When Shadows Fall



    Disclaimer: This is a work of fan fiction. We don't own these characters. This story is not intended to infringe upon the copyrights of MGM, The Mirsch Group, Trilogy, CBS or any others with claims. We neither seek nor receive any profit from writing this story.


    WARNINGS: This story contains some violence, harsh language, and spoilers for various episodes. It is rated PG13.

    1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25
    26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42 43 44 45 46 47 48 49 50
    51 52 53 54 55 56 57 58 59 60 61 62 63 64 65 66 67 68 69 70 71 72 73 74 75
    76 77 78 79 80 81 82 83 84 85 86 87 88 89 90 91 92 93 94 95 96 97 98 99 100
    101 102 103 104 105 106 107 108 109 110 111 112 113 114 115 116 117 118 119 120 121 122 123 124 125
    126 127 128 129 130 131 132 133 134 135 136 137 138 139 140 141 142 143 144 145 146 147 148 149 150
    151 152 153 154 155 156 157 158

    Part 1

    A weary Chris Larabee was just about to step through the doors of the saloon when they burst open practically in his face. Buck Wilmington stumbled out with one of the new saloon girls in his arms.

    "Damn it, Buck!" Chris said angrily.

    Buck looked at him and laughed. "Sorry, Chris!" He turned back to the woman in his arms. "Come _on_, darlin,'" he said to her and the two of them moved away from Chris down the busy street, Buck holding the woman in one hand and a bottle of whiskey in the other. Chris watched them for a moment, then brushed his hand sharply down his arm as if wiping away non-existent dust and entered the saloon.

    He'd just poured a glass of whiskey when Vin Tanner entered carrying a rifle. He stood for a moment just inside the doorway letting his eyes adjust to the change in light. "Hey," he said quietly as he approached Chris, laying the rifle on the table and setting his hat on top of it before he pulled out a chair and settled himself into it. Chris acknowledged him with a brief nod.

    "Been a long week," Vin observed, reaching for the whiskey bottle.

    "Two trail crews in town, a bank robbery, and the Delano mine caving in. Yeah, I'd say it's been a hell of a long week." Chris took the whiskey bottle back from him. "This town is getting too damn big."

    Vin looked at Chris assessingly. "Chris, I been thinkin'..." he began.

    At that moment, however, they both heard the sharp sound of gunfire from the street outside. The two men rose as one, Vin grabbing his hat and rifle without even breaking stride. Outside, they found Buck standing in the middle of the street holding one man by his collar and pointing his gun at another one. "Get up, now!" he shouted at the man. "Come on! I said now!" The man, clearly dazed by the swiftness of events, struggled to his feet where he stood blinking and looking around as if he had no idea what had just happened.

    "What the hell is going on, Buck?" Chris asked, yelling over the muttering of people on the boardwalk.

    "Just a couple of cowboys with too much whiskey and too many bullets in their guns," Buck told him cheerfully. He looked over at Vin and at Chris, who was frowning at him as if he'd started the whole thing himself. "You boys don't need to worry about anything. Go on back and finish your whiskey," he said loudly. "I can take these fellas over to the jail my ownself." He shoved the man he'd been holding by the back of the neck and gestured meaningfully at the other fellow with his gun. When he didn't move fast enough to suit Buck he grabbed him by the coat sleeve and pushed him ahead of him, thumping him in the back as he went past. "Come on, I said!"

    Chris turned around and went back into the saloon. He was already sitting at the table with a glass of whiskey in his hand when Vin joined him again. He watched Chris for a minute. "Seems like Buck has plenty of energy," he observed.

    Chris shrugged. "Yeah, well, Buck doesn't know when to quit," he said. And Vin waited for a minute to see if he'd add anything more, but he just went back to staring into the depths of the whiskey in his glass.

    After several minutes of silence, during which Chris drank two more shots of whiskey he looked up abruptly at Vin and asked, "Josiah and JD back from the mine yet?"

    "Haven't seen 'em," Vin said. "Which reminds me, I thought Buck was goin' with 'em. How come he's still here?"

    "'Cuz I had somethin' else to do," came Buck's soft voice from behind Vin. He reached across to the next table and grabbed a chair, turning it backwards and straddling it.

    Chris looked at him with a flat unreadable expression. "Something real important, I imagine," he said bitingly.

    Buck's eyes narrowed and he straightened his shoulders. "I reckon it was," he said quietly. He pushed himself out of the chair, went to the bar and ordered a beer. With the glass in his hand, he turned around and looked at Chris and Vin, but he didn't return to their table. The woman he'd been with on the street came up and tucked her arm into his. He looked down and smiled at her and let her draw him away to a table in the back.

    Chris watched him go, then he slammed down another whiskey.

    "Somethin' botherin' you, Chris?" Vin asked.

    "A pretty woman comes along and off he goes. He doesn't think!"

    "It ain't nothin' new," Vin said mildly.

    Chris looked at him for a moment as if he were about to launch into him too, then he shook his head abruptly and rubbed his eyes with his hands. "I feel like things are closin' in," he said. "This town, the railroad, all the new people. Pretty soon they'll be wantin' badges again. And where do you think that'll leave us?"

    Vin figured Chris didn't actually want an answer to his question so he sipped his whiskey and watched the crowd in the saloon and waited. After a minute or so, Chris looked at him again and said. "Ah, hell, Vin. I don't mean to take it out on you."

    Vin shrugged. He watched a man two tables over snake out a hand and grab one of the saloon girls, dragging her, laughing, into his lap. He turned back to Chris. "Listen, Chris, maybe this isn't the best time, but I've been meanin' to tell you. Chanu's people have invited me out to the reservation for a few days. They got that Green Corn Festival, you know. And they said they wanted to talk about somethin'. I reckon I won't be gone more'n three or four days."

    "Three or four days!" Chris didn't need to shout. His disapproval was evident in each clipped-off word. "With everything going on? Hell, don't you think we need you right here?"

    This time it was Vin's turn to straighten. "It's just a few days, Chris," he said quietly. "This town don't own me."

    "Fine." Chris slammed his glass onto the table. "Do whatever you want." He rose and stalked out the door just as Josiah and JD, dusty and sweaty from their long ride, walked in.

    They came to Vin's table. "What's with _him_?" JD jerked his thumb toward the still-swinging doors as he pulled out a chair and sat. Josiah sat too, signalling to the bartender as he did so to bring them some beers.

    Vin shrugged. "You know Chris." He waited for Josiah to take a long drink and sigh with satisfaction and then he asked, "Find anything at the mine?"

    "Not a darn thing," JD said before Josiah could speak. "I don't know why we had to go out there again. Just because Mr. Delano thinks someone's sabotaging him? Old mines like that, they cave in all the time." He shook his head and crooked his arm over the back of the chair, surveying the room as he sipped his beer.

    Vin turned to Josiah.

    Josiah raised an eyebrow. "I don't know," he said. "Coulda been dynamite like Mr. Delano said. Coulda been an accident. Sure can't tell anything the mess it's in now. Man like Delano, desperate to hold on, he'd likely be seeing saboteurs everywhere."

    "Reckon we oughta keep an eye on it, though," Vin said.

    "Yeah," Josiah said with a sigh. "Reckon we'll _have_ to." He raised his glass and swallowed the last of his beer, thumping the glass back down onto the table. He grinned widely at Vin and JD "And now, gentlemen, I must bid you farewell for I'm off to prepare myself for an evening with an angel." He rose.

    JD looked at Vin with a puzzled expression. "What's he talking about?"

    "I think he's goin' courtin', JD."

    "But I thought you were hot an' tired, Josiah! We just got back. Why would you go get all prissed up an' ride out to see some lady NOW?"

    Josiah Sanchez grinned genially at the youngest of his six friends and shook his head. "Son," he admonished, "it's clear you haven't yet learned about the healin' balms to be found in a woman's arms."

    "Aw, hell!" JD set his beer mug down on the table with an exhausted thump as Vin laughed.

    "So, Josiah," said Vin, sliding down in his chair as he squinted up at the big preacher, "when are we gonna' get to meet Miss Belle?"

    "Soon, I hope. She said she just might come to services this Sunday." Josiah's grin grew even larger and his eyes rolled up towards the ceiling in ecstasy as he contemplated the thought.

    "Ooooh." Buck had left his back table to approach the three friends, and now he grinned happily and threw a conspiratorial look at JD as he settled into a chair at their table. "Well, I just might have to come to church my self, that bein' the case. After all, can't have 'the most beautiful woman this side of Paradise' makin' an appearance in Four Corners without a suitable escort. An' since you'll be busy preachin' . . . "

    "Yeah, Buck. That's a good point!" JD's tired black eyes brightened a little with the spark of mischief he'd caught from the other man.

    "Now you boys had better just behave yourselves if Miss Belle comes. I'd hate to have to knock your fool heads in." Josiah's placid expression didn't change a fraction as he lovingly went on to threaten his two friends with details of the assorted bodily injuries he would inflict upon them in the event that they offended Miss Belle, and by the time he strolled out of the saloon JD was shaking his head.

    "Oh, Buck!" he groaned. "If I wasn't so dad-gummed tired, I swear I'd try to find a way to play a practical joke on Josiah about this woman. It would be so funny."

    "Not hardly, Kid." Buck threw down a coin on the table, smiling, and stood up to leave. "Teasin' Josiah is one thing. But that's ONE man who don't take to practical jokes about love." Buck's eyes twinkled. "'Course, that's true a' most anyone."

    "Amen, brother." Vin finished his whiskey and rose, too, tipping his hat at JD as he left.

    In a corner of the room two men sat and nursed their beers. One of them watched Vin and, after he'd walked out through the swinging doors, the man rose casually, threw a couple of coins on the table and strolled outside himself. The other slouched back in his chair, sipped his beer and studied the tall man with the moustache who had returned to the back table, to sit laughing with one of the saloon girls.

    Part 2

    The Clarion
    Four Corners, Arizona Territory
    Editor: Mary Travis
    Today's Editorial:
    To Flourish -- Four Corners Needs a Doctor

      There are many tales about towns in these territories that were born, flourished, only to die and pass from memory. We cannot let Four Corners become one of these forgotten towns. Lest not forget our history and how we have persevered.

      The town is booming. We have banks, merchants, a newspaper, hotels, and we offer the services settlers seek as they pass through daily. Unfortunately, all this bounty could not save Mrs. Cotter, formerly of Collinsville, Illinois. Her family came to town urgently in need of medical treatment for the fever she had acquired on the trail. The only healer was not in town because he was tending to Mr. Robert's serious accident at his ranch. There was no one in town who was able to diagnose and treat her medical condition.

      Four Corners is flourishing but basic services still need to be established. Our first efforts need to be directed at obtaining the valuable, professional services of a physician.

      Four Corners needs a doctor. Mr. Jackson has been an invaluable asset to Four Corners but even he admits to the limits of his medical knowledge and when he is called from town, there is no medical assistance available here. There was no one for Mrs. Cotter. A failure this town must address.

    *****************************************************************************************************

    Ezra Standish let the newspaper drop from his suddenly numbed fingers. Jesus, Mary, what the hell were you thinking? Ezra would've picked up the paper but it would take more energy than he was willing to expend. He had been stuck playing jailer to the various miscreants that found their way into jail in the past 24 hours. Now numbering six with the inclusion of two boisterous drunks courtesy of Mr. Wilmington. Hell Buck, couldn't you have just let them leave town? Guess Buck hadn't forgiven the crews for that incident earlier in the week. Didn't really make any sense, after all, there was no woman involved. And it almost always involved a young lady with Mr. Wilmington. Ezra shrugged and groaned when his body protested the movement.

    After 16 hours of guard duty, Ezra was stiff and in a foul mood. No relief seemed to be forthcoming so the highlight of the morning had been the lovely Mrs. Travis personally delivering the newspaper to him. He had relaxed back to enjoy the paper. Although he was well aware of the local gossip, he always enjoyed Mrs. Travis's take on events in her various columns: 'Local Record of Passing Events,' 'What We See and Hear,' and 'Hither and Yonder.' She always seemed to make any event reflect favorably on Four Corners, which often took some interesting linguistic manipulations. If you were aware of the true nature of local events, it provided for great entertainment. Ezra groaned as he leaned forward and skimmed the editorial again. Shaking his head, this is all we need right now.

    The "all" Ezra was referring to were the seven men hired to protect the town of Four Corners and the surrounding region. Ezra smiled remembering the early days when the town attracted any number of the 'bad element' (to quote Mrs. Travis), who attempted to dominate this town because of the lack of effective law enforcement. Those days had changed when word spread of Larabee's Gang or The Magnificent Seven as Jock Steele, the dime novelist, had coined them.

    Maybe Four Corners wasn't attracting the bad element these days but they sure were attracting everybody else. New businesses, settlers, cattle drives, mining operations, and the railroad. Ezra estimated the town must have at least tripled in size in the past six months. Despite their reputations, the Seven were busier than ever. Just this last week, there was a bank robbery that turned ugly when two town citizens had died. The Delano mine cave-in. Cowboys with two trail crews had gotten into a fierce fight over of all things, which of the Seven was the fastest draw. Ezra chuckled remembering the scene.

    "We think there should be a contest to see which of The Magnificent Seven is the fastest?" One of the cowboys, full of more whiskey-induced bravado than sense, announced in the saloon. He swaggered over to the table where Chris and Vin were sitting. Noting that they were ignoring him, the cowboy jeered, "Worried Larabee?"

    "Don't matter," Chris stated matter-of-factly. His flat, blue eyes bore a hole into the man who was challenging him. Shaken, the cowboy reared back several steps away from the table.

    "Course it matters." Another cowboy from the other crew protested determined to show up the first cowboy's crew.

    "No, it doesn't." Chris reiterated and fixed him with the same, flat glare.

    The cowboy paused but started forward to protest again. Ezra stopped him. "I think what Mr. Larabee is telling you, is that any of us, can take you on?"

    "Oh yeah, right," the cowboy replied skeptically. He glanced back to ensure his pals would back him in a fight. Satisfied, he turned back to Chris and Vin, his hand passing close to his holstered weapon.

    Seven men stood as one, their guns drawn. No other man in the saloon cleared his gun from his leather. Silence. It was as if a gun had been shot to regain order but there was no gunfire.

    The belligerent cowboy slowly backed away, his hands in front of him, well clear of his weapon. "I . . . I . . . didn't mean anything by it." He mumbled as he continued to retreat, stopping briefly at the table his pals were sitting at. "Fast," was his only comment. Several nods affirmed his statement. He continued walking out of the saloon, went directly to the livery, mounted his horse and left town.

    And that was the end of that though Buck hadn't seemed to want to let it go. But there were no takers to his challenge to fight it out with fists. Thank God! Ezra didn't know if he had the energy. Ezra chuckled again. All in all, one of the easier confrontations they had this week despite what Mr. Wilmington may think.

    Ezra rubbed his face trying to ease his exhaustion. As much as he hated playing jailer, he was luckier that several of his compatriots. At least he wasn't riding all over the territory. Josiah and JD had rode out very early this morning to the Delano Mine for the second time this week to investigate sabotage rumors.

    And Nathan. Poor Nathan. That man had been run ragged. There had been the two victims of the bank robbers, both died but it had been several days before their demise. Nathan had fought valiantly, using all his acquired medical knowledge to no avail. He tended the injured from the cave-in, only to hurry back to town because Mrs. Andrews was due to deliver. Then, there had been the accident at the Robert's ranch. The death of the settler, a Mrs. Cotter. And last night, he rode out to assist Mrs. Andrews and the delivery of her new baby. Nathan had yet to return for the Andrews family lived some 15 miles from Four Corners. And now this. This editorial. People would talk. Question Nathan's skill. And worst of all, so would Nathan.

    Well, it was not his problem. Ezra's problem was finding someone to relieve him. With all the men long on the trail and passing through town, they were looking for an evening's diversion. There would be several pockets ripe for emptying at his poker table. It could indeed be lucrative.

    Ezra chafed at his enforced imprisonment. Come on somebody, anybody. Let Me Out Of Here! *****************************************************************************************************

    The batwing doors of the saloon were still swinging as Chris paused and morosely surveyed the main street of Four Corners. He could remember the days when half the storefronts were boarded shut. He glanced over at the offices of The Clarion newspaper and recalled the earnest efforts of Mrs. Travis to convince merchants to stay when thugs like James or Royal threatened the town. Chris always felt that the seven regulators received too much credit for the town surviving. The real show of force was one Mrs. Travis.

    Dust churned up as the afternoon stage barreled down the street. Folks scurried to get out its way. That was different too, the sheer number of patrons on the street. Chris had meant to talk to the driver about slowing down in town but just hadn't gotten to it. Damn. Too busy. Too noisy. Too many people. He really couldn't blame Vin for wanting to get out of town for a few days. But he just couldn't afford the manpower.

    "Larabee!" Chris rolled his eyes and reluctantly turned to face the aggrieved foreman of one of the trail crews. "Four of my men are in jail."

    "Yes," Chris drawled slowly. "Our agreement was your men would keep their guns in their holsters. They get liquored up and the lead starts flying, they're going to jail."

    "Come on," the foreman wheedled, "it was a long, hard, hot drive. They were just playing. Let 'em out."

    Chris sighed. "I'll look into it."

    The foreman realized that was the best he could hope for and entered the saloon, not pressing the issue further.

    Chris turned and headed toward the jail. Occasionally a passer-by would nod in his direction but more often than not, folks avoided eye contact. Wouldn't want to challenge one of the deadliest men in the territory. Chris smirked. With the boardwalk so crowded it was difficult to avoid him, though folks were trying their best.

    As he walked, Chris caught snatches of conversation.

    "There's no doctor in this town."

    "Only a healer, but he's out at the Andrews' farm."

    "Former slave. Stretcher bearer during the war."

    "You mean a darkie is the only healer!"

    "Fifty miles to a doctor."

    "Heard three folks died at the mine."

    "There's been three deaths in town this week. Two shot in that bank robbery and one of the settlers."

    "Mrs. Travis is right. We need a doctor in Four Corners."

    Chris startled at that last comment. Mrs. Travis is right?!

    By this time, he had reached the sheriff's office and entered.

    "Ahhh, Mr. Larabee. Are you here to relieve me?" Ezra inquired as Chris entered.

    Irritated, Chris shot Ezra a wry look. "Who you got there?"

    "Six men from the two crews. All for drunk or disorderly conduct. Mr. Wilmington seems to especially enjoy throwing . . ."

    Chris only half-listened to Ezra. Noting the paper, he cut him off, "that today's paper."

    "Has the talk begun?"

    Chris looked up suddenly at Ezra. "That bad?"

    "I'm sure Mrs. Travis's motives are most noble but I fear the unintended consequences."

    Chris groaned. He rapidly flipped through The Clarion to the editorial page. He skimmed the article, wheeled around, and quickly exited the jail.

    "Oh, Mr. Larabee, about my relief . . ." Ezra's voiced trailed off as the door slammed shut.

    "Damn," Ezra muttered. No relief, and now, he had no newspaper. He sunk back into the desk chair and pulled out his ever-present deck of cards. Shuffling smoothly, he then dealt out four hands of poker. He quickly beat 'his rivals' and railed at the injustice of continuing to be trapped as the lone jailer.

    Come on somebody, anybody. Let Me Out Of Here!

    *****************************************************************************************************

    Mary Travis glanced up as the bell on the office door of The Clarion jangled. The smile of welcoming that crossed her face at the sight of Chris Larabee was quickly gone when she sensed the anger emanating from him. He looked quite dangerous dressed all in black, in his black duster with a Colt strapped low to his hips. She would have been fearful except she had gotten to know the man quite well and knew he would never hurt her, at least not physically. Rejection - well, that was a different matter.

    Mary noted the crumbled newspaper in his hand. Coolly she asked, "do you have a problem, Mr. Larabee?"

    Chris Larabee appeared to be valiantly trying to rein in his temper. "This editorial," he growled.

    "Today's?" Mary asked, puzzled as to the problem.

    "Yes, today's," Chris bit off. "What the hell were you thinking?"

    Offended Mary retorted, "I was thinking, Mr. Larabee, that this town needs a doctor."

    "Nathan has always been good enough."

    "Mr. Jackson has exceeded all expectations."

    "He saved a lot of lives."

    "He's been here since the town got its fledgling start."

    Mary's retort brought Chris up short. "Then why the editorial?"

    "Because the town is booming. There is more work than Nathan can handle between his job for the Judge and the medical needs of the community. He needs help. He's exhausting himself trying to tend to everyone."

    "So you're trying to help?" Chris stated quietly.

    Mary nodded.

    "Well, folks ain't as open-minded as you. They see this editorial as your call to replace Nathan."

    "That's ridiculous!" Mary exclaimed offended. "Nobody could think that of me."

    The argument was cut short by a call from the street.

    "WE NEED A DOCTOR HERE!"

    Part 3

    Nathan rolled his shoulders to relieve the stiffness as he slowly rode into Four Corners. It had been a very long night. He rode out to the Andrews' farm yesterday evening expecting to be back by morning. Nathan hated nights like last night. By the time he had been called out, Mrs. Andrews had been in labor the better part of the day. She was getting exhausted and then it was a footling delivery. Rarely is there a good outcome to those deliveries. Nathan had only seen one before and both the mother and baby died despite a physician being in attendance. He railed at himself for not having more medical knowledge. Nathan could only hope he was doing the right thing. Fortunately, both the mother and baby survived.

    He was appreciative of the help from Nettie Wells who had a calming influence on the family and was going to stay till Mrs. Andrews was back on her feet. Mr. Andrews never was too enamored with Nathan assisting his wife, but with no doctor in the area he had little choice. Nettie had made him understand that.

    Nathan approached the livery stables and Yosemite, the burly liveryman, came out to meet him. "I'll take care of him for ya."

    Nathan smiled his appreciation as he dismounted. "Thanks, Yosemite."

    Nathan crossed the street and headed to his rooms. A hot meal sounded great but he needed to make sure there were no patients awaiting his return. It had been that kind of week. Last night was a victory but they had been few and far between this week. Five patients he tended and one he never got a chance to help had died this week. Those were the patients that haunted him. Was there more that could have been done?

    "WE NEED A DOCTOR HERE!"

    Nathan rushed down the stairs to the street. A crowd was gathering by the saloon and despite his weariness, Nathan sprinted to the emergency.

    *****************************************************************************************************

    "Son, don't move?"

    "Where's the doctor?"

    "There is no doctor."

    "JD!" Buck yelled.

    "Folks move back."

    JD was lying on the ground desperately trying to catch his breath. He'd only had the wind knocked out of him due to a stupid mistake. He was so tired that he had been intent on debating the merits of leading or riding his horse to the stables; he had forgotten a basic step before mounting: checking that the cinch was tight. It was such a novice mistake that JD just wanted to hide. But no! Here he was flat on his back with the whole town starting to gather around him.

    "Sir, move back," Nathan commanded as he arrived at the scene.

    The stranger pulled his arm away. "Who the hell are you?"

    "He's the doc."

    "Yeah, right," the man retorted skeptically.

    "Sir, I'm a healer. Let me tend to him."

    "Boy needs a doctor." There were murmurs of affirmation from the surrounding crowd.

    JD started to sit up and managed to rasp out, "I'm fine."

    "Can't believe a town this size don't have a doctor."

    Chris had just arrived and looked pointedly at Mary.

    Mary ducked her head ashamed and once seeing that JD was fine returned to her office.

    "JD. What happened?" Buck exclaimed, obviously concerned.

    "It was nothing."

    "Now, it wasn't nothing."

    "I just fell off my horse," JD mumbled.

    Buck looked up at the saddle. "Christ, JD. Didn't think I need to tell you to tighten a cinch before mounting?"

    JD flushed, embarrassed. "You don't."

    "Well, it appears like I do," Buck retorted stepping over JD to adjust the saddle. "You tighten the cinch before mounting. Tighten the cinch slowly. If you tighten it too quickly you can cause your horse to be "cinchy", ya know - irritable, during saddling."

    Several men chuckled at Buck's lesson.

    JD's jaw tightened at Buck's display. Quit it, Buck. Why don't you tell the whole town just how stupid and green I am.

    "JD, you all right?" Nathan inquired laying a hand on his arm.

    JD jerked his arm away. Accepting assistance from the stranger who initially came to his aid, he got on his feet.

    Ezra, Vin, and Josiah arrived. "You all right, son?"

    "I'm fine. I'M FINE." JD grabbed the reins from Buck and stalked off leading his horse to the livery.

    "Let's break it up folks," Chris ordered.

    "Well, it is a relief the boy is okay."

    "Good thing, he didn't need a doctor."

    "Yeah, closest one is some fifty miles away."

    Nathan still knelt on the ground, his hand extended to help JD. Yeah, good thing you didn't need a doctor, kid. Because I sure ain't one. He rubbed his face trying to brush away his defeat at the failures of the past week. Nathan's retreat to his clinic went unnoticed.

    "You might take it easy on JD, Buck." Josiah commented.

    "Oh really, after a stunt like that. That boy needs a caretaker."

    "Think Josiah's right, Buck," Vin offered.

    "You embarrassed him."

    "Me. ME. I embarrassed him!" Buck stalked back to the saloon. He stopped at the doors. "He looked the fool, because he acted the fool." Buck commented before entering.

    "Well. Now we have finished with JD's foolishness. Who is going to relieve me at the jail?" Ezra asked.

    Vin and Josiah walked off without responding. Having put in full days in the saddle, they had no interest in being Ezra's relief. He had by far the easiest day of the seven.

    "Hmmm, Mr. Larabee?"

    "Let 'em go."

    "Pardon?"

    "You heard me. Release the prisoners."

    "Are you sure?"

    Chris didn't deign to respond but stalked off down the street away from the walls closing in on him, the crowds, the controversies, and the burden of responsibility for everything and everyone in this town. He had enough.

    Ezra watched Chris walk away. It probably wasn't smart to release the men but he sure as hell didn't want to spend all night in the jail guarding them. Ezra hurried back to the jail before Chris could change his mind.

    Ezra was about to enter but he checked the street one more time, fully expecting Chris would think better of releasing the prisoners. But he was gone. Ezra shrugged.

    "Come on somebody, anybody. Let Me Out Of Here," one of the prisoners demanded just as Ezra entered.

    "It would be my pleasure." Ezra reached up for the keys on the hook.

    The prisoner's eyes widened in surprise at the response.

    "Thank you gambler."

    "You gentlemen wouldn't be interested in a game?"

    Several said yes. One even offered to buy a round for the table. Ezra chuckled. He had no doubts about his ability to empty these men's pockets. He rubbed his hands together, relishing the thought of a very lucrative evening.

    Part 4

    A tall man with short reddish hair and a neatly trimmed beard leaned against the back of the livery stable and cleaned his fingernails with the point of a large knife. The way he leaned was casual and relaxed, as if he had all the time in the world and nothing better to do. His pale blue eyes were sharp and alert, though, watching everything up and down the narrow back street from underneath the wide brim of his hat. Nothing escaped his notice.

    He heard a movement to his right, the sound of a pebble scraped by a boot. The hand holding the knife paused. An uncommonly perceptive person might have noticed the muscles in his neck tighten slightly. No one else would have noticed anything at all.

    A moment later another man stood next to him. This second man was much shorter than the first and had jet black hair cut so short it appeared he'd used a razor, dark skin and startlingly green eyes. He was lean and wore a long tan duster and a navy-colored slouch hat. Though his face was so still as to be almost eerie, the fingers of his right hand betrayed his restless nature, pulling at a loose thread along the cuff of his sleeve.

    "Thompson," he said quietly to the other man who nodded and went back to scanning the street. "Quiet?" the shorter man asked after a minute.

    Thompson, the red-haired man, didn't answer for a minute and while he was waiting the shorter man began to pace, just three short steps, then he turned, three short steps, and turned again. "This is a right interesting town," Thompson finally said in a slow voice that made it seem as if he'd been considering what he was saying for a long time. "Lotta opportunities here for a man with...initiative."

    "Thompson. Sullivan." A third voice, seemingly out of nowhere, snapped their names into the early evening air as if they were bullets seeking their targets.

    Thompson straightened and pushed himself away from the side of the livery.

    Sullivan stopped pacing. They looked at the man standing in the back door of the stable. He was maybe six feet tall, but so lean he appeared taller. He wore a gray duster and black hat and it was rumored that he carried four guns and six knives concealed variously about his person. Thompson and Sullivan knew him only as Striker and Thompson, at least, thought he was the most snake-like man he had ever encountered. Quiet, almost unnaturally still, and then, suddenly, out of nowhere, he'd strike. And his strike was almost always deadly.

    "Striker," Sullivan said. His voice was naturally low, but when he said Striker's name there was an edge to it, like the slice of a sharpened blade.

    "What have you heard?" Striker said. He walked toward them, his spurs jangling with every step he took.

    "They don't know anything," Thompson said with a sneer. "They're too busy just holding on."

    Striker's head snapped around and he looked Thompson straight in the eye. The eyes were empty, completely empty. Thompson figured it was like looking right into the mouth of hell. "_Don't_ underestimate these men," he snapped. "You need to watch them and know them and be ready." He tilted his head and by so doing managed to look even more intimidating. Thompson in his lifetime had without compunction set and carried out a half dozen deadly ambushes, lured three posses to their deaths along the upper Rocky Mountain trails, and taken on eight Pinkerton detectives straight-up, on his own, in the middle of the town of Fortune Flats, but there was something about Striker that bothered even him. "Nothing matters so much as being ready." Striker told them now. "And being strong enough to see this through to the end."

    Sullivan spoke up unexpectedly. "We'll be ready," he said and there was a trace of satisfaction in his voice. "There is no question of that. And we will never quit." And then Sullivan did something Thompson had never seen him do before. He smiled.

    *****************************************************************************************************

    Chris found Josiah in front of the church, untying his horse from the hitching rail.

    "I want to talk to you," he said abruptly.

    Josiah gave him a smile, ignoring the tightness in Chris's features and the way his eyes looked--narrow and dark. "I'm fixin' to ride on out to Belle's ranch right now," Josiah said. "And what with all the activity I'm runnin' a mite late. So if it can wait--"

    "It can't," Chris said, cutting him off. He looked sharply at the preacher. "Where was Buck?"

    "What?"

    "Why didn't he go with you out to the mine? He was supposed to go, and he didn't. And I want to know why."

    "Did you ask him?"

    Chris made a sharp motion with his hand as if that suggestion was too stupid even to respond to. "What did he tell you?" he asked.

    Josiah took a step to the side so he could lean against the rail. His horse bowed its head and stamped one foot softly, but otherwise waited patiently. Josiah spoke quietly, as if he were oblivious to Chris's fingers tapping on the handle of his pistol. "Well, now, Chris, I can't recall exactly."

    "He was with a woman." Chris said it flatly, as if he were already certain of the answer.

    "Now, Chris, if you're having a problem with Buck, you'd best discuss it with him."

    "There's no problem," Chris said in his coolest voice. He had that small half-smile on his face, the one that had been known to strike chills down a man's spine. "Just want to know."

    If Josiah hadn't been in a hurry and reluctant to ask the beautiful and enchanting Miss Belle to wait even an extra minute for his arrival, he might have taken the time to put his hand on Chris's shoulder and walk him over to the saloon and drink half a bottle of whiskey with him until they both felt mighty fine. But tonight he was in a hurry. Afterward, when it was much too late, he would have time to regret that.

    "We rode out pretty early, as you know," Josiah finally said, seeing that Chris was going to insist on hearing everything. "JD and I were in the livery saddling our horses. JD was going on about something. How early it was, how he hadn't hardly gotten any sleep. Something like that."

    "And?"

    Josiah looked at him measuringly. "And Buck came in as we were about ready to leave. He said that something had come up. He wouldn't be able to join us, but he figured we really didn't need him anyway." Josiah looked Chris straight in the eye. "Which was true. All we were doing was checking out rumors."

    "Was he with a woman?" Chris's mind was running down a single track, and he wasn't about to stray.

    "I couldn't rightly say," Josiah allowed. "He came in by himself. I didn't see anyone else. But he did glance toward the door a few times so there might have been someone out there waiting for him." Josiah pushed himself away from the rail he'd been leaning against. "And now," he said, throwing his horse's reins over its neck. "I'm going." He mounted his horse, tipped his hat to Chris, and trotted down the street.

    Chris turned and watched him go, but he wasn't really seeing Josiah or his horse. He was angry. He didn't know why. And what he wanted more than anything was something to be angry _at_. He hadn't asked for this, this job taking care of a town. Hell, he didn't _need_ this. No one listened to him anyway. And it was obvious no one else really cared. Buck abandoned his obligations every time a pretty woman came along. Vin wanted to head off to the reservation at the drop of a hat. Ezra couldn't even finish an easy stint at the jail without complaining up one side and down the other. What did they all want, anyway? And what did he, Chris Larabee, want? That question, which he hadn't asked himself in a long time, startled him a bit. And he began to think about it--what _did_ he want?--as he walked, almost absently, down the street.

    *****************************************************************************************************

    Casey Wells cleaned the front porch. She'd swept it three times already today so she didn't raise much dust, but she didn't feel right pacing back and forth for no good reason and she had too much nervous energy to sit still. So, she swept.

    She couldn't believe how stupid she'd been last night. What had she been thinking? Well..she knew. JD got to do everything. Wear guns. Ride with the seven. Have adventures! And all she did was the same old boring stuff day after day. Was that fair?

    And then, there was so much going on in town right now. The two trail crews..and she'd bet they had all sorts of stories to tell. And the mine cave-in, which hardly anyone had even told her about. And all the good and exciting things that happened at night when she wasn't even there.

    She swept the broom viciously along the weatherworn boards. All she'd wanted was to see the town at night, to see all those things that JD talked about, to have an adventure. And it _had_ been an adventure, though certainly not the one she'd anticipated.

    Aunt Nettie had left the buckboard in town when she'd ridden out to the Andrews with Nathan. She'd asked Casey to come in and get it, meaning, come in in the morning and get it. But that had been Casey's excuse. It'd be easy, she figured. Go into town, look around, get the buckboard and come home. Simple.

    Only it hadn't been simple at all.

    First, it had been so much noisier than she'd expected. There were people everywhere. None of them were people Casey knew. And they were, well,...just different than the people she saw every day. The men kept looking at her and a couple of them tried to grab her. She dodged them easily but it had made her think that maybe she should just get her buckboard and get on out of there. She'd even thought of finding JD. But then she'd thought how he would act, all protective and...older, and that had made her square her shoulders and swear that she could do this.

    She'd been almost to the livery and starting to relax when a man she'd never seen before had come up behind her and grabbed her and flung her into the alley. He'd shoved her up against the wall and put his hand over her mouth, whispering something to her that she didn't even want to remember. She bit his hand and he'd yelped and reared back to hit her and she'd managed to wriggle away from him only to be grabbed by another man. She kicked that man and left him cursing at her. The two men had run into each other in the dark and she'd managed to get away from both of them, but then they'd chased her. She'd taken refuge under the porch at the back of Mrs. Potter's store, but they'd looked for her for a long time, calling names and laughing in a way that Casey'd never heard before and that scared her even more. When they couldn't find her they'd gotten angry and even after their voices had faded and she couldn't hear them any more she'd been afraid to move, afraid that they were waiting for her, or that there were more of them out there. All she'd wanted at that point was to go home. But she was too afraid even to do that.

    Gradually, it had gotten quieter and after a very long time, Casey had crawled out of her hiding place. She figured that she needed help at that point. She sure wasn't going to JD--not in the middle of the night. She'd have died rather than have Chris or Josiah or Vin find out she'd been so stupid. Buck's boarding house was directly across the back alley from the general store and she headed there. She stood for a long time in the /fanfiction/shadows outside the door, trying to figure out what to do next. She knew he'd help her. He'd been the first one who'd ever looked at her like she was, well, real. And he'd always been kind to her. And she didn't, somehow, mind him knowing like she minded the others. But she felt strange, too, just walking into a boarding house at four o'clock in the morning and knocking on the door to his room.

    But as she was waiting there in indecision, the door of the boarding house swung open. Casey'd jumped back into the /fanfiction/shadows her heart pounding in her chest. Buck Wilmington had emerged. He'd been laughing, his gunbelt slung over his shoulder, and a woman in his arms. He'd kissed the woman and watched her appreciatively as she walked off down the street. Casey didn't know for sure, but she must have made some kind of noise then because he'd spun around, his hand going to his gun and stared into the alley.

    "Somebody there?" he'd asked in a deadly voice that suddenly made Casey want to run away.

    She'd stood there for a minute, her teeth chattering, though it wasn't very cold. "Buck?" she'd said in a shaky voice. And then, the minute he'd realized it was her, everything had been all right, although she still felt stupid and more scared than she ever wanted to feel again.

    Buck had asked hardly any questions. He'd taken one look at her and seen that she needed help and he'd gone to the stable and told JD and Josiah he had something else to do. He'd taken her home and stayed there while she built a fire in the stove and lit the lanterns and even after that, until she stopped shivering. Then, he'd made her tell him everything. She'd begged him not to tell anyone, not Chris or Aunt Nettie, or heaven forbid, JD. And he'd smiled at her and assured her with his hand on his heart that 'ol Buck' would never let her down.

    But he hadn't been smiling at all when he'd asked her to describe the two men who'd attacked her in the alley. And she wasn't sure he'd even heard her when she'd pleaded with him to just drop it. There'd been a look in his eyes that truly frightened her and she'd wondered for the first time what it would be like to be someone Buck was angry with.

    The sun had already been up for several hours by the time he'd left and she couldn't help but notice that he'd ridden toward where the trail herds were bedded down and not back into town. In a way, she wanted to know what had happened. But, she thought as she swept the porch one more time, she was never going into town again.

    part 5

    Something was wrong.

    Josiah could feel it before he even rode into the yard of the little white house Miss Belle had bought only two months before and fixed up like a regular fairy-tale cottage. He dismounted slowly, looping his chestnut's reins over the hitching post with a sense of inescapable doom. She hadn't come out to greet him, like she always did. The sweet honeysuckle and red roses nodded around the edges of the empty porch like they were mocking him, as if they knew what he did not. By the time the preacher climbed the slender steps and crossed the porch to raise his knuckles to the wood, he felt like Death itself could open the door and stand staring at him.

    But it wasn't Death that opened the door. It was Miss Belle. Looking like Death.

    Josiah's mouth fell opened as she rushed into his arms suddenly with an enormous sob, to fall upon his breast with both her tiny hands cupping her face. Josiah took her two elbows in his large hands and bent over her.

    "Belle, Darlin'. What's wrong?"

    She cried harder, and Josiah's heart sank with confusion. Why did women carry on like this? It just made it so hard to figure things out. He half-lifted and half-pushed her into the house and shut the door behind them, then shook her arms gently and tried to get her to look up at him. When she did, he gasped. Even in the dim interior of the snug little house, with all the drapes pulled as though for mourning, he could see that her beautiful periwinkle eyes were swollen and red from weeping. Josiah felt a stirring of outrage run through his veins.

    "Why, Belle!" he exclaimed, "has someone hurt you?"

    The woman nodded wordlessly, then spun around so that her back was to Josiah. She bowed her head over one hand that he saw now clutched a wadded handkerchief, and continued to weep. Josiah moved around so that he was in front of her again. His voice grew softer, but carried in it a tone that was not to be argued with.

    "You need to tell me what happened," he said softly. "Tell me what happened."

    "I -- I--" the woman stammered, and Josiah winced at how hoarse her sweet voice had become from so many hours of suffering alone. He put one hand on her tiny shoulder and tried again.

    "You can tell me," he said. "Tell me what happened."

    "I can't be -- You can't court me no more, Josiah!" Belle burst out. Her crying rose to more of a wail at the words, and Josiah took half a step back in shock.

    "WHAT? Why, Belle!?! What are you sayin'?"

    The woman spoke in a muffled voice from within her two hands, sniffling between words. "You can't court me no more. I'm no fit wife material no more is what's happened." She looked up to fix Josiah with a haunted face that he thought would never leave his memory. "I've been ruined," she said softly, "while you were gone."

    "Ruined?" Josiah's voice was barely above a whisper as he struggled to understand her meaning. Surely . . . He looked at the woman's pale heart-shaped face, black ringlets drooping in miserable curlicues around it, two tiny spots of rose high on each cheek showing where she burned with shame inside. He jerked suddenly as he understood.

    "No," he cried hoarsely. "No, this can't have happened. Oh, Belle!"

    The woman fled across the room to stand over the melodion, her head bowed and her shoulders heaving with her sobs. "It did," she said. "It did, and you are too good a man, too fine a man, to consort with such as I am now."

    "No. It's not that way at all, Belle." Josiah was at her side in two giant strides, taking her in his arms despite the way he felt her body stiffen. He felt tears begin to sting his own eyes. "It don't matter to me," he said. "I love you."

    "It matters to me," sobbed Belle.

    Josiah paused. "Who did this to you?" When Belle was silent, he turned her around to face him. "Tell me who did this to you. I'll go take care of him, and then we'll talk this all out. I'll be damned if I'm goin' to sit by an'--"

    "NO!" Belle cried out in horror and laid one hand in supplication upon Josiah's chest. "Please don't try to avenge my honor, Josiah. My dearest darling! Then my heart will be broken doubly, for you will wind up in prison for killing a man on my account. He has friends, and is deadly. He might even kill you instead. I could not bear that. I would surely die."

    "Tell me his name," growled Josiah. His eyes flashed a sudden spark from beneath lowered brows, and Belle shuddered.

    "I can't," she whispered. "You know the man. You would kill him, or die tryin'. I cannot have that on my conscience with all this other as well."

    "Then I'll find 'im." Josiah stepped back with a look of cold fury on his face. "I swear to you, Belle, I'll find that misbegotten bastard and I'll beat the living hell out of him. And then I'll come back here and you'll put on your best dress and we'll find a preacher that ain't me, and we'll get married." He slammed his hat onto his head and burst out of the parlor like a bull. Belle followed him on tiny slippered feet, her curls shaking with her terror.

    "No! Josiah!! Please don't do this!!" She followed him out onto the porch and remained there entreating him to let it all go, to forget everything, to start his life anew as she would also -- and all the while Josiah checked his cinch, mounted up, and turned his horse to throw a final, power-filled look at the woman before he galloped from the yard, sending a mix of pansies and bachelor buttons through the air in shreds beneath the animal's hooves.

    Part 6 JD had kept his head down as he walked off toward the livery. He was infuriated with Buck. JD could hear the chuckles from some of the witnesses. Buck humiliated him with his saddling lesson. Here he was trying to establish himself in the town and Buck just gave them more reason to realize just how green he was. It hadn't been that long ago since Miss Annie was accidently shot in that bank robbery. It was hard not to have the trust of the town. Foiling the stage robbery by Achilles and his gang had helped. And he had done well earlier in the week when he was the first one on the scene of the latest bank robbery. He laid down cover fire till the rest of the seven could arrive. The robbers were pinned and killed attempting to escape. Just as well. During the robbery, two town folk were shot and later died.

    Been a hell of a week. The bank robbery. The two trail crews. The Delano mine cave-in. The accident at the Robert's ranch. Hell, no wonder he was tired and short-tempered.

    JD let the ritual of caring for his horse calm him. He stroked his horse's neck as he used the curry comb to break up the clumps of dirt that stuck to his horse's hair. Josiah and he had done some tough riding today. It was a good five hours to the Delano Mine. Then, they had rode around the site and the surrounding areas to find clues that could hint to the origins of cave-in. Was it a tragic accident or something more sinister as Delano suspected? It was such a mess up there, neither Josiah or JD could reach a conclusion, one way or the other.

    JD noticed that Yosemite, the liveryman, was in the stable tending a horse.

    "Hey Yosemite, is that Nathan's horse you're tendin'?" JD called.

    "Yeah." Yosemite's deep, gravelly voice responded. "Doc was out at the Andrew's place all night. Rode in not long ago. Plumb tuckered out. Doc's had a lot of patients this week."

    JD smiled. It was just like Yosemite in his low-key way to help out a friend. He remembered the fair price Yosemite had given him when he sold his horse before leavin' town. He was also real understandin' about JD wantin' to buy it back and he didn't jack up the price.

    JD startled and his brush strokes stopped as he realized he had abruptly brushed aside the helping hand of a friend. They had called for a doctor when he had fallen and Nathan had come runnin'. JD had just pushed him away and accepted the hand of a stranger. Gee, Nathan. I'm so sorry. Can I make it up to you?

    JD pondered the problem as he finished his horse's care. Knowing Nathan, he would probably return to his clinic to make sure there were no patients awaiting his return. That was Nathan's way. Take care of everyone else first.

    JD smiled. He left the stable with a purpose. He considered walking to the hotel to get Nathan a hot meal but the restaurant was so much closer. They had this new German cook. He made these dishes like Sauerbraten and Gulaschsuppe. JD couln't stand the stuff. Neither could his friends except for Nathan and Ezra. For a loner, Ezra hated eating alone and frequently sought out Nathan to share some hearty German fare. They generally couldn't agree on anything but how good those meals were. JD couldn't see it.

    "Hey, Andreas."

    "Guten tag, Herr Dunne," the cook greeted JD.

    "What's for dinner?"

    "Ah, one of my favorite recipes - Swabian liver dumplings," Andreas announced proudly.

    JD looked at Andreas skeptically. "Is that something Nathan would like?"

    "Ah, the doctor. One of his favorites too."

    "I want to buy Nathan dinner and take it to his room. I've got one other errand and I'll be back."

    JD went to the bathhouse a few doors down and got a bucket of hot water so Nathan could wash up. He knew Nathan would appreciate it compared to washing up with cold water.

    JD returned to the restaurant but Andreas wasn't around. JD went ahead and served up some liver dumplings. He already had Andreas's okay. JD wrinkled his nose at the smell of the food. Well, at least Nathan loved this stuff. He left money on the counter for the food and carried it and the bucket of hot water to Nathan's room.

    JD kicked Nathan's door with his foot. "Nathan, it's JD."

    Nathan opened the door.

    "Hi, wanted to apologize for pushing you away this afternoon."

    "No need for that," Nathan quickly averred.

    "Yeah, there is. I brought these for you." JD indicated the food and hot water.

    A broad smile crossed Nathan's tired face. "That food for me?"

    "It sure ain't for me."

    Nathan chuckled. He knew JD hated German food. He took the bucket of hot water from JD and poured some water into a bowl. "Thanks, JD. This is really great."

    "I heard that you were out at the Andrew's place all night."

    "Yeah," Nathan smiled with satisfaction, "they have a beautiful new girl. She sure made it hard entering the world. There were complications."

    "Will they be okay?"

    "Think so. Nettie Wells is staying with them to help out."

    "Is Casey with her?"

    Nathan smiled at the track of JD's thinking. That girl never seemed to be far from his thoughts. "No."

    "She's at the ranch by herself!" JD exclaimed.

    Nathan smiled again. "Think a friend would want to check she's okay." Not that Nathan really thought Casey wasn't fine. She was a very independent young lady and could easily manage on her own.

    "Yeah, you would." JD answered slowly. "But things haven't been the same since Miss Annie died."

    "Go out there," Nathan encouraged, clapping a hand on JD's shoulder to reassure him it would be fine.

    "Thanks, Doc."

    Nathan inclined his head at the food. "No. Thank you, JD."

    Nathan finished washing, then quickly gobbled the hot food. It wasn't Andreas's best but Nathan was too exhausted to care. He stripped off his vest, shirt, and pants and layed down on his bed, quickly falling asleep. It was the hard, dreamless sleep of an exhuasted man.

    Andreas, the restaurant cook, noticed the money on the kitchen counter. Huh, must have missed Dunne. He was young and had a lot to learn but you couldn't fault his integrity. Not like some in the territory. Andreas stepped out to the back garden and heaved the contents of the pot onto the compost pile in the corner. He knew he shouldn't of wasted his time, the calf's liver he bought from Royal had smelled off before he started. Fortunately he had prepared a second pot and no one would eat from this one.

    *****************************************************************************************************

    JD initially planned to take a bath and shave before heading out to the Wells' farm. But he was so tired, he was afraid he'd fall asleep in the bathtub and never get out there and he really wanted to see Casey.

    As JD rode up to the Wells' farm, Casey was on the front porch vigorously sweeping. JD couldn't imagine it being that dirty. JD noted Casey froze, as she became aware of a rider approaching.

    "Casey," JD called out.

    JD frowned as he noticed that Casey visibly relaxed as he approached.

    "Hi, JD. I wasn't expecting you."

    "Nathan told me your aunt is staying out with the Andersons and I wanted to check on you." JD grinned sheepishly. "And to let you know I was back from the Delano mine."

    Casey smiled weakly. "Uh, that was real nice of you, JD."

    Casey startled as a flock of birds flew out of the forest.

    JD dismounted. "Casey, is something wrong?"

    "What . . . what would make you think that, JD?" Casey started to sweep the porch again.

    JD smiled disarmingly. "I don't know. You seem a little jumpy." He reached over and took the broom from Casey. "Did you get a little nervous out here by yourself?"

    "Of course not," Casey hoped she sounded affronted.

    "Not just a little bit?" JD teased.

    Casey couldn't lift her eyes up from JD's boots. "Maybe, just a little." She finally admitted.

    "Well, then, it was a good thing I came along to visit my girl."

    "You would think if you was visiting your girl, you could've at least shaved."

    "So you admit it. You're my girl." JD crowed.

    "Now, JD, I didn't never say that. All I was saying was that if I was your girl, you would have shaved."

    "So, what's for supper?"

    "I don't remember sendin' out any invitations."

    "Well, guess I'll just have to find another date." JD turned and started to walk towards his horse.

    "I have your favorite - chicken 'n dumplin's."

    "Is that an invite?"

    "Yes. Please stay, JD," Casey was trying very hard at this point to keep the quaver out of her voice. If he realized just how scared she was to be alone, well, it sure wouldn't be just her's and Buck's secret anymore. They would have to tell her Aunt and the rest of the seven were bound to find out about her run-in with those men.

    "Thank you, Casey."

    Casey's knees sagged with relief when she realized JD was going to stay.

    "Well, its ready. Let's go in."

    JD's appetite was hearty during supper that there wasn't much conversation to Casey's relief. JD's head flopped a couple of times as he ate and it became apparent he was valiantly trying to keep his eyes open. "Come on, JD. You need to get some sleep." Casey led JD to the back bedroom. He plopped down on the bed. Casey pulled off his boots and covered him with a quilt. It was a relief knowing he would be here tonight.

    Casey went out to the main room and sat in her Aunt Nettie's rocking chair by the fire. The Spencer carbine at her side. Casey didn't figure she would be sleeping tonight.

    Part 7

    Vin threw the bedroll down out of the back of his wagon and angrily tossed several blankets down after it. He threw several packs around, looking for the beaded bag he'd traded for last month just specifically to give Chanu as a thanks gift for the Feasting they'd have at the ceremony, but finally gave up and leaped out of the wagon to the ground to escape the dust he'd raised inside. Man, things could get really out of hand if you parked your wagon in a town. Too many street vehicles, thought Vin sullenly, raising too much dust. Damned town. He picked up the blankets he'd tossed down and shook them out with a sharp snap, then rolled them tightly and lashed them to the bedroll. The beaded bag had to be somewhere, and he'd just have to find it later. For now, he'd get a whiskey to wash all the damned dust out of his throat while he let it settle back down again so he could come look some more.

    Throwing the tied-together sleeping things over the wagon tailgate, the tracker headed towards the saloon with a slight frown on his face. He was hoping not to run into Chris this time. The gunman was getting way too bossy these days, and now he even seemed to think that Vin was some sort of day-laborer who had to get permission to go relieve himself. Well, it wasn't that way and Chris Larabee was just going to have to get used to the idea. Vin shoved the batwing doors apart with more of a bang than he'd intended, and dropped into a chair at the first empty table he saw, signaling the barkeep to set him up. The first sip hit his belly like a fist, but the second was a little gentler, and after the third deep swallow the tracker slid down in his chair with a sigh and felt himself start to relax.

    Maybe it's ok, he thought. Everyone's just tired from so much happenin' this week. An' last week. An' . . . well, the week before. Vin chuckled to himself softly and shook his head, taking another big swallow of his drink as his eyes drifted to the raised table against the wall where a knot of tense men surrounded the high-stakes game Ezra had been in all day. Just then he heard the southerner's clear accents float out from somewhere among the mass of men: "Call;" followed a moment later by the collective exhale of all the watchers as they saw the hands revealed. Vin shook his head to himself again and smiled. All they needed was a little down time, and all he needed was some time out under the stars. The tracker sighed contentedly, thinking of his favorite hidden campsite between town and the reservation, then sat up straight with a snap as he heard the furious clatter of someone reining in outside and throwing himself into the saloon with a rush that could only spell trouble.

    It was Josiah.

    Vin watched in silent surprise as the big man shoved his way through several others to get to the bar, reached a long arm over the counter to drag a full bottle of red-eye from behind it, and pulled out the cork with a single enraged gesture. The barkeep took one look at the preacher's glittering eyes and backed away. Everyone knew that look. To cross it was to take your life in your hands.

    Vin swallowed and kept his eye on the preacher as he sullenly retreated to the back of the saloon and began to drink from the bottle, holding the neck of it in one enormous fist as whiskey trailed out the corners of his mouth and down the sides of his face and neck. Ten minutes later, Josiah tossed the empty bottle aside with a hollow thump and went to the bar to get another. He wasn't even weaving yet, Vin noticed. Maybe now was the time to find out what was going on. When Josiah returned to his table, the tracker was sitting there waiting for him. Josiah started, then narrowed his eyes.

    "I don't remember askin' you to join me," he growled.

    "Reckon not," Vin agreed mildly, "but it looked like you could use some company."

    "Suit yourself." The preacher's voice had a surly edge to it that made several people at nearby tables get up and move farther away. Vin just sat there quietly watching Josiah start working on the second bottle, relieved to see that at least he was slowing down some this time.

    "Miss Belle doin' all ri-"

    "NO!" Josiah leaped to his feet, his face red with sudden fury. "Miss Belle is NOT all right! And you've no call to bring her name into this!!"

    Vin stood up, his expression even. "All right," he said.

    "Get out," hissed Josiah. "Just take your sanctimonious shit and get out of my sight." He dropped heavily into the chair again, turning his back pointedly to the tracker. Vin sighed and shrugged. Sometimes there just wasn't any way to reach Josiah when he was like this. It would all come out later, but . . . the man threaded his way through the saloon and went outside. Josiah's chestnut stood at the hitching rail, its sides heaving and caked with sweat. Vin stepped up close enough to stroke the animal's long nose and then scratched its ears.

    "Well, looks like you got the short end a' this stick, fella'." Vin undid the loop the reins were in and backed the animal out to lead it away. "C'mon. I'll getcha' down to the livery an' we'll fix ya' up right. Josiah'll be along in the mornin', once he realizes he forgot ya'." Vin walked off into the rapidly darkening street, the horse plodding docilely at his heels. He stopped once to run quick eyes through the /fanfiction/shadows gathering at the ends of the boardwalks, feeling a shiver of being watched run across his scalp. When he saw nothing, he shook himself all over and went on.

    "Reckon I'm just gettin' plumb locoed from bein' in a town so long," he said softly to the horse.

    The horse snorted and led on wearily.

    Part 8

    Casey remembered their laughs and startled when the Spencer carbine clattered to the floor. That evil laugh. Two men who were bigger, stronger, and didn't think twice about having their fun with a girl. No matter what price she paid.

    Casey found herself sobbing. She bit down on her index finger so JD wouldn't hear. She didn't think she could ever bear if he knew about her near disgrace. As it was, she was never going to town again.

    Casey managed to collect herself and start the morning chores. The restless energy she couldn't control consumed her. It would be hours till the sun rose. She didn't want to think about what the day would bring. All she knew was she wanted JD to stay and make it safe.

    So she did chores. Everything she could think of. She collected the eggs. Fed the chickens. Tended the stock. Mucked the barn. Cleaned, dusted, and swept the cabin. Washed windows. Polished the brass and silver - mind you, there wasn't much but they'd never been so bright.

    And she swept the front porch.

    JD had been asleep one moment and awake the next. He wasn't in his own room in Four Corners. He fingered the familiar quilt on the bed trying to place it. The sun was well up and he could see the room clearly. When he saw the empty, unslept-in bed across the room, he realized he was at the Wells farm.

    JD quickly swung his legs over the side of the bed and searched for his boots. He walked into the main room, no Casey. JD considered the options. Maybe she was at the chicken coop. Maybe she was at the barn. Or maybe . . . Then he heard it.

    Swish, swish, swish.

    She was sweeping that damn front porch again. It can't possibly be that dirty.

    "Casey, what're you doing?"

    Casey screamed. She had been so absorbed in her task, trying to keep the dark thoughts at bay that she never heard JD until he called out. Casey's hand shook as she covered her heart. Several deep breaths later she regained her composure. "JD, you gave me a fright. You could tell a person 'good morning' without making her jump out of her skin."

    JD immediately realized he frightened her. She started to back away from him. He started forward toward her but stopped when he sensed her fear. "Hey Casey, I'm sorry."

    "No, no, I'm sorry. If I weren't wool gatherin', I would have heard that you're up. It's all right." Casey's voice quavered. She didn't say anything for a minute, then offered, "would you like some breakfast?"

    Casey smiled tentatively at JD.

    "Chicken 'n dumplin's," JD teased.

    "Bacon and eggs," Casey contradicted as she walked to the cabin door, swatting JD in the chest as she passed.

    JD with his quick reflexes caught Casey's hand before she could enter the cabin. Casey froze. She looked up into his eyes. A rich, almost sable brown. JD held her hand longer than was proper. Casey swallowed. JD's thumb brushed over the back of her hand. Casey's body shook slightly. She offered a slight smile and then moved to withdraw her hand. JD's hand tightened slightly slowing her withdrawl.

    Casey gave a tug and turned into the cabin. "Breakfast will be ready in a bit."

    Casey closed the cabin door. Oh, Lord. Casey's body quivered. Her hands covered her mouth. She wanted to kiss him. It wouldn't have taken much. Just lean a little forward and touch your lips to his. The thoughts shamed her. She'd never thought she'd have those feeling about any man again. Maybe she deserved what happened in town. Bein' forward and all.

    It occurred to Casey, she'd better start breakfast. Frowning slightly, she realized it was probably closer to lunch. Her stomach had an aching emptiness. Casey realized she had barely eaten yesterday and not at all today. She pulled the rashers of bacon earlier. With practiced ease, she prepared a tray of biscuits and put them in the oven. She set the table. When the rest of the food was near ready, she fried some eggs - 3 for JD and one for herself. She went to the cabin door and called out to JD.

    "This all looks great," JD enthused.

    Casey surveyed the table; proud of the meal she presented. Casey wondered if she would ever have a husband to cook for, a family to tend? No, she could never. Casey's stomach was queasy and her appetite faded. She pushed her food around her plate but the thought of putting any food in her mouth -- Casey ran from the room, her stomach heaving.

    "Casey . . ." JD asked tentatively, coming upon Casey around the side of the cabin where she was throwing up.

    "JD, please, please just go away."

    "I'll do anything you want right now, except that -- I will not go away," JD countermanded firmly. He retrieved a towel from the outside washstand that he had used before breakfast and came to Casey, handing it to her.

    Casey wiped her mouth. She walked over to the water pump, cupping her hand; she got some water to rinse her mouth out.

    "Casey, somethin's not right," JD stated firmly.

    Casey shook her head vigorously denying the statement.

    "You might think I don't know things but I do. You're jumpy and you never are. You sat up in the rocking chair last night and you never got any sleep. You sweep like every grain of sand must be gone off the porch," JD paused and lifted Casey's chin so he could look into her face, "and you hate to sweep. So don't even try to tell me, nothin's wrong."

    "Oh, JD," Casey started to sob and JD wrapped his arms around her, drawing her face gently to his chest. And he let her cry.

    And he let her cry.

    And he let her cry.

    JD didn't think a person could cry so hard or so long. He stroked her hair, crooned softly, and rocked her in his arms. And he let her cry.

    Casey finally quieted. JD held Casey, not willing to say anything that would start her to cry again.

    After a long time, Casey started to withdraw. "I know I owe you an explanation. I just can't right now. Give me time."

    "You can tell me."

    "No, I can't." Casey turned out of his arms and returned to the cabin.

    Every instinct JD had told him to run after her. He was hurt that she felt she couldn't confide in him. He had a pretty good idea she had a run-in with a man. When and how -- JD didn't know. She didn't seem physically hurt. But she was just too skittish around him. Any new sound made her jump. It was obvious to JD that Casey's calm and security had been shattered. And JD was determined he would restore it.

    Right now, she needed time. Time to feel safe. Time to heal. Time to trust him.

    Despite his reputation, JD could be patient All he had was time. Nathan knew where he was. There was no need to rush to town. Even if they came for him - a brief explanation from him would ensure he could stay with Casey.

    And the only thing that mattered right now was that Casey needed him.

    Part 9

    Not even 8 o'clock in the morning yet, and already it was getting hot. Vin sat his black in the middle of the half-empty street and looked at the preacher who sat head-down and hatless on the edge of the boardwalk in front of the saloon. A brown glass bottle hung loosely from one hand and his legs were sprawled in front of him. Vin glanced up at the sun and back at his friend. Aw hell, he thought. If I leave 'im out here as drunk as that, he'll wind up fryin' his brain. The tracker reined his patient gelding over to a hitching rail and dismounted to approach Josiah cautiously but with a studied casualness.

    "Hey, Josiah."

    The preacher looked up slowly, his eyes so red and bleary that they made Vin wince involuntarily. The big man shook his head without replying and looked back down at the ground.

    "C'mon," said Vin gently, "let's get you back to the church so's you can sleep it off." He bent to take Josiah's arm in one hand, but the preacher shrugged him off with a short, violent gesture. Vin sighed and licked his lips. OK. So it wasn't going to be easy. But he owed his friend at least one more try before he headed out to Chanu's village.

    He had just reached down to try again when a woman's voice rang out across the way. Josiah's head snapped up so hard and fast that the back of his head hit Vin in the nose, knocking the tracker off his feet to the boardwalk. He sat up holding his nose and looked across the street to see what had riveted the preacher's attention When he realized what it was, he scrambled to his feet as fast as he could, but he wasn't fast enough. Josiah was already half-way across the street, shoving men aside and throwing a small cart out of his way. Several women cried out as they scurried for cover, and the street grew deathly still. Vin looked up to see that Chris had stepped out of the Clarion office just at that moment and was staring at the scene starting to unfold itself before their eyes.

    Beneath the hanging baskets and pots and pans of the dry goods store, a woman was struggling in a man's arms. His back was to the street, but it was unmistakably Buck Wilmington's form. The woman began to scream and yell for help as Josiah drew closer, with the result that the big man sprinted the last few steps to leap onto the boardwalk and grab Buck by the back of the collar furiously. He hurled the tall gunman from him against the wall of the store so hard that the windows rattled, and then fixed protective eyes on the woman. She was holding up a torn sleeve and crying, and she lowered her face miserably when she saw that her rescuer was Josiah.

    "Miss Belle?" Josiah's voice was deep and vibrant. The woman trembled even more and looked away, weeping. Josiah gazed slowly from Belle to Buck, then back to Belle. Buck straightened up shakily, wiping the back of his hand across a bleeding lip he'd somehow gotten when he'd hit the wall. His eyes were riveted on Josiah, the reek of alcohol from the big man almost overwhelming. He stole a rapid glance at Vin, who had drawn up nearby in an attitude of watchfulness, then looked back at the larger man.

    Josiah reached out a single hand to the woman's shoulder, and she quailed. He hesitated.

    "Belle," he said in a voice heavy with grief, "Did Buck . . .was Buck botherin' you just now?"

    The woman nodded wordlessly. Vin shifted uncomfortably and looked at Buck, then down the street to where Chris was slowly approaching with a look of pure disgust on his face.

    "He the one tore your sleeve?"

    The woman gulped and nodded again. Josiah's face grew dark as a thundercloud, and he growled: "He's the one, ain't he. Buck's the one that . . ."

    Belle turned a tear-streaked face to Josiah and cried in a wavering voice, "Oh, Josiah! Don't! Please don't do anythin' you'll regr-"

    But he already had Buck, right then, before the words were even out of her mouth. Both enormous arms wrapped around the slender gunman's own arms and his ribs, Josiah bent backwards so that he lifted Buck's feet from the boardwalk. Vin ran up and grabbed Josiah's sleeve, yelling to break through his rage and get his attention, as Buck's face began to purple.

    "Josiah!" screamed Vin, "Let 'im go! Let 'im go, Josiah!"

    "ADMIT IT!" roared Josiah to Buck. "ADMIT WHAT YOU DID, YOU SON OF A WHORE!!"

    Buck's face went white and he squirmed suddenly in Josiah's arms in a way Vin immediately knew was far more dangerous than anything that had yet happened. He tried to force himself bodily between the two men, but it was impossible. He heard the breath whistling out of Buck as Josiah crushed him more and more tightly, the tall man mouthing whispered words out of it as he struggled now to reach his gun.

    "God damn you, Josiah," he was saying, "God DAMN you, LISTEN to me." Buck's face began to pale in an alarming way, and Vin thought for a moment he was going to have to draw his gun when suddenly the gunslinger had his pistol in his hand, the barrel pressed against Josiah's ribcage.

    Everything froze.

    "Now," hissed Buck. "Get your hands OFF me."

    Josiah released the man with a furious gesture that could easily have set off the pistol by accident, and Buck staggered. Vin swallowed as the younger man regained his balance and returned Josiah's enraged glare with a steady look of pure threat. Not a man doubted but what Buck would shoot before he'd let himself be crushed to death. All that was audible was Josiah's heavy breathing, and now and then a soft sob from the woman.

    "First off, I didn't know that was Miss Belle," began Buck.

    "SHUT UP!" roared Josiah. He raised a meaty fist at Buck's head and the latter raised his pistol warningly.

    "Put it away." It was Chris's voice. Vin jumped and blinked, and so did Buck. They both looked at the lean man standing in the street, his lips pursed into a tight line. "Put the gun away, Buck."

    Buck sputtered a moment, then flushed deep red. "What the hell?! He tried to KILL me, Chris!"

    "I said put the gun away." Chris's eyes had gone flat in a way that made Buck's eyes widen with comprehension.

    "Oh I get it," he said. "You figure _I'm_ the threat around here now, is that it?" He threw a quick assessing glance at Josiah, clearly uncertain about what would happen if he holstered his weapon.

    "Go on," whispered Josiah softly, his voice rumbling with threat, "get out. But if I ever see you near Belle again, I swear to God I'll break you in half."

    Buck holstered his pistol bitterly and shoved his way past Vin to walk off. Vin looked at Chris and then Josiah. Belle staggered suddenly against Josiah and raised wide eyes to the preacher's face.

    "I've decided," she said in a choking voice, "I've decided if he's that forward even in a town, no woman is safe. I want to press charges against him. For what he did to me."

    Josiah wrapped his arms around the woman to shelter her as he led her off to the jail. Chris walked up to stand beside Vin, and the tracker looked his friend up and down in an appraising way as the few people who had been watching the altercation went back to business.

    "I thought you'd be halfway to Brazil by now," said Chris coolly. Vin's eyes narrowed.

    "Too bad you don't remember favors the way you do slights."

    Chris's frame vibrated as if he'd been slapped. "Meanin'?" His voice was low and dangerous. Vin turned suddenly to face him.

    "Meanin' Buck is your oldest friend. How could you possibly believe that--"

    "That's just exactly the point!!" Chris shouted down Vin's words and then let the silence claim the space as his own. "I know him. You don't."

    "I disagree." Vin's eyes had gone brittle now, too, and his stance rigid. "And as soon as 'Miss Belle' finishes tellin' her story over to the jail, I think I'll just have a word or two with 'er."

    "Lookin' to find what?"

    Vin's expression was cold. "The truth." He turned on his heel and started to walk away, but Chris caught him by one arm and whirled the tracker to face him. Vin's hand went to his mare's leg instinctively, and he took a step back. Chris raised his own hands above waist level to make it clear that he intended no gunplay.

    "Get this straight," said Chris in a dangerously silky voice, "there'll be no questioning of that woman today. Not beyond what's necessary for her to file whatever charges she's planning to file."

    "Charges!" Vin shook his head. "Chris, have you totally lost your--"

    The gunman didn't even stay there long enough to listen, though. He just turned around and walked off, without even a backwards glance. Vin stood in the street a moment, turning over the idea of trying to maybe beat some sense into his friend's head. But in the end, he decided to go talk to Buck instead, and see if he couldn't find a way to make things better instead of worse.

    Of course, at the time he didn't realize just how much worse things were about to get.

    Part 10

    Son of a whore
    Son of a whore
    Never be nothin'
    You son of a whore
    That's what the kids had said about him in Wichita when he was ten years old. And his mother had told him to leave them alone because they had fathers and a 'place' and no one would back a skinny whorehouse kid over them.

    It was Wichita where he'd learned to fight, on his own with no one to back him. He'd gotten the hell beat out of him more times than he cared to remember. But he never quit and he never expected what he could never have--someone to turn his back to.

    Years after that he'd met Chris. Then, he'd come here and he'd thought...well, it didn't matter what he'd thought because all that was just so much bullshit. He'd been a fool to ever think it was otherwise.

    His spurs jangled with each step he made as he strode down the boardwalk toward the boarding house where he rented a room, setting up echoes of that long-ago taunt. Son of a whore, son of a whore...

    He thought about turning around and going back and finding out just what Josiah was thinking. But, what was the point? Josiah had said it. Chris had backed him. All the rest was just lies they told when no one's back was against the wall.

    He threw clothes into his saddlebags, not even caring what they were, just wanting to get out of there. Out of that room with its closed-in, stifling walls. And out of that town, where he'd thought there might be a place for him. His mouth flashed a bitter smile, there and gone so quickly that even if there'd been anyone there to see, they'd have been hard-pressed to notice it.

    He straightened too quickly and the bruising on his ribs from where Josiah had crushed him grabbed at him, forcing him to pause at least long enough to catch his breath. He sank into a straight-backed chair and ran a hand still trembling with rage through his hair. What the hell had actually happened back there?

    He'd been on his way to the saloon for breakfast when a woman he'd never seen before, a pretty little thing with dark hair and tiny delicate features, had stumbled right in front of him. She'd have fallen if he hadn't caught her and, as it was, she'd torn the sleeve of her dress on one of Mrs. Potter's fruit baskets. He'd helped her to her feet and she'd started to smile at him and he'd smiled back, preparing to tip his hat to her, when she'd gone plumb loco. At least, that was all he could figure. Yelling and crying, and he hadn't wanted to just let her go, afraid that she would hurt herself...and then--

    He stood abruptly, jamming his hat onto his head and slinging his laden saddlebags over his shoulder.

    And then--all hell had broken loose.

    It wasn't something Buck even wanted to think on anymore. The world had turned out exactly the way he'd once believed it always would. And the fact that for a while he'd glimpsed a different sort of place, didn't make this world any more or less than what it was.

    He stalked out of the boarding house and struck out for the livery. Miss Molly, the new seamstress, saw him coming and started to smile and greet him, but then the words she'd been about to speak died, unsaid, as she caught a glimpse of his face. He looked so alien...so dark and threatening and, well, frightening, that she lowered her hand and backed away. And when he was gone, she went back inside her store and closed the door and wondered if maybe she shouldn't just hide away in the dark until whatever evil had just descended, finished its feast and moved on.

    Buck never even saw her. He never saw anyone as he made his way down the street. In that moment there was only the path out of town and the long empty road ahead of him.

    And the ancient mockery of children still echoed with every step he took:

    Son of a whore
    Son of a whore
    Never be nothin'
    But the son of a whore...

    *****************************************************************************************************

    Sullivan checked his horse a second time. He'd loosened the cinch earlier and he double-checked it now to be sure he could tighten it when he needed to in one quick and simple movement. He checked the ties around his bedroll and the fit of his horse's bridle. None of this was necessary; everything was as it should be. Nevertheless, Sullivan checked.

    He was waiting on a small ridge above the town because Striker had told him to be ready. Things were about to tear loose, he'd said, and Sullivan, who was always ready, had nodded once and headed on out of town to the spot he'd already picked out several days before. He had shed his duster for more comfortable buckskins, though he still wore the faded slouch hat to shade his eyes and leather cowboy boots rather than moccasins. He carried a long bow and a quiver full of arrows in addition to the rifle strapped to his saddle and the pistol on his hips. He looked like what he was, a man who belonged neither in one world or the other. And who had learned the art of hate from both worlds put together.

    He wondered who would be the first to leave. He had managed, in the course of the two weeks he'd spent in Four Corners to find a reason to hate each of the men who protected the town. The young one, Dunne, he hated just for being young. So stupid and so eager, in his stupidity, to jump straight into everything. A boy like that deserved to die without ever growing old. And there was that healer, Jackson. Who did he think he was? A darkie had no business putting himself above others, pretending he had learning. Sullivan would be happy to take him out, to teach him what it was to know his place. The man in fancy clothes, the man in black, the one who called himself a tracker, the sanctimonious preacher. Sullivan hated them all. It was part of who he was, part of his talent, you might say, that Sullivan could find a reason for killing everyone he'd ever met.

    He'd been waiting at his chosen spot for a little less than two hours when he saw a man riding out of town. He was mounted on a big grey horse and Sullivan had to wait a bit for the man to get close enough to identify. When he saw who it was, his face relaxed a fraction. Yes, he thought, this was what he had hoped for. The man with the moustache. The one who laughed too much and drank too much and stole women away from Sullivan that he'd only been thinking of approaching. Yes. This man, Buck Wilmington, he was the one Sullivan had already decided he hated the most.

    He watched for a little while as Buck disappeared down the south road out of town. Then, he mounted his own horse and settled in to follow him.

    Continued...

    Please email DesertSage, Deb, and Joby with any comments.

    Magnificent7.com | Fan Fiction

    webmaster@Magnificent7.com