Archive of Our Own

Part 1:

Vin sat with his back against one side of his wagon's bed, watching the morning light slowly take possession of the town. This was always his favorite part of the day, when all was quiet and the world was starting to wake.

The tailgate was open, and his splinted leg rested on the wagon's floor. His left arm was still held in place by a sling, keeping his healing shoulder blade still. His fall from Dolby's Crest was a recent memory and he would remain encumbered by the splints for at least another two weeks. He sighed, glad that -- at least -- he could use his right arm to manage the crutch.

He couldn't wait to be rid of these trappings. Yet, his body gave him constant reminders to behave himself. The leg ached and couldn't hold his weight. His shoulder didn't hurt as long as he kept it still, but if he tried to move his arm free of the sling, bolts of pain ran through his shoulder. It was frustrating to be so tied down, so forced to stay in one place -- damn annoying, too.

He gazed down the street, out of town. The whole world lay out there -- the whole rugged, wild world -- and he was kept from it, caught among the buildings and businesses where he could only hobble about on his one crutch, able to manage the step onto the boardwalk. He was limited to ground level.

It was a miserable way to spend his time, but he knew things could be worse. He could be dead. If Ezra hadn't been with him after his fateful fall, he would have bled to death from that gunshot wound. If he had survived that, and not gone loco with the pain from his broken bones, then Grady's gangs would've gotten him. Yes, if Ezra hadn't been with him, he'd be dead.

Nathan had promised Vin that as long as he didn't put weight on the leg and did nothing foolish, he wouldn't have any lasting problems. Well, Tanner thought, I guess I can hang around town for a bit more if that's the prize. The fear of being forever hindered kept him from being too daring.

The others had done what they could to keep him in good spirits while he had been trapped in the clinic. Buck and JD had visited and were boisterous enough to lift anyone's poor mood. Josiah had been available to talk about anything. Nathan had been a constant presence, tending to him, making certain that his warnings were heeded, and taking care of everything no matter how embarrassing.

Chris had stopped by often, keeping him up to date on what was happening in town. The two remaining members of Grady's gang had been removed from town, returned to Blaire for their trial. Larabee figured that they'd hang for their part in the robbery and subsequent ambush -- but Tanner wasn't so sure. Not everything in life worked out as planned and not every resolution was just. Sometimes, things just got derailed, no matter how hard you tried to keep it all on track. It was inevitable. The trick was in knowing how to put it all back together again.

Ezra had visited him as well, often claiming that he had nothing else better to do. He'd leave as soon as anyone else showed up, but stayed for hours if left alone. Standish had procured a book about Japan and had read to Vin about the samurais and geishas, tea gardens and sugar-cone mountains, common farmers and bejeweled emperors. Delicate watercolor prints illustrated the scenes that Ezra described in his smooth southern tones.

The book had filled Vin with wonder. It enthralled him. Here was a place, strange and exotic -- so very far away, but brought so close by the written word.

The town grew brighter as the sun rose higher. He contemplated lowering himself off the back of his wagon, picking up his crutch and hobbling off to start his day. He had been contemplating it for almost half-hour and decided that he preferred the contemplation to any action at this moment.

A few buildings away, a soft sound was heard. There was a creak of a door and Josiah emerged from the church. The big preacher stretched as he made his way down the boardwalk to the jail, where a lamp illuminated the window. The light had been there since Vin had awakened, signifying that the peacekeeper who took the night watch had ended his rounds and waited out the rest of his shift in the relative comforts of the jail. There'd been some recent trouble with rowdies in the area -- calling for a night watch.

Josiah passed on the opposite side of the street, not noticing him in the dim light. Vin smiled as he watched the big man stretch again, yawning as loud as a mountain lion. Somewhere in town, someone probably was startled from their sleep by the roar. They'd dream of fearsome creatures if they were able to drop back into slumber, not knowing that it was only the gentle-natured preacher passing beneath their window.

Sanchez reached the jail and opened the door. "Good morning, Brother," he called good-naturedly to whomever was inside. "I hope you have the coffee brewin', because I have a powerful need for…" and the door shut before Vin could here any more.

Vin waited, and shortly after Josiah disappeared within, a figure emerged, walking with a quick gait toward him. It was impossible to mistake the shape and movements. The low-crown black hat, the red jacket and the easy grace were clear markers of the town's resident gambler. He held a rectangular object against his side and set his sights on the wagon.

"Mr. Tanner," Era drawled as he drew near.

"Mr. Standish," Vin returned with a nod of his head.

Ezra grinned and leaned against the vehicle. "Vin, it comes to my attention that your convalescence has been to my detriment."

"Yeah? Why you figure that?"

Ezra raised one arm exasperatedly. "I'm just finishing the night shift and have to return to duty in the afternoon. It's insufferable."

"I was wonderin' what you were doin' up so early."

"Early?" Ezra tipped his head. "No, my friend, it's late. Very late."

"Why'd you get two shifts today?"

"Well, we have one member of our staff incapacitated due to injuries incurred in the line of duty," he waved his hand in Vin's direction. "Mr. Wilmington has yet to return from his sojourn to Miss Angela's estate. Mr. Larabee is at his ranch doing Lord knows what. Mr. Dunne is to work tonight. Mr. Sanchez is on the payroll now and Mr. Jackson has made plans to travel to Ridge City."

"You let Nate know that the guys are gone? Maybe he'll stay if you ask."

"He was adamant about his need to meet the train."

"Maybe Buck will be back…"

"Lord," Ezra moaned, straightening and pulling his watch from his waistcoat pocket. "I'm not expecting his return until nigh on evenin' and believe we won't see him for some time after that."

Vin chuckled. "He does like a nice nap afterward."

Ezra shrugged. "At least he has a hobby."

"Chris'll be back soon in any case."

"Unless of course he becomes distracted by mending a fence or some-such."

"Yeah," Vin agreed. "Some-such can be a bit distractin'." It was obvious to Vin that Ezra really wasn't annoyed, but simply jawing away for the enjoyment of having something to jaw about. His casual manner and comfortable stance gave himself away. "You'll probably manage some way or 'nuther."

Ezra sighed long-sufferingly. "Still, I haven't had a chance to go over the Redbird's books. Hopefully I'll find the time between my shifts."

"She's still standin'." Vin nodded to the saloon. "Long as she ain't a'fire or falling to pieces, I don't see a problem."

Ezra snorted. "You know little about running a business."

"Well, pard, we leave that up to you. You're the one who knows about all that. You seem to be doin' a good job of it."

"Everything is going quite well." Ezra's eyes took on a pleased look. "In all honesty, Vin, I never thought I'd find a place such as this. It really is…" he sighed contentedly and pressed one hand against his chest, "…all I had ever hoped for, my dream fulfilled." He gazed toward the Redbird lovingly.

Vin smiled and slapped Ezra on the shoulder. "Well, you deserve it, I reckon."

Ezra turned to Vin. "Nothing would've been accomplished without the help of you and the others. This small victory for me will be a victory for all of you once you start to see the return on your investment. You'll find it to be a pleasant gift."

Vin didn't understand much about investments. All he knew was that he'd given up a wad of money that he'd been saving -- wasn't using it in any case. Nobody had seen any return yet due to the never-ending improvements that Ezra saw fit to make to the saloon. Something always needed to be purchased or ordered or changed.

The result was that the small and dusty tavern had become a bright little showplace for the town. They hadn't seen any dividends, but they had a comfortable spot to relax. It was theirs. Vin felt the pleasant sensation of ownership when he entered the business. This was his, too. He'd never owned property before -- the wagon he lived in had been the largest thing he had ever owned. Now he had a share of the Redbird. That was a mighty fine gift in itself.

"Speaking of gifts," Ezra said. "I wanted you to have this." He held out the book he'd been carrying. "I had the chance to finish the final chapters during the early morning hours in the jail and thought you might want it for your burgeoning library. It's yours."

It was the book they had read in the clinic, much larger than Travels in South America. Ezra had given him that pocket-sized book over five months ago and Vin took it with him when he went out on the trail. It was his one book and he'd pushed himself to be able to read the whole thing. Recently, he'd had a great deal of time to sit around and do nothing, and now knew it front-to-back. He liked the pictures best and was still a bit confused by some of the words.

He’d always dreamed of being able to read. Mary Travis had been the one to help him begin his education. She had given him the foundation and the abilities he needed, and he'd always be extremely grateful to her for that. The book that Ezra had given him, the one about South America, wasn't a children's book. No, it was written for someone with 'education'. His mastery of it made him feel smart.

The book that Ezra held now was thick and wide. It was leather bound, gilded along the edges, with hand colored plates covered with velum. The words "Discovering Japan" were struck into the leather and embossed in gold. This book had never been thrown into a saddlebag or sat on, or thumbed through with filthy hands. This book was meant to be treated with dignity.

"Ay, Ez," Vin said, "You should keep it. It'd just get all messed up if I had it."

"Nonsense," Ezra replied.

"You seen what happened to the last book you gave me. The pages are comin' loose now. This'd end up the same. It's too nice a thing. You should keep it where it's safe."

"What good is a book if it isn't read? I've finished it and doubt that I'll find reason to read it again."

"You don't want a thing like this stayin' in a wagon."

Ezra reached over Vin and wedged the book into a space along one of the shelves. "It'll do no harm here. It won't even be in the way." He looked skeptical and then added, "If you truly find it a burden, I'll remove it for you."

"Ain't a burden, Ezra," Vin sighed. "It's just too nice is all."

"You enjoyed the experience when I read it, didn't you?"

"Yeah, I liked hearin' about those warriors and all that. Those fellas were pretty exciting."

"The samurais were exceptional." Ezra's eyes sparkled, remembering that section of the book. "Fearless men with incredible moral character."

"They did put up a good fight." Vin looked down the empty street and then grinned sheepishly. "I was thinkin', when you read ‘bout them, that we were somethin' like those samurais -- me, you and all the guys."

Ezra laughed. "Me? The samurais were men of great honor and discipline. They lived by their ’bushido’, that is to say 'The Way of the Warrior.' They prized, if I recall correctly, the following characteristics: loyalty, self-sacrifice, justice, sense of shame, refined manners, purity, modesty, frugality, martial spirit, honor and affection." He smiled and tipped his head. "Now, my manners are exceptional, but the rest are beyond me."

"I don't know ‘bout that," Vin said, mulling over the list that Ezra had ticked off so easily.

"My ‘sense of shame’ is non-existent if you consider my lifestyle. How can a man who bilks another man from his lifesaving be accused of any shame? And ‘justice’ would be discounted for the same reason. I do my very best to avoid justice and keep myself from jail. Neither of these virtues are part of a conman's repertoire. ‘Purity?’ I think we've gone over that one before. ‘Frugality’," he pulled on the lapels of his obviously expensive coat. "I wouldn't even want to consider that particular trait, and one may as well lump in ‘self-sacrifice’ as I loathe to sacrifice my comforts. ‘Modesty’? The modest never wear red. ’Martial spirit’, now that may be somewhat fitting as I'm quite capable in a fight -- but my preference is to avoid such confrontation as it is detrimental to my existence. I would prefer to talk my way out of a fight."

"Which leads me to another point." Standish leaned against the wagon again. "The samurai had no fear of danger. Death was not to be avoided and in fact, they were capable of suicide if they became negligent in any of these virtues." Ezra shook his head. "My friend, I have a healthy respect for danger and avoid death at all costs. Vice is preferable to hara-kiri."

"You left off a couple of 'em," Vin commented.

"Pardon?"

"When you went over all those things you listed, you forgot ‘honor’ and ‘loyalty’."

Ezra smiled, revealing his gold tooth. "Mr. Tanner, if you've perceived either of those qualities in me, then I'm a far better con artist than I thought."

"Yeah, maybe you're not so good as you think. You may be connin' the wrong fella. I'm thinkin' that you're wrong on most of those accounts anyway."

"I believe you need to read more about this subject." Ezra nodded to the book. "This'll give you incentive to use the resource on your own for research."

Vin looked at the book on his shelf, shoved among the blankets, tins and cooking utensils. It didn't fit in with the rest of his kit, but he had to admit that it was a handsome thing. "I'll take good care of this one," Vin promised. "Won't come to no harm. Won't get in as bad shape as the other one at least."

Ezra shrugged. "It's yours to do with as you please. I won't police it."

"Thanks, Ezra. It's a mighty fine thing." Vin extended his one good arm and Ezra smiled as they shook hands.

"You're welcome, Vin. I hope you enjoy it."

"You can come borrow it if you get the notion. Or maybe come by and I'll tell you a thing or two 'bout those samurais, once I've had a chance to go through it all. I don't think you got it remembered rightly."

"Perhaps you'll teach me a thing or two."

"I aim to," Vin returned. He leaned forward and asked, "You think you can give me a bit of help? Gotta get movin' sooner or later and the first step is kinda hard."

"Certainly," Ezra replied, offering an arm. He carefully helped Tanner to slip off of his perch and land softly on his one good leg. "Careful, my friend," he said, steadying Tanner until he was sure that Vin could manage it himself.

"Can ya get my coat for me? Bit of a chill in the air."

Ezra grimaced as he picked up the buckskin jacket, remembering that the last time he had held it, he was manhandling a dead body into the sleeves. "I can't believe that you didn’t allow me to have this properly cleaned."

"You'd ruin it," Vin replied, pulling on the jacket. "I got it worked in just the way I like it. You get it cleaned all nice and it'd take me months to make proper again." He poked at the arm where his blood had discolored it. “This ain’t hardly anything.”

"But after being used on that body…"

"Hell, Ezra," Vin cut in. "Marley wasn't even gettin' puffy when you stole it from me. Didn't do nothin' to the jacket. I just let it air a bit. The stink went right out of it."

"Still," Ezra said, grimacing. "I would prefer to replace it, or have it cleaned."

Vin snagged his crutch and worked it under his one good arm. "I like it this way. Gives it character." He laughed at Ezra's pained expression. He took a step, ensuring that his leg was going to hold him. Ezra stayed beside him, ready to offer help if necessary.

After taking a few test steps, Vin glanced down the street. "Think Shaffer's up?"

Ezra nodded. "His front room was lit when I passed through on my rounds earlier. I spoke with him briefly. He's still trying to decide on what to pack and what to sell before his imminent departure."

"I think I'll go on down and see if he's set a price for that rifle."

"Mr. Tanner, don't you have enough firearms?"

Vin snorted as he stepped forward, rolling along onto his good foot again. "Hell, Ez, you got yourself a walking arsenal. I'm just tryin' to keep up."

Ezra patted his Remington. "That's one thing that I have in common with our friends, the samurai, I am prepared for anything."

"You talk to Shaffer 'bout that piano?"

Ezra stiffened. "Piano?" he responded innocently.

"Yeah, that big ol' piano with all the fat baby angels and curly-things on it."

"It is exquisitely carved -- a work of art. It's also of the finest quality and in perfect tune. How'd you know about it?"

"Me and Buck seen you droolin' over it. You got a price fixed yet?"

Ah yes, Ezra thought. He could remember catching sight of the two lawmen through Shaffer's parlor window. He recalled that they both had been making faces while Shaffer's back was turned; he had tried his best to ignore their antics. When the homeowner faced them, they had to work rather hard at looking inconspicuous. Vin had been in a wheelchair still, and Buck had nearly shoved him off the boardwalk as they tried to get out of view.

"My last offer was $300, a substantial sum for this part of the world. But, I'm afraid that he may try to press as far as $400. If I'm lucky, I may be able to reach an agreement of…" he squinted in contemplation, "...$350 -- perhaps $380 at the most. It'll clean out the Redbird's ready cash. If he insists on $400, I'm not certain where I will find the remainder, what with bills coming due at the end of the week. I'm hoping it doesn't reach that amount."

"You'll find a way to make it work," Vin returned knowingly. "Might have to dig into your own personal stash."

Ezra looked aghast. "God forbid!" he declared. He gave Vin a slap on his good shoulder, holding him steady from the blow with his other arm. He smiled. "It's good to see you up and around again, Vin. You'll be free of these annoyances in no time whatsoever. You'll see."

"Sooner the better," Vin responded.

"It's disheartening, I know, but you'll make it though. Have faith. Let me know if you need anything, and I'll see to it." Standish nodded and continued on his way. "I hope you enjoy the book, and remember, it's yours to do with as you please. Don't worry about it at all."

Vin recalled another part of the bushido that Ezra neglected to contest – ‘affection’.

Part 2:

Nathan squared his shoulders. Don't let him railroad you, he declared to himself. Don't let him sweet talk or brow beat you. Don't let him use his sleight of hand or misdirection or any such thing. You can do this.

He pushed open the bat-wing doors of the Redbird and strode inside. The saloon was quiet. The morning crowd had gone and wouldn't return until mid-day. The tavern was empty, except for Ezra, who sat at his usual table, his hat beside him, a large mug of coffee at his hand, an inkstand and a ledger before him. He poised a pen carefully over the inkwell as he ran his eyes down the columns.

This wouldn't be easy, Jackson realized. He prepared for a fight. It'll be like pulling teeth, like taking cubs from a mama-bear, like passing a camel through the eye of a needle.

"Ah, Ezra," Nathan called tentatively as he approached.

"Mr. Jackson," Ezra replied, lifting his gaze. "I take it you're about to commence your journey to Ridge City."

"Yeah, just about."

"Godspeed," Ezra responded. "I hope for your quick return so that I can be relieved of this arduous schedule."

"I won't be that long, Ezra," Nathan sighed in irritation as he settled heavily into a chair. "I'll be back tomorrow afternoon." He sat for a moment, watching Ezra as he did his sums. This wasn't going to be easy. "Ezra, I got to ask a favor," he started. "No, no, I got a request. I got somethin' I need to do. There's somethin' I need from you. I need..." Nathan groaned at his own inability to put his words together.

Ezra looked contemplatively at Nathan as he set down the pen. "Is something wrong, Nathan?"

"I need my money back," Jackson blurted out.

"Your money?"

"The money I sunk into this place. I need it back."

Ezra blinked. "But, Mr. Jackson, surely you realize that the funds you've invested are currently being utilized in…"

"Ezra, you told me that I could pull out any time I wanted. You said when I gave you the money that there was nothing wrong with me getting my $100 back."

"I believe I told you that your investment could be bought out at its current value."

Nathan stiffened. "I need that money, Ezra. Don't tell me that my $100 ain't worth $100 any more just because you spent so much on buying lamps that burned less kerosene."

"…while providing better lighting and commanding a more pleasant appearance," Ezra amended. "I could make you a loan, if you wish, and leave your investment intact. It would be from my own personal…"

"Ezra," Nathan moaned. "I don't want a loan. I don't want to be beholding to you -- to owe you for anything or to be paying interest and all. I just want what's mine -- my money. I know you're makin' money hand over fist here."

Ezra smiled mildly. "I wouldn't use that analogy, but yes, the Redbird remains solvent. But you see, most of the incoming capital is used to continue improving the business. Also, I must pay my employees, purchase liquor and foodstuffs." He rolled his eyes. "There's coal, wood and, yes, kerosene to consider. I've just had the façade repainted and I'm still in need of several objects to complete…"

"Ezra, you'll just keep buying more stuff and nobody's ever gonna get any money back," Nathan said tiredly. "This don't seem like any kind of an investment to me. Isn't a person supposed to get money back if they invest?" He pulled a paper from his shirt pocket. "Here's that contract you had me sign. It says right there that I can get my money back at any time I ask."

"At its current value," Ezra included.

Nathan dropped the paper to the table and sunk his head in his hands. "Don't cheat me, Ezra," he muttered. "You're not supposed to be cheating your friends."

There was a long pause before Ezra responded. Jackson didn't raise his head or see the expressions that crossed Ezra's face. "Mr. Jackson, I assure you that this business venture is entirely on the up-and-up." His voice was very calm and free of any emotion. "If you'll allow me a few more months, I'm certain you'll be pleasantly surprised…"

"I need that money today. I got a package coming in on the train. If I don't pay for it when it gets to Ridge City, it's going back." He sighed and finally raised his head from his hands. Ezra watched him with a serious eye. "It's a surgical kit -- a real good one. The ad said that it's the best you can get for the money. And there's some medical books. I thought I could just make a down-payment, but I got the wire last night saying that they want all the money when the stuff arrives and it's coming on today's train. I got $20 saved up, but it'll be more like $120 total; that's why I need that money -- now."

Ezra responded evenly, "That is an impressive use of capital."

"Don't you see? I can't let them send it back. I've wanted this for so long. The books are from a university class. I'll learn more about healing and doctoring." Jackson stopped speaking for a moment and gathered up his resolve. "I'll be using them for saving lives. You can see how that's more important than a saloon."

Ezra picked up his coffee mug and sipped at it while Nathan regarded his cool behavior. "You can't deny me that money, Ezra," Nathan added.

"No, I deny nothing," Ezra replied. He turned to his ledger again and scrutinized the numbers.

"Ezra," Nathan said exasperatedly. "I'm not going away until you get me that money."

"A moment, please," Ezra responded. "Let me make these last calculations. I want to ensure that you receive the correct amount in return for your investment."

"It was $100. There isn't anything hard about that," Nathan groused as he sat back in his chair. "I need it, Ezra. All of it."

"You shall receive everything due you." Ezra ran his finger along the bottom list of numbers and clucked to himself. "Let me investigate our ready cash supply."

Ezra moved behind the bar to where the safe was imbedded in the floor. He disappeared from sight beneath the bar as Nathan waited. Jackson briefly wondered if Ezra would take this opportunity to take flight. He could easily crawl along the floor and make it to the back door unseen.

He’d get dirty – but he’d also get away – probably a fair trade for the con artist. "You still back there, Ezra?" Nathan quizzed.

"I haven't left, Mr. Jackson," Ezra replied, his voice muffled by the furniture in-between them. "I'm afraid there are some things I cannot run from. I'm simply putting together the proper amount." Ezra returned soon enough, with a handful of bills and a folded paper. He silently counted the amount onto the table into four piles, one smaller than the other three. He raised his eyes to meet Nathan's. His green eyes were indifferent. "Now, if you'll allow me to see your contract again, I'll amend it with the proper verbiage and update my copy as well."

Nathan looked perplexed at the four piles. "Which one of these is mine?"

"All of them," Ezra said off-hand as he dipped the pen into the ink.

"This is more than $100."

"You're quite perceptive. There's $315 total."

"$315?"

"The current value of your investment."

Nathan picked up the four piles, stacking them one on top of the other, and running his thumb along the edge.

Nathan was silent as Ezra finished the amendment, blotted the paper and then flipped it toward him. "Please initial here." He pointed to the bottom of the page, handing him his spare pen.
As Ezra wrote the same information on his copy of the contract, Nathan's eyes scanned the words on the document before him. It said that he'd opted out of his investment and had received the specified sum. He initialed the paper where Ezra indicated. Ezra gave him the other copy and it was initialed as well.

Ezra made his mark on the documents and then said, "You are now free from all financial entanglements with me and the Redbird. Now, if you'll allow me to return to my work," Ezra gestured over the ledger.

"Sure," Nathan nodded. "I'll be on my way then." He stood quickly, carefully folding his document and placing it and the money deep into his pocket. "No hard feelings, right, Ez?"

Again, Ezra smiled. "None whatsoever. This is strictly business."

Nathan nodded and left the saloon, heading toward the livery.

Ezra watched Nathan go, the doors swinging after his departure. He sighed heavily as he opened the ledger again, and picked up his pen and selected the red ink for his next entry.

Part 3:

Ezra walked slowly up the street toward the shortly-to-be vacant house. He paused for a moment, caught in indecision. He was certain he could make this work. Mr. Shaffer had spoken earlier about the need for 'up front' cash, but surely Schaffer would understand the situation and allow him to make payments. The man wanted funds for travel, and the piano was far too large to ship cheaply. Who else could possibly want it? He'd have to take the offer. Ezra could pay him a down payment, and the rest could be offered in installments.

He approached the door with a confident gait, then smiled broadly as he knocked. A stiff-looking man, with prematurely gray hair, answered the door.

"Mr. Shaffer," Ezra said as he removed his hat. "Good day to you. I hope all is going well. Perhaps Dame Fortune has smiled on you, and sales of your extraneous property have been brisk."

"Doin' pretty good," Shaffer responded. "I'm getting close to traveling weight."

"But the piano, I hope, hasn't been snatched up."

"No, not yet," Shaffer looked as if he was hiding something. "Ah, come in."

All right then, Ezra thought as he stepped through the doorway. Let's make this work. "I've come bearing sad news, but perhaps we can come to an agreement regardless."

Shaffer's expression was difficult to gage. "Did you hear already?"

"Hear?" Ezra asked. "Is there something I should know about?"

"Mr. Palmer made an offer." Shaffer smiled meekly.

"Oh," Ezra responded.

"He said he'd pay … $500 for the piano."

Ezra felt his hopes fall through the floor. "$500?" he asked. "$500 is a considerable sum. Are you certain that this was his offer."

Shaffer scowled. "As certain as anything."

Ezra was dumbfounded. "Surely, he wasn't planning on paying you in cash."

"Cash it is," Shaffer replied. "Said he could get it to me by the end of the day and have it picked up tomorrow, but since you had the prior offer, I told him I'd wait 'til your reply." He paused. "If you increase your offer to --$550…" Shaffer shrugged. "I'm certain Mr. Palmer would attempt to best the offer if you came up with anything less."

Ezra said nothing as he considered his options. He had sworn off taking loans from the bank, after the last fiasco concerning the Standish Tavern. The bank considered him a bad risk in any case and probably wouldn't lend him a dime. The Redbird's safe was nearly empty; it would be difficult to meet this week's bills, even if he had a particularly successful weekend. His own personal funds were rather tapped out at the moment. Perhaps there was something he could sell…

"Mr. Standish," Shaffer said matter-of-factly, "Mr. Palmer said he'd bring me the money today and I'm in sore need of it. If you can't make me an offer right now, I'll go with Mr. Palmer. It would be the right business decision in this situation."

Ezra paused. What answer could he give? The Redbird had little more than $65 available, and the sum-total of Mr. Ezra P. Standish's liquid assets amounted to less than $100 at that moment.
$550 -- he recalled the discussion that he'd had with his mother, when he found that his value on this earth equal to $400. It was a belittling and painful bit of knowledge. He had paid her, releasing him from that debt. It still surprised him that his mother had returned it. He wished that he had some of that amount still, but the cash was long gone. Money goes so quickly and is spent in so many ways.

Funny, he thought. The piano has more value than I do.

Well, Ezra, he thought, it's time to lay this particular dream aside. Standish spoke softly, "Please contact Mr. Palmer and let him know that the piano is his."

"Good!" Shaffer nodded emphatically. He was obviously relieved. "Honestly, I prefer it this way. Mr. Palmer will give it a decent home where it'll be seen to properly. He told me that he aims to go courtin' and needed to add some incentives in his house, something to charm a bride. I hear he's got a newfangled clothes washer, too."

"Ah, yes," Ezra responded. "A carrot to dangle."

Shaffer grinned and said, "No offence, Mr. Standish, but it really shouldn't be in a place like yours. A saloon! -- a haven for sinners, drunkards, debauchers and the refuse of this earth. Good God, what was I thinking! I doubt it would have lasted a week there. It deserves a far better home than that. It needs someone genteel to play it. This makes much better sense."

"You're right, sir," Ezra said without any enthusiasm. "Yes, you're quite right at that."

"I thought you were joking the first time you asked." He shook his head merrily. "I was sure you were trying to con me out of it, that you had something planned for it. Maybe you'd lined up someone who'd pay big bucks for it and you'd make out like a king. I'd talked to some of the folks 'round here and they told me to be sure I that had the cash in hand and to count it twice before I let you near it. You can imagine my relief when Mr. Palmer finally came through with a real offer. It really is a laughable situation, isn't it?"

"Yes, amusing." Ezra gazed off toward the parlor.

"Worked out for the best in the end," Shaffer said with a nod.

Standish quietly spoke, "Perhaps you'll let me see it once more before you release custody of it."

Shaffer looked skeptical, but could find nothing wrong with letting the gambler view the merchandise one more time. Standish was, in spite of all appearances, one of the town's regulators. Shaffer would be leaving town in a few days. It made him bold enough to make some comments that he otherwise would have kept silent, but he wanted no trouble. He gestured through the doorway.

Standish nodded formally and proceeded to the piano.

It was a gorgeous creation, made of dark wood, richly carved. Ezra stood a moment in the dim parlor and gazed upon the upright piano. When he had heard that Shaffer was moving east and attempting to empty his household, Standish was one of the first people to inquire about the items he was liquidating.

The piano had belonged to Shaffer's wife, Marie. She was a pretty and lively woman, full of music and laughter. The house had resounded with the piano's lovely tones while she lived there. But a tightness came to her pretty face and a loneliness reached her eyes the longer she lived under Shaffer's roof. The music stopped and she finally left him in the spring, taking nothing more than a carpetbag of clothing. The house had been silent ever since.

Ezra stood beside the piano, running his hand over the key-cover, feeling the carved florets under his fingers. It truly was beautiful. He had imagined it in his saloon, the centerpiece of the room. He could picture it against the rear wall, between the sconces. He would have bought a special pair of lamps with rose-colored glass shades to illuminate the piece, accent it with a piece of lace across the top. It would have been lovely.

"Would it be all right," Ezra asked quietly, "if I were to play it just once?"

Shaffer bit his lip. Up until now the saloon owner had only touched a few random chords. "Okay, I guess. Mr. Palmer said he'd pay, so I believe him. Just be careful. It's not used to that saloon music and it might not take to it." He squinted.

Ezra moved out from under Shaffer's glare, ignoring him, and carefully pulled out the bench. He set up the key-cover and gazed down at the ivory and ebony for a moment.

The homeowner stood back, wondering what he should prepare for. Was Standish planning revenge by damaging the piano? He wouldn't put it beyond the conman. Had he made a mistake in letting this saloon owner play? Shaffer watched carefully to make sure that the gambler didn't scratch or someway mar the perfect wood as he settled himself.

Standish raised his hands above the keys, and then lowered them slowly. First, a single chord rang through the small room. Then, his fingers were in motion and a delicate melody floated from the piano. The music was soft, played pianissimo, as if Standish wasn't quite willing to let the sound travel. He bowed his head over the keys closed his eyes.

Shaffer didn't recognize the piece, hadn't heard his wife play it in any case. He only knew that it was lovely and sad. The music filled him with a quiet longing and he couldn't quite explain why. He stood back, watching in disbelief and remembered his Marie and how empty the house had been since she ran out on him.

The music continued for only a few minutes, then it came to a stop -- it simply petered out as Ezra's hands stopped moving. He remained motionless at first, allowing Shaffer time to run the back of his hand across his eyes.

Then, with great dignity, Ezra lowered the cover over the keys and stood. "Thank you, Mr. Shaffer. It was very decent of you to allow me that opportunity."

Shaffer didn't speak. He just nodded. He looked past Standish to the piano that was now destined to sit silently in Palmer's parlor. Palmer didn't play, but perhaps he'd find a woman who would like it. He grimaced, remembering how his Marie had begged him to buy it and how she had left him anyway.

Hang it! Let Palmer haul it away for firewood! "It was a pleasure doin' business with you," Shaffer said, not knowing what else to say.

Ezra just smiled mildly as Shaffer took a rag to the wood, to wipe off any fingerprints had been left behind, to polish away any trace of the gambler. Standish departed without another word, leaving Shaffer alone in his empty and silent house.

Part 4:

Vin watched from the shade of the restaurant as Ezra rode through the town to start his second shift of patrolling that day. Usually when Standish exited town on that high-stepping chestnut of his, it would be with a whoop and a cloud of dust, but Chaucer seemed unusually spiritless.

"Hey, Ez," Vin called. "You headin' out?"

"So it would appear," Ezra responded with a small smile, as he glanced down the street.

"Wish I wasn't stuck in town," Vin grumbled, messing with his sling.

"I wish the same," Ezra replied.

"You got a couple minutes b'fore you go? I'm gettin' a mite bored and could use the company."

"I'm afraid not. I have a long day ahead of me."

"Oh, okay. Which route you takin'?"

Ezra gazed out across the land in front of him as if he was considering this for the first time." I'll travel out toward the Warren's property and check the homesteads along the way, then come back along Gravel Creek." He looked undecided as he scrutinized the plain.

"That far?" Vin asked. Ezra always planned out his patrols very carefully. He'd spend part of the time in the saddle, but most of it walking the streets. The route he just outlined would take him out of town until nearly dark.

"It hasn't been covered for some time," Ezra replied.

Vin studied his friend. "You okay, Ez?" he asked finally, noting that Ezra hadn't even looked at him yet.

"I'm quite well. I just need a little time away from town. You can understand that, can't you, Mr. Tanner?" His voice was flat as he spoke.

"Yeah, I ‘spect."

Ezra nodded and said, "I should be going. Good day, sir." And with that, he left the town.

Vin watched the man and horse until they disappeared from view. Chaucer kept his head down and Vin couldn't help but notice a slump to Ezra's shoulders.

What the hell happened? Vin wondered.

Part 5:

Vin sat in front of the restaurant, keeping an eye on the town. He watched as people came and went, as they patronized the businesses, as they visited friends and neighbors. He noted that Mr. Shaffer was still emptying out his house. He paid close attention, to see if anyone carried off the rifle that the homeowner was still contemplating selling.

Mr. Palmer, a bachelor who owned a large ranch outside of town, arrived at Shaffer's for a short visit. Vin watched as Palmer left the house, making a beeline to the bank. Palmer returned to Shaffer's, clutching a fat wallet, but he left empty-handed.

Mabel, from the restaurant, brought Vin a plate of supper and took it away when he was done.

The day rolled on, and Vin sat forward when he noted a familiar rider approaching from one direction. He smiled to see another coming in from the opposite side of town. The old friends, Chris and Buck, seemed to have timed their arrivals like clockwork.

Buck reached him first. "Hey, Vin!" he called as he rode up. His horse tossed his head excitedly. "You been keepin' yourself out of trouble?"

"A mite," Vin replied. "Can't seem to get into too much in any case." He moved his splinted leg for emphasis, wincing. "Gettin' damn tired of it."

Buck grinned and then nodded as Chris came alongside. "Looks like the chickens are comin' home to roost."

Chris raised an eyebrow at this comment. "I can't quite recall anyone callin' me a chicken before -- and living to tell about it."

"Maybe I meant to say roosters," Buck replied and then added, "Pigeons?"

"Best stop now, Buck," Vin chided. "Don't think ya want to join me on these seats." He looked toward Chris. "How're things at the ranch."

"Needed to fix a fence," Chris declared as he dismounted.

Vin grinned. "Someone told me that you might. It was either that or ‘some-such’." That comment garnered a perplexed look from both men. Vin looked to Buck and asked, "And Miss Angela? How is the lovely lady?"

"Now you know a gentleman don't talk about things like that," Wilmington declared as he stepped down from his grey. "But since I ain't no gentleman…"

"Later, Buck," Chris said, gesturing for quiet. "You holdin' out okay, Vin?"

"Feelin' pretty much the same, cowboy," Vin replied. "I 'spect I'm feelin' better by the day, but I'm powerful anxious to get out of these things."

"Two more weeks ain't that bad," Chris said, grabbing the reins of his horse.

"The two weeks ain't bad," Vin agreed. "It's the six weeks that's the problem." He had already made it through the first four weeks that Nathan had imposed on him. These final two would kill him.

"Everyone else back?" Buck asked.

"Nate's gone to Ridge City," Vin replied. "Should be back tomorrow. Ezra's off patrolling. JD and Josiah are about."

"Well then," Buck responded. "I guess that gives me time for a nap." He yawned. "I got me a powerful need for some rest right now."

"Figured as much," Vin replied.

"Ezra taken a trip around town yet?" Chris asked.

"Naw," Vin looked out in the direction Standish had taken. "Still out ridin'."

"Been gone long?" Chris continued.

"Route should take him all day. Said he was goin' by way of the Warren's spread and comin' back along Gravel Creek."

Chris frowned at that information. "He figure he didn't need to check the town?"

Vin sighed. "Said no one's been out that way for a while. I'm keeping an eye on things. I'm thinkin' maybe someone should go out and check on him."

"Why's that?" Buck asked, concerned. "Somethin' wrong? We got some trouble brewin'?"

"No," Vin responded. "Just ain't like him to go so far from the comforts of town for no good reason."

"He's a big boy, Vin," Chris replied. "Probably just wants a bit of time alone."

"I ‘spect." Vin couldn't contest that; Ezra had declared that fact himself.

"I’ll take a stroll then," Chris decided. "Check the town."

Vin watched the two lead their horses to the livery.

Part 6:

It was powerfully boring to be incapacitated, but Vin was a man used to stillness. He stayed in front of the restaurant, watching as Chris made the rounds. Larabee had stopped to chat for a spell and then headed off to his room at the boarding house.

Not willing to get to his feet, Vin waited at his spot on the boardwalk. He wanted to talk to Ezra when he returned to town, wanted to find out what was going on. Chris, of course, was right. Nothing was wrong -- that had to be the case.

But, something had been bothering Ezra when he left town. Vin just wished Standish had stopped to talk about it a bit. Of course, he fully realized that Ezra was never the type to discuss anything like that. No, the gambler never revealed a hand.

Vin couldn't fault him for that. Hell, he was just as bad when it came to anything personal. He just figured that maybe Ezra would be open to jawing a bit when he showed up again. Maybe the ride would clear his mind of whatever was troubling him.

Tanner napped, lulled by the warmth of the late afternoon.

Night fell and the cool temperatures woke him. He sat up, hoping to catch sight of Ezra, but he was nowhere to be seen. Vin felt a worry creeping to him. Where the hell was Ezra? He should have been home before dark.

Damn! That man could get into more trouble than a bear with a bee's nest. His mind raced, trying to figure out might have happened. Had Ezra been attacked, captured, shot? Had there been some sort of an accident? A lot can happen in the open territory. Was he hurt? Hell, it had happened before. Vin remembered finding Ezra at Kotter's Ridge and another time in that burned out basement on the Vaughn Ranch. Damn!

Vin clumsily got to his feet and made his way toward the jail. When he spotted JD on the boardwalk, he hobbled toward him.

"JD!" he called urgently. "Hey, JD. Ezra ain't back yet! We gotta go find him."

Dunne regarded the tracker as he clomped noisily toward him, then he grinned knowingly. "Gee, Vin. He come back well over an hour ago. You was fast asleep at the time. Didn't want to wake you since you looked so peaceful."

Vin sighed in relief. "Did he look okay when you seen him?"

"Okay?" JD puzzled. "He was fine. Tired maybe, but that's all. Should something be wrong? He didn't have a whole lot to say. That's peculiar, ain't it?" The young man scratched his chin. "You want me to get Nate? Oh, wait, he aint' back yet. What about Josiah or Mary?"

"No, no," Vin muttered. "Where'd Ez head off to? He in the Redbird now?"

JD shrugged. "Said he'd be goin' to bed. I took a look into the saloon just a minute ago and didn't see him. I figure he was tired out. Now that Buck and Chris are back, he won't have to pull any duty tomorrow, so he'll probably sleep 'til noon. You know how he is."

"Yeah," Vin responded. "Yeah, I do."

Part 7:

Another day and Vin Tanner found himself in the chair outside the restaurant. It was a comfortable place to watch the town, but he was growing tired of it. The days were counting down -- 13 more -- and he'd be out of these splints. Lord, it seemed those days would never pass.

Time just drifted along and he was at the mercy of healing bones. Everyone kept telling him that it would only be 'a few more days'. But 'few' was an awful lot when you couldn't go anywhere.

At least the pain was lessening day by day. Not much longer and he would be back to his own form of normality -- just a few more days.

Mabel saw that he was well fed, bringing him breakfast, lunch and dinner. Who could ask for more?

"Howdy, pard," Buck called as he approached Tanner. "I hope you're feelin' fine this afternoon, because I am feelin' damn good myself."

"Buck," Vin nodded. "You're lookin' perky."

"Yes siree." Buck straightened his hat. "There's somethin' that always puts a hop in my step, that's for sure." He leaned against the roof support beside the tracker. "Anythin' happen while I was gone?"

Vin was about to speak when a strangely melodious THUMP reverberated through the town. Both men turned to see Shaffer and three of Palmer's ranch-hands trying to manhandle an ornate piano out of Shaffer's front door and onto the porch.

"Ezra finally buy that thing?" Buck asked. "How'd he get Palmer's crew to move it? I reckon that must'a been an interesting conversation."

Vin furrowed his brow at the sight, not quite understanding why Palmer's men were involved. Suddenly, Palmer himself appeared with a wagon. He spoke a word or two to his men and then started backing the wagon to the porch. The horses jangled their harnesses as the vehicle moved backward.

"Damn," Vin muttered.

"Hey!" Buck called. "They're stealin' Ezra's piano!" Wilmington made a move to cross the street and confront them, when he spotted the gambler walking slowly toward them. "Ezra! They got your piano!"

Ezra came to a stop beside them, his attention on the proceedings. "The merchandise, I believe, has been bought and paid for by another party," he drawled softly.

Buck was confused. "How'd that happen? You were gonna buy it, weren't you?"

"Mr. Shaffer found a buyer with a better bankroll than myself, and a better home to provide." Ezra smiled at both of them. "Unfortunately, I was unable to meet either of Mr. Shaffer's standards."

One of the men lost his grip and the piano dropped to the porch with a crashing chord. Ezra winced. It started to pitch backward, filling the air with an almost frightened cry of hammers hitting piano wires, but the men were able to right it. Ezra gripped the railing tightly until the piano was properly situated again.

The lawmen, and most of the town, watched the noisy process as the heavy instrument was finally lifted from the porch and dropped into the wagon. The piano seemed to shout out in distress at its treatment. It was strapped in place with a long length of rope -- they trussed it up like a prisoner on its way to execution. Finally, after a great deal of sweat, cursing and dramatic chords, Palmer directed the wagon out of town. The piano thrummed and crescendoed as the vehicle bumped its way toward his ranch.

"Damn, Ezra," Buck muttered. "How the hell did you let him buy that thing out from under you?" Wilmington turned to face Ezra, but he was gone.

Part 8:

"Mr. Tanner!" Shaffer called as he hurried up the boardwalk to catch the limping tracker. "Mr. Tanner." He was wiping his sweaty hands on his pants, glad to be finished with the piano. He had forgotten how difficult it was to move that thing. Bringing it into the house had been a production in itself. The process had sent his wife crying to her bedroom. Apparently she had been offended by his temper. It was one of the earliest clues that she was ‘flighty’.

Well, it was gone now, along with his wife -- neither of them would trouble him any longer. Let Palmer try and move the piano into his house now. Let someone else try to manage that woman.

"Mr. Tanner," Shaffer called again, easily overtaking the tracker.

Vin broke his hard-won stride to warily face the man. "Shaffer," he replied. "What d'ya want?"

The man was confused by the terse reply. Tanner and the other lawkeepers had been congenial to him up until now. "I've made a decision on the rifle. Figured I'd part with it since I'm leavin' the wilderness, but only if you come up with a fair price." He smiled. "Otherwise, I think I'll just keep it as a souvenir of my life in the Wild West."

Vin regarded the man. Shaffer was in his thirties, perhaps forty on the outside. But, he had gone gray too soon and had about as much spirit as a corn muffin. Vin didn't know exactly what had gone on with the piano. He just knew that somewhere along the way, Ezra had been trampled. He didn't like Shaffer.

"Why'd you sell it to Palmer?" Tanner finally asked.

"The rifle?" Shaffer tried, confused.

Vin looked disgusted. "No, I mean that goddamn piano that ya just shoved out of your house."

"Oh, the piano?" Shaffer returned, surprised to be hearing about this from Tanner. "Why should that be a concern of yours?"

"It concerns me," Tanner growled.

"Ah, the saloon," Shaffer said, understanding. He recalled that all the lawmen owned a piece of that Redbird Saloon. A convenient situation for that gambler, Shaffer thought ruefully. Certainly it allowed Standish to get away with anything.

"Mr. Palmer offered more," Shaffer said curtly. "You can't deny the fact that a man deserves to get the best price he can for his possessions."

"I ‘spect I can't fault that," Vin answered.

Shaffer shrugged. "Mr. Palmer came up with $400 and Standish couldn't meet that price." He fidgeted for a moment, as if he had just thought of something. His complexion went a shade paler before he coughed and continued, "Mr. Tanner, I don't have all day. I need to know what you want to do about the rifle. I need to know now."

No wonder his wife left him. Vin replied, "Keep it."

Shaffer's face fell. "You aren't gonna make me an offer?"

"I don't want anythin' from you, Shaffer, ‘cept to see your ass-end when you headed of town."

Shaffer stepped back. "But, Mr. Tanner, I'm certain we can come to an agreement."

"Doubt it," Vin replied. "In fact, there's no chance in hell of us comin' to any agreement." Vin clipped his crutch against the boardwalk, and continued on his way.

Part 9:

"Hey, Nate," Vin said as he hobbled up beside the healer. Nathan had finished unsaddling his horse and was unloading the packhorse.

"Vin," Nathan studied the tracker. "You stayin' off that leg as much as possible, ain't you?"

"Yeah, Nate. I'm doin' like you said."\

"You were supposed to stay put while I was gone. Were supposed to stay on that chair by the restaurant where Mabel could keep an eye on you."

Vin sighed. "I've been sittin' so much, my ass ain't ever gonna recover. And Mabel's been lookin' after me so well I think my pants won't fit me no more." Vin nodded to the pile of packages. "What's all this stuff?"

"Look," Nathan said excitedly, as he picked up a leather case, opening it to display a row of gleaming metal implements.

"They look real fine." Vin scrutinized the contents.

"They're the very best," the healer declared as he pulled a stethoscope from another part of the case, holding it out for Vin to admire. "Brand new! Nothing's second hand! Nothing that needs fixing or cleaning before I can even use it."

"Nice lookin' things," Vin said with a nod. He turned a grin on Nathan as the healer handled a dangerous looking clamp. "Bet they still hurt though."

Nathan regarded that comment. "Can't deny that. But, I'd say the hurt probably don't last quite as long. These are fine-honed instruments, made from the best quality materials by skilled craftsmen," he parroted the words from the advertisement.

"They sure do look impressive!" Vin agreed.

"I got books, too." Jackson showed Vin the thick medical tomes. "I won't have any questions about anything anymore. There's an index in the back, see? I'll be able to teach myself everything I need to know. Be almost like a real doctor."

"That's a fine thing, Nate." Vin watched as Nathan flipped through the pages, revealing drawings of various parts of the human anatomy. He smiled, seeing Nathan so excited. "I suspect these'll do a world of good." He regarded the book with respect. It wasn't so long ago that such a book would have brought a feeling of envy, but now as the two men admired the references, Tanner felt a certain kinship with the healer. They both were men who prized books and were excited by the knowledge they contained.

"This will save lives. These'll help me to help everyone."

Tanner nodded to the other packages. "What's this then?"

Nathan almost blushed. "Well, I got me some new clothes here -- and a new blanket, linens, some stuff for my kit, and here's some brand-new boots that I got to get broke in. This here's the best -- a new set of throwing knives." He opened the package and picked up one of the finely balanced knives.

"That's quite a cutter." Vin tucked the crutch tightly against himself as he took the knife from Nathan. He tested it in his hand, feeling its weight and guessing it was worth quite a bit. "You done some mighty fine shoppin'." He handed the knife back to Nathan, who returned it to its package.

"I've never had so much money to spend in one place before."

"Where'd it all come from?" Vin asked, perplexed. "This here's gotta be worth an awful lot."

Nathan concentrated on collecting his purchases. "Well, let's just say I won't be getting a discount at the Redbird no more." Once he had the packages balanced in his arms, he headed toward the stairs to his room.

Vin paused for a moment, unsure. "What d'ya say, Nate?"

"I pulled out that money. I needed it for the tools. If I didn't pay for ‘em today it was all gonna be sent back." Jackson turned and saw Vin's disbelieving expression. "Ezra said I could take back the money whenever I wanted."

"You took the money from Ezra?"

"From the Redbird," Nathan corrected, adjusting the packages to climb the stairs beside the livery. "And damn, that place is a shade more successful than he lets on. He give me more than three times what I gave him." Nathan smiled broadly. "Can you imagine? I felt like a kid. I've never had so much money before in my life and I got everything I could've wanted in town."

"You took that money?" Vin didn't know what to think, but finally understanding what had happened.

"It was my right," Nathan responded. "I mean, it was in the contract that I could take it back if I wanted it." Jackson shrugged. "There's always a bit of give and take when you're running a business, isn't there?" He started up the stairs.

"Nathan," Vin called.

Nathan didn't turn as he tried to manage the stairs with his heavy load. "Gotta take care of these things, Vin. I'll talk to you later."

Part 10:

"Ezra!" Vin called, leaning back as far as he could manage on his one leg. He had to set his butt on the rail of the balcony and hung on with his one arm. "Come on! Ezra! I know you're up there!"

He had waited in the Redbird for most of the evening, without seeing any sign of Standish. He had sat at the table situated at the bottom of the stairs so that he'd have a clear view of the upper hallway just in case Ezra tried to slip into his room unobserved. Vin knew exactly where Standish was, he just hadn't quite figured out how to get to him yet. As night fell, Vin realized what he'd have to do.

He was still sweating from the exertion of hopping up the stairs and making his way to the second-floor of the saloon. It had taken far longer than he thought possible; the staircase wasn't made for someone with a busted-up leg and shoulder.

"Ezra!" There was no response. "If you don't talk, I'll just keep on yellin' and makin' a fuss!" Nothing. He glanced down at the street below, wondering if a gathering crowd would propel Standish to silence him, force him to come down and talk. It was a noisy night. The racket from the saloons in town drowned out any hope of creating a scene.

"I'll come on up there if I have to!"

A voice finally drawled back, "Be my guest." The words were spoken quietly. Ezra probably thought his voice wouldn't travel above the rest of the noise.

"Alright then, you stubborn cuss! I'll do it!" Vin grabbed the chair that occupied the balcony. "Don't think I can't!"

"The odds are against you, Mr. Tanner," Ezra replied from above.

"Well, I'm not one that pays much attention to odds, Ezra. Elsewise I never would've got to be friends with the likes of you." Tanner struggled to climb onto the chair, letting his splinted leg dangle. He wiggled to catch his balance and the chair shuddered and scraped.

"Mr. Tanner? You aren't honestly considering…"

Vin clamped his good hand onto the roof's edge. Okay, now, he had one arm and one leg. He'd just have to step onto the balcony's railing and then pull himself onto the roof. That should be easy enough. He pulled with his arm, lifting the weight off his leg and attempting the hop to the rail. Fighting to balance correctly, his splinted leg came around and collided painfully with the chair.

He yelped as the chair toppled. The world dropped out from under him, leaving him dangling by his one hand. He yanked his left arm out of the sling and attempted to raise it. The chair gone, his legs swung about wildly, hitting the railing behind him. He glanced backward, realizing that if he lost his grip, he'd pitch backward off the railing and into the street.

Don't look down! Don't look down!

He looked up instead, ready for to yell for help, and met anxious green eyes.

Immediately, Ezra grabbed onto his arm with both hands. "Vin!" he called.

"Can't hold on!" Vin cried through gritted teeth. He tried to get his damaged left arm to help, but couldn’t raise it far enough to grasp the roof.

"Bend your knee! Rest your foot against the rail. You almost got it. There! Get your balance forward. Hold tightly, as tight as you can! I'll get you down." Ezra waited until Vin nodded, before he released his hold on the Vin's arm and swung himself immediately to the balcony below.

Vin felt his grip slipping as Ezra laid a hand on his side. With a frustrated gasp, his arm released its hold and Ezra tugged him away from the edge. With a clatter of limbs and splints, and he fell, collapsing onto the balcony and Ezra.

Vin panted, well aware of the pain in his leg and shoulder, but surprised to find it rather manageable. With any luck he'd avoided breaking anything else -- thank God. He struggled to move and plunged an elbow into something somewhat soft beneath him.

"Oof!" Ezra exhaled. "Wait, Vin! Hold up." Standish struggled to move out from under him. It took a few embarrassing moments for the two to disentangle themselves from each other. Finally, once Ezra was free, he sat back against the railing and asked breathlessly, "Are you all right, Vin?"

"Yeah," Tanner admitted. "I figure I didn’t bruise anythin' more than my pride." He shuffled about, considering sitting up, but instead decided to stay where he was. He lay back down and sighed. From his position he could see the stars above them. They twinkled and shone in the blackness.

"You okay, Ez?" Tanner asked. "Didn't squash ya none, did I?"

"I'm fine," Ezra replied exasperatedly as he examined his jacket for tears. "I believe I've escaped unscathed."

"D'ya think anyone saw us?"

Ezra shrugged. "As no one has stormed up the stairs, I would think our spectacle passed unseen. I doubt we could be heard above the night's usual cacophony."

Vin sighed, glad of that fact. He didn’t want to go just yet.

"How'd you manage the stairs?" Ezra asked.

"Took me a bit, but I got 'em licked." Vin looked toward Ezra, who was mopping his face with a handkerchief. "Scared ya?"

"Damnation, Vin! Why did you try that?"

"Wanted to talk to you."

"If you had broken your neck on my account, I would've been unable to forgive myself."

"I tried tellin' ya the same thing when you pulled that stunt usin' Marley and my coat!"

Ezra looked at him in disbelief. "This is hardly a similar situation, Mr. Tanner. In one instance, I was trying to save your life. In this luckless scenario, you were nearly killed for nothing. Surely, Mr. Larabee and the townspeople would want no part of me after that. They'd run me out of town on a rail if…"

"Ain't no one gonna do that, Ezra."

Ezra's face twitched and he shoved the handkerchief back into his pocket. "Sometimes, I'm not so sure."

Vin sighed. "Last couple of days ain't gone so good, have they?" Ezra said nothing, and settled back down to the balcony's floor, resting beside Tanner. Vin continued, "Palmer got your piano."

"It was never mine, Mr. Tanner." Ezra explained. "I placed what I thought was a reasonable offer and was outbid. Simple as that." He turned his head toward Vin. "Really, it's for the best. The price was more than I could afford, and Mr. Shaffer was correct."

"What about?"

"The instrument deserves a better home than I could provide."

"What? That wood thing 'deserves' a good home? Hell, Ez, people deserve good homes, not things."

"If I were to bring that lovely creation into a mere saloon, it would be ruined in no time whatsoever. Cretins would rest their beer mugs on the fine wood, leaving rings. Fools would pound on the fine ivory keys putting it in horrible tune. It would become infused with smoke, the stink of beer and whiskey, and riddled with bullet holes. That magnificent piece should be in a drawing room, parlor, music room or auditorium -- someplace where it could be appreciated. It shouldn't be desecrated in a bar."

"It could've worked."

"No, no, it couldn't. Really, it was far too ornate. I believe I was kidding myself into believing it would have fit properly into the Redbird. It would have stuck out like a sore but beautiful thumb. Something that lovely has no place under my ownership."

Vin said nothing, so Ezra continued, "You see, it's for the best. I couldn't afford the price Mr. Shaffer suggested."

"'Cause Nathan took his money out," Vin included.

Ezra looked stunned. It took a moment for him to find his voice. "It was his prerogative. He needed the money to purchase devices critical to his role as healer of this town."

"He got a lot more than $100 back."

"Please, Mr. Tanner. It has always been clearly stated that any of you could remove your money at any time. And I have always told you that your investment will be a money-making one." He paused and looked at the stars. "If you wish to withdraw your money as well, I fully understand. But please give me a few weeks to gather the funds together." His voice faltered slightly at the few last words. "If you could give me a month it would make things easier for me."

"Damn it, Ezra. I ain't takin' out my money. I'm just sayin' that it’s a shame that Nathan done it."

"No, not a shame. Everyone wins in this situation. Nathan has gained devices and knowledge to fulfill a long-standing desire. Those purchases will be to the betterment of the entire town. Mr. Palmer now has a lovely instrument that will be the centerpiece of his parlor and perhaps garner him a wife. Mr. Shaffer has rid himself of an albatross, gaining quite handsomely in the process, freeing himself for travel, and I have been kept from making a foolish purchase. The endpoint is perfect for all."

He continued, "And if Nathan hadn't removed his funds, I would've tried to meet the price and would've needed to make up the difference. If I had managed it, I would've been unable to meet my open bills. Creditors would come calling and my ownership would have been in jeopardy. Then I'd have to hire a pianist on top of that. Who is available in town? Leo Quail from Digger Dan's? He's the best of the underqualified lot."

"Maybe you could do the playin'?" Vin tried.

Ezra was silent for a long moment. "I only know a few melodies, and with all my other duties, I could hardly fit saloon piano player in as well. No, Vin. That wouldn't work. You see, it's all for the best."

Vin turned to Ezra, but he was studying the stars above the Redbird. Vin said quietly, "I suppose that Nathan could've put back the extra money, couldn't he? I mean, if he just needed the money for the kit and the books, he could've put the rest back in."

"Mr. Jackson's needs lay in another direction and he deserved the purchases." Ezra chuckled lightly. "He has sagely proven a point to me. Showing me that I've been foolish with my improvements, spendin' where I had no right to spend. This practice will stop immediately. If I had only been more conscious of this before, if I had only been able to pay a return, perhaps Mr. Jackson wouldn't have had a need to withdraw his investment. You see, the fault lies solely with my management…again."

"Wasn't your management that lost the Standish Tavern," Vin said quickly, knowing where Ezra was leading. "That was your ma playin' games and 'cause of me, too. You may have had a chance to keep if it you weren't helpin' me."

"I don't regret my alliance in that circumstance," Ezra returned. He drew in a breath and continued, "I will do my best to manage this business. You'll see your money. Your investment will pay off. Have no doubts."

"I ain't got none." Vin had heard the sad tone of Ezra's voice. "And you gotta do whatever it is you want with your saloon. Me and the boys will back you up." Vin never really expected any return on his investment. Sure, he knew that was the reason for putting his money up -- but in his own mind, he really wasn't investing in a mere business, he was investing in something much more important.

"Yes, I suppose," Ezra returned without any enthusiasm.

"Nathan will go along with us, too. Might have to twist his arm a bit, but..."

"Please," Ezra said. "Don't berate Mr. Jackson for his choice in this situation. I would've done the same if our positions were reversed. Let him be." After a pause, he added, "Don't mention the business about the piano to him. It will do no good whatsoever now that the opportunity is gone."

"He shouldn't 'ave done it," Vin muttered. He watched Ezra as he continued to stare off at the distant stars. He wished he could think of something to say.

"Them samurais," Vin tried, "They got lots of ideas of what makes a good man."

"That they do, Mr. Tanner."

"I think they're right on most of 'em."

Ezra's voice was sad again. "Indeed. Whoever conceived the list had a good grasp on what constituted a decent and deserving man."

"I think you were wrong when you said you don't got none of those things that they prized so much."

"I have good manners," Ezra said quietly, his eyes focused on the tiny pinpricks of light. "I'm attempting frugality. Other than that…" he raised his hands in futility.

"You got a hell of a lot more than that goin' for ya, Ezra." Vin groaned, wanting to say more, but not knowing how to say it without sounding strange. "Hell, Ezra. If some fella came up to me and talked about you the way you talk about yourself, I'd probably have ta deck him. The only reason you get away with it is b'cause you're my friend. But maybe, I'm thinkin', I'd be a better friend if I hit you once or twice."

Ezra turned to Vin and looked as if he was going to speak, but he couldn't open his mouth to say it.

"You're more ‘loyal’ than a damn dog, ya know? Hell, you were just sayin' somethin' about ‘alliances’ and all that. Takes loyalty to do the stuff you do. And you got ‘honor’ comin' out your ears. You're a gentlemen ain't cha? Ain't gentlemen got honor?"

"A façade that…"

Vin cut Ezra off before he could go any further. "You got that ‘self-sacrifice’ thing 'cause you almost got yourself killed trying to save me at Dolby's Crest and when you dropped that damn whiskey bottle down the Nichol's chimney and when you came back to save our asses back at the Seminole village, so I got proof of that. Ya gotta want some ‘justice’ if you're workin' this job. The money ain't what's keepin' ya. What's ‘martial spirit’ mean anyway?"

"It means that one enjoys a good fight every now and again."

Vin grinned. "I've seen you enjoyin' yourself in a dustup, ‘specially when we're on the winnin' side. You got ‘sense of shame’ too 'cause you seemed pretty ‘shamed 'bout yourself for some reason. You gotta be ‘modest’ if you keep denying everythin' I say."

Ezra shook his head. "There are many things that you don't understand, Mr. Tanner."

"I know you like all of us so that's ‘affection’, ain't it? And I like you well enough. I don't want to get all, ya know, weird or anythin'."

"God forbid," Ezra muttered and then smiled, he glanced at Vin, seeing his embarrassment at the simple statement. "Perhaps ‘camaraderie’ might be a more acceptable word." Both men nodded to this concession. "I do appreciate the… camaraderie that we share."

"Me to, Ez," Vin agreed. "I like it a lot."

Ezra continued, "What about ‘purity’? One mustn't forget that."

Vin laughed. "Now, I wouldn’t push it that far."

The two lay on the floor of the porch for several minutes, chuckling as they stared up at the twinkling lights. Once they were silent again, Vin turned to look at Ezra, seeing that a frown had returned. "Hey, Ez? Somethin' wrong?"

Ezra sat up suddenly. "I should be going. Would you like some help getting to your feet and back down the stairs?"

"Do you hear what I'm sayin', Ezra?"

"Yes, yes, of course." Ezra dusted off his trousers as he stood.

"You agree with it?"

"You are quite adept at speaking," Standish looked over the railing and down the street. "And can manage a certain level of persuasiveness."

"You aren't callin' me a liar, are ya?"

"Of course not."

Vin could hear the flat tone of Ezra's voice. "I wouldn’t lie to you."

Standish turned toward him and their eyes met. Ezra looked so lost and perplexed. Vin kept trying, "I don't know what Shaffer or Nate said to you, but you gotta believe what I've been sayin'. I wouldn't lie to you, Ez," Vin repeated. "You gotta take a chance and believe me."

"I'll try," Ezra replied seriously.

"I'm glad of that," Vin responded. At least that, he thought.

Ezra nodded and offered again, "Do you need some assistance in gettin' down from here?"

"Yeah, I ‘spect," Vin said after thinking a moment.

Ezra offered a hand and Vin managed to stagger to his one good foot. Leaning on Ezra, Vin made his way to the stairs. Tanner had left his crutch at the bottom of the stairs when he realized it was unmanageable as he climbed up earlier. He could see it now, propped up against the banister.

Good thing that Nathan hadn't seen it there. That was one sure fire way to get Jackson's ire up. Funny, the idea of irritating Nathan didn't bother Tanner very much.

"Long way down," Vin muttered as he stared down the staircase. "Didn't look so bad on the way up."

"A touch of vertigo, Mr. Tanner?"

Vin laughed. "Dunno what that'd be, Ez. I'm just thinkin' that it'd be best if I didn't fall."

"Don't worry, my friend," Ezra replied, shouldering as much of Vin's weight as he was allowed. "I wouldn't let that happen. We'll make it through this. It's only a small descent."

Part 11:

After depositing Tanner at his wagon, Ezra strode back across the street and toward his saloon. He came to a stop on the boardwalk and looked at the Redbird's front window, the newly painted façade. The building had been a gray and flaking mess not so long ago, but a fresh coat of paint does wonders. A good façade, Ezra thought, is a wonderful thing. It hides a wealth of sins.

He turned his attention to the wooden sign that hung over the walk. An image of a bird on a hand had been etched there, along with the carefully lettered name -- The Redbird Saloon. It was his saloon, his business. He had dreamed of this place for so long, it was difficult to believe that he had it. He had dreamed of many things in his youth and had learned that wishes were frail and dangerous things, like moths in the night -- easily ignited by the flames they sought.

He watched the sign swing in the gentle evening breeze.

How long would it last? Would the saloon fall from his grasp and be lost? Would it perish in the flames as so many things had in his past? The Standish Tavern loomed large in his memory. Perhaps the Redbird would be lost as well -- not in a quick cutting blow, as the Standish; maybe it would just drift away and be gone before he recognized he was losing it -- money goes so fast and is spent in so many ways.

Would another deception take it from him? His mother had assured him that they wouldn't be in competition when she won the World Famous Ritz. Yet, Maude had done everything she could to ruin him, to slap him like a poorly trained dog and get him to behave as she saw fit.

Would he ever fit the ideal she set for him? Would he ever become the lawman that Larabee and the others expected him to be? Would he ever fit in anywhere? He had been adrift for so long in his life, and here was his first anchor in many years -- not the saloon really, but this town. As he thought of Four Corners, he sighed. He thought he'd gained a modicum of respect in here, but it seemed that he was only fooling himself -- again. How many people had Shaffer talked to? Apparently nobody had anything good to say about him.

The piano was gone. It was Palmer's now. Well, as he had told Vin, it was for the best. He had already come to accept this fact and would dwell on it no longer. He had spent much of his life divorcing himself from things that he'd wanted, this was just another small thing. Anyway, he was perceptive enough to realize that it wasn't the loss of the piano that had brought him to this somber mood, it was something more personal.

He recalled his conversation with Nathan. Jackson had had every right to remove his money; Ezra realized that. He only wished that the healer hadn't been so quick to assume so many things. He only wished that Jackson had shown some degree of trust. Shaffer's insults could be put aside, of course. Ezra was used to the comments made by people he barely knew, but he had counted Nathan as a friend.

He respected Nathan. He only wished that someday Jackson might learn to respect him as well.

Well, it was clear that Nathan had thought that his business wasn't worth investing in. It was just a saloon in any case, in a town that already had several. If the Redbird were to close tomorrow, its demise would hardly be noticed -- another dream foreclosed. At least Vin and Nathan dreamed of lofty things, of education, of helping others. Those were ideals that couldn't be taken away. They would make excellent samurais -- all six of them.

Ezra smiled as he recalled what Vin had said. Was any of that true? Tanner certainly seemed sincere. Had he been able to con the perceptive tracker so entirely? Did others feel the same way as Vin? He had been working cons for so long, it was difficult to tell if he was still in the midst of one or not. He watched the sign move back and forth as he thought.

Maybe, he thought, just maybe, Vin had spoken the truth. He didn’t think Vin would have lied, but he knew that Tanner might have only been trying to make him feel better and uttering whatever he thought would do the trick. But maybe, Tanner wasn't trying to hoodwink him. Maybe, he was right. Maybe there could be seven...

Could that be possible?

"Hey, Ezra," Nathan's voice called from behind him. Ezra turned to face Jackson as he approached. He noted Jackson's shirt, dark blue, stiff with starch and still showing the creases where it had been folded.

"Mr. Jackson, you're looking particularly fashionable tonight."

Nathan grinned widely. "Yeah?" He held out his arms and looked down at his new shirt. "I jus' bought it. Think it looks okay?"

"You've made an excellent purchase, I should say. The color suits you."

"I kinda like it myself." Jackson straightened the cuffs. "Means a lot coming from you, because I guess you'd know what you were talking about when it comes to clothes."

"I do have a certain fashion sense."

"Yeah, you do." Nathan nodded and then craned his neck around to see inside the saloon. "Have you seen Vin anywhere?"

"I just left him."

"Is he keeping off that leg of his?" Nathan asked skeptically. "He was up and about earlier."

"He was resting comfortably in his wagon." Ezra waited for Nathan to contest him, for him to express his disbelief in the simple and currently true statement.

"Good. Looks like he's finally listening to me. I half-expected to find him out riding that horse of his or doing something foolish like climbin' onto the roof."

Ezra smiled secretively. "Mr. Jackson, how would he have managed the stairs?"

Nathan shook his head. "Knowing him, he'd do it if he had the right incentive."

"One never knows," Ezra responded.

"He'd best listen if he wants to heal right." Nathan screwed up his mouth and seemed to come to a decision. He carefully considered what he was going to say before he spoke. "Well, I'm glad I found you because I wanted to talk." He looked self-conscious as he continued, "I wanted to thank you, Ezra."

"Thank me? For what?"

"For being so decent about giving me that money yesterday. And I wanted to apologize, because I know I was a bit blunt about it." He rubbed the back of his head. "Didn't mean to be. I think I got this idea in my mind and …well…I think I came off rather poorly. I'm sorry 'bout that." He stared at his feet a minute. "You handing me that money really meant a lot to me. I wanted that kit and those books so bad. I just… couldn't let them be sent away."

Ezra nodded when Jackson looked up at him. "I believe I have some understanding of what it's like to desire something."

"And being able to buy myself a few things was... it was..." Jackson paused and looked down the street to see if anyone was near enough to hear. He stepped closer to Ezra. "I never could do that before, just buy whatever I wanted. I never had money like that." His voice was lowered even further and Ezra had to lean in to hear him properly. "I never owned much in life. My own life didn't even belong to me for a long time. We was just property, bought and sold…" He paused again, collecting himself. "I've had so many years of nothing. Last night, I stayed in a nice hotel for the first time in my life. Then, I was able to go into a store and just look at stuff and think that I wanted it, and then I bought it."

Nathan stopped talking again and blinked his eyes. "It was just very special to me... it meant a lot."

Ezra rested a hand on Nathan's arm. "The money was always yours to use as you pleased. I'm glad that you found a fulfilling way to utilize it."

"Just wanted to thank you. I never expected to have so much. I wanted to tell you that you've done a mighty fine job with the Redbird and all." He smiled. "Never thought I'd see the day, but I kinda think I like spending money."

Ezra rolled his eyes. "It's a tempting habit that'll be difficult to break."

"I know." Nathan reached into his pocket and withdrew a small fold of money. "I got $150 left and figured I'd better do something with it before I spent it all. I was wondering if I could still invest it in the Redbird. Ya know, ‘re-invest’, since it seems to be quite profitable." He said the word slowly, drawing out the syllables. He ducked his head as he added, "I figure I was a fool to take out that money when I did, but I gotta catch up somehow."

Ezra smiled and wrapped an arm around Jackson's shoulder. "Come, my friend, let's discuss this business over a drink. Investors receive a discount on all purchases in the Redbird, you understand."

"Yeah, I understand," Nathan said with a grin.

"Where'd you stay in Ridge City?" Ezra asked as he pushed open the door with one hand.

"The Briarwood," Nathan responded.

"Excellent choice. The food is always good, the staff is cordial, and they wash the sheets with lavender."

"I thought that's what it was. Smelled mighty nice!" Nathan smiled as he walked into the Redbird with Ezra's arm over his shoulder.

Part 12:

Vin sat at the back of his wagon, the moonlight illuminating the town. Four Corners was alive with its usual nightlife. The saloons were all open for business. People strolled the boardwalk, enjoying the mild evening.

He observed Ezra on the boardwalk, had seen him stand there for a long time watching the sign that hung above the door to the Redbird. He wondered what was going through his head, hoping that Ezra came to some decision that favored their discussion.

He watched Nathan's approach and witnessed the conversation between two. For a moment Vin wondered if he should look for help, thinking that the situation would come to blows. He stayed put, realizing that maybe a bit of ‘martial spirit’ might be for the best. Hell, he had almost wanted to deck Nathan earlier.

Instead of a fight, he saw the two men talking quietly together, Nathan looking embarrassed through most of it. Ezra was turned in the wrong direction for Vin to see him properly. He smiled when he saw Ezra reach his arm over Nathan's shoulder. The two men entered the Redbird together.

Down the street, Leo Quail pounded out another chorus of "Rally Round the Flag" in Digger Dan's and his rival across the street competed with "The Yellow Rose of Texas". The two songs collided and became a mish-mash of unintelligible sounds.

The Redbird produced no music, but a rumble of conversation flowed through her doors as the patrons entered and stayed for the evening. From within, someone laughed loudly, glasses clinked and people moved about comfortably.

Vin returned his attention to the book, lit by the moon's glow. He flipped back a sheet of velum to reveal the watercolor print of samurais displaying their armament in pale colors.

THE END