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.

    Notes: The poem at the beginning of part 65 is a variation on a poem by H.L. Weston (1864).

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    Part 61

    Mary gave up on trying to get any sleep. She'd been lying awake for quite awhile. She could hear the even breathing of Casey and Billy and was jealous she couldn't rest as peacefully. She just couldn't get her mind to shut down long enough to get some rest.

    Chris! Where are you? Your best friends are in trouble and need you. If Chris had found them, he would have either headed to the reservation or nearest town and he would have gotten word to them. But that was just it. The men had at least some clue about Buck and Vin but nothing about Chris.

    It had been two days. If Chris had left to look for Buck or Vin and had found no sign of them, he'd check back--right? He'd wire and ask if they'd returned or come back to Four Corners himself. Mary half-convinced herself that she'd see Chris today. Not that he wouldn't ride right back out but he'd be here for a short time and that's all Mary wanted at this point. She just wanted to be reassured that he would be back and a brief glimpse of him would convince her. Although, she thought dryly, a hug would be a lot more effective. Mary sighed - that wasn't going to happen. She really should stop throwing herself at the man. Right girl, like you even do that. Mary softly chuckled, maybe that was exactly what she should start doing. Right now, she'd settle for just seeing him.

    Mary decided to get out of bed. If she wasn't going to sleep, she could at least make herself useful. She pulled a dress from the wardrobe and went out to the kitchen. She put on a pot of coffee and quickly freshened up. She pulled the ingredients for biscuits and started to prepare them having long memorized the recipe. As soon as the biscuits were in the oven, Mary started preparing bread. Then, cookies. Yes, she was turning into a veritable baker. Mary started organizing the food into packets to be packed for the men. A light rap on the back door interrupted her.

    "Mary, it's Ezra Standish."

    Mary cautiously opened the door and when she verified it was the gambler she opened the door wider.

    "Are you alright, my dear?" he queried quietly.

    Mary smiled slightly. "Except for not being able to sleep, I'm fine. I just started getting food together for your trip."

    Ezra looked over at the kitchen table and all the food laid out. "Are you packing for an army?"

    Mary shook her head slightly and turned back to the kitchen. "No, just seven men," she said under her breath.

    If Ezra heard her, he chose not to comment. "Mary, I have to admit to a little concern leaving you and the others in town without one of us present."

    "I was thinking maybe Chris would come back today," Mary said hopefully. "It's been two days. If he left to look for Buck or Vin and he hasn't find any sign of them, don't you think he would come back here?" Oh, if that didn't sound pathetic, Mary.

    Ezra seemed to take a moment to find his words. "You could very well be correct. But I think it's prudent to prepare just in case. I've wired Eagle Bend and they will be sending a deputy to assist in law enforcement."

    Mary ducked her head trying to prevent the tears that were just a dash away from falling. She had really hoped he would agree with her and tell her Chris would be back. "When is the deputy expected?" Mary asked quietly, knowing she wasn't able to keep the dejection out of her voice.

    "Later this afternoon. In the meantime, I would like to check your weapons."

    Mary nodded like this was a common request and went to the front office, returning with a rifle and revolver. She went to the back bedroom and returned with another rifle and two more pistols. She then walked away again, returning with three more pistols. Ezra frowned at the arsenal on the table.

    Mary looked at the display sheepishly. "I want flowers or candy or perfume. He leaves town," she inclined her head at the table, "he gives me another gun."

    Mary walked out of the kitchen again, returning with a wooden box. Inside, neatly arranged were oil, lintless patches, slotted tips for the patches, wire brushes, and several polishing cloths. She took a wistful breath, "I want flowers or candy or perfume," Mary presented the box to Ezra, "he gives me gun cleaning supplies."

    Ezra couldn't stop himself from chuckling if he tried. Mary rolled her eyes and sighed, "have at it."

    Mary returned to making sandwiches while Ezra started cleaning the guns. They really didn't have a lot in common except their mutual friends and chose not to broach that topic.

    "Mama," Billy called out as he came into the kitchen. The little boy wiped his sleepy eyes and shielded them from the lamplight.

    "Right here, Billy. What are you doing up, honey?"

    "I heard voices."

    "It's just Mr. Standish. He's checking our guns before he leaves on his trip."

    Billy walked around the table and pulled on his mother's skirt, "Chris does that, not him," Billy whispered.

    Ezra paused in cleaning the guns, having heard the boy. He might have whispered but he definitely wanted the gambler to know who was responsible for the guns in this household. Mary glanced over at Ezra and took a shuddering breath in. She knelt at the boy's level. "Chris is gone so he wanted Ezra to do this for him."

    "Like walking me to work?" Billy asked tentatively.

    Mary smiled, "exactly."

    "Then I guess it's okay."

    "Yes, I really think it is." Mary patted her son on the head. "Honey, you know it's really early yet. Do you think you can sleep?"

    Billy shook his head.

    "That's okay. Sit up to the table and I'll get you a drink."

    "Can I have a biscuit too?"

    Mary smiled, "sure you can."

    Mary split several biscuits and spread butter and strawberry preserves on them. She poured a cup of milk for Billy and coffee for Ezra and placed them on the table.

    Mary left them alone to their snack and went out to her back shed to retrieve a saddlebag she had out there. When she returned, Casey was up also.

    "I couldn't sleep either."

    Mary smiled thinking well, we can all take a nap this afternoon. Ezra had finished with the gun cleaning and Mary took the guns returning them to their places.

    "Yosemite is preparing the horses and bringing them here. I'm going to get Nathan," Ezra walked across the kitchen to leave.

    Mary followed him, wanting a word in private. "Do you think Nathan is strong enough for this trip?"

    Ezra looked doubtful but of course, attempted to reassure Mary. "He's keeping solid food down with no problem. He's weak but seems otherwise okay. We'll take rest stops but I don't think we can afford not to have him with us."

    Mary knew he was right and couldn't see pressing Ezra on an issue he couldn't change if he wanted to.

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

    Hallelujah, he was gone, Nathan thought. Damn, who knew Ezra could be such a nag.

    If it wasn't for making rounds, Nathan was quite sure he would kill Ezra. At least, inflict some serious bodily injury. He had taken to hovering - drink Nathan, rest Nathan -- Nathan jeered as he recollected the Southerner's admonitions. Jeez, how did anyone ever put up with him? Sure as hell wouldn't make any kind of healer. All his patients would want to kill him.

    Nathan chuckled at the image. Yeah right, Ezra as a healer -- that would be the day.

    Nathan took the time to wash and shave. Didn't know when he'd get the opportunity again. He put on his favorite pants for riding and efficiently checked his weapons. He secured his throwing knives to his back and strapped on his guns. If they had to move out fast, he wanted to be ready. He packed some extra clothes and laid out his coat. Didn't need it during the day, but they were heading west. Maybe into the mountains where he'd need it. He knew his slicker was secured to his saddle. Extra ammunition and his rifle were laid out also.

    Nathan surveyed his preparations; satisfied that he could take care of himself. Now, he needed to be able to take care of everyone else. Nathan pulled his medical bags and pulled the contents to inventory the supplies. Over his time as a healer, Nathan had learned what to pack and what he could find in the wild. Nathan pulled his leather bound journal out to review the items he would need. The journal was a present left at his door that Nathan was forever thankful for. As he learned about diseases, cures, herbs, roots, medicines -- he would catalog it in this journal. It was a rare day, that Nathan wasn't making some annotation. As he reviewed his medical supplies against his list, he pulled items from his cabinet -- certain roots not available this time of year, bandages, suture material, and ensured his medical equipment kit was complete - scissors, tweezers, scalpel, clamps. He carefully placed the supplies into the bags he used for his medical kit. Nathan made one last check -- he was ready.

    He returned the journal to its place on his bureau. It was too valuable to risk on the road, besides Nathan had memorized its contents. Nathan fingered the pages and looked back over his notes. He got a pleasure from remembering the doctors, midwives, and medicine men he met throughout the west. For the most part, there was a very collegial atmosphere where ideas were freely exchanged. In the outposts of the west, there were just too few of them to go around. As Nathan flipped through the pages, he came to a page he hadn't written. Nathan looked over what was written -- fever - no; vomiting diarrhea - yes, severe; garlic odor to breath - yes; pain - yes, abdominal pain, severe, diffuse. Then there was a list of diseases -- diphtheria, typhoid, cholera, scarlet fever, yellow fever, food poisoning . . . This wasn't the record of any patient -- it was the documentation of his poisoning. Nathan knew Mary had a hand is figuring out the poisoning but obviously she had help. Nathan smiled broadly. Well, you all did a good job.

    Nathan lovingly placed the journal away and noticed a folded piece of paper on the bureau. He opened it up and realized it was a list of supplies with dollar figures -- sheets, blankets, towels, laundry services, baths, hot water. Nathan eyes widened at the final figure. Wow. Nathan was glad he didn't have to pay the bill. He placed it in his journal thinking he'd make sure it was returned to its proper owner when they got back. If they got back.

    The door to the clinic swung open and Nathan quickly drew up. "Better if you'd knock," he addressed his guest as he holstered his gun.

    "Excuse my consideration, you were supposed to be resting in bed and I didn't want to disturb you prematurely," Ezra responded pithily.

    "Time to go?" Nathan asked pointedly ignoring the comment about resting.

    "I see you're ready." Ezra reached for Nathan's saddlebags to add to the ones he already had packed. Nathan grabbed his rifle and coat.

    He started to head towards the livery but Ezra stopped him. "Horses are at Mary's. Let's go through the alley."

    Nathan looked hard at Ezra. Ezra shrugged, "probably best we not announce our forthcoming departure."

    Nathan could see the sense in that. Better to be alert and overly cautious than risk a stupid error that endangered them or the town.

    When they got to Mary's, they secured their respective saddlebags, holstered their rifles and double-checked their saddles, tightening the cinch.

    When they heard the activity, Mary, Casey, and Billy came to watch them prepare to leave.

    "You're going then?" Mary half-asked, knowing the answer already.

    Ezra nodded.

    "Nathan, remember to drink a lot and get rest where you can." Casey anxiously reminded Nathan of what he was supposed to do. Nathan smiled, unlike Ezra, Casey wasn't near as irritating.

    "When you're able, please get word to us," Mary requested.

    Ezra nodded. Both men mounted their horses and Ezra offered his usual two-finger salute as he turned to depart.

    "Take care," Mary called out and all three waved as the men rode out.

    As they were about to leave Four Corners, Ezra drew up. "Yes, Mr. Jackson," Ezra seemed to know what Nathan was thinking before he did. Damn irritating.

    "I know we've done it in the past. Don't feel right, leaving them without one of us here."

    Ezra nodded his head morosely. "I find myself with the same concerns. I wired Eagle Bend and they are sending a deputy."

    Nathan looked sideways at Ezra. "You wired."

    "Yes," Ezra responded shortly.

    'Mister, I can't see two inches in front of me' took action to ensure the protection of the town. Nathan shook his head in wonder. Circumstances forced men to step forward. It really shouldn't surprise Nathan that Ezra would do that. For all his whining about early mornings or it being beneath him to hunt down some miscreant, Ezra never hesitated to fold his cards without complaint and do what needed to be done. And Nathan didn't doubt he'd back him or cover his back in a fight. It was a measure of the man. Though, he still could be irritating at times, Nathan was thinking he was damn lucky to have Ezra riding beside him.

    By silent accord, both men urged their horses forward. They headed towards the southwest to the place where Ezra had found Buck's and Vin's jackets. Time could be running out on their friends. They had to find them soon.

    Part 62

    "I found Vin's coat here, inside the rocks," said Ezra, "and Buck's was over there." He pointed to the stand of hackberry trees nearly a quarter mile away, and Nathan nodded. He was, thought Ezra, looking none the worse for wear so far. Maybe his repeated assertions that he was up to this ride were based on more than simply wishful thinking.

    "Did you take a good look aroun' in there yet?" Nathan was eyeing the outcropping carefully. Ezra shook his head.

    "I just looked it over quickly. I found the coat on this end over here, and--"

    A piercing whistle followed by a stentorian yell interrupted the gambler, and both men turned in their saddles to see Josiah and JD galloping towards them. The two reined in on plunging horses as they approached the rock outcrop, and JD dismounted to run lightly up on top of the boulders before anyone had a chance to speak. He stood against the bright morning sky, and turned to look down at Ezra.

    "These the rocks where you found Buck's coat?"

    "Vin's coat," corrected Ezra. "Buck's was at some distance from here. And it's nice to see you, too."

    JD nodded and vanished as he dropped over the other side into the enclosed area. Ezra sighed and dismounted, eyeing Nathan warningly as he did so. "I trust you will remain here?" he said. "No reason to use up what strength you've managed to recover on duplicating others' efforts."

    A brief scowl flashed across Nathan's face before he relaxed, and then he smiled at the look Josiah threw him as the preacher dismounted to follow Ezra.

    "Behave, or we'll sic our healer on ya'," grinned Josiah.

    "Wouldn' want that," said Nathan casually, "I hear he's just hell on folks that ignore 'im."

    "Amen, Brother." Josiah laughed and climbed over the rocks. The laugh died in his throat as he reached the enclosed area on the other side, to see Ezra and JD examining dark stains on the granite.

    "Ezra, there's . . . " JD's voice trailed off with concentration as he walked from where Ezra had found Vin's coat to a position some feet away, and then back again. He knit his brow as Josiah joined him and touched tentative fingers to the grey stone that was now flecked with blood as well as shiny minerals. The youth turned a troubled face to the preacher. "I don't understand it," he said. There's a lot of blood over by where the coat was, and then over here . . ."

    ". . . it looks like someone else, not bleedin' as badly," finished Josiah.

    JD's eyes widened and darkened, and he looked quickly at Ezra. "_Both_ of them?" he said.

    Ezra was staring again at the place where he'd found Vin's coat, and he looked up silently at JD's words.

    "Show us where you found Buck's coat," said Josiah softly.

    Ezra nodded, still without a word, and led the way back to the horses. Nathan gathered the reins of his chestnut when he saw the grimness of the others' expressions as they returned, and drew his horse near Josiah's as Ezra led the way to the other site with JD riding almost even with him, his little bay prancing from the sense of its rider's anxiety.

    "How's it look?" he asked softly. Josiah shook his head and then looked at Nathan with an expression of weary sorrow.

    "Looks like they're both in big trouble," he answered. "One of 'em's losin' a lot a' blood, an' I'm guessin' it's Buck." Nathan nodded that he'd heard, his eyes fixed on Ezra and JD riding several lengths ahead of them, both men's emotions notched too high for the long-term.

    "What exactly did you see?"

    "You saw Vin's coat, same as I did. You know he wasn't bleedin' much. The place where Ezra found it, though, someone had been there a long time, bleedin' heavy. Someone else was over against the boulders on the other side, not bleedin' nearly as bad."

    "You're thinkin' _that_ was Vin."

    "Yeah." Josiah nodded. "So I'm thinkin' he took off his coat to put under Buck."

    Nathan looked up at the sun, nearly a hands' width above the eastern mountains now. "When the rocks got hot," he said softly.

    "When the rocks got hot," agreed Josiah. Both men had been in the desert longer than JD had, and outdoors more than Ezra had. They had dropped far enough behind the other two to converse without being overheard, but now arrived at the stand of hackberry trees where JD was kneeling to study to the ground, his face wreathed in distress. Josiah dismounted with a sigh and walked over to look down, then gazed back at Nathan and nodded almost imperceptibly. Ezra's face immediately clouded, and he strode over briskly from where he'd been searching to see if anything else had been left behind where he'd found Buck's coat.

    "What was that," he said almost querulously, "that I just saw?"

    Josiah turned a bland face to Ezra and regarded him silently. The gambler flushed and threw a quick glance to Nathan. JD, sensing the sudden tension between the three, stood up.

    "I know you two know something. Or think you know something," continued Ezra. "You forget it's my business to read expressions. In this case, lives may depen--"

    "Looks to Josiah like Buck was bleedin' pretty bad," cut in Nathan. He glanced at JD and then back at Ezra. "An' that Vin's got a different problem. Not bleedin' much, meanin' he's probably still carryin' a slug." Ezra looked from one to the other of the men.

    "And does this have bearing on the appropriate course of action to choose?"

    JD cleared his throat nervously and came closer to the others. "We need to follow the trail," he said, "see where they went. Find 'em."

    Josiah and Nathan exchanged a long look.

    "Before it's too late," added JD softly.

    "When the man's right, he's right," observed Josiah. He swung into his saddle and gathered the reins as he looked at Ezra and JD. "So did they go from here to the rocks, or from the rocks to here?"

    "There's a lot more . . . _stuff_ here." JD stumbled over saying the word 'blood' and then went on when he found a way past it. "I think we need to see if there's any sign leadin' away from the rocks. If there is . . . "

    ". . . then we follow it." Ezra nodded and he, too, mounted up. "Let's see what we can find, Mr. Dunne."

    The men went back to the rock outcropping and began to ride carefully outward from it in ever-widening circles, their eyes on the ground. JD grunted suddenly, pointing at the ground. "Here," he said. The others rode over to join him as he looked back at the rocks to get a bearing and then moved out in the same direction from the sign he'd found. Josiah caught up with him, and spotted the second large splotch of dark brick-red at the same time JD did. He looked back more carefully and could see now that smaller spots marked the stones and sand here and there between the two larger marks. He eyed JD appraisingly.

    "You've been payin' attention when Vin trails."

    "Yeah." JD nodded and bit his lip, then threw a guarded glance at Josiah as Ezra and Nathan rode up.

    "JD's found the trail," Josiah explained to the other two.

    "Lead on." Ezra gestured, and JD and Josiah led off looking for the next sign. It was nearly 20 yards away this time, and had it not been on the surface of a prominent light-colored boulder they might have missed it. The next was even farther away. Within the space of a half mile the marks were nearly too far apart to locate with assurance, and getting harder to find in the rough terrain. Ezra started shaking his head bitterly.

    "This is never going to work," he burst out.

    "Then you can go back," said Nathan shortly. "I ain't quittin'."

    "That's not what I meant." Ezra reined in and regarded the other three with somber eyes. "I mean it's going to take us too long to do it this way."

    Josiah shifted in his saddle uncomfortably. "Since we don't have a tracker," he said. It sounded like the sentence was unfinished, but the others understood the implication perfectly. He looked at JD suddenly. "Although you're doin' a good job," he amended.

    "I ain't Vin," said JD simply. He turned to look back at the way they'd come, then took his bearings from the sun. "The trail goes northwest so far, straight as a beeline," he pointed out. "If they kept on this way, they'd wind up at Apex. Maybe we should just head on up there as fast as we can -- to save time." He fiddled with the reins of his bay, then took off his hat and wiped his forehead with his arm, avoiding the eyes of his silent friends. Several moments went by, and then Ezra nodded.

    "Our young companion makes a great deal of sense. The chance of being wrong about Apex is slender enough to be worth the risk."

    "Risk?" interrupted Nathan. "You talkin' 'bout risk an' what's worth it an' not worth it? With men's lives at stake? Ezra, this ain't no card game--"

    "I know that." The gambler sighed and ran a weary hand across his eyes. "The stakes are as high as they get. But it's already been two days, and it's sixty miles to the Apex compound, uphill the whole way, in mountains. I don't think we can afford _not_ to take the chance."

    "I'm tellin' ya'," breathed JD, fear setting fire to the edge of his voice, "everything I learned at Delano's makes me think more an' more that he's right. Someone _is_ tryin' to put him outta' business. An' if the things Mary an' Casey found are right . . . " His young voice trailed off, desperation creeping into it. He let the thought hang suspended, unfinished in the hot morning air.

    The men remained silent for several long minutes, turning the situation over in their minds. Josiah dismounted and studied the blood trail more closely, then walked a little way farther in the direction they'd come so far with his eyes scanning the ground, and came back. "It does keep goin' the same direction," he said softly. His eyes took on a troubled light and he shook his head. "So far, anyway."

    "I guess you're right. We're runnin' outta' time an' got no other choice." Nathan sighed. He looked at each of the other men in turn, and his eyes were dark and somber as a winter rain. "So let's ride."

    Part 63

    "This looks like a good place to rest an' water the horses." Josiah reined in with a quick look at Ezra, who immediately nodded.

    "Yes, indeed," he said. He dismounted and inhaled deeply as he started to lead his chestnut to the silver-flashing creek. He looked back at Nathan, who was still sitting on his horse and was furthermore looking a little cross. "This mountain air is most bracing," added Ezra.

    "Bracin'." Nathan looked slowly from Ezra to Josiah. "Horses." He got down stiffly, muttering under his breath, swayed a moment, then caught himself on his stirrup and sighed. He looked at Josiah again, somewhat abashed.

    "I ain't gonna' say it," said Josiah. "Not an 'I-told-you-so' kinda' man."

    "I am." Ezra smiled enormously, although his eyes were dark in a way that none of the others could miss. "I told you if you didn't stop and rest on the way, you'd fall off your horse. And you see that I was, once again, correct. It really is quite a frequent occurrence, although apparently it fades at once from everyone's memory."

    "Shut up, Ezra." Nathan slowly walked over to a tree not far from the edge of the rushing stream, and JD dismounted to hurry over and lift the trailing reins from the healer's hands. Nathan looked up with a flash of gratitude on his face, and JD smiled.

    "Might as well water both of 'em at once," he pointed out. Nathan smiled very gently.

    "Thanks."

    "No problem." JD led the horses off towards the stream, where Josiah had loosened his horse's cinches and tied its reins so it could graze a little on the long grass along the watercourse. The big man strolled over and lowered himself with a groan of relief to the ground next to Nathan. The healer had found a place to sit at the base of a big ponderosa pine, and Josiah looked up through the puffs of needles scattered along slender red boughs, and closed his eyes.

    Nathan looked exasperated. "Josiah, I appreciate you bein' a man a' peace, an' bein' able to FIND peace when you need it, but I'll be damned if I can understand how you can go to sleep when--"

    "Shhhhh." Josiah spoke in a low rumble without opening his eyes.

    "Why, you--!"

    "SHHHHHH!!" This time it was Ezra, as he walked over from the stream, pulled off his hat, and started using it to fan himself. "Just let yourself relax a moment, Brother Jackson, while the beasts take their leisure and recoup their strength for the arduous climb yet ahead of us."

    JD sat down on the ground with a thump and a short laugh, and pulled a paper-wrapped packet from his coat pocket. "Well, if it's all the same to you, I think I'll recoup _my_ strength, too while we're here." He opened the packet and inhaled of its contents, then held them out to the other men. "Biscuits an' beef. Some a' the stuff Mary made us," he explained.

    "Thank you, JD." Ezra removed a morsel from the paper in such a way that Nathan, watching him with a jaundiced eye, was unable to see how much he'd taken. The youth leaned out and around to Josiah, whose broad fingers found a piece of biscuit with unerring aim despite the fact that his eyes were still closed.

    "Wonderful gesture, JD," he rumbled.

    "Nathan?"

    The healer looked from the eagerly proffered biscuits to JD's open face, and then at the other two men. "I suppose," he said, "that y'all expec' me to think this just _happened_."

    "Well, it DID." JD looked crestfallen, and Nathan shook his head suddenly worried that the men really hadn't plotted and that he really had hurt JD's feelings somehow. He reached out quickly and took one of the biscuits, and started eating it. He kept his eye on Ezra as he did, watching for the tell-tale gloat that would give away the truth. When he saw none, he relaxed and kept eating.

    It really was wonderfully good, in fact, and it did make him feel better. Less light-headed. He uncapped his canteen and took several long drinks to wash down the food, and the water was cool and tasted good, too. When he finished the food, Nathan sat in the warm sun a moment while the horses grazed, listening to the stream and to the fat bees moving among the yellow flowers of the meadow, feeling the firm ground under him and the tree behind him. And then suddenly he realized he'd been asleep.

    He sat up with a guilty start, his eyes flying opened in the fear that he would see long afternoon shadows already stretching across the meadow. But it didn't look all that different, except that Josiah was looking him right in the eye. The preacher cocked his head to one side.

    "Feelin' better?"

    Nathan _did_ feel better, but at what cost? His heart was hammering with guilt. "How long?" he asked.

    "Only about an hour." Josiah stood up and extended his hand down to Nathan, smiling. "You had to, Nathan. You know that."

    The tall black man let Josiah help him up, and shook his head. "I can't help but worry--"

    Ezra showed up from down around a break of trees, the horses' reins in his hands, JD mounted up and riding behind him. "You can't help them if you don't make it there," he said firmly. He held out the reins of Nathan's horse. "And I do believe you are, at least, no longer grey. I will confess your appearance was beginnin' to alarm me the last few miles."

    Nathan shoved his foot into the stirrup and swung up, pulled his horse around to face Ezra, and nodded slightly. He looked at JD and Josiah and did the same. There was unspoken thanks in his face. Then he looked up the way their trail headed, at the rugged peaks rising beyond the steep slope they were climbing now. His eyes came back down to those of his companions', and his face grew somber.

    "Let's ride," he said softly.

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

    Buck woke up off-balance and startled, feeling almost like he'd fallen down the steps to land on the floor. But he was in the same position as before, leaning back against the central post, and nothing seemed to have moved. He looked at Vin, next to him, and saw that the man's eyes were opened and looking back at him. Buck sat himself up higher, clearing his throat, and turned to face Vin and look at him more closely.

    "Hey," he said softly. The creases in his forehead relaxed when he heard Vin's soft reply.

    "Hey."

    It was barely a whisper, but it was there. Buck reached to the pail and dipped out water for the wounded man, lifting him enough that he could drink it. He was gratified to see that Vin's eyes were a little clearer, even if his skin still felt almost blisteringly hot to Buck's touch. He set the dipper back in the bucket and lowered Vin to the floor again.

    "Thanks." The voice was still very low, almost more of a sigh with a word in the middle of it than a spoken word. But at least he wasn't like he had been before.

    "Sure thing." Buck smiled. "Think you can take a little more?"

    Vin nodded weakly, and Buck gave him another drink, and then the tracker closed his eyes wearily. He spoke without opening them.

    "How . . . long?"

    "You mean, that we've been in here?" Buck chewed on the edge of his moustache and thought about it. "I'm pretty sure a night's passed. Feels like it. Hell, _feels_ like a week!" He grinned, hoping maybe to see a sly smile flit at the edges of Vin's lips, but there was no response. "I don't know, Vin," he said more soberly. He ran a tired hand through his hair and laid his head back against the post.

    "You . . . gotta' get out."

    The gunslinger looked down to see that Vin had still spoken without opening his eyes. He shook his head almost angrily. "I ain't goin' without you, Vin. We got into this together, an' we'll get out of it the same way."

    "No." Vin was shaking his head now, and his brows drew close. He opened his eyes a fraction to look at Buck, and the lamplight reflected from them like there was a fire banked right inside him. "I can't . . ."

    "Look." Buck turned around to face Vin more fully. "I don't wanna' hear that talk, ok? We're goin' together when we go. That's all there is to it."

    Vin regarded Buck steadily for a long moment without moving, then slowly closed his eyes again. He reopened them to look at the stairway. Buck shook his head.

    "Don't even bother thinkin' about it," he said. "It's locked."

    Vin turned his face back to Buck's, and the gunman saw the tracker's eyes narrow in sudden confusion.

    "The door at the top a' the stairs," said Buck, "is locked."

    "Why?"

    Buck sat up straighter. "Well . . ." What kind of a question was that to ask? He shook his head to clear it. "Vin, it's so--" He broke off as he saw the man next to him roll his head to the other side to stare away into the darkness as if he hadn't even realized Buck was speaking. Then came the low, soft drawl again.

    "I'd think on it, . . . if I were . . . you."

    What? Buck saw the tracker shiver suddenly, a long trembling that ran all the way down his frame, and the man moved against the floor and looked back at Buck with eyes that were glazed now, unseeing, and said:

    ". . . a box a' shells . . . coffee."

    Buck felt despair slowly creep over his heart like a shade being drawn. Vin's words trailed off in slow spirals until they were meaningless syllables again, and then he was silent. Another bout of chills shook him violently, after which his fever seemed to get noticeably higher, and Buck clenched his fists helplessly. And then, right then, he heard the door open.

    He didn't even look up this time when Sullivan came down the stairs. The man's footsteps beat an impatient staccato as he came down into the cellar, and he came to a halt staring at Buck, to lean against the wall insolently.

    "Looks like your friend's doin' more poorly than he was last night." Sullivan's gaze was fixed on Buck, who looked up slowly with deadly menace deep in his dark eyes. Sullivan chuckled mirthlessly and threw a packet of something wrapped in an old cloth to Buck, across the intervening distance between them. "Food," he said shortly. Then he leaned very slightly to pour water from a pitcher into the water pail Buck had been using, to refill it a little. He kept his eyes on Buck as he did it. When he was finished, he straightened again.

    "Got things to see to right now," he said, "but I'll come back an' visit you boys later. Then we'll have us some fun. I promise." He maintained eye contact with Buck as he backed slowly up the stairs, and vanished into the darkness like an apparition. Buck shuddered, and then felt a hot, hot hand grab his own wrist, and he turned with a start to look down and see Vin's hollow gaze fixed on his face. Low and clear, the sick man spoke in a soft voice filled with amaze and horror.

    "It's all _bones_, Chris . . . bones . . . all that's left . . . far as you can . . ." Vin's voice trailed off as he turned his face slowly away, into the darkness, and lay still.

    Buck sat very still himself, his face burning with slow, bitter anger. No matter that Vin had believed in Buck enough to come after him when Chris had thought the unthinkable about him, no matter that they had endured hell together the last few days -- it was Chris Vin was looking for in his confusion and pain and fever. Even now when he was clearly out of his mind in another place, hunting buffalo that were all dead and gone, he was turning to Chris -- to a man who wasn't there and wouldn't ever be there. Buck clenched one fist and leaned back against the post behind him and tried not to think about it any more. He should have known, anyway. There were too many times he'd been left holding the bag for Chris when the man had just turned around and walked away from the people who needed him. Far too many times. He should have known.

    He moved his head then to regard the slender man on the floor next to him, whose face was still shadowed by darkness, and he couldn't stop the shiver of gooseflesh that ran lightly across his scalp when Vin's soft whisper spoke once more from the darkness.

    "Bones," moaned Vin, "God, Chris . . . only bones."

    Part 64

    Buck slept and woke and slept again and it was as if the sleeping didn't count because he was worrying about Vin and the darkness in the cellar never changed one way or another so he couldn't tell if it was night or day or how much time had passed. He wasn't even sure he'd ever slept. He'd lie down and close his eyes and immediately he'd drift away on a sea of fatigue and weakness and pain but then Vin would move or Buck's leg would jerk or some thought would flash into his brain and he'd be awake, not at all certain he'd even been asleep at all.

    Vin lay beside him and Buck reached out and felt his arm. Still hot, though he couldn't tell at this point if he was any worse than he'd been the last time Buck had checked him. He reached for the bandanna and sponged him down again with the water. 'Hell!' he thought, 'he can't last.' And he wanted to smash his fist into something with the frustration of it all. He had no way to get the slug out of his shoulder, nothing to fight the fever with.

    Nothing! Buck moved slightly away from Vin and leaned his back against a post. He had nothing. And if he didn't do something and do it soon, Vin would die. It was simple, laid out like that. Vin would die. Buck had to do something. Maybe Chris thought he was the kind of man who would attack a woman and run. Maybe Josiah thought he was too low even to walk the same street as the rest of them. But Buck wasn't the kind of man who let a friend die. Not while he was still breathing. It wasn't going to happen. And anyone who thought differently could just go to hell.

    He stood, so tired of sitting he could hardly stand it. The movement made him dizzy and he grabbed at the post behind him to keep himself from falling. He stretched his bad leg tentatively and his face thinned down immediately at the strength of the pain that shot through him, sharp, like a thousand needles all stabbed in him at once. With his lips forming a flat, grim line and his eyes narrowed and dark he stretched it out again, put pressure on it and tried to walk. Cold sweat sprang out on his forehead and his breath came sharp and fast but he didn't collapse on the floor and he had to figure that at least that was a good thing. He took another step. He reached the stairs and grabbed the rail with a shaky hand and sank down onto the steps. He sat there for a minute with his head in his hands, one ear open for Vin in front of him and Sullivan behind him, and he breathed.

    Damn!

    All he had were questions. Why were they here? _Where_ were they? Who was holding them? Who was paying the man in buckskins? Buck didn't much rely on help from unexpected quarters, but he couldn't help thinking on the men back in Four Corners. Would they come looking? He straightened. Well, hell, yes! Though the thought made him scowl. Chris had given Vin twenty-four hours to bring him back. And if Buck knew Chris--which he did--when that twenty-four hours had passed he'd set out himself to track them down So, that was one thing. Sooner or later, Chris would come--pissed as hell and not at all bent on rescue, but he'd come nevertheless. And that was something.

    But...Buck looked through the dim light at Vin lying on the cellar floor. Would it be soon enough? Buck had no idea where they were, but he knew they weren't anywhere near Four Corners. And the resident expert tracker was here, on the cellar floor, with Buck. Dying. It would take Chris a long time to track them and it might well be too late. Vin couldn't wait. It was as simple as that. Buck had to get him out of here. He had to.

    He wiped a hand across his face as if he could scrub away the fatigue that weighed him down and pulled himself to his feet. There had to be a way out. He walked over and unhooked the lantern from the nail it was hanging on. He carried it with him to the top of the stairs and studied the door. There was a latch on the inside, but when Buck lifted it and pushed it didn't open. He could feel it give a fraction and then bump up against something solid. Probably a bar across the other side of the door. He leaned down and raised the lamp and studied the crack between the door and the jamb. Not much room to slide something through. And they probably had the bar fastened somehow so he couldn't lift it from this side anyway. Hell! He turned and leaned heavily against the door for a minute.

    He made his way back down the stairs and held the lantern up so he could see more of the room they were in. There weren't any windows. There was one other door, half-hidden behind boxes and Buck made his way there. He tried to open it, but it was locked. Of course. He grabbed the latch and pushed against the door, but he didn't have much push left and the door stubbornly remained closed.

    Well, he thought, he'd have to go straight at things. Truth was, he preferred it that way anyway. It was what he did the best, really. Especially with his back against the wall. What he needed to do was figure a way to take Sullivan when he came down to feed them or torment them or whatever the hell he was going to come down the stairs to do. And he'd have to figure a way to carry Vin. He looked at the boxes stacked haphazardly around him. What the hell, he thought, he might as well start looking for something useful.

    He searched systematically through all the crates in the cellar. Most of them turned out to be empty packing crates. He set them aside, thinking that if he got really desperate he could break them down and use the boards as weapons. Then, he laughed at himself in a tired way. If things weren't already really desperate, then he sure as hell never wanted to be around when they were.

    He went back to check on Vin, who seemed pretty much unchanged. He wanted nothing more than for the man to wake up and talk to him. But it seemed like just about forever since Buck had gotten anything he wanted. Vin was restless, muttering to himself and shifting on the cool, dirt floor. Buck spent a few minutes sponging him down and getting him to drink a little water. He laid a hand on Vin's good shoulder. "You hang in there, pard," he said. "I'm going to get you out of here."

    He stood again. A sudden wave of dizziness hit him when he did it making the floor tilt in an alarming fashion. He grabbed at a support post and leaned heavily on it for a minute. Then, because there wasn't, really, anything else to do, he pushed himself upright and limped heavily back to examine each of the remaining crates.

    He took the lantern with him and, though he knew he had to and he knew Vin likely wasn't in any condition to care, he felt bad leaving the tracker all alone in the dark. 'I'll get you out of here,' he thought. And he repeated it over and over as he worked. 'I promise, Vin. I'll get you out.'

    It took him awhile, as weak as he was, to work even the first crate open and if he'd thought about it in terms of how many there were, he'd have given up right then. But that wasn't how Buck thought. What he thought was, he had to get Vin out of that cellar. He had to know what was in those boxes. How long it took and how much energy it drained from him meant nothing. He pulled the last board off with a jerk and lifted the lantern to look inside. He moved straw and wood shavings to one side and pulled out a huge vase of some kind. Damn! Buck resisted the urge to just heave it into the corner, though at this point the sound of it as it shattered would have been perversely satisfying in some way. He put it back and started on the next one.

    Four crates later, he'd found two large vases, some outrageous huge and gaudy dinner platters and a box completely filled with small, overly ornate porcelain drawing room pieces. Damn! He settled down on the floor and leaned his head back against a post, hoping that if he rested a minute the creeping dark spots in front of his eyes would fade. He had no idea what time it was, but he rather suspected it was the middle of the night. Sullivan had been down there a second time before Buck had started searching through boxes and left them more water and a few scraps of food. No broth. Nothing Vin could conceivably eat. But it was a sign of just how low Buck was that he was only grateful that Sullivan had chosen to leave both of them alone. He knew it wouldn't last. And he knew the next time Sullivan came he had to be ready.

    There were three crates left and Buck pushed himself up with a groan and went back to work. As he worked slowly at prying up the nails that held the boards in place he tried to wrap his mind around an escape plan that held some small chance of working. The bottom line was that he had to take Sullivan. When Sullivan came, the door at the top of the stairs would be open. That was one thing. Sullivan had a gun. And a knife too. Buck could use both of them. So, that was another thing. And there was also the knowledge, deep down in Buck's mind that they could never leave this place until they were free of the looming monstrous presence of Sullivan. He held them there as surely as locked doors and arrow and gunshot wounds and fatigue. And if he did nothing else before he left, Buck would make sure Sullivan never followed them.

    He had already thought of and rejected several options. There wasn't enough room at the top of the stairs to lie in wait for Sullivan there. He'd gone back and looked at the door on the back wall and considered trying to find where it went, but he didn't have anything to get it open with and he figured it wasn't worth the energy to find out it most likely led nowhere. He thought of turning out the lantern and dragging Vin into a back corner and waiting, but he figured Sullivan would take one look at the dark and go and get another lantern and Buck would have lost his one chance.

    He used a loose board as leverage as he pried at the boards on the crate in front of him. His stance was awkward and he pushed on his bad leg too hard and he had to stop what he was doing for a minute until he could catch his breath. He looked across the way at Vin, who was barely visible in the shadows cast against the wall of the cellar. Buck knew what he had to do. He knew what would work to get Sullivan down there and distracted. He just didn't want to do it. He took a deep breath and pried up another board. Vin would be his bait. He'd position him right out in the open where Sullivan would see him right away and be drawn to him. And, Buck hoped, for just a minute--that was all he asked, just a minute--he'd forget to look for Buck. It wasn't like Vin wasn't already bait. It wasn't like Sullivan wouldn't use him anyway. It wasn't like he had a choice. But Buck still didn't like it.

    He pried up the last board and lifted his lantern to look in the crate. What he saw there almost made his heart stop--the pale shape of a person's arm. He swept the packing material away and sank to his knees in relief when he realized that it was a statue, not a person. Or pieces of a statue anyway. He pulled out two women's arms, two heads and a torso. It was too weird for him, in the dark, locked in some stranger's cellar with sightless marble heads staring at him. He left the last two boxes for later and dragged his exhausted body up and back over to where Vin lay.

    With the lantern set on a crate between them, Buck studied Vin. No worse, he told himself, though he was damned if he could tell whether that was really true. He thought he wasn't any hotter, but he couldn't quite remember how hot he'd been before and he wished that Chris would hurry up and find them. And he wished that Nathan was there to take Vin's bullet out. And he wished he knew what time it was. Or at least what day.

    But he didn't know any of that. So, he leaned against another packing crate and he settled himself down and he explained his entire escape plan, such as it was, to Vin. The tracker most likely couldn't hear him and if it hadn't been so deadly serious, the whole thing might have been a little silly, but you didn't send a man into danger without telling him. Or at least Buck didn't. So, he sat there in the dim lantern light and laid it all out.

    Then, he leaned back with his head resting on the crate behind him and he slept.

    Or, at least he thought he did.

    Part 65

    Come, you who pray in these pews,
    Contribute something for the news,
    Come all, support the enterprise,
    Of church services, and prayers, and blessings,
    Of gossip, and ads, and the latest Miss Molly dressings,
    The Clarion News tells no lies,
    Come one, come all, and advertise.

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

    Oh God, that's awful, Mary laughed. Mary wiped tears from her eyes as she continued to giggle. Josiah Sanchez may be a Renaissance man but he sure should never turn to verse.

    Running a paper was an expensive enterprise and Mary was fortunate to have many local merchants run ads weekly realizing the importance of having a local newspaper. But for all their support, it didn't stop Mary from continuing to seek new advertisers and ways to attract them. This was Josiah's contribution to the effort to be printed in the regular Thursday feature, The Lord's House, where prayer meetings or visits from the circuit minister were advertised or just a story or lesson with a moral.

    Yes, the poem was awful. Mary continued to chuckle but she was going to print it. Josiah was going to kill her, Mary thought gleefully. He'd obviously thought Mary had the refinement and taste not to print such an abomination. Well, you'd be wrong, Josiah. Josiah . . .

    No, Mary cut off the thought, she was not going to worry. She needed the distraction of keeping busy so she didn't get overwhelmed with worry. Work was just the medicine for her melancholy.

    Mary set the poem aside, and looked over recipes she had collected trying to decide if it was too early to be printing an apple pie recipe. Mary rejected it thinking it was another month before the apples would be ready for picking. How about . . .

    The tinkle of the doorbell interrupted Mary's thoughts.

    "Hello, Mrs. Travis."

    Mary smiled automatically and lifted her head to see who had entered. Her smile broadened, "Mr. Roberts, it is wonderful to see you on your feet." Mr. Roberts, a local farmer, had received a serious injury when a plow became embedded in his leg. Mary had reported the severe accident in an edition of the paper earlier in the week. Nathan had said that Mr. Roberts would be very fortunate if he didn't lose his leg. It spoke to Nathan's skill he wouldn't. This town would be hard pressed to replace him. Mary startled at her moribund thought and focused on what Mr. Roberts was saying.

    "Need this," Mr. Roberts tapped the cane he was using to assist him to walk, "but I'm indeed fortunate to be on my feet. I had stopped by to see Nathan and give him a token of appreciation."

    Mary smiled pleasantly, "he must have stepped out." Mary was already writing in her head the medical update to be included in her regular feature 'On the Sick List.'

    "Whew," Mr. Roberts wiped his brow with relief. "I had heard he was poisoned and was afraid he passed."

    Mary was startled from her medical updates. He had heard that! Mary ducked her head, thinking fast how much information she should be giving out about the whereabouts of the seven.

    "No, no, he is recovering," Mary quickly reassured the farmer, relieved when the farmer didn't pursue the issue.

    "Mrs. Travis, if you would do me this kindness and see that Nathan receives this envelope."

    "Certainly," Mary responded happily.

    "Thank you. Take care now."

    "You too, sir."

    As Mr. Roberts was leaving the Clarion's office, he held the door for Miss Molly, the local seamstress.

    "Hi, Molly."

    "Hi Mary. I was looking for Mr. Standish. Have you seen him?"

    Mary frowned, irritated. And you expected to find him here. "No, I haven't seen him." Mary managed to plaster a pleasant smile on her face.

    "Oh, all right then. Could you pass on the message that I have his new jacket ready for fitting?"

    Mary smiled weakly. "Certainly."

    "Thank you."

    Mary waved and as soon as Molly turned, she rolled her eyes. Oh yes, I'll write that message right down, Mary thought sarcastically.

    As Molly left, she held the door open for Wyatt, the telegraph operator.

    "Good afternoon, Mrs. Travis. I was looking for JD to give him the latest wanted posters."

    "He's not here," Mary answered shortly.

    Wyatt seemed taken aback by Mary's abruptness.

    Mary sighed. "I'm sorry, Wyatt. Why don't you leave them in the sheriff's office for him?"

    Wyatt shrugged sheepishly. "We normally go through them together. See if either of us knows any stories about the outlaws. If you see him, could you let him know they came in."

    Mary gritted her teeth, "Certainly."

    "Thank you, ma'am." Wyatt turned and left.

    Mary sighed deeply. She wasn't getting any work done and all these people were doing was reminding her that the seven were gone -- NOT HERE!

    Don't even think it - get to work, Mary. Now where was I? Oh yes, a recipe. Apples are out. Plums are in season. Mary started to dig through her recipe collection looking for a particularly good jam recipe she had. She stamped her foot in frustration. Of course, she couldn't find it, which meant a probably fruitless search through her files. She hated when she couldn't find something she knew she had. Mary was interrupted again by the tinkle of the doorbell.

    Mary looked up to see three saloon girls in her office. Mary eyes widened thinking *the ladies* had never crossed the street, never mind entered her office. In fact, Mary was fairly certain they weren't regular readers of The Clarion. What could they possibly want?

    "Good afternoon," Mary almost said 'ladies' but wondered if that would be considered an insult. As if these ladies could be embarrassed. For their first sojourn across the street they hadn't dressed respectfully; their only regard for proper decorum was to have a shawl cover the neckline of their scandalous dresses.

    The ladies exchanged questioning glances. One tried to push another forward but when no verbal response seemed forthcoming, Mary thought to try to draw it out. "Is there something you required?"

    "Well, now that you mention it," one of the girls looked innocently at Mary, "we were wondering if you had seen Buck."

    What! Mary froze in outraged shock. Nothing they could've said would have been more surprising. "Mr. Wilmington?" Mary managed to gasp out weakly.

    "We were just thinking we've been having no fun," the girl pouted.

    "And it occurred to us that we were missing Buck," a different one responded.

    "And you thought to find him here?" Mary squeaked.

    "Well, no," one girl rolled her eyes, as another laughed contemptuously.

    "As if he would spend time with an uptight bi . . ." thinking better of what she was going to say, the saloon girl stopped abruptly and smiled weakly.

    "Ummm, we were thinking you might know where he's been and when he's coming back?"

    Mary stiffened. "Mr. Wilmington does not keep me apprized of his activities?" Mary managed to respond civilly instead of saying what she really thought - 'as if I would tell you.'

    "He doesn't!" One exclaimed, "Ooomph," she exhaled painfully as another girl poked her in the ribs with her elbow.

    A quiet descended on the office again. "Was there anything else?"

    "Yeah," one of the girls smiled shamelessly, "Thought you might know where Vin got to."

    "Vin?"

    "Let me guess, he doesn't check in with you either." One sneered. "Listen lady, we know better. . ."

    If she was going to say more, she was cut off by her friends dragging her out of the office. Mr. Andrews, a local farmer, held the door open and they poured out of the office. He entered and looked inquiringly at Mary. "Customers?"

    "Not exactly," Mary sighed, "what can I do for you Mr. Andrews?"

    "I was looking for Josiah. He offered to assist me to add space to my house before winter. With my wife back on her feet and the baby doing well, I thought I would arrange it with him."

    Mary thought again about if she should say anything about what she knew, what little she knew, about the whereabouts of the seven. Thinking discretion may be appropriate, Mary decided on a benign response.

    "I'm sorry, I haven't seen him today," which was technically true.

    "If you do see him, could you let him know I was looking for him?"

    "Of course." Mary waved weakly as Mr. Andrews left.

    Mary shook her head in wonder. Yes, I will certainly write that down and make sure it's delivered, Mary thought pithily. Since when had she become the message secretary for the seven? Mary griped to herself. Did everyone think they all checked in with her? Okay_ well_ actually they did. But still, what were these people thinking? I would personally deliver their messages for them. Really, Mary huffed.

    Well, look on the bright side Mary, at least you have another snippet of news for 'On the Sick List.' She had previously reported Mrs. Andrews' slow recovery from the delivery of her fifth child and the generous offer by Nettie Wells to assist during their time of need. She could now report they were doing so much better.

    Mary startled as the clock chimed. Oh my, is it that late? She had meant to stop much sooner and pick up Billy and Casey. Even with his nap, he needed to go to bed early to catch up on his sleep. Plus despite the Eagle Bend deputy being here, Mary was thinking she should take action to protect them tonight. She was still considering laying a pallet behind the iron printing press and keeping a rifle at her side. If Chris had returned . . .

    Mary shook her head. Well, he didn't. Mary, don't even start to think about him. Think about what needs to be done. Dinner, she decided that's what she needed to tend to and she needed to go retrieve her charges before she could feed them.

    Mary grabbed her shawl to ward off the evening chill and hurried towards Potter's store.

    A man across the street, who had been leaning back in a chair out front of the saloon, let his chair thunk back down onto its four legs as he saw the blonde woman leave the newspaper office. Wonder what she's up to? He thought to follow when he noted a rider coming in on a dun mare. He tracked the widow with his eyes but didn't move from his perch. He'd be having a visitor shortly.

    It was nearly a fifteen-minute wait for the visitor. As the man drew near, the editor returned with her boy in tow and a teen-age girl.

    "Who's that with the editor?"

    "Must be the girl Belle told us about. Friend of Dunne's. Name is Casey Wells. Lives on a small farm outside of town with her aunt. She's been in town since Belle confronted her, looking like a scared little rabbit," Hammersmith chuckled, "Belle's ploy has paid off in spades. Wasn't expecting you? Why are you back?"

    The red-haired man rolled his eyes. "What else? Playing the messenger. Striker sent me. We intercepted Larabee and he's now on his way to the compound."

    The Sharpshooter made it obvious that messenger boy was well below his talents. You're being paid well, I wouldn't complain, Hammersmith thought.

    "Anything else, Thompson?"

    "Nope," was the short response. "Town seems real quiet," Thompson observed as he scanned the street.

    "Too quiet. We need to do something to shake their complacency. It's crucial to our future plans. They must be afraid of the Indians on the reservation and believe the threat is real."

    "How about just attacking the town?"

    Hammersmith shook his head. "Won't work. Too risky."

    "So we need something in the area but outside of town."

    Hammersmith started chuckling menacingly. "Oh, I can think of a place outside of town."

    Part 66

    The moon was a hidden flame that guided the men as they continued their night ride to Apex Mining. The wind tossed branches of lodge pine and an eerie crackle was heard as hoof trod on dried needles and grass. There was a quiet urgency to the ride and a sense that time was short. There were no voices, the men absorbed in their own thoughts, their own fears, their own hopes. And living with the weight of their individual failures that abandoned these men and with the dread that whatever they did now might all be for naught.

    Josiah was in the lead of a band of four men. The wise elder. The arbiter of what was right, truth, and justice. He had his dark shadows but in the band of men who called him friend; he was the one sought to counsel and lead the way, the_right_way.

    The counselor was followed by the innocent. Maybe that wasn't fair now. The kid had seen a lot. He had been stabbed. He had been shot. He had killed. Sometimes I bemoan that his eyes are older now. They're always in a hurry. Such a hurry.

    The kid was followed by the healer. He had a home and place. Maybe more than any of the men he rode with. He was respected for his hands, both as healer and fighter. He was the steady hand over these proceedings.

    'Then there is me. The gambler and conman.' Ezra chuckled morosely. He thought the high stakes game and his big wins were the biggest game. At least this week. But the stakes got no higher now and they were betting on being right. No, not they. Buck and Vin. And their lives.

    How had he missed it all? He only had an inkling that Buck and Vin were even gone. That Josiah was in his cups. And Chris deserted them. He didn't believe in luck. He believed in skill. He believed in being alert. Nobody pulled the game on him because he never let them. He had failed them. They were playing the game and the opponents were winning. Buck and Vin were losing.

    And although he didn't believe in luck, he kept hoping they'd see some sign that Vin and Buck were brought this way. Because Ezra was very much afraid their luck had run out. Ezra swallowed hard on his suddenly dry mouth. Out of luck. Out of time.

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

    Right, truth, justice -- did you remember any of those things, Josiah? 'No, Lord no,' Josiah's heart wailed.

    Right? Did you let Buck defend himself? Did you give him his say? You have killed men for less and sought those rights for the most evil of men and_not_your_friend. Josiah, you have the gall to ask to be relieved of that burden.

    Truth? Have you ever, ever known Buck to lie? He is passionate. He adores women. Even worships them. He doesn't hurt them. You knew that. You knew that in your heart. But you were taken in by lavender eyes and a swish of the hips. It was all lies except for Buck. He was the truth.

    Justice? You drove a man from his home. His friends. You inflicted deep pain and ne'er sought to relieve it though you knew better. You are the wise counsel, the one who is sought. You failed your brother, your friend. You might call him Brother Buck but you soon forgot when your head was turned by a calico queen who thought nothing of you, and less of your friend. But that's just it. Your friends. You forgot them.

    Josiah couldn't forgive himself so how could he ever expect Buck to. He'd find Buck or die trying. If he needed saving, he would be there no matter the cost but most likely his life. Were he to die, some might call it self-sacrifice but it was payback and such an inadequate penance for what he had done.

    If by some miracle, Buck survived and Josiah did too; he had decided he would leave Four Corners. Forever forsaken by this band of men. For they had sought his counsel and he had failed them in the worst, most reprehensible way.

    So no matter how this played out, this would be it for him. He would be gone from Four Corners forever.

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

    JD wanted to push his horse. We gotta go. We gotta go. We're running out of time. But JD had this overriding belief that all could be made right.

    Buck was a good man. We all know that. The charges against him are false. We all know that. There are bad men out there. And none of them are named Buck Wilmington.

    In all that had happened with Casey, JD had forgotten what a true friend Buck had been. Casey sought Buck and he helped her, probably in a way he never could. And he had thought Buck was trying to steal his girl. JD shook his head at his foolishness. Hell, Buck was constantly throwing them together.

    JD chuckled at the never-ending advice on woman that he would receive from Buck. While JD would say 'you are the breath of fresh air that blows the stench from a barn,' Buck had taught him 'you are the fresh air that is the gentle breeze through a field of wild flowers.' And he remembered the sweet smile Casey had given him when he delivered the line, mind you while they had been mucking out Nettie's barn. When JD had told Buck the story, he could still remember the hard rap on the side of the head he received, strong enough to knock off his beloved bowler.

    That was another thing. His hat. What was it with Buck and the hat? At some level, Buck understood his attachment to that hat. He had told Buck it was because of the great lawman, Bat Masterson, he had read about in a dime-novel. He could have told him the truth. He just never had. His mother had been so proud when he presented him his suit and hat to attend college. It was the last thing she did before her health had failed so much that her last days were spent in bed. Though he was living his dream, there was a small part that was ashamed he had not fulfilled his mother's dream and gone to college.

    I am happy here. I have my friends. I have a girl. Good things to be riding for. His friends at his side fighting for what was right. Seeking the truth. Finding justice for those who never would find it without them. He was one of the seven. He belonged like he never had before. He was home.

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

    Nathan felt his body fall forward and he jerked himself upright in the saddle. He closed his eyes and drew a deep breath hoping the severe spell of dizziness would pass. He slowly opened his eyes and saw the moon mock him. Yeah, he knew -- he should ask them to stop now. But Nathan just knew they could not afford it. They didn't have the time. He'd been down for three days. They had needed him and he couldn't help. He couldn't stop now.

    Damn, he hoped they were right. That is was Michaels and they found Buck and Vin at Apex Mining. Because he didn't think they had much time and it would be over a day back to where they found the coats to search again. Maybe they could go to the reservation -- get Chanu to help them search. But it would be a search for bodies. Because with a certainty that came from seeing so many broken bodies and lives lost, he knew Buck and Vin didn't have that time.

    But no matter. Nathan would see them home. One way or another. He owed them that. He'd see them home.

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

    "Whoa, hold up," Ezra called out breaking the silence. "We need to stop and rest," Ezra had seen Nathan's near fall out of the saddle.

    "We ain't got time," Nathan commented.

    "We make time," Josiah counseled.

    Nathan started to dismount.

    "Don't even think it," Ezra stopped Nathan.

    JD and Josiah dismounted. Josiah walked over to Nathan to get a good look at him. JD started to walk around looking intently at the ground. He began walking the area in slow circles of increasing diameter.

    Ezra rubbed his brow in frustration. It occurred to Ezra that this was the first time he hadn't ridden with at least one of the others: Chris or Vin or Buck.

    "Looks like someone's been here," JD was crouched down checking a large stain on the ground, "Three horses, three men rode in and stopped here."

    Ezra startled at JD's pronouncement. And he was missing the tracker.

    Josiah called out to JD, "Let's make a torch and look around."

    JD popped up and restarted making a slow circle of the area, the moon shone brightly providing some light and then, Josiah joined him. JD scanned the ground, back and forth. He then started to follow the trail out of the clearing. Then he slowly returned.

    "I think Buck was here -- big boot prints and blood here." JD walked several steps away looked back and then covered the ground again.

    "Definitely could have been Buck, Vin, and one other man." JD walked in a slow circle. He knelt looking intently at some hoof prints. "Josiah, give me light here." JD excitedly popped up again and hurried to his horse.

    Ezra rolled his eyes; he could tell Nathan was antsy and frankly so was he. Who did the think he was? -- Vin Tanner. Ezra restrained from saying anything to dissuade JD from his task.

    JD pulled a horseshoe from his saddlebag. He walked backed over to Josiah and crouched down. He pressed the shoe in his hand firmly into the ground and then motioned for Josiah to bring the light closer. "See the mark here," JD then showed Josiah the mark on the shoe. "He pointed to the print he had made on the ground -- see that. Now look at these prints -- do you think they have the same mark?"

    Josiah looked back at Ezra and Nathan in stunned amazement. "How did you know about this?"

    "When we were back trying to figure out what was going on back in town -- I kept asking folks, if anything odd had happened. Blacksmith told me about a man insisting on having his horse reshod even though the shoes were fine complaining about . . . cheap 'marked' ones. Blacksmith pointed the mark out to me and gave me the shoe. He didn't think much of it and I'm sorry, neither did I."

    Josiah clapped JD on the back. "Son, nothing to apologize for. Anything else?"

    "There was a fight. . . lots of scuffling. . ."

    JD paused his constant movement and looked up, all color drained from his face. "They . . " JD started, swallowed hard keeping his emotions in check, "They lost."

    They all stilled at JD's pronouncement. There was the shudder of branches, the whisper of pine needles, and the light of the moon. And a chill that raced to the heart, that they indeed may be too late.

    "JD, why do you think they lost?" Nathan asked.

    "Three men rode in -- the stride here . . . and here," pointed back down the trail. JD pointed up the path they rode out on, "two of the horses packed out loads, not riders. The horse with the marked shoe was the one rode out."

    The quiet was broken by a shrill whistle.

    "We're close," Josiah broke the silence of the men.

    "Okay, then," Ezra flashed his gold tooth in the moonlight, "let's go get them."

    Nathan looked over at Ezra with a slight frown and then smiled broadly, "yeah, let's go get them."

    Josiah mounted his horse with a quiet ease, JD jumped on his. For all their urgency, they quietly proceeded. Alert.

    They topped one hill, crossed a valley, rode up a steep incline. Just beyond the tree-line, there was shadowy light cast over the valley like the rising sun. But the sun was behind them, and had yet to rise.

    All four dismounted, Nathan ignoring Ezra's disapproval and they lay on their bellies at the peak of the ridge and looked over the valley.

    "Jesus."

    "It's huge."

    "Wow."

    Ezra stayed his panic. The dimensions of the complex were massive. After the quiet of the woods, Ezra's impression was they had entered a surreal arena. A veritable metropolis in the middle of the wilderness. There were men, horses, buildings, tents as far as the eye could see. Activity everywhere. They needed to make some sense of it. Get their bearings.

    Ezra pointed to the northeast end of the valley. "Obviously shift change, and the mine is that way."

    Nathan chuckled. "Oh yeah, real observant there," he commented sarcastically.

    JD picked up on Ezra's cue. "That long building in the middle is the mess hall. See the men filing out. Miners work on their stomachs."

    "Livery right below us."

    "At Delano's, the other businesses were near the dining hall -- company store, saloon. Mining stuff was near the mine."

    Ezra swatted Nathan, "and you complain about my insightful analysis," he muttered under his breath.

    Nathan chuckled softly.

    "Housing across the west-side of the valley."

    "One main street ends at the big house on the south end of the valley and leaves the valley to the northwest."

    "Delano had a gate and guards on the road to his mine. He also had a mounted patrol."

    "Any buildings being obviously guarded?" Josiah asked.

    "There are so many."

    Hell, it would take them forever to check the near 100 buildings and tents in the valley. The good news was there were so many men in the mining compound, they would be able to blend in. The bad news was there were so many men in the mining compound, how were they going to find two?

    JD put to words Ezra's disheartening analysis.

    "How the Hell are we ever gonna' find 'em in there?"

    Part 67

    **"How the Hell are we ever gonna' find 'em in there?"**

    JD's horrified words echoed in the men's minds, boring deeply into all of them as ones that voiced the very thought they'd had themselves. They rode in silence, down over the ridge and along a broad trail that had been cleared through the forest. They weren't even sure where they were going: just "away" for now. Away from the noise, the buildings, the hurrying men and horses and machines, the crash of the stamp mill; away from the impossibility of their task. Ezra reined in suddenly, though, and looked about him with the air of a waking sleep-walker.

    "What is this?" he asked. The other men reined in as well and stared at Ezra as if he'd lost his mind. Josiah cleared his throat, blinking.

    "What is what, Ezra?"

    "This . . . apparent boulevard. Through what is an otherwise undeveloped wilderness."

    The men sat up straighter on their horses then, and looked around them with new eyes. Indeed, Ezra had chosen a word that described the area well. The trees had been cut down to low stumps in a broad swath fifty feet across that ran through the forest as far as they were able to see. Deep, dry ruts furrowed the litter of pine needles, cones, and torn boughs in the cleared area. JD started nodding to himself as his eyes ran the length of it.

    "Loggin'," he said. "They run big log wagons through here, to get timber for the shafts. Mines use a lot of lumber."

    Nathan had furrowed his brow. "Don' look like it's been used much lately," he pointed out. "The ruts are dry."

    Josiah dismounted and went to kick at one. "Hard as iron," he said. "Old. This road hasn't been used for a while."

    "I bet they lay in a lot a' lumber at a time, then don't cut more 'til they run low again," offered JD. The four men looked at each other, and turned this information over in their minds.

    "Where you have a logging road," said Ezra carefully, "I would think you would have some sort of camp for the lumber men."

    "An' if the road ain't bein' used right now . . ." smiled Nathan.

    "Neither is the camp!" finished JD.

    Josiah laughed softly, and the others turned to stare at him. "I was just thinkin'," the big preacher explained, "that there'll probably even be supplies stored there. Michaels will be hostin' us an' footin' the bill for whatever we do."

    "Gentlemen," said Ezra, gathering his reins, "Shall we secure our lodgings?"

    "By all means," replied Josiah, legging his chestnut into a jog.

    The men rode off down the logging road with a good deal more hope than they'd had several moments earlier, and ten miles farther down it they found not one but several clusters of buildings, sawmills, and cabins. The sawmills were near clear-running streams that were apparently used to turn the works, and the cabins and other buildings trailed outward from the mills into thinned forest pockmarked with stumps. They separated to explore the buildings and then came back together to compare notes, deciding that an isolated cabin nearly half a mile from the main area would best suit their purposes. There was a shed behind it where they could secure their horses from casual eyes, and enough wood laid in for the stove and fireplace to last six months. The pantry was stocked with well-sealed tins of flour and coffee, with smaller amounts of salt, sugar, dried beef and apples, and cornmeal, and there was a small stove and an assortment of pans and basins, as well as four double bunks and a chest filled with heavy blankets. Josiah threw coffee grounds into a pot of water and set it on the stove as the men drew up chairs to the cabin's table, and JD laid split sticks of wood and kindling in the firebox, lit it, then shut the firebox door and joined the others. The wood began to snap and hiss inside the stove, and Nathan looked from one to the other of the men and cleared his throat.

    "OK," he said, "Now we got a place to bring 'em, far enough away that we won't be spotted. What next?"

    The silence lasted long enough that the smell of coffee began to rise from the heating pot. Ezra tapped his fingers on the table surface thoughtfully.

    "The issue," he said slowly, "seems to be finding out where our companions are being held. Which is something Michaels presumably knows." The others nodded, and Josiah leaned back in his chair and stretched his legs. He sniffed and laid his hands flat on the table.

    "So where would we find Michaels, in all that?" he asked.

    "In that big house, off on the end by itself," said JD. His eyes widened when he saw how the others were looking at him. "That's what Steve Borall said," he explained. "Delano's manager. He said that Michaels lives in a big mansion up here and acts like a plantation owner. Keeps colored servants, an' treats 'em like--" JD broke off suddenly, colored deeply, and glanced at Nathan. The healer smiled gently, sadly.

    "Not your fault, JD," he said. "Tell us more a' what you learned about Michaels."

    "Well," JD knit his brow as he recalled everything he'd heard. There had been so much. "Michaels wants to be a swell, cut a fine figure, you know? Maybe run for governor some day."

    "Interesting." Ezra turned the ring on his finger pensively. "I wonder if the man could be tempted by a game of chance? Even if he remembers me, he is not likely to realize I am connected with our missing companions."

    "Ezra, you don't know who else is in that house. If Michaels is responsible for what happened to Nathan, and . . . for what Belle did, then you'd likely run into someone there who'd know you from Four Corners." Josiah frowned slightly to himself as Belle's name passed his lips, and then he stood up and got out four cups, set them on the table, and poured out coffee for the men.

    "They won't know _me_, though." Nathan was lifting a steaming cup to his lips when he said it, as calmly as if he'd said the coffee needed sugar. Ezra set his own cup down on the table with an exasperated thump.

    "How do you surmise that, my friend? YOU are the one someone there tried to poison!"

    "Yeah, but I'm colored," said Nathan softly. He looked up into Ezra's eyes, his face somber. "We all look alike to someone like Michaels. And to the kind a' people a man like that hires. You know that as well as I do. They even admit it."

    JD leaned forward and looked from Ezra to Nathan and back again. "I don't understand," he said. "How could they not recognize you, Nathan?"

    "If I was in town, they probably would. Just 'cause I'd be 'the black healer.' That don' mean they'd know my face to see it. Here . . . They ain't expectin' me. An' if I go into the house as a domestic, they'll never look past the suit."

    "Are you _sure_ you want to do this, Nathan?" Josiah's eyes were heavy with concern, fixed on his friend's face. Nathan sighed and shook his head, rubbed a tired hand across his face.

    "I can't think a' any other way to find Buck an' Vin. An' we're runnin' outta' time."

    "It's only been two days since we nearly lost you," said Ezra softly. The others looked at the gambler in surprise, and he recoiled in affront. "You needn't be so shocked at my concern. It will hardly do our companions any good if Nathan collapses from exhaustion while he's in there."

    "I'm tired," admitted Nathan, "but we're all tired. You ain't had a decent night's sleep lately, either, an' neither has Josiah. Fact is, all of us but the kid, here, look like hell."

    "Hey!" JD started to protest, but Nathan kept going.

    "At least I can make it, though, an' I'm not sure Buck an' Vin can. Not much longer, anyway. I just don' see where we got any choice."

    JD looked around the table at the silent men, and then did the only thing he could think of. He started to draw his pistols from their holsters, to lay them on the table. "You can take my Colts with you," he said to Nathan, "for Vin an' Buck to use when you bust 'em outta' there." Nathan shook his head.

    "Can't take any guns at all, JD. No knives, either. Nothin' like that."

    "But--" JD half-rose from the table, and Josiah laid a broad, stilling hand over the young man's forearm.

    "Servants don't carry weapons, JD," he explained. "They'd find 'em on Nathan an' know he wasn't who he was pretendin' to be. An' if Michaels is like this mine manager said he is. . . " Josiah let his words trail off. JD suddenly shivered, remembering his own life back east. How could he have forgotten, he wondered. But it seemed a long, dim lifetime ago.

    Ezra leaned forward, suddenly brisk and business-like. "We'll need to figure out how to meet with you later," he said to Nathan. "What kind of signal you can give us, and when. Where we'll meet, when you do."

    "Yeah." Nathan nodded. "It won' be easy. Gotta' be somethin' I can control, an' y'all will have to watch for it. Once I'm in that house, my time won't be my own any more."

    The four men fell silent, regarding one another somberly as the meaning of Nathan's words sank in.

    "Be careful," said Josiah softly. "Be careful in there, Nate."

    Part 68

    Mary tried to concentrate on the task at hand, setting type for the paper she had to publish the next day. She'd never been late, not one time since Steven had died, and it wouldn't be right to be late now. Her mind wandered, though, as she worked. Where were they, she thought. Where were they? And then--were any of them ever coming back again?

    Buck was gone. Vin. Vin was gone too. And they'd been so sure he was at the reservation. Safe in a way that none of the rest of them were. Instead, he'd been injured; they'd seen his coat. And maybe Buck had been injured, too. It bothered her that they didn't know, that Vin and Buck might have been lying out there, injured, and no one had known. It felt almost like betraying them in some way, thinking they were fine when they had been pushed against a wall, fighting for their lives.

    And then there was Chris. Gone without a word. Without a trace. She'd sent telegrams to a half-dozen surrounding towns yesterday but no one had seen the black-clad gunslinger. This morning, she'd followed up by sending another batch of telegrams, this time to the small, more distant towns along the Mexican border. When, and even whether she'd get an answer to any of these queries was an open question. Most of the towns had no sheriff, no law of any kind. Her telegram might sit there until someone was struck by the odd notion to answer it or until it crumpled into dust and blew away. And meanwhile, Chris Larabee was nowhere to be found.

    And now, the rest of them were gone too. Mary knew it was too soon for the town to be different, but she couldn't help dwelling on the way she'd felt last night. It had affected her already, she knew that. They'd left before, all of them at the same time. But they'd left together. And this time, that much was different and the difference of it had started her remembering things she hadn't thought of in a long time, those days after Steven had died when she had been alone. She and the Potters and a few others trying to make a real town out of Four Corners, something more than just a place for drunken cowboys to fire off their rifles. Back then there had been no help at all and little hope and she had kept a loaded shotgun by her bed every night. Those times were back. She knew it. And the best she could hope today was that the bad times weren't back to stay.

    She head the soft sound of a door opening quietly behind her. Despite herself she could feel her heart skip a beat and it was all the effort she could manage just to turn around slowly.

    "Mrs. Travis?" Casey's uncharacteristically quiet face peeked around the corner. When she saw Mary was there, she opened the door a little wider and came into the room. She seemed so timid these days, Mary thought, so unlike her former youthful exuberance. Mary hoped there still remained a chance for it to reemerge. 'Mrs. Travis," Casey said again. "I think...I mean I should...well, I have to go out to the farm. There're the chickens and the cow and the horses. I can't just leave them. It's been, well, it's really been too long and I've got to go. I just thought I should let you know."

    Mary reached back and untied the printer's apron she was wearing. "If you give me a minute," she said, "I'll go with you."

    Casey startled like a green colt. "Oh, no, you don't have to. You've done enough. More than enough. It's time I was--"

    "Casey," Mary put up her hand to stop further protests. "I could use the break. I like fresh air. And I want to come. So no arguments." And she smiled gently. Don't worry, she wanted to say, but there was so much to worry about. And how could she ask Casey to do what she herself could not? So, she smiled and tried to look more confident than she felt and she took Casey's arm as they walked down to the stable to get Mary's carriage. Mary could see Casey looking furtively at each of the people they passed on the boardwalk. Once or twice a man she didn't know approached them and Mary a tightness in the way she walked that persisted until the man passed them and went on.

    "Good morning, Yosemite," Mary said when they reached the livery. "Could you harness my buggy? Casey and I are going out to Nettie's to check on things."

    For a moment it seemed that the liveryman would say something, but he just looked at Mary with sharp eyes and went off to pull out her horse and harness him to Mary's modest rig. Mary looked at the people on the street. It was a warm day, but not as hot as it had been and there was at least as much activity as usual for the time of day, late morning. No one seemed worried. Had anyone noticed the seven were gone, she wondered. Did they take for granted the protection they received? Did they think it would last forever? What would they do when the next saloon fight broke out? When the next man broke his wrist? When the next rustler hit a ranch?

    Hadn't they noticed how many odd things were happening? She mentally shook herself. Of course, they hadn't. She almost hadn't noticed herself. Might not have known at all if she hadn't seen how sick Nathan was, if she hadn't been involved in helping to sober Josiah, if she didn't know that Buck and Vin and Chris had disappeared. She'd have been worried about the Indian troubles, troubled by the bank robberies, and annoyed at the trail crews, but that would have been it. She hoped that this was all wrapped up very quickly. And, thinking of the blood stains on Vin's rawhide coat, she hoped that all of them returned.

    "Mrs. Travis, your carriage awaits." Mary turned to see Yosemite studying her carefully. The reins to her buggy in his hands.

    She smiled at him. "Thank you," she said. He gave her a hand up into the seat. As he handed her the reins, he laid his hand on her arm and squeezed it lightly. Mary looked at him and she could see understanding in his eyes. Maybe, she thought, some people didn't know what was going on. But, looking at Yosemite, she realized that some people certainly did. "Thank you," she said again. And this time she didn't mean thank you for hitching up my horse.

    "You need anything, you let me know," Yosemite told her.

    Mary felt the buggy tip slightly as Casey scrambled up beside her. "I will," she told Yosemite sincerely. "If it's anything you can help with, I certainly will." She flicked the reins across the horse's back and headed down the main street of Four Corners toward Nettie Wells's small ranch.

    As they cleared the edge of town, Casey turned to Mary. "I want to thank you," she said shyly, "for everything you've done. Lettin' me stay with you..."

    "It was nothing, Casey," Mary said sincerely. "I know your Aunt Nettie would want me to."

    "Do you think we'll ever see them again?" Casey asked, changing the topic of conversation so abruptly that Mary had to think for a minute before she could follow the shift.

    "Are you worried about JD?"

    "Yes! No! I mean, I worry a little about him, but then I think he'll be all right because he always is all right and at least I got to say 'goodbye' to him."

    'Aahh,' thought Mary. "Buck knows, Casey," she said. "He has to realize that you're thankful for what he did."

    "But I never got to say it."

    Mary barely remembered when she had been young enough to still believe that all the words that needed saying would be spoken. She knew that Casey had seen people die; no one could live in the West and not see death up close. She'd lost her parents when she was very young, but she still had boundless optimism; she still believed in the rightness of the world. "You will," she said, patting Casey lightly on the arm. "You'll get your chance."

    Casey didn't look any less worried and Mary knew there was little she could say at this point to draw the girl's mind away from the thoughts that occupied her so. For the next mile they rode in silence.

    The closer they got to the ranch, though, the more uneasy Mary became. 'Something's wrong,' she thought. Nothing looked out of place. The sun was overhead; the sky was clear. There was a soft breeze blowing from the west, just enough to move the tree branches above them. The road they traveled was quiet. Mary could hear Casey shift beside her in the seat, the creak and groan of the buggy wheels, the clop of the horse's hooves. It was quiet enough that she could hear water bubbling in the creek just across the way. But, and she realized abruptly what was wrong, there were no birds singing.

    She took the turn into Nettie's and pulled the horse to a stop. For a moment she and Casey just sat there, both of them too shocked too move.

    "NO!" Casey cried, leaping from the buggy before Mary could stop her. Mary looped the horse's reins and stepped out of the buggy herself. Feeling a lowering dread in her heart, she reached under the seat for the revolver she always kept there. Carrying the heavy weapon, she followed Casey.

    There were signs of destruction everywhere. Half the upper railings of the corral were broken; the horses gone. The barn door was wide open and loose hay was scattered across the open yard. Bridles, harnesses, and broken feed sacks were also tossed and scattered, as if they'd been yanked out, considered, then tossed aside as useless. Most disturbing of all were the chickens, their dead bodies scattered like rag dolls.

    "Who would do this?" cried Casey, running up to Mary.

    Mary just stood there in the middle of the yard, looking at the ranch. Who _would_ do this, she wondered. Nothing that had happened so far had prepared her for this. How did this relate to mine cave-ins and Sterling Michaels and separating the seven?

    "Is it because...," Casey asked in a horrified tone. "because people hate me now?"

    For one quick anxious moment Mary wondered if Casey had told them everything about her encounter with the trail hands. 'Could they have--' No, she shook her head. There was no sense in that line of thinking. Best deal with the matter at hand.

    "Casey," Mary said. "No one would do this because of anything that happened to you." She said it firmly and, she hoped, convincingly, though she had no idea why someone _would_ do this. "I want you to look around. Be careful!" she said sharply as Casey turned large frightened eyes to her. "I want you to see if you can find anything unusual." When Casey's eyes seemed to widen even further, she added, "I mean, anything that might tell us who did this."

    The two of them spent an unpleasant half-hour sorting through the debris that had been left by the mysterious raiders. When they were through they looked at what they'd found: a half dozen arrows, the broken shaft of a spear, a piece of torn buckskin cloth, and two feathers that might have been from eagles.

    "Why?" Casey asked in a broken voice. "Why would Indians attack the ranch? Aunt Nettie and me--we've never done _anything_! And why," and her voice rose as if this was the worst thing of all, "why would they kill the chickens? If they were hungry, I could understand it, but to just kill them!"

    Why? That was the question. Why _would_ Indians attack the ranch? Why this ranch? Why attack? Each question led to another question. Besides, the Indian troubles were just rumors. Part of the general talk that had been circulating lately, like questions about Nathan's skills as a healer. Mary had heard of uprisings on other reservations. Horrible stories that she was never completely certain were true. But not here. Ezra had been out to the reservation. Surely he'd have gotten some sense of...

    She shook her head again, this time briskly, as if putting all unproductive thoughts aside. "Casey," she said, "this is what we're going to do. We're going to clean up this mess and put things back in order. If you find anything that doesn't belong, bring it here."

    Casey nodded sadly and started toward the nearest dead chicken. She'd only gone a few steps when she turned and said quietly. "But who will we tell?"

    And Mary, reminded once more that the men they relied on for their strength and their strategy were no longer there, didn't have any answer for her.

    Part 69

    Nathan paused on the landing after he climbed the low flight of steps that led to the kitchen door. The servants' entrance. He felt the feeling again -- the one he'd thought he would never feel any more after he'd escaped all those years ago: invisibility. As if he had ceased to exist as a human being, and was pure body in one place, serving, and pure mind somewhere else, trying to not feel. He shook his head, bitter. Not this time. Not now. He had to hang on to who he was to help Buck and Vin. Not being noticable by the white people in the house could help. BECOMING truly invisible -- to himself as well as to them -- would not.

    He raised his hand and knocked.

    The woman who opened the door had a broad face, dark as ebony, and her grey hair was pinned up. She looked at Nathan a long moment with no expression at all on her face, then shifted her weight just a little impatiently. "Whatchy'all want, Big Man?" Her black eyes twinkled just the tiniest bit at the edges as she named him, and Nathan grinned.

    "Lookin' for a job," he said. "Thought maybe a big house like this--"

    The woman pulled the door opened wide and nodded to him. "C'mon in, Son," she said, "Reckon if y'all ain't worked ya' ain't et, neither." She shoved him into a small straightbacked chair and moved around the gleaming kitchen with a heavy tread, to push an enormous bowl of beans and cornbread into Nathan's hands. The smell alone nearly brought him out of the chair, and he closed his eyes tightly a moment and thought: "I am Nathan Jackson, an' I heal folks. An' Buck an' Vin are countin' on me."

    "Don' y'all like beans 'n' cornbread, Boy?"

    "Yes'm." Nathan opened his eyes and looked at her. "How come I've been demoted from 'Big Man' to 'Son' to 'Boy' so fast? You mad at me?"

    The woman broke into a loud laugh, throwing her head back. "Lawd no," she cackled. She tucked several tight grey curls back into her bun and waved a wooden spoon at him from where she stood at the stove. "Y'all is jus' ASKIN' fer me to whup ya', though!"

    "I bet you could, too." Nathan smiled and lifted a spoonful of the beans to his mouth, big broken pieces of yellow cornbread soaked nearly purple in it.

    "Y'all better b'lieves it." The woman laid the spoon on a rest and opened the oven door to slide some pans out and set them on the windowsill to cool. She looked back at Nathan, stood up, and put her hands on her hips, a cloth dangling from one of them. "Y'all ever worked in a Big House b'fore?"

    "Yes'm." Nathan found himself sliding into the old ways as the cornbread sank into his belly. "I worked in the Big House nigh on five years."

    "Geo'gia?"

    Nathan shook his head. "I don' like to think on that much," he said. "I work for wages, now. Use what I know t' make my own way." He looked up at her with an honest face, asking her to meet him halfway. She stood there a long moment, sizing him up, then nodded.

    "Marse Sterlin' is lookin' to find hisself a manservant," she said. "Reckon y'all could do that?"

    Nathan hadn't known a man's heart could blanch, but his did then. He swallowed hard. "Yes'm. I know all that kinda' work. Layin' out clothes. . . " he swallowed again, " . . . dressin', fetchin' things, runnin' special messages. . ."

    "Yeah." The woman's voice was so flat that Nathan wasn't sure what she meant. She waved a hand suddenly in front of her face as though to shoo away a fly. "C'mon then," she said, "We'll git some a' the trail dust off'n ya', wash ya' up . . . " She looked up at him, "Y'all needs a shave," she scolded. "Shame on ya', askin' for a job needin' a shave."

    "Yes'm." Nathan couldn't help but grin at the woman as she led him to a washbasin and towel on a side porch. "So what d' they call you, Ma'am?"

    "They calls me MIZ Ruby, thank ya' very much." She shoved a bar of lye soap at Nathan. "Ah's the cook, an' gen'rally in charge a' the hired help inside the house here."

    "Then it's lucky I met you first." Nathan smiled as he started to wash up, and Miz Ruby laughed again, full and round and sassy.

    "Don' Ah know it, Boy. Don' Ah know it!" She went back to the doorway and waved her hand in front of her face again. "When ya's all fixed up nice-like, y'all come on in an' Ah'll take ya' to Marse Sterlin'." She disappeared into the kitchen, and Nathan heard her moving around, then calling for "Bitsy" and "Coco," after which there was much running of feet and "fetching" of this and that for the noon meal, which should have been ready hours ago if Bitsy and Coco weren't such lazy things.

    Nathan looked at his face in the dim, cracked mirror that hung over the basin, and stropped the chipped razor on the leather strip nailed to the wall. He saw his own eyes were dark, his face the same as before. 'I'm not invisible,' he said to himself. 'I can still see me.'

    Part 70

    They were laying on the cot. The elements of dress that he was expected to wear lay on the cot that he'd been told was his to sleep on, on the side porch that he'd been told was comfortable for sleeping this time of year, and he stood there and stared at them like they were foreign objects. The pants were black and had a starched crease in the center that could cut glass. The coat was black, too, a cut-away with a long tail. The shirt was stiff, starched, white, the collar straight up. The vest was pearl grey, the tie black and gray. The fabric was coarse, and worn, and starched into respectability if not into comfort.

    Nathan fingered the coat and wondered for a long moment if he'd really be able to go through with it. He didn't know how many men had worn the suit before it came to be laid out on this cot, but the odor of their defeat lingered, to his mind, and it made his breath come shorter just to smell it.

    It wasn't going to be easy. Not at all.

    The fact was that "Marse Sterling" was just the sort of man Nathan had expected him to be. His personal power had hit the healer like a thrown rock the moment he'd set foot in the same room with him, and Nathan had known right then that Buck and Vin were in serious trouble. A man like that didn't fool around. He moved, and when he moved he was fast and he was hard. Nathan sighed and started to pull off his own coat. He could hear the women in the kitchen, the women he'd told that his name was Nathaniel Lincoln for fear someone in the house would know his real name. And he just kept telling himself it wasn't him who was changing at all; it was Nathaniel. Nathaniel was going to wear this suit, not Nathan. . . Still.

    He folded his soft shirt carefully and put it under his pillow, as Bitsy's voice rose in a graceful laugh from the big table where she was sitting peeling potatoes. "Oh, Coco," she was saying, "don' do that or you'll make me laugh so that I'll cut myself!" Nathan smiled and shook his head, sliding his arms into the long white sleeves. Bitsy was the color of chocolate, slender and quick and only maybe 16 years old. Maybe 17. She'd come sailing into the kitchen with a stack of dishes she was clearing from the lunch table earlier, in a way that had nearly thrown them clear across the kitchen when she collided with Nathan. He'd caught them, though, and steadied the girl as her feet slid on the slick floor and she squealed in fear.

    "Whoa!" he'd said, and grinned, and the girl had turned a rosy shade of cherrywood, and dimpled her little skinny face at him, and dropped two cups to the floor with a crash that had brought Miz Ruby running from the parlor.

    "Bitsy! Chil', ain't y'all NEVER gonna' learn not t' carry too much at one time?" She'd started pulling dishes from the girl's arms as she chided her, and Bitsy had thrown a shy glance at Nathan as she'd surrendered the things to the fussing woman.

    "I'm sorry, Miz Ruby."

    "'Sorry' ain't gonna' put new cups in the china cab'net! Now gets yo'se'f in there an' finish clearin' that table, but be mo' careful!"

    "Yes'm." Bitsy had thrown a quick look at Nathan over her shoulder as she'd gone through the door back into the dining room, and he could have sworn she'd given her hips a little exaggerated sway when she did, one that had set her simple cotton shift swinging around her slender brown ankles. He chuckled again, thinking about it, and started to change his pants.

    "Miz Ruby!?" It was Coco who was calling now. "Miz Ruby, esta la--" The young voice broke off in giggles and Nathan smiled again to himself. Coco was even younger than Bitsy, maybe only 13. She wore the same kind of smock as the older girl, but her long hair was done up in a single heavy braid that hung to the small of her thin back, and he'd already seen her slip out of her little sandals three times in the space of the short time he'd been there, to push them under the table and curl her bare feet around her chair legs. She'd batted the little boy Pedro so playfully that it made Nathan think maybe he was her brother. He finished fastening the black trousers and picked up the tie. He looked at it a long time before he settled it around his neck and began to loop the ends into a knot.

    "Git yo' shoes on, Coco, an' git these linens up t' Marse Sterlin's rooms right quick." Miz Ruby was obviously loading the girl's arms as she spoke, and Nathan looked at his own hands in the dim mirror, watching them tie the knot, as the woman continued. "Then git them dirty things outta' the chute an' gets 'em into the pile for washin'. Ya' gots t' get up early tomorrah', chil', an' get it done an' on the line sooner than ya' did last time."

    "Sí, Miz Ruby." The girl's voice was cheerful if young, and Nathan could picture the way her long braid swung behind her as she hurried out of the kitchen and down the hall to the stairs with her little arms full of the linens. Fine linens. Held against her coarse cotton pullover frock. His hands fell to his sides as he looked at the knotted tie, and he reached over to pick up the vest and put it on without looking away. He began to button it.

    "Pedro, y'all gots t' git one a' them big bags a' flour outta' the pantry an' bring it in, an' puts it in this bin, here. Ah's nearly out for mah bread, an' tomorrah's mah bakin' day."

    "Sí, Miz Ruby." Nathan had hardly seen the boy. He was a shadow, maybe 8 years old, short and stocky and quiet. Nathan heard the pantry door open and the sound of a big bag of flour being dragged across the kitchen floor. He finished buttoning the vest and smoothed it.

    "Them 'taters done yet, Bitsy-chil'?"

    "Yes'm."

    He slid his arms into the coat.

    "Git them things out an' set 'em up. Hurry up, chil', or supper'll be late an' we'll t' blame."

    "Yes'm."

    He pulled it square on his shoulders.

    "Set the table, an' then slice up the tomatah's an' greens. An' remember Marse Sterlin's gots to have his port this even'in'. Ya' gots t' help me remember to tell-- Nathaniel! Wal, Ah'd never've knowed ya'!" Miz Ruby broke off her conversation with Bitsy to admire Nathan as he opened the door from the side porch to come into the kitchen. The woman walked all around him, pulling at seams and straightening fabric, smoothing it with her hands. "Look atcha'," she said, "y'all would think this suit was made for ya'."

    Nathan looked at Miz Ruby and his eyes were suddenly so dark that she took a step back from him and shook her head.

    "Ah meant," she said, "that--"

    "I know." Nathan smiled sadly, then shook himself and smiled more broadly.

    "No harm done."

    A tiny cry of pain and the clatter of a spoon falling to the floor made Nathan and Miz Ruby both turn to see that Bitsy had jerked her arm away from a large pan on the stove and was holding it with her other hand. Her little dark face was corded in pain and she took two steps back and bent over with a gasp.

    "Bitsy, chil'?" Miz Ruby was at the girl's side in a moment. "Lemme' see that."

    "Oh!" Bitsy looked up with big tears standing in her eyes. "It's burnt, Miz Ruby!"

    "Lemme see it." Miz Ruby pried the girl's fingers from the burn and clucked sympathetically when she saw it. "Ah, looka' there," she said. "Ah'll gets th' butter to put on it."

    "Wait a minute," said Nathan. His voice was gentle but filled with calm assurance. He looked at Bitsy and smiled kindly. "Mind if I look at your arm?"

    Bitsy shook her head shyly and bravely extended her arm to Nathan, although he saw that her lips were quivering. He looked down at the red blister with a small black part in the middle, and shook his head.

    "That mus' hurt a lot," he said. He looked up into Bitsy's face. "You're a brave girl. You didn't do this on no pan, though."

    "No sir." Bitsy's voice was small. "I touched the stove lid somehow."

    "Oh, Chil'!" Miz Ruby looked at the girl and then at Nathan.

    "Well, butter's not really what this needs," said Nathan. "although that's usually a good thing for burns. You need somethin' else." He looked at Miz Ruby. "You got any buttermilk? Some soda?"

    Miz Ruby nodded and moved quickly to get out the items Nathan had named, and then handed him a small dish to mix up whatever concoction he had in mind.

    The healer made a paste and smiled at Bitsy as he gently layered it onto the burn like a salve, and then wiped his finger on the rim of the dish. "If you've got a little bit a' clean muslin?" he looked at Miz Ruby, and the woman nodded and fetched some. Nathan tore it into a long strip and wrapped it around the treated burn. Bitsy held up her arm and studied what he'd done with amaze on her face when he finished.

    "How's that feel?" asked Nathan.

    "Lots better." Bitsy smiled, and then looked at Miz Ruby. "It's a LOT better," she repeated.

    "What a blessin'," breathed Miz Ruby. Then she jumped. "Lawd, Ah almos' forgot Marse Sterlin'! He's waitin' on ya', Nathaniel!"

    Nathan took a deep breath and closed his eyes a moment at Miz Ruby's reminder, and then opened them to see that she was holding out a small key.

    "This's t' Marse Sterlin's liquor cab'net," she said. "Port's what 'e's wantin' with supper t'night. An' brandy after, Ah'm guessin'."

    Nathan took the key and looked at it a moment, slipped it into his vest pocket, and went into the hallway that led to the parlor. It was time to start serving Marse Sterling.

    Continued...

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