there. Just was so unexpected. I got all scared, wasn't thinking straight." He shifted in his saddle and squared his shoulders, sounding older now. "Should we go back?"

Josiah didn't answer right away. Should they? Well, by now, the rest of the boys had probably reached Purgatorio. If Chris was there, and Buck was usually right when it came to Chris, then Ezra would no doubt be a busy man for a while. Not likely to know who was there or who wasn't. Still, he'd notice eventually. Be best if he and JD were there when he did. "Yep, guess we should."

The two friends pulled their patient horses around and started back down the track to Purgatorio and the rest of the seven.

The men were close enough so that when Chris' bottle smashed on the wall all four sets of eyes found the man in black in the semi-shadows of the bar's overhang. Vin leaned over to touch Ezra on the shoulder. "Go ahead. We'll be right behind ya."

Standish couldn't pull his eyes from the dark clad gunman standing so tall just down the street. He nodded without turning his head and gigged Chaucer into a quick trot.

Buck and Nathan waited with Vin, then the three followed more sedately, all keeping sharp eyes on the soon to be reunion. Buck was praying silently that his friend wasn't too far gone with drink. Ezra didn't need that.

Ezra drew close to the bar front, dropping easily from Chaucer, not even feeling the pain in his leg and side. "Chris?"

Larabee froze, still facing the wall of the bar, then slowly turned to look toward where he'd heard that voice. Ezra stood in front of him in the dirt of the street. Chris closed his eyes hard, then opened them again, but didn't speak. He began to tremble, the tremble becoming a shake, his whole body literally shaking as with the ague. Silently he lowered himself into his chair, scraping the legs back a bit away from the street.

The southerner watched in awe as his lover fought off the sight of him. "Chris, I'm not dead. Really. Those miscreants shot me but I survived. They left me in town." He walked up the steps and on to the bar porch as he spoke. Approaching the man in the chair slowly.

Chris grabbed hold of himself, wrapping his arms tightly around his own chest and setting his teeth hard against the chatter of them. His head was bobbing up and down now with the shakes that enveloped his whole body. He squeezed his eyes shut tight again, tears squirting anyway. Then a hand was tenderly wiping at his face, then two hands were cupping his face, and lips were pressing against his. They felt so real. He opened his eyes, hazel awash in a sea of tears. Met overly-bright green ones. "Ezra, it's really you?" He whispered cautiously.

"Really me," came the soft reply.

"You're not dead?"

"Not dead." Lips pressed his again as eyes so close saw deep into his soul and he saw life and hope and love in theirs.

"Oh, god." And the shakes stilled for a moment as he lurched back to his feet and swept the man in front of him into his arms, lifting him up and close against him. Smothering him in frantic kisses as the shaking returned with a vengeance. He hardly heard himself as he began to chant, "Alive. Alive. Alive."

Buck fingered his gun, then withdrew it from the holster to lay it across his saddle, finger on the trigger. He eyed the Mexican cowboy who was leering at his friends. Cocked his gun without truly aiming it. The dark-eyed bandito's head swiveled toward the sound of the gun. Looked once at the three men sitting on horseback and started backing away. Vin grinned at Wilmington and pulled out his own gun. Nathan shrugged and did the same. The three sat and watched the town, watched the backs of their two friends. Two men currently oblivious to everything except each other.

Chris' urgent reaction to Ezra's reappearance was gradually easing, the hard shakes reduced to a fine tremble, the desperate multiple kisses slowed to a gentle tracing of Ezra's face with his lips and tongue. Arms that had clutched now relaxed and held, letting the smaller man slip down enough to touch the ground with his feet again. Ezra's own hands had crept around his friend and were a steady pressure against his back.

Opening his eyes to look at Chris now that the loving assault had slowed somewhat, Ezra saw the bullet crease on his friend's high cheekbone. He pulled one hand free and raised it to tentatively touch the raw looking scrape, dried blood along the edge of it, a dark red slash on his lover's face. "You're hurt."

Chris paused and pulled his head back enough to meet Ezra's eyes, see and feel the hand exploring the cut on his face. "Not important." He shook his head slightly. Breathed in deeply. "You're here. I thought you were dead, Ezra." He cupped the man's face carefully. "Thought I'd lost you for all time." He pressed a gentle kiss against moist lips. Looked down into those beautiful green eyes. "'Bout died myself."

"I'm here. I'm alive. I'm fine, Chris." Ezra repeated his reassurances, his own heart full at the clear and deep love radiating from Larabee.

"Fine?" The gunslinger seemed to waken to their situation now, staring down into Ezra's face. Those words rang in memories of other times, Ezra always said he was fine. His leg could be half off, his chest stove in and he'd still say he was fine. Larabee's hands found the conman's shoulders and gripped them, pushing back enough that he could inspect the southerner thoroughly now. Saw the rumpled look to the man and the stiffness, the way he stood balanced more on one leg than both, an awkward tilt to the body. "Ezra? Truth."

Standish had the grace to look uncomfortable but then smiled a bit. This was a new life now, he'd start it right. "Two bullet hits. Leg and ribs. Nathan fixed me up." His gaze strayed back over his left shoulder a bit before returning to Larabee's.

Chris followed the direction of Ezra's momentary look. Sitting on their horses in front of the bar were Nathan, Vin and Buck, not one of them looking at him and Ez. In fact, the three had kinda circled about so that Vin actually had his horse's rump toward the saloon and was facing out at the street. Buck and Nate were facing up and down the street, all three clearly posting themselves in a protective circle for their friends. Gently, smiling, Chris pulled Ezra in close against his chest again and rubbed his chin against that soft chestnut hair, then grinned as he spotted Chaucer off to the side, watching them unblinkingly. His grin widened and the horse seemed to realize he'd been spotted for he began to nod his head up and down in an exaggerated fashion, peeling his large, soft lips back in a horsey laugh.

With a rumbling laugh in his own chest, Chris cleared his throat and addressed his men. "You boys want to come inside with me and Ez? Let me buy you a drink?" He waited as the men all swung their mounts around to face him, keeping his hold on Ezra as if it was the most natural thing in the world. And, it was.

"And Nate? I want to know how Ezra is." The last was said in such a normal, flat, Larabee tone, that all three men flashed big smiles and Nathan's grin went even wider as he answered.

"Wouldn't listen to me. I told him he needed to stay in bed more. Probably needs them ribs looked at," he cocked his head and added, "Specially after the way you been squeezin' at'em." This daring joke earned him an official Larabee glare for a moment that melted into a grin.

Buck laughed and slapped Vin's back. "Come on, hoss, let's go get us some free drinks while the old dog's buying. You bet you won't see that happen too often!"

Vin smiled and slid from his saddle, looping the reins of the stable hack over the saloon, hitching rail. Buck's livery mount was quickly secured as well. Nathan gave his Bandy an extra pat before dropping his own reins over the rail and pulling his medical sack free of his gear. All three men re-holstered their weapons, almost as afterthoughts.

Tanner, more attuned to the place than the rest, noted the two horseback riders coming in down the far end of the street, even as Nate and Buck began to climb the stairs to the saloon's porch. "JD and Josiah comin' in." He was glad they'd turned back again. Wouldn't have been right without them. Ezra wouldn't have said anything, but Chris would have, once he knew what had gone down. Nope, that would not have been good. He waited until the last of the seven drew rein in front of the bar. Nodded a greeting, reassured by their smiles.

Chris ignored the rest now, shifting to the side to free one hand and shove Ezra's book back in the saddlebags on the table, then lift the bags to his shoulder. Once Ezra figured out what he had, he'd be right pissed if he thought Chris had abandoned his things out here to possible theft when they went in. Already Chris found himself thinking ahead again, thinking of how things might look, or feel to the smaller man. He carefully squeezed the man's shoulders, and guided him inside the saloon, knowing the others would follow.

The dark interior of the decrepit bar was a shock to eyes adjusted to sunlight. It was a moment before the entering men could see clearly. See the inhabitants within. Buck and Nate stepped to the sides of Chris and his charge, hands falling to pistol grips again. Buck spoke in a low, growly voice. "Clear out. This is a private party and you're not invited."

There was a stirring and bar patrons vanished, some out the back, one through a pane-less window, others slithering by the tall strong men that stood against them. No one challenged. In moments, the place was empty except for the barmaid who watched with hooded eyes from behind the bar.

Chris led Ezra to a large center table and settled him in a chair. The southerner had his eyes glued to the big gunman, seemingly not even aware of what was happening around them. Chris sat down beside him and signaled Nathan forward. "Take a look at him, make sure he's ok, Nate."

As the healer set his bag down on the table, Larabee finally lifted his eyes from his gambler to see Vin coming in now, followed by JD and Josiah. He didn't remember seeing them on the street but didn't question it. That made seven. They were all here. Together. He made a gesture to the bar that Buck caught. The ladies man wandered over there to announce loudly that it was beers all around and a bottle of their finest hooch with glasses, too. The galoot in black would be paying.

Once Nathan had checked and approved Ezra's condition, the men settled in for an afternoon's relaxed round of drinking and socializing. JD rose to the occasion with a new joke that had them all groaning good-naturedly. Ezra's chair was pulled up snuggly against Larabee's. The gunman's arm rested casually across the shorter man's shoulders. No one said a word. It was too early in this change of group dynamics for anyone to be comfortable with joking or teasing about it.

Buck and Josiah took turns filling in the blanks in the events of the separate groups over the past day or so. It was JD who blurted out the conversation that Ezra had had with the others on the way to Purgatorio. Chris had shifted closer to Ezra and sat up slightly, crossing his far leg over his knee in an unusual move that Josiah recognized as protective body language. Larabee had created a physical shield around his man. The southerner was too busy trying to reassure their leader that all was well to even notice the subtle moves. Josiah wasn't the only one, however, who absorbed the new configuration among the friends and began to adjust accordingly.

Once Chris realized that the others had not hurt Ezra during his revelations at that temporary camp, he relaxed, his leg coming back down to rest, crossed once more at the ankles, long legs straight out in front of him under the table. The southerner remained upright, despite being held closely against the shoulder of the black clad shootist. Not that he didn't want to melt against his friend, but he retained a sense of decorum that prevented him from being comfortable with overt displays in public, even just among their friends. The wildly aberrant moment out on the porch was simply due to the intensity of that first few seconds of shock. Now, he knew his place was assured but needed to keep his own person's dignity intact.

Chris sensed Ezra's discomfort with cuddling in front of the others, when all he really wanted to do was pull the man into his lap and hold him tightly forever. Guess Ez would have a fit if I tried that here. He smirked at Buck who seemed to be reading the twosome with good-humored awareness. Wilmington cocked his head to the side and nudged Vin who sat beside him, smiling vaguely at the world. "Hey Pard, I think we need to get these two love birds home to a private nest afore they embarrass us."

Tanner studied Chris, then Ezra, eyes returning comfortably to his unique brother. "Yep," he answered Wilmington with a smile in his voice, "Figure you're right."

Josiah nodded and rose, gracing them all with a huge yawn and stretch. "Brothers, Buck and Vin have the way of it. Let us leave this wretched den and return to our own sweet town and tavern."

A rumble of agreement met the suggestion and chairs started scraping across the floor. Chris stood, Ezra beside him. For the moment, contact was broken but both seemed more on an even keel now, able to part if only briefly. Larabee drew some gold dollar coins from his pocket and dropped them on the table. More than enough. Ezra reached out and took back two, tucking them back in the black jeans in an intimately matter of fact fashion before turning to follow JD, Nate and Josiah. Buck grinned at Chris' dumbfounded look. "Just wait, Pard, he's got a mind o' his own, ya know. And ain't afraid to let you know." Buck's mustache twitched in humorous understanding. "Always did. 's why you two been tugging at each other so long. Pard, you got yourself a wildcat by the tail, 'case you didn't know it yet."

Vin handed Larabee his hat and Ezra's saddlebags and patted the silent gunslinger on the back. "Think of it as a sign of things to come," he suggested with sly good humor. The last three men walked out, following their friends, leaving a relieved barmaid in an empty bar.

Seven riders crested the rise out of Purgatorio's low swept valley. They rode tall and easily, rocking with the gaits of their mounts. The thunder of the horses made talking impossible but the men moved without needing words. Falling into loose groups, they rode close together as the trail narrowed and the one in buckskins broke free to lead the way.

It was dusk as the men rode in on tired horses, Four Corners looking like a peaceful oasis after the barren landscape they'd traversed coming back from that small lawless town.

Chris stood beside Ezra as the southerner unlocked his door. Ezra looked up into glowing hazel eyes. Never had he thought this would happen. That Chris would be his here in town, in his own bed. Larabee reached out and smilingly touched fingertips to Ezra's cheek, stroking softly. "We goin' in or just gonna stand here and admire each other?"

Ezra raised his face to the touch, drinking in the feel and proximity of his lover. With a sigh, he turned away and led them inside. Habit took over and he continued to his simple wooden butler, to hang up his jacket and vest, draping his tie over the top. By then hands had come down on his shoulders again, and he was being turned around. "Let me."

Chris watched with amusement as Ezra began to undress on the far side of the room. This was their first time together in town. It was kind of like a honeymoon, he decided. They'd done a sort of exchange of vows that night in the gulch, stayed under the watchful eye of the tracker. He knew how shy Ezra could be. How he'd always let Chris lead. This had to be different but might take some time to get to. For now, he'd push a bit and get Ezra out of defensive habits as fast as he could. He walked over to capture the man and turn him. "Let me."

With concentration, Chris began to unbutton the fine small bits of bone that lined the front of Ezra's white linen shirt. He stroked back the soft ruffles and smoothed the shirt open, pulling it free of the tailored trousers. Pushed it off white shoulders and let it fall to the floor. Ezra wasn't wearing an undershirt and Chris smiled, leaning in to lick and nip one dark areole. The nubbin raised, hard against his teeth. He tasted Ezra's skin with lavish broad strokes of his hungry tongue, feeling the skin shiver beneath. Hands came up to fuss at the buttons on his own shirt and he stood up to make that easier.

Ezra was delighted in Chris' playfulness and assertiveness here. He somehow hadn't expected that, though now that he thought about it, he wasn't sure why not. Chris had always been in charge on the trail, at their private campsites. He relaxed into his role, following his leader and relinquishing control to the man. It was not an onerous task. But, he did want to see Chris' glorious body too, so he began to return the favor of unbuttoning the other's shirt.

As Chris' black shirt fell away, Ezra was once again stunned at the lean, powerful form of the blonde beauty in front of him. Oh, god, how did this heavenly archangel come to be mine? His own private Michael, a vanquisher of wrongs, a protector. His protector. Ezra slipped eager hands against Chris' waistband, lower to unbuckle the man's gun belt. Chris' hands were busy doing the same, the weapons fell heavily to the floor, ignored. Pants and boots followed in a rush, then they stood facing each other, naked and throbbing.

"Oh, god, Ezra." With a groan, Chris scooped up the smaller man into his arms and carried him to the bed, lowering him and crawling on top in one motion. Laying there, pinning the smaller man down, Larabee nuzzled the arched neck presented and crooned wordlessly as two small hands came up to stroke and claw gently at his back. This felt so right, so perfect, how had he ever thought he'd want to stop it? He captured smiling lips and drove his tongue deep between them, his hands moving restlessly, one seeking a handhold among dark reddish locks, the other touching and stroking and moving south. Finding the hard flesh long and thick against his thigh, Chris wrapped his hand around the erection and pulled it tight against his own, then caught both in that single fist. Ezra moaned into the tall man's mouth, raising up his hips, his back arching in passion beneath the blonde.

Ezra was lost. He was utterly and totally lost to this man who so overwhelmed him. Being loved and loving, it was so new a feeling that he was afraid to somehow break the spell. Fearing he'd wake to find this had all been some whisky induced dream. Then Chris nipped at his juncture of neck and shoulder and the sharp little pain told him he was awake even as the blonde laved the spot with a healing lick. Wanting to be part of Chris, Ezra's arms and legs wound leech-like around the narrow body of his lover. "Chris." He found himself speechless, unable to do more than utter the name of his lover. Incoherent, he clung and began to rub his body rhythmically against the bigger man.

Chris stroked the two erections within his fist, once, twice, firmly, feeling pre-ejaculate begin to slick his fingers. He rolled them over so that he was on the bottom, releasing their organs and sliding his slick fingers back toward Ezra's small pucker. "Yes! Oh, Chris, yes! Take me!" The southerner was climbing frantically up the blonde's torso, raising his pelvis and waving it above Chris' hard weeping member. "Now! Please!" The begging cry tore at Larabee's heart.

"Ok, Ez, we'll do it." He gripped himself and directed his blunt point to the now slick and slightly opened pucker where moments before his fingers had thrust in and twisted the muscle, loosening it. "Ready?" He looked into glazed green eyes and a wonderfully sweaty, reddened face. At the wordless look of passion there, he lifted his head to recapture Ezra's mouth with his own. As their lips came together, Chris slid inside Ezra's body, home, he was home. The southerner sat down fully on the blonde, hunched over so that he could wrap both arms around Chris' head and neck as their kiss evolved, devouring, consuming each other in their hot, instinctive drive to each possess the other.

Grunting and squirming, they moved as a single multi-limbed being, thunder in their ears, flesh melting at the touch. Chris felt himself swell within Ezra as he pounded upward in time with Ezra's insistent downward thrusts of hip and pelvis. Chris grabbed Ezra's swollen hard erection and squeezed, pulling and tugging as he drove himself up into this beloved man's body. Flames seemed to burn him as he came finally, bursting deep inside the smaller man, feeling Ezra loose his own seed over the blonde's belly. Both froze in their orgasmic peaks, then collapsed in a silent heap, Chris' limp organ slipping free as Ezra's legs fell to the sides and he lay breathing hard against Larabee's chest.

Chris let his hands travel over the small form lying on top of him, sweat slick and trembling. He tilted his head to find Ezra's and delicately lick love-swollen lips. "You alright?" he asked softly, hands coming to rest on each side of that most beautiful face.

Serene green eyes looked into his. Ezra spoke quietly. "Oh, very alright, Chris." His tongue came out to stroke against Chris'. Then he snuggled down, tucking his head against one strong shoulder as Larabee wrapped warm long arms around him, holding him close. It was quiet then and both men drifted off to sleep, exhausted from their lovemaking and the emotional turmoil of the last few torturous days.

Ezra woke first, feeling the coolness of evening sifting into the dark room. They lay on top of the covers. This wouldn't do, he didn't want Chris to get a chill. He rolled free of the man whose lax arms dropped away. Started to tug back the quilt and blankets, when a hand snaked out and grabbed his arm. "Ez?"

The southerner swiveled about to look down into sleepy, questioning eyes. "Just thought we should be under the covers, Chris. Can you move a bit?"

Encouraged by his very awake friend, Chris sleepily complied, coming up on hands and knees and allowing guiding hands to help him crawl beneath the blankets and soft linen sheets. "You too?" He asked muzzlily, arms raised for Ezra to join him.

The southerner smiled and swallowed at the simple trust in the way Chris was behaving. Oh, god, I love this man. He poked his feet under the sheets and straightened his legs down under, letting Larabee pull him down the rest of the way and over against the man's sleek form. "Now, go back ta sleep." The murmur was affectionate and sleepy still.

"Yes, dear Chris, yes." Hazel eyes opened wide for a moment and met green ones, awareness there and love. Then the exhaustion took over again and Larabee's eyelids drifted down, though his arms did not release the southerner from their close snuggled positions. Chris made a soft sound of contentment and relaxed, his body slipping easily into sleep.

Ezra lay there savoring the feel of Chris Larabee's length against him, sticky and warm. They'd have to go to the bathhouse later. Much later. He let his head rest on Chris' extended arm, the biceps hard and smooth beneath his cheek. Tenderly, he planted a small kiss on the nearest bit of skin. He could feel Chris' soft warm breath on his neck as the taller man shifted slightly in his sleep, moving closer still to Ezra. The conman smiled as tears dripped down his cheeks, slanting across his nose, to dampen the sheets and bath Chris' arm in salty moisture. It was just a week ago now that he and Chris had been camping out at one of their places near the desert. Chris had just turned in, to sleep, leaving Ezra to keep watch. That night, like all the others before it, he'd watched from a distance, knowing that Chris would not sleep if he tried to touch or hold him, that the man needed to be alone to sleep. He sniffled quietly and smiled a brilliant smile in the darkened room, listening to the gentle snores of the man he loved, the man who slept this night wrapped tightly around his person. Things had changed. He rubbed his cheek against the warm skin again, smearing away the tears. There was no stopping them now.

--fini--