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 31

    Ezra shuddered, as he briefly felt overwhelmed by all that he had to do to take care of Nathan. It was one thing to rely on yourself. It was another to be a member of a team, a gang, and together be strong. But the absolute situation that Ezra avoided was one person depending on him. Nathan Jackson was relying on Ezra Standish and Ezra was feeling wholly inadequate to the task.

    Ezra's strategy if you want to call it that, was to clean Nathan and then, clean the bed. Then, diagnose Nathan's condition. Then, treat him if at all possible. You know, Ezra, praying couldn't hurt -- maybe that should be first on the list. Ezra laughed shortly, it was almost a sob -- it had been a long time. He closed his eyes, Dear Lord . . .

    Ezra walked over to the small chest and rifled through Nathan's belongings to find a bandanna. Ezra tied the bandanna and covered his nose and mouth. Wouldn't be quite fitting to have to clean up after yourself as well as Nathan. He removed his red jacket, waistcoat, and tie, carefully folding them and placing over a chair back. He rolled his sleeves.

    Ezra quickly stripped the bed and opened the door to pull in fresh linens. He covered the mattress with a sheet. He stripped Nathan and moved him to the bed to bathe him.

    Ezra had ordered a quarantine and was pleased to see barriers established as he dumped the bed bath water.

    With Nathan initially cleaned, Ezra urged and cajoled Nathan to walk over to the tub. Ezra bathed him again. His hand paused as he encountered the raised scars on Nathan's back. No man deserves . . . Ezra couldn't complete the thought.

    Ezra assisted Nathan to sit in a chair and dried him. He stripped the bed again and placed fresh sheets. "Come on, Nathan," and he assisted him back to bed. But the movement had resumed the stomach heaves and Nathan started vomiting again. Ezra held the pot and when the vomiting stopped, wiped Nathan's face and offered some water so he could rinse his mouth. Nathan's breath and vomit had a strong, garlic odor. Ezra cataloged the symptom but didn't know what it meant. He had nausea, vomiting, diarrhea, but no fever. He had stomach pains but no other pain apparently. Ezra wished he knew what it all meant.

    "I'm gonna kill JD," Nathan muttered but he was not lucid and Ezra could not question him on it. JD, what did JD have to do with this?

    Ezra surveyed the room; it was filthy with vomit and diarrhea. Ezra emptied the pots and got down on his hands and knees to scrub the floor with chloride of lime. Several times Ezra had to stop to tend Nathan with his frequent episodes of vomiting and diarrhea.

    Ezra pulled some carbolic acid from the shelf and diluted it and carefully washed his hands and forearm. He also wiped out the basins he had been using. He briefly considered opening the door and window for ventilation but rejected the idea until he could figure out what was going on.

    Ezra pulled a frustrated hand through his hair and wished he had paid more attention when Nathan worked. But it truly was never his forte. How do you figure this out? Ezra's eyes swept the room and he noted two medical books and a leather journal on the shelf. Ezra had given Nathan the journal, though Nathan didn't know that, to record his observations, pearls of information that he gained as he took care for more and more patients. Nathan might not have formal schooling but someone had taught him to read and write, actually Ezra wouldn't be surprised if he taught himself, and Nathan had started to keep meticulous records of lessons learned from doctors, medicine men, and patients.

    Ezra quickly leafed through the book, easily reading Nathan's neat script. He found several references to care for the vomiting and diarrhea. Ezra found a tin-labeled willow bark tea and put a kettle on to boil. He woke Nathan and urged him to drink. He also gave Nathan some paregoric for the pain and diarrhea; at least he seemed to be resting now. When Nathan had kept the first cup of a tea down awhile, Ezra woke him to drink more. He knew he desperately needed to give Nathan fluids.

    Ezra used a page from the journal and wrote down Nathan's symptoms. Fever - no, vomiting/diarrhea - yes, abdominal pain - yes, delirium - yes, garlic odor to breath - yes (Ezra didn't have a clue whether any or all of that was important). Ezra pulled down the medical books and started looking at the symptoms to see if he could find a match or eliminate some contagious diseases, thereby safely lifting the quarantine.

    "STANDISH," Ezra heard a man's yell, though muffled by the door. A knocking on the door quickly followed the yell.

    Ezra opened the door, "Mary, you must refrain from visiting for both yours and Billy's sake."

    "There is a crowd downstairs. You better talk to them before we have a riot on our hands."

    "STANDISH!"

    Ezra stepped onto the balcony, there was at least fifteen people below on the street.

    "We want answers."

    "What disease is the quarantine for?"

    Ezra raised his hands to quiet the crowd. "Nathan Jackson is the patient. He is alive but obviously very ill and until we can diagnose his exact condition, the quarantine is a safety measure." There were murmurs of approval at his announcement. "Are there any other sick people?" There were several "no's" which Ezra found reassuring.

    "I will keep you all informed of any changes." Ezra turned away from the rail as the crowd broke up.

    "Mary, are you aware of any others similarly afflicted?"

    "No, nothing. And I would have heard."

    "I agree. You best leave now until we know what we're dealing with."

    "How is Nathan?"

    "He's resting now. I just wish I knew what was wrong with him."

    "Would you like me to wire some doctors?"

    Ezra almost leapt at the suggestion but realized he couldn't. "My inclination is to tell you to do that, but we could spread misinformation about a possible epidemic and cause panic. At this point, until we can figure out what we're dealing with, I think it's best we not send any wires."

    Mary nodded her head in understanding. "What can I do to help?"

    Ezra was thinking help_me to take care of Nathan but instead told Mary, "you can go home and care for your son." She really shouldn't be here and risk giving the disease to her son.

    Ezra looked down at Mary and saw the obstinate angle to her chin. Ezra chuckled thinking he at least tried to do the right thing.

    "Please remain outside, I'll be just a moment. I was using Nathan's books to see if I could figure this out."

    Ezra returned to Nathan's room where Nathan still seemed to be resting. He grabbed the books and showed Mary what he started to do.

    Ezra and Mary sat outside at the small round table set against the wall of the balcony.

    "You wrote down Nathan's symptoms." Mary observed. "Garlic breath? Are you sure he hasn't been eating too many meals at Andreas's restaurant?"

    Ezra chuckled then paused, "You know, I did see a plate from the restaurant in his room. But I don't think it's that. Okay, my thought was to look up the diseases we suspect and then see if we could eliminate them as a possibility. So let's start with diphtheria." Ezra handed Mary one book as he looked in the other.

    "Here it is: a thick coating in the nose, throat, and airway; difficulty breathing, heart failure, paralysis, death."

    "That's a definite no. Typhoid? No, he has no fever or chills. Which also rules out scarlet and yellow fever." Ezra ran down the list of possible causes. "Cholera?"

    "Symptoms include a mild, watery diarrhea to an acute diarrhea, with characteristic rice water stools. Onset of the illness is generally sudden, with incubation periods varying from 6 hours to 5 days. Abdominal cramps, nausea, vomiting, dehydration, and shock; after severe fluid loss, death may occur." Mary read from her book.

    "That could be it. But does it make sense that Nathan is the only patient?"

    "I've never heard of that. Generally if it's one person, there are many victims."

    "Maybe that's it. Maybe he didn't acquire it in town. He was at the Andrews' farm and Delano Mine?"

    Mary was already shaking her head no. "I saw Seth Andrews late yesterday afternoon and he was telling us they were all fine. And Milton Delano is in town now. He's worried about sabotage at his mine, not any disease outbreak."

    "What else could it be?"

    "Food poisoning?"

    Ezra scratched his head in frustration. "But it still comes back to why only Nathan?"

    "I'll check around town and make sure no one else is sick. I'll also stop in and talk to Andreas. Anything else I can do?"

    "No, thank you my dear." Ezra voice was resigned. He heard Nathan stirring and immediately got up to tend to him.

    Mary quickly left and immediately went to the restaurant. The dinner crowd had yet to arrive and it was still quiet.

    "Guten tag."

    "Good afternoon, Andreas."

    The burly chef smiled broadly at the widow. "Are you here for an early dinner?"

    "No," Mary smiled at the amiable chef, "thank-you. Nathan Jackson has taken ill with vomiting and diarrhea and we are trying to figure out what is wrong."

    "Herr Doctor is sick. That is a shame." Andreas was obviously sympathetic to Nathan's plight but a shadow suddenly crossed his face. "Wait, do you think I had something to do with it?" Andreas was clearly offended. "I take special care in all my food handling. Washing. Cooking. Storing. While just the other day I threw out a pot of food that was off."

    Mary perked at that last comment. "Andreas, when was that?"

    Andreas paused. "Day before yesterday. But I didn't serve anyone from that pot except myself."

    "You ate the food."

    "Well, I tasted it. It was my Swabian Liver Dumplings - just not up to my usual standards. I threw it out. But I have not been sick at all."

    "And Nathan didn't eat any . . ."

    A look of dismay crossed the cook's face. "Oh wait, Dunne was in to get the doctor dinner. He served him and left the money on the counter. He could have given him the food from that pot." Andreas was clearly disturbed that he may have caused Nathan to be sick.

    "It's not your fault Andreas. Thank you for your help. I will make sure that everyone knows it was not your fault."

    Mary hurried from the restaurant and headed to the telegraph office. Since it was clear this did not appear to be an epidemic but one patient, Mary felt it was appropriate to wire a family friend who was a physician in Denver. She described the circumstances of Nathan's illness, his symptoms, and asked for any recommendations in caring for him. While she was waiting for a reply, she visited in several shops but it was clear that there were no other cases of the sickness.

    As Mary left the hardware, Wyatt, the telegraph operator, came running up. "Ma'am, the doctor is at the telegraph office in Denver and wishes to talk to you."

    Denver: Mary ::Stop:: Your friend's condition is grave ::Stop:: Garlic breath plus other symptoms suggests acute arsenic poisoning ::Stop:: Do you have any idea when he could have ingested the poison ::Stop::

    Four Corners: Two days ago ::Stop::

    Denver: Need to flush poison from system ::Stop:: Have patient drink at least one liter of fluid every hour for the next eight hours ::Stop:: Wire at 0700 with status ::Stop::

    Four Corners: Understood flush poison ::Stop:: 0700 hours ::Stop::

    Denver: Poisoning appears acute but not immediately lethal ::Stop:: Imperative flush poison from system ::Stop:: His condition is life-threatening ::Stop:: Good luck ::Stop:: regards, Dr. Franklin ::Stop::

    When she received the final reply, Mary collected the wires and hurried back to Nathan's room.

    "Poisoned?" Ezra was shocked.

    "I wired Dr. Francis in Denver. He said that the garlic odor to his breath is a classic sign of acute arsenic poisoning. He said to get as much fluids into Nathan as possible to flush out the poisoning. I think he got the poisoning from a dinner from Andreas's restaurant. Apparently Nathan was the only person to eat from that pot before Andreas threw it out. But why would anyone want to poison Nathan?"

    "They didn't," Ezra stated flatly. "Nathan wasn't the specific target. The town was and anyone who ate at the restaurant."

    "Can you imagine having to care for so many people with this?"

    Ezra looked over at Mary, the realization of how big a catastrophe had been averted. "No, I can't."

    "Who would do this?"

    Ezra shook his head at a loss. He had no idea. Not who? Not why?

    Heavy footsteps could be heard approaching. "Mr. Delano, this is a quarantine area." Although Ezra realized, it probably could be lifted now.

    "Heard that you are in charge."

    Ezra's eyebrows raised at that comment. Mary looked up at him and valiantly tried to hide her amusement.

    Ezra smiled wryly, not hardly, he thought, but "what is the nature of the problem, Delano?"

    "What are you're gonna do about the sabotage out at my place?"

    "Mr. Sanchez and Mr. Dunne were already at your mine investigating these charges."

    Delano spit out, "and found nothing. You don't understand. There have been accidents, unexplained explosions, cave-ins. It is not my imagination. Somebody's after me and they're doing a good job of it."

    "Mr. Delano, do you have any evidence?"

    "No, NO. Just my gut."

    "All I can offer to do is to investigate if there are further incidents," Ezra tried to placate the owner of the Delano Mine.

    "Hell, of a lot good that will do. Any further *incidents* puts me out of business." Delano turned and stomped off.

    Ezra sighed deeply.

    "You're doing a great job," she reassured him.

    Ezra smiled wryly. "Not hardly. I am not the man for this job." Ezra wiped his eyes and asked Mary in frustration, "where is Mr. Larabee? This is his job."

    Mary shook her head. "I saw him ride out mid-morning."

    "Mary, do me a favor; look for the others and send them here."

    Mary nodded and left to do his bidding.

    *Shit.* How the hell did I wind up in charge? Never mind one man relying on me. Now there was a whole town. Let me dump this into someone else's lap. Someone who won't let all these people down.

    Part 32

    Buck woke reluctantly, awareness returning one slow step at a time.

    First, there was the motion, a steady rocking, back and forth, back and forth. Then, there was the sun, the heat pounding down on his shoulders and back. Not much breeze, but after a minute he could hear sounds. And another minute after that he could even figure out what they were--the slow clop, clop, clop of horses hooves, the shift and sigh of leather saddles, a breeze ruffling cottonwood trees some way off along a river. A long time passed like that. Or, maybe it wasn't a long time. Maybe it just was...

    Then, suddenly, there was pain, like a bright flash of white out of nowhere. Centered in his leg, but radiating out in a sharp, tight spiral. His breath came too quick and he couldn't control it, couldn't even figure out a point to focus on. Wake up, he thought. Wake up! And then, his head jerked as if he had been falling for a long time and he'd only just now been able to catch himself, and he was awake.

    'Hell!' he thought. Every time he woke up it was like he'd stumbled on a completely different place, a place with no bearing to the last place he'd been. No way to make any sense of it at all. He was on his horse, and his hands and legs were tied. He pulled at the knots around his hands experimentally, but they'd been tied tight and expertly. There was a man he'd never seen before riding ahead of him and a lead going back from his horse to...he looked back and his body sagged in relief...Vin. The tracker looked terrible in Buck's opinion, sagged low in the saddle and swaying slightly with each step his horse took, but he was there and he was alive, which was all Buck asked at the moment.

    He closed his eyes and started to drift again. He'd give anything for some water right now...and he was so tired...NO!...he snapped his eyes open. Pay attention, Buck, he told himself. Where are we? Where are we going?

    They were headed northwest as far as he could tell, which sure wasn't Texas. Bounty hunters, Vin had said. But why both of them? And where the hell were they going? Buck turned his attention to the man on the horse in front of him. There was nothing particularly out of the ordinary about him. He wore buckskins and a slouch hat and he had a pistol strapped to his hips. The gun looked well-used to Buck, with a shiny spot on the butt where his hand had rested for minutes passing into hours. He held himself tightly as if he were waiting for something he could feel just around the next bend. Buck couldn't see his eyes, but he could imagine them--sharp, alert, scanning everywhere, missing nothing. Buck had never seen the man before in his life. He wondered if Vin had and he stole another glance back at the tracker. Vin was shaking his head slowly from side to side, sitting up a little straighter. Looked like maybe he was coming around.

    "You're awake."

    The man's voice was low but it carried across the desert air with a sharp clarity. Buck looked at him. His eyes were as he'd imagined them, though there was something deeper, some nameless black emptiness inside them that made Buck's stomach twist. He tried to strain at the ropes that bound him to the saddle without being obvious about it, but the man saw him. "Won't help," he said, and he never smiled.

    Buck just looked at him, but he didn't say anything. Give them nothing, not what you feel, not what you think. Nothing. The man frowned when he didn't respond and his eyes narrowed. He looked away, searching the flat brushy area around them, for what, Buck had no idea. Then, he looked back at Buck and turned his head a little more to look back at Vin, bringing up the rear.

    He was not a large man and Buck figured he could take him, all things being equal. Unfortunately, at that moment, all things weren't even close to equal. So, he waited. He tried to shift in the saddle so his leg was more comfortable and that sent a thin, sharp slice of pain shooting up his leg. He couldn't quite hide the tight grimace and he turned his head away from the man in front of him. He studied the landscape, looking for markers, trying to figure where the hell they were and some vague notion of where they were going.

    "Can't begin to figure it, can you?" the man's low voice drifted back to him again.

    Buck looked at him from under the brim of his hat.

    "No," the man continued. "You've looked around and you've studied me and the sky and the tracks on the ground and you just can't see what any of it means." He pulled lightly on the lead rope and Buck's horse broke into a tired jog. Buck could hear Vin groan behind him as his horse sped up too, but he resisted the urge to look over his shoulder at him. When Buck's horse was up even with his own, the man pulled back and for a moment they were riding abreast. The man looked at him, Buck could feel those hooded eyes studying him as he continued to look out across the desert. The mountains were drawing closer and Buck figured if they kept on this line they'd reach them by nightfall. He tried to think about what that meant. And he tried not to think about everything else.

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

    Sullivan watched Buck and tried to figure what kind of man would just look away like that. I have the power, he thought. You have nothing. He looked down at Buck's leg. The bandage was bloody and blood had spread and dried down half his pants leg. Sullivan looked at his face. It was tight and closed and dangerous. And that, Sullivan liked. His horse stumbled and he reached out as if he were off balance and slammed his hand down on Buck's leg. He could feel the leg tighten, the muscles spasm and a sharp hiss escape Buck's lips. "Sorry," he said, settling back in the saddle and pulling his hand away. Buck said nothing. Sullivan glanced over at him. Who the hell are you, he thought. Don't you see that I hate you? I have the power. He saw blood leaking out from under Buck's bandage and he watched it and thought about what he would do when it finally came time to kill this man.

    Buck's horse was drifting back along its lead and Sullivan grabbed it and pulled it back abreast with his own. "You want to know, don't you?"

    "I reckon," Buck said quietly. He looked at Sullivan and Sullivan could see that his eyes had gone dark and flat, though there was pain at the edges that he couldn't quite conceal. It made him feel better. There had to be a way to get to this man, to make him understand fully what it meant to have Sullivan hate him.

    "Maybe you could buy your way out of this," Sullivan suggested. "Maybe you could offer me enough money and I'd let you go."

    Buck seemed to be turning that over in his mind. "You'd just turn us both loose right here?"

    "Maybe."

    "All right."

    And his voice was so quiet that it made Sullivan angry and he had to suppress a flash of rage. 'Hate me, you son of a bitch,' he thought. Out loud, he said. "How much would you pay for something like that?"

    "How much do you want?"

    Sullivan looked at him. "More than you could ever pay," he said.

    Buck smiled and if Sullivan hadn't been able to see his eyes he'd have almost thought they were having a friendly conversation. "Yeah," Buck said. "That'd be about what I'd figure."

    "Would you pay with a life?" Sullivan asked suddenly. "I could just shoot your friend back there. You could just say the word."

    "I get the impression," Buck said, turning and looking at him straight on. "That your problem, whatever the hell it is, is with me, not him."

    'Aaahhh,' thought Sullivan. "What makes you think I have a problem."

    Buck turned away again and Sullivan felt a rage pass through him that he hadn't felt in a long time. "You just seem like the kind of man who has a problem," he said.

    "And you seem like the kind of man who can't wait to die," Sullivan said and he loosed up on the lead rope and let Buck's horse fall behind him again. 'Stew on that for awhile,' he thought, turning his horse a bit more sharply to the north.

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

    Vin felt as if he had been stomped on by a horse. A dozen horses, all stomping on one spot, his right shoulder. He'd been aware of his surroundings for several minutes, the scent on the hot breeze, the murmur of voices, the movement of his horse. Especially the movement of his horse because every step set up new agony in his shoulder and it was all he could do from one minute to the next to hang on. He tried to move his hand up to his shoulder, but it wouldn't move. That was odd, he thought, though he wasn't sure he was too concerned about it. He tried to think back to what had happened...

    Buck.

    He'd found Buck. And he'd told him about Belle and Chris and...nothing seemed clear to him. Everything was murky. Why couldn't he think straight? He forced himself to open his eyes. But when he did it didn't help. Everything looked exactly as he had pictured it when his eyes were closed. Buck was riding up in front of him, and the man who'd held a gun at Buck's head. Both of them were riding together and talking. What did that mean? Why was he back here on a lead rope behind them with his hands tied and his legs tied and they were up there chatting just as friendly as could be? Didn't make any sense. He closed his eyes again, trying to hide somehow from the pain that was his shoulder, but he jerked them open again almost immediately.

    Something about the land didn't look right to him. Something about the sun. What was it? He thought on it for a minute and he realized that they were traveling toward the mountains. Not toward Texas. He looked around again, with more interest this time. There was low brush and the sign of desert animals and birds. Headed toward the mountains. That didn't make any sense. Nothing was making sense. Maybe he was just wrong about everything. About Buck and Belle and Chris and the bounty hunters and the Indians. Everything. Buck had been shot with an arrow. That was a fact. And he clung to it like it was the only thing he knew. And the arrow he'd been shot with had been Crow. And the bag. The beaded bag he'd picked up. That was real too. Wasn't it?

    He closed his eyes and tried to find a way to make the rhythm of his horse's movement and the pain in his shoulder merge in some way that would make it easier to handle. And in spite of everything, and because he hadn't had any sleep in almost two days, as they walked slowly through the desert, one step at a time, he fell asleep.

    Part 33

    John Bland wasn't happy. Not in the slightest. So when the low rap sounded on his hotel door, he scowled and thought for a moment of ignoring it. The rap sounded again, more insistently, and the man sighed then and pulled the door opened. He wasn't at all surprised to see that it was Hammersmith, although the look of aggravation on the gambler's face was unexpected. Bland simply turned away as Hammersmith came on into the room, shutting the door behind him, and walked over to the window to look down at the street outside.

    "Why the hell hasn't the 'epidemic' broken out?" Hammersmith took his hat off with an angry gesture and threw it on the bed.

    "Nice to see you, too, Vincent." Bland spoke without turning from the window. There was a long moment of tense silence, then he shrugged, still looking at the street. "I can't figure it out," he said, "but it _should_ have happened by now. I did it right."

    Hammersmith frowned. "Well, something's up with that newspaper woman."

    Bland turned away from the window at that, his face flushing in anger. "Her again? That bitch just keeps causing one problem after another. What now?"

    Hammersmith smiled slyly. "She's far too beautiful for that appellation, my friend." Bland shook his head disagreeably and Hammersmith continued. "She broke up my game with Standish a while ago and he hasn't returned."

    "So?"

    "So I fear she's found out something. She came into the saloon to get him, and she wouldn't do that over something trivial." Hammersmith walked over to the other side of the window where Bland was standing and made the other man look at him. "Things have gone well so far, but this part of the plan having to do with Jackson is--"

    A light tap on the door to Bland's room made both men turn quickly. Hammersmith drew his sidearm as Bland went to the door and opened it just enough to look out. He gestured to Hammersmith then as he let in Belle. The petite woman slid into the room in a rustle of crinoline and silk on a cloud of lavender scent, and Hammersmith smiled at her.

    "Hello, Belle."

    "Hello, Vincent." She smiled at him as she sailed over to hold out her hand to be kissed, then turned in a graceful arabesque and made a pouting face at Bland. "John, dearest, aren't you going to offer me a seat?"

    "Sit down," said Bland.

    Belle smiled as if Bland had held out a small throne for her and eased herself daintily into the room's only chair. "Thank you, I'm sure," she said. She looked from one man to the other, and then leaned forward with a sharp gleam entering her eye. "I'm ready for one of you to arrange my carriage to go back," she said. "My part in things is done, and I can't take one more moment of this dreadful place. And besides, I'm out of money." She leaned back in her chair, produced a slender fan from somewhere and snapped it opened. She began to fan herself lightly and rapidly, her eyes running from one man to the other as she did so.

    "Just a moment, Belle." Hammersmith nodded to the woman and smiled urbanely. "Let John and myself finish our conversation first, and then we'll see what we can do."

    Bland snorted. "It's not like you can't hold your horses for ten more minutes," he added, shooting an angry look at the woman. She arched her eyebrows.

    "Of course, Vincent. As for you, John, I wish to remind you that I have had to be here MUCH longer than anyone else. I've been two whole months seducing that ox of a preacher . . . " She paused and smiled to herself as she corrected what she'd said: "_handsome_ ox of a preacher, and I deserve to draw my pay and go back to San Francisco now." She fanned herself harder and looked up towards the ceiling in a theatrical way. Bland laughed shortly and turned back to Hammersmith.

    "You were telling me about the Travis woman," he said.

    "Yes." Hammersmith shook himself. "The main point, though, is why the 'epidemic' hasn't hit. I have heard of no one sick."

    "What about the rest of the plan? Could they be onto us? Could they have stopped things somehow?" Bland stared hard at Hammersmith as the gambler's face darkened at Bland's words. Hammersmith chewed his lip thoughtfully.

    "Wilmington, Tanner, and Larabee have all left town," he mused aloud.

    Bland's face sharpened. "You're sure about Larabee?"

    "Yes." Hammersmith made a sharp gesture of irritation and pulled off his jacket, then sat on the foot of the bed. "I saw him leave an hour or so ago, Striker not far behind him."

    "What about the others?"

    Belle chuckled. "I've written a note to my paramour that should keep him in his cups for days, if not weeks," simpered Belle. "I'll give it to a boy to take to the barkeeper in the saloon for delivery, as I leave town. You can forget Sanchez doing anything while it might still matter."

    Hammersmith nodded. "I had Standish taken out of action until that Travis woman came to get him. I suspect it's too late for them to do anything at this point, even if she's somehow gotten suspicious, but--"

    Another knock sounded on Bland's hotel room door, and Belle rolled her eyes. "John, if you're going to have us interrupted, arrange for some room service," she said. She snapped her fan shut suddenly when she saw the way the other two reacted, though, and watched with alert eyes as Hammersmith stood and faced the door with a drawn pistol as Bland cautiously opened it, then swung it wide with total exasperation. Thompson walked in, looking puzzled.

    "What the hell," he said.

    "If you'd told me it would be a party, I would have worn more appropriate attire," said Belle, laughing.

    "Thompson!" Hammersmith holstered the weapon he'd drawn, as Belle snapped opened her fan and resumed fluttering it. "What the hell are you doing back?"

    "Lookin' for Striker."

    "He left about an hour ago," said Hammersmith, "after Larabee. Why? What's happened?"

    "See!" Bland had shut the door and run the bolt home this time. "I TOLD you something went wrong!"

    "No, no." Thompson turned to regard Bland with an icy gaze. "Everything is going very well. Merely a shift in which plan we're executing. I need to let him know."

    "Explain." Hammersmith folded his arms across his chest and leaned against the wall.

    "Tanner found where Sullivan ambushed Wilmington, and he figured it out in a heartbeat."

    "Damn!" Bland sat down heavily on the side of his bed and scowled. Thompson merely looked at him, then turned back to Hammersmith and continued.

    "Wilmington had lost enough blood that Sullivan wasn't sure he'd make it all the way to the reservation, so we couldn't just kill Tanner and count on Wilmington finding his body. We had to wait and see what happened."

    "So what happened?" Hammersmith's eyes were dark and steady.

    "Tanner found Wilmington before he got to the reservation and talked him into coming back to town."

    "So you took them in, instead." It was a statement, not a question, and Thompson nodded.

    "It was the backup we had planned on," he agreed.

    "What if they get away? Or if they got away?" Bland was pointing a stabbing finger into the air. "For all you know, by now Sullivan--"

    "I don't think so." Thompson smiled in a way that made Belle stop fanning herself as a chill ran all the way through her. "Neither Wilmington nor Tanner was in any condition to run off by the time we got them in hand."

    "But they're still alive," said Hammersmith sharply.

    "Yes." Thompson looked Hammersmith up and down appraisingly. "I do know how to follow orders, Hammersmith."

    "Well." Hammersmith regarded each of the others and then lifted one well-manicured hand and began to tick off his fingers one by one. "Wilmington captured. Tanner captured. Both on their way to Michaels. Larabee out, and Striker behind him." He looked at Thompson. "You can go after them in a moment," he added. Then he continued. "Sanchez drunk for another week at least. That leaves Dunne, Standish, and Jackson. We need a status report on each of them."

    "Jackson should be up to his damned eyeballs in a plague by now," groused Bland, "but he ain't, and I don't know why."

    "Has anyone seen him lately?" Hammersmith looked around the room and no one replied. They looked at each other, suddenly realizing they had no idea where the healer was.

    "Jackson was your business, Bland. Go out there and find out where he is, and why, and come report to us." Hammersmith stared at Bland a long moment, until he leaped to his feet angrily and left the room, slamming the door behind him. Hammersmith looked at Thompson and shook his head slightly. "It's too bad," he said, "that truly _good_ men are so hard to find." He looked at Belle. "Have you anything to add, my dear?"

    Belle sat back in her chair and began to run her little fan again. She'd been relieved when Bland left the room; the man was a fool to treat Thompson and Hammersmith like underlings, or even equals, and for a moment she'd thought she might find herself party to a scene of violence. "First, I have a little question for Mr. Thompson." She said. She lowered her fan and eyed the tracker over the top of it. "How on _earth_ will you find Mr. Striker?" She managed to sound breathless with curiosity, and Thompson smiled indulgently but with a hard cast to his eyes.

    "His horse has a special mark on one of its shoes," he replied simply.

    "Oh?" Belle looked at Hammersmith and saw that he was as surprised to hear this as she was. "And are the shoes of all our horses likewise marked so you can find us when we are lost?"

    "It makes it easier for me to fulfill my responsibility," said Thompson. "Seeing as how I don't get much time to learn new horses as people come and go."

    "I see. You are most clever, Mr. Thompson." Belle eyed the tracker appraisingly, then began to flutter her fan rapidly again and looked at Hammersmith. "Well, my report is that I took a chance I saw to run a wedge between the youngest one and his ridiculous lady love. As well as between him and his galoot friend."

    Hammersmith smiled. "Really?" He looked at Thompson and relaxed against the wall behind him again. "Do tell."

    "Oh yes," said Belle. "I saw that little urchin by herself near the dry goods store, and gave her a tearful earful of my woes. Warned her to be wary of letting her young man hang around with such a bad influence."

    "And no doubt made her wonder if any of it had already rubbed off on Dunne?"

    "Mais oui," smiled Belle. "What else?"

    The door opened and Bland came in, panting but looking triumphant. "I found out," he said. "It's all over town."

    "What?" Thompson turned around to look at Bland.

    "Jackson is sick with some 'unknown disease'," said Bland, "and Standish is takin' care of 'im 'cause there's no one else around to do it." He grinned hugely. "I didn't get the town, I got the damned 'doctor' himself instead!"

    Hammersmith and Thompson burst out laughing, and Belle lifted her fan in front of her mouth.

    "And tied up Standish in the process!" Hammersmith went to Bland and clapped him on the shoulder. "I don't know how you did it, but it doesn't matter." He turned to the others. "We've got them all out. All that's required is for Thompson to let Striker know of the change in plans, and we're ready."

    Belle stood up. "So I _can_ have my carriage readied?"

    "Yes." Hammersmith turned to Bland. "Get one of the others to hitch up her rig and drive her to Michaels'," he said.

    "Why me?" Bland was suddenly petulant.

    "Because _I_ have to go after Striker," said Thompson, heading for the door. He paused to look around the room. "See you all at Michaels'," he said, and then he left.

    "And because _I_ have other things to check on before we all pull out of here," said Hammersmith.

    Bland nodded and left, and Hammersmith turned to Belle and regarded her for a long moment. The woman stood up and walked close to him, laying one ring-fingered hand on his rough shirt. "These clothes really don't suit you, Vincent," she cooed.

    "It won't be much longer." He lifted her hand from his chest. "I'd rather you didn't do anything that would get me killed later, Belle, if it's all the same to you. Michaels is a bit on the jealous side."

    Belle pouted, then stepped back and smiled. "It was worth a try," she purred. She raised the folded fan to touch Hammersmith's chin lightly as she passed him on her way to the door. "I'll see you again soon," she said. "Any last words before I go?"

    "Sure; remember to stay away from the stage line," chuckled Hammersmith.

    "Oh yes." Belle's eyes crinkled in a smile. "Well, that should be entertaining at least. Will I get to see you in some stage of undress that approximates that of a savage?" Her eyes danced, and Hammersmith mock-bowed to her.

    "I bid your leave, Madam," he said, "your carriage no doubt awaits you."

    He picked up his hat from the bed as the woman slipped out into the hallway, and decided to head for the blacksmith's first. He didn't like the idea of Thompson being able to trail him.

    Not in the slightest.

    Part 34

    By the time she'd run halfway down the street Casey realized that she had no idea where to find Buck. She stopped dead, causing a man walking out of the telegraph office to almost trip over her.

    "Sorry," she said distractedly. She listed off on her fingers the places where he might be if he were in town and not out doing something: the jail, the saloon, the boarding house, and, well...her cheeks flushed bright pink, probably places she wasn't going to be able to look anyway.

    She ran to the jail. No one there. She stood on the boardwalk a minute. His room or the saloon? She didn't really want to look for him in the saloon. There was too much chance that he was at a table with Chris or Josiah or Vin. She'd save that until last, she figured. But if she had to--she squared her chin--she'd go in there and drag him out and tell him. He really needed to know what Belle was saying about him. He needed to stop her. She had no business saying anything like that. Casey headed for the boarding house. She felt nervous--exposed somehow--walking up the stairs to the second floor, which was silly since no one could see her. She found his room--JD had pointed the window out to her once when they were walking around town--and knocked hesitantly on the door.

    "Buck?" she called out in a small voice. "Buck? You in there?" There was no answer. She turned away. Then, she turned back and looked at the blank door. Acting quick enough that she wouldn't think too much about it, she twisted the knob and pushed open the door. She looked at the room and felt a chill run through her. It had been cleaned out. There was an empty dresser drawer sitting aslant in the middle of the bed. A few pieces of clothing still lay folded on a chair, but there was something about the room; Casey could tell. Buck wasn't planning to come back here.

    Casey put her hand to her mouth. What was going on? Buck gone? That couldn't be right. He'd have said something to her the other day. Wouldn't he? She ran back down the stairs to the livery stable. His horse was gone. Vin's was gone too, she noticed. And Chris's. Maybe they'd just gone out after horse thieves or rustlers or something. But why would Buck take everything with him? That didn't make any sense at all.

    She ran again, this time not knowing quite where she was running to. She rounded the corner just up the street from the Clarion and this time she ran smack into JD.

    "Uummph!" JD said. He grabbed her elbow. "Casey! What are you doing runnin' like that?"

    "Oh, JD! Where is everybody?"

    JD's eyes widened to hear the question that had been running continuously in his head echoed on Casey's lips. "What do you mean?" he asked.

    "Well," Casey stumbled as she tried to come up with a reason she might have been looking for Buck. "I mean, I was just at the stable and Vin and Buck and Chris's horses are all gone. That's all I meant."

    JD took her by the elbow and led her to a small bench beside the Clarion news offices. He took off his hat and ran his hand through his hair. "Somethin's goin' on, Casey. Nathan's sick. Josiah's over at the saloon drunk and he says...he says that...aw, hell, Casey, I can't--"

    "Buck didn't rape that woman, JD!"

    JD looked at her open-mouthed for a minute. Then, he realized his jaw was hanging open and snapped it shut. "Casey!" he exclaimed, shocked at her just saying it out like that. And how did she know anyway?

    Casey stuck out her chin at him. "Well, he didn't!"

    Suddenly, there was a voice behind them. "JD! Casey! Are you two all right?"

    Both JD and Casey turned to see Mary on the boardwalk behind them. "Mary!" JD jumped to his feet. "What in blazes is going on around here? What's wrong with Nathan? What about--"

    Mary touched his elbow and turned him toward the newspaper office. She gestured for Casey to follow. "Come on," she said. "Come inside. I need to tell you what's been happening."

    Within a couple of minutes the three of them were sitting around Mrs. Travis's kitchen table. Everyone began talking at once.

    "What's all this with Buck?" JD demanded.

    "He didn't do it, JD," said Casey.

    "And where is everyone?" JD talked right over the top of her. "Josiah says Chris and Vin and Buck all left. Because of some rape charge?"

    "Well, not together," Mary said. "I saw Chris leave this morning."

    "Buck cleaned out his room," Casey said, almost tripping over her tongue as she tried to get all the words out at once, "and Vin's wagon is still here so I don't think they were going to the same place at all."

    JD looked at her. "How do you know?"

    "I saw Vin's wagon."

    "No, about the other. About Buck. How do you know he's cleaned out his room?"

    Casey looked uncomfortable.

    "_What_ rape charge?" Mary asked abruptly.

    JD and Casey looked at her. JD spoke first. "Josiah says that Buck raped his woman friend, Miss Belle, two mornings ago when we were at the Delano mine."

    "And I--" Casey stopped abruptly as a look of utter shock crept over her face. "No! That can't be right, JD. The time, I mean. Josiah couldn't have said--"

    "What are you talking about, Casey? Buck didn't _do_ it!"

    "No, I _know_ that. But--" she thought back on her conversation with Belle. 'Two days ago,' she'd said. 'Before the sun was even up,' she'd said. Buck had been with _her_! "Oh my God," Casey said, her hand going to her mouth.

    "Casey!" JD said, suddenly concerned.

    "Casey, honey, are you all right?" Mary asked.

    Casey took a deep breath. "It's just...I...I _know_ he didn't do it. Buck wouldn't. I mean I know he's...but he's also sweet and kind and..."

    "Casey!" Now, JD was jealous.

    "Well, he just wouldn't." Casey finished firmly.

    Mary had been studying the two of them, but clearly thinking on the conversation so far. "Casey, did you say that Buck had cleaned out his room?"

    "Yes, ma'am. I mean everything wasn't gone, but you could tell. I don't think he's coming back."

    "What were you doing in his room?"

    "None of your business, JD," Casey said sharply. She _had_ to tell now, didn't she? But, oh, please let there be another way!

    "And Vin's wagon is still here. And Chris left alone this morning." Mary rested her chin on her hand as she thought.

    "Maybe one of them told Nathan or Ezra something," JD suggested.

    Mary sighed. "We think Nathan may have been poisoned."

    "What!" Both JD and Casey said it simultaneously.

    "When?" JD demanded. "Is he going to be all right?"

    "We don't know yet," Mary said softly, thinking sadly that she'd had no chance to make things right with him about the editorial.

    "Who poisoned him?" Casey asked in a really quiet voice that caused Mary to reach out instinctively and grasp her hand. "Why would anyone do that?"

    "I don't know, Casey. I just don't know." For a moment there was silence around the table as they each thought about the sad state of affairs.

    "Well, Ezra _must_ know something," JD said with the certainty of youth. "I mean, _someone_ has to know something and he's the only one left."

    "We'll ask him then, JD," Mary said, though she was not at all certain that he would have any additional information for them. She also knew, however, that the only way to find out a thing was to keep poking and looking and asking until things became clear. Maybe no one had all the pieces, but maybe someone could put them together if they tried.

    The three of them left the newspaper office to head over to the clinic. Mary knew that Ezra was busy, but she hoped he could spare the time to talk to them for a few minutes. She was driven by a sense of urgency and foreboding, a feeling that too much time had been wasted already. She wished the others were here or able to help. They needed Vin's sharp mind, Nathan's quick analysis, Buck's deadly energy, Josiah's calm influence, and Chris's cool assessment of every piece of information. There was only her, though, and JD and Casey and Ezra. She hoped somehow Ezra had information they could use.

    JD kept looking at Casey as they walked. She hadn't said yet how she knew about the rape and there was something about the way she looked sideways at him, about the way she'd hesitated back at Mary's that made him think there were things that she wasn't saying. And she's so sure, he thought, about Buck and all. Something wasn't right about it. He just couldn't figure out what.

    Casey was practically jumping out of her skin in her hurry to get to the clinic. She had to tell now. She _had_ to. But she kept hoping this was a joke somehow. That Buck and Vin and Chris would come walking up any minute now and tell her it was just a bad dream or something.

    "Hold on there. Hey! Hold on!"

    JD, Mary and Casey stopped and turned to see Mr. Delano from the mine bearing down on them. Mary's heart sank. Didn't this man know when to quit?

    "I want to know what you're going to do." He poked his finger at JD. "You were out to the mine. You saw what was going on. You can't just ignore things."

    "Mr. Delano," JD protested. "We looked everywhere. Josiah and I didn't find anything--"

    "Look!" Suddenly all his bluster was gone. "If the mine goes under, or I have to sell out...it's my life!"

    Mary knew what it was like to be threatened with the loss of something you'd worked so hard to build. She had a great deal of sympathy for Mr. Delano, but the truth was, there just wasn't time right now. "Mr. Delano," she said, "We really have to be going."

    "Wait a minute," JD said. "Maybe we--"

    "You don't understand! We've just found a new vein. My geologist says it may be the apex! I've got to be able to mine it out. I've got to!"

    "Apex?" JD asked. "What is that?"

    "It's--"

    "JD!" Mary's voice was sharper than she'd intended, but the more she thought about what they'd discussed in her kitchen the more worried she got. Urgency was beginning to eat away at her good sense. She wanted answers. "I'm sorry, Mr. Delano. We really need to go now." Then, she hurried JD and Casey away, though she could hear Mr. Delano behind her, still trying to talk.

    At the clinic, Mary knocked on the door softly and after a few minutes a tired-looking Ezra came to the door. "Mrs. Travis," he said.

    "How is Nathan doing?"

    Ezra took a deep breath. "I don't know. He seems to be resting a little easier perhaps. I've been giving him as much water and tea as he'll drink."

    "Could you come out and talk for a minute?"

    Ezra looked past her and saw the worried faces of JD and Casey. Good lord, he thought, what's happened now? He came out onto the balcony, leaving the door slightly ajar so he could hear Nathan if he needed him. There was a small round table set against the wall and the four of them seated themselves around it.

    "Now," Ezra said once they were all settled. "What is going on?"

    Mary took a deep breath and told him what they knew: the rape charges against Buck--"But he didn't do it," Casey interjected--the departure of Buck, Vin, and Chris. As well, as what he already knew: Nathan's poisoning and Josiah's drunkenness. She even mentioned the Delano mine again, the two rowdy trail crews, the bank robbery earlier in the week and the reports of trouble from the Indian reservation, thinking it was important at this point to keep all peculiar happenings in mind. There were too many things going on and they knew too little to ignore anything.

    "Do you know where _any_ of them might have gone?" Mary asked as she finished.

    Ezra had been listening intently and watching each of the people sitting before him at the table, a habit so ingrained that he did it automatically. He noticed Mary's hesitation before she said Chris's name, Casey's flinch when the trail crews were mentioned, the way JD looked at Casey with a question in his eyes when she protested the charges against Buck.

    Ezra rubbed his hand across his eyes. "Mr. Tanner was planning to go out to the reservation for a festival of some kind. I expect it would last several days." He felt a small twinge of relief that Vin, at least, could help him with the huge mess that everything was becoming.

    "Maybe he knows where Chris or Buck went." JD offered.

    Ezra looked at JD for a long minute, knowing that his next question would upset the young man, but also knowing from the looks on certain faces that there was information here that he did not yet have. "Can you be absolutely certain that Mr. Wilmington did _not_ leave town to avoid arrest?"

    "He didn't rape that woman!" JD rose halfway to his feet.

    Ezra held out his hands in front of him. "Easy. Easy. It's a question that needs to be laid out on the table with the rest of them. Otherwise it could prove our undoing down the road."

    "Well," JD said grumpily. "He didn't do it. So, why would he run?"

    "How do you know he didn't do it?"

    "Because I know Buck. He wouldn't!"

    "Yes," Ezra said, gently persistent. "But what evidence do you have?"

    "He didn't _do_ it, Ezra!" Casey said sharply. "Isn't that enough?"

    "Casey, my dear girl. While it's very sweet of you to defend Buck and no one ought to doubt your testimonial, I'm afraid it won't help Buck much in a court of law."

    "But...I just want..why isn't it enough just to trust him?" There were two bright spots of color high on Casey's cheeks and Ezra could see desperation flare in her eyes as she looked back and forth from one to the other of them. Her breathing had sharpened too and he waited for a minute to see if she would continue.

    When she didn't, he laid his hand over hers and said quietly, "My dear, is there something you want to tell us?"

    To Mary and JD's surprise, Casey buried her head in her hands. She stayed like that, absolutely silent for almost a full minute, then her head jerked up and the words burst out of her. "Buck was with me!"

    "WHAT!!"

    The dead silence that followed this statement was broken by the simultaneous sounds of JD's shout and his chair falling over and slamming onto the floor. "I knew it!" JD started to pace. "I knew there was something. I figured just give her time. I figured you'd tell me eventually. But...You! And...and...him!" He stopped and looked at her, pulling his hand through his hair. "Casey, I don't get it."

    "You don't understand! I--I came into town that night." She looked at Mary and Ezra and JD for some kind of understanding. This was coming out so much worse than she'd hoped. This wasn't at all how she'd wanted to tell it. "I know it was stupid, but I just wanted to see...I mean there's all sorts of action here..." She hung her head. "I was stupid for coming. But then, these men from one of the trail crews, grabbed me and threw me in the alley..." Her voice trailed off at the look on JD's face, but Mary put her hand on her arm and encouraged her to continue. "I got away from them and I hid for a really long time, until it got quiet, but then I was too afraid to go home. And I thought...well, I couldn't tell you, JD." Casey looked at him beseechingly. "And Buck...he helped me. He took me home and he made sure I was all right and..." she looked at each of them, encouraged that at least they could still look her in the face. "And that's how I know he didn't rape Belle because _that_ was why he didn't go to the mine. Because he was helping me!"

    There was silence for a moment when she finished. JD walked to the end of the balcony and stood looking out over the town, one hand pulling his hair back from his face.

    After a minute, Ezra said, "Thank you, Casey."

    Casey buried her head in her hands again. "I'm sorry," she said. "I'm so sorry."

    Mary put one arm around Casey's shoulders and hugged her. "You were very brave to tell us, Casey. It will help."

    "No," Casey said, not looking up. "It's all gone so wrong."

    Ezra looked at her and then past her at the worried look on Mary's face. He thought about the way things were right then: Nathan sick, Josiah drunk and wanting to murder Buck, Buck gone, Chris gone. And for once he didn't have anything to say. Casey was right. It had all gone very wrong indeed.

    Part 35

    Chris was having trouble finding Buck.

    The sun was well on its way toward the western horizon and he had already visited three small towns strung out along the border. He hated this. But it had to be done, if only to prove to himself that no one could ever be trusted. It wasn't that he had actually expected to find Buck. After all, Chris was more than twenty-four hours behind him. But he'd expected to find some sign of his passing. Vin, maybe, could drift into a town and drift out again with no one the wiser. But not Buck. Someone would remember. Some saloon girl or gunslinger or local troublemaker would remember him, with either fondness or hatred, depending. But there was no one.

    Had he guessed wrong about where Buck would go? There was an easier path. He could turn around now and head back to Four Corners and send telegrams to all the local law enforcement with Buck's description and the charges. He could attach a reward. Someone would spot him. Someone would turn him in. But as angry as he was with Buck right then, as much as he couldn't banish the thin thread of doubt about who he was and what he might have done, he wasn't quite ready to take that last irrevocable step. And it would be irrevocable. Once he sent out Wanted posters on Buck Wilmington then it was over. It didn't matter then if the rape charges were false and Buck was cleared. There would be no friendship left between Chris Larabee and Buck Wilmington. If Chris knew anything, he knew that much. And despite everything, Chris wasn't yet ready for that.

    He turned his horse to the east and headed for the next town.

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

    Striker sat his horse on a nearby hill and watched Chris Larabee wrestle with his conscience. Having trouble finding your friend, Mr. Larabee? Gee, I wonder why? And he laughed. And it was lucky that there was no one to hear such a soul-killing, cruel sound, the kind of laugh that destroyed faiths and emptied hearts. No one needed--ever--to hear a laugh like that.

    Striker turned his horse and headed toward the next town in Chris's wake. On a whim, he legged his horse into a lope and cut down across the countryside. This was all very well and good, he thought, waiting for the word of a disaster already executed to reach Mr. Larabee, but Striker wanted to have a little fun.

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

    Chris rode into yet another small town--he wasn't even sure of the name of this one--just about dusk. He knew he wouldn't find anything here; he could already feel it. He was hot and dusty and tired and vaguely considering the possibility of never going back to Four Corners again. Let 'em all go to hell, he thought. He snarled at the man at the livery who only tried to offer him a price on extra grain for his horse and stalked off down the street.

    This town was somewhat bigger than the others he'd been in, though not much more prepossessing. It reminded him of a somewhat smaller version of Purgatorio and Chris wondered briefly if Buck had perhaps headed to that notorious outlaw town. But, he quickly dismissed the idea. There were plenty of women in Purgatorio and men who would gladly fight over dreams of riches or imagined slights or sometimes nothing at all. But Buck didn't like Purgatorio. He'd told Chris once that a man ought never go back to a place he'd once died in. So, if he wasn't there and he wasn't here, then where the hell was he?

    Chris gnawed on that problem as he got a room for the night, ate supper at the only place in town that looked like the food wouldn't kill him and walked to a nearby cantina. The place was fairly empty, but it was still early evening, barely dark outside. There were several men playing a desultory game of cards at a back table and a few others scattered around the room. Two of the working girls were sitting together at a table, their heads bent together talking about something quietly and seriously. Chris thought briefly about asking them if they'd seen Buck, but then he shook his head and walked to the makeshift bar. It could wait. He wasn't going anywhere until morning anyway.

    He leaned both elbows on the bar and signalled to the bartender to bring him a bottle of whiskey. He poured himself a glass and drank it quick, liking the sharp harsh taste of it as it ran down his throat. He poured a second glass.

    "You from around here, mister?"

    Chris turned and looked at the man next to him. He was wearing a dusty grey duster, had short brown hair, dark eyes, and an open sort of face. There was something...not quite right about him, but Chris couldn't put his finger on it. He continued to look at him for a minute before he answered.

    "Nope," he said and turned back to his drink.

    The other man leaned on the bar as well. He was, Chris noticed, nursing a beer. "Me either," the man said. "I've been wandering around a bit the last couple of months. Been kind of looking for the right place to settle down. Where you from?" he asked.

    Chris looked at him again. The man seemed unperturbed by Chris's closed expression. He continued to look at him curiously. "Four Corners," Chris finally said, turning away again and swallowing the rest of the whiskey in his glass. He poured another.

    "Really." The other man nodded and looked at his own drink. "I've heard talk of that town."

    Chris looked at him.

    "Yeah," the man said pensively, looking at the cracked mirror above the bar. "Way I heard it, those seven regulators over there, the ones they think so highly of, are starting to self-destruct."

    "What do you mean?"

    The man shrugged. "Just what I heard. Gambling and women and whiskey. Only a matter of time, one fella told me, before one of 'em ends up in jail or gets himself killed by one of the others." The man studied Chris for a minute. "Seems like a town someone might want to stay out of." Chris picked up his glass, drained the contents and left, pushing the swinging saloon doors in such a way that the motion continued for several minutes after he was gone. Behind him, at the bar, Striker smiled.

    Part 36

    The sun had dropped behind the mountains to the west, leaving a shell-colored sky glowing softly over a darkening land. Buck craned himself around in his saddle to see if he could see Vin, riding behind him. The tracker had gotten quieter and quieter as the afternoon had worn on, and his posture had said volumes about why. He'd been putting every ounce of strength he had into trying to keep from jostling his shoulder any more than was necessary. Nearly two hours ago their captor had led the horses through a steep ravine as the terrain had grown rougher, and Buck had heard Vin cry out harshly as his gelding bounded up the far side when the lead line drew taut between the horses. He'd turned around then to see that the tracker was slumped over his own tied arms in a way that made it all too clear that he'd lost consciousness again. He hadn't regained it since.

    The horses stopped walking all of a sudden, and Buck turned his attention back to the man who'd been leading them. He was dismounting to walk back to the grey and he laid a dark hand on the animal's withers. He looked up into Buck's face, his own face shadowed in the falling evening light.

    "You're way too chipper," he said softly. Buck was silent. He pressed his lips together and lowered his eyes to the man's hand that was so close to his own tied ones. The man was silent a long moment, then he shrugged. "I was gonna' offer you some water, but if you're gonna' be surly . . ." He watched Buck closely, and a frown raced across his face when the gunman still ignored him. A knife flashed in his hands suddenly as he sliced through the knot that held Buck's bound hands to the saddle horn, and his eyes glittered dangerously. He stepped back to his own mount to jerk a canteen loose, then went to Buck and shoved it roughly into the man's tied hands.

    "Drink," he said. Buck took the canteen silently, but he didn't begin to uncap it until the man had walked on back to where Vin was. Buck turned to watch as he opened the container, his own eyes growing sharper.

    The man jerked Vin's head up to look at him, then dropped it with a snort of derision. He turned to look at Buck.

    "I ain't got all night," he said. "Drink some a' that and pronto."

    Buck lifted the metal canteen and let the tepid water run into his mouth. He thought he'd never tasted anything as good, ever, and closed his eyes in spite of himself. He kept expecting the man to come knock the water from his hands, but instead he let Buck drink for several moments. Then he advanced on him and took the open canteen back with a snarl. He raised it to Buck.

    "Gotta' leave some for your friend, right? Don't want him dyin' on the trail, either." He walked back to Vin and then looked at Buck. "Alive or dead, it says. No matter to me, but my boss cares for some reason." He threw water suddenly into Vin's face, and the tracker coughed and gasped at the contact, then groaned. The black-haired man laughed unpleasantly and grabbed Vin by his left shoulder and sat him up straight in the saddle. The tracker groaned again, more loudly, but shook his head slowly as he regained his senses. A quick flash was their captor slicing Vin's bound hands loose from the saddle horn, too, and he shoved the canteen into his hands. "Drink," he growled. He turned on his heel and walked back past Buck to his own horse.

    Buck looked at Vin, barely sitting up and sagging off-center, his head already starting to loll to one side. The opened canteen in his bound hands was tipping slowly, and Buck looked quickly at their captor again.

    "You want him alive, you're gonna' have to help him drink," said Buck softly. The man in buckskins impaled Buck with dark eyes that let go only to run down to Vin. He reached around Buck to grab the lead rope that led from the grey to Vin's black gelding and pulled on it so that the tracker's horse came up closer to the grey, then pushed and shoved the black so that the two animals were side by side.

    "I'm gonna' check the backtrail," he said. "You nursemaid him." He walked off about twenty yards, and then turned to call back. "I hope you ain't dumb enough to try to ride off all tied together like that." He slipped into the dark and was gone.

    Buck wasn't that dumb at all. He looked at Vin, and gently pulled the canteen from the tracker's hands. Vin turned his face slowly to look at Buck when he felt the movement. His eyes were distant, and Buck raised the canteen awkwardly to his friend's mouth with a flash of worry twisting his gut. "Drink some a' this," he said in a low voice. "It'll help."

    They spilled some of the water doing it, but somehow Buck got some into Vin's mouth, even with both his hands tied and the tracker unable to help at all. He did it three times, and each time it seemed to him that Vin visibly perked up a little more, and then drank a little more as a result. The tracker shook his head, then, and his voice was hoarse.

    "You need some a' that," he whispered.

    Buck smiled. "I've had some," he said. "What I want now is a beer chaser." He looked around the darkening hills and then looked back at Vin.

    "You lost a lotta' blood," observed the tracker. "Won't do anyone any good, you keel over. Drink what's left."

    Buck looked steadily at Vin, then nodded. "We'll split it," he said. He took another long swallow, then helped Vin get some more. A few more turns emptied the canteen, but Buck had to admit he was feeling better from it. Vin was looking a little better too.

    "Where's our jailer?" Vin was looking at the cedar trees nearby and frowning.

    "Went to check the backtrail."

    Vin's eyes flashed as he looked at Buck. "Any reason?"

    "No." Buck shook his head. "I think he's just bein' careful. No sign a' anyone back there. Anywhere."

    Vin nodded slowly. "Gettin' kinda' into the mountains," he observed casually.

    "At least it's cooler," sighed Buck. He looked upslope to where more distant mountains crested over the top of the foothills they'd been climbing. "Looks like we're goin' on up, too."

    Vin sagged again slightly in the saddle, and Buck looked at him quickly. The younger man grinned faintly.

    "Just restin'," he said.

    "Yeah, well don't 'rest' yourself right outta' the saddle, ok?"

    Vin sighed. "Ain't likely, trussed up like this." He lowered his face suddenly, and shuddered all over, and Buck saw him pale even as low as the light was getting. After the spasm passed, the tracker remained half-sagging in his saddle, his head down.

    "Vin?" Buck's brows drew together and he bent to try to look into the tracker's face. Vin sighed, a long sigh that was almost a moan, and his breathing changed.

    "Just wish it'd cool off," he murmured, "now the sun is down."

    Buck felt fear steal into him. It had been getting cooler for several hours now. And when the sun had gone down, the evening breeze blowing down out of the mountains was almost too cool. He looked at Vin more closely, noticing for the first time that there was a slight flush high on the man's cheeks. The bullet wound in Vin's shoulder hadn't bled enough to clean it out, Buck knew, and the slug was still in there. But still . . .

    "Tea time's over!" The black-haired man's voice cut into Buck's thoughts sharply, causing him to jerk in surprise. He looked quickly to see that the man knew it, had seen Buck's consternation and had enjoyed it immensely. He walked up to the two men and looked at Vin for several long moments as though weighing what he saw there. Then he lifted the cut end of the rope he'd taken the knot off, and pulled enough of the coil loose to refasten the tracker's hands to his saddle horn. Vin watched him numbly, it seemed to Buck, almost with disinterest. The man did the same for Buck, then went to his own horse, remounted, and flipped the lead rope to get Buck's grey moving again. Vin's black moved out with it at first, but then dropped back to follow in single file.

    Buck craned around a final time, to see Vin's head sagging lower again, his head nodding in time to the gelding's footfalls.

    Part 37

    Why did you leave, Buck? Huh! Why did you leave?

    JD was struggling to make sense of it all. Casey went to Buck and not him. What did that say? Good enough to spend time with but if she needed protecting or help -- what Casey? I'm not good enough. Just the kid. Don't know nothin'.

    Why did you leave Buck? You know you didn't rape Miss Belle even if you didn't know Casey would provide you an alibi. Would you have told me? Did you even consider maybe telling me what happened to Casey so I could be there for her? No. Oh, no! Didn't do that--did you, Buck? Let me ride off to the Delano Mine. She's my girl! MY GIRL! Not yours. You didn't go after Josiah's girl--you went after mine. You could've told me -- I could've taken Casey home.

    There was a sick, almost bitter taste in JD's mouth. He felt his best friend, his brother betrayed him. He was doing a walking patrol of town without any real purpose. Every step was the dagger being pounded further into his heart by his best friend.

    JD finished one circuit of the town and started a second. Why did you leave? Is there more to the story that you're not saying?

    JD slowed his pace -- more to the story, gotta make sense of it all. What all had happened . . .

    The trail crews -- been in town a week, just lookin' for trouble and not thinking twice about directly challenging the authority of the Seven. Nothing came of it but it was almost unrelenting.

    The bank robbery -- almost a week ago. JD remembered the eyes of one of the robbers, almost shocked dismay when he realized he was up against seven men. Cost him his life, as well as his partners. They were pretty well known in these parts now, so why rob the bank without making sure the seven were gone or at least have a plan. What was their plan -- didn't make sense. But JD was sure that at least one of those robbers wasn't expectin' all seven of them to be there.

    Delano Mine cave-in -- was Delano paranoid or was someone really after him?

    And who would want to kill Nathan?

    Just didn't make sense. A lot had been happening. Were we looking for something where there is nothing? Just could be a bad week.

    JD found himself much more alert on his second pass of the town. He stopped in the stores that weren't closed. Talked to other pedestrians. Stopped in the hotel and restaurants. Anybody sick? Any problems? Fortunately, time and time again, the answer was no. The town was actually reasonably quiet. But in the peaceful quiet of the evening JD's heart was in turmoil.

    Buck accused of rape. A false charge but he ran. And where was Chris? Was he going after Buck? What would happen when Chris found Buck? Would Buck let Chris bring him back? Dread filled JD's heart. No, Buck wouldn't let Chris bring him in; he'd die first.

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

    Casey was dejected when JD walked off without even acknowledging her.

    Mary wrapped an arm around Casey's shoulders. "Casey, you stay with me."

    Casey just nodded her head, not lifting her eyes from the weathered boards. Her foolish decision to come to town and experience the excitements was costing so much more than she ever expected. JD hadn't tried to talk to her as they left Nathan's but she saw his eyes; he'd never look at her the same again. His eyes were old now, their innocence lost. You know my disgrace and you will never look at me the same way again.

    Tears welled in Casey's eyes and she would have never made it to Mary's without her guiding hand. Mary gave Casey a squeeze, "I'll be right back, I need to get Billy from the Potter's."

    Casey wasn't even sure she answered Mary. Her heart was so heavy. Her mistake cost JD. Her mistake cost Buck and Josiah. How many more would pay?

    It was beyond Casey to realize the price she was paying.

    Mary pondered how she could help Casey as she quickly walked down the boardwalk to retrieve Billy. None of this was her fault but Mary was certain Casey didn't view it that way. In fact, Casey could prove Buck's innocence and that was extremely important. Ezra had a good point; evidence would clear Buck, not our instincts about the quality of the man.

    As the bell over the door rang, her son leapt up and ran across the room into his mother's arms. "Hi ma."

    "Hi yourself." Mary gave her son a tight squeeze and looked up at her friend. "Thanks, Gloria."

    "You're welcome, but you know he's no problem. Anytime, you need to leave him here. I heard Nathan is very ill." It was a grave statement as well as a question.

    Mary nodded pensively. "I wired a physician and he gave us instructions on how to care for him. He isn't worse but unfortunately I don't think he's much better."

    "I'll remember him in my prayers."

    "I will too," Billy added soberly.

    Mary gave her son a squeeze. "Come on, son, time to go home. Thanks again, Gloria."

    "Mom, who's taking care of Nathan if Nathan can't take care of Nathan?"

    "Mr. Standish is, honey."

    "Where's Chris? He could help."

    "Chris rode out this morning and hasn't returned."

    "Oh." They walked quietly for a couple of minutes. "Ezra is Nathan's friend. I'm Nathan's friend. I could help," Billy volunteered demonstrating a lot more maturity than anyone should at six-years old.

    "We'll see. Right now, Casey needs us. She is going to be staying with us and she is really upset. So if she starts to cry or is not herself. Don't' you worry. It's not your fault."

    Billy nodded his head in understanding. Mary couldn't imagine herself being prouder.

    They entered the Clarion offices and Mary carefully locked the door. She had seen that man Bland on the street. He gave her the creeps. Billy had walked through to the back but Mary stood by the door to watch the street. She didn't see anything untoward. Mary shook her head and laughed ruefully, you're seeing conspiracies around every corner, girl.

    Mary walked back to the living quarters. Billy had been watching Casey.

    "Hi Casey," Billy greeted her warily.

    Casey lifted her chin, her face a study of desolation.

    Billy broached the awkward quiet, "you gonna stay with us?"

    Casey nodded her head and attempted a weak smile.

    "I'm glad."

    "Billy, time for bed."

    "Good night, Casey."

    "Night, Billy," Casey's voice was a very quiet, hoarse rasp. She valiantly tried to smile as the boy came over and gave her a hug.

    Mary tucked her son into bed after he said his prayers. She smiled when Billy sent up an extra plea for Nathan and Casey. He settled right down and was quickly asleep. Mary left the door open a crack and returned to the kitchen.

    "Casey, would you like to talk?" Mary asked tentatively.

    Casey shook her head violently no.

    "That's fine. I'm going to start pulling the papers for the last week and go through my files and see if I have any other information that can help."

    Casey dashed the tears from her eyes. "I can help," she offered quietly.

    Mary smiled, "I'd sure appreciate it."

    Mary quickly pulled the papers for the past week. "Casey start with last Monday and read each paper. Write down any unusual event, no matter how farfetched and we will see if it's important later."

    They each sat down and started to write down events. The bank robbery. The Delano Mine cave-in and Delano's insistence that someone was after him. The trail crews - Casey's attack, several episodes of drunkenness, disorderly conduct, and gunplay. The talk of needing a real doctor. Nathan's poisoning. Indian troubles - reports of butchered steers, old Sam's claim they killed his sheepdog, and the report from one scared drummer that he was chased by braves through the reservation. The accident at the Robert's ranch. The rape charge against Buck.

    Mary raked a hand through her hair frustrated. There just didn't seem to be any pattern except that the events of the past week had kept the seven regulators very busy. "Casey, I don't see a pattern here. Let's get some rest, maybe it will be clearer in the morning."

    Mary lay awake for a long time after settling down. Mary was wishing Chris Larabee were here to quell the inner anxiety that she couldn't seem to tamp down. If he were here, Mary wouldn't have a doubt that some way, some how; it would all be all right. Chris, Mary silently pleaded, where are you?

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

    Bland crushed the cheroot under his foot. He stood observing the women who had entered the office of the newspaper. He was infuriated that at every turn this woman interfered with his plans to disgrace the healer. All in all, his part had been a failure. He couldn't even find solace in the fact the healer would most likely die.

    Hammersmith eased up beside Bland, "John."

    "Fucking bitch," Bland spit out.

    "Yes, I'm sure that it would be most pleasurable." Hammersmith felt himself tighten at the thought. "What is the problem?"

    "She wired Denver. Doctor there told her about the arsenic poisoning. Even suggested ways to treat it."

    "Might the healer survive."

    "Not likely."

    Hammersmith smiled at the answer. "Well then, your work is done here. I suggest you return to The Compound while I handle things here."

    "Handle things or handle her."

    "She is not the target. Best you remember that."

    "I think Michaels underestimated this woman."

    Hammersmith looked across the street appraisingly. "You just might be right," he responded softly. "I'll make arrangements concerning the stage coach operation and keep an eye on the gambler."

    "Well, I think I'll move out now. Rather pass through the reservation at night."

    "John," Hammersmith responded disgusted, "we're creating the Indian troubles."

    "You just never know."

    Stupid idiot. He's probably at higher risk having his horse trip in the night than any Indian threat.

    Well, the plan to create panic through poisoning people failed. Hammersmith surveyed the quiet street. Gonna have to do something to shake this town's complacency.

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

    "Come on, Nathan, gotta drink." Ezra put his arm under Nathan's shoulders and helped lift Nathan so he would drink some more liquid. He kept pouring the liquid into Nathan's mouth and in the last hour, as much as went in, he seemed to be voiding out. Ezra had to think this was a good sign.

    "Drink up."

    Nathan pushed the cup away. "Wanna sleep," he mumbled.

    "No sleep, drink." Ezra used a very firm voice.

    Nathan's head lolled back and Ezra let him lay back down. He'd try again in a bit.

    Ezra had been at it for over five hours, trying to force fluids into Nathan. Nathan was fighting him now and Ezra was getting frustrated. He was also a little jealous. He wanted to be the one lying in bed instead of trying to force himself to stay awake. He knew it was stupid, Nathan was fighting for his life, but damn, what I wouldn't do for a little sleep.

    It was no surprise Ezra was desperate for sleep. In the past three days, he had maybe 10 hours of sleep. He was tired, short-tempered, and wanted to be anywhere but here.

    Nathan stirred. "Come on, Nathan, gotta drink." As he pleaded and cajoled, he managed to get Nathan to drink another quart of water.

    "Gonna kill, JD."

    Ezra sighed. Nathan seemed fixated on JD, which Ezra couldn't quite understand. He delivered his crafted comeback to the proclamation. "Why do you want to eliminate our young associate?"

    "Hey, Ezra, that you?"

    Ezra eyes widened in shock. Nathan's eyes were closed but it was the first words Nathan had spoke that weren't associated with killing JD or wanting to sleep. "How you'd know?"

    Nathan chuckled deeply.

    After a minute, he commented, "Man, I feel bad."

    "That is not surprising. We suspect you've been poisoned."

    "That's nice." Nathan's eyes fell shut and he settled back into a deep sleep.

    Ezra was almost ecstatic over the brief conversation with Nathan. It was a conversation, not random incoherent thoughts. Come on, Nathan. Come back.

    Come back. Ezra wished they'd all come back. Nathan from the hell of this poisoning. Vin from the reservation. Buck from wherever he'd run to. Chris from wherever he'd gone. Josiah from the deep bottomless pit of despair and liquor. And JD from . . .

    There was a rap on the door interrupting Ezra's morose thoughts.

    "Hey, how's Nathan?" JD whispered.

    Ezra sighed deeply. "We talked briefly."

    JD's eyes lit up, "that's gotta be good, don't ya think?"

    "I certainly hope so. Any problems on rounds?"

    "Nah," JD waved his hand dismissively. "Ezra, can we talk?"

    Ezra glanced over at Nathan who seemed to be resting quietly. He inclined his head to the table and chairs outside on the balcony. Taking a moment to collect himself, Ezra pulled the covers over Nathan. Ezra felt bile rise in his throat, the kid was looking for advice from him. Aw hell. And he thought medicine wasn't his forte.

    Ezra settled into a seat and nodded at JD.

    JD nervously rubbed his tongue over his lips. "I'm . . .I'm mad at Buck."

    Ezra nodded his head. "That he ran or that he assisted Casey in her distress."

    "Both." JD lolled his head, "neither."

    "You need to be able to articulate the problem."

    "Huh?"

    "Buck is your best friend." Ezra patiently explained and JD nodded. "Casey is your paramour." JD smirked and then, nodded. "Your best friend came to the able assistance of your best lady." JD nodded solemnly. "When she requested his assistance." JD nodded. "Would you have him do less?"

    "But . . ." JD started to protest.

    Ezra stopped JD with his hand. "Would you have him do less?" Ezra firmly repeated.

    "No."

    Ezra continued. "Buck left town." JD nodded his head. "But not to run from rape charges." JD nodded his head.

    "How did you know . . ." JD started to protest.

    "He wouldn't rape a woman." Ezra stated it as a fact and JD nodded his head again. "And he has an alibi." JD smiled. "So he didn't run from the charges."

    "But why did he pack up and leave?"

    Ezra swallowed hard, loathe to answer but he owed JD his own solution to the puzzle. "I suspect it has everything to do with a certain Mr. Larabee."

    "But why?" JD exclaimed, obviously hurt.

    Ezra bit his lip. "Chris and Buck have been friends for over twelve years. But it is a relationship based on you cover my back, I'll cover yours." JD smiled at Ezra's description. "What would happen if Chris wasn't there to cover Buck's back?"

    "He wouldn't do that!"

    "I don't mean in a gun battle, but . . ." Ezra was searching for the right words, "what if Belle accused Buck and Chris didn't immediately defend him?"

    JD's eyes darkened when understanding dawned. "He'd be real upset."

    "Yes, indeed."

    JD started to stand and extended his hand, "Thanks, Ezra."

    Ezra looked at the hand but didn't grasp it with his own. "Sit, JD," Ezra said solemnly. "So you agree, a friend is there for a friend."

    "Oh, yeah. I forgot that the other day."

    Ezra frowned at JD's answer.

    "When I fell off the horse and Buck started making fun, Nathan was by my side but I accepted the hand of a stranger and ignored him. I had to make it right. I brought him a hot dinner and apologized," JD explained.

    "No wonder he wants to kill you," Ezra said under his breath.

    "Kill me?" JD squeaked.

    "We suspect that Nathan was poisoned with arsenic put into a pot of food at Andreas's restaurant."

    "I poisoned Nathan."

    "No, JD. Some person wanted to poison many people. It was an unfortunate set of circumstances that Nathan was poisoned."

    "Does Nathan think that?"

    "Yes," Ezra lied. Ezra justified it by thinking he'd have plenty of time to explain it to Nathan.

    JD started to rise again. "JD, sit. There's one more thing. A friend is there for a friend."

    "I understand that, Ezra," JD responded, irritated.

    Ezra continued gently, treading softly as not to raise the young man's dander. "You need to be there for Casey. Casey is feeling shamed, violated, and unworthy."

    "I don't think that."

    "The only," Ezra stared hard at JD, "the only person who can convince Casey of that is you."

    "A friend is there for a friend."

    "Yes, indeed."

    "Thanks, friend." JD started to stand and extended his hand again.

    Ezra shook it firmly, "you're welcome, friend."

    JD impulsively hugged Ezra.

    Ezra slowly put his arm around him and squeezed. JD pulled back and looked down sheepishly.

    "Want me to take a spell with Nathan?"

    "No, I think it's best I press on." Besides Nathan might kill the kid, Ezra thought mordantly. "He is quite obstinate as a patient but I have successfully forced fluids into him. It's probably best I continue with this."

    JD nodded. "I'll make a final pass of town and then get some sleep. I'll be at the jail if you need me. Good night, Ezra and thanks again."

    "Good night, JD."

    Ezra solemnly watched JD walk away. His hand shook. He wearily stood and re-entered Nathan's room. His distress hadn't eased but he was satisfied that he may have successfully assisted the young man.

    Eara entered the room and shook Nathan's shoulders. "Come on, Nathan, gotta drink." Ezra put his arm under Nathan's shoulders and helped lift Nathan so he would drink some more liquid.

    "Drink up."

    Nathan pushed the cup away. "Wanna sleep," he mumbled.

    "No sleep, drink." Ezra used a very firm voice.

    Ezra was able to get Nathan to drink another quart of fluid. He assisted him to urinate and then assisted him to lie down. "Wanna sleep."

    "Yes, I think we all do. Good night, Nathan."

    "Good night, Ezra."

    Part 38

    He slept uneasily, dreaming of death and pain, and waking to find the pain, at least, was real. One moment he would be running or firing a gun at an enemy that was everywhere all at once, and the next he would be hearing the wind high in the pines and looking at the night sky and trying to remember which night it was, and whether or not he'd found Buck yet. Then the horse would stumble or it would break its gait as it navigated the steep slope and it would all flash bright as an explosion and turn him inside-out, and he'd slide into the dark again and then later wake up and not know for sure if he'd been dreaming or just sick from the pain not ever letting up and never stopping and getting worse with every step.

    At some point, the moon was there, white and distant, the pines playing ball with it in their dark branches, and Vin stared at it and tried to remember why it was an important thing. Something about going faster, and now he could see the trail and head for the reservation. He sighed. The festival he was missing, and Chanu and Kojay were looking for him and the man with the high-powered rifle was siting in on them and he had to get there. Then the wind blew cold against his back and rattled the lead rope where it ran through the bridle hardware and made it jingle, and Vin woke up enough to know he'd been dreaming again, and he shivered.

    He wished he still had his coat, although he couldn't figure out how he'd be able to get it on with his hands tied if he had it. He found himself turning it over in his mind for a long time, putting it on and wrapping it around somehow and feeling its warmth and then waking up to that cold wind again, over and over. He began to dread falling asleep, because it was so disorienting when he woke up halfway and then fell asleep again and then snapped into painful awareness when the horse jarred him. It made him start to feel sick, and he ached all over, and his head ached, and the fire inside his shoulder and his chest and his arm grew until his nightmares were of wildfires and the trees on fire and lanterns that had broken in barns and set all the hay on fire. And again, he woke up. And looked at the moon in dull surprise as he found out again that he was in the mountains, tied to his horse, being led somewhere and not even caring where it was any more.

    And somewhere towards morning, when he opened his eyes and saw that the sky was growing paler and the stars were fading, he began to ask them to stop. He didn't know if he said it aloud or in his head, and it didn't matter if only they would. Just for a minute, just so the pain would stop for a moment, just one blessed moment so he wouldn't go out of his head with it, and it began to match the beat of his horse's hooves on the soft pine needles and the throbbing that went all the way down into his gut and he clenched his teeth and thought stop please stop please stop please. Stop. He heard his own voice, distant and in the tops of the pines, then, touching long fingers to the moon to see how long ago it had passed this way: stop please stop. And he heard Buck saying something somewhere and he wondered what it was and the moon was saying it now, too: stop please stop.

    And Vin slept, and woke, and morning was so slow coming. The night, he thought dully, would never ever end. It was stuck. And as long as it was night, he was stuck, riding and hurting and cold and dreaming and waking.

    Stop, he thought. Please.

    Stop.

    Part 39

    It was just after dawn when Sullivan finally stopped again, near a shallow mountain stream. Buck had been awake almost the whole time and he was hungry and cold and so tired he could barely keep his eyes open. He was worried about Vin and once he'd tried to talk Sullivan into stopping, but the man had just kept on riding as if he couldn't even hear him. His leg ached, too, but next to everything else, it didn't seem that important.

    He bent his head and watched Sullivan from under his hat. Who was this guy? And where was he taking them? Buck almost didn't care anymore. But then, he glanced at Vin, who was slumped over in the saddle again, mostly out of it, but obviously really hurting from the wound in his shoulder. Somehow, Buck thought, he had to figure a way to get Vin out of this. Somehow he at least had to get him home.

    Sullivan dismounted and looked at the two men he'd been hauling into the mountains all night. Tanner was still out of it. He wasn't going to die yet, that was all Sullivan cared about. He had his orders. He looked at Wilmington who was studying the rising sun as if it were the most interesting thing he'd ever seen. 'Damn you,' Sullivan thought. 'I'll get to you somehow.'

    He pulled the lead rope that led from his horse to Buck's loose and tied it to a sturdy tree branch. Then, he unsaddled his own horse and led it down to the stream. Once it had drunk its fill, he led it back to a small grassy area and hobbled it so it could graze for a bit. They were still a good day's ride from their destination and they'd started out with tired horses. Much as he hated it, if they wanted to make it the rest of the way through the mountains, he'd have to let them rest and eat.

    He looked back at his two captives on horseback and let the purifying hate run through him again. It was what kept him strong, the reason he'd survived all the years he had and he knew it. Hate was more important than anything and anyone who didn't admit it was a fool.

    Buck watched Sullivan unsaddle and water his horse, though his eyes kept drifting shut and he was shivering, whether from the cold mountain air or from all the blood he'd lost he didn't know. He licked his dry lips and drew in a deep breath. 'Gotta stay awake,' he thought. 'Gotta be ready.' Sullivan came toward him with his knife out again. There was a dark gleam in his eye and for a moment, Buck thought that this was it; Sullivan was going to stab him to death while he was tied helpless to a horse. Sullivan stood by his left stirrup and looked at him for a minute. Buck looked back, knowing that nothing showed in his face. With a tight grimace that Buck couldn't quite read, Sullivan reached out and cut the ropes tying Buck's leg to the stirrup. Then he walked around and cut the ropes on the other side. He reached up and cut the knot that tied his hands to the saddle horn, but left the one tying Buck's hands.

    "Gotta rest the horses," he said. "Don't try anything." Then, as if to prove that he had nothing to fear from the wounded man, he turned his back on Buck and walked back to Vin's horse.

    Buck tried to stretch his stiff fingers. He could barely move his wrists and he could feel where the rope had rubbed the skin through the long night. He grabbed the saddle horn, shifted his weight to his good leg and swung out of the saddle. If he hadn't been hanging on, he'd have collapsed on the ground right there. He hung onto the saddle while black spots danced in front of his eyes and gasped for breath as if he'd run a mile in heavy boots. Damn! He'd been pretty fine sitting in the saddle compared to how he felt right now. Like a stampede of cattle had run right over him. Damn it! He didn't have time for this. He shifted more of his weight to his good leg and tried to stand straight. The blackness rushed right over him and then faded a bit, leaving a loud roaring in his ears as a reminder of what would come if he moved too quickly. Just then, Sullivan yanked the saddle out of his hands and Buck fell to his knees, sending a sharp black pain through his injured leg clear up to his chest.

    "Sorry," Sullivan said, and Buck heard it as if through a long narrow tunnel as Sullivan led his horse away.

    For a long time, Buck just stayed there, his head bent as he tried to will strength back into his limbs. He hated being weak. Hated it more than anything. But right now there was nothing left in him. He could breathe. He could breathe. He could breathe. He could breathe....

    Sullivan looked at him in disgust. 'You're nothing,' he thought. 'Nothing. Why can't I get to you?' And that failure blazed in his mind like lightning across a stormy sky.

    He looked over at Tanner. He'd cut his ropes five minutes before, but the man hadn't even moved. Hell! Why had he gotten stuck playing nursemaid anyway? He reached up, grabbed Vin by the front of his shirt and yanked him forward and off his horse, barely breaking his fall as he pitched onto the ground. A loud groan escaped Vin's lips, The horse danced nervously sideways. Sullivan pulled Vin over to a nearby tree and released him. He collapsed with a sharp cry and Sullivan looked at him and laughed.

    "Feeling poorly?" he said. "Hell, don't blame me." Vin tried to raise his left arm to his right shoulder and, because his hands were tied he moved both arms before he was aware of it and another loud low groan escaped him. Sullivan laughed again. He reached out to grab the man's shirt collar and set him upright again.

    "LEAVE HIM ALONE!"

    Sullivan was completely unprepared for Buck when he slammed into him and he fell, tumbling away and scrambling to regain his feet. Wilmington was just standing there in front of Tanner, looking down at him. Sullivan launched himself at Buck, knocking him flat and punching him, hard, twice in the stomach. Then he jumped to his feet with a feeling fairly close to satisfaction and looked down at the man lying on the ground.

    Buck turned onto his side, retching, as the sharp blows to his stomach re-ignited the ache from where Josiah had bruised him two days ago. He drew in great gouts of air and it still wasn't enough. Breathe, damn it! Breathe! He struggled to his knees, his heart racing so fast he thought sure it would give out on him and he wanted nothing so much as to just lie down and be done with it. But he didn't. He pushed himself up on his left leg, struggled for a moment to get his balance, and climbed shakily to his feet. Only then did he look at Sullivan.

    "Leave him alone," he said again, looking the man directly in the eye. And then, he just stood there and tried to keep breathing, hoping Sullivan didn't know just how damned hard that was.

    Sullivan, with his fist clenched, took a step toward him, then he stopped. He looked from Buck to Vin, who lay slumped against the tree, not seeing much of anything. Then he looked at Buck again and his fist uncoiled and he almost smiled. 'I have you now,' he thought. 'I have you now.'

    Instead of attacking Buck, he turned away with a light footstep to lead Vin's horse down to the creek and then hobble it in the grass with the others. Buck watched him and wondered exactly what it was about the look in his eye that suddenly seemed to promise no compromise or quarter.

    Part 40

    A shudder wracked his body. Damn, he was cold. But sometimes it took just too much effort to move. Guess he would forgo sleep now, he was wide-awake. He surveyed his surroundings. A funny light danced off the walls gently providing soft illumination to the room. You think it would be a warm light, but it wasn't. The light of the moon never is. At least he assumed that was the light source.

    He tested his movement. He lifted his head and was pleased. He rotated his shoulders and moved his legs. They felt odd, unused even. He felt like he was emerging from a black hole. A dark hole where he was alone, in desperate need, and no one was there for him.

    Recollections flooded Nathan's memory. Intense pain. The unending retching and vomiting. The stench of the diarrhea. The nightmares. And he'd been alone, in desperate need, and no one was there for him.

    A shudder wracked his body. Damn, he was cold. But sometimes it took just too much effort to move. Guess he would forgo sleep now, he was wide-awake. He felt a heavy blanket being laid over him. Better, that was so much better.

    Nathan's eyes looked up to his savior. It took him a moment to place him. Maybe because he was the last person he expected to be there.

    "Ezra."

    "Mr. Jackson."

    "You get stuck with the night tour," Nathan was shocked at the quality of his voice: dry, raspy, unused.

    "Mmm, something like that."

    "How long have I been out?"

    "Two to three days," was Ezra's quiet reply.

    Two days . . . Nathan mulled over that bit of information . . . Three days! Nathan was suddenly wide-awake and panicked.

    What about his responsibilities? What about his patients? He had to check on Roberts' leg - he could still lose it to gangrene - better that than his life. What about the Andrews' baby? Was the baby feeding? Moving normally? What of the mother - had there been any complications? Who had needed him and he wasn't available - like that lady on the wagon train. Who had needed him - the healer?

    Nathan tried to get out of bed but firm hands at his shoulders pressed him down into the bed.

    "Lay back down, Mr. Jackson," Ezra's voice brooked no protest but Nathan still tried to get out of bed.

    "Mr. Jackson, lay down. That is an order."

    "You wouldn't understand. I have duties, responsibilities that I must tend to," Nathan protested and struggled against Ezra's hold.

    Ezra suddenly released Nathan and slowly backed away from the bed. His hands were forward; almost as if they were trying to clutch hold of the most valuable prize and it wasn't within reach. His eyes had a look of almost intense pain and shame. When he spoke his voice had a quality of forlornness, "You are so very right," he bowed his head, "I wouldn't understand."

    Ezra brusquely shook his head and seemed to recollect himself.

    "You are absolutely in no uncertain terms, not getting out of this bed," Ezra firmly stated, "you've been poisoned . . ."

    "Poisoned?" Nathan gasped.

    "Poisoned," Ezra confirmed matter-of-factly. "We have pushed fluids attempting to flush the poison from your system. It appears, I dare say, that you are making every appearance of recovering. We have been consulting with a physician in Denver and we are to wire with your status in approximately an hour."

    "How poisoned?" Nathan was shocked at the implications of that statement. What had he done to deserve that?

    "We believe it was arsenic poisoning put into some food that Andreas prepared."

    "How can you know that?"

    "I beg your pardon?"

    "How_can_you_know_that?" Nathan enunciated each word slowly and clearly.

    Ezra seemed surprised by the question, so Nathan explained. "Arsenic is colorless and tasteless. How did you even suspect poisoning?"

    "It was Mary Travis. She spoke with Andreas and then wired a physician friend in Denver. Through discussions with the physician, they figured out you were poisoned."

    "I'm forever in Mary's debt."

    Ezra didn't answer for a moment. "Yes, indeed," he confirmed.

    There was a light rap at the door. Ezra walked around the bed to answer it.

    "Hey, Ezra."

    "JD."

    JD tried to peer around Ezra to the bed. "How's Nathan?"

    Ezra opened the door wider and flourished his arm to draw JD into the room.

    "Nathan," JD exclaimed as he saw the clear, alert eyes of the healer.

    A broad smile crossed Nathan's face. "That bad, huh?"

    "Yeah," JD's glee turned quickly. "I was sure we were going to lose you," JD stated somberly.

    JD looked back at Ezra indicating the door with his eyes; Ezra took the hint and stepped outside of the room.

    JD walked over to the foot of the bed. He was clearly agitated and he pulled his bowler hat off his head and clutched it in front of his chest. "Nathan, it was my fault."

    "JD, it's all right," Nathan reassured the young man.

    "It's my fault. I poisoned you," JD looked directly at Nathan's eyes.

    "No, you didn't JD. You didn't poison me." Nathan spoke with the assurance that this was indeed a friend who would never hurt him.

    "I brought you the food," JD started pacing in the small confines of the room. "If I hadn't forgotten what a true friend you were, I . . I . . .I would have never pushed you away." JD had paced to the wall pivoted and started across the room again. "And if'n I never pushed you away, I wouldn't have had to make it up to you. And if . . and if . . . I didn't have to make it up to you, I wouldn't have brought you dinner." JD had paced to the other wall pivoted and started across the room again. "And if you hadn't eaten the dinner, you wouldn't have eaten the poison." The words were tumbling out of JD and as he became more agitated his pacing got faster.

    Nathan wasn't quite sure he was following JD's logic and he was getting tired just watching JD pace the room.

    "JD, it was an accident. It was an accident. There was no way you could have known."

    "I'm so sorry, Nathan. I'm so sorry, Nathan. I'm so sorry, Nathan," JD was repeating it as a mantra as he paced across the room.

    Nathan was getting a tad irritated. "JD, stop." JD halted mid-stride. "IT WAS NOT YOUR FAULT."

    Nathan looked directly into JD's eye, "absolutely, positively, not your fault."

    A tentative smile crossed JD's face. "You truly believe that."

    "I truly believe that, friend."

    JD laughed with relief and Nathan smiled broadly.

    "Though gotta tell you, JD, might be a long time before I let you deliver a meal to me again."

    JD gasped and his eyes flashed at the door, "gosh, do you think Ezra thinks that? I brought him breakfast."

    Nathan started chortling. He inclined his head to the door, whispered conspiratorially, "go see."

    Continued...

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