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 41

    Ezra gently closed the door so Nathan and JD could have an opportunity to talk. The cool, fresh desert air was refreshing. Ezra strolled over to the railing of the balcony to admire the first light of day. The sky at the horizon was a delicate pink and the sky a clear, translucent blue unmarred by clouds. Ezra only saw mornings like this if one of his card games ended around dawn. Ezra laughed at himself. He half-thought he should make an effort to see more sunrises - nah! He'd stick to sunsets.

    Ezra turned to sit at the table against the wall when he saw the tray of food. He pulled back the napkin and saw a hearty breakfast laid out - eggs, sausage, fried tomatoes, bread, and a pot of coffee. Ezra quickly poured himself a cup of coffee. He considered the food -- the_food_JD_brought. What did Nathan say -- arsenic is colorless and odorless. Well, I'm famished. I'll take my chances and Ezra started to eat the breakfast. He savored the first bites, absolutely delicious.

    Ezra heard light footfalls on the stairs and knew it was Mary Travis. He stood as she reached the landing.

    "Good morning, Mary."

    "Good morning, Ezra. Please sit, finish your breakfast. How is Nathan?" Ezra thought Mary looked as fatigued as he felt. Not that she wasn't lovely. But there was a paleness to her face, a droop to her shoulder, and a weariness to her posture that conveyed the stress and its toll over the past few days.

    Mary sat across from Ezra at the table and poured herself a cup of coffee.

    "He's alert, lucid, no vomiting or diarrhea in the past six hours," Ezra summarized Nathan's status with almost no emotion. Maybe if he didn't believe too strongly in the good signs, then nothing untoward would happen.

    "That's marvelous." Mary obviously thought it was good news. There was a joy, almost elation fully conveyed in just two words. "We'll need to wire Dr. Francis in about a half hour."

    "I'll do that. JD is with Nathan right now. It will give me an opportunity to do a tour of the town and make sure no other calamities have befallen us." Ezra wiped his mouth with a napkin and carefully folded it.

    Mary reached into her pocket. "Here's your money back. I wrote out a detailed list of expenses."

    "Thank you," Ezra folded the money and placed it his pocket not even glancing at it. He didn't look at the expense list but folded it a couple more times and placed it on the tray.

    At that moment the door opened a crack, "Mr. Dunne, thank you for the breakfast. It was excellent."

    JD opened the door wide and was smiling broadly, "you're welcome, Ezra."

    "I'm going to wire, Denver and make a patrol of town. I should be about an hour. Stand by here, please," Ezra ordered.

    "Sure, no problem." One thing about working with JD, he was always eager to be of assistance without complaint. Ezra was fast appreciating that quality in the young man.

    Ezra entered the room to retrieve his jacket and hat. He looked over at Nathan. "Took your chances with JD's food?" Nathan inquired.

    Ezra smiled broadly flashing his gold tooth. "Somehow I don't think they'll make the same play twice." Ezra nodded at the glass on the nightstand, "still need to drink plenty of fluids." Nathan nodded. "I'll be back soon."

    As Ezra reached the boardwalk, he surveyed the street. No one was about except Yosemite who waved as he went to open the livery. It was very quiet - not noiseless, there were voices in conversation that could be heard through open windows, the smell of bacon being prepared for breakfast, and the thwack of an axe as wood was chopped. Maybe that's why Mr. Tanner loved to sit in a chair on the boardwalk in the early morning - before the bustle, before the noise, and enjoy the quiet. A little peace. Maybe, just maybe, there was something to be said about sunrises -- nah! Give me the night, give me the action.

    Ezra decided he had enjoyed too much action these past few days and was facing another very long day. He would take advantage of the quiet and clean up and attire himself in fresh clothes. He went to the hotel and went up the backstairs to his room for the clothes. He wasn't particularly interested in going through the lobby and having to answer questions about Nathan or about Vin, Buck, Chris, or Josiah for that matter. Wouldn't be quiet then. Ezra wasn't certain he could contain his discontent with at least three names from that list and give a full discourse on his frustration. Much better to enjoy the quiet.

    Ezra returned to the bathhouse and arranged a bath. He removed his clothes. His skin was clammy and sticky and his nose wrinkled at the smell of the carbolic acid that he had washed down with in Nathan's room. He shaved and then slipped into the bath and let the hot water relieve the tightness of his muscles. He scrubbed down with soap, only to do it a second time. He noticed he lost weight and that his stomach was slightly concave. Breakfast this morning had been his first decent meal in four days. Not that he couldn't eat but there was just other things to do -- like play poker. He hadn't taken time to eat during that marathon session. The lucre of money was far more satisfying than an excellent meal. Ezra could honestly say he didn't miss those meals.

    When Ezra was satisfied at his cleanliness, he relaxed back promising himself 5 minutes before he needed to get dressed and go to the telegraph office. He closed his eyes and reflected on the past few days. It had not only been meals that Ezra had missed but other matters as well, which he were quickly regretting. What was the exact status of his comrades-in-arms?

    Chris Larabee had rode out of town yesterday, apparently without conversing to anyone about his intentions. You're the responsible one, Mr. Larabee, it hardly speaks well of you.

    Buck Wilmington left two days ago, avoiding answering to a rape charge, which he was fully cognizant that he was innocent of. So why did he leave? Ezra's surmised that he had some type of disagreement with one Chris Larabee.

    Vin Tanner was at a festival at the reservation. Hey, someone had to be having a good time though Ezra couldn't prevent the slightest twinge of envy.

    Josiah Sanchez's lady friend accused Buck Wilmington of rape. Josiah was now drinking himself into a dark hole where no light was apparent. Ezra's predicament was that he needed the older man's counsel. How do you wrench him back from a personal hell to aid his friends and community?

    Nathan Jackson was poisoned but wasn't apparently individually targeted. The plan had been to intentionally inflict many townspeople with a dreadful malady. Why? Why Four Corners? There was no possible way that Nathan could have handled it. Ezra was so relieved that catastrophe had been averted.

    JD Dunne was uninjured and available for duty. As was Ezra Standish. Were they adequate to the task? What else could happen that hadn't already?

    The problems of the past week had been numerous: the bank robbery, the trail crews, the Delano Mine Cave-in, the rape charge, and the poisoning. What did it all mean? Could it really just be a very bad week? The only problem was that Ezra had a lot more ominous feeling about this all. Almost a paranoia. He felt like there was a bulls-eye on his chest and the shooter was sighting the target. The problem with all this was Ezra hated the unexplained. On their face, except for the rape charge and poisoning, the other events weren't out of the ordinary, so was he afraid of his own shadow for no reason? Ezra chuckled self-deprecatorily, what evidence was there that Ezra had any reason to think he was a target? Rather conceited, don't you think?

    Ezra sighed deeply, although he hated to do it, Ezra forced himself out of the bathtub. He had to wire Dr. Francis. As he dressed, Ezra cataloged Nathan's status. He had forced 10 liters of fluid into Nathan. He was in no pain, the vomiting and diarrhea had ended six hours ago, he was alert and lucid. Good signs. Ezra tried to tamp down his hope. Wait to talk to the doctor. Just wait.

    Ezra entered the telegraph office. "Mornin', Mr. Standish," Wyatt, the operator and stagecoach manager greeted him. "Little early yet."

    "Yes but could you please let Denver know we are standing by."

    "Will do."

    As Wyatt tapped out the message, Ezra prepared the first message on Nathan's status.

    "Mr. Standish, can I ask you something?" Wyatt looked up from the telegraph at the gambler. The man hardly looked threatening.

    "Certainly," the southerner drawled.

    "What did you say to Old Pete yesterday?"

    "Whom?" Of all the questions to be asked, Ezra didn't even know what this one was about.

    "Stagecoach driver. It was all I could do to get him to leave yesterday. Said you needed to supervise his driving. What did you say to him?"

    Understanding dawned and the gambler chuckled quietly. "Told him if he didn't ride through town at a sedate pace that I would personally ensure he understood the pace I required."

    "How were you going to do that?" Wyatt asked, puzzled.

    "Why I was going to ride the stage through town at the appropriate pace while Pete ran along side tied to the stage," was Ezra's elaborately casual response.

    "So, you want the horses to be walked. That wouldn't be so hard. I mean Old Pete, he was really scared," Wyatt seemed oblivious to the full import of what Ezra's threat.

    "Then, I was going to run the stage through town at the pace Pete drives while Pete ran along side," Ezra dead-panned.

    Wyatt jerked his head up to look at the gambler and saw that he was serious. Wyatt slowly nodded his head, "yup," he drawled, "guess don't need to worry about the stage runnin' folk over no more." Both men smiled broadly.

    Wyatt was pulled away by the clacking of the telegraph. "Denver's on-line."

    Four Corners: Patient status ::Stop:: Alert and lucid ::Stop:: No pain, vomiting, diarrhea ::Stop::

    Denver: Can the patient urinate ::Stop::

    Four Corners: Yes, in copious amounts ::Stop::

    Denver: Any other victims ::Stop::

    Four Corners: Negative ::Stop::

    Denver: Recommendation, continue to push fluids ::Stop:: Clear fluids today ::Stop:: May start solid food tomorrow ::Stop:: Rest till stronger ::Stop::

    Four Corners: Thank you for your assistance ::Stop::

    Denver: It is gratifying to hear of patient's recovery ::Stop:: Do not hesitate to wire if further questions ::Stop:: regards, Dr. Francis ::Stop::

    "That mean Nathan going to be all right?" Wyatt asked.

    Relief flooded Ezra, "indeed, it appears so." Ezra let himself believe it, truly believe it.

    Ezra flipped some coins onto the counter. "Thank you, Wyatt."

    As Wyatt noticed the amount left, he called out, "yes sir, anytime sir."

    Ezra returned to the boardwalk. There were more people about now. Ah, so much for quiet. He began a leisurely circuit of the town. He kept his ears open, hoping to hear any gossip of concern. He looked assessingly at patrons on the street. Nothing untoward was apparent.

    Almost done with his circuit, Ezra paused in front of The Clarion's office. He slowly surveyed the street. Ezra kept expecting to see some kind of problem, some event, some happening that would confirm that all was not all right in Four Corners. Unfortunately, it was not readily apparent. So what was . . .

    Ezra felt a tugging on his pant's leg, at about the level of his knee.

    Ezra spotted Billy in his peripheral vision, "Yes, Mr. Travis."

    "Hi Ezra," was the eager reply.

    Ezra smiled graciously and looked down at the boy. "And what can I do for you?"

    "Ma said you were taken care of Nathan. Is he better?"

    "Yes, yes, he is. Much better," Ezra reported thankfully.

    Billy nodded his head, more like an adult than a six-year old. He apparently had some request but it didn't appear to be forthcoming so Ezra pressed the issue. "Was there something else?"

    "Yes, please." Billy eagerly responded. Ezra chuckled, he hadn't lost his insight of others. "In the morning, Chris or Vin walk me to Potter's. But they're gone," Billy started to explain.

    "And why do you go to Potter's in the morning with them?"

    "They walk me to work," Billy stated matter-of-factly.

    "Work," Ezra half-choked on the word.

    "Yeah, I sweep and help for a penny a day." Billy looked up and down the street, apparently satisfied his mother wasn't about, he yanked on Ezra's leg to bring him closer, "though gotta tell you, I mostly take it in trade," Billy whispered conspiratorially.

    "I see now. Mmm, peppermint sticks." Ezra restrained himself from laughing at the young boy's antics.

    Billy carefully surveyed the street again, "Licorice," he whispered.

    "Well, our secret and I certainly can escort you to work."

    Ezra turned and started towards Potter's. Billy fell into step beside him. Ezra felt a small hand worm its way into his. Ezra smiled and they walked hand-in-hand the rest of the way.

    "Good morning, Mrs. Potter."

    "Good morning, Mr. Standish and Billy," Gloria Potter smiled at her two visitors.

    "Billy, your mother was in and you are going to spend the day with me."

    "That's fine," he piped up, already starting to swing a broom.

    "Mr. Standish, how is Nathan?" Gloria Potter inquired, obviously concerned.

    "He is recovering and will probably be up in a few days," Ezra was pleased to report.

    Gloria Potter beamed at the excellent news. "Our prayers are answered."

    "Indeed." Ezra smiled at the shop woman's reaction. "Mrs. Potter, if you could communicate this news about town, I would be indebted."

    "It will be my pleasure."

    "Good day." Ezra turned to exit the store, satisfied that word of Nathan's recovery would be adequately communicated and that Billy was in good hands, "bye, Billy."

    "Bye, Ezra."

    Ezra stepped again onto the boardwalk. He was surprised when he spotted Hammersmith approaching him. Thought he would have moved on when the action died.

    "Mr. Standish." Hammersmith looked Ezra over speculatively.

    "Good morning, Mr. Hammersmith," Ezra was looking the man over as well. Hammersmith played like a professional. Sought games like a professional. But yet here he was unshaven in cowboy dress. That was what always bothered Ezra about Hammersmith. He always expected to see him in a tailored jacket, a fine linen shirt, tie, brocade vest, and gabardine trousers. And yet he was a dusty cowboy.

    "Ready to resume our game? I'm sure I can convince the banker and several others to join us," Hammersmith commented with suave assurance.

    "No."

    Hammersmith looked at Ezra incredulously, "No?"

    "I have duties and responsibilities that I must tend to. I'm afraid I won't be available for the foreseeable future."

    Hammersmith bit the inside of his lip to prevent himself from gasping for air like a beached fish.

    "If you'll excuse me."

    "Certainly," Hammersmith managed to respond.

    Ezra tipped his hat with two fingers and Hammersmith unconsciously found himself returning the salutation.

    Hell. He had been so sure. He had Standish pegged. The game. Always the game. That's what was important in life. Not duties, and certainly not responsibilities.

    Yet there he was, returning to the healer's clinic. Standish was not behaving as expected. How could he have miscalculated so grievously? And just what could he do about it?

    Yes, Hammersmith had his responsibilities to his boss. Most assuredly Hammersmith would complete them. But Standish would be his. Hammersmith would best him. There was no doubt. Absolutely no doubt.

    Hammersmith wondered about the boy he had seen with Standish. Hammersmith recognized him as the editor's son. The lovely widow who had brought the saloon to a complete quiet when she entered.

    He could exploit that. Shame to draw the lovely woman into the game. My dear, you really should keep better company.

    Hammersmith savored the possibility. Indeed, Standish would be his and the lovely blonde would be the key.

    Part 42

    Thompson had found Striker's track about an hour after he'd left Four Corners the day before. He'd followed it easily and steadily south to the small town of Telem Flats. It had taken him an hour to determine that Chris Larabee had been there, but was now gone. Damn! He'd smiled to himself, though, when he left the small town. This'd be simple, he thought. It wasn't easy to forget a glowering man in black stalking from saloon to saloon looking like he'd kill the next man that looked at him. People seemed glad to tell him; probably hoped he'd shoot Larabee in the back or something. 'You have no idea,' Thompson had thought as he'd mounted up and ridden on. By the time he hit the second town, the pattern was clear to him. Larabee had no idea where Wilmington was; he was running on instinct. Searching all the small border towns it looked like, trying to spot the man. 'Well, damn!' Thompson thought, 'you're going to have to do a hell of a lot of looking to catch up with him.'

    Thompson stopped trying to follow Striker's track and struck back to the road. But by the time he'd reached the third town it was full dark and he'd figured he wouldn't get much farther without resting his horse. Larabee probably hadn't got much farther himself, he thought, not much worried about getting outfaced by a scowling gunslinger in black. After verifying that neither Striker or Larabee were actually in town, Thompson treated himself to a big steak and a couple of glasses of beer before retiring for the night.

    He was up before dawn and on the road again, figuring if he was lucky he could catch Striker in the next town about four miles up the road. It was just after sun-up when he rode into town, a solitary figure on a dun colored horse, his hat pulled low against the wind. The stable owner was just pulling open the big barn doors when he rode up. He'd just dismounted and was leading his horse to the nearby water trough when Chris Larabee walked by him. Thompson was startled for a moment. He'd been prepared for most anything, he thought, but not for Larabee to walk right by him at quarter after six in the morning. He recovered quickly, though. 'Hell!' he thought, 'I certainly guessed right on that. One town after another right down the border.' And he allowed himself a slight smile at how easy it had been.

    He watched Larabee out of the corner of his eye as he pulled his horse out of a stall and started saddling up. Figuring Striker would be along shortly, Thompson tied his own horse to a nearby rail, loosened the cinch and sauntered back behind the livery stable to wait.

    He'd just finished rolling a cigarette when he heard it, the soft, almost imperceptible sound of Striker's footstep. He grinned, inside, where no one could see. "Morning, Striker," he said in a cool voice.

    "What the hell are you doing here?"

    And that was Striker too. No, how did you find me? No, everything all right in town? Just, 'what the hell are you doing here.' Thompson slipped into the same brusque mode. "Change in plans," he said, striking a match and lighting his cigarette.

    Striker's flat eyes narrowed. He didn't say anything though, just waited for Thompson to continue. "Sullivan shot Wilmington. That part went right according to plan as far as I can tell." Thompson took a long draw on his cigarette and let the smoke out slowly. He knew just how far he could play Striker without getting in trouble. Sometimes it paid just to let the man lie, but other times, like now, he just couldn't resist.

    "Did Tanner catch up to him? We knew that might be a possibility. It was your job to take care of things."

    A frown flickered across Thompson's face. 'Take care of things,' he thought. 'You're damn lucky to have me is what.'

    "Problem was," Thompson said with a drawl. "Wilmington damn near bled to death."

    "That shouldn't have happened," Striker snapped. "Didn't Sullivan shoot him in the leg like we discussed?"

    Thompson shrugged. It wasn't his job to defend Sullivan. Let the arrow-shooting son-of-a-bitch do it himself. "Wilmington pulled it out."

    "Hmmm," said Striker, thinking that they should have anticipated that. They'd counted on his hot-headedness after all. But then, that was why they had so many contingency plans. "Tell me more," he demanded.

    Thompson shrugged again, covering his irritation at being reduced to a messenger boy for Striker. "Tanner caught up with him. They looked like they were heading back to town. I shot Tanner and Sullivan and I took them. Sullivan's taking them in."

    Striker looked at Thompson so long that Thompson finally had to give in and turn away. He tried to make it casual, as if he chose to turn away, but he figured Striker knew the truth. Striker always knew everything.

    "We may as well take Larabee," Thompson finally offered. "There's no sense waiting."

    Striker turned away and looked across the flat empty space beyond the edge of town. Thompson tried not to fidget and was annoyed with himself that he even had to make the effort. Finally, Striker looked back, his eyes narrow and mean-looking in a way they hadn't been a moment before. "You're right," he said. "There's no sense waiting at all."

    Part 43

    At first Vin couldn't figure out what had changed. It wasn't the presence of anything so much as its absence: like the sudden emptiness when cannon stopped firing all at once in a battle and you nearly fell over without all that noise to hold you up, the thundering having become something you'd been leaning against so long you'd gotten used to it. And what was missing now, Vin slowly realized, was motion. He was sitting still.

    Thank God, he thought several times, thank God. He felt his mind pulling back all the scattered bits of himself, drawing together again into a single thinking person, and he tried to swallow but couldn't because his mouth was too dry. He realized his eyes were opened and looking at a mountain meadow rimmed with steep rocky ledges with pinion pines along the crests. The sky behind the trees was pale but full morning, and a cold breeze ruffled through the meadow swirling the long grass and then dashing out of sight as he watched, unmoving.

    Unmoving. He closed his eyes and sighed. Not moving, sitting perfectly still, he could handle it. It burned and throbbed like hell, but he could handle it. Vin opened his eyes again and turned his head very slowly and carefully just far enough to see that Buck was to his left, leaning against the same tree Vin was apparently against, his hat off and his hair rumpled. His normally ruddy face was almost porcelain-pale, his mustache like coal against it. Vin caught his breath suddenly, afraid that Buck had died, reached out a hand to touch him --

    Mistake. Big mistake. He heard himself gasp as the damn thing exploded again, though he couldn't for the life of him figure out why. He felt his face hit the ground, tried to keep his own body from jerking uncontrollably against the pain so it would calm down and get better instead of worse, and then felt strong, steady hands on his good shoulder and on his back, helping him get it under control again. He lay there several long moments, his eyes closed, panting. Slowly everything settled down, and finally he opened his eyes to peer sideways through a little forest of pale grass to a concerned and nearly upside-down face that was looking at his own. It struck Vin as funny somehow, that mustache upside-down with several of the long black hairs hanging longway-round, and he chuckled very, very softly and then grimaced at the way that felt in his throat.

    "You think if I help you, you can sit up now?" Buck's voice was gentle but wary.

    Vin nodded wordlessly, and then felt Buck's hands on his left shoulder, slowly lifting him from the grass where he'd lain. It hurt, but Buck was slow enough and careful enough that it didn't blow up again, and then he felt the rough bark of a tree trunk behind his back and neck and sighed in relief that it was over and he could be still again. He swallowed, sore throat or not, and tried to lick his lips.

    "Here," said Buck, "he left us a canteen. But DON'T--" he broke off to put his hands firmly on Vin's as the tracker thought of reaching for it, "try to move your hands, Vin."

    Vin looked at Buck, then down at where Buck's hands were on his. They were tied. Buck's hands were tied together, and so were his. He blinked, feeling dully surprised, as he began to remember. How long had it been? Buck's voice interrupted his confused thoughts.

    "When you try to move your good arm, Vin," he was explaining carefully, "it moves your bad one, too. You gotta' not move your arms at all if you can." Vin looked over at Buck, turning his words over and fitting them together until they made sense.

    "Hell," he said at last, and closed his eyes with a heavy sigh of resignation. Buck let go of his hands, and then he was holding an opened canteen to the tracker's mouth.

    "Go slow so we don't spill it." His own voice was hoarse. "And don't move your hands, OK, Buddy? Just keep real still."

    The water ran down inside Vin, cold and heavy as a rainstorm, and took the dry stickeriness out of his mouth and throat. "Where are we?" he rasped out as Buck recapped the canteen.

    Buck shrugged, and Vin noticed dark smudges of fatigue beneath eyes that were unusually dull. "Keep goin' farther into the mountains, it looks like," he said softly. He looked around the clearing and then at Vin. "We're stopped at a stream right now, an' he's grazin' the horses."

    "Where?"

    "Over there." Buck nodded towards an area bounded by several tall pines that had grown up between the stream and the nearby ridges. Vin struggled a bit to see the place Buck had indicated more clearly, but gave up when he realized he couldn't do it unless he was willing to aggravate that slug in his shoulder again. Damn, he wished there was some way to get it out!

    "Don't suppose there's any way you could dig this thing outta' me." Vin's voice was so weak that at first Buck wasn't sure he'd heard him. Then he realized what the tracker had said and shook his head.

    "I don't . . . think there's any way I can do that, Vin." He looked at the younger man, who was slowly slumping farther over on the tree he was laying against.

    "Just look an' see," said Vin softly, "Maybe it lodged close to the skin somewhere."

    Buck sighed thoughtfully. Maybe so. But he didn't think . . . he looked at Vin's flushed face, the sheen of sweat on it, and caved in. He could at least look, he thought. Carefully moving around to Vin's other side, Buck lowered the leather suspender and then pulled back the edge of the tracker's shirt with his two bound hands. The bandanna he'd placed there earlier had shifted and fallen while the wound was still bleeding, leaving it unprotected. Buck winced when he saw how swollen the area was, and how red. The wound itself, a large hole an inch or so below the collarbone, was seeping a clear fluid but not bleeding now. In fact, it looked like after the first few moments it hadn't bled much at all. Vin's voice startled him.

    "Any chance a' gettin' it out?"

    Buck bit his lips looking at his friend's chest and shoulder, then very gently bent him forward to look at his back. He was searching for the tell-tale darkness of a slug just beneath the skin, and found himself uncertain of whether or not finding it would be a good thing. He didn't have any--"

    "Well, what's this?"

    Sullivan's voice surprised Buck so thoroughly that it was all he could do not to jerk Vin in a way that would have caused pure agony. Instead, he lowered the man back against the tree behind him, and pulled the shirt closed. He had to be careful, he thought. Very careful. He didn't look at Sullivan or at Vin either one, but kept his eyes on the ground as he answered.

    "Just seein' if it needed more bandagin' on it," he said.

    Sullivan squatted on his heels ten feet away from the two men and eyed Buck steadily, with a calculating gleam that Vin noticed with a sharp tremor. Who the hell was this guy?

    "And does it?" asked Sullivan, his voice silky.

    "No." Buck's voice was flat and emotionless. "He's fine."

    Sullivan's eyes slid from Buck to Vin, and his gaze sharpened. "That right, Tanner?" He shifted his weight on the balls of his feet. "You fine?"

    Vin was silent, his eyes never leaving their captor. The moment had the uneasiness in it of facing off with a coiled rattlesnake. The dark man in buckskins didn't care about the answer anyway; he wanted something else. Vin just didn't know what. He glanced at Buck and saw in the gunman's tense posture that he did know -- or had a damned good idea. He was mad and holding it in as tight as he knew how.

    "You know, you cost me fifty bucks." The man in buckskin broke off a long piece of grass and pointed it at Vin as he spoke, then set it between his teeth. "Fifty. I oughta' take it out a' your hide."

    Neither of the wounded men said a word or seemed the least bit intimidated; if anything, Tanner suddenly looked slightly disdainful, and Wilmington kept his eyes on the ground as if Sullivan wasn't even there. Sullivan's face darkened. "We're gonna' stay here a coupla' hours," he said very low, "so I'll just make sure you ain't workin' one another's bindin's loose an' then I'll let you boys visit if that's what you're set on." He stood to lean down over Buck and grab the ropes around his hands, between the man's wrists, to tug at them experimentally. "Nope, still tight as a drum," he said cheerfully. He leaned over Vin, his eyes on Buck. One hand reached down to grab the ropes on the tracker's hands in much the same way, but then he jerked upward suddenly and with force, and shook the ropes as if to test their knots. The hoarse cry that burst from Vin's throat was matched by a roar from Buck as the tall man threw himself at Sullivan.

    Sullivan was ready for him this time, though. It was almost too easy to shove the man off-balance onto his injured leg, but there was still plenty of satisfaction in the way his eyes lit up with fire inside as he tried to conceal the pain of his landing. Hate me, thought Sullivan. You're starting to get it now, Wilmington. He looked at Vin, half-off the ground with his hands in Sullivan's grip, his breath coming in strangled gasps as he tried to get his weight under him to take the pull off his wounded shoulder. Sullivan watched him struggle a moment, then opened his hand and let go. Vin fell heavily to the ground, groaning, and rolled to his side with sweat running into his eyes and matting his hair to the sides of his face. Buck looked at him, then looked up at Sullivan standing above them.

    "His ropes are still tight enough, too," he said. He held Buck's smoldering gaze for a long and satisfying moment before he broke it himself and turned to head down to the stream. Maybe it wouldn't be such a loss, he thought, that he couldn't kill them and had to deliver them pretty much as they were now. Breaking Wilmington's reserve was proving an interesting challenge after all.

    Part 44

    It took a long time after Sullivan left them for Vin's breathing to stop running in and out of his shuddering chest in ragged gasps. Buck sat with his tied hands on the calf of the other man's leg, afraid to touch his arm or shoulder, as Vin lay on his left side half-curled, his face clenched every bit as tightly as the rest of him was. Buck just sat there, maintaining the light touch to let the other man know he wasn't alone, and watched for Sullivan so he wouldn't be taken by surprise again. Finally he felt Vin's leg begin to relax under his hands, and a quick glance showed him that the tracker's features had eased and that the short, quick breaths he was taking were becoming smoother. After a few more minutes had passed, Buck scooted backwards so he was closer to Vin's head and looked down at his profile against the ground.

    "How about a little water?" he asked gently.

    Vin nodded slightly, then turned his head just enough to look up at Buck with clouded eyes set into deep hollows. The gunman leaned over him and then looked carefully all around for Sullivan once more before he spoke again.

    "Let's get you sittin' up like we did before, ok?"

    Vin nodded again, and pressed his lips together as Buck lifted him slowly, the tracker's torso still rigid as he fought the pain, and settled him against the rough red bark of the tree they were both starting to think of with some affection as at least something they could put their backs against safely. Buck uncapped the canteen and waited for Vin to relax a little more, then slowly and carefully gave him some of the water. He took a drink himself, wishing it was a whole barrel or that he could go to the stream and throw himself down on his belly and--

    "Who the hell is that guy?" Vin's voice was still tight, and he coughed very softly. But he bit his lips and looked intensely at Buck for an answer, and the gunman shook his head slowly.

    "Ain't got the slightest idea," he said. "I thought maybe you knew 'im."

    "Nope." Vin sighed and settled lower as his muscles unclenched a little more. "First time I saw 'im was when they took us, back when you were out."

    Buck thought a moment. "They?" He looked at Vin, whose eyes met his.

    "There was two of 'em," he said. "Other fella' had red hair an' a red beard, cut close."

    Buck looked thoughtful and then ran a hand through his hair with a puzzled expression. "Where would he have gotten off to?" He looked towards the stream and his eyes got a far-away look to them, and then he looked again at Vin. "Did you say they were _bounty hunters_?"

    "That's what I thought," said Vin. He closed his eyes a moment and shivered, then looked again at Buck with a slightly paler face. "But I can't figure it out. The pieces don't add up."

    "You were tellin' me . . ." Buck's voice trailed off as he tried to lay his hands on the memory. ". . . .that you didn't think it was . . .Indians."

    "It wasn't." Vin sounded so positive that Buck just waited for him to go on. "The things I found where he attacked you--"

    "HE?!"

    "Yeah, just one man, Buck. He was layin' there for ya' a while, too." Buck looked down at his tied hands thoughtfully, listening. "He left stuff scattered there, stuff those people don't just leave behind. I figure to make you an' anyone else who found that place think it was Indians." He paused a long time, and Buck looked at him suddenly but saw he was just getting his breath back from having talked so long. Vin swallowed, and went on. "But it's the wrong kind. Crow. Not from around here." He opened eyes that were suddenly very tired and looked at Buck quietly. The tall man knit his brows.

    "So they -- _he_ figured to make me think I'd been attacked by braves from the reservation so I'd go runnin' over there mad an' shoot the place up." Buck looked at Vin and the tracker nodded. Buck grinned slightly, a little lopsided. "Came damn close to doin' just that," he admitted. Vin smiled and put his head back against the trunk with a deep shuddering sigh.

    "Thank God you didn't," he breathed.

    "Well, you gotta' admit after the day I'd had--" Buck broke off, suddenly remembering in a rush of lead weight that thumped down in the middle of his gut just what sort of day he _had_ had. How in one moment everything he'd wanted to believe in had come crashing down on his head. He closed his eyes and then heard Vin's voice from beside him, soft and hoarse.

    "Why _did_ you leave, Buck?"

    "Huh?" Buck opened his eyes and blinked at Vin. What kind of dumb ass question was--

    "It made it look like you knew what she was gonna' say, you runnin' like that."

    Buck squeezed his eyes shut suddenly and felt a whole new kind of pain run down his insides like lightning. He wasn't sure for a moment he could even speak. Finally he looked away from Vin and his voice came out tight and hoarse.

    "Is that what you thought?" he said softly. "Is that what Chris thought?"

    "No." Vin's voice was steady. "I don't know any man I could be more certain of it about. You don't have it in you to do that to a woman."

    Buck looked quickly at Vin, feeling a rush of something he didn't have a name for. Then he thought of Chris, of Josiah, and his face hardened. Vin saw it.

    "Why'd you leave?" he asked again.

    Buck was silent a long time. When he spoke, his voice was distant. "Son of a . . . whore," he said, so softly that Vin could barely hear him. The last word was little more than a breath of air. Vin remembered, when he heard it, remembered then the way Josiah had roared that: "Admit it, you son of a whore!" He studied Buck's face and waited for the rest. Buck turned his wrists up and down as if he thought he might loosen his bonds, his gaze on the ropes but his eyes unfocused. "I was a skinny kid," he said at last. He chuckled lightly, without any joy to it, only shame. He looked at Vin and his eyes filled with pain. "It wasn't right," he said.

    Vin nodded. "It wasn't," he agreed.

    Buck closed his eyes and swallowed hard and waited while dizziness pulled at him like a little whirlwind, and then went away. He sighed. "I don't get it," he said. "It just don't add up. Is this one a' the guys you saw? Is one of 'em the one that shot me?"

    "Yeah, this guy was there when they got us. I don't know if he's the one that ambushed you, but I'd lay money on it he is. That buckskin stuff he's wearin', it's cut like they do 'em up north."

    "Like Crow." Buck looked at Vin, and the tracker nodded. "OK, so what about the other man? And what's this all got to do with bounty huntin'?"

    "Don't know." Vin's forehead drew together. "Somebody was trailin' me when I left town; I found his sign just before I got to the river an' saw what'd happened to you. I made a false trail into the sand flats on the south side a' the river, so he _should_ be--"

    "Still tryin' to figure out where the hell you went," Buck finished. Vin looked at his friend steadily, there being nothing to say. "So who's the man with the red beard?"

    "A damn good shot," growled Vin.

    Buck's eyes softened. "A lotta' good that's gonna' do 'im when WE catch up to the bastard."

    Vin laughed, a weak and pained and tired laugh, but it made Buck smile and that was enough. He lifted his bound hands and laid back against the tree, and mock-threatened "I'm gonna' kick the SHIT outta' him." He looked at Vin and then added, "An' I'll hold him so you can get in some licks, too, cripple that you are."

    "Gee thanks, Buck." Vin lay his head back against the trunk of the tree and closed his eyes.

    Buck settled down and tried to pretend that his leg didn't feel like it had a hot anvil sitting on it. "Any time," he said, "I help old ladies, too."

    Part 45

    Nathan nursed the glass of water that Ezra had left for him. Poisoned. He had been poisoned. What did Ezra say? He didn't think they'd make the same play twice. Who is they? He had reassured JD that the poisoning wasn't his fault. Purely chance. And only him. Why would 'they' want to poison anybody? Why hurt so many people? What kind of man plans to hurt so many? Must be an awful powerful reason. In Four Corners, Nathan thought skeptically. Sure, Four Corners was gaining influence in the region with the new train service, exchange, telegraph, stage, hotel, restaurants, and newspaper. But Nathan couldn't imagine why anyone would target this town. Nathan shook his head; he couldn't make sense of it.

    Nathan needed to drink lots of fluid, he knew that, but he shuddered at the effort, he felt like he was going to float away. He forced himself to finish the cup. Nathan had to admit, all things considered, he was feeling pretty good. He sat up more in the bed and moved his arms and legs, and though he felt weak, he was otherwise okay. How long had it been? Flashes of nightmares struck Nathan. He had been so sick. The pain. The vomiting and diarrhea. He couldn't help himself. And he was alive today. Nathan sometimes you are just damn lucky. If Mary hadn't figured out about the poisoning, Nathan would be facing his last day. Nathan had faced last days before. On the run. In the war. The lynching. Now, the poisoning. Four lives, Nathan. Nathan was using up his lives fast lately. Cat has nine lives. Nathan somehow figured he didn't have that many. How many? Maybe seven. Nathan smiled. He liked the number seven a lot. He owed his life to them. And more. Nathan looked around his room. Somebody had gone to a lot of effort to clean up. Nathan was sure of it. Yeah, he liked the number seven a lot.

    Mary and JD came into his room. Nathan looked assessingly at Mary Travis. She looked tired. Real tired. Guess, that was my fault. Mary had been a friend before he met any of the seven. He knew she had been there for him -- again. Yeah, seven -- he liked that number.

    "Hi, Nathan," Mary greeted Nathan softly.

    Nathan reached out his hand and Mary took it, "thank you, Mary, thank you for all you did."

    Mary was softly shaking her head, "I did so very little."

    "Ezra said it was you and the doctor in Denver that figured out I was poisoned, I'm sure it made all the difference in my recovery," Nathan squeezed Mary's hand reassuringly.

    "It was the very least I could do." Mary's eyes darkened and she looked away from Nathan. Nathan half-thought he had another JD thing on his hands -- false guilt. Okay Mary, I'd love to know why you feel guilty. Nathan pressed the issue.

    "What is it, Mary?"

    "Nathan, I wrote an editorial this week calling for a doctor for Four Corners," hurt flashed Nathan's eyes, Mary hurriedly explained, "I had the best intentions. You had been so busy trying to keep up with your duties for the Judge and providing healing services. Well, I just thought."

    Nathan nodded his head slowly, understanding the issues that brought this about. "I understand. Not like I've been available the last few days. And a real doctor could do things I can't."

    Mary protested, "no, Nathan. There are so many things that you do and the community is so grateful. I let myself get influenced by talk and didn't realize the full implications of what I wrote. I'm sorry, Nathan. This community will never forget the debt they owe you. I won't let them."

    Nathan nodded solemnly, "thank you, Mary." Nathan smiled and squeezed her hand again. "I surely appreciate that." In that quiet moment, the air was cleared between them.

    Nathan straightened up in bed, "so, let's move on to more pleasant topics. Where is everybody? What have I missed?" Nathan asked eagerly. Both Mary and JD stiffened at Nathan's questions. Now what?

    "What do you know?" JD asked.

    "About what?" Nathan retorted sharply. "I know nothing. I had returned from the Andrews' farm and you brought me dinner. I went to bed and as you know, got very sick. Has anybody heard from the Andrews?"

    Mary responded, "Seth Andrews has been to town and said both mother and baby are doing fine."

    Nathan smiled with relief, "that's good news."

    "Nathan," JD interrupted, his face pale, "that was 3 days ago that I brought you dinner."

    "WHAT?" Nathan was shocked that he couldn't account for so many days. He had been sick for several days. Ezra had told him that. But to have no awareness of anything else left Nathan feeling lost.

    "There's been so much going on," Mary reported. She was making an attempt to be calm but was failing at the effort.

    "That's putting it mildly," JD commented under his breath.

    Mary reached into her pocket. "I have the list of events from the newspaper that Ezra asked me to make." Nathan considered reaching for it. It was like Mary -- get the facts, write them down. It was what she did for a living. Ask the questions -- then, answer them. But Nathan had more pressing issues.

    "Wait, wait a minute. First, just tell me where everybody is?"

    "Buck, Vin, and Chris are gone. Josiah is drinking . . . a lot," JD reported somberly.

    Nathan processed what JD said. "Let's start with Josiah." Nathan had known Josiah the longest. He was generally the easiest for Nathan to talk to and figure out. "Is he in town? I take it this has something to do with Miss Belle?"

    "How did you know it involved Miss Belle?" Mary asked puzzled.

    "Because with Josiah, it's always about some woman when he drinks like this," Nathan responded; he'd seen it enough times. Miss DuBois was the latest in a series of woman for Josiah. Nathan knew that when Josiah met the right woman, that would be it for him. He'd find a peace and contentment the preacher had long thought lost to him. But he always managed to find the wrong women in the wrong places.

    A rap on the door interrupted the conversation. JD opened the door and let Casey in. Casey ignored JD and hurried to Nathan's side. Nathan restrained himself from rolling his eyes. Now what was with those two? A sweet smile crossed her face, "hi Nathan, are you feeling better?"

    "Much better, thank you." Nathan responded quietly. He inclined his head to catch a glimpse of her face that she was hiding from him. He frowned at the state of the girl. She was very pale with dark circles under her red rimmed eyes. "Casey, you all right?"

    "Me. Me. Oh sure, I'm fine. Really," Casey lied -- Nathan knew it.

    "Casey, did you take Billy to Mrs. Potter's?" Mary injected herself into the conversation. Nathan smiled to himself -- Mary, the fixer.

    "No, he's with Ezra but they were headed that way," a relieved Casey responded to Mary's rescue from the awkward situation.

    "Tell me." Nathan demanded firmly but quietly. Everyone in the room froze. Nathan could feel the chill. What the hell had happened? He looked at the threesome. Casey's eyes were downcast and she looked ready to cry. JD was obviously agitated but kept quiet and still. Nathan looked to Mary -- he pleaded, tell me.

    "Casey was in town, four nights ago when you and Nettie were at the Andrews' farm." Mary gently explained. "Some hands from the trail crews tried to . . . well, they tried to have their way with her."

    JD's stillness ended with the last statement. Agitated, he restlessly shifted his feet and started clenching and unclenching his fist.

    "Really, it wasn't nothing. I got away and Buck rode me home in the morning," Casey's quivering lip belied her statement, the true impact was clearly evident -- on her_and_JD. When she started to talk about Buck, JD slammed his fist into a wall. Both Mary and Casey jumped and shied away at his display of anger. Tears fell from Casey's eyes.

    There was a light rap on the door and Ezra entered. His eyes circled the room assessing the climate. They were all upset, especially Casey. Mary silently urged him to say something to break the stalemate.

    Ezra smiled pleasantly, "Mrs. Travis, Billy is at Potter's."

    "Thank you for walking him," Mary nodded her approval. "What did Dr. Francis have to say?"

    Ezra frowned at Nathan - what the hell is going on here? Nathan subtly nodded his head - not now, we'll talk later. Ezra understood and made a show of pulling a collection of telegrams from his pocket. "He believed Nathan would recover. He recommends continuing to push fluids, clear fluids today, and he can try solid food tomorrow. And rest. So maybe we should allow you to get some?"

    "Oh no, you don't." Nathan was willing to let the issue of Casey rest but that was all. "That's all I've been doin', is restin' in this bed. I want to know what's goin' on. Start with Josiah and Miz Belle," Nathan folded his arms across his chest obviously waiting for one of them to inform him.

    Ezra looked at the others but they all swung their eyes expectantly at him. Ezra sighed deeply -- me again. This was really getting old. He wasn't cut out for this.

    "Well. From what we have been able to ascertain from Casey and Josiah, Miss Belle accused Buck of raping her at her house the morning Josiah and JD rode out again to the Delano Mine to investigate the cave-in."

    "WHAT?" Nathan exclaimed, "Buck would never."

    "He didn't," Casey exclaimed. Nathan's eyes swung to Casey. "He couldn't of possibly. He was taking me home and stayed well into the morning."

    "As Miss Wells has explained, Buck has an alibi," Ezra explained.

    "But why wouldn't Buck just say that?" Nathan asked puzzled.

    "That's my fault," Casey's voice conveyed her misery and guilt, "I was real upset and I made him promise not to tell."

    "So Josiah believed Belle. So where's Buck?" Nathan asked.

    "We don't know." JD joined the conversation, "he rode out two days ago."

    "Wait a minute. Why? Miss Belle's charges are false. Buck wouldn't break Casey's confidence but he was never one to run," Nathan was trying to make sense of Buck's actions.

    "I assume it's because he had some disagreement," Ezra suggested.

    "With Josiah?" Nathan asked.

    "WITH CHRIS," Ezra, JD, and Mary chorused together.

    Ezra looked at the two other, "you think that too?" and both Mary and JD nodded their heads.

    "Chris has been on edge these past few days. Even minor annoyances were irritating him out of proportion to their import. We could hardly carry on a civil conversation," Mary explained. Of the five people in the room, she was the only one who had spent any significant time with Chris.

    "They've known each other a long time. Buck didn't just leave. He packed and left. He didn't intend to come back. Only Chris could make him do that." A look of pain flashed JD's face. Ezra could feel the young man's pain. Jesus - how had it gone so wrong.

    "So where's Chris?" Nathan asked.

    "I saw him ride out yesterday morning," Mary responded.

    "Do you think he went after Buck?" Nathan asked Ezra.

    "Since Mr. Larabee didn't have the common courtesy to let any of us know his plan -- that's pure speculation," Ezra couldn't prevent a little of his disgust at Chris's desertion creep into his voice.

    "You said Vin was gone too," Nathan commented. "Is he at the reservation at the Green Corn Festival?"

    Ezra smiled ruefully. Of course, Nathan would remember the name of the festival.

    "Yeah, he rode out two days ago," JD responded.

    "Anybody go get him?" Nathan asked.

    Ezra stiffened at the question taking it as an affront to his management of the situation, "we're a little short of hands."

    "What about Josiah?" Mary asked.

    "He's indisposed," Ezra commented dryly.

    "Don't you think he should know the truth about Belle and the charges?" Nathan asked.

    Ezra turned that over. He agreed. Josiah did need to know. Ezra was missing Josiah's counsel and if there were more threats or worse to come -- they needed him.

    "More importantly, we need his gun."

    "You'll have to sober him up," Nathan shook his head warily.

    "No offense, Ezra, but I don't think the two of us can do it_and_survive," JD skeptically pointed out.

    Ezra looked over at Nathan. "I agree. We need some way to lure him out of the saloon. Then we can sober him up"

    "I can do it," Casey volunteered quickly.

    "Absolutely not," JD vetoed.

    "JD," Casey whined.

    "No, I won't hear it," JD rebutted. JD was ignoring the others in the room and his eyes only focused on Casey. "I won't let you get hurt. I won't even allow you to be put in that position."

    "I'll do it," Mary volunteered.

    "No, I need to." Casey averred. She turned to the others to plead her case, "none of this would've happened if I had told or hadn't made Buck promise. This is my fault."

    "Casey, I'm not going to let you do it," JD flatly stated.

    "JD, it's not your place," Ezra inserted himself into the discussion.

    "Not_my_place," JD objected.

    "JD, we don't have time for this." Ezra sharply cut off further protest from JD. He took a deep breath to calm himself. He needed to convince JD, not antagonize him.

    "It's going to take all four of us. I agree with Casey. I think she has the best probability of successfully getting Josiah to leave the saloon. We'll only get one shot at this," Ezra ended his argument. He looked over at Nathan and with his eyes told him to agree.

    "Nathan?" JD also asked the healer if he approved.

    "I agree with Ezra," Nathan confirmed.

    JD nodded his head but obviously was unhappy with the decision. He looked hard at Ezra. Ezra nodded at him -- I know, nothing can happen to Casey.

    "So what's the plan?"

    Four sets of eyes looked expectantly at Ezra. Ezra softly chuckled mirthlessly -- me again. He surveyed the foursome. You all are desperate. And he looked over at Casey who seemed particularly frail. Mary and her fatigue -- she'd collapse if he didn't relieve some stress from her. Nathan in bed -- the sallow skin, the sunken eyes, the hollow cheeks; the poisoning had taken a severe toll. And JD -- a lot was depending on him - -- it would have to. Ezra could not do this alone. And more than anything else that's what he wanted. To be able to do this alone. But it wasn't possible. It was going to take all of them. No choice. You better make this one good, Ezra.

    So, what the hell was going to be the plan?

    Part 46

    It was, thought Ezra, precisely like baiting a bear -- something his mother had taught him NEVER to do. "Bait them any way you like, Son," she'd said more times than he could remember, "but never _ever_ bait a bear; they take the bait and the rest of your arm with it." She'd been thinking about possible marks who had political clout and friends in high places, but if she'd seen Josiah as he was now, he'd surely have made her list. Ezra sighed. This plan wasn't LIKE baiting a bear. It WAS it. That's what he was doing.

    And he was sure he was going to regret it.

    Mary slipped in the back door of the sheriff's office and paused when Ezra turned quickly to look at her. When she saw him relax, she came on across the room to where Ezra was looking out the window at the street.

    "Any sign of him yet?" Her voice was barely a whisper, and Ezra smiled slightly.

    "My good lady, even if our illustrious Mr. Sanchez were on the very boardwalk outside, I doubt there would be a need for you to whisper." Mary's face broke into a shy smile, and she looked down at her hands quickly and then back up, her eyes sliding to see out the glass herself. Ezra laid a manicured hand upon the woman's shoulder, very carefully so as not to exceed the bounds of propriety, and she looked up at him with a sad expression. "He'll be along shortly, I'm sure," said Ezra. "Then it will be all right."

    "I hope so." Mary's voice was small this time, not whispered. Just small with fear for all the things she didn't know. She thought suddenly of when Steven -- she pulled her thoughts up, but they went on turning, showing her again the similarity: things going on under her nose that she'd not even been aware of, a man she cared for learning about it and trying to deal with it and being on the ropes from the very beginning. She sighed, and squeezed her eyes shut against the fear that pinched her heart.

    A sudden satisfied "ah!" from Ezra snapped her mind back to the present, and Mary looked at the man to see him wave her back from the window. "Go," he whispered. "Get clear until you hear me call you." Mary nodded and hurried to slip out the same back door she had come in. As she did, she heard Casey's voice from the street, high and sweet and sounding far too excited.

    "No, she's THIS way, Josiah!" Casey was saying. "Come over HERE."

    "Casey!" JD's young voice calling from a little farther down the street.

    "Just a minute, JD! Miss Belle needs to see Josiah, an' he's-- WHOOPS!"

    A heavy thump from the street in front of the sheriff's office made Mary put one hand to her mouth. She heard the grunts of the young people tugging at the big man, then, and their low voices: "C'mon, Josiah." "Get up now, Josiah."

    "Where i'she?" The big man's slurred voice rumbled like an oxcart, and Casey's eager one danced over it nervously.

    "She said she'd wait in the jail. She said to hurry, Josiah. She's -- she wants to see you powerful bad."

    More heavy thuds, this time of slow steps coming up onto the boardwalk. "Th' jail." The steps halted. Mary could almost see the big man's face turning to stare at Casey's. "Why th' jai--"

    "She really needs you, Josiah." JD's voice, breaking in. No doubt he was stepping bodily between the girl and the big man who seemed so intimidating right now, friend or not.

    A long silence, and Mary held her breath. Then heavy footsteps again, shuddering the building now, and the sound of the front door opening, and other steps and Ezra's light voice. Casey flashed suddenly into sight as she ran around the building into the alley to take Mary's hand into her own. The women looked at each other wordlessly at the sudden roar from inside.

    "BELLE!! WHAT HAVE YOU DONE WITH BELLE?!?!?"

    "Mr. Sanchez, if you would be so good--"

    The wall shuddered again, this time as Ezra was slammed into it bodily. JD's voice, quavering, rose over the sound. "Now, Josiah, don't you make me--"

    **SLAM**

    Mary and Casey stared into each other's eyes and nodded very slightly, then let go of each other's hands and ran quickly out of the alley and to the front door of the jail just as Josiah stepped into the opening. He drew up sharply as he saw the two women, and a look of confusion ran over his features.

    "Casey?" His voice was soft, puzzled, had dropped nearly to a whisper.

    The girl shook, but she stepped closer to him. "Did . . . did you find 'er, Josiah? She was really lookin' for you."

    "No." The big preacher shook his head. "I looked but . . . Where'd you say she was, Casey?"

    "In there." Casey pointed, and Mary saw the girl's finger trembled so that it could hardly point straight. But it pointed back into the office, behind Josiah. He pulled himself up straighter, a look of total bewilderment passing over his face, and put one hand on his head.

    "Funny," he said to himself. "I di'n't see --" He turned around to disappear inside again, shuffling into the dim interior. The women followed cautiously, and then Casey stepped across the threshold into the room as Josiah walked all the way to the jail cells and turned around to look at Casey again, and asked plaintively, "WHERE'd you say she is?"

    "In there." Casey pointed into a cell with one hand, the other behind her back clenched in a tight little fist. Ezra and JD, sprawled in a tangled heap on the floor near the back door watched in silence, not daring to breathe.

    Josiah turned his big head around and looked into the empty cell. Then he looked back at Casey, clearly confused.

    "Don't you _see_ 'er?" Casey's voice was shaking now. Josiah shook his head as though to clear it, and put his hands to his face. Then he looked at Casey again.

    "I don't," he whispered, "I don't see 'er, Casey. Are you _sure_ . . ."

    "Miss Belle," said Casey, her chin raising bravely and her eyes on the cot in the jail cell, "Miss Belle, here's Josiah like I said. You two can talk an' I'll be back later." She looked at Josiah. "Well," she said encouragingly, "go on in an' talk to 'er."

    Josiah turned full around to look at the empty cell. Then he took a step towards it. Then another. It brought him to the open doorway, and he hesitated only a moment before stepping across it and into the cell. Ezra and JD were on their feet so quickly that Casey was shocked and startled even though she'd known what they would do. They slammed the jail cell door with a bang that made Casey's ears ring, and locked it even as Josiah whirled to grab the bars in his hands and began to yell, "Lemme' outta' here, Ezra! EZRA! Open this door!

    "Get the first bucket," said Ezra in a hurried voice, to JD.

    JD blinked, nodded, and grabbed the first of several full buckets of water that were lined up against one wall out of the way. He handed it to Ezra, who shook his head in almost a shrug. "I apologize in advance, Mr. Sanchez, but . . ." And he heaved the water from the bucket into a long arc that crashed against Josiah's face and chest so hard that the big man staggered back from the door, shaking himself. Ezra threw down the empty bucket and it clattered as it rolled across the floor to bump against the wall.

    "The next one, Mr. Dunne. Please."

    Josiah had recovered enough that he was standing at the door again, muttering imprecations that had significantly less heat to them than they had before. Ezra took the second bucket of water from JD and drenched his friend again.

    Josiah stood in the jail cell and stared at Ezra, who still held the empty bucket in one hand. The floor was running with water that sloshed against the wall and then rolled out under the bars . The big man put one shaking hand to the side of his head, and blinked slowly. He looked at JD, then at Mary and Casey , and then he sat down upon the soaking cot in his dripping clothes, water running in streams down his face, down his arms, pooling on the floor beneath his boots. And then he put his head in his hands and bowed it.

    Mary swallowed after a long moment. "I'll get the coffee," she said softly. She left the room with Casey at her heels. Ezra and JD remained where they stood. When the women returned with a large tray, Ezra pulled the door opened to admit them, then took the tray from Mary as JD came over to hug Casey reassuringly.

    "Drink this." Ezra held out a tin cup of steaming coffee to the man sitting on the edge of the cot. Josiah looked up silently, reached out one hand, accepted the coffee through the bars, and began to drink it.

    Josiah drank five cups of coffee in the space of an hour, and Ezra marveled at the man's capacity -- in more ways than one. Then Josiah looked up once more at the gambler, his eyes bloodshot but no longer distant or confused, and he spoke in a low, unutterably weary voice. "What," he said, "do you want from me?"

    Ezra frowned, and slid a chair nearer to the bars. He sat down. "I'm afraid there are some rather serious things going on, Josiah. We need your help to find out what's happened, possibly to save the lives of some of our companions."

    "I don't know anything," moaned Josiah tiredly. He put his face in his hands again.

    "I know." Ezra sighed. This was perhaps the hardest thing he thought he'd ever done. He knew how it felt to find out you'd been used and betrayed by a woman who you'd thought loved you. "Josiah, I am afraid I have some bad news about Miss Belle."

    Josiah's head snapped up, and fear shot through his eyes.

    "I'm afraid she lied to you, my friend. And I fear it was--"

    "Oh . . . No." Josiah's voice was not angry, not loud. It was rough, torn at the edges, ripping apart in the space of a single syllable. Ezra paused, giving the man the space he needed for the room to stop spinning. Then he went on.

    "I fear it was to further some sort of plot," continued Ezra. "It seems there is irrefutable proof that Buck was not at her house at the time she claimed he assaulted her."

    Josiah's brows knit. He was listening, at least, thought Ezra, and that was good. He took a deep breath and went on, glancing once at Casey and seeing her nod back to him.

    "Buck was with Casey. Rescuing her from two trailhands who tried to -- well. And then he took her to her aunt's ranch and stayed there with her until she was no longer terrorized." Ezra stopped speaking, and the room was silent as Josiah stared at nothing, his eyes glazed.

    Casey walked up slowly with small steps nearly to the bars, and looked in sadly. "It's true," she said in a small, tearful voice. "Buck was with me, only I asked him not to tell anyone, 'cause I was . . . ashamed. . . ." Her voice cracked and she sobbed, and Josiah looked up at her quickly.

    "Oh Casey," he whispered. "I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry someone tried to hurt you." He stood up and went to the bars, and somehow Casey found herself enfolded in his arms, her own threaded through the bars and as far around his torso as she could get them. She found herself sobbing as he hugged her.

    "I didn't know," she was crying, "I didn't know until yesterday. I'd a said somethin', but I didn't know."

    Josiah held Casey and looked over the top of her head at Ezra, and his eyes looked like all the sorrow in the whole world was there, and he said: "Why would she lie to me like that, Ezra? Why did she do it?"

    "I fear there are very serious reasons," replied the gambler. "We all need to put our heads together, and quickly.

    Josiah stepped back from Casey and wiped a tired hand across his face. "I think," he said, "that I need a meal. And some dry clothes." He looked at Ezra, and Ezra looked at him.

    "Thank you," said Ezra soberly.

    "God forgive me," rumbled Josiah. JD was rattling the keys as he opened the cell door. "God forgive me."

    Part 47

    Chris rode slowly out of town just about an hour after dawn. By now he knew that continuing along the path he was on was useless. If Buck were going in this direction, Chris would have encountered some sign by now. The problem was, that meant Buck wasn't acting like the man Chris thought he knew. And if he wasn't the man Chris knew...well, that opened too many possibilities that Chris just didn't want to get into. So, he told himself, one more day. He'd hit two more towns along the border road and then he'd swing back toward Four Corners checking out all the towns along the way. It was remotely possible Buck hadn't gone very far at all, just holed up somewhere nearby to drink and stew and head back into town when he was ready.

    Of course, if that was true, then where was Vin? There was no sign of him either. No sign at all. Chris hated anything that didn't make sense. And this didn't. None of it.

    'You could let it go,' a voice whispered inside him. Let it go. Let Buck ride away. Let Vin ride after him. Not arrest Buck. Not believe Belle. Walk away from the man out of friendship, not anger. But hell, he thought as a flash of that familiar anger ran through him right then, if he had a friendship with Buck that meant anything, why had Buck left town?

    He wondered for a moment if Vin had returned to Four Corners since he'd left and he figured he'd better send a telegram when he got to the next town. It was remotely possible that he was winding himself up in knots for nothing. He looked up at the clear sky above him. There was a morning breeze blowing out of the northwest and for a brief moment the air was cool. About a mile south of him was the river. He could see tall cottonwoods standing out against the sky. He'd try a couple of towns on the Mexican side of the border, he thought, on his way back. Just to see.

    The sound of a horse approaching rapidly interrupted his thoughts. A red-haired man on a dun-colored horse galloped around a curve in the road. He reined in hard when he saw Chris.

    "Hey, mister!" He shouted from a distance of about ten feet away. "Am I glad to see you! Didn't think I'd find anyone on this road." He turned his horse back toward the way he'd come and waved Chris forward. "Come on! You gotta help me." He kicked his horse into a trot and then pulled up again when it became clear that Chris wasn't going to follow him. His horse danced nervously back and forth. "Come on!" the man shouted. "There ain't no time to waste!"

    Chris's hand rested lightly on his pistol as he studied the man in front of him. There was something vaguely familiar about the color of his hair or the cut of his beard, though Chris wasn't exactly sure what it was specifically. "Hold up," he said sharply to the impatient man. "What do you want?'

    The man let his horse dance back toward Chris. His eyes flashed with a quick, calculating light that put Chris on edge. Then the man took a deep breath and his whole posture seemed to slump in defeat and Chris thought maybe he'd been mistaken about the flash.

    "Look, mister," Chris could hear a soft trembling in the man's voice. "I'm sorry. I don't mean to be rude, but you gotta help me," he pleaded. "It's my wife. And...and my son. They're trapped. The cabin...I couldn't--" He reined his horse around hard again. "Come on! _Please_! You gotta help me." And then he was back off down the road again without waiting for Chris this time.

    And Chris had only time to think, 'What the hell? Gotta be careful,' before he was following him at a gallop almost against his own will. His horse settled quickly into a smooth ground-eating lope as he tried to catch up with the man on the dun horse.

    They rode like that for a couple of minutes. Then, Chris saw it, over the ridge to the south, smoke rising on the morning air. 'Oh my God!' he spurred his horse and passed the other man as if he were standing still. He could smell the thick scent of something burning, taste the acrid smoke on the back of his throat. Wife, the man had said. Son. He forgot careful. He forgot suspicious. And he rode.

    The small cabin was already burning steadily when he rode into the clearing. Chris reined in his horse and leaped off before it had stopped completely. Water, he thought in panic. Where was the well? And it didn't even register that there were no horses in the corral. He ran toward the house and as he approached he could feel the heat from the rising flames. There was still time, he thought. He could still make it.

    'My God!' he thought. Why weren't they screaming? There should be screams. Why couldn't he hear them screaming?

    "Mr. Larabee," came a quiet voice behind him.

    Chris's head had barely started to turn sideways when something dark and heavy slammed into the side of his head. The world flashed white, then black, then disappeared.

    Chris Larabee was lying on his back on the dusty ground and Striker was standing over him when Thompson finally rode up. The fire, which had mostly been brush around the small, old cabin was already starting to die.

    "Damn, Striker," Thompson said as he dismounted. "You're a mean man, you know that?"

    Striker shrugged. "Worked didn't it?" he said. "Man like Larabee, you can't be too careful. You got to hit them where it hurts them." He turned dark eyes to Thompson. "If you don't know that, sooner or later, you'll be in trouble."

    'Yeah, yeah,' Thompson thought. 'Tricks'll only get you so far. The rest is all skill and I got that.' "You want me to take him?" Thompson asked. Not because he wanted to make the long trip to take Larabee in, but because he figured Striker would tell him to anyway and he wanted to beat him to the punch.

    "No." Striker's response was short and flat. "I want you back in town. Tell Hammersmith the status here. Tell him the rest proceeds on schedule. Got that?"

    "Got it," Thompson said blandly, though his eyes glittered. He helped Striker load Chris into the saddle and tied his hands and feet, like he'd done with Wilmington and Tanner the day before.

    "Cover his eyes," Striker said.

    "What?"

    "He'll wake up before I get there. I don't want him to know where we're going or who I am. The less he knows the better." He looked straight at Thompson again with that flat calculating stare. "Never let anyone know any more than they have to," he said, then he mounted up, took the lead rope Thompson handed him and trotted away from the clearing.

    Thompson spent a few extra minutes checking to make sure they'd left nothing behind. As he prepared to ride out, he took one more look back at the scorched and blackened cabin. He wondered what the cabin's owner would think when he came back. And then he wondered if Striker ever even thought about things like that at all.

    Part 48

    Josiah wanted to crawl into a dark hole somewhere and die. He looked at himself in the mirror and wondered why it was even worth trying to clean up and become someone again. His shirt looked as if he'd slept in it for three days, sweat stains under the arm, dirt and grime on the front where he'd obviously fallen flat on his face. Unshaven, unkempt, just generally a mess. His head ached and his stomach felt queasy. It felt even more queasy when he looked into his own bloodshot eyes and tried to think clearly about what had happened.

    What _had_ happened? Belle had lied to him. Lied! She'd cried and begged him for forgiveness. She'd left him that damned letter saying she'd been wrong, the shame was too much to bear and she had to leave him, though she didn't want to. And it had all been lies! How could she have done it? How could he have believed her? He scrubbed his hand across his bristly chin. This town was in trouble. His town. Partly because of what he'd done to Buck. He winced just thinking about it. He couldn't crawl in a hole. He couldn't slink away from this. Things had been done that couldn't be undone, maybe. But they could sure as hell be paid for. And if there was one thing Josiah knew it was paying for his sins.

    He turned away from the mirror and pulled his suspenders down off his shoulders. First, he needed to get cleaned up, get the stink of stale whiskey out of his bones. Then, he needed to find out just exactly what had been happening while he'd been, well, distracted was probably the best word. Then, he needed to just do what needed doing until this whole thing was turned around and made right again.

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

    Mary wanted answers. What she had so far were questions. Last night she had listed off for Ezra all the events in town over the last week. What was important and what was not? Was someone trying to damage the seven men who protected the town or was this just a week where everything happened at once? Where had Buck gone? Where had Chris gone? Who had tried to poison Nathan? Who was Belle and why had she lied about Buck? Had something happened at the Delano Mine or was it just another accident?

    She and Casey had searched through the papers for the last week, but they'd found nothing. Difficult to believe they would have found anything since Mary wrote and published the paper herself. Presumably she'd know if there was anything significant there. But they'd been looking for patterns and sometimes patterns could only be seen by looking back.

    Mary also got weekly papers from most of the surrounding towns. Thirteen papers in all, reporting on events for nearly a hundred miles altogether. She'd read them every week and pull articles for her own readers. In her turn, she sent a copy of her newspaper every week to the other weekly newspapers. This morning, she'd set Casey to the task of searching through those papers for the last month. It was a grimy dirty task, but Casey had set to with enthusiasm and Mary suspected she was pathetically glad to be doing anything that didn't take her out into the crowded streets of Four Corners.

    Mary's instructions were to look for anything that had to do with poisoning, rape charges, mine accidents, and Indian troubles. She hoped in the broader circle they might find some sort of pattern.

    "Mary?" Casey's hesitant voice spoke behind Mary, who was trying, not very successfully to work on an article for the paper.

    Mary turned to face her. In Casey's hand were a sheaf of papers. Her hair had straggled loose of its tie back and she had a dark smudge on one cheek from the newsprint. "Have you gotten through all those papers already, Casey?" Mary asked.

    Casey shook her head. "About half of them maybe. But I found lots of things. I want you to look and see if any of them are important."

    Casey's voice sounded so anxious that Mary wanted to take her in her arms and give her a hug, but she sensed it would be exactly the wrong thing to do at the moment. Casey felt responsible for Buck leaving town, for things falling apart and she needed time and space to see that things were not exactly as she saw them. In the meantime, Mary could give her work to do and find other ways of helping her take her mind away from it. She smiled at the girl. "Show me what you have."

    They spread the articles out on the layout table. Casey laid each piece of paper down carefully so they all laid flat in front of the two women. "Okay," Casey said. "Some of these might not be important, but you said anything and since we don't really know..." Her voice trailed off.

    Mary touched her on the arm. "You did exactly what I'd hoped, Casey. Now," she turned briskly back to the newsprint laid out for her. "Tell me what you've found."

    Casey smiled shyly and pointed to the first article at the very top left corner of the board. "This is about a mine that sold up last year and the new owners." She looked sideways at Mary. "I know the part about selling the mine isn't new, but you said anything on mines and the _article_ is real new." She looked up at Mary who nodded for her to continue. "Then there's three articles about poisoning, but I don't think..." She pointed. "These two are about cattle poisoned at a watering hole. I think it's actually the same water hole, or, I mean, the same cattle, just in two different papers. And then, there's this one about food poisoning at the hotel in Fort Laramie."

    "Food poisoning?" Mary asked sharply.

    "Yes." Casey frowned. "But I don't think it's the same as what happened to Nathan because it says they traced the cause to bad meat."

    "The poisoning was supposed to be related to bad meat," Mary said thoughtfully. "You'd better save that one, Casey," she said. "Just in case."

    Casey nodded and then pointed to another article. "This one's about a mine cave-in over at Sweetwater. It wasn't too bad. No one was hurt and they say in the article the reason it caved in, but you said to look for anything. And this one," she pointed at another article, "is about another mine owner that sold up and moved back East. The article says a lot of the little mines are selling out to bigger ones as the West gets more settled." Casey looked up at Mary. "Does any of this mean anything?"

    Mary shook her head, frustrated. "I don't know, Casey. I just don't know."

    "The only other thing I found," Casey's voice trembled a little. "Was this article about a woman who was attacked over in Eagle Bend. They don't say she was...you know...but the way it reads, I thought...."

    Mary squeezed her shoulder. "You've done really well, Casey. I don't know if any of these articles are important, but they're just the kind of thing we need to look for. Would you mind going through the rest of them. See if you can find any more like the ones you've found already."

    Casey nodded, bobbing her head up and down. "Okay," she said. "Okay, I'll do that." She left the articles she'd found so far, lying on the layout table. Mary studied them for a few minutes after she'd left then shook her head in frustration. What was going on? What did they need to know?

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

    JD wanted something to do. Casey and Mary were at the newspaper office going through old articles and JD couldn't hardly see the use of that. He didn't really care about all the whys and wherefores of what was going on, all he wanted was a direction. If someone could just tell him where Buck had gone or where Chris had gone he could ride out there and ask questions. He could _do_ something. All this waiting and pondering and looking for clues was wearing him out.

    He walked to the livery and found the blacksmith there as well as Yosemite, talking about a horse at the stable that needed new shoes. JD asked Yosemite and the smithy, since he was there anyway, if they remembered either Buck or Chris riding out. Yosemite allowed as how he couldn't remember Buck leaving at all, though he had a vague memory of Chris coming in in the late morning the day before, saddling up and riding out. He hadn't said a word, much to JD's disappointment. Only notable thing that had happened lately, Yosemite told him, was when that fancy lady friend of Josiah's had ridden out of town in her carriage.

    "You never heard such a ruckus," the livery man said with a chuckle. "The cushions had to be just so. Her bags had to be packed in the exact way she ordered them. Her driver was a big hulk of a man. Never said a word. Just did everything she asked. Said the journey would take three days and she didn't expect to be shaken out of her boots every inch of the way. Woman like that could drive a man to drink," Yosemite said with a laugh.

    '_Did_ drive a man to drink,' JD thought as he thanked the man. He turned to leave then turned back, more in desperation than anything else. "Isn't there anything else you can think of?" he asked. "Anything? It doesn't have to make sense."

    Yosemite shook his head though he looked for a moment as if he was trying to grasp an elusive memory. "Nope, sure can't say as I can think of anything, JD. 'Cept for the trail crews, and, you know, that other, it's been quiet down here."

    JD sighed and he was about to turn away again when the smithy spoke up. He was normally a silent man and JD had to admit he couldn't exactly remember his name. "Hold on there," he said quietly. "There was one thing."

    "Yes?" JD said, trying not to sound too eager.

    "There was a fella in just the other day. Brought his horse in and wanted it reshod."

    JD couldn't hide his disappointment. "Is that all?"

    "Well, his shoes were good. Practically brand new. Told him he didn't need new ones, but he insisted. Was real adamant about it. Checked 'em over real good too. Before he'd let me put 'em on. Said he didn't want any cheap 'marked' ones."

    "What'd he mean by that?" JD asked, interested in spite of himself.

    "Somebody'd marked his horse's shoes." The smithy said with a quiet confidence. "I expect he didn't want me to know that, so he went on about cheap shoes with defect marks on 'em. But it was clear that someone wanted to be able to follow his horse and they'd put a mark on one of the shoes so they could do it."

    "Do you still have the shoe?" JD asked.

    "Sure do?"

    "Could I see it?"

    "Hell, you can have it."

    "Great." And JD waved goodbye to Yosemite as he trotted off down the alley after the smithy. He supposed it didn't have anything much to do with the matter at hand, but it was interesting in its own right. Maybe someday JD would want to mark some horse's shoe himself.

    Ten minutes later, horseshoe in hand, he was back on the street and his frustration returned. There had to be something he could do. He'd crossed the street and headed back toward the newspaper office when he spotted Mr. Delano across the street heading toward a restaurant. "Hey! Hey, Mr. Delano," JD called.

    Mr. Delano, an average looking man of middle years, turned. JD could see worry in the new lines on his face and the tiredness in his eyes. JD trotted quickly over to him. "Heading back to the mine?" he asked.

    "After I eat," Delano said. "I find it difficult to stay away for long. Especially..." he let his voice trail off. The contrast between the blustery man of yesterday and the obviously tired and defeated man of today surprised JD and he realized that he'd really like to do something to make him feel better.

    "You know we really tried to find something out at the mine," JD said earnestly. "Me and Josiah. We didn't just pretend to look. There just wasn't anything there."

    Mr. Delano laid a hand on his shoulder. "I know. I've been a mining man for twenty years. If there'd been something there I suspect I would have found it. But I hoped another set of eyes..." He sighed. "Mining's a rough business, JD. Accidents happen. You lose good men. But this is different. I know it. I just wish I could figure out how."

    On impulse, JD said. "Mrs. Travis is looking through the newspapers to see if she can find anything about the mines and...about other things that have been going on. You should talk to her before you leave. I could take you."

    Mr. Delano looked off at the horizon for a moment as if considering what JD had said. After a minute he turned back. "I can wait an extra hour before I head back," he said. "I'd be pleased to go with you."

    He and JD fell into step together as they walked off toward the news office.

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

    "Mary?" Casey's shy voice interrupted Mary again. This time she'd been in the middle of writing next week's editorial and had completely lost track of her surroundings so that she jumped when Casey said her name.

    "Oh, Casey, you startled me!" she said, then she smiled and brushed a lock of hair off her forehead. "Did you have something for me?"

    "I've finished going through the papers," Casey said. "I have a few more articles if you'd like to look at them.

    Mary got up from her desk and joined Casey at the layout table where she'd already spread out the new articles. There were only three more. "Here's another one about a mine that was sold. It says the mine was not in good shape and the owner had to sell up and move. Just like the last one," Casey said. "I know it's not like cave-ins or anything, but I thought..."

    Mary studied the article. "This mine is on the other side of the reservation," she said as she read the description of the mine sale and the mine owner's comments. Mention of the reservation reminded her. "Did you find any articles about Indian troubles?" she asked.

    Casey shook her head. "The only other article I found that I thought looked anything like what you wanted was this one." She pointed. "It's just about the trail crews coming into towns and tearing things up. I guess it's an editorial, really, not an article. But..." Casey looked away from her at something really interesting on the back wall.

    "Casey..." Mary begin.

    Just then the front door slammed open causing both Mary and Casey to jump. JD came in, closely followed by Mr. Delano. "What did you find?" JD asked as soon as he'd stepped through the door. "Anything? Casey, you look like you've been playing in an ink well," he said abruptly.

    "Oh, JD," Casey said with a frown, forgetting to be nervous of Mr. Delano. "_I've_ been working. Unlike some people who just take off every chance they get."

    "Oh, yeah, right. I have obligations, Casey," JD said. Suddenly, he recollected that there were others present. "Did you find anything?" he asked again.

    This time it was Mary's turn to frown. "We don't really know, JD. Why don't you come and look. You, too," she said by way of invitation to Mr. Delano.

    Casey pointed at the articles spread across the table. JD looked at them quickly and said, "Well, I don't see anything here. They're all about different things."

    "The pattern certainly isn't obvious," Mary said. "Still...with so many things happening in town in the last week."

    Mr. Delano looked up abruptly. "There have been more problems than just the mine? What's been happening?"

    Casey and JD stumbled over themselves to tell him about the bank robbery and the trail crews and the Indian troubles. JD explained about Nathan's poisoning. He started to tell him about Belle and the rape charge against Buck, but Casey kicked him and finished up by saying, "Well, and some other stuff too."

    "Do you think it's all connected?" Mr. Delano asked.

    "Frankly," Mary said, "We don't know. I really don't think so, but when you don't know what's significant, you have to question everything."

    "Hmmm..." Mr. Delano said. "Hmmm." He appeared lost in thought for several minutes, then he stood. "You know, I think it's time I started back to the mine. I've been away too long. I want to thank all of you for listening to me."

    "Mr. Delano?" Mary asked, curious about the change that seemed to have come over him. "Did you discover something? Is there something important in the articles."

    "Hmmm," Mr. Delano was obviously still distracted. "Oh! No, I don't think so. Although," he said after a pause, "if you wanted to look into something, well, I didn't know Emerson, the man who owns this mine," he indicated the article about the most recent sale that Casey had found. "Had sold up. Hadn't heard anything about it. And you can see he's across the reservation from me--a good long distance in miles, but he's one of the closest mines to me--so usually I know. You might just check it out. In fact, you might check all of them out. All the mines you've got here. They're close enough that it might have some bearing." He rose and settled his hat back on his head.

    "And you, Mr. Delano?" Mary asked. "You seemed to think of something. Was it important?"

    "I don't know," Delano said. "I'm not even quite sure what it is. But your remark about questioning everything. It's a good one. And I think maybe I need to go back to my mine and look at everything again. Maybe like I'm seeing it for the first time."

    He tipped his hat to Mary and Casey and shook JD's hand and then he left rather quickly, leaving Mary and Casey and JD to look after him somewhat bemusedly. "What's got into him?" JD asked.

    Mary looked toward the door thoughtfully. "You know, JD," she said, "I think he's realized that just because there doesn't seem to be an answer that that doesn't mean there isn't an answer." She looked at the two young people in front of her and she consciously straightened up and wiped her hands on her apron. "And I think he's right. We can't give up. And we can't believe that just because the answer isn't obvious that there isn't an answer. Casey, could you write down the names of those mines? I'm going to telegraph them and see if they can give us any information that might help. Then, I want you and JD to talk to everyone you can find and see if any of them saw or talked to Buck or Chris before they left town. We need answers."

    Part 49

    "Wake up, you two!"

    Sullivan's voice was distant but sharp, and it brought Buck groping up through the heaviness of deep sleep to late-morning sunlight. He shook his head, wondering how he'd slept so deeply when things were so dangerous and uncertain. Sullivan called out again, closer.

    "HEY!! I said WAKE UP!" He was leading Buck's grey towards the tree, and it was saddled. Buck groaned and looked at Vin, next to him. The tracker was slowly stirring, waking. Buck laid his tied hands on Vin's left arm, next to him, to shake him a tiny bit, afraid that if he didn't wake up Sullivan would be only to happy to "help" him. He frowned when he realized that Vin's arm was warm to the touch, even through his shirt.

    "C'mon, Vin." He shook the other man again very gently. "Wake up so Sullivan ain't got an excuse t' do nothin'."

    Vin moaned slightly as he pushed himself higher against the tree, blinking. Sullivan stopped about 15 feet away from the two men and stood looking at them with a closed expression. He had the reins to Buck's horse in his right hand, and a wad of rope in his left. He lifted it to gesture to Buck and then the grey.

    "Git on," he said flatly. "Now."

    Buck fought to get to his feet, his bad leg protesting the movement by sending a long sharp flash of pain from his ankle all the way up his side. He gasped, caught himself on the tree with his hands, and fought to get his balance as dizziness grabbed him and spun the clearing suddenly. He heard Sullivan's voice again. "Ain't got all day, Wilmington."

    Suddenly there were hands on his arm, dragging him, and Buck was at the grey's side and being shoved up into the saddle. His bad leg was stiff from having sat under the tree so long, and when the knee bent in the stirrup he had to bite his lips to keep from reacting audibly. But he wouldn't let Sullivan see or hear anything of it; he wouldn't give the man the satisfaction. Not one bit. Buck lowered his head and concentrated on his breathing, determined not to pass out. No way this bastard was going to win. None. He felt his foot jerked and moved around as Sullivan tied his foot to the stirrup and its leather, then after a few moments the same thing on the other side. This time, it was the leg that was injured, and Buck couldn't help but catch his breath when Sullivan roughly shook his foot around by the heel as he wrapped the bindings and lashed them down. He heard Sullivan laugh very softly, opened his eyes, looked at him hard.

    Sullivan stopped and looked back. Then he reached up, his eyes still locked with Buck's and quickly lashed the man's tied wrists to the saddlehorn again. "Hate me yet?" he asked softly. Buck just stared at him, then looked away casually and studied a rocky escarpment to the east. Sullivan's face darkened, and he jerked the grey to the tree and tied it to one of the branches, then stalked off.

    When he was out of earshot, Buck looked down at Vin and called to him. The tracker looked up from where he sat, and Buck saw that his face was slightly flushed again, like it had been the evening before. His eyes were dull. "Buck," said Vin hoarsely, "I don't think--"

    "It'll be ok, Vin." It wasn't what Buck had wanted to say exactly, but he knew he didn't want Vin to put out-loud words to what he had been thinking just then. He looked at the tracker's pained features and wondered how the hell Vin was going to make it even another mile. "We gotta' be gettin' close," he said, "to have stopped so long here."

    Vin just turned his face away with a weariness that made Buck feel suddenly scared, and he looked to see that the tracker was watching Sullivan, who was approaching again with his own horse's reins in one hand and Vin's in the other. He walked up to Vin, dropped both sets of reins to ground-tie the animals, and looked at the tracker almost genially.

    "We got a ways left to go," he said softly. "Time for you to get back up here."

    Vin looked at Sullivan but didn't move for a long time. Then, slowly, he bent his legs and shifted his weight to one side, starting to try and push himself up the tree to stand. He pushed his back against the trunk behind him, his face tight and his neck corded with the effort of trying to do it without moving his tied hands or his shoulder. Finally he was standing, leaning back against the tree, his head tipped back and his eyes fixed on Sullivan. His shirt was still askew from when Buck had checked the wound, and the suspender on that side hung down over his arm in a slack loop. He stood there, breathing heavily, his face more deeply flushed than before. Sullivan crooked his finger at Vin and his voice was softer, slick with menace.

    "Now. Come here," he said.

    Vin shook his head slowly. "No." His voice was so soft it was barely audible in the late morning stillness. Sullivan drew back in mock surprise.

    "No?" He advanced closer towards Vin, half circling as though the wounded man leaning against the tree might suddenly attack him.

    "Bring my horse here," rasped Vin. "I can't get there."

    "Oh, but I think you can." Sullivan stopped walking and leaned indolently on one hip, looking at Vin. He turned then, to look at Buck, who sat his tied horse to one side and almost behind him. "Don't you think he can?"

    "Go t' hell," growled Buck.

    "Oh, we're already there," said Sullivan. "All three of us." He looked back at Vin. "You come here," he said flatly. "Now."

    Vin shook his head again very slightly, and Buck saw that the hair along the side of Vin's face was wet, that sweat glistened across his forehead. He realized, suddenly, what even standing up was costing the tracker. He threw a sharp look at Sullivan and realized with a sense of helpless rage that their captor knew it, too. Sullivan took two steps back suddenly, drew his pistol, and pointed it at Buck. "You come here, or I'll kill this useless man now," he whispered. "Then I'll be free to play nursemaid to you, ok?"

    Vin closed his eyes, and Buck gritted his teeth. Nothing he could say would make it anything but worse. He knew it. But that didn't make it easier to keep his mouth shut. When Vin pushed off from the tree with the back of his good shoulder and took a single faltering step towards the black gelding, his face closed up with renewed pain, and Buck had to bite his lips to keep from cussing Sullivan seven ways from Sunday. Vin managed to get several more steps before he went down, heavily, and his impact with the ground broke loose a choked cry. Sullivan bent over the tracker and shook his head.

    "You didn't get very far," he said. "Get up."

    'Leave him alone,' thought Buck. 'Come and get me, you bastard. I'm the one you want.'

    Sullivan holstered his gun, suddenly, and grabbed Vin by the arms and dragged him to his feet. Vin recoiled reflexively against the pull, but Sullivan just jerked him the harder towards the black, then shoved him up into the saddle, cursing when Vin nearly toppled out of it the other way. Sullivan lashed his wrists quickly to the saddlehorn as Vin bent nearly double in pain, his breathing ragged again and breaking off into gasps as Sullivan jerked his feet into the stirrups roughly, and tied them. He finished and looked at Buck with a dark, defiant expression in his face, even as Vin was still reeling behind him. Sullivan went to his own horse then, and ran the lead rope back through the hardware on Vin's horse first this time, then to Buck's. He glanced up at Buck as he fastened it off, but the other man looked away again.

    Fine, thought Sullivan, we'll see.

    He mounted up and led off at a jog, satisfied at the sharpness of the cry that burst out behind him when he did, and then he pulled on the lead rope that went to Tanner's horse so that the black came abreast of his own mount, the grey close enough now that he knew Wilmington could hear and see everything. Tanner was to his left. Which meant that his wounded shoulder was right there in easy reach. Sullivan turned back in his saddle to look at Wilmington. He looked him right in the eye, and then he looked at Vin and said cheerfully, "Only another eight hours to go!" and heartily clapped the wounded man on the shoulder.

    The sound he got for his trouble was like a mountain cat's cry, and Sullivan turned back so that his eyes held Wilmington's again, ten feet behind the two of them. He knew Tanner had passed out and was slumped over his saddle now, but he didn't care. He looked at Wilmington and knew the answer, but he wanted to ask anyway. "You hate me yet? Eh? You hate me NOW?"

    "Why?" Buck felt like he could explode the ropes right off him if he tried. Vin's agonized cry had seared him like it was his own pain, and he wanted only to tear Sullivan to pieces, bit by tiny bit.

    "Because I am paid to hate you," said Sullivan. "Don't you understand? So it has to work both ways. To make sense." He released the lead rope to Vin's horse so that the gelding dropped back, and then he slowed to a walk as he led the string up a steeper slope and more deeply into the mountains. Buck looked at Vin slumped over the gelding's whithers, in front of him, and wondered how the hell either of them could make it through eight more hours of riding like this. Then he started working on the thing Sullivan had accidentally given him: that he wasn't a bounty hunter after Vin, at all.

    Who had paid Sullivan to hate Buck? And why?

    Part 50

    "You know, Casey, you look awful."

    "Oh, OH . . . thanks a lot, JD. I really appreciate that." Casey was clearly offended and ready to flounce away.

    JD beseechingly reached out to Casey. "Casey, you know that came out wrong. Please . . . please, sit with me."

    Casey reluctantly returned to the table in Mary's kitchen. Using the news stories Casey compiled and the names of other mines from Delano, Mary had gone to wire surrounding towns gaining information on the status of the mines in the region and to see if there was any word on Buck and Chris.

    In the meantime, JD and Casey had again talked to as many townspeople as possible seeing if they could get any information on Buck's or Chris's leaving. All they had been able to find out was that Miss Molly, the new seamstress, had seen Buck stalk along the boardwalk with packed saddlebags two days ago. That was apparently just before Buck left town. She related how she had tried to greet him but thought he hadn't even seen her. "He was truly frightening," Molly said, "dark and threatening. I've never seen him like that."

    JD had. And it took quite some effort to make his easy-going friend act like that. But never, never had he'd seen Buck in a situation forced to defend his own honor. And Buck chose to leave. JD had to wonder if he'd ever see him again.

    Yosemite, the liveryman, was positive Chris had left late yesterday morning. When JD talked to him a second time, he also thought he remembered a man, about Chris's height, trim build dark hair on the boardwalk intently watching Chris leave. Been around town a few days, mostly playing poker. Yosemite didn't know if it meant much but he thought he was unusually interested in Larabee leaving town. Yosemite thought he'd make trouble with Larabee gone but nothing seemed to come of it. Yosemite had shrugged, dismissing the observation as not important.

    And that had been it. How could two of the best-known men in Four Corners just leave and no one seemed to have really noticed? Probably because it wasn't that unusual. Damn, JD wished they had said something before leaving. The not knowing was wearing.

    It had been that way with Casey. He knew something had happened but it was the not knowing. Well, he knew now. Some bastards had hurt her like no man should. Sure, it could have been worse. But it was bad enough. JD looked over at Casey and thought if he said 'boo' the girl would shriek with terror. She seemed so fragile that JD wanted to wrap her in a cocoon and let no one touch her, let no one frighten her, let no one hurt her. That's why he hadn't wanted her involved this morning. A drunk Josiah could be frightening, depending how deep he was in his cups. And JD didn't want Casey frightened anymore.

    JD looked over at Casey and smiled gently. She smiled tentatively back. "It went well with Josiah, don't you think?"

    JD moved stiffly, exaggerating some slight injury from when Josiah had knocked him to the floor, "oh yeah," JD grinned mischievously, "don't hurt much at all." He looked over slyly, "you know, you could kiss me and make me forget about all my pains."

    Casey's laughter tinkled like piano keys, "Oh JD, you're silly."

    JD sobered. "You did good, Casey."

    Casey nodded and a smile fleetingly crossed her face before it was that quickly gone. You'd have thought it was an illusion if you weren't watching her closely, the smile was that brief.

    JD scooted his chair closer to Casey and grabbed the front legs of her chair and scraped it across the floor pulling her in front of him. He wanted to gently tip her chin so she'd look at him but he was afraid that would be pushing her, so he restrained himself. Guess he'd have to try to tell her. He was never good at that.

    "Casey," JD broached the subject tentatively, "I want to help. I want to protect you and not let you ever hurt again."

    Casey shook her head sadly never raising her chin from her chest. "JD, you can't possibly do that for me."

    "I can try," JD earnestly believed that.

    Casey smiled skeptically. She started to look around the room, anywhere but at him. JD could see the slight quiver of her lips and was afraid she'd start crying again. Damn it, Casey, those men aren't worth one of your tears.

    "Casey," JD paused till Casey looked at him, "Let me help you."

    "How JD?" Casey plaintively pleaded.

    "Put your hand up, palm facing me."

    Casey frowned at JD, not sure what he meant to do. JD smiled encouragingly and nodded at her left hand. Casey raised her hand. JD hesitated a minute, then slowly raised his own hand lightly against hers. He let it rest there a minute and looked at Casey. She still seemed confused but not frightened. Definitely not frightened. JD increased the pressure against her palm. Her eyes widened and she slightly gasped but didn't draw away. JD licked his lips and kept applying pressure till Casey either had to counter that pressure or let him push her hand back. Casey chose to counter the pressure. JD smiled and spread his fingers and Casey's fingers followed, pressed against his. He folded his fingers over her hand and she followed.

    JD's smile broadened. He gently rubbed his thumb against her hand. She started to say something and JD shushed her and gently shook his head no. Her breath had quickened and her mouth had opened slightly. JD watched her lick her lips and saw the soft glistening of moisture on them.

    "Casey?"

    She nodded her head.

    Still holding her hand, JD pulled ever so slightly on her hand encouraging her to lean forward and come to him. Her eyes never left his until they were so close JD gently pressed his lips to hers. He pulled on her hand and increased the pressure. Casey took the cue and pressed her lips more firmly to his. JD cupped her head with his other hand at the back of her neck and tilted his head to . . .

    "Casey, JD." They quickly broke apart and pushed their chairs away from each other.

    Mary entered the kitchen. She was so intent on sorting through telegraph messages, she suddenly stopped and looked at them intently. Mary slowly looked over at JD, then Casey. It almost appeared she was going to say something but decided against it. "We've got to go and meet the others. I just wanted to pull one file and I'm ready." Mary stepped back to the front office.

    "Guess, we'd better go," Casey's voice was husky.

    "Casey?"

    "Later, JD." Neither realized they just weren't going to have a later.

    When they arrived at Nathan's clinic, Josiah had returned from the church, Nathan had shaved and cleaned up, and Ezra was there too. And that was it. No Buck. No Vin. No Chris.

    Casey and Mary sat in the two chairs in the room. Nathan was in bed but sitting up. Josiah was leaning back against the wall, nursing another cup of coffee. Both Ezra and JD stood also.

    "I was just bringing Josiah and Nathan up to date on what we know about Chris and Buck. They both agreed that one of us needs to ride out to the reservation and get Vin." Ezra quickly summarized the conversation that had gone on before they arrived. "Did you find out anymore about Buck or Chris?"

    "Not much," JD reported, "only to confirm when they actually left. Miss Molly told us she saw Buck with packed saddlebags two days ago -- real upset. Yosemite confirmed Chris left about 24 hours later. He thought he saw someone watching Chris but nothing seems to have come of it."

    "I wired towns about mining problems but checked to see if there was any word on them. Nothing," Mary related, clearly discouraged.

    Ezra sighed deeply. "Shit," he said under his breath, not loud enough for the ladies to hear. "Well, if we're going to find them, we'd better retrieve our tracker."

    "I'll go get Vin, Ezra," JD volunteered.

    Ezra nodded his head. "Thank you, JD." One thing about JD, he was always eager to take on a task. Ezra really appreciated that quality in JD over these past few days. Ezra sure didn't want to do it. Although they seemed harmless enough, he wasn't comfortable on the reservation and would rather not go there himself.

    Ezra surveyed the room and everyone seemed to be in agreement with the plan to get Vin. "Okay then, let's put our heads together about what has been happening. Mary?"

    Mary pulled out her notes. "Casey and I put together a list of events that have happened over the past week in town. Casey then went through newspapers from the surrounding towns for the past month and we tried to see if there was any pattern to the events. This is what we got. The only bank robbery in the area in the past month was here. The Delano Mine cave-in and Delano's insistence that someone was after him. Several mines in the area have either been sold or had accidents. The trail crews - Casey's attack, several episodes of drunkenness, disorderly conduct, and gunplay. The talk of needing a real doctor. Nathan's poisoning. There was one other poisoning related to bad meat. 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."

    "Any reports of any Indian troubles in surrounding towns?" asked Nathan.

    "No, not at all." Casey piped in, having done the research.

    "It almost seems that . . ." Ezra started to say something and then the room got very quiet.

    "Ezra?" Nathan asked.

    "The bank robbery. The trail crews' actions. Both seem to test our response. Your poisoning. Buck accused of rape." Ezra listed events specifically targeted at the seven.

    "I attack Buck over a false charge by a woman who had now left town." Josiah couldn't look at the others as he explained what happened with Buck.

    "Chris is gone. No explanation. No word." Mary commented.

    "It's unexplained. Doesn't seem related. It just seems like someone is after us and they're doing a good job," JD mused.

    "It might seem like that but do we have any evidence?" Nathan asked.

    "No, NO." JD shook his head disgusted. "Just my gut."

    Mary stiffened sharply at JD's last comment and Ezra rose from his relaxed pose against the wall, frowning at Mary.

    "When did we hear that before?" Mary asked Ezra.

    "Delano," Ezra replied. Four sets of confused eyes looked at Ezra. "We had almost the exact same conversation with Delano about the mine cave-in and his insistence someone is after him. Mary, what do you have on the mining stories?"

    Mary spread a map out on Nathan's bed and the rest gathered around the bed. "I've marked the mines in the area that have been sold. Almost all of them had some type of accident and/or deaths prior to being sold. Near Sweetwater, there was a mine cave-in. There was an article about the owner of Apex Mining and how many of the small mines in the area have sold out. They include Kirksen, Mitchell, and Jefferson -- they all had problems before selling. Emerson sold out -- he had a mine on the far side of the reservation from Delano." As Mary related the stories she pointed to the locations of the mines on the map.

    "So the only mines in the area that haven't sold recently are Delano Mining and Apex Mining," Nathan observed as he looked at the locations of the mines and the stories.

    "So Apex is the only one not having troubles?" JD asked.

    "Well, not that they told me. But I had to wire the mine. The only road access is from the northwest over here so they don't come to Four Corners," Mary explained. "I do have a theory why these mines are being taken over."

    "Please enlighten us," Ezra invited.

    "This article was in my files. The federal government passed a law called The Apex Law. According to this law, a miner can pursue a vein an infinite distance if the apex was in the surface boundary of his claim."

    "What's an apex?" Casey asked.

    "It's the top of a vein," Josiah explained.

    "What happens if the miner doesn't have the apex?" Casey asked.

    "If it is subsequently discovered that the claimant erred and the apex is not located in his boundaries, then he loses the right to follow the vein," Mary read from the article.

    Ezra let out a low whistle. "So you have a rich vein and don't have the apex, you lose all rights to mine the vein. Not only that, whoever owns the apex has the right to mine it on your claim. I'm sure this law is leading to some very expensive and confusing litigation."

    "You know, it seems Mr. Delano may have a point about him being a target," Josiah commented.

    "He's been begging for someone to go out there again," Mary added.

    "It seems with this new information that his mine should be investigated again," Ezra agreed. Ezra looked over at Josiah. There was no way the man could make the six-hour ride to Delano's today. That left either him or JD. JD was the logical one to send to Delano's but he was going to the reservation. Aw hell, that meant he'd have to go retrieve Vin from his party.

    "I think JD should ride over and take a look around there again," Ezra nodded at JD. "He knows the lay of the land and wouldn't be starting from scratch initiating a further investigation." I thought the leader got to pick his assignments, Ezra thought disgusted. But it didn't make sense for him to go to Delano's.

    "Fine by me," JD agreed, "but I was supposed to get Vin."

    "Yes, well, I will have to go retrieve him," Ezra volunteered resignedly.

    "Will you be leaving now?" Mary asked.

    Ezra nodded. "JD can get to Delano's before dark and I can make the round trip to the reservation and be back today if I don't delay. We best move out. Nathan you need to drink and get rest." Ezra looked over at Josiah. "See that he does that." Nathan rolled his eyes at that last comment.

    Ezra moved to leave and looked pointedly at JD. JD wasn't paying attention to him apparently having a quiet word with Casey. She nodded at whatever he said.

    "JD," Ezra called out impatiently, "we have got to depart now."

    "Yeah, yeah," JD responded distracted as he moved closer to Nathan's bed to look at the map again. "I was just thinking. We already know Delano is having trouble at his mine. Maybe one of us should make a visit out to Mr. Apex?"

    "That's a good point, JD but let's even see if we can even find evidence at Delano's," Josiah observed, "then, we can look at other mines if we need to."

    "Isn't it funny that Mr. Apex has a law named after him?" JD commented.

    "JD, apex refers to the top of the vein, not Mr. Apex," Josiah explained.

    "Who is Mr. Apex?" Ezra asked.

    "The owner of Apex Mining," JD answered.

    "He's not the owner of Apex Mining," Ezra contradicted JD.

    "So who DOES own Apex Mining, then, if it's not Mr. Apex?" JD asked confused.

    "Michaels," Mary answered.

    "Sterling Michaels."

    Continued...

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