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Part 1:

Ezra chuckled as he approached the farmhouse and Chaucer pranced, sensing his owner's good mood. The gambler kept his gaze on the front door of the homestead, waiting for it to open and the inhabitants to come rushing out, but the scene remained still.

"Good evenin'," he shouted, hoping to raise the residents. "Sorry for the late hour."

They must have been at supper and hadn't heard his approach. The sun was just setting. He had planned to be here sometime after noon, but a rather interesting poker game had kept him longer than he intended in Eagle Bend. It meant that he would be returning to Four Corners after dark, but he knew he could find the way. Of course, he hadn't specified an arrival time to these homesteaders, so it wasn't too unusual that nobody was looking for him yet.

He dismounted, unconsciously checking his pocket, feeling for the packet of peppermints. When he'd come this way yesterday morning, he'd luckily had a few pieces of hard candy tucked away. Chaucer had been obviously irritated to see his prizes going to the McCannon children, but had been rewarded with an apple from them, which made up for it.

"Ginny dear?" Ezra called, "Linda darlin'? Timothy?" He kept his eyes on the front door of the house as he led Chaucer toward the water trough.

He had ridden along the McCannon property yesterday, hoping to find a more interesting journey to Eagle Bend. He hadn't lived in this area for very long, but always enjoyed new routes.

The three children had accosted him when he had reached the outbuildings, leaping out from behind a shed and bombarding him with questions. "Where'd ya get the pretty coat? What's yer name? What's yer horse's name? Where ya goin? Where ya from? Why d’ya talk like that? Where'd ya get that gun? Do ya know how to shoot?"

He had dismounted and answered every question patiently. He’d passed out the few candies he'd had in his pocket and seen the gratitude in their eyes. They must not have many niceties, he'd thought. He had watched their delight as he showed off Chaucer's tricks, how the horse could nod or shake his head in answer to any yes-or-no question, how he could count. The stunts had always come in handy to make a quick couple of dollars in a bar bet.

Ezra was showing them a few of his patented card tricks when their mother arrived on the scene. Mrs. Patrice McCannon was a no-nonsense mother, who gave him the look that he usually received from no-nonsense mothers.

With a tip of his hat he was on his way again. The children put up a fuss and Mrs. McCannon must have relented in regard to her opinion of him, for she invited him to come again on his way home. He'd seen the glee in the children at the prospect of his return.

Now, as he approached the trough, he wondered how sincere Mrs. McCannon's offer had been since no one had yet come out to greet him. It wasn't as if this was the first time he had received such an invitation, one that was never really meant to be accepted, a civility and not a promise.

He glanced to the quiet house in the growing darkness and saw no lights in the windows. Surely, he thought, there would be light somewhere? Chaucer snorted in alarm and Ezra turned his attention to the trough. He jumped back in surprise. Just beside it, hidden from plain view, was the body of young Timothy McCannon.

"God, no," he muttered as he stooped beside the child. Left in the open for hours, the body had been damaged by the sun and ravaged by insects. The boy was about thirteen years old, a young man who was still called Timmy by his parents. He had smiled and stood tall when Ezra called him Timothy and had blushed secretively at his delight in receiving a few odd bits of candy.

Ezra sighed miserably as he brushed the ants from the child's face, touching his cold skin. He found the bullet wound in the boy's back, and the ground beneath him still damp with blood.

Ezra stood and reflexively drew his Remington. His eyes darted around the darkening property and he began his search. He found the body of a man on the porch, apparently Mr. McCannon, his rifle still in his hands. The man's face was half gone, blown away by a bullet's force.

"Linda?" he called as calmly as he could. "Virginia, darlin'?" He entered the house.

The front windows were broken by the gunfire, the drapery flailing now in the evening breeze. It was growing too dark to see clearly. Ezra holstered his gun. The bodies were cold and the house was quiet. This must have happened hours ago. He lit a kerosene lamp, and continued moving through the house.

The stove was still warm, though the fire had gone out. A pan of charred and boiled-dry potatoes sat on the burner of the old wood stove. The table was set for the mid-day meal and a basket of corn muffins rested untouched in the center.

He moved through each room of the house, calling quietly for the girls and their mother. Satisfied that the house was empty, he stepped out the back door and entered the barn. He found Patrice just inside the doorway, an axe at her side, shot through the heart.

"Girls?" he called, trying to keep his voice even.

Oh God, he prayed, please let them be safe. Let me find them. They're only hiding. They're only afraid. I will find them...

"It's Ezra," he forced his voice to stay steady. "You remember me? The pretty coat? The charmed horse? Surely you do," he said as he moved through the barn. Two dun-colored horses looked up from their stalls. Ezra saw accusation in their glares.

He glanced again toward Patrice. Certainly she had been guarding something, protecting something of astronomical value here in this barn. He searched and then looked up.

"Darlin's?" he called as calmly as he could manage as he climbed the ladder into the hayloft. It was dark in the loft -- as dark as pitch. The light from the lantern bit into the black and illuminated the scene. He found the two girls there, Linda and Virginia, six and eight years old. They were huddled into the corner, their arms around each other, their faces turned to the wall, slumped and bloody and dead.

The lamp quavered in his hand. "Good God in heaven," he muttered. He looked back to the body of the mother, just barely visible in the meager light. He could imagine her running to the barn, urging the children upward, defending them with the only thing she could lay her hands on -- a good mother.

He darted back down the ladder, out of the barn, and into the open. He held the lamp before him, looking, searching. "Come on, you son of a bitch, you had to have left a trace!" He searched back toward the trough, to Timothy, looking for any sign that could lead him on the trail to the killer or killers of the family. Too damn dark, too damn detestably dark.

He paced back and forth until he realized that he was doing nothing more that stirring up the scene. "Damnation, why didn't I return sooner?" He shook his head sharply. If he were here only a half-hour ago, he might have been able to track whoever did this.

Hell, if he had been here hours ago he might have been able to stop it.

He walked slowly back to where young Master McCannon lay. He stooped beside him for a moment. The heat of the desert sun had not been kind. His dead skin was bloated and peeling, and the flies had done their damage. He tried not to think about it as he carefully picked up the boy, letting the boy's head rest against his shoulder. He left the light behind him as he walked into the dark barn and set the child beside his mother.

Chaucer, who'd been waiting beside the trough, watched him with patient eyes.

In the house, Ezra found a cloth and bound up the head of the father, not looking too closely at the damage wrought by the gunshot and the elements. He dragged the man down the front steps and to the barn, apologizing as he went. McCannon was rather heavy and difficult to manage, but Ezra finally was able to bring him to his wife's side. He climbed into the loft again to reclaim the two daughters. They were so light in his arms. He took three trips, returning the last time for Virginia's doll -- left in the corner.

Then he carefully placed each member of the McCannon family into the bed of their wagon, and covered them with comforters that he had retrieved from their beds. He sighed to see the five of them together. He would bring them to town, have them properly prepared and laid to rest. They had spent too much time alone in the desert. Once they were seen to, he would return with Vin. Vin would be able to track the killers.

He was about to harness their team when he heard the patter of rain on the roof. He walked slowly to the entrance of the barn and looked out into the night. With a great weariness, he leaned against the side of the barn door. He was finally still, something he had avoided until now. With stillness, came thought and a terrible anguish hit him. Chaucer approached slowly from behind and lay his head on the man's shoulder and snorted.

"Oh Chaucer..." Ezra said quietly, "It wouldn't be right to subject them to such weather." He rubbed the horse's nose and gazed out into the dark. "They deserve better." He twisted out from under the horse and stood facing the wagon. "We'll wait until mornin'." He pulled out his weapons and checked them unnecessarily. He walked slowly back to the wagon and sat against one of its forward wheels. The horse watched him.

"If I had only come sooner," Ezra murmured, holding his Remington ready as he drew up his knees and leaned against the wheel. "Why did I remain in Eagle Bend for so long? It was only a game. I should have left it."

"Why didn't I know?"

He thought about the kitchen, and its half-prepared meal and his heart sunk. If he had only come at noon as he had planned, if he had only come before noon. Why did he let that game draw him in so deeply?

He tossed his hat on the floor and pressed his head back against the wagon's wheel, remembering the three children who had run out to greet him the previous day. Timothy was so solemn, so ready to be an adult. Linda was a little flirt, pulling at the sleeve of his coat, turning her head coquettishly at him. Virginia was shy, hugging that ragged doll and pulling her younger sister close to her, but opening up and laughing at the tricks that Ezra had produced for them.

Ezra held the gun limply in his hand as he gazed out into the driving rain. He thought about Patrice, with her fierce determination to defend her children from snakes and scoundrels, such as himself. Her husband, unnamed, a man who defended his home and his family and died doing so.

He smiled ruefully, remembering what he had told the Seminole children about the different types of people in the world. The mother and father definitely fell into the 'second kind' category.

And what of himself? He could do nothing more than mop up the mess that was left. He gazed out at the rain that washed away all the clues that might lead him to the perpetrator of such a terrible deed. Not even Vin would be able to track them once this storm was through.

He glanced at Chaucer. "What could we have done in any case, old friend?" he said with a sigh. "Even if I were to find the trail, even if I were to gun down those bastards, it wouldn't bring back that poor family."

He hardly knew them, didn't know the father at all. How long had he even spent with the children?

It was as his mother had always warned him, don't get involved. Attachments only cause pain. One will never enjoy the good life if one starts caring about people. He had known the McCannons for a few moments only, but Lord, he had been looking forward to seeing them again. He pulled the packet of candies out of his pocket and slung them into the rain.

Nothing you can do, he said to himself. They are gone, undeniably dead and gone. Your feeling 'bad' about it isn't going to correct the situation. No, remorse and regret will not improve anything. Nothing will bring them back.

He drew his arms up over his knees and rested his chin on them, letting the gun dangle.

Nothing you can do. Why should you let it bother you? You hardly knew them, just a chance meeting on a new route to Eagle Bend. They should be nothing to you. It's better if you felt nothing at all.

Part 2:

Chris looked up when he saw a wagon approach the town. When he recognized the colorful coat, he shook his head and walked out to meet the vehicle. He didn't know Ezra very well, and it seemed as if the gambler always did his best to avoid any hard work. This was just another incident.

"Where've you been?" Chris asked sternly. "You shoulda been back last night."

"Good day, Mr. Larabee," Standish said looking straight ahead.

"What did ya do?" Chris asked as the buckboard drew closer. "Win some poor farmer's wagon out from under him?"

"Not exactly," Ezra replied, turning his attention to the gunslinger. "It seems that I came upon a misfortune."

Chris looked into the wagon bed, seeing unmistakable shapes under the blankets. His heart seemed to slow at the sight. "Who?"

"The McCannons," Ezra replied simply and angled the wagon toward the undertaker. "I believe our Mr. Mack will be busy today."

Chris followed and caught Ezra's arm as he descended from the wagon outside of Ben Mack's undertaker's shop. "Albert McCannon?"

"Albert?" Ezra nodded. "And family."

Ben was outside of the shop by now, wordlessly appraising the situation. Chris did not let go of the gambler's arm. "The whole family? He has three children."

"Yes, three, and a most intelligent wife," Ezra returned.

"What the hell happened?" Chris demanded. He studied the gambler's face but saw no sign of sorrow, no sign of anything. He face was an unreadable mask. "What happened to them?"

"They were shot."

Chris looked into the wagon. "Who did it?"

"I don't know," Ezra replied. He hadn't moved from the place where Chris had stopped him. He met the gunslingers vivid glance with a coolness that infuriated the leader of the Seven.

"Couldn't you find a trail? They must 'ave left a sign. Didja even try to find it?"

"I didn't come upon the scene until sundown and by the time I appraised the situation, night had fallen, making tracking an impossibility. Perhaps Mr. Tanner would have had the skill, but not I." Ezra finally was able to shrug Chris' hand off his arm. "And then, of course, there was the rain."

"Me and Vin are headin' out," Chris declared. He looked back to the lumps under the blankets that were the McCannon family.

"You're free to do so, but it's unlikely you shall fine anything of note," Ezra said.

Chris watched as Ezra pulled back the blankets. The five members of the family lay there together. Ezra picked up the smallest of the children, little Linda, and carried her easily into the shop. Chris sighed heavily as he looked at the wagon's remaining passengers. An incredible sorrow hit him. The father lay against his son. The mother was on her back between the son and elder daughter. Even in death she seemed to be protecting her children, an arm laying on each of them.

She looked like Sarah, Chris thought. No, not really, her hair was the wrong color and she was too tall, but she looked like Sarah. The boy, Timmy, was bigger than he remembered. The last time he saw the child, he was too small for his age. How many months ago was that? When did the boy shoot up and start looking like a man? Now, he was just another child who would never have the chance to become an adult.

He thought of Adam. How big would his own son be if he had only been allowed to live? What would Adam look like now?

Who could have done this? What sort of a human killed a family? He could feel the anger returning to him, the empty, endless anger that ensnared him at his own family's death. How could this happen again?

Chris clenched his jaw against his rage and watched as Standish casually exited the shop and returned to the wagon. He was flicking the dust from his jacket as he walked, and seemed perturbed to find strange dark stains on his sleeves.

The undertaker still stood quietly, waiting to see what happened.

"I shall eventually require help with Mr. McCannon as he is more weight than I can bear alone," Ezra said as he carefully moved Mrs. McCannon's arm from the shoulder of her daughter and took Virginia into his arms, snaring her rag doll in the process.

Part 3:

For nearly a week there had been no news.

Chris and Vin rode out to the McCannon home, but it was as Ezra had stated, no trail or clue remained. Vin could only track the trail that the gambler had left through the property, possibly muddling any other marks left by others.

All else had been washed away. Blood still stained the porch and the straw-strewn floor of the barn, still turned the earth near the trough a muted red. The drapery still fluttered in the shattered windows. The ruined potatoes still waited for a lunch that would never begin. The stale corn muffins were touched only by flies.

The funeral was performed the morning after Ezra brought the poor destroyed family to town. The gunslinger was honestly surprised when the gambler did not attend the service, but then Ezra really didn't seem to be bothered by the deaths. Chris looked among the mourners, feeling a strange anger growing in him, noting Ezra's absence.

JD was there, looking freshly scrubbed and so damn young. Buck and Vin stood on either side of Chris, as if to give him strength. The two of them understood and offered what support they could. Nathan attended with a regal solemnity. Josiah read a beautiful service that brought the congregation to tears. Even Chris, keeping his face rigid, wished he were wearing his hat, so that he could pull it over his eyes.

Ezra never arrived. They had found him later playing solitaire in the saloon.

Inquiries in regard to the murders produced little information. But then, one of the McCannon neighbors stated that a man by the name of Edgar Wahl had threatened Albert McCannon over an ancient dispute, something to do with a sum of money that disappeared from one or the other's possession. He wasn't certain if Wahl or McCannon had been the one accused of the theft.

Chris sent out inquiries regarding Mr. Wahl.

When Wahl had showed up in Eagle Bend, drunk and in the possession of several items that were known to belong to the McCannons, he was arrested. Without hesitation, he confessed to the sheriff, explaining his delight in killing the man who had plagued him so.

He said that he never meant to kill the others, but the boy had been in the yard when he arrived, so there was nothing else that he could do. And of course, he couldn't allow the wife to survive after what she had seen. The girls? Well, they had been crying and he couldn't stand the sound they were making.

So the peacekeepers from Four Corners were sent for, to bring the accused murderer to his trial. He would be hung if convicted.

Chris sighed in frustration as he entered the saloon with Vin. "All things considered, I'd rather not bring Ezra on this one," he said.

Vin examined the face of his friend. "You said you wanted three men to go. Buck, Josiah and JD went out to Cedar Ridge and they're not back 'til tonight, and Nate's rode out to the Kramers'." The tracker shrugged and said, "We could always wait 'til they're back. Won't hurt Wahl none to stew a bit."

"Kinda inconvenient," Chris mumbled.

Vin smiled, trying to improve Chris' mood. "Well you can't blame Mrs. Kramer. Babies just got a way of comin' at the most inappropriate times. Long and short of it is, if you want three, and if ya wanna leave now, we gotta bring Ezra."

Vin looked to the back of the saloon where the gambler was playing solitaire again. The tracker watched Ezra for a few moments. Vin knew what Chris was going through, could understand the similarities between this recent event and the horrible end to Chris' own family. He knew why Chris was so tense, but he could also see that something was eating at their resident gambler.

"'Sides, I think it'll do him some good to get out of town for a while. He's been kinda quiet lately and quiet just ain't like Ezra." Tanner shrugged. "Been taking the night patrol and keepin' to himself."

Chris snorted, realizing he was happy with that situation. He had little patience for the gambler. Ezra didn't seem to care. The faces of the dead family haunted Chris, they seemed to meld into the faces of his own family. The deaths of Sarah and Adam seemed as recent as the deaths of Patrice, Virginia, Linda, Timmy and Albert. In a way, Chris was jealous of Albert McCannon. At least Albert had been able to attempt to protect his family, something that Chris had been denied.

Chris felt it still, after all this time. The pain still bit at him, poisoning his soul. The same thought hounded him -- why hadn't he been there? Why couldn't he protect his own family?

Now the McCannons had died at the hands of a murderer, and he would bring that man into justice, because he had failed to do the same for his own family.

Chris regarded Ezra before he started walking toward the table. Yes, all things considered, he'd rather not bring Ezra on this mission. He'd rather bring someone who gave a damn.

"Come on, Ezra," Chris said as he approached the table with Vin close behind him, "You're comin'."

Ezra glanced up from his game and said, "I fail to understand why this journey requires three lawmen."

Vin shrugged. "They say this Wahl is a handful."

"I would prefer to stay," Ezra said, returning his concentration to the cards. "I can keep an eye on the town."

"They got the man who did it," Chris stated. "We're gonna get him and you're comin' along."

"Why, exactly?" Ezra did not look up.

"Because," Chris replied. He couldn't understand how Ezra could be so unfeeling about the whole situation. Chris could not get the incident out of his mind, couldn't rid himself of the anger it caused. If he could only get this Wahl to trial, get him to justice for what he had done, he could clear his mind again. He had not been able to bring a closure to his own family's deaths, but he could do it for the McCannons.

Now, Ezra was standing in his way.

"Because," Chris continued, "The town is quiet. I want three men and you don't seem to be doin' much of anythin'."

Ezra gestured above the cards. "I do believe that I'm in the middle of a game."

Well, that was quickly rectified. Chris shoved his hands through the cards, sending them flying. "The game's over."

Part 4:

Ezra watched the cards flutter to the ground and looked back up at Chris. God, he didn't want to do this. Couldn't Larabee find another lackey? Well, with the other four out of town, that left him as the last choice.

Damn, Ezra thought, I should have gone with Buck and JD, as they had requested. Buck had certainly been insistent, trying to cajole him into the trip to Cedar Ridge, saying it would be an easy job, telling him that it would be a chance for the three of them to kick back and relax. Buck had kept at him for almost three days, getting JD into the act, too, before they finally gave up and the two had left with Josiah instead.

The problem was that Ezra didn't feel like doing much of anything. He'd felt so poorly since this all began. The incident had settled on him like so much wet laundry, weighing on him. He was more than satisfied to hear that Wahl was captured. He felt gratified that the murderer would meet his reward for what he had done, but was he happy? No, not happy. Would the sight of Edgar Wahl hanging from his neck do anything to lift his spirits? Doubtful, highly doubtful.

In his mind he could still see the McCannons in the lamplight. He could still play back the events of the day and see that if he had only left sooner he may have been able to stop the tragedy from occurring. If he had only left as planned. If he had only known. If there was only something he could do.

There was no sense thinking about that. It couldn't be helped, and what can't be helped should be forgotten, should be swept aside. Let someone else worry about such things. It should mean nothing to him.

Ezra stood slowly, eyeing the cards that lay on the floor. Nothing he could do. Might as well get on with it. Keep Larabee quiet by following his orders. "Apparently I shall be accompanying you," he said, hoping that the situation would not be as hellish as he expected.

Part 5:

But it was as bad as Ezra had anticipated. The trip to Eagle Bend was a trial in itself. Larabee's mood was dark and Ezra did his best to stay out of the way. He could understand Chris' animosity toward him, considering how he had failed to help the McCannons. It wasn't any surprise.

Vin, who usually had the common sense to keep quiet, saw fit to attempt countless conversations. Ezra did what he could to deflect them, but Vin was unusually insistent, which only left Ezra feeling miserable. He just wanted this whole dreadful episode to end, to be finished with it. Next, he'd have to deal with Wahl. He would have preferred to push it all away.

They took the usual route to the town, but Ezra couldn't help thinking of the farmhouse as they passed at some distance from it. He looked toward the McCannon's home, seeing it as only a distant shape, indistinct in the heat and the scrub.

When they reached Eagle Bend, there was no pause to rest. Immediately, they entered the jail in Eagle Bend and met the eyes of Edgar Wahl. He was an unassuming looking man, with huge hands. But his eyes were as cold as winter. Ezra almost shuddered as he looked at the killer of the McCannons.

"You the men come to take me to Four Corners?" Wahl asked when he saw them.

"Come to take you to your trial," Chris replied. "Come to see that you hang for what you've done."

"I ain't been tried yet," Wahl responded. "Lots can happen a-fore that."

"Shaddup, Wahl," Sheriff Staynes ordered. He shook his head. "He's done gone and tried himself. Done blathered non-stop about the murders the whole time he's been here. It's enough to chill a man's soul, listenin' to him."

Wahl laughed. "What a picture the three of you make," he said with a smirk as he looked at the men from Four Corners. "I should hire a photographer to keep the memory for me."

"You ain't in a place to ask for nothin'," Vin said simply.

"Come on." Chris nodded to the sheriff. "Let's get goin'."

"At this hour?" Ezra looked askance at their leader. "Perhaps we should spend the night in town as opposed to on the trail?"

"I'm not wasting another minute in gettin' this piece of trash to Four Corners," Chris snarled.

"Trash?" Wahl chuckled. "That the best you can do?"

"Oh, I assure you, Wahl, I can do much better," Chris growled as Staynes opened the cell. Chris approached the prisoner with the handcuffs. Wahl offered him no resistance and held out his hands to be detained. Larabee snapped the restraints in place and grabbed him by his arm.

Wahl was dragged out of the jail and pushed onto the horse that they had brought with them for that purpose.

Judge Travis had warned them ahead of time, that he wanted the prisoner in one piece. He knew that the lawmen of Four Corners, although just, were capable of administering a little of their own justice along the trail. "No scars, no bruises, no gunshot holes," the telegram had read, admonishing them to stay on the straight and narrow. "The prisoner is to be delivered unharmed or face the consequences."

Wahl apparently realized this stipulation and pressed his luck. "I wouldn't have took ya for lawmen, no way, no how. You there," Wahl said, nodding in Ezra's direction, "Ya look like you'd be more interested in the other side of the law, huh?"

"Mr. Wahl, I assure you," Ezra replied tiredly, "I am familiar with both aspects, good and bad." He felt no need to go any further. He could tell immediately that Wahl was a needler and a badgerer. There was only one way to respond to that sort of onslaught and that was by ignoring it, not letting it overcome you.

Wahl smirked and turned to Chris. "What are you dressed up for? A funeral?"

Chris tied the prisoner's horse to his own. "Yours," he replied.

Wahl laughed loudly. "Glad to see you dressed for the occasion." He watched as Vin mounted. "And what's the story here? You just get back from huntin' grizzly bear? You some sort’a mountain man? You shoot a lot of Injuns?"

Vin shook his head and didn't reply. The tracker looked to Chris and stated, "Best be goin' while we still got some light."

Ezra mounted last and followed the group out of town. He now had a clear image of the killer and could play out the scene in his head, could see Wahl ride onto the McCannon property and Timothy come out to meet him, only to be gunned down. He could envision Mr. McCannon grabbing his rifle and holding Wahl back from the porch, the windows shattering behind him as the weapons fired. He had a picture now, of Wahl running through the house after Mrs. McCannon, of her standing fiercely at the barn door, holding the axe high and Wahl not slowing. He could see Wahl climbing the ladder to the loft.

Ezra removed his hat and brushed his hand through his hair thinking of the little girls, crying in that corner and Wahl approaching. Ezra lagged behind, thinking of the children crying.

There was no one there to help them. No one who came to their aid. Ezra sighed and shook his head slowly. He could have come sooner, if he only came sooner. If he had only come as he had planned...

Good Lord, he thought suddenly, what if they thought Wahl was me? My God, what if Timothy went to meet the rider, thinking it was me? Chaucer stopped, uncertain of what his owner wanted. Ezra watched the others move forward several lengths before he started after them again. My God, he thought.

Part 6:

Chris rode the lead, with Wahl close behind him. The gunslinger looked back at the prisoner and saw him smirk. "I killed 'em nice and quick," Wahl declared.

Chris glowered at him. "You tell that to the judge." This was the killer of children, the murderer of a family. It was all Chris could do to keep on his horse, to keep moving forward and not pounce on the man, to not shoot him dead.

"Didn't cause 'em any pain. Shot 'em nice and easy. The boy didn't even know what hit 'im."

"Shut up, Wahl," Chris said, jerking on the reins of Wahl's horse. He fixed the prisoner with a glare that would have frozen others.

"He made the funniest little cry. Had his back to me. He was goin' ta get his Pa when I got 'im. Didn't even see it comin'."

Chris could feel his heart pounding. "I told you, Wahl," Chris snarled through gritted teeth.

"The lady, she was a wildcat," Wahl said. "Killed her like I'd kill a mountain lion. Gotta get 'em on the first shot or there'll be hell to pay. She may have fought like a lion, but she went down like a heifer."

Chris was off his horse in a moment. He grabbed Wahl by his shirtfront and flung him to the ground. Chris' vision took on a red tinge as he flew at the downed prisoner. Something stopped him, held him back. Vin grabbed Chris firmly by the arm, digging in his heels and pulling. Ezra was at Chris' other side suddenly, straining to hold him. Chris twisted, trying to free himself.

"No, Chris, no!" Vin demanded. "Don't you stoop to his level! Don't ya let him get at cha!"

"Goddamn son of a bitch!" Chris spat at the man, who sat in the dust by his feet. "Shut the fuck up!"

Vin pulled him back, away from the killer. "Come on, Chris. He's not worth it. Walk away."

Chris jerked his arms out of Ezra and Vin's grip. He walked, his feet pounding into the dirt. Vin stayed in step with him.

Why did there have to be people like this in the world? Why did women and children have to die? Sarah, he thought of her again, Sarah and Adam facing their deaths in the burning house. Murdered because of him. He tried to blot it out, but their faces returned to him. Their eyes wide with fear as they died without him.

And he recalled the McCannon family, lying in the wagon bed, their features distorted by their desert wait. He turned back toward their killer.

Ezra stood beside the man, his arms folded, as Wahl struggled to his feet. Wahl took a moment to gain his balance before the gambler helped the killer back onto his horse. Chris shook his head, watching the process. Wahl said something to Ezra, but Standish didn't respond and headed back to his own mount.

Chris watched as Ezra climbed into his saddle. The gambler sat quietly waiting, his gaze on their prisoner. There was no emotion in his eyes. Chris shook his head. He couldn't understand it. Chris wanted to strangle Wahl, to beat the life out of him, meanwhile Ezra was giving him a hand at getting into the saddle. Ezra was the one who found the McCannons, you would think he would have some compassion for them.

"Shall we be going?" Ezra asked finally.

"Hang on there, Ez," Vin said, looking to Chris. "You okay?"

"Fine," Chris returned, glaring at Ezra. How could he just sit there? How could Ezra manage to keep so cool, not let Wahl get to him? God, there were times Chris envied the heartless bastard.

"You got your man under control?" Wahl asked Vin. "Looks like yer the type to handle ruthless animals like that. You got him handled? He don't know the first thing about controlling himself. Looks like he's got 'bout as much restraint as a jack-rabbit in heat."

Vin sent Wahl tumbling back to the ground. Wahl landed with an "Ooof!" and looked back up at Vin in amusement.

Vin said nothing. He returned to his horse, Peso, as Wahl once again made the difficult maneuver of getting to his feet with his arms restrained. He stood beside his horse. He lifted his restrained hands as if to remind the others. Ezra dismounted again and helped him into the saddle.

"You got yerself some fine friends there, gamblin'-man," Wahl said as Ezra shoved him into position. "Looks like neither of 'em got a lick of sense between 'em. They let their emotions get the better of 'em. Think maybe they got a brain between 'em?"

"Apparently so," Ezra replied civilly and headed back to his horse. "At least that."

Part 7:

Ezra took up the last position during the rest of the day. He could keep an eye on the prisoner as well as his traveling companions, without them watching him. Wahl continued to bait both Chris and Vin. Chris had managed to keep from attacking the man again, but he seemed to be directing the unspent anger in Ezra's direction, finding fault with everything he did or didn't do.

Of course, Ezra couldn't blame him, all things considered. He did his best to avoid the gunslinger.

Chris was upset that Ezra had gotten the prisoner onto his horse again. No one else was moving forward to do so and someone had to do it. He complained that Ezra was following too far behind. Chris had glared at the gambler when he inquired as to when they would stop for the night. He didn't gather enough firewood fast enough. He didn't appreciate the food that Vin had worked so very hard to cook. He didn't help enough when it was time to clean up.

Larabee was just a mass of animosity waiting to explode. Ezra hoped that he wasn't nearby when it happened. Ezra just didn't have the strength to fight him.

Ezra was glad that Chris was finally asleep. Perhaps he would be able to get out of the line of fire for a while. He glanced over at his sleeping compatriots and then back to Wahl.

The prisoner smiled. "So, you get stuck with keepin' an eye on me," the man said.

Ezra returned the smile. "I'm quite used to bein' awake through the midnight hour," Ezra replied. "And I shall be relieved in due time."

Wahl shrugged. "Yeah, well, it seems like you got stuck with the worst of it. I mean, you've been riding for just as long as them and they're the only ones getting any sleep. Seems like they didn't give you much of a say in the matter."

Ezra shook his head slowly, thinking that he hadn't been getting much sleep even when he'd been in town. "Mr. Wahl, perhaps you should take advantage of the situation and get a little sleep yourself."

"Nah," Wahl said. "I've been letting you boys do all the work today. I'm wide-awake now. I'm thinkin' maybe you and I could do some chattin'."

The last thing Ezra wanted to do was to talk to this man. Wahl continued speaking and Ezra did his best to ignore it. He pulled a deck of cards from his waistcoat pocket and shuffled it as Wahl went on about his feelings concerning Vin and Chris.

"Ya wanna play a hand or two?" Wahl asked.

Ezra raised an eyebrow and looked at the murderer of the McCannons. "If you would play in silence, perhaps we could engage in a game."

And so they played, using a handful of small stones as markers. Ezra played without any enthusiasm, not caring if he won or lost, only wanting to keep Wahl silent. The prisoner managed to hold the cards with his shackled hands.

Ezra truly despised the man, but had to put those feelings aside. It was the only way to deal with such emotions. At least the game gave him something to concentrate on. He ran his fingers along the face of a card, wondering if they really felt sticky after being in contact with the wretched man.

"Hard to manage the cards this way," Wahl said, matter-of-factly as he struggled against the handcuffs. Ezra had nothing to say in response.

After a few hands, Wahl looked up and said, "I'm hungry."

"That truly is a shame," Ezra said as he dealt. How could Wahl be hungry? Ezra thought. He hadn't had the stomach for much of anything since he discovered the murders, hadn't been able to eat since this miserable mission began.

"What harm would it do to feed a man?" Wahl asked.

Ezra looked up at him and remembered the half-completed meal at the McCannon home. "Harm?" Ezra asked, keeping his face still.

"Come on," Wahl said. "Those boys hardly gave me anything for supper. They don't understand, like you. Ya can't let me starve before my trial?"

Ezra's mouth quirked into a smile. "That would be an unaccountable shame," he said as he stood. He kept watch on the prisoner as he went through their supplies and came up with a biscuit. He would prefer to leave the man hungry, but he also realized that a full mouth was a quiet one.

He placed the biscuit into Wahl's cuffed hands and sat back down across from him. The murder took three hurried bites and then started to choke. Ezra looked at him in disbelief. Wahl grabbed at his throat, wheezing, bending down, struggling. He was suffocating. It was then that Ezra made a stupid move, which he would regret rather extensively. He tried to help.

He leaned over the killer of the McCannons and slapped him on the back. Wahl was out of the handcuffs and his hands were on the Remington before Ezra had finished his ministration. Ezra's eyes went wide when he felt the gun being plucked from his holster.

Standish was unbalanced. He triggered his derringer into his hand, but before he could aim, he was struck by his own weapon and fell in a heap. The last thing he thought was, at least I unloaded that damn gun...

Part 8:

Chris awoke with a start to the sound of agitated horses and retreating hoofbeats. He sat up and looked across the fire to where Wahl should have been and instead saw only the crumpled form of the gambler. He jumped to his feet, shouting for Vin. He grabbed his weapon as he moved quickly to Ezra's side, dropping a concerned hand on his shoulder. He was breathing.

"Wahl!" he shouted to Vin and the tracker stepped out of the firelight to search.

Chris moved Ezra onto his back. It looked like he had been clubbed with something. Around him were scattered a deck of cards, a half-eaten biscuit and, where Wahl should have been sitting, the open handcuffs. Larabee didn't know how Wahl had managed it. His ham-sized hands obviously lacked the dexterity to pick the locks and could never have slipped through the cuffs. Besides, Ezra should have been keeping an eye on him. Instead, the gambler had been playing cards with a man who murdered children. Did Ezra actually let him out of the cuffs to play cards?

Vin came back in a few minutes. "Gone," he said simply. "Saw fit to scatter our horses. It may take a while to get 'em back." The tracker paused and added, "He took Job."

"My horse?" Chris asked incredulously. He glared out into the darkness. "Son of a bitch!"

"Your saddle, too."

"Bastard." Larabee jammed his hands into his pockets, remembering the saddlebag with plenty of ammo that had been left with the gear. "Bastard," he said again.

"Yeah," Vin agreed.

Chris looked back toward the mess around the gambler. "What the hell was going on here?"

Vin shrugged and said, "Looks like they were havin' a little picnic while Ezra 'plied his God-given talents'."

Chris shook his head ruefully. He'd never understand the gambler. How could he have stooped so low? Didn't the man have any scruples?

"We're goin' after him," Chris said.

Vin nodded. "'Spect we should wait 'til Ezra comes 'round. Gotta get those horses back. Too dark to track Wahl in any case. No moon for it."

Chris just sighed. "We'll get that Wahl. He's going to pay for those killings." He glanced down at Ezra and said, "What the hell was he doing? Why did Ezra let him get out of the handcuffs?"

Vin shrugged, sat down beside Ezra and patted him gently on the shoulder. He looked back up at Chris and said. "Looks like Wahl grabbed one of Ezra's guns. How we didn't all get shot dead, I don't know." He smiled at the unconscious gambler. "Might've left the Remington unloaded."

"Stupid," Chris grumbled.

Vin took the derringer from Ezra's hand and checked it, and then the Colt in his shoulder harness. "Both of these are loaded."

Chris stalked off into the darkness, after the horses, grumbling about the stupid chances taken by stupid gamblers.

It took almost an hour to gather Peso and Wahl's rented mount. Chaucer would not come to Chris, no matter how hard Chris tried to capture it. Vin said that the horse sensed Chris' hostility toward its owner. It was only after Ezra started coming around that the chestnut horse finally wandered back to their camp and by then it was morning. They started off immediately, with the still dizzy gambler sitting uneasily in his saddle.

Part 9:

Chris glowered at the horizon as he rode the nag. Vin looked over his shoulder at Ezra who followed a few lengths behind them. Standish met his gaze with a smile.

"Tell me, Standish," Larabee said, "Why'd you it?" Not receiving a response, Chris stopped the horse and turned. Damn it, he wished he could wipe that smug smile of the conman's face.

"I'm not sure of how to answer that question," Ezra replied evenly.

Chris' dark mood only increased. "You're the reason that man's on the loose again," he said, facing forward once more.

"I suspect there is no point in providing my side of the story."

"What did ya do, Ezra? Let him win his way outta custody?" Chris barked. "You'll play with anyone."

"That is possible," Ezra replied from behind without conviction.

"What the hell kinda man are you anyway?"

"Why, Mr. Larabee," Ezra said with a smile. "I'm exactly what you believe me to be."

Chris didn't know what to make of the gambler. He seemed determined to do anything he could to derail this journey and now he had really done it. How could Wahl have possibly escaped from those handcuffs? Ezra had to have unlocked them. Why? To play poker? What was Ezra doing playing cards with that man?

Chris shook his head. They'd had the killer in their hands and let him go.

Wahl had escaped and now justice for the family was in jeopardy. It had been so close. If Chris had only been able to bring this man to justice, maybe he could soothe his conscience, put this old anger to rest. Instead, it now looked like they might lose the murderer. If they were to lose Wahl, Chris didn't know how he would be able to handle it.

How had he escaped? And damn it, why'd he have to steal Job? It was as if the prisoner had purposefully chosen that horse, as a slap in his face. Chris wished Wahl had tried for Ezra's horse. Chaucer trusted other people even less than Ezra did, and Wahl would not have made it very far with that mount.

It was afternoon when they reached the crossroads known as Falling Cross. Chris turned when he saw Vin draw Peso to a stop and look around suspiciously.

"Something wrong?" Chris asked.

"Don't feel right, cowboy," Vin responded.

Suddenly a shot rang out, the familiar sound of Ezra's Remington. Vin lurched and started falling. For a split second, Chris had the impression that the gambler had fired, but he remembered angrily that Wahl had taken the weapon.

Chris leapt from his saddle, torn between running to Vin and firing back against their attacker. He turned to look for Ezra and couldn't see him. The gambler's horse was running off riderless. There’d been only one shot. What could have happened to Standish?

Damn it, Chris swore, as he ran to the tracker, catching him before he hit the ground before Peso and the other horse took off as well, skittish in the gunfire. He pulled Vin into the cover of a boulder and started firing back. Where the hell was Standish?

"Ezra!" he shouted and continued firing.

It was only after he paused to reload that he heard sound of Ezra's Colt Richards Conversion and caught sight of him behind another boulder, some distance from them. Chris had time to look down at Vin. He was hit bad, bleeding profusely from the shoulder.

"Hang in there, Vin," Chris muttered. He lay his hand on the tracker for a moment, trying to assure himself that Vin was all right. He was still alive, but the wound was near his heart.

Ezra to continue firing on the unseen attacker as Chris attempted to help the tracker. He pulled a bandana from his pocket and used it as a makeshift bandage, pressing it against the wound. Vin stirred at the pressure but did not regain consciousness.

Chris glanced at Ezra again. He was taking careful aim at the gunman. Standish realized someone was watching him and gazed at Chris. He licked his lips and for a moment it seemed as if he were about to say something, but instead he returned to the task of keeping the gunman at bay. Chris finished reloading and started firing again in the direction of their attacker, keeping a close eye on Vin.

Vin's face was pale and still. Please, the gunslinger thought, not his heart, not Vin. He raised his head and looked in the direction of the gunman. Hell, he thought, this has got to end now.

Ezra fired again, and the gunman shouted in pain.

"I would advise you to give up your assault and perhaps we shall see to your injury, Mr. Wahl," the gambler drawled, keeping himself hidden.

"Shit, shit, shit," he could hear Wahl repeating from his hiding place.

"Please, Mr. Wahl, stand where you are and throw down your weapon."

Wahl stood up, reluctantly, from his cover, throwing his purloined weapon into the dirt and then clutched at his wounded arm. Chris saw Ezra wince, obviously about the treatment of his property. "If you would be so kind as to step forward?"

Chris watched as Ezra unsteadily climbed out from behind the rock and then sat down on the boulder with a weary sigh.

"Damn it, Ezra. Get him cuffed and stop fooling around."

"I would suggest ropes this time," Ezra said giving Chris a sidelong glance. "And since I have no talent with knots, that task should fall to you."

"Goddamn it, Ezra, can't you see I'm trying to save Vin's life right now?" Chris barked at him. He was applying pressure again to the tracker's wound. The bleeding did seem to be slowing, but Tanner's face was growing paler.

Ezra watched for a moment and then whistled sharply.

Chaucer approached at a quick trot, nickering at him happily. The gambler pulled a rope from one of his saddlebags. "Mr. Wahl, your hands please." Ezra seemed to be in no hurry, standing with one hand on the pommel of his horse's saddle. He waited for Wahl to approach him and allow his hands to be tied.

"My damn arm. You gonna see to my arm?"

"Yes, yes, of course," Ezra muttered and once the man was secured, he started going through his saddlebags for bandages.

Chris stood and abruptly grabbed the material out of Ezra's hands before he had a chance to move. He said, "I'm gonna need this for Vin. We can let Wahl bleed to death for all I care. Where's that flask yours?"

Ezra raised an eyebrow as he snagged the flask and handed it to Chris. "And how is our Mr. Tanner?"

"It's bad," Chris said, looking back toward the tracker. "It's close to the heart. The bullet is still in there."

Ezra tugged his canteen off his saddle and gave it to Chris as well. "Will you be able to remove it?"

Chris looked at Ezra who leaned against his horse. "We need Nathan."

"You gonna see to this?" Wahl said, using his head to point to his bleeding wound.

"Momentarily," Ezra sighed.

"Get help," Chris ordered. "Hurray. He's gonna need more than I can give him."

"It may be best if I remain..." Ezra said. "Maybe I should..."

Chris tried to read the gambler, who was looking toward Vin, his face impassive despite the dire situation. What was the matter with him? Didn't he realize what was going on? Ezra's mind seemed to be a million miles away. God, Chris wanted to smack him.

Chris leaned forward until he were mere inches from Ezra's placid face. "Ezra, do me a favor and for once, don't be such a self-serving snake," Chris spat out ferociously. "Get help now! Otherwise Vin is going to die. If Vin dies because of you, then I'm coming after you next, you understand me?"

Ezra looked back at Chris balefully. He seemed to come to a decision. "You're crystal clear, Mr. Larabee." He nodded and carefully swung himself into his saddle, taking a moment to settle himself. "You will want to keep a close eye on Mr. Wahl. He tends to choke if he eats too fast." Then he turned the horse and headed toward Four Corners at a gallop.

Chris watched Ezra depart. Why did he always make things so difficult? He didn't seem to care that Vin had been hurt. It was all due to Ezra's carelessness. He shoved the supplies under one arm, then roughly grabbed the rope hanging from Wahl's hands and dragged him back toward Vin.

"Ya gonna see to me now?" the prisoner asked.

The gunslinger glared at his charge. Damn it, how could anyone be more irritating than Ezra?

Part 10:

Ezra laughed. Oh, the poetic justice, he thought as he rode. He shook his head to clear it. It still ached from Wahl's attack.

He remembered seeing Vin totter in his saddle, remembered that for the second time in the same 24-hour day, he'd done a very stupid thing. He had leapt off his horse without looking at where he was going to land. Anyone with half-an-ounce of sense knew to look first, but something had kicked in when he saw the tracker in trouble. He didn't think. He needed to help Vin.

The rattlesnake had struck the moment Ezra had landed on it. It had been startled, trapped by the approaching horses and trying to find refuge in the high grass. Ezra hadn't seen it. Damn fool thing, he should have.

A bolt of pain had fired through him at the bite, knocking him off his feet. God, it had hurt. For a second, he'd been too stunned to move. Then, with the shots ringing out over his head, he had scuttled toward cover, trying to get distance between himself and the snake

The pain had been enough to take his breath away. His mind had spun with fear. Good Lord, no. What am I going to do? He looked for Vin, and had been satisfied to find him with Chris, that he was alive. Thank God, he'd thought.

But Ezra's relief was short lived. Vin was shot near the heart. Vin would die unless he was able to find assistance in time. It was his fault entirely, of course. It always was.

It burns, he thought. Lord, how it burns.

He didn't think it would burn. This was nothing like a gunshot wound, something he was familiar with. He could deal with familiarity. This was different. He reached down and felt his painful bite as he urged his horse onward. The material of his trousers was wet. The quantity of blood surprised him. Was it supposed to bleed like that? Why did this have to happen? He hurried his horse as quickly as he dared.

They were making good time. It shouldn't take too long to reach Four Corners. Ezra gritted his teeth against the growing pain in his leg. His head ached fiercely now and he was getting dizzier. Was that due to hit he'd taken on the head? What were the symptoms of snakebite?

Onward, keep going. Ezra watched the familiar landmarks approach and pass him as he sped toward town. He was feeling a little giddy now. He should have stayed put. He should have simply said, "Mr. Larabee, I'm afraid I've been bitten by a rattlesnake and should lie quietly right here next to Mr. Tanner and allow you the pleasure of watchin' me die."

He would have loved to see the look on Chris' face, but there was Vin to consider...

Ezra glanced down at his leg again as he rode onward. How much time had passed? He was losing track. The burning sensation was getting worse, traveling up above his knee. It felt as if his leg was on fire. He should stop and see to it. No, no, he couldn't. Vin was in trouble. If he slowed down, if he stopped, Vin would die. He didn't have much time. He'd have to keep going.

He rode past a rock formation that signaled he was halfway home. He tried to adjust his leg in the stirrup, tried to relieve the pressure. The horrible pain was traveling up his thigh now. He glanced down, half expecting to see flames.

Lord, how it burns...

Why did he have to try to help Wahl? What was he thinking? He damned himself for it now, as he kept Chaucer at a full gallop, as his leg burned and his head swam, as Vin lay dying back there. Why did he try to help? Why couldn't he have helped when it was truly needed, when the McCannons were facing their own deaths?

He had to keep going. He could feel Chaucer tiring. He wasn't bred for endurance and Ezra hated pushing the animal. He leaned forward and patted the weary horse's neck. "For Vin, my friend," he said soothingly. "We must find assistance for our Mr. Tanner." At least, he thought, at least I can help this time.

The movement was jarring his leg, aggravating the pain. After the initial bite, it hadn't been that bad, more irritating than anything. He could stand at least. But with each passing moment the pain seemed to increase. It was getting harder to breathe. His heart hammered. It could be just the excitement, he thought.

They were getting close to Four Corners. If he could only make it back in time, everything would be fine. Nathan would save Vin.

His head swam. Not much further, he promised himself. Lord, his leg hurt.

He couldn't quite focus anymore; everything seemed to be doubled. He should stop. He should lie down, try to take care of this problem. No, no he couldn't. It wouldn't change anything. He had to reach to Four Corners and find Nathan, for Vin. He had to keep going. He was not about to let Vin die, not like he'd let the McCannons die.

He further pressed the exhausted horse. "I'm sorry, my friend," he muttered to the animal. He could feel Chaucer trying to slow, needing to slow. His head was pounding and his stomach was tying itself in knots. His damn leg felt blackened with pain. Had to keep going. Couldn't stop. Not much time. He pressed his hand to his head, trying to push back the blasted headache. He was sweating miserably now. He held his hand in front of his eyes, trying to focus on it for a moment before he grabbed at the reins again.

Damn the snake, he thought, and the god that put it there.

He could just see the outline of town, twisting and turning in his vision, almost there. He pressed onward. Chaucer's lathered sides were heaving with exertion. Everything was spinning. Chaucer was failing. Ezra couldn't hang on anymore. The world started to tip. He tried to stay upright, but he had no strength left. Chaucer, sensing his rider was in danger, stopped. Unable to keep his balance, Ezra fell to the ground.

He lay on his back, blinking up at his horse, one hand still clutching the reins. Chaucer stood above him, fighting to catch his breath, chest heaving from the hard run, looking down quizzically at his owner. With much effort, Ezra pulled his hand out of the leather straps and gave the order, "home."

Chaucer panted, lathered and exhausted. He didn't move his head once he was released, but continued to look down at his owner. He understood the command, as he understood all the little tricks the man had taught him. He understood the meaning of the command "home." Home meant a nice stall, hay, oats and water, warmth and comfort. But the horse did not leave. He looked up anxiously and returned his gaze to the man who blinked owlishly up at him.

Ezra stared back at the gasping horse, trying to see him clearly. Why didn't he go? Damnation, he had run the horse to death. It probably couldn't even move anymore.

He knew that from the second the snake had struck, that his own life was over. He had just hoped that he could save Vin before it was too late, save Vin even though he could do nothing for the McCannons. And now as he stared up at his panting horse, he realized his failure. He had managed to kill himself, Vin and Chaucer in one fell swoop. Killed the McCannons as well.

"Sorry, I'm so sorry," he said softly to the horse, who continued to breathe heavily and would not leave him.

Part 11:

"Horse," JD said as he rode alongside Buck. They were just heading out on patrol after returning to town the night before.

Buck looked up and saw the horse standing in the distance. He frowned, observing from the animal's stance that it was exhausted. He clucked to his mount and started toward the loose animal. As he came closer, he recognized it and increased his speed.

"That's Ezra's horse," JD said, matching him. "Something's wrong -- he wouldn't run Chaucer like that."

It was only once they reached the animal that they could see the man lying beneath it. Buck felt his heart miss a beat. "JD, go get Nathan," he commanded as he dismounted. "Now!"

JD looked worriedly down at the gambler. Ezra was sweating and mumbling as he looked upward and didn't seem to notice their arrival. Without another word, JD turned his horse and galloped back to town.

"Ezra," Buck said, pushing Chaucer aside and kneeling down beside the gambler. "What's wrong?"

"Nathan," Ezra said numbly.

"No, Ezra, I'm Buck."

"Must get Nathan. Vin. Vin...needs him."

"I sent JD already." Wilmington looked Standish over, trying to find out what was wrong. His eyes fell upon the blood soaked trouser leg. "Were you shot?"

"Vin..." Ezra murmured.

"No, I'm Buck," Wilmington repeated.

"Vin...shot..."

"We'll get to him." Buck pulled his knife from its sheath and moved to cut open Ezra's pant leg. The gambler grunted as Wilmington grasped him.

"Damn Ezra, what did you do to yourself?" he asked out loud as he carefully tore through the cloth. "Shit," Buck muttered, pulling back the fabric, and saw the distinctive puncture wound. "Christ on a crutch!"

"Vin shot...gonna die..." Ezra muttered. "Falling Cross. They're at Falling Cross. He's shot." Buck looked back at the gambler's face. He was pale and his face was shining with sweat. "Get Nathan...Please..."

"How did this happen?" Buck asked hopelessly.

Ezra grimaced. "Stepped...on a snake...should've looked where I was goin'... " Buck noticed that Ezra couldn't focus on him as he looked up. His green eyes were watery and distant, his five-dollar words reduced to spare change. "Please, Buck, must get Nathan..."

"Hang on, Ez," Buck replied, looking back towards Four Corners. He could see JD arriving in town. "Hurry, JD," he said under his breath. He retrieved his canteen and wet his bandana. "Help's coming, just hang on, okay?"

Ezra continued to mutter as Buck applied the moistened cloth to his face. "Vin's shot. Heart. Nathan, need Nathan, now." He swallowed. "Chris..."

"It's okay," Buck soothed, noticing that the gambler was starting to wheeze. "Calm down, all right?" He stared at the wound on Ezra's leg. What could he do? Should he try to suck out the poison? The bite was so swollen, he didn't think he should. Was it too late?

"Falling Cross..." Ezra weakly raised a hand and shoved ineffectually against Buck's chest. "Now... go now."

"Shhhh," Buck said, continuing to wipe the man's face, ignoring the hand the pressed against him. "Quiet down. It's okay." He felt stupid saying these things. He held one hand alongside Ezra's head, trying to keep him still, holding his head so that he could look into his eyes. "It's gonna be okay."

"Buck," Ezra said, blinking at him.

"I'm here, Ezra. I'm here," Buck said reassuringly, the plaintive sound of Ezra's voice breaking his heart.

"Hurry," Ezra looked back toward him. "Can't fail...again..."

Finally, after a lifetime of minutes, Buck looked up to the sound of an approaching horse. He could see Nathan baring down on them, riding JD's horse, and a wagon following some distance behind.

"Nathan!" Buck shouted as the healer approached. "Oh God, Nathan. He got snake-bit."

Nathan slid from the horse, and ran the last few steps. "Ezra!" He knelt beside the Ezra, across from Buck. "Ezra, when did this happen? Have you done anything for it?" He took in the visible symptoms. It had to have been some time now. He could see no sign of that anyone had tried to extract the poison or try to impede its progress. "Ezra?" He wasn't sure if the man had heard him.

"Vin shot," Ezra said weakly. "Heart...can't get."

Nathan looked up at Buck and Wilmington explained, "That's all he's been saying. Vin must be in tough shape."

Nathan took Ezra's pulse and shook his head. His heart was racing. He was warm to the touch. "How many fingers, Ezra?" Nathan questioned, holding three fingers over the man's unfocused eyes.

"Dunno," Ezra didn’t even try to guess.

Nathan sighed and started rooting through his medical bag. He came up with a bottle whiskey and poured it on a cloth.

"Hold him, Buck," Nathan ordered. "I gotta get that bite cleaned up. If the damn poison don't kill him, the infection might." Buck leaned against Ezra's chest, while Nathan placed his weight on his legs with his free arm. "Try to keep still, Ezra," he said and pressed the cloth against the wound. Ezra hissed in agony and fought against the two men who tried to hold him down.

"Easy, Ezra," Nathan said. "Gotta get this taken care of. Keep still." Nathan worked quickly and efficiently to clean away the blood, despite Ezra's struggles.

The wagon pulled up as he finished. JD and Josiah jumped down and hurried to them while Nathan started mixing up a poultice composed mainly of milky-colored spurge.

"That's a lot of blood for bite," Buck said sadly. "I mean, the punctures ain't that big."

"Snake venom thins the blood," Nathan told him. "It's pretty bad stuff. It's gonna wreck havoc with 'im."

"My God, no," Josiah cried when he heard Nathan's words.

"Snake?" JD exclaimed, looking around in panic. "Think it's still around?"

Nathan shook his head. "Not here. It must'a happened while he was comin' to get help for Vin."

"Vin?" JD asked, "What happened to Vin?"

"Vin shot," Ezra answered. "Please...go."

"We're goin'," Buck assured. "Just hang on a minute." He turned to Nathan, watching him work. "Is that gonna cure him?"

"Won't hurt," Nathan answered, as he applied the mixture to the wound. As if to deny this fact, Ezra gasped and tried to struggle away from him, but Buck and Josiah held him still. JD stood apart as Nathan bound the wound and the gambler relaxed slightly.

Buck picked up the bottle of whiskey. "Hey, Ez, ya want a pull of this?"

"Yes...please," Ezra said, weakly reaching for the bottle.

Nathan snatched it away before Buck could hand it over. "No!" The healer shouted. "Damn it, Buck!"

Buck shook his head. "He could use a drink, Nathan. Look at him. He's in pain."

"No alcohol!" Nathan ordered, throwing the bottle back into his bag. "You wanna kill him?"

Buck glared at him. "I know this old guy who swears that whiskey is the best thing for a bite."

"Well then, this old guy probably knows a few folks dead from snakebite," Nathan shot back and then looked down at Ezra who seemed amused by this statement. The healer stood briskly and said, "We got to get him home. I'll see what I can do when we get him back to the clinic."

Ezra reached up and grabbed onto Nathan's leg. "No..." he seemed to lose his strength and the arm fell back to his chest. "Mr. Tanner..."

"We'll get him, Ezra," Buck assured him.

"Nathan," Ezra gasped. "He'll die."

Nathan frowned. What were his choices? Take Ezra back to the clinic and send the wagon back out for Vin? It would take too long. Should he stay with Ezra in the clinic or go back out with the wagon for Vin? He couldn't be in two places at the same time. He came to a decision. "Get Ezra in the wagon. We're goin' after Vin."

Josiah carefully picked up the fallen man. Buck helped, keeping Ezra's injured leg still.

"It's all right. It's all right," Josiah murmured softly, as if he were talking to a child. Ezra held his face taut and squeezed his eyes shut.

"Nathan, you gotta get him to the clinic," JD implored. "It can't do him any good to take a long ride in that wagon."

Nathan watched as Josiah and Buck settled Ezra on a pile of blankets in the back of the buckboard, as Buck carefully removed Ezra's boots and jacket to get him comfortable. Ezra didn't make a sound during the process, keeping his mouth pressed to a bloodless thin line.

"Honestly, JD, I don't think it will make much of a difference. We'll go after Vin. This way I can look after Ezra along the way. I'm gonna have to keep an eye on both of 'em." He nodded toward the wagon, seeing Ezra finally settled and heard him once again demand that they leave to find Vin.

"Heck," Nathan added, "if we don't take him with us, he'll just gonna get himself all worked up at the clinic worryin' over Vin."

"What do you mean, it won't make much difference?" JD asked. "You're gonna be able to help him, ain't cha?"

Nathan shook his head. "The bite hasn't been treated. If something had been done immediately, he'd have a chance, but..." he trailed off.

JD followed Nathan to the wagon. "Then what? I mean, what's gonna happen?"

"Chaucer," Ezra said weakly looking up at Buck, tugging at his shirt.

"We'll take care of him," Buck assured and grasped hold of the hand. "I promise you that, hoss." He looked over to the faithful animal that still stood nearby. The horse seemed to have recovered somewhat from his run, but his coat was matted with sweat.

"JD," Buck ordered, "take Chaucer back to town. Take care of 'im."

"But I want to go with you guys," JD stated as Josiah climbed into the wagon seat.

"No, JD," Buck stated firmly. "Take the horses back."

"Then go to the clinic," Nathan added. "Get it ready for 'em. I need you to do that. It's important. Stay put."

JD felt terribly sad watching the vehicle move away, hoping that it wasn't the last time he'd see Ezra alive.

Part 12:

Chris fiddled with the handcuffs as he glared at Wahl. The prisoner was silent for the time being, sporting a bandaged arm and a black eye. Wahl returned his gaze blandly. Chris fixed him with a deadly glare, making the man turn away before the gunslinger returned his attention to Vin. The bleeding had mostly stopped and Vin was still out. Chris had been able to clean the wound and bind it without much trouble. Hopefully it would be enough for the time being.

Apparently the bullet had not damaged anything important, but it was still in him, still lodged somewhere in that mysterious realm of the human body that held the heart. If it were only someplace less complicated, Chris would have considered doing something about it, but he was afraid to do more damage than good with the chest wound. Besides, Nathan was coming.

Chris looked again to the direction where Ezra had disappeared. He hoped Standish brought help quickly. If Nathan didn't come soon, Vin would be in a heap of trouble.

The gunslinger continued to manipulate the handcuffs, opening and closing them, latching and unlatching. They were broken, probably had been from the beginning. Chris was the one who secured them on Wahl. He replayed the moment in his head, remembering that he didn't test the restraints once they were in place. He never gave Ezra a chance to explain.

It was his own fault that Vin was injured now. Why did he get so damn angry with Ezra?

He's an easy target, Chris thought to himself. He glared again at Wahl, who smiled stupidly back at him.

Wahl would have escaped from any of them that night. He was obviously just waiting until only one of their group was guarding him, when one was vulnerable. Chris had left Ezra alone with an unrestrained prisoner, then he blamed Ezra for the escape. Why did he jump to such stupid conclusions? He was lucky that Ezra was still alive.

Click-click, the handcuffs easily locked and unlocked. He had been angry with Ezra for over a week now, ever since Standish failed to return on schedule, finally showing up a day late with the wagon and the bodies. The anger grew from the deaths, the senseless murders, but it attached itself to the gambler. Ezra was just so indifferent about all of it. He seemed hardly bothered, untouched by the deaths.

Now that he had time to think, Chris realized his own misjudgment. He should have realized that Ezra's way of dealing with such things was different than the rest of them

Ezra would distance himself from anything that might cause him emotional harm. It was the same thing in regard to Wahl. What Chris originally took for lack of concern, was Ezra's way of not getting himself wrapped up in something that he couldn't help. Chris should have known that. Should have thought of that sooner. The murders of the McCannons and presence of Wahl just seemed to ignite a fuse that had blown his common sense straight to hell.

He continued to gaze in the direction of home. He knew help was coming soon. He had no doubt that Ezra would bring Nathan as quickly as humanly possible. His thoughts were broken again by Wahl.

"He's not comin' back," the prisoner declared.

"Shut yer hole," Chris growled.

"I should know," Wahl said with confidence. "That's the last you'll ever see of that 'un."

Chris glared at Wahl. "He'll come back," he said confidently.

"I wouldn't." Wahl leaned forward. "I mean, if I'd figured I might be attacked, I wouldn't come back. You can bet he wouldn't."

"You don't know anything about him," Chris countered.

Wahl snorted and rubbed his bruised eye with his bound hands.

Chris glanced over at the horses that he had managed to once again collect. At least they hadn't gone too far this time.

The gunslinger was glad to have his horse back, but what he wanted more than anything was for Nathan to appear. What’s taking so long?

Chris stood when he saw a cloud of dust in the distance. He moved out of the protection of the rocks and waved to the approaching wagon. It angled toward him and he went back to check on Vin.

"I still think he's gonna die," Wahl said, looking at the pale tracker. Chris considered giving Wahl a matching shiner, but realized that it would do no good. It wouldn't shut up the man.

The wagon pulled alongside his position and Nathan leaped out.

"How is he?" The healer asked quickly.

"He hasn't come around yet," Chris told him as Nathan pulled back the bandage. "I don't think it hit his heart, but it's dang close."

"You did a good job," Nathan said, examining the wound. He pulled out the supplies from his medical bag. "Josiah, I need you here, now. Buck, you stay put," he called as he sterilized the necessary tools with whiskey.

The preacher jumped down from wagon and Nathan directed him to help hold down the tracker in case he awoke. Chris frowned, wondering why Buck was told to stay with the wagon. Where was JD? Where the hell was Ezra? Nathan signaled that he needed Chris' help as well. There was no time to ponder anything else.

The healer was quick but meticulous in his work. "Hold him!" Nathan ordered as he worked. "Looks like he's broke a couple ribs, too."

Chris watched Nathan's face. The healer's forehead furrowed in concentration, his eyes narrowed with concern. Chris could see the little beads of perspiration form on Jackson's forehead as he leaned over the wound. He used a cloth to blot up the blood that had started to flow again, clearing the area so he could see. The semi-conscious tracker arched his back and tried to fight his way out of Chris and Josiah's grasp.

"That's it," Nathan said, wiping the sweat away from his face, as he pressed against the wound with the cloth. "He's damn lucky. Didn't hit anything vital. Just gotta be awful careful about that rib."

Vin's eye shot open as Nathan sterilized the wound with whiskey. "Ahhhhgggg!" he screamed, trying to bolt from under the hands of his friends. Josiah and Chris held him tight, with Nathan throwing his weight into the fracas as well.

Chris uttered, "We got cha, cowboy."

Vin stared at him for a moment before his eyes closed again and Nathan began packing the wound. Chris watched as Nathan quickly completed the task. It was only then that he realized that Wahl had been talking.

The prisoner had watched the whole procedure in fascination, commenting throughout, but nobody seemed to have heard him. Finally, seeing Chris looking at him, he said. "I still say he's gonna die."

"Josiah," the healer directed once he was done. "Let’s get Vin into the wagon. Let's get goin' -- we gotta hurry."

Chris stood slowly and looked at the two men in disbelief as Nathan and Josiah gently picked up the tracker and moved quickly. Vin moaned as they pulled him into the wagon. Chris grabbed the rope that secured the prisoner and pulled him along.

"What's going on?" the gunslinger asked as he approached the rear of the wagon. "What's the rush? Shouldn't we let him rest a bit?" They had just settled Vin on the left side of the wagon. The gunslinger was shocked to see Buck sitting with Ezra on the other side.

Part 13:

Wilmington looked worriedly down on the gambler as Chris appeared at the wagon. Ezra lay with his eyes tightly shut, breathing raggedly and mumbling incoherently.

Chris looked urgently toward Nathan. "My God, what happened?"

Nathan frowned deeply. "Snakebite."

Chris looked thunderstruck for a moment until Wahl broke off in a fit of laughter.

"Tell 'em," Wahl chortled. "Tell 'em what you found!"

Chris drew back to strike the prisoner, but the man crumpled to the ground in hysterical glee.

"Tell 'em about that broken-back rattler that you killed!" Wahl giggled.

Chris met Nathan's puzzled gaze. "I found a rattlesnake," he said in a low voice. "Looked like somethin' hit it pretty hard."

Nathan climbed into the back of the wagon and stared at Chris in disbelief. "What're you saying? You mean it didn't happen on the trail? Ezra got bit here? While you were with him?"

Wahl continued to laugh, pounding the dirt with his bound fists. "He made him go. Threatened him. Just about shot 'im if you ask me."

Chris jerked Wahl to his feet and dragged him roughly to the front of the wagon where Josiah had taken his seat. He let Josiah yank Wahl into place and then bound him to the front of the vehicle.

Wahl continued to laugh throughout. "You killed him," the prisoner snickered.

Chris fixed Wahl with a look of pure hatred. "Gag him, Josiah."

"It would be a pleasure," the preacher responded as he pulled off his dusty bandana and tied it around the prisoner's gaping mouth.

Chris quickly gathered the horses and tied them to the back of the wagon before he, too, joined the others in the back, then Josiah put the wagon in motion.

Buck was sitting with his back to the driver, and Ezra's head in his lap, trying to keep him still in the rocking wagon. He wet down a cloth to wipe Ezra's sweating face, speaking quietly to him as he worked.

Nathan sat between his two patients. He quickly checked to see that Vin's bandage remained in place and the wound had not reopened during the move. Then he turned to Ezra.

"How's he doin'?" Nathan asked.

Buck looked disconsolate. "I think he's getting worse." He listened for a moment before he applied the cloth again to Ezra's forehead. "Havin' trouble breathin'." He looked to Chris as the gunslinger settled himself by the legs of his two wounded men.

"I never should brought him along," Nathan muttered. "Should'a sent him back to town."

Chris shook his head slowly. How could this have happened? "I didn't know," he said softly. "Why didn't he say anything?"

He saw Wahl turn around in his seat, but unable to speak. He just grinned through the gag.

"Vin," Ezra gasped, his eyes still squeezed shut. "Vin? Is he...?

"Shush, now," Buck said. "No more talking. We got 'im. You just be quiet."

Ezra's eyes fluttered open for a moment and he smiled slightly. "Alive?" he managed to say.

Nathan leaned over Ezra, resting a hand gently on his heaving chest. "He's gonna be fine. You do like Buck said. Stop talking."

"S'hard," Ezra replied, his eyes starting to close.

"What, it's hard to stop talking?" Buck asked lightly. "I always knew that about you."

"S'hard ...to breathe," Ezra wheezed.

"I know," Nathan said sadly. "That's the poison. You gotta stop talkin'. Lay still now."

Ezra partially opened his eyes, to glare at Nathan before they fluttered shut again.

"Nathan?" Chris asked, fixing the healer with a meaningful glance.

Nathan understood the unasked question, would Ezra live? He shrugged in reply. "He's in a lot of pain right now. It's probably just gonna get worse. I've done all I can for him medically, which isn't much. I'm no doctor. There's not a whole lot I can give him that wouldn't cause him more harm than good." He took Ezra's pulse again and frowned at the rapidity of it. "He's just gonna have to fight for a while."

"What are his chances?" Chris asked.

Nathan saw Ezra look up at him again, and try to focus.

"Well?" Ezra demanded between breaths.

"You're gonna be fine. Just try to keep calm. It's very important that you don't get yourself excited," Nathan told him.

"Calm," Ezra muttered sarcastically. "Excited..."

Nathan waited until Ezra's eyes closed before he looked to Chris. The gunslinger could easily read the true answer in the healer's face. Ezra's chances weren't good.

"How'd Wahl get that black eye?" Nathan asked, wanting to change the subject.

Chris shook his head in disgust. "Something he said."

Nathan nodded, realizing that Chris didn't want to go any further. "How 'bout that knot Ezra's got on his head?"

"Wahl," Chris responded, frowning. Chris had forgotten about that. "Concussion?"

"No," Ezra answered, looking disgusted.

Nathan turned his attention back to Vin. At least there was something he could do for the tracker. He was surprised to see Vin looking up at him.

"Welcome back, Vin," Nathan greeted. "How ya feelin'?"

"That's a hell of a question," Vin croaked. "What happened?"

"You got shot," Chris replied.

"Damn," Tanner said. "So that's what that was. I's thinkin' maybe I got run over by a buffalo." He grimaced and then seemed to remember something. "Wahl?"

"Yeah, he's the one that gotcha," Chris told him. "We got 'im now though."

Vin's eyes closed halfway. "Ya kill 'im?"

"Nah," Chris said, glaring at Wahl's back. "Figured we'd let the judge decide that." Wahl turned toward him for a moment and then faced forward again.

Vin smiled and then looked puzzled. "What's that sound?"

Nathan moved so that Vin could see Ezra, propped up in Buck's lap. His ragged breathing sounded so peculiar in the confines of the wagon. The tracker’s eyes grew large. "Ah, hell! What happened?" Vin asked.

"Snake," Buck replied.

"Ezra?" Vin called, his face registering shock and sorrow. Ezra's distant eyes opened again and he glanced over at Vin. His lips twitched in an attempt at a smile before his eyes closed again and he continued with the effort of breathing.

Nobody said anything as the wagon continued at its way back to Four Corners. The sound of Ezra, gasping for oxygen, was enough to silence them all.

Part 14:

JD waited impatiently at the clinic. He'd boiled water, turned down the bed, set up a cot, checked to see that there were plenty of bandages and went in search of more. He'd run to the restaurant to order food to be sent up, made a pot of coffee, and then finally sat down at Nathan's table and started thumbing through several of the books that the healer had left there, not able to read any of them.

It was nearly dark when he heard the wagon come to a halt outside. He flung open the door to the clinic as Buck and Josiah gently carried Vin up the stairs, followed by Chris and Nathan with Ezra. The young man looked in disbelief at his two friends. Vin's face was drawn up in a grimace of pain as he was lowered onto the cot. Ezra was very pale, his hair matted to his head and gasping for breath as he was carefully carried into the room. He looked much worse than the last time JD had seen him.

Chris said, "JD, I need you to look after the prisoner."

"But, Chris..." JD started.

"You're the sheriff," Chris said as he gently lay Ezra in the bed. "Get Wahl locked up. You be damn careful with that bastard."

JD took one last look at his friends before he ran down the stairs to find Edgar Wahl, gagged, with a black eye, a bandaged arm and tied to the wagon seat. Wahl looked back at him, a smile on his gagged mouth. The young man's mouth drew tight as he glared back at the man, as he thought of Vin and Ezra in the clinic. That's all Wahl's fault, he thought.

"You're comin' with me," JD said sternly. "And don't you try nothin', 'cause I swear I'll shoot you dead. I didn't make no promises to the Judge."

He drew his weapon before he untied Wahl and then dragged him quickly toward the jail. Wahl followed without much resistance. JD passed one of the townspeople on the way.

"Mr. Green," JD said, pausing for a moment. "How'd ya like to give me a hand?"

Jed Green, a shopkeeper with aspirations of greatness, looked at the sheriff and then to the prisoner. "Depends," he replied.

"Come on," JD said, pulling the prisoner along with him. Green followed suspiciously.

Wahl hummed through his gag as he was dragged into the jail and laughed as he was shoved into the cell. When the door slammed behind him he looked back at the sheriff in surprise. The prisoner held his bound hands out in front of him, careful not to lift his damaged arm too high. He cocked his head, waiting to be untied.

"Ya just gotta keep an eye on him," JD said to Green. "Just for a bit."

Green chewed his lip and looked skeptically at Wahl. "What if he tries to gets out? What am I s'pose to do anyhow?"

JD sighed, exasperated. "Just give me a few minutes, okay? I gotta check on my friends."

"Somepin wrong?" Green asked.

JD nodded. "Yeah, they got Vin and Ezra in the clinic. They got hurt pretty bad. I just wanna go see 'em. Make sure they're okay. Look, I'm not even gonna untie him. You just gotta stand here and make sure he don't get antsy."

"Mr. Tanner and Mr. Standish got themselves hurt?" Green asked, concerned. "This fella here got anything to do with that?"

JD shrugged. "Don't know the whole story. I just gotta go check on 'em. You'll help me, won't you?" The sheriff handed Green one of his cherished Colts. "This might make ya feel better about it."

Green nodded, taking pistol and holding it on Wahl. The prisoner lowered his tied hands and backed toward the bed at the rear of the cell. "You go on there, Mr. Dunne. You make sure those two men are fine. I'll keep an eye on things here."

JD smiled nervously. "Don't you go shootin' him while I'm gone."

Part 15:

JD burst back into the clinic. Chris, standing between the two beds, turned to him and gave him a look.

"It's okay," JD said. "I got 'im locked in the cell. Had Pat and Eddie from the livery come for the horses, too."

"Don't you leave Wahl alone," Chris ordered darkly.

"He's not," JD replied. "I got Jed Green lookin' after him. 'Sides, I figured I'd leave him tied for a while."

"You left him tied up after you locked him in?" Buck asked.

JD nodded. "Figured it would be easier. I wanted to get back."

"Leave the gag on?" Josiah asked.

JD again nodded and grinned. "Didn't think he had anything worth listenin' to." He looked to Ezra and fell silent. Finally he asked, "Why's he breathing like that?"

"Snake venom shuts down a victim's body," Nathan said straightforwardly. "Tries to suffocate it."

JD squatted down beside Ezra's bed and put his hand on the gambler's raised shoulder. They had propped him up on a pile of pillows to help him breathe easier. "He's gonna be all right, ain't he?"

"Certainly," Ezra said between gasps. He opened his eyes again and looked up toward JD. "No worry." And then after a minute, "Chaucer?" His voice caught as he said the name.

"He's fine, Ezra. I brought him right to the livery and brushed him down myself," JD said quickly. "He's just fine."

Ezra smiled as he wheezed, "Good...'fraid I'd. .... killed 'im."

JD looked helplessly to Nathan who did not look very reassuring.

"Come on," Buck said to JD. "You can't leave Jed in charge of that Wahl. Jed's as jumpy as a cat. Let's you and I take the watch." Buck sighed as he looked at his two friends. He would rather stay. He didn't want to leave, but there were too many people in the room already and there was a job that needed to be done.

Buck stood beside Vin for a moment. Their eyes met and the tracker nodded. Vin was hurt, but it looked like he was going to be just fine. Buck turned to the other bed.

"Ez," Wilmington called.

"Buck," Standish managed.

Buck didn't know what to say. He gently lay his hand on the man's chest, feeling it rising and falling and hearing that struggle that went with that motion. "You keep going, okay? Don't cha give up."

"Nevah," Ezra promised.

Buck looked down at the young sheriff, still beside Ezra's bed. JD looked so confused and anguished.

"Come on," Buck said again.

JD stood slowly, reluctantly leaving Ezra's side. He walked toward the cot. Josiah was helping Vin sit up while Nathan fed him a cup of tea. "Vin?"

"Yeah, JD," Tanner weakly said between sips.

"You're okay, aren't cha?"

The tracker smiled reassuringly. "I'll be fine," he said and glanced sidelong at Ezra. "We'll both be okay," he asked hopefully.

JD nodded and let Buck lead him out of the clinic.

Nathan tended to Vin, making sure he was comfortable. The bandage was still clean and the wound hadn't reopened. A slight fever had set in, but the willow bark tea would help with that. Jackson wished he had something similar to give to his other patient.

Nathan had never personally tended to a victim of snakebite before, but he had heard about it from the other stretcher-bearers during the war. In the evenings, when they had sat around the campfire, talking about things they had seen, snakebite would eventually come up. It was always a gruesome subject.

What Nathan had heard wasn't promising. The various cures seemed to have little effect. Spurge seemed to help in some cases. Alcohol killed. It seemed to boil down to one thing. The patient either lived or died. If the snake had fed recently, thus depleting its venom, then there was hope. If the snake were hungry, then, Ezra would probably die.

Nathan sighed, hoping for a well-fed viper. He turned to Vin. "How ya feelin'?"

"Like hell," Vin replied. He rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand. "Nate, what ya put in that punch?"

"Something for the fever," Nathan explained.

"Yeah, I bet ya just want me asleep. Can't stand this place." He looked toward Ezra and sighed. "How'd it happen? How'd he get bit?"

"My fault," Chris said soberly.

"Why?" Vin asked with a yawn, "You bite him?"

"Pretty near," Chris replied.

"Exaggera...tion," Ezra mumbled.

Vin looked to Chris and asked, "He went to get help for me?"

Chris nodded in response.

Vin looked worried as he gazed at the gambler. "You hang in there, Ez."

"'Course," was the labored reply.

Vin was beginning to drift off, looking sleepily around the room. "I think I'll get me some shut-eye," Vin said to no one in particular as he closed his eyes.

Nathan watched as Vin fell asleep and then looked again toward Ezra. He had wound his hands into the sheets and was tugging uselessly at the cloth. Nathan took his pulse again - too damn fast.

Nathan spoke quietly, "I'm gonna have to change the dressing, Ezra. You up to it?"

Ezra's unfocused eyes opened and tried to find the healer. "Necessary?" he gasped.

"Yeah, 'fraid so," Nathan said. "We can't let this get infected, Ezra. Snakebites go putrid real easy if they don't get tended right." He waited. Ezra blinked and nodded weakly.

"Okay, hang on just a minute," Nathan said, grabbing the necessary supplies and set them down on the bedside table. The healer looked to Chris and Josiah, saying, "You two are gonna have to hold him still."

The precaution wasn't necessary this time, because Ezra was almost rigid during the procedure. Chris watched as Ezra dug his hands deeper into the sheets. Chris abandoned trying to weigh him down, and unburied Ezra's hand.

Ezra gasping increased in speed. Nathan worked hurriedly to clean the wound and reapply a new plaster of spurge. Chris could see the healer was desperate to perform this act as quickly as possible.

"Ezra...Ezra," Chris said, using his free hand to smooth the hair away from the stricken man's forehead. "Easy now, he's almost done. You gotta calm yourself down."

Ezra's tearing eyes opened and tried to fix on him before they closed again.

"It's all right, son," Josiah crooned. "Try to breathe deeply."

"Tryin'," Ezra gasped out desperately, breathing far too quickly. "Sorry."

Nathan grimaced. "Ezra, it's not your fault," he said as he worked. "It's the poison. It makes you feel all panicky. Just try, okay? You gotta slow it down. Concentrate."

"Tryin'," Ezra wheezed again.

"You're doin' a good job, a real good job," Nathan encouraged as Ezra panted in pain. Ezra was going to hyperventilate if he didn't stop it. That was the last thing Ezra needed. Damn it, Nathan thought, why do I always end up hurting people when all I want to do was help them?

"Slower, Ez, slower," Nathan said soothingly. Once he had tied off the bandage again, he announced, "It's over, Ezra. I'm done." Ezra immediately released the hands that held him and wound his own back into the sheets and started to tremble.

"I'm sorry I had to do that, Ezra," Nathan said solemnly. He sadly noted Ezra's increased pallor. His face was almost gray.

Nathan stood silently, knowing that there was nothing more he could do. He felt so helpless, knowing that they would just have to wait it out, see if Ezra survived. God, he thought, I should've just let him be. His chances of gettin' through this are pretty slim. Why'd I have to have to put 'im through that cleaning?

He looked between Chris and Josiah and stated, "You two should get some rest. I'm gonna need someone to spell me later on. I was up most of last night with the Kramer baby. I won't be able to make it all the way through this one."

Josiah stood and said, "I'll be back at midnight." He knew that Chris wouldn't be leaving. He paused, placing his hand on Ezra's shoulder. He tried to smile reassuringly, even though the man's eyes weren't open. "I'll be back, Ezra. Stay with us, okay?" Ezra nodded once in response.

Nathan waited for the preacher to go and then said, "Chris, you really need some rest."

Chris didn't answer. He pulled the gambler's grasping hand back out of the sheets and held it. Ezra was still trembling, but he was quieting as he concentrated on breathing as slowly and deeply as possible. Chris watched as Standish struggled with the difficult task until finally, he blurted, "Why? Why didn't you tell me?"

Ezra wearily opened his pain-filled eyes. "Odds," he managed to get out.

Part 16:

Buck tossed a stick of firewood into the wood stove with an angry clang. He glared at the man in the cell.

"Yeah, I'm bettin' they're both dead by now," Wahl was saying. He was rid of his ropes and gag, sitting on the edge of the bed. Buck sorely wished he had left the bindings in place.

"They are not!" JD declared. "They're gonna be fine. That's what Vin said."

Wahl snorted. "Tanner? Yeah, sure, he was half-dead from blood-loss when they brought him in. What's he know?"

"They're gonna be fine," JD stated again. "Nathan knows what he's doin'."

"Didn't look like it," Wahl continued. "He's no doctor. I've never seen a darky doctor before."

"You shut the hell up," Buck growled at the man.

"That gamblin' man's dead for sure. I ain't never seen anyone make it through a snakebite without somebody suckin' out the poison for him. Larabee killed him for sure."

Buck picked up another stick of firewood and threw it at the cell. It hit the bars with a loud "WANG!" and fell to the floor. Wahl laughed again.

"I mean it, you son of a bitch," Buck shouted. "Shut the hell up!"

Wahl didn't move from his place on the bed. He watched the two men carefully. "Larabee made Standish go. Threatened him. Yeah, you'll all be better off if that gamblin' man just did the decent thing and died. Larabee doesn't give a damn."

Buck approached the cell slowly, his eyes glowing. "I told you to shut your mouth."

"You don't know nothin'," JD stated. "Ezra's one of us. He's as important as any one of us."

Wahl shrugged. "You can think what you want, but you sure don't know what's goin' on."

"Yeah, and you are the guy that knows?" Buck asked menacingly.

"I just see what's what, that's all," Wahl said. "I know about folks like that gamblin' man. He and me are a lot alike."

"You're nothin' like him," JD barked.

Part 17:

The hours passed with excruciating slowness. Vin slept deeply under the influence of the drugged tea. Nathan checked him often for fever and found him under its mild influence.

Chris sat beside Standish and watched him. Ezra's breathing continue to worsen, as he clutched at the sheets with one hand and clung onto Chris with the other. Soon, Chris realized that he was the one hanging on, as Ezra's hand became grew lax. The gaps between breaths frightened the gunslinger and he found himself shaking the gam from time to time, afraid that he had stopped breathing.

"Don't you dare give up on me," Chris muttered to the tormented Standish.

Ezra opened his unfocused and agonized eyes, searched for a moment, and then closed them again.

Chris looked to Nathan and asked, "Isn't there anything you can give him for the pain?"

Nathan shook his head. "He's got too much poison in him right now. That venom is trying to shut him down. Any kind of sedative would kill him."

"If he only told me," Chris sighed. "If only I hadn't been so damn mad at him."

Nathan sat down across from Chris and questioned, "How long were you separated during the gunfight?" Chris had related their ill-fated journey to him early that evening. Chris had figured that the snake's attack must have happened when Ezra dismounted and disappeared for a short time.

"Ten, fifteen minutes before we got to Wahl again," Chris replied.

Nathan carefully wiped down Ezra's face and chest again. He wasn't sweating as much, but that was probably due to dehydration now. The sheets were soaked with perspiration. They'd managed to get a little water into him, but he'd choked often as he tried to breathe and drink at the same time.

"It would’ve been too late by then anyway," Nathan said softly.

"I was worked up about Vin and that damn Wahl. I didn't even notice he was hurt."

Nathan sighed. "I hear the strike hurts like hell, but after that, it isn't too bad right afterward. Not until the poison really gets workin'. Shouldn't 'ave bled too much to start. Depending on how he was standing, you wouldn't have seen it." He watched Ezra's face as he said, "And we all know how good Ezra is at hiding things." He saw Ezra try to laugh.

"He wanted to stay put," Chris said. "If I kept him still, he wouldn't be in this bad of shape. I made him go."

He watched as Ezra struggled to open his eyes again. "Odds," Ezra gasped out.

"No more talking," Nathan said for the umpteenth time. He shook his head when he saw Ezra attempt a grin. "Damn fool, just stay still."

"I am," Ezra returned with difficulty. Chris frowned, remembering how irritated he was seeing the gambler smile this morning. Damn him for trying to reassure me, Chris thought, getting angry with Ezra all over again.

The door opened slowly and Josiah entered. He took a moment to appraise the situation before he spoke. "How're they doin'?"

"Fine," Ezra replied weakly, his voice so soft now they could barely hear it.

The preacher sighed. "Nathan?" he asked.

The healer sighed. "He's too damn stubborn to give up."

Josiah said, "Brother Nate, you look tired."

Nathan didn't say anything immediately. He just stared off into nothing. "I am tired," he admitted.

"It's time you got some rest," Josiah said. "I'll take care of things."

Nathan didn't want to leave Vin and Ezra now, but he knew that they would not be alone. There was nothing they could do but wait and he knew that he would be awakened if something did happen. He trusted Josiah enough to take care of the two patients.

"Thanks," Nathan said as he grabbed his bedroll off a shelf and headed to the porch. "Chris, you should get some sleep, too."

Chris shook Ezra again when the pause between breaths became too long. Ezra looked up toward him and smiled reassuringly before letting his eyelids fall.

"There's no rest for the wicked," Chris said aloud.

"Will you be okay for a minute?" Josiah asked Chris as he started to follow Nathan out the door. "I just wanna talk to Nate for a bit. Find out what I need to know." When Chris nodded, Josiah left the room, closing the door behind him.

The night was clear and mild. Nathan unfurled out his bedroll tiredly on the balcony and looked up at Josiah. "If Vin wakes, give him some more of that tea I have on the wood stove. Keep a watch on that fever."

"'Course," Josiah replied.

"If the fever goes up, wake me."

Josiah nodded.

"Ezra will probably get worse," Nathan said reluctantly as he pulled off his boots. "He's gonna keep tryin' but his strength is just gonna give out on him. Don't take your eyes off of him."

"Chris and I will take care of Ezra. You can count on that."

Nathan climbed into bedroll and looked out into the night. "If he stops breathing..."

"...Shake him," Josiah completed.

"Slap him, hit him in that leg if you need to, just get him goin' again." Nathan didn't look at Josiah as he talked. "Wake me if it gets bad."

"I will," Josiah assured the healer.

"Wish there was something I could do," Nathan whispered, lying on his back.

"You have," Josiah responded. "You've done a whole lot for 'em."

Nathan rubbed his tired eyes. "I just can't stay up any longer."

"I'll take care of things," the preacher said. "You can't count on me."

"I know. Thank you." Nathan yawned. "And watch Chris. He's..." he started and closed his eyes.

Josiah waited for the sentence to complete, then realized that Nathan had fallen asleep.

Part 18:

Chris watched Nathan and Josiah leave the room. Once the door closed, he returned his attention to Ezra. He held tightly onto Ezra's hand, as if he could hold him back from death.

Chris thought again about what had happened: The McCannons and Wahl and all.

It must have been a horrible thing to find, the gunslinger thought. Ezra had told him briefly about the incident and Chris had done his best to not think about it, but now, he turned it over in his mind. What would it have been like to return later than you planned, to find the murdered bodies of a family, to find parents and children dead, to find them too late? What had been going through Ezra's mind when he found them? Chris could imagine it -- hell, didn't have to imagine it; he'd done it.

When Sarah and Adam were murdered, Chris's guilt almost killed him. If he'd only been there, if he'd only returned sooner. So much guilt, it had nearly consumed him. If it weren't for Buck, he would have been lost to it. He remembered those days as a great blackness in his life. He dealt with it with anger and drink until Buck was able to pull him back into the world of the living.

Guilt was like a snake in the grass, deadly and deceitful, devious and dangerous. It attacked without warning. It poisoned a man’s soul.

Chris watched Ezra struggle and knew that Ezra must have suffered similarly, and remained silent. "You gotta talk to me, Ezra," Chris muttered. "You're so good at hiding things, how am I s'pose to know?" Ezra's face didn't change, he didn't even try to speak this time.

Chris frowned. "I should've. Sometimes I just get blindsided by things and I don't notice what's important."

Chris continued, "I'm always here for you, all of us are." Chris had lived for years with that horrible guilt hanging over him. But what could he have done then? What could Ezra have done?

Ezra paused again in his breathing and Chris shook him. "Please," Chris said, and sighed gratefully as the man drew in another breath.

He remembered how Ezra did not attend the funeral for the McCannons. Probably didn't think he deserved to be there, the gunslinger thought, probably thought he was the cause of all of it.

He leaned over Ezra and whispered, "It wasn't your fault. Nobody blames you. Nobody except you." He watched Ezra's face, trying to see if he had been heard. Chris spoke louder. "You couldn't 'ave stopped it. You aren't the one to blame. Do you hear me? Ezra?"

He waited, hoping to see some sign, but saw nothing.

"I'm gonna say it again, to make sure you know."

Part 19:

It hurt. Never in his life had Ezra known such hurt. The pain was incredible, coursing through him. Every inch of his body burned, ached, pounded with pain. He'd have to ignore that. Have to concentrate. Have to breathe. He was sticky with sweat. That wasn't important. Have to breathe. So very tired. When did breathing become so tiring? Keep breathing. Don't stop.

It was so very strange to think about breathing. Breath in, breath out, in and out. He tried to imagine a bellows at a forge, opening and closing, inflating and deflating. A concertina, a pump organ, anything. He had to think of the muscles and how they must move to make this work. It was so hard. He was so very tired.

His head pounded to the beat of his racing heart. Slow down, he thought, must slow down. Deep, breathe deeply. Have to keep trying. Mustn't give up. Never give up.

Why not?

It would be easier than fighting this. It would be so easy to stop.

What was the point anyway? What good had he done in all of this? He had done nothing to save the McCannons, had let them slip away. It would be so easy to slip away with them. If he had only been able to do something to save them, if he had only come earlier, if he hadn't stayed so long in the saloon. He should have known. He should have done something. Instead, he let them die.

Something held him. He knew the others were nearby. He couldn't hear them clearly anymore. The only sounds the rushing in his ears: the pounding of his heart, the rasping draw of breath. Was Nathan beside him? Josiah, he remembered hearing Josiah ... and Chris. Where was Vin? He couldn't remember. Vin?

Oh God, what of Vin? He struggled, trying to remember. Vin? No...no...no. Did he fail Vin? He had tried so hard.

Not Vin, too.

No!

Something was shaking him. Oh yes, breathe... must breathe. It was so hard.

Chris was there. Couldn't give up. But it would be so easy.

He heard Chris say something to him and tried to understand, but it was so hard now, so very hard. It was just a muffled sound. He tried to understand the words as they repeated.

Part 20:

Josiah returned to the clinic to find Chris hunched over Ezra, talking to him. He stood for a moment in the doorway and then crossed room. He checked on Vin before he took the vacant seat across from Chris.

The gunslinger grimaced sadly and said, "I don't think he can hear us anymore."

Josiah picked up Ezra's free hand and squeezed it. He smiled when he felt a weak response. "He's still fighting."

"Don't stop!" Chris ordered. "Never give up."

The two sat silently for several minutes before Josiah said, "I stopped by the jail on the way over. That Wahl sure is a piece of work."

"An irritating son of a bitch," Chris said.

"Funny, I thought he only had one black-eye when we brought him in."

Chris shook his head, wondering what had happened in the jail. He'd have to have a conversation with Buck and JD. "That man just has a talent for driving people to distraction. Wish I had figured him out as early as Ezra did. Maybe he wouldn't be in this fix now if I had."

"You carry an awful large burden with you," Josiah declared.

"I'm responsible for my men," Chris said. "I should've been watching out for him. How could I miss the fact that he was hurt?"

"He's an ornery cuss," Josiah said with a smile. "Only let's people know what he wants 'em to know."

The two men watched as the third shuddered, trying to draw in enough air. "He's not going to get any rest is he?" Josiah said softly.

"He hasn't complained at all," Chris sighed. "He must be in a world of hurt."

Josiah nodded. "He does what he wants to do, there is no doubt about that."

"I could've done something," Chris muttered.

"He didn't tell you."

"Because I wouldn't let him." Chris shook his head sharply. "God, I was layin' into him every second of the day." Chris sighed and continued, "I could've gotten some of the poison out of him. Could've kept him still. I sent him off on a horse!"

Chris pressed Ezra's hand tightly. "Don't give up. Don't you dare think of it."

Josiah sighed. "The two of you are like oil and water."

"We just don't mix," Chris concluded.

"Thing is, oil and water got a lot in common." Chris looked up at Josiah's comment but said nothing. He returned his attention to Ezra, watching him like a hawk.

Part 21:

Breathe... breathe... breathe... he thought.

Where am I? What happened? Why's it so hard...to breathe?

Keep going, keep trying... so hard...breathe.

Don't give up... breathe!

Why?...breathe...

So hard...breathe...

So tired...oh, so tired... breathe...

Don't give up... breathe...

Breathe...

Never give up.

Part 22:

Josiah watched Chris slump as time passed. The leader of the Seven was making a valiant effort, but the long day was taking its toll. Slowly, the man drooped until he bent over in his chair. His head lowered until it lay on the bed against Ezra, effectively trapping both of their hands.

Josiah slowly released Ezra's other hand and lay it carefully at the Ezra's side before he walked around the bed to tend to Chris. He sat Larabee back in his chair. It took some effort to get Chris to release his grip on Ezra, but the preacher managed it after some coaxing and use of superior strength.

He moved Chris off the chair and onto the floor, trying to make him as comfortable as possible. He found a blanket and threw it over his friend. He took a moment to check on Vin again, who slept easily enough, before he took his seat again beside the bed.

Josiah picked up Ezra's hand and held it tightly, as he listened to the man struggle. He's trying so hard, Josiah thought as he watched Ezra. Every breath seemed to rattle him to the core, seemed to sap him of whatever strength he still had.

"Please, Lord," the preacher prayed softly. "Take pity upon a poor soul that only wanted to help another. Have mercy on a man who doesn't even know his own worth. Help our brother. Bring him back to us. He's got so much good in him that he doesn't even know about. Let him come back and maybe he'll have a chance to try it out. He deserves it. I know you and I have had our differences, and maybe I don't have much of a right to ask, but I'm askin'. I'd be mightily obliged to you."

Part 23:

Chris woke with a start. He didn't know when he had fallen asleep, he was only aware of the near silence that invaded his senses. He no longer heard Ezra's ragged breathing. He jerked up his head in alarm and staggered to his feet. Somehow he had found himself on the floor, with a blanket over him. He tossed the blanket aside.

"Easy, Chris," Josiah rumbled, as Chris made his panicked way toward him and the bed.

"Is he...?" Chris started, not able to complete the thought. He looked down at Ezra, who was no longer struggling.

"...Asleep," Josiah completed the sentence. "His breathing evened out a while back. I had Nathan check him. Looks like he's over the worst."

"Thank God," Chris murmured, watching the sleeping man. Ezra was still too damn pale, and his breathing, although quieter, still came with difficulty. Chris lay his hand on Ezra's forehead for a moment, still sweating and warm to the touch. The sheets were soaked from the long night.

"Nathan was able to get him to drink a little water before he was out again," Josiah said. "We'll need him to drink some more soon. He sweated about every drop outta himself."

Chris shook his head. "I'm sorry I fell asleep. I didn't want to leave you alone."

Josiah smiled as he looked at his charges. "I haven't been alone. Besides, Buck was here a while back. He had to come in and check on everyone. He was mighty relieved to see Ezra doing better and that Vin was sleeping well. Then I had a visit from JD. Seems that as soon as Buck gave him the word, he had to come and see for himself. The boy was beaming, he was so glad. I think it really got to him to see Ezra struggle so."

Chris nodded, thinking, got to me, too. He moved over toward his other man. Vin still slept relatively peacefully. "Fever hasn't really hit him yet," Josiah explained. "Looks like everyone is going to be all right."

Chris smiled at the preacher. For the first time since Ezra turned up in town with the McCannon's wagon, he actually felt good. The loss of the family had stirred up old pains, old doubts. He would have to let the past be the past. For now he would be happy that his present family was still in one piece.

Part 24:

Ezra slept as best he could. There was so much going on in the room. They were waking him up, trying to make him drink something, asking him questions, harassing him. Someone would move his leg and then say "Sorry, Ezra," when he groaned at the imposition. Nathan changed the bandage again at some point. Damn that hurt. He just wanted to sleep. Why were people always so stunned that he hated to be in this room?

It was a relief to be able to breathe again, breathe without thinking about it, making it his only thought. Thank God that was over.

Someone lifted him up at some point. It was a little painful, but he was held tightly and it was comforting. He hadn't had much of that it his life and felt somewhat embarrassed to be so relaxed by it. He opened his eyes to see Josiah looking down at him. Why did Josiah look so concerned? The preacher smiled and said, "They're just changin' the sheets, Ezra. Thought you'd be more comfortable. It'll just take a minute." And unable to hold his eyes open any longer, he pressed his head against Josiah's chest and fell back to sleep.

He dreamed as he drifted off. He dreamed of that morning, only a week or so ago. The children were still alive, and laughing. Their mother looked on with a loving fierceness. The father was there too, standing over his family. They were so happy. The five of them looked at him, and waved and smiled without a hint of accusation before they faded away. He watched them go, knowing that he could do nothing to hold them back.

He was sorry, but there was nothing he could do. He would have to let them go. It wasn't his fault and he had done everything he could.

Someone was talking near him. He strained to recognize the voice and realized it was Vin.

Vin!

He smiled to himself. He'd managed it. He'd won! The loss of the McCannons would always be a hole in his life, but at least he had managed to save Vin. That was definitely worth something.

Part 25:

Morning dawned, clear and pale. Once they had changed the bed and settled Ezra again, Josiah went off to the jail to relieve Buck and JD. The two lawmen struggled off to bed, glad to be away from Wahl. After a short nap, Buck returned to relieve Josiah and the preacher finally had a chance to sleep. JD would be back to release Buck that afternoon.

Vin awoke at noon, complaining about being kept in the clinic, making unheeded demands to leave. The tracker was still weak from blood loss and chasing a low-grade fever. There was no sign of infection, but he would have to remain in bed for a week if his wound were to heal properly. Vin spent the afternoon keeping an eye on Ezra, waiting for him to awaken.

Nathan and Chris remained at the clinic, waiting as well. JD, Buck and Josiah all stopped by at various times to check on the occupants of the small room. They were thankful to see Vin awake, and anxious to see some improvement in Ezra, who continued to sleep like the dead.

Ezra was finally breathing normally. He had to be strongly coaxed to wake enough for Nathan to force some herb-laced liquids into him. Ezra would partially open his eyes, drink what was offered, and little else.

It was nearly evening when Nathan was finally able to fully rouse him. Ezra looked at the healer groggily, but accepted the warm water despite the offensive herbs floating about in the liquid.

"How ya feelin'?" Nathan asked.

"I feel as if I'd been bitten by a snake," Ezra grumbled. "I thought you were going to provide me with water, not another of your noxious concoctions."

"Well, you must be feeling better now that you're back to complaining," Nathan said as he checked the dressing, he watched for the wince that crossed Ezra's countenance. "Still hurts?"

"Like the devil," Ezra replied. "My entire body aches lamentably."

"How's the chest?"

Ezra sighed. "Still a bit tight perhaps, but better -- significantly."

"And your head?"

"The headache has fled. Also, my vision seems to have cleared. I was growing weary of seeing so many of you." Ezra sat back slowly against his pillows, tired from exertion of sitting up.

"Hey, Ez," Vin said from his bed. "It's good to see ya feeling better."

"That is a sentiment that I share with you, Mr. Tanner," Ezra said quietly. "I take it that Mr. Jackson has promised you an excellent recovery?"

"He won't let me leave," Tanner responded with a frown.

Ezra turned his head to see Chris leaning against the wall. "Has Mr. Larabee been with us throughout our trials?"

"Yeah," Vin said, "I told him to haul on outta here, but he said he wasn't goin'."

"He's rather stubborn," Ezra said with a nod. He was well aware that it was improper to speak about someone in the third-person while they were in the room with you, but Ezra had put up with that himself all night.

He continued, "Mr. Larabee does have a way of taking on more guilt than is due to him."

"Ezra," Chris said. "How the hell do you think I should feel? I sent you away."

"The odds, Mr. Larabee, demanded the outcome."

"And what's that supposed to mean?"

"What exactly would have happened if I had remained with you at Falling Cross?" Ezra tilted his head at the man. "Who would've sought assistance? Certainly, you couldn't have gone. You wouldn't have left Mr. Tanner and myself alone, injured. No, you are far too noble for something that sensible. I obviously couldn't have tended Mr. Tanner nor watched over our prisoner for very long. Who else was available to go for help? Mr. Tanner was incapacitated. Mr. Wahl? That might've proven interesting."

"You should've told me."

"And you would've insisted that I remain, would've never let me go. I realized that I had perhaps enough time in me to reach Four Corners. It was my decision. If I hadn't gone, both Mr. Tanner and I would be quite dead by now. And you, Mr. Larabee, would be in a well of guilt. As it was, I had to listen to you go on about this all night, without the ability to explain myself. That, I believe, is punishment enough for my part in this fiasco. The direction I chose was the only one to produce any appreciable outcome. The odds demanded it. It was a sound gamble." Ezra finished breathlessly.

"Let him get his wind back and he never shuts up," Vin said with a laugh.

"Never pull that sort of crap again," Chris ordered, his voice fierce. After a moment, he added, "What would we have done if we lost you?"

"Perhaps you could keep Mr. Wahl about for a time. I'm certain that his taunting would have done something to relieve the loss."

"Wahl is a snake, Ezra," Chris stated.

"An interesting analogy, all things considered," Standish stated. "Especially since you said the same about me most recently."

Chris paused, looking stuck. "Ezra, I want to..." he started.

Ezra wearily raised a hand. "Please, Mr. Larabee. Let us place the blame for this incident squarely on Mr. Wahl and leave it at that. Even the viper was less to blame than he, as I was the one who stepped on it." Ezra was obviously tiring, his eyelids drooping and his breath become labored again. "Wahl is the only one to blame," Ezra said the words distinctly as he looked up to Larabee.

"Ya had us worried," Chris said, meeting Ezra's gaze.

Ezra smiled. "Why, Mr. Larabee, certainly you didn't think I would run out on you? Only the worst possible reprobate would do such a thing."

Ezra paused for a moment, waiting to catch his breath, and then said, "I seem to remember hearing something about Mr. Wahl receiving a black-eye."

"Two of 'em actually," Vin said with a grin.

Ezra looked puzzled and Vin continued, "He got himself another one last night."

"While incarcerated by our Mr. Dunne and Mr. Wilmington? Well, I can understand Mr. Wilmington losing his temper..."

"It was JD," Nathan corrected.

"Mr. Dunne?" Ezra asked, his voice betraying surprise, but he let the matter fall. "But you, Mr. Larabee? What did Mr. Wahl do to deserve such treatment? We were given strict orders by Judge Travis."

"Something he said," Chris replied.

"He does have a way with words," Ezra said with difficulty, finding himself starting to gasp again.

"Enough," Nathan said. "Let him rest." He laid his hand on Ezra's forehead and frowned.

Ezra groaned theatrically. "This is only due to the aggravation caused by Mr. Larabee."

Nathan looked up at the gunslinger and said, "Well, you heard that, Chris. It's time you got outta here. You're due to relieve JD now anyway."

Chris opened his mouth to speak again, but received a threatening look from Nathan. Chris shook his head and headed toward the door.

Chris heard Vin say, "Hey, Ezra."

"Mr. Tanner?"

"Thanks, ya know, for goin' for help."

"Don't mention it, Mr. Tanner."

Vin paused. After a moment, he laughed. "A snake, Ezra...I ain't never known anyone who lived through a snakebite. You got a secret or somethin'?"

"Professional courtesy," Ezra replied, closing his eyes.

Vin looked up to Nathan who explained. "He means that snakes don't kill other snakes. It's a professional courtesy."

Chris was going to say something, but noted Nathan's fixed glare and the fact that Ezra was once again asleep. He pulled the door shut behind him and headed down the stairs. I'll have a talk with that stubborn man when he's feelin' better, Chris thought, a nice long talk.

Part 26:

Chris walked along the boardwalk, feeling stiff and tired, but ready to relieve JD at the jail. Judge Travis was scheduled to arrive tomorrow and the trial would be held shortly after that. Larabee would be glad to have this all behind them.

He pushed open the door and saw the young sheriff at the desk, warily watching the cell. Chris glanced at the prisoner and was glad to see Wahl asleep. Thank God. He wouldn't have to listen to the son of a bitch.

"Is Ezra up yet?" JD asked.

"He was for a while. He's asleep again." Chris smiled and said, "I think he's feelin' a whole lot better."

JD grinned widely. "And Vin?"

"Doin' fine. Nathan's gonna have his hands full with the two of 'em."

The gunslinger gaze returned to the cell and the sleeping prisoner. Funny, he no longer felt that seething rage anymore when he looked at this killer. It was more like a dull ache.

Chris chuckled as he noticed Wahl's bruised countenance. "You had to hit 'im?"

"Aw," the young man said, waving his hand in disgust at the prisoner. "If I hadn't done it, Buck would've. Wahl just wouldn't shut up."

Chris nodded. "Had the same problem myself," he responded.

"Kept sayin' the same dumb thing." JD grimaced and stood. "I guess I let it get to me. I know, I shouldn't 'ave hit him, but ...jeez, Chris, I didn't wanna hear it again."

"Yeah, I know. Same with me."

"Kept on goin' on about how he thought Ezra was just like 'im." JD shook his head sharply as he walked about the room. "Couldn't stand it anymore."

Larabee laughed and JD furrowed his brow. "What's so funny 'bout that?" JD asked, annoyed. "He hadn't any right sayin' that. Ezra's nothin' like him." JD nodded at the prisoner. "That Wahl was askin' for it."

Larabee sat down in the chair JD had just vacated and said, "Wahl said the same thing to me. I had the same reaction." He pointed to Wahl. "I got the left eye. The stupid bastard just doesn't know when to shut up."

JD grinned again. "At least I shut him up permanent. He hasn't said a word since I clocked him." Chris shook his head as JD picked up his bowler. "I'm gonna go peek in on Ez and Vin."

Chris nodded. "Go on then."

Once the sheriff had left, Chris leaned back in his chair. He watched the prisoner out of the corner of his eye, but didn't think about him. Wahl could go to hell for all Larabee cared.

Chris' mind wandered as he propped his feet up on the desk, wandered back to another place and time.

He remembered Sarah and Adam. For the longest time, he couldn't have pictured them without pain, couldn't have thought about them without also feeling the horrible guilt over their deaths. But now, for a change, he remembered only them, the woman and boy, his wife and child. He smiled to himself as he gazed out across the room.

THE END