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.

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    Part 21

    Vin had been careful, had even dismounted to walk as often as he could, but his horse was tiring and he could feel it. No wonder. The tracker stood up in the stirrups to see a little farther as the early sun spilled more light across the rocky hills, and thought he must be getting pretty close to Buck by now. The reservation boundary was just over the next rise, and the village couldn't be more than another 6 or 8 miles past that. He reined in the tired gelding and turned to run his eyes across the undulating landscape to the east, searching for the grey and its rider. He had done his damnedest to get ahead of Buck so he could work his way back towards the gunman and not miss him, and he was about to the turn-around point, now.

    Vin dismounted to climb a low knoll while he let the black rest a moment, and drew out his glass to carefully search the broken hills and low ridges that stretched out to the south and east. He was about to slap it shut when a motion caught the edge of the field of view, and he swung it back and refocused with a sudden surge of hope.

    It was the grey, head down and obviously worn out, but unsaddled. Vin smiled in relief. At least Buck had been alive when he'd stopped. He searched the area carefully only to spot the gunman himself, one leg bloody as all hell and his face draped in misery, but alive and moving around. Vin palmed the scope shut, ran down the knoll so fast that he rolled gravel under his boots, and mounted up. The black snorted at his rider's enthusiasm and rolled his eyes, then broke into the slow lope that Vin asked him for. It took only a few moments for Vin to be able to see the light spot that was Buck's horse with an unaided eye, and not much longer after that before he whistled and saw Buck's head come up in surprise when he recognized the sound.

    "Bucklin!" Vin slowed the tired gelding and jumped off to extend his hand to the older man. Buck grinned and then sat down suddenly, and winced.

    "Damn," he said. "That hurt."

    "I'll bet it did." Vin squatted down next to his friend and looked at him closely. "You're kinda pale there, Pard." He grinned at the way Buck looked up at him.

    "I guess that's why you're the tracker in this outfit: you're just so damned observant."

    Vin chuckled and pulled back the edge of Buck's pants where they had been cut by the arrowhead, but his eyes were serious. "Reckon so," he drawled. "Lucky for you I am, too." He stood up. "I got some stuff in my saddlebags I can bind that up with. We'll getcha' back t' Nathan's--"

    "No dice." Buck literally folded his arms across his chest and his face darkened with anger. Vin sighed as he pulled out part of one of the blankets he'd brought and cut a strip off it with his knife. He grabbed the canteen off his saddle and came back to stand looking down at Buck thoughtfully.

    "I s'pose you think Kojay's braves are responsible for this."

    "It was an arrow, Vin." Buck looked up crossly. "You got any food with you?"

    "Yeah." Vin sat down and poured water over the wound in Buck's leg without warning him, and the gunman sucked in his breath.

    "Well shit! You coulda'--"

    "Got slugged for my trouble?" Vin looked up at his friend, grinning. "Lemme wrap it an' I'll give you some jerky I've got." He pulled the bloodied fabric away from the jagged rent so the skin could dry, and then wrapped the blanket strip around it as a rough bandage. He sat back on his heels. "How's that feel?"

    "Better." Buck frowned. "It needs jerky, though."

    Vin laughed and went back to his horse, and dug out a parcel wrapped in paper that he tossed to his friend. Buck caught it with the first real smile Vin had seen so far, and unwrapped it eagerly. Vin leaned against the little hackberry tree Buck had camped under and watched his friend's face. Pretty weak, he thought. A lot weaker than he's letting on. He sighed.

    "That arrow was Crow," he said softly.

    Buck looked up, still chewing. "Crows?" He looked confused.

    "Crow. Absaroka." Vin strolled over and sat down on the ground in front of Buck. "Tribe from up north. Nearly to Canada."

    "What the hell would they be doin' here?"

    "They ain't here, Buck."

    "But . . ." Buck's voice trailed off as he studied Vin's face. "What are you tryin' to say?"

    "I'm sayin' someone knows you too damn well."

    Buck's face got a shade darker. "Meanin'?"

    "Meanin' they figured if you thought you'd been attacked by Indians, you'd fly off the handle--"

    It was, Vin thought later, exactly the wrong word to have chosen. Buck threw the packet of jerky at Vin so hard that it bounced off the tracker's chest and landed in the dirt.

    "If that's what you think a' me, too, then just take your God-damned jerky an' get outta' here. I don't need you."

    Vin's heart fell. "I can't do that, Buck."

    "Why the hell not?" The gunman's voice was starting to rise, and he was rapidly passing from annoyed to seriously angry. "What is it: piss on Buck week?"

    "'Fraid so." Vin's voice was so soft that Buck didn't catch his words at first. When he realized what he'd heard, he felt his anger chill into sudden fear.

    "Why?" He wanted to hear it and he didn't want to hear it and oh God how could it possibly get any worse. But it did. When Vin looked up at him with all that sorrow in his eyes, Buck knew. He knew before the tracker said another word. "Chris is dead," whispered Buck.

    "No." Vin reached out a quick hand to lay on Buck's knee. "God no," he repeated. "Chris is fine."

    "Then . . . then what's so bad?"

    "Belle says you raped her, while Josiah was out to the Delano Mine. She's filed charges."

    Buck stared at Vin, speechless. It was as if the tracker had spoken some other language. The words didn't make sense. Vin waited a moment, then looked down at the ground and went on.

    "Chris gave me 24 hours to find you and bring you back."

    "Chris gave --" Buck choked on the words as they rose up like vomit in his throat. Vin looked away. He could hear Buck struggling to regain some measure of control. When he spoke, his voice was soft, and it cracked mid-sentence. "Chris _believed_ her?"

    "I don't think so." Vin looked into Buck's eyes then, steadying him. "You know Chris."

    "Yeah, I know Chris." Buck's face shifted suddenly from grief and confusion and fear into pure fury. He clambered to his feet. "I know that little son of bitch weasel. He didn't even back me up against Josiah when--"

    "Take it easy, Buck. You'll reopen that wound." Vin was trying to get Buck to sit down again.

    "Oh no," hissed Buck, "I'm gonna' open a new one. Right up the side a' that man's head. And then Josiah's." He grabbed his saddle and threw it onto the grey with a thump that made the animal grunt, then slapped the cinch into place and buckled it with two quick moves. Vin started to approach him, afraid that Buck's anger would give him enough energy to make him overdo it, and then drop him in a heap that would be darned hard to get back to town. Buck turned, though, to wave a shaking finger in Vin's face. "How--" he choked, "How could he _possibly_ "

    But he didn't finish the sentence, because suddenly Vin leaped backwards and spun to one side and flung himself onto the dirt. Buck gaped at his friend in astonishment for two long seconds. And _then_ he heard the rifle's report echo off the surrounding hills. Even as he did, he saw Vin writhe onto his right side, his hand going to his shoulder there and suddenly covered in blood, his face corded with pain as he arched his neck backwards and clenched his teeth against the cry that was trying to force its way out of his throat.

    Part 22

    "There he is."

    Thompson sat up and took his hat off his face when he heard Sullivan's satisfied words. He looked in the direction the other man was pointing to see that, indeed, Tanner had found his friend Wilmington. Even from this distance, it was clear Wilmington was listening to the younger man, as well as talking to him. He looked at Sullivan and raised one eyebrow.

    "So do you want to try your bow-and-arrow trick? Or may I take care of this?"

    Sullivan's eyes grew hard as glass, and he pointedly set down his weapons and folded his arms. "Be my guest," he said.

    Thompson had laid down with the high-powered rifle across his lap, and now he picked it up and raised it to his eye, then adjusted the cross-hairs with a steady hand. He watched the tracker and the gunman as they talked and Tanner bandaged Wilmington's leg. It was clear things weren't going smoothly; Wilmington might still go on to the reservation, regardless of his friend.

    "Sure takes you long enough," hissed Sullivan.

    "Finesse always takes a bit longer," said Thompson mildly. He glanced up from the scope to look Sullivan up and down with distaste. "Watch and learn."

    "You're not to kill him, remember." Sullivan was smiling triumphantly.

    "Good luck picking your shot from here."

    "Shows how much you know." Thompson looked again at the man in the slouch hat through the site and felt his breath catch when he saw Wilmington suddenly leap up to throw his saddle on his horse's back. So. Tanner had talked him into going back to town after all. The redhead turned cold eyes on Sullivan and spoke as though explaining to a child. "It so happens I am going to shoot him in the right shoulder so he can't use his rifle against us when we go collect the two of them."

    Sullivan laughed derisively. "Go on!" He snorted. "Fifty bucks says you can't do that!"

    "Consider yourself poorer," said Thompson softly.

    Sullivan leaned forward in a posture of intent observation as Thompson felt himself focus in and tighten up, then go into that relaxed last moment before his finger moved on the trigger. He held his breath and squeezed.

    The rifle roared and Sullivan jerked around to look at Thompson almost in outrage, then leaped to his feet.

    "That was a lucky shot!" he yelled.

    Thompson stood up, too, and rammed the rifle into the boot on his saddle as he mounted up. Below the two men, Wilmington was trying to get Tanner to his feet. "The sooner we get down there, the more likely we can get them in hand before they can fight us," he said. He reined the dun mare to the edge of the slope and looked at Sullivan, who was leaping to his own horse with a look of joyous rage on his face. "And you owe me fifty dollars."

    Thompson pushed the dun mare over the edge into a steep, sliding charge down the slope towards the two wounded men, Sullivan on his heels.

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

    Vin thought somehow Buck's grey had kicked him. Just for one split second, even though he wasn't anywhere near it; it was the only explanation he could think of for why he was suddenly flying off his feet, to slam into the ground hard enough to knock the wind out of him. But then the explosion had gone off in his shoulder in a white flash of blinding pain, and he knew better. He never even heard the distant crack of the high-powered rifle as he struggled to climb out of the hole the pain was trying to drag him into. A second shot was too damned likely, and Vin rolled to his side trying to get his feet under him, trying to get up.

    He realized suddenly that Buck's hands were under his good arm, around his waist, helping him up. He heard his friend's voice but couldn't tell what he was saying. He felt his legs moving, stumbled, and gasped as another blinding flash of pain ripped his breath away. He knew he was sinking to the ground again, and try as he might he couldn't stop it. But again he was pulled up, and then he was somehow on horseback, and OH GOD! Vin reeled in the saddle as everything spun sickeningly and he heard gunshots from nearby and his horse started running and he clutched for the saddle horn and couldn't find it. More gunfire, Buck yelling again, some blue sky starting to show in the field of fiery sparks that had been all he could see since he'd been hit. He shook his head trying to clear it, and found the gelding's rough mane under his hands suddenly, and grabbed onto it. Then he saw a blurring, in-and-out form that was Buck riding to his right and a little in front of him, reining the grey to its haunches as Buck turned back to fire his pistol again and then leaped to the ground and grabbed Vin around the waist with both hands to pull him from the saddle.

    The tracker thought sure he would pass out then; everything broke into shards and started to fall to the ground, leaving only black behind it. He couldn't. He _couldn't_. Vin bit the inside of his lips and tried to breathe more deeply. He could hear Buck right next to him, still firing, and then it quieted down. He realized he could smell the burnt powder from his friend's gun. Could feel the stones under his back. No, behind his back. His vision started to clear again, and he turned his head cautiously to one side to look at Buck, next to him. The gunman's face was pale and beaded with sweat, and he was breathing so heavily that for a moment Vin was afraid he would pass out, too. Just then Buck glanced over, and did a double-take when he saw Vin looking at him. He nodded.

    "We've got some cover here," he panted.

    "Where?" Vin's voice was thready, but he could feel it coming back as he pulled himself more under control.

    "Buncha' rocks, far enough away from that damned ridge."

    Vin nodded, closing his eyes. "But they're--" He broke off as another flash of white swept the words out of his head, and Buck laid a hand on his good shoulder.

    "Yeah," he said softly, "they're not up there any more. Looks like they're about a hundred yards out that way," he gestured with the barrel of his pistol, "in that stand a' live oak."

    Vin opened his eyes again and looked up at the sky overhead, trying to think. He realized Buck was talking again, his voice bitter.

    "And you call those people your friends." He was scowling, and Vin felt confused.

    "What?"

    "Crows, my ass. Nobody from Canada could know this place like--"

    "No. No." Vin shook his head and tried to sit up a little higher, grabbed Buck's sleeve with a bloodied hand and wrapped his fingers in the fabric. Buck looked at Vin's hand, then into his friend's face.

    "Who else would it be?" he said softly, sadly.

    "Bounty . . . hunter." It seemed like it took forever to get the words out, and Vin let go of Buck's sleeve exhausted when he'd said them.

    "WHAT?!" Buck looked like he was about to jump to his feet. "Are you tellin' me you brought BOUNTY HUNTERS with you, on top a' everything else . . ."

    "Sorry." Vin started to rub his face with the hand covered in blood, unaware, but Buck caught his arm and lowered it.

    "It's ok," he said in a low voice. "Just lay still."

    The two men were silent for a while, the only sound that of Buck's panting and Vin's labored, uneven breathing. The tracker felt more of his strength seep back as he rested, and finally reached up to undo his bandanna so he could press it to his shoulder. Buck leaned across Vin when he saw what he was trying to do, and pulled back the coat to help out. He blanched when he saw the size of the hole in Vin's shoulder, but was silent. Vin, however, looking closely at Buck's face, saw that he'd guessed right about the caliber of the bullet that had hit him. He closed his eyes as Buck pulled opened the top of Vin's shirt and slid the folded bandanna beneath it to cover the wound.

    "Is there an exit wound?" The tracker's voice was getting steadier, but it was still weak. Buck shook his head, then realized Vin wasn't looking at him.

    "No," he said soberly.

    Vin nodded. He'd been right about that, too. It just hurt too damned bad to not have a slug in there.

    "At least it ain't bleedin' too bad," Buck pointed out.

    Vin opened his eyes and smiled wryly at his friend. "Don't believe I've seen you this cheerful so early," he said softly.

    Buck laughed. "Must be the company."

    He sat there for a while, watching Vin try to rest and get his wits back about him, watching for whoever was in those trees to try to sneak out and get the drop on them, watching for maybe Chris or JD or even Ezra to ride over the ridge.

    But the thing his eye fell on the most frequently was the canteen that lay near his feet, in the shade. It was about half-full. It was all the water they had.

    And it was August.

    Part 23

    Buck looked down at his leg, which was bleeding heavily. 'You wouldn't think one lousy wound could bleed so much,' he thought wearily. Damn. Damn! DAMN! When had the world gone to hell anyway? Indians and bounty hunters and Chris Larabee. He leaned his head against a rock and smiled without humor. They were all welcome to each other. Every one of them.

    Last night when he'd stopped he'd only meant to rest his horse for an hour or two and then go on. The next thing he knew it was morning. Just like that. Like no time had passed between blackness and light. It had disoriented him, waking up to the rising sun. And now...

    He looked over at Vin, whose eyes were still closed, though he seemed to be breathing a bit more easily and Buck was relieved to see that his wound at least had pretty much stopped bleeding. When he'd seen Vin riding into his makeshift camp this morning, Buck had to admit he'd been damned glad. He'd been hungry and still tired, his leg aching in a savage and unrelenting way. The only thing that had been keeping him going at that moment was his ferocious and abiding anger with the world in general and a bunch of renegade Indians in particular.

    But then--he looked at the tracker slumped against a rock. What the hell had Vin been talking about? Buck shifted and a wave of dizziness passed over him. Black spots danced in front of his eyes. Damn! Rape. Rape! He'd heard the word before, all right. Knew what it meant long before that. Though to the women he'd grown up with it was just something that happened, just something you lived with. And then, they had taught him other things and other ways and he couldn't imagine ever..._ever_. And he had nothing but contempt in his heart for those who would.

    He didn't really care what people thought about him, though. Or what words they tossed around. He could take care of that. Because maybe a woman had never said it before, but there had always been others--jealous husbands and angry fathers and disappointed suitors. And he had weathered them. Figured he could weather this, too. And without betraying Casey's confidence. But then, there was Chris. Damn him anyway! He should know. After all this time he should at least know that.

    "Hey, pard."

    Buck could hear the soft murmur of Vin's voice and a small measure of relief ran through his tired limbs. "You awake?" he asked.

    "I'm fine," Vin said and his voice was barely above a whisper, as if that were all the strength he had to spare from just holding himself together. "Long as I don't move. Or breathe much."

    "You just hang on there, pard," Buck said, trying to invest more strength in his voice than he actually had. "I'll take care of everything."

    "Yeah," Vin's mouth turned up in a faint smile. Otherwise he didn't move at all, not even to turn his head and look at Buck. "You're in such good shape yourself."

    "I ain't so bad," Buck said, as if he actually expected Vin to believe it.

    Vin didn't reply, just lay there and breathed and Buck went back to studying the distant patch of live oak and thinking about what they had to work with. A canteen half-full of water, Buck's pistol, and two wounded men. He laid his head back against the rock again and tried to think. Why was that so damned hard? His leg was still bleeding and Buck figured he'd really better do something about that. He was thirsty, too. So thirsty that he couldn't hardly figure it. But then, everything seemed hard to figure at the moment. He lifted his head and scanned the area again. He had a reasonably good view of the live oak trees from where he was and he figured as long as he could keep watch on them he'd be able to tell if the men who'd shot Vin started to move. Once they left the cover of the trees it was trickier and he'd need to find a way to get higher if he was going to protect himself and Vin. He reached across for the canteen and a wave of blackness threatened to envelope him and draw him all the way down into nothingness. For a minute it was all he could do to just sit there.

    After awhile he picked up the canteen. Damn! It was heavy. And the blackness wasn't receding. Keep still, he thought. Just wait. But it didn't help like he thought it would. He took a short drink of water, but it only made him more thirsty. He couldn't drink anymore though...he couldn't..Vin would need...

    His eyes opened. They didn't snap open because he didn't have any snap left in him, but they opened at least. He had to stay awake. Had to. He looked through the rocks, trying to catch a glimpse of the bounty hunters. He couldn't see anything. They could be anywhere. He looked up at the sky. 'How long was I out?' he wondered. He looked at Vin. Still lying there with his eyes closed. Still breathing okay.

    'Need a better location,' he thought. And he pushed himself up and started to drag himself a little higher up the rocks. So tired, he thought. So...

    And this time when the blackness came he couldn't fight it anymore and the huge dark wave of it crested and crashed over him and dragged him all the way to the bottom.

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

    Chris had awakened shortly after dawn in spite of the fact that the night had been more than half gone before he'd sought his bed, in spite of the fact that there was nothing about this day that he was looking forward to. It was remotely possible, of course, that Vin would be back before his twenty-four hours was up. But the likelihood of that was not something Chris particularly believed in. But then, he couldn't figure why Buck had left town in the first place. It wasn't like him to walk away from friends or a fight either one. Not like him at all. And it was that as much as anything that ate at Chris.

    Wrong.

    Sometimes he was just flat wrong. And he really hated the idea that this was one of those times.

    He dressed and packed his saddlebags. He didn't know how long he'd be gone, but he figured it might take awhile. He didn't expect Buck to hide from him. But then, he didn't figure Buck would expect Belle to press charges or Chris to come after him. If he expected anyone, he'd expect Josiah. Buck'd been dealing with outraged suitors since long before Chris had ever met him. And that was another thing that didn't sit right, Chris thought. Women _didn't_ complain about Buck. Oh, some thought he was too forward or too crude or too wild or just not their style, but he'd greet those women with a friendly smile and just move on. Chris never remembered a one that Buck had spent time with ever complaining about him. Even when _he_ moved on, he managed, in a way Chris couldn't quite figure, to leave them happier than when he'd found them. It made him wonder about Belle. But it made him wonder, too, if there were things over the years that he just hadn't seen or hadn't wanted to see. And that was the thought he didn't want to think and couldn't push away.

    He buckled his saddlebags, grabbed the black duster from a peg by the door, and left the hotel room. It was still early, only a couple of hours past sunrise and Vin still had several hours to bring Buck back. Chris would give him the full measure of time, too. It just wouldn't make any difference, he figured.

    The street was quiet and Chris stood blinking for a moment in the morning light. Other times when he stayed in town, he'd see Vin at a table in front of the saloon in the early morning. The tracker would look down the street at him and raise his coffee mug in a gesture of greeting and Chris would feel something unwind inside him, as if, for a little while longer, the world would not collapse. It was the same feeling he'd get when he'd look at Buck right as all hell was about to break loose and Buck would look up and give him a sharp, unsmiling nod, as if to say, 'I know everything you're thinking and it don't matter 'cuz we're both in this together.'

    But this morning, there was no Vin by the saloon and there would be no Buck anywhere. The muscles in Chris's face tightened down even further. 'Damn both of them, anyway,' he thought as he stepped off the boardwalk into the street.

    Sometime later, as he was finishing his breakfast, Mary Travis found him. "Can I talk to you for a minute?" she said.

    Chris gestured for her to sit, hoping she didn't have questions about Buck and Belle and Josiah. Just what we don't need, he thought, all this in the paper.

    But Mary's mind was on other things. "You were right," she said. Chris blinked at her. 'About what,' he thought. "About my editorial," she continued, as if he'd actually asked the question out loud. "About Nathan. People _are_ talking. And just the way you said they would. Oh not everyone. But it will get back to Nathan eventually, if it hasn't already. And he'll think that I meant something I didn't. I had the best intentions," she finished.

    "Things don't always turn out the way you want," Chris said, and the words came out harshly, meaning more than he'd intended.

    This time it was Mary's turn to look at him and blink, but if she expected him to elaborate, she was destined to disappointment. After a minute, she went on. "I want to talk to Nathan. To explain. But I can't find him. Do you know where he is?"

    Chris remembered knocking on his door last night to no avail and a thread of anger worked its way back up out of the dark place he usually kept it. How could they all have disappeared so quickly, he thought. Didn't they know this town needed them? "I ain't seem him," he told Mary. "Figure he's out on another call."

    "But you don't know where?"

    "Nope." Chris pushed his half-finished breakfast away from him and rose. He looked down at Mary. "Anything else?"

    Mary rose, too. "No, Mr. Larabee," she said formally, responding to his own cool demeanor. "There's nothing else right now."

    A few hours later when she happened to glance out the window, she saw him, a tall dark figure riding south out of town.

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

    What Mary didn't see, because she'd already turned back to her task at the printing press, was another man, dressed in a grey duster instead of a black one, jogging down the street in Chris's wake.

    Striker was relaxed as he rode, not too worried about keeping up with Chris. He wouldn't move fast Striker figured, off on a mission he didn't want to do. Striker could follow him at a distance and make sure he didn't go where he wasn't wanted until he was wanted there. He smiled just a bit at the thought of what was already happening. And how it was going to affect the man that he was following. It was a complicated plan. And it required good men to carry it out. But whether Striker liked them or not, Thompson and Sullivan were very good at what they did. The next time Chris Larabee saw his friends, at least one of them would be dead and the other would have started a war. That thought was enough to satisfy Striker for a good long time.

    He directed his horse off the main road so that he could parallel Larabee but stay out of his way. Hammersmith and Bland could take care of things in town. In fact, and this thought caused him to smile again, there was very little left in town to 'take care of.' All plans were in motion. All traps were set. And Striker intended to enjoy watching the traps swing shut.

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

    Chris reined in hard as if it were his horse's fault that he was having a lousy day. He'd chosen his direction out of town at random, but now that he _was_ out of town he'd have to admit what he was doing and settle on a plan. Where would Buck go? Well, it would help if he knew why he'd left town in the first place. To escape rape charges? To run from Josiah? Neither of those seemed like Buck and, of course, that very thing kept eating at him. But if Buck had never been the man he thought he knew then he'd never find him anyway. So, say he was pissed. He wasn't Vin; he wouldn't head for the wilderness or an Indian reservation. Buck would head for town. And if he was really pissed he'd head for some low border town where there were gunfights and fistfights and women who could be charmed for the price of a glass of whiskey.

    Chris turned off the main road and headed straight for the closest one, Telem Flats.

    Part 24

    It was an hour before the marathon poker game was to resume as Vincent Hammersmith stepped out of the hotel. Hammersmith wanted to beat the competition, especially Ezra Standish, so despite his fatigue he was up early, a gambler considers mid-morning early, to survey the main street of Four Corners. He had to admit he was impressed. A person did not want for services in this town: hotels, restaurants, laundry, bathhouse, seamstress, general store, hardware, saloons, and newspaper. As several people walked by they would nod politely, avoiding eye contact. Hammersmith smirked. Intelligent folks, too.

    The number of people on the street and the general mood bothered Hammersmith. It took him a minute to recognize what was wrong. There were people on the street. There was no fear. No panic. Damn. Something must have gone wrong.

    He wheeled to return to the hotel but the sight of a man, all dressed in black, mounting his horse caught his eye. Larabee. Well, at least something was going right this morning. Larabee was riding out. Hammersmith noted another man mount and follow. The rider tipped his hat ever so slightly as he passed Hammersmith. Hammersmith schooled his features so not to let anyone note the exchange. Only a most observant man would have caught the exchange. And one man in Four Corners did.

    "Good morning, Hammersmith. Ready to resume play," Hammersmith turned to see one of the cowboys from the trail crews approach.

    Hammersmith nodded in greeting. "Certainly, let's see if we can round up a table."

    "I'll meet you at the saloon."

    Hammersmith nodded and noticed the banker across the way. Hammersmith crossed and went to talk to him. Smooth flattery convinced the banker that he belonged in the game. Hammersmith was anticipating the rich man in the game and the monetary reward when he caught sight of the gambler.

    Hammersmith watched the man for a minute. Well turned out, in a scarlet coat and tailored black trousers. Hammersmith found himself envious. He grimaced as he considered his own wardrobe: grey duster, wool vest, cotton shirt, and jeans. Damn. What he wouldn't give to feel a fine linen shirt against his skin. Well, it wouldn't do. Can't risk that Standish would recognize him.

    Damn. He noted Standish survey the street as he had done and the frown that crossed the gambler's face. It wouldn't do to have him look for his friends now. Hammersmith quickly crossed to intercept him.

    "Mr. Standish." Hammersmith pasted a pleasant smile on his face, one that didn't reach his eyes. He felt his body tighten as Standish surveyed him.

    Standish nodded, "Good morning, Mr. Hammersmith."

    During the six-word exchange, Hammersmith already felt that Standish was getting the better of him and nobody got the better of him. "Good morning, sir. Are you ready to resume our match?"

    Standish smiled obviously delighted. "Indeed, I am." He paused and looked across the street. "I just have one errand."

    "The others are waiting already. You wouldn't want to miss any of the action."

    Standish looked up at Hammersmith, "no, indeed, I wouldn't."

    Hammersmith chuckled soundlessly; damn, got to love it, he is so predictable -- give him a game and nothing and no one mattered. Hammersmith clapped Standish on the back and urged him towards the saloon.

    They had played several hands when all movement and sound in the saloon halted. Hammersmith's breath caught his own throat as he spied the stunning woman enter the saloon. No demimondaine, this was a lady. Shame that, though Hammersmith never paid, he'd make an exception in this case. Blonde hair, blue eyes, porcelain complexion, and a shapely figure in a stylish dress of superior fabric. She had the regal carriage of royalty as she entered, obviously looking for someone. Several of the locals knew and obviously respected her, and turned a blind eye to this breach of decorum. Hammersmith couldn't stop watching as she approached the poker table.

    "Mr. Standish, may I have a word?"

    Standish immediately folded and stood. "Certainly. Excuse me, gentlemen." He placed a proprietary hand on the lady's elbow as he escorted her from the saloon. Without a word, Standish had clearly announced that the men should respect the lady in their presence.

    Hammersmith raked the cards and surreptitiously looked at the cards Standish had mucked. Damn. He looked at the stunning couple. Damn.

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

    "You really should refrain from entering the saloon, Mrs. Travis."

    Mary looked up at him and frowned as he made the most stupid remark in the world. Ezra chuckled, almost reminded him of the look Chris Larabee gave him yesterday when he had thought Ezra said something idiotic. Ezra sighed; there was only one reason Mary would seek him out -- his mother. What shenanigans was she involved in now? And what would it require of him to extricate his mother from this latest fiasco?

    "I couldn't find any of the others and that's where you were. I didn't have much choice."

    Ezra frowned at her response. "This isn't about my mother, is it?" Ezra couldn't refrain from feeling relief. Maybe this wouldn't take long and he could get back in the game.

    "Well no, I'm concerned about Nathan."

    "Mr. Jackson hardly seeks my company."

    "So, you haven't seen him?"

    Ezra stopped walking and turned to watch the stage barreling through town. He stepped forward quickly and assisted an elderly woman to the safety of the boardwalk. Tipping his hat, he turned to Mary, "excuse me, one moment."

    Ezra proceeded to the stage stop, mounted the stage, and pulled the driver down. After making it clear to the driver that he would suffer grievously if he didn't slow down in town, he walked back to Mary.

    Ezra looked up and saw Mary eyeing him speculatively. Don't even think it, Mrs. Travis. I am not responsible for policing this town. Chris Larabee is in charge and it's his job.

    "We were discussing Mr. Jackson," Ezra immediately reminded the editor before she started pursuing a discussion of what other law enforcement action he could be assigned since no one else seemed to be about.

    "You haven't seen him?"

    Ezra stopped walking. He shifted mental gears and pondered when he had actually last seen Mr. Jackson. "Not for two days. I saw him when JD fell off his horse." Ezra chuckled remembering the incident.

    "Well, from what I can figure out, that's the last time anybody saw him?"

    "Are you certain he isn't out of town attending to some unfortunate victim of some gruesome malady?"

    Mary softly laughed. "No, I'm not certain. But his horse is at the livery, he hasn't rented a wagon or carriage, nobody has seen him ride out," Mary paused for effect, "and if there had been some unfortunate victim of some gruesome malady, I would have heard about it by now."

    Ezra looked sideways and smiled at the smart way she parroted his words. Verbal repartee was always enjoyable. "Did you check his room?"

    Mary straightened, feigning indignation, she briskly retorted, "Of course, I checked his room, yesterday and today. I knocked and there was no answer. I am a reporter and editor, I do know how to carry out an investigation." Mary's expression turned grave, "I'm worried."

    For the first time, so was Ezra. It wasn't unheard of in the heat of an emergency, for Nathan to leave town without giving notice. But Mary was right, she would have heard of it by now. "Let's start at his room."

    Ezra quickened his pace and Mary was almost jogging to keep up. When they reached the staircase by Nathan's room, Ezra released Mary's elbow and took the stairs two at a time. He hammered on the door. "Mr. Jackson. NATHAN." There was no response. He tried the door and it was locked. That in it self wasn't unusual for the healer, he stored several medicines, particularly narcotics, that were prone to be pilfered so he always kept his door locked if he wasn't in attendance. Mary had now joined him on the landing. Ezra removed a small case and removed a pick. With a quick practiced move, Ezra had the door unlocked. Mary prudently didn't say anything, and Ezra didn't even try to explain where he had acquired that skill.

    Ezra opened the door and the stench of raw sewage and vomit overwhelmed him. Mary paled and turned her face away. Ezra drew her away from the door. He desperately tried to swallow the lump in his throat and looked up at her, his eyes without hope, "I'll check it out." Tears were welling in Mary's eyes.

    Ezra sent up a prayer as he returned to the door. "Please, Lord." He couldn't express his heartfelt wish that somehow Nathan Jackson would be alive in that room.

    Ezra pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and covered his nose and mouth. The room was dark with only a small shaft of light from the door. Ezra noted the soiled but empty bed. He walked around it to open the thick curtain tripping over the body. Ezra flicked the curtain open and Nathan Jackson was on the floor, curled in a fetal position, dead.

    Dead. Ezra couldn't fathom it. Nathan's face always so alive, he had that broad smile; now his face was an expressionless mask, the color of charcoal. His lips were almost white, dried and cracked. His drawers were soiled. Ezra gently turned Nathan over; his skin was cold. He thought he might have heard an extremely soft groan as he turned him. Ezra had tended the dead before and knew you heard sounds as they were moved. He placed his ear to Nathan's chest, not expecting to hear anything. Ezra's eyes widened when he heard the relatively strong but fast heartbeat.

    "Mary, MARY." Ezra sprinted to the door, fumbling as he pulled money from his pocket. Panic was welling in him.

    "I need hot water, sheets, and towels. Until I can figure out what's wrong with him, don't let anybody near here. I need something to scrub his room down. Don't have anybody come in." The words were spilling over each other as Ezra anxiously tried to think of everything that he would need to tend his friend. And it would be up to him. Nobody could afford to risk spreading some epidemic throughout the town. It was on his shoulders to save Nathan.

    Mary held Ezra's money loosely in her hands. "Will he . ."

    Ezra didn't know if there was much chance but he knew that for right now, "he's alive. Now, go!"

    Part 25

    Casey actually slept. She couldn't reconcile it with her previous sleepless nights. She stretched her arms over her head and for a brief instant, thought all was right in her world. But reality crashed with a vengeance. The sun was well up and she had chores. She quickly got out of bed, wincing when she used her left arm. How could she forget? How could she have slept so long?

    It never occurred to Casey to blame oversleeping on the consequences of the terror of two mornings ago. She had responsibilities. She quickly dressed and went out into the main room of the cabin.

    JD was sitting at the table. "Mornin', Casey," he greeted cheerfully.

    "JD, you should've woke me up." Casey told JD, her voice still heavy from sleep.

    JD smiled broadly. "You needed the sleep."

    "I needed to do my chores," Casey countermanded, irritated with JD that he thought he knew best.

    "I took care of 'em."

    "You took care of 'em. That was my job, JD. You should've woke me."

    JD's smile faded. "You're welcome," he said quietly.

    Casey flushed at the softly spoken reprimand. She was in JD's debt and it had very little to do with morning chores. "Thank you, JD," Casey kept her head down but smiled shyly to let him know her gratitude.

    JD smiled. "You are very welcome." Casey giggled. She turned to put the kettle on for tea, "have you had breakfast?"

    "No, I was waiting on you."

    Casey turned, "that was so nice of you, what are we having?"

    "I don't cook," JD immediately retorted, making it clear he thought it woman's work.

    "Mmm, must of misunderstood, I thought you did *ALL* the morning chores," Casey teased.

    "Casey, you know I don't cook," JD sounded almost panicked.

    Casey couldn't stop laughing. JD retaliated by grabbing her and started to tickle her. Casey wriggled against him. "JD," she gasped.

    "Uncle."

    "Never," Casey was doubled over from laughing and giggling. She shrieked as JD picked her up. "Uncle, uncle." JD immediately released her. Casey eyes sparkled, "what would you like?"

    "Flapjacks."

    "Sure." Casey turned to collect the ingredients thinking she felt quite good. She could ride and throw knives better than JD and she could cook. Dang, she was feeling downright superior.

    In short order, breakfast was on the table. Casey looked over the spread she presented. Not bad, if she did say so herself. But JD was generous with praise and they had an enjoyable breakfast. The first time in days, Casey had any appreciable appetite.

    "Casey, I got to go back to town today?"

    Casey's face fell, "Why?"

    "I've been here two days. I have responsibilities."

    "But wouldn't Buck or one of the others come get you?" Casey was valiantly trying to tamp down her panic.

    "Yes, they would," JD patiently explained. "But I have duties I must tend to, and I can't expect the others to do the job I'm paid for."

    "Fine, that's just fine," Casey knew she sounded childish, "Do what you have to do."

    "You're coming with me," JD stated matter-of-factly.

    "I am certainly not."

    "You can't stay here alone."

    That caused Casey to pause. Before two days ago, she would never have thought twice about being here alone. Now, the thought filled her with dread. But she had promised herself she'd never go to town again. Tears pricked the corner of her eyes, she felt trapped between worse and worser.

    JD reached across the table and took one of Casey's hands. "I would feel much better knowing you were in town with me."

    "You would feel better."

    "Yeah, I would."

    Casey considered what to do. She pulled her hand away and ran it through her hair, obviously agitated. "JD, I just don't think I can." She ran out of the cabin to escape the pressure from JD.

    Casey's breaths were coming in short gasps; she felt she was suffocating. What was she to do? Casey calmed herself and weighed her options. She could go to the Andrews' farm and stay there. But her aunt would surely ask her a lot of questions that Casey had no intention of answering.

    She could stay here. Alone. Unprotected. That was worse than facing her aunt.

    She could go to town. Why was it she wasn't doing that again? Because there were bad people there. Okay, girl, you can stay here alone or go to town where you have JD and Buck, or any of the seven for that matter. Casey was fast realizing just how much she owed Buck Wilmington. She had been so distraught that day he brought her home; she didn't ever probably thank him. That was it. She'd go to town and thank Buck, and that way she wouldn't be alone.

    As Casey returned to the cabin, JD was standing on the front porch. He looked at her pensively but he didn't say anything more.

    "I've decided it's best if I go to town with you." Casey felt better just saying it.

    JD nodded and said solemnly, "I'll saddle the horses."

    Casey was thinking JD Dunne was pretty smart. One wrong word from him, she would've stayed here alone. She went to the bedroom to collect the things she needed to take with her. Casey resolutely prepared herself to return to town. Boy, was she nervous. Come on, girl. How bad can it be? JD will be there. Buck will be there. And they'd make sure it would all be okay. She'd be protected. She'd be safe.

    Part 26

    Belle woke and stretched to work out the stiffness of her muscles. She really missed her feather bed and considered how soon she could return to it in California. By the amount of sunlight in the room, she estimated it was mid-morning. Down right early. There was really no hurry to get out of bed except there was no man to keep her company. It was a rare morning indeed that she didn't have company. It was far too lucrative not to.

    Belle went to stand in front of the mirror. She was a blue-eyed brunette with a perfect alabaster complexion. She removed her silk gown and admired her petite figure. She was perfect. Patrons traveled hundreds of miles to admire the beauty and her acting ability whilst she was on the stage in San Francisco. And many a gentleman paid handsomely to keep her company. But it was never the money. It was the adoration.

    Belle pursed her lips considering the man in her living room. In different circumstances, like if he was rich and lived in San Francisco, she would very much like to keep time with Josiah Sanchez. He was a stunning man. Maybe not in the classical sense, but he had a face of character and an eloquence unmatched by most of his contemporaries. And he adored her.

    As it was, Josiah Sanchez was an erstwhile preacher in a territorial outpost. He wasn't even the most powerful man in town. He was part of a gang of seven regulators hired by some judge to maintain law and order in the region. And at the princely sum of $1 a day. But for all his bad features, he did adore her. Hell, she didn't have to work hard at it. One had to be flattered as he came to her defense, even if he would never do in the long run.

    Belle walked over to consider her wardrobe. She really did need those new dresses she had commissioned upon arriving to town. Maybe Josiah Sanchez wasn't her future, but she could enjoy his attentions in the meantime. Maybe to help ease the pains of her sojourn in this backwater. To adore her. Belle pulled a periwinkle blue dress from the trunk, an appropriate dress for the territory and flattering to her coloring.

    After she was dressed, Belle admired herself in the morning. She took several deep breaths and then allowed her eyes to tear slightly. She was ready.

    Belle carefully opened the door. Josiah was awake and sitting on the settee. Belle scurried across the room to kneel at his feet. "Oh Josiah, did you stay here all night protecting me?" The smell of alcohol was heavy on his breath but Belle made every effort not to wrinkle her nose in disgust.

    Josiah gently took her hand and urged Belle to stand. "Miss Belle, I am your servant."

    "Oh Josiah, I am unworthy of your service."

    Josiah bent and kissed the back of her hand. "No, Miss Belle, it is I who failed you."

    Belle dropped her head and allowed a tear to escape her eye. "There was no way you could've known what . . .", Belle drew a ragged breath, "what type of man he was."

    "No, Miss Belle, I did. It was my failure."

    "Maybe I will have it in me to forgive."

    Josiah's head bowed deeply. "I would be most unworthy but rest assured, you will never want for protection."

    "You are so gallant, Josiah. Please let me make some coffee and a light repast for you."

    "No, Miss Belle, you do not need to do this for me." The misery in Josiah's voice was unmistakable.

    "I insist. You would not deny me anything I want?" Belle inquired hurt.

    "I deny you nothing," Josiah quickly averred.

    "Then, I insist." Belle turned and entered the kitchen, pleased with the start to the morning. She was really good, extremely good. Belle bowed to the stove, thank you my fans. Belle lightly laughed at her silliness. As she prepared the coffee and breakfast, she worryingly bit her lip, now, to figure out a way for Josiah to take her to town. She will just die of boredom if she didn't get out of this house.

    Josiah came into the kitchen and sat at the table. He had made some effort to freshen up and was halfway sober.

    "Here you are, my gallant protector." Josiah bowed and held a seat for Belle. Belle sat down and served Josiah. After a few minutes, she let her head bow and gave a half-sob. "Josiah, do others think badly of me?"

    "I don't know how they could," Josiah responded puzzled.

    "I am a fallen woman, shamed," Belle answered in a very small voice. She watched Josiah's reaction to that statement from hooded eyes.

    Josiah leapt to Belle's defense. "I will assure you that not one bit of gossip will reach your ears."

    "Oh Josiah, my gallant protector," Belle took one of Josiah's hands and looked adoringly into his eyes. "I just didn't know what I was going to do. I am in desperate need to pick up some dresses from the seamstress. I had thought to ask you but then I would . . ." Belle let out a ragged breath, "I would have to be here by myself."

    "No, no. You can't not stay here alone," Josiah firmly stated.

    "Thank you, Josiah," Belle bowed her head trying to hide her elation, "may we go immediately after breakfast?"

    "I will hitch the carriage now."

    Belle danced a little jig in the kitchen when Josiah went to the barn. She really did need to give some thought as to how she could further exploit the circumstances.

    The ride in to town was without conversation. Josiah was morose and Belle's machinations prevented her from attempting conversation.

    As they approached town, Belle stiffened and bowed her head. "Oh Josiah, how will I ever survive this?"

    "Now, now, Miss Belle." Josiah drew the carriage up to the storefront of the seamstress.

    "What will I do if that horrid man . . . Oh Josiah, will you check for me and guarantee he is behind bars and can't hurt me?"

    "I will guarantee it. Do not leave the store until I return."

    "I promise, Josiah."

    Belle watched Josiah Sanchez storm down the boardwalk, patrons scattering to clear his path. A satisfied smile crossed Belle's face, fuse lit.

    Now what else can I do? Belle spied the young couple down the street. She recognized the young man as another of the seven men hired to protect the town. Belle watched the young man, JD Dunne that was his name, animatedly talk to a young lady that he obviously cared for. Even from this distance, Belle recognized that the feelings were mutual. Dunne then walked off and the girl continued down the boardwalk in her direction.

    Think I need to talk to that young lady about the company she's keeping and the company her boyfriend keeps. After all, Belle knew just what Buck Wilmington was capable of. Belle smiled in anticipation.

    Part 27

    The sun was nearly straight overhead now, erasing any lingering shade among the rocks and heating their surfaces. Soon they would be too hot to touch with bare skin, too hot for a wounded man to lay on without something under him. Vin looked over at Buck, laying on the rocks where Vin had tried to ease him down some after he'd collapsed earlier. Buck had gone down so hard and so fast -- apparently trying to scale the rocks for some reason -- that Vin had been worried he'd hit his head. But there didn't seem to be any bruises or knots, so he kept hoping it was the combination of blood loss and so much exertion that had done it. Vin shook his head, thinking about it. How on earth the weak man he'd seen at the campsite had gotten him on a horse and all the way over here -- it seemed impossible even to imagine. But Buck had done it, and now he was paying the price. Vin lay his hand on the rock nearest him and felt the heat radiating into his palm, then looked again at Buck.

    The gunman must have taken his coat off the night before, probably to use under his head, because he didn't have it on now. Vin sighed and started pulling at his leather coat one-handed. He shrugged off the left sleeve fairly easily, but the right one -- Vin bit his lips as he tried to ease the coat back and down, off his bad arm, but he had to stop when his vision began to swim from the pain. He closed his eyes to let the worst of it subside, then started again. Gently, an inch at a time, he worked the worn coat loose, and then finally it dropped heavily to the sand and rocks beneath him, and Vin sagged, dizzy and exhausted, relieved it was over.

    It was several long minutes before he was able to move again, and then it seemed like there was half a territory between himself and Buck instead of only ten or twelve feet. Vin squatted carefully, stiffly, trying to keep from moving any part of his chest or right arm, to pick up the coat with his left hand. He had to brace himself against the rock in front of him with his left shoulder to get up again. Damn! Beads of sweat broke from the effort, to run in thin rivulets down the sides of his face. He pushed himself off the rock, took a single step, staggered, then forced himself to take another step and a third before he dropped to his knees with a low cry in spite of clenching his teeth against it, his breath coming fast and things starting to spin again. At least, he thought, at least I'm here now. All I have to do now is get it under 'im so he don't burn up, so he don't . . .

    Vin's thoughts trailed off into a dimness that he recognized as dangerous, and he shook his head to clear it. Buck. Buck was laying on the shining granite under that blistering sun and Vin had to get something under him or he'd die from the heat without any chance at all. The tracker looked at his friend's unconscious form and wondered how on earth he was possibly going to raise the man's head and back to slide the coat beneath him. He closed his eyes as a deep stab of pain caught him off-guard and dropped the coat to clutch at his own shoulder with a gasp. He curled his head to his chest, holding his breath against the pain as it shook him like it would throw him to the ground, until the spasm passed and he could see again. Do it right now, he thought. I gotta' do it right now or I might not make it.

    He knew there was no way he could lift with even his good arm; the pain from the slug embedded in his shoulder was so overwhelming that the slightest movement threatened him with an unconsciousness that would spell Buck's death as well as his own. He hadn't forgotten for a moment that there was still a bounty hunter out there somewhere, and that he had a long-range rifle with a damned good scope. So he did the only thing he could think of to do. Very carefully, as gently as possible, Vin sat down and extended his legs in front of him, to slide one foot beneath Buck's neck and lift it from the stone. The man's head hung back off Vin's ankle as he raised it, and the younger man scooted forward a fraction, clenching his jaws and holding his arm and shoulder to keep them still as possible, as he shoved the coat towards Buck with his other foot. Slowly, inch by inch, he pushed the leather beneath Buck's neck and head, and then beneath his shoulders and the upper part of his back.

    There was no way to get it any farther. Vin sighed, and let Buck's head and neck back down, onto leather now instead of bare stone, and hoped it would somehow be enough. He looked up at the sun again, and thought he really ought to try to get the last of the water into Buck somehow; he had lost so much blood. But he found his head dropping against his own chest, then realized with a start that he had nearly let himself slip away. Couldn't do that, he thought. Couldn't--

    What was that? A movement had caught his eye, and he rolled to a sitting position, looking outward from the rocks. He saw it again, unmistakable: a man had run from the cover of the trees to a rock a little distance out from there, advancing. Earlier Vin had taken Buck's pistol and reloaded it awkwardly, then tucked it in the front of his own gunbelt. Now he slid the heavy weapon out with his left hand, and balanced the butt of it on the stone. He squinted to see through the sweat that kept running into his eyes, and thumbed back the hammer, waiting. Five long minutes went by, and Vin carefully slid farther down the outcrop, trying to see better. He was ready when the man jumped up suddenly to race to another place of cover that was nearer, and Vin did his best with Buck's pistol to at least make the bastard think twice about getting any closer. Then a sudden sound behind him made him whirl around so quickly that he caught his breath and slid down the stone to the ground as the pain slammed into him again. Even as he was trying to raise Buck's pistol in a shaking hand, he could see it was too late, though.

    A black-haired man in buckskins was standing over Buck, a gun to the unconscious man's head. His eyes were on Vin, and there was something about the feral expression on his face that made the tracker freeze. It was, Vin realized with a sinking feeling, an expression of furious joy, even though there was no smile. The man was actually happy to be inches away from killing Buck in cold blood, and hoping for the opportunity to do so.

    "Drop your weapon this moment," he said, "or this man is dead. Now."

    Vin laid the pistol on the sand. "Leave 'im be," he gasped. "He ain't nothin' to you."

    "Oh, I think he is," hissed the stranger. Vin heard rapid footsteps running up behind him, and knew it was the man he'd been watching and trying to stop.

    "No." Vin felt like the air was growing thicker and harder to breathe as he fought to stay conscious. "He ain't wanted for nothin'. Only me. Leave 'im here."

    The man who had come over the stones into the small cleared area chuckled, and Vin craned his head to see that this one, redhaired and bearded, was eyeing the man in buckskins with a smirk. "What do you say?" the redhead asked the other man, cocking his head "Shall we see if there's a bounty on Mr. Tanner's friend, too?" He looked down at Vin, then. "Or shall we just kill him and leave him for the buzzards, and take only Mr. Tanner with us?"

    The black-haired man laughed coarsely. "Depends," he said, "on how much trouble they are."

    Vin tried to push himself up higher on the rock behind him, and winced. The man in buckskin started towards him, his eyes suddenly going dead. He flipped his pistol around and raised the back of it towards Vin, but the other man stopped him.

    "You are so uncouth," he said. He actually looked faintly disgusted. "It's a lot easier than that."

    And raising one foot, he casually set the sole of his boot against the wound in Vin's shoulder and pressed firmly and heavily upon it. Vin jerked, and a spasm of anguish ran across his features that vanished as he slumped to the ground, unconscious.

    Sullivan frowned. "What's all that shit about wanting a bounty outta' Wilmington?"

    "No reason to let him know there's anything more to this than he thinks there is." Thompson grabbed Vin by his feet and dragged him unceremoniously over to the stone where Buck lay. "Get their horses. I'll start tying their hands."

    "I'm gettin' tired of you always giving me orders." Sullivan stared into Thompson's eyes for a long moment, and then turned without another word and headed for Tanner's and Wilmington's horses as well as their own. Thompson looked after him for an even longer moment, then bent to his task.

    Twenty minutes later, Vin and Buck were on horseback and tied to their saddles in ways that would make sure they got where they had to go. Sullivan had tied their feet to the stirrups, and then their bound hands to the saddle horns. He shook the ropes to make sure everything was secure, and then ran a long lead line from one horse to another and tied it off to the D ring on his own saddle. Thompson was stowing his gear and securing his own rig as Sullivan worked, and he mounted as the other man finished checking everything and looked up.

    "I still think it would make more sense to pack them like gunnysacks," said Thompson.

    "It'd kill 'em," said Sullivan, as if he didn't care. "They're supposed to get there alive, and it's too far for that kinda' travel." He lifted Vin's limp head by his hair and looked into the slack face, then dropped it again and laughed at the way the tracker lolled down over the gelding's whithers. "Besides, this is kinda' fun." He looked up at Thompson and his face grew hard. "I like it, you know. I like to think about men I hate, in this kind of fix."

    Thompson returned the gaze evenly, knowing the threat when he heard it. He gathered the reins on the dun mare and backed her, to leave.

    "Be careful you don't find yourself on the wrong end of it one of these days," he said softly. He whirled the mare, and rode away.

    Part 28

    "Well, everything looks quiet enough." JD's eyes were running quickly up and down the street as they rode into town. Casey looked at him and shrugged as casually as she knew how.

    "Looks like always," she said. Like always, she told herself. Like all the times before. I've been here a hundred times and nothing ever happened and it's gonna' be like all those times today.

    "Yeah, but lately those cowhands have been really causin' trouble. The herds can't be all that far away yet, so . . . Casey? You all right?"

    "Yeah." Casey swallowed and pushed her face into a weak smile.

    They had ridden up to the hitching rail near the hardware store, and Casey leaped lightly to the ground and tied her horse before JD could say anything more. He dismounted and came around to stand in front of her as she stepped up onto the boardwalk, and he wouldn't move until she looked up at him. When she did, he searched her face with dark eyes filled with concern.

    "I'm all RIGHT, JD," said Casey, and she shoved past him and raised her chin to hide its trembling, and cocked her head back at him from the walkway. "I'm gonna' go see if Mrs. Potter's got in the bolt a' calico Aunt Nettie ordered. You go do whatever it is you gotta' do."

    "Yeah, but Casey--" JD extended one hand to her, but Casey tossed her head and felt the devilment rise in her, and her eyes snapped.

    "An' I gotta' look at her Godey's Ladies' Book and see what the new fashion is for the dress we're makin' out of it. I wanna' make the waist low like this, but Aunt Nettie--"

    "Uhhh . . . that's ok, Casey. That stuff . . . it, uh . . ." JD shuffled nervously in a way that made the girl smile inside without letting him see it. He blanched suddenly as he realized what dangerous territory he was on. "That is," he said, starting to stammer, "That is, it really don't matter what the dress LOOKS like 'cause it's still on you an' . . . uh, I mean . . ." His face was starting to turn red, and Casey laughed but tried to look at him archly.

    "Oh, JD," she said, "just go on an' find your friends."

    JD smiled as relief flooded him. Well, at least this time he hadn't managed to wind up insulting her. "I'll see ya' in a little while, OK?"

    "Yeah." The girl nodded, smiling, and JD turned and hurried off down the boardwalk, then crossed the street towards the hotel. Casey watched him go for a long moment, and then decided that maybe a little time visiting with Mrs. Potter wasn't such a bad idea after all.

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

    JD stood in the street near the boardwalk outside the hotel, and looked up and down the length of it one more time. He was just sure Vin had to be there somewhere, cocked back in a chair tipped against the wall in the shadows. Had to be. He always was, this time of day.

    But he wasn't.

    And neither was Josiah. Or Chris. One or both of them tended to join the tracker this time of day. They exchanged genial barbs and teased JD when he showed up, and . . . where _were_ they? JD's face pulled together in a puzzled scowl as he turned around to scan the other side of the street. Nothing.

    Well. Buck would know. And he was usually in the jail this time of morning, yawning and scratching himself awake even though the others had already been up for hours. Why on earth his first footsteps in the morning tended to drag him to that old beat-up desk in the sheriff's office, JD couldn't imagine. But they did. The young man squared his shoulders and stepped up on the walkway. He hoped he looked a lot more nonchalant than he felt.

    The door was standing open, just a fraction. JD stopped dead when he saw it, and something inside him shivered and it seemed he had to grab it in two hands to keep it from breaking into terrified bits. It's just come opened, he said to himself, probably from Buck banging it so hard it bounced. But it took him a moment to get enough courage to reach out and put his hand on the latch, and when he slowly pushed on it the hinges squeaked like the place hadn't been used in years. JD closed his eyes, for a moment half expecting to see cobwebs hanging off the beams when he went inside. He shook his head, mad at himself, and pushed his way in quickly and shut the door behind him with a snap.

    The ring of keys was hanging on the nail. The stack of wanted posters was on the corner of the desk where it belonged. The jail cells were empty. The cots were bare of linens and the basins stood dry on their shelves.

    JD walked slowly around the room, his boots thumping out hollow soft sounds on the floorboards. He felt the hair starting to stand up on the back of his neck. The sheriff's office was often empty, although it had recently been filled to overflowing with drunken trailherders and brawlers. It really shouldn't be a problem that no one was here. The young man slipped off his bowler and held it to his chest in an unconscious gesture of trepidation and looked around the room with widening eyes, his heart hammering. So why did this feel so bad? Even dangerous? Nathan. Mary. SOMEONE had to know what was going on. It was all ok, and when he found out he'd laugh and laugh and Buck would make fun of him.

    JD was outside again, and this time he didn't think about who might see him hurry and think less of him for being such a kid. The Clarion office wasn't far. The door was unlocked. Mary wasn't there. Billy wasn't there. The press was still. JD stood in the dark room looking around with the feeling growing that something horrible was sitting just out of his line of sight, watching him. His eye fell on a tear sheet laying on the typesetting table, and the banner caught him like it had been smacked into his face with a hammer. He leaned towards it with a gasp, read the first few lines, and shook his head. No, no. Why would Mary say such a thing about Nathan? What was going on?

    Part 29

    Casey was nervous when JD left her to look for the rest of the seven, but she figured that this was broad daylight and therefore better than the last time she'd been to town. But the real reason she agreed to separate was that she hoped it would give her a chance to find Buck. She sure didn't want to talk to him with JD around. She knew she probably had to tell JD some time. People who cared about each other weren't supposed to have secrets, but she just wasn't ready. On the other hand, she really wanted to look into the face of someone who knew her terrible secret and still didn't think she was a bad person. Actually, she just wanted to look at someone who _knew_. She wanted to thank him too. Though she could never thank him enough. She knew he'd say it was nothing, that he hadn't even rescued her, that she'd done that herself. But he'd made her feel a little safer, a little stronger. Because he'd looked at her and his eyes had looked the same as always, she'd felt, at least while he was there, as if things would be okay.

    "Excuse me."

    Casey's heart startled and she almost jumped right out of her skin when she heard the voice behind her. Then she realized it was the soft voice of a woman speaking to her. Still, her hand was on her chest when she turned around. The woman was not someone she'd ever seen before. "Yes?" she said, making it a question and hoping she managed to cover the tremor in her voice.

    "Are you...I thought I saw you with that young Mr. Dunne," the woman said. Though she was a small woman with delicate features, she had a rich dramatic voice.

    "I..." Casey began. She cleared her throat and tried again. "I'm Casey Wells. Yes, ma'am."

    The woman clasped her hand, which was holding a lace handkerchief, to her chest. "I know you don't know me." The woman's voice trembled. "I just thought...I thought you should know." And to Casey's amazement, the woman began to cry. Very softly, and somehow managing not to become all red and blotchy like Casey herself did when she cried, but almost delicately. Real womanly, Casey thought. She didn't quite know what to do. "I hope...," the woman said after a few minutes. "You see, my name is Belle Corydon." And she paused to look at Casey in an expectant way. When Casey didn't say anything she continued. "That Mr. Dunne, he...he...oh dear," the woman dabbed at her eyes with her handkerchief. "He is friends with a man named Wilmington is he not?"

    "JD and Buck are real good friends," Casey said with pride.

    "Oh dear," Belle said heavily. She sighed and buried her head in her handkerchief for a moment.

    "Ma'am?" Casey looked around for someone else to help her, but there was no one she knew on the street. "Are you all right?"

    "No!" Belle raised her head suddenly and Casey jumped back. 'No, I'm not all right." She grabbed Casey's arm. "I'm ruined. Do you understand what that means?"

    Casey wasn't exactly sure she did, but she nodded anyway.

    "I'm _ruined_," Belle repeated. "There is no future left for me. But I can't bear to see anyone else hurt. And I thought...well, it's my duty as a woman to warn you!"

    "I'm not sure..." Casey began.

    "He _raped_ me." Belle said emphatically. "He came out to my house and raped me. Buck Wilmington. You should know. A sweet girl like you isn't safe."

    Casey's face had gone pale. What was this woman talking about? Buck couldn't. He _wouldn't_. He had been her savior. She _knew_. She took a step backward and thumped into the wall of the dry good's store. She backed up tight against it, hoping this woman would just shut up and go away. "You must--"

    "Oh, I'm not saying anything about your young man, your Mr. Dunne," Belle was well and truly wound up now. "I'm sure he's a very nice young man. I'm sure he just doesn't know any better. But I'm telling you...and it's for your own good. You must stay away from Buck Wilmington. Keep Mr. Dunne away from him too. I mean a man who would attack a woman in her own home when the sun is barely up. What kind of a man is that? I ask you?"

    "I..." Casey waved her hand feebly in front of her. Belle had moved right up in her face and, though she wanted to just get away, she had nowhere to go. "I don't think..."

    "That's right," Belle said approvingly. "A nice sweet girl like you shouldn't even know about such things. And," she reached out and grasped Casey's hand. "I would never tell you, but it's so _dangerous_ in a town like this. Right in my own house. Just two days ago. What do you think of that?"

    For a minute, Casey didn't say anything, she just looked dazedly ahead of her. When had everything gotten so mixed up? A week ago she'd been plain old Casey Wells who thought she could handle anything. Then, suddenly she'd been scared-to-death Casey who couldn't even stay at the house by herself. And now...who was she now? She looked at Belle, who was standing there next to her practically trembling. She _did_ look scared, Casey admitted. But then, she thought of Buck. And she knew. She just _knew_. It was only Belle's words overwhelming her. It was being in town like this. It was too much. She couldn't think. But she had to hold on to what she knew.

    "NO!" Casey shouted it at her. "Get away from me!"

    Belle jumped back, startled.

    "You're just wrong!" Casey yelled. "You have to be!"

    Belle studied her carefully. "I don't think so." She paused and hid her head in her handkerchief for a moment. Casey could see her hand trembling. "I could tell you details."

    Suddenly, Casey couldn't breathe. She could feel that man again with his hands on her, grabbing at her. She didn't say anything to Belle. She just ran, thinking that the first thing she had to do was find Buck and let him know what this woman was saying about him.

    Belle watched her run. And she smiled.

    Part 30

    JD didn't even remember going from Mary's to Nathan's. He just found himself running up the stairs three at a time, nearly colliding with Mary on her way down.

    Mary!

    Thank God. Someone. Anyone. "Mary!" gasped JD. She looked up like she'd been shot, even took half a step back and tripped on the stairs, nearly falling. Her hand flew out to the railing to catch herself, and JD put a hand beneath her other arm and tried to smile in his relief. He should feel relieved, right? Here was Mary. Mary was here.

    "Excuse me, JD." She tried to go around him. He caught her elbow and wouldn't let it go.

    "What's goin' on?" He was breathless from running all over town.

    "Nathan." She looked back up the stairs, and a shadow ran across her face. She looked at JD and her gaze focused and she looked suddenly sad and scared at the same time. "Nathan's sick," she said in her soft voice. She started to turn to leave again, but JD wouldn't let her.

    "What d'you mean 'Nathan's sick'? Mary, what's goin' on?"

    "I don't know." She shook her head. "Ezra's taking care of him. Maybe dysentery or something, I don't know. He told me to go get water. It's --." She looked JD in the eye again. "I have to go." She tore her arm from his gentle grasp and hurried down the stairs. JD stood looking at her, then looked up the stairs again. He turned and climbed the rest of the way, then knocked lightly on the door to Nathan's room. There was a sound of brisk footsteps from inside, and then Ezra's voice speaking through the closed door.

    "Mary?"

    "No, it's JD."

    "Go away, JD. Consider this place off-limits until we know whether or not Mr. Jackson has succumbed to a contagion."

    "Ezra--"

    "I cannot talk to you while Nathan suffers. If you see Mary, ask her to send up a washtub as well. Tell her to have the workmen leave everything on the landing."

    "But Ezra--"

    The footsteps left and JD heard scraping of furniture, a low groan, the sound of things being moved around. Several burly men arrived with full buckets of water sloshing from each hand, and JD put his hat back on sadly as they looked at him for the answer to the question they hadn't asked. "Set 'em on the landing, here," said JD. "Knock on the door to let 'in know you've brought 'em."

    He left as the men knocked and Ezra spoke again through the door, his voice muffled as JD trailed down the stairs to the street, his heart indefinably heavy.

    He never was able to figure out what it was that impelled him, finally, to the livery stable. But the closer he got to it, the more the sense of dread grew in him. By the time he saw that Buck's grey wasn't in its stall, he already knew it. And Vin's gelding: gone. He went on down the line, his eyes feeling like they had sand in them. Chris's black. He could be at his shack, of course, but . . . Not with the other two gone as well.

    JD Dunne came out into the sunlight of what had been a pretty morning not too long ago, and realized there was only one person left who might be able to give him some answers, to tell him what was going on, and maybe why he hadn't screwed up worse than he'd ever screwed up in his life before by not being here when whatever it was had happened.

    Josiah.

    JD turned his steps for the church. No Josiah; the preacher wasn't there. They _couldn't_ be dead. The thought that had been trying to ambush him all along leaped out and JD blocked it even as it sprang. No. They just couldn't. Their horses would still be at the livery if they were dead, right? But they were gone. And Josiah was missing, too, but his horse was _there_. And Ezra or Mary would have _said_ something. They were just gone, was all. It was all right. It had to be all right. It had to be.

    JD's steps dragged as he wandered to the saloon, thinking to maybe get out of the heat for a little while at least. He pushed open the doors with slumped shoulders and sagging step, and then felt almost an electric shock of joy when his eyes fell on Josiah's burly form in the back of the room. JD couldn't help the smile that he knew wreathed his face as he dragged out a chair and slammed his hat to the table. Josiah!! He waited expectantly, face beaming. The dust settled. Poker chips three tables over clicked on the table there as a man said softly "call." JD felt his face relax, then fall.

    "Josiah?" His voice sounded like a kid's even to him. He cleared his throat and sat up straighter in his chair, brushing his hair back with one hand as he did so. "Josiah!"

    The big preacher looked up slowly, and JD gasped at the sullen expression on the man's face. His eyes were bloodshot, small, banked with dull rage. "Lea' me 'lone," mumbled Josiah. He looked back down at the table, and at the beer mug in his fist.

    "I can't -- I --" JD looked around the saloon furtively. Was anyone else seeing this? He looked back at Josiah and lowered his voice. "Josiah. What's goin' on?"

    "Go 'way."

    "Look, that's the second time today someone has said that to me." JD's voice rose a fraction, he looked around nervously again, and he leaned closer to the big man. "First Ezra an' now--"

    "I said 'get lost'." Josiah's voice was not loud, but it carried a menace that made JD pause. He swallowed nervously.

    "No," he said.

    Josiah looked up again, and a flash of anger raced across his face. He remained silent, however, and JD leaned forward even farther. "Since when is Nathan sick? Where did Chris an' Vin an' Buck go? An'--"

    Josiah's head snapped back and he sat up straighter in his chair. "Buck left?"

    JD stopped and looked at Josiah, puzzled. "Yeah, with Chris an'--"

    "I should've known it. The bastards." Josiah started to scrape back his chair, but JD laid a hand on the man's enormous arm and stopped him. He swallowed hard at the look Josiah planted him with.

    "Tell me what happened," JD said.

    "I'll tell you what happened." Josiah was standing up as he spoke, his words low and dark and roiling with alcohol and the heat of August and the dark, stale room, and the lost love of a good woman. "That son of a bitch, Buck, despoiled my Belle."

    "What?" JD stepped back in front of Josiah as the man started to leave, his question not one of disbelief but only of complete confusion. "You're talkin' like Ezra, Josiah. What the hell do you mean?"

    "I mean he _raped_ her, boy. When you an' I were at the Delano Mine." Josiah nodded grimly at the look of utter shock that dropped JD's jaw and made him blanch. "Yeah, suddenly his not comin' with us looks a little different, don't it?"

    Josiah pushed past JD, and the younger man turned to run sideways at his heels as he left the saloon. "No," he was saying as he tried to get in front of the preacher, "Buck wouldn't do that, Josiah. Somethin' don't add up here. There's somethin' . . . Josiah? Josiah. . . " He trailed off as the preacher went on without even slowing, as if JD hadn't been there, hadn't said a thing.

    Casey. He needed to find Casey.

    Continued...

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